學生之史記

Circles of Historiography

2010-04-25T13:24:00.002+08:00

Today our World History Reading Group met to talk about a new AHR forum introduction on the history of Oceans. The reader included a series of essays on the historiography of oceans, including the Mediterranean, the Atlantic, and Pacific. Braduel's famous history of the Mediterranean was the overarching model: if the others scholars weren't trying to employ his model, they were arguing against it. The study of oceans and other similar spaces (deserts, steppes, mountains) occupy the field of world history now; how can we reconfigure our conception of geography to include these spaces as actors in our histories?

As is apt to happen in reading groups, our discussion migrated to the topic of methodology: how is world history actually done, especially with "Oceans" as a theme. A colleague of mine then made an interesting observation. He told us that the way these histories, and other similar histories, were written were quite similar to methodologies of the early twentieth century. He found it amusing that these histories, that are considered so "cutting edge" in the our field, were including frameworks that shaped histories written 100 years earlier.

After my initial surprise at this observation (and, let it be noted, I can't necessarily attest to its accuracy, I don't often read histories of oceans and geography from turn of the century European scholars), I realized more importantly the assumptions that lay behind my surprise. After cultural and linguistic turn, history as "linear" became outdated. We could no longer blindly assume that history consistently moves not only forward but upward; in essence, that human development is constant progression. We also cannot look at history as a line of events; it is not only outdated but purely inaccurate to describe any event as being caused by one other singular event. History is not a line, but a series of trajectories that meet and then create another series of repercussion trajectories. This spatial metaphor, as fuzzy as it may seem, is probably the best example of how our discipline conceives of history today.

Yet it seems that we do not apply this framework to historiography. J. P. Bayley offhandedly wrote in The Birth of the Modern World that historians make their living and sustain their profession by overthrowing accepted wisdom once every generation or so. I think most of us believe, if we would not be ready to eagerly verbalize, the assumption that the way we write history now is better than it has been in the past. It's more developed, more sophisticated, and if not a more accurate than certainly a novel way of looking at the past. I think that this borders dangerously on a linear framework. Yet, if it's not linear, then really, why do we all praise cultural history? Why do we have to include the most novel, the most "in-vogue" theories of the day, if not because they are considered the best? We can't go back and write what Braudel wrote, knowing what we know now. We say that good scholarship stands the test of time, but even the most respected pieces of scholarship, Norbert Elias, or in our field Fairbank or Levenson, still seem "outdated" to us now...

I do not have an answer to this, more just the musings of a grad student caught up in the headache that is post-modernism. It is, however, something interesting, and perhaps hypocritical, to think about. But if we take post-modernism to its logical and extreme end, we require some degree of hypocrisy to get out of it...

China and the Middle Ground

2010-01-29T06:13:00.000+08:00

This week, our East Asia History reading group, which meets once a quarter, had the fortune of discussing Richard White's The Middle Ground with Professor White himself. The purpose of this book was to write the history of Native Americans and Empire in the pays d’en haut, the area around the Great Lakes, from the years 1650-1815, a region Professor White has termed the Middle Ground. Professor White presents the Middle Ground both as a spatial and theoretical construct. It is both the area where Europeans and Indians coexisted and created a new cultural space, and also a theoretical term meant to point to the process with which Indians and Whites mutually accommodated each other, constructed together a mutually comprehensible world. He traces through 2 centuries the creation and destruction of this process, and the ways in which alliances, wars, trade and empire affected the ability of Indians and Whites to maintain a status quo. He also complicates the traditional narrative of empire. A narrative of the conquerer and the conquered obscures the complexities of the relationships between and among Indians and Whites, and while violence was present, the middle ground appeared and “depended on the inability of both sides to gain their ends through force.” The Middle Ground, he points out, is not a pretty place. He has often been called an apologist for colonialism because he pointed out the compromises and concessions each side had to make. This, however, is obviously not the case; the Middle Ground was created out of destruction and violence, the description of which was nauseating.

The reason we decided to read the book is because the concept of the Middle Ground can be used in other contexts; it has been cited numerous times in books about border regions in China, specifically Yunnan, Xinjiang, Tibet, and Qinghai. Once I started reading the book, an exhaustive 500+ pages of Native American history, I became confused as to the extent to which his theory could be applied. Were all colonies Middle Grounds? Does it work outside borderland situations? Does it even work outside of the pays d'en haut?

Our discussion with Professor White helped to clear up a lot of the confusion. He told us that, despite the fact that he did not want to be the "judge in the court of the Middle Ground," he did think that both the physical space and the process did have some distinguishing characteristics. First of all, it needs to be a situation in which the two opposing groups could not overwhelm one another by force. At the same time, it needed to be a situation in which both sides needed the other. Finally, there needed to be a set of institutions in place to sustain this balance of power. In the pays d'en haut, this included Jesuit priests, a system of posts, a gift giving system in place, etc. Professor White pointed out that it is these institutions which distinguished other parts of the Americas from the pays d'en haut; they were not a Middle Ground, simply areas of cross cultural contact.

Professor White stressed that the one way in which the Middle Ground did not work in later colonial situations is that if one side has the overwhelming power to dictate, there was not a Middle Ground. He stated that the French and British did not break local power and rule, in fact, the didn't rule much of anything. This description rules out a lot of European empires. The Middle Ground is also not, as Professor White claimed, a place where everyone came together and loved each other. Nor is it another term for cultural compromise. Misunderstandings actually played a large role in the creation of the Middle Ground. What he meant by this was that each group tried to argue with one another based upon their understanding of the other sides' cultural premises. As an example from his book, he shows how Indians tried to make arguments with the French based upon their understanding of Christianity, and at the same time, the French attempted to spread Christianity by using terms they extracted from local religious practice.

The Middle Ground is also historically contingent; it, like all things, has a starting point and an end point. There are many reasons the Middle Ground of the pays d'en haut came to an end, mainly because the Americans of the frontier no longer needed Indians. He also brought up an interesting argument which he mentioned slightly at the end of his book, which is that ethnography and anthropology helped to erase the Middle Ground. These studies, which for the first time introduced race, created a group of "others" that could not be dealt with in an equal level (this is not to say the French did not see the Indians as "others"; but the otherness came from the fact that they were not Christian, it had nothing to do with race). The example he gave to us was the issue of marriage. In the pays d'en haut, temporary marriages were quite common. Once the marriage came to an end, the father mattered little; the woman would simply take her child, half French and half Indian, back to her village. The issue of race, or difference, was not important. In fact, towards the end of the 18th century, identity was a matter of personal choice; no one could be said to be completely French or Indian. This changed in the 19th century, when these Indian women were told by their villagers to leave their husbands and their mixed children behind because they were not pure "Indian." This was done in the name of tradition, when really it was a quite radical statement. In this way, as professor White claimed, when Middle Grounds disappear, they become black holes, sucking everything into themselves, including historical memory.

At this point we should ask, how applicable are these theories to China? Some of us in our group pointed out that these theories are very helpful in describing situations in borderlands, where neither the central Chinese government nor other bordering empires had any control over the local population. The situation in China, however, is much more complicated. The 司土 system in areas such as Qinghai and Tibet created a system of local warlords which administered these regions. In some of these regions, the local imperial appointed warlords had much more power than others, so the use of Middle Ground is contingent on a case-by-case basis. There were some areas in which local leaders ruled in succession for generations, and others where power was determined by the ability to mediate and communicate, thus creating a Middle Ground.

Another issue that distinguishes the system in China from other contenders for the Middle Ground is the fact that there was no real clear starting or ending point like there was in the pays d'en haut. These groups on the frontiers of China had been interacting for centuries, and there was no clear starting point that would help us trace the creation of this Middle Ground (if there was, perhaps the Song or even the Han dynasty). Nevertheless, framing the trade and relations in these areas within a Middle Ground framework it seems would be useful for analysis.

I admit, when I first went into this discussion, I was hoping to see how this concept would apply in a colonial setting; after discussing the book with Professor White, it seems that the Middle Ground does not work in the later British empire, specifically Hong Kong. When the British first gained control of Hong Kong, they set out to create a population of successful Chinese they could subsequently rule. The situation was not an inability on either side to rule the other through force; it was simply that the Chinese businessmen in Hong Kong cooperated with the colonial government so that force was unnecessary. The authority between empires, Qing and British, may have been fuzzy at some points, but it was more an argument of semantics; Hong Kong was conceded to Britain as spoils of war, and there was no question on the ground who held authority. This was the case for much of the later empires. Similarly, as professor White pointed out, ethnography and anthropology made the Middle Ground impossible, and these techniques for distinguishing the "other" was central to later colonial politics.

I do think, however, that Professor White's description of cultural misunderstandings could be helpful in understanding the interactions between the British and Chinese in Hong Kong. I feel like I see this a lot today. Hong Kong is rife with food, activities, and trends that they consider "Western" when we would not. While I do not know of any historical examples (though perhaps a reexamination of the creation of the Tung Wah hospital with this theory in mind might bear new fruit), I do think that taking this framework of "cultural misunderstandings" could shed new light on the ways in which British and locals interacted within the colonies.

Well, I'm not Amy Adams, but... (aka, and now for something completely different...)

2010-01-24T05:13:00.016+08:00

I realize I normally use this blog to pontificate upon research-related brilliance, but (now this may come as a shock to some of you readers) I am brilliant in other ways. Among my many talents (including my ability to be incredibly modest) I'm a pretty good cook...and I'm always up for a challenge. So for a recent dinner party, I felt the need to practice so I could one day perfect the zenith of Italian ridiculousness: the timpano.

My dad made said timpano for Christmas this year, and it was a two day affair. After recovering from the food induced pleasure-coma, I did some searching of my own. Other bloggers have embarked on such an adventure, however their interest was spurred by a Stanley Tucci movie called "The Big Night," in which two Italian-American brothers open a restaurant (and then I think they close it? I didn't see the movie), and the grand finale to their ostentatious feast was none other than the timpano. The timpano is a dome of homemade dough filled with just about every Italian food you could think of: meatballs, pasta, sauce, salami, eggs, cheese, etc. See pictures below.

So it was a "big night," if you will, for Stanford history grad students. We had a first-year party last quarter, and I cooked dessert: a barrage of pies thrown together in a last minute tornado that nearly destroyed my kitchen (in the end, it merely covered my kitchen in chocolate). This time, I was appointed as one of two hosts, and the timpano felt like the perfect experiment. I used my dad's recipe (I'll post the recipe in full at the end) but I made some last minute adjustments.

The first major challenge was finding a pan. I should have listened more carefully to my dad when he told me that a stainless steel mixing bowl would work out just fine; instead I spent more time than necessary on the internet trying to find bowls that might work, and deciding whether or not to simply order the timpano bowl from the Kolorful Kitchen website, which had reasonably priced products but ridiculous costs for shipping. Finally I stormed into Sur la Table in a frenzy, telling the saleslady "Ok, I need a bowl, it needs to be between 6-8 quarts, it needs to be domed shape, and it needs to go in the oven." The very kind lady pointed me to (ironically) a stainless steel mixing bowl, 20% off. And all that time I spent on the internet...

The day before the dinner party, I made the marinara and meatballs, making the meatballs smaller than normal. Step 1, accomplished. :) I also prepared all the ingredients, including the salami, provolone cheese, 20 eggs (yes, 20 eggs. Did I mention that timpano is Italian for cardiac arrest?), romano cheese, 2 pounds of rigatoni, and other important ingredients I already had on hand.

The next afternoon, after a major exam and dance class, I ran to meet a classmate who lent me a rolling pin (another important thing I needed that I didn't think of until the last minute), and then spent nearly 2 hours transferring ingredients, cooking utensils, plates, the kitchen sink, etc. to my co-host Andy's apartment, an apartment in the brand new graduate housing, complete with 2 fridges, a dishwasher, and 5 times as much space that I have in my kitchen.

Then began the work. I started by chopping up the salami and cheese into small pieces while cooking the hardboiled eggs. The recipe called for block provolone, but I couldn't find any so I had to use slices. I also stuck in some asiago cheese, since I had some on hand. I then began to cook the rigatoni (it is important that the rigatoni be super al denti, since it still cooks more in the oven) while making the dough. The recipe said I should use a mixing bowl with a dough hook to mix the flour, eggs, olive oil and water, but what graduate student has such a fancy accoutrement? So I kneaded it by hand. For awhile, I began to be quite worried that the dough was coming out funny; it seemed far too sticky. But the more I mixed it, the more it came out ok. I did end up having to add a little bit of extra flour including the flour I used to roll it out to 1/16 of an inch. This was probably the most exhausting part of the whole process.

Then came the second major panic. I only bought 2 pounds of rigatoni, thinking that already sounded ridiculous enough. But the more I thought about it, the more I became concerned that the 2 pounds wouldn't be enough (the recipe called for 3, and said to use a 6 quart bowl, while mine was 8). So I began asking Andy's roommates for any pasta they had on hand just in case. Very quickly the third panic followed: it seemed I did not make enough sauce. This problem, however, I very quickly solved. I had read a series of recipes for this crazy dish online, one more complicated than the next (one called for 4 different homemade sauces and meatballs using 3 types of meat! Yikes!). But many of them called for at least two types of sauces: one layer of pasta with meat sauce and another with a layer of beschamel. This seemed not only creative and delicious, but an easy solution to my lack of bolognese sauce. So I whipped together a beschamel based upon Mario Batalli's recipe, a white sauce with the complex ingredients list of butter, flour, and milk. I also added a shallot (which I had on hand) salt and some cloves (the recipe called for nutmeg, but I didn't have any).

Finally, the dough was rolled, the eggs were cooled, the sauces were complete, the ingredients chopped, and my feet were screaming in pain and I was covered in flour: it was time to throw it all together. I generously (and by generous, I mean dripping) greased the pan with some melted butter and olive oil, and then draped the dough over the bowl, pressing gently to mold it to shape.

I started with a layer of rigatoni with beschamel, followed by salami and provolone. My friend watched with fascination as I heaped handfuls (using both hands) of salami and cheese into the bowl, wiping the grease from my hands onto my skirt. I giggled and looked up and said "you know, this is almost gross..." He laughed and told me I probably shouldn't sell it with that line at the party.

I then topped the cheese and salami with pieces of chopped hardboiled eggs (there were 12 in all, though I didn't end up using them all), neatly arranged meatballs, and a few ladlefulls of bolognese. I then began with the second layer of pasta (this time mixed with red sauce) when I yelled out "damnit, forgot the romano!" So that layer was slightly out of place. The layers then repeated: salami and cheese, eggs, meatballs, sauce, and romano cheese. To my relief, 2 pounds was more than enough rigatoni, I ended up eating the leftover pasta with sauce all weekend. As I was pouring the final touches, four beaten raw eggs, onto the top, Andy commented "this isn't even a dish, this is a science experiment. It's like, 'what else can we fit in here?'" I laughed again as I folded the excess dough over the top, cut the edges, and got it ready to go into the oven.

Here is where I encountered mistake number 1. I was on a bit of a time crunch: the timpano needed to bake for an hour and a half, and then sit for at LEAST an hour and a half. The party started at 7 (although we probably wouldn't eat until later, no one seems to be on time for anything anymore) and it was 4:15 as I went to put it in the oven; seemed like perfect timing. I opened the oven and said relatively non-chalantly, "Andy, can I have some oven mitts, I need to take one of these racks out of the oven." He exclaimed that we couldn't do that while it was still hot, and I began to panic: there went my perfect timing. I quickly shut the oven off and opened the door to began cooling the oven down, and then we tried to take the rack out just to see what would happen. Turned out the rack wasn't heavy at all, and it was a quick process. So I stuck the timpano in the oven, turned the time to an hour, and began to clean and help Andy prepare his butternut squash ravioli.

The timer rang an hour later and my heart filled with panic as I opened the door to the oven: I had forgotten to turn the oven back on. I moaned, turned the oven on to a slightly higher heat, and mentally kicked myself. I put the oven to 370 instead of 350, and baked it for 45 minutes instead of an hour, thinking that it had at least been in a hot oven for 15 minutes as it cooled. After 45 minutes, I put tin foil on top to keep the top layer from burning, and left it in the oven for an extra 10 minutes (so a total of 85 minutes). I had no more time to be mad at my own stupidity. Andy and I quickly whipped together homemade ravioli, cleaned his apartment, and made ourselves look presentable. At 6:40, I took the timpano out of the oven, and let it cool. By 7:30, most people had arrived, and it was time to try flipping it over. I had seen my dad do it with two hands, but I struggled to even carry the massive bowl filled with food; I had no idea how I was going to flip it upsidedown. But with the help of a nearby friend, we flipped it over onto a cookie sheet, and to my complete and utter delight, it came right out of the bowl, perfectly golden and beautifully shaped (not a crumb stuck to the bowl. I guess I greased it well enough!)

I wanted to postpone dinner as much as I could so I could let the timpano continue to cool, but by 8:10, people were ready to eat. So I held my breath, closed my eyes, and began to cut into it. I cut a hole around the center to try and maintain a point of stability, and then I cut the first piece. And then came my second squeal of joy for the night: it came out beautifully, all layers in tact.

The timpano had to feed a lot of people, so after the first beautiful piece I couldn't continue to serve full pieces: not enough to go around! But most people did get to see the inside (see picture), and those who wanted a nicely shaped piece got the half shaped by the pan rather than the messier pieces I cut.

The response, if I do say so myself, seemed pretty positive. Some of my favorite quotes of the evening were: "Wow, everything you could possibly crave is in this thing! 'I feel like pasta...' well there it is! 'How about some salami?' it's there! 'Hardboiled eggs?' in there too!" And "Um, Gina, could you cook for us every night?" By the time I stopped cutting it and sat down to eat myself (not only the timpano but also Korean braised ribs, butternut squash ravioli in a brown butter sauce, and some awesome salad) there was still a pretty big chunk left. But that quickly disappeared; Andy's roommates, all healthy male law students, stood around the remains and finished it off pretty quickly. I am glad it was so popular, but I kind of wish I had a piece right now, writing all of it out.

I guess the only question that remains is, how will I top myself now?

Here are the various recipes:

I made my grandmother's sauce and meatballs, with my own kind of touches. I would double this, I wish I had had more sauce on the side.

One piece of some kind of pork, or Italian Sausage (just for flavor)
4 cloves of crushed garlic
3-4 tablespoons of olive oil
1 28 ounce can of crushed tomatoes
2 cans of tomato paste
Dried oregano, parsley, and basil to taste.
Salt and sugar to taste (ok, I just do this by flavor. I'm sure that somewhere you could find real measurements, but I've never used them)

Sautee garlic and brown pork in oil. Add crushed tomatoes and tomato paste, and then fill each can of tomato paste with water and add. Mix and bring to a simmer. Add meatballs (see below) and spices. Cover and simmer for 2 hours, making sure that you stir occasionally to keep from sticking.

Meatball recipe (again, I do a lot of this according to flavor, and I don't know the exact measurements):
1 lb. ground beef
4 slices of bread, soaked in water
2-3 eggs (I just mix it until it is slimy, sometimes that is two or three eggs)
1/2 cup of grated cheese
2 cloves of garlic, minced
Chopped parsley to taste
Salt and Pepper to taste

Take the water soaked bread and ring out excess water (should be an interesting sensation!) Mix all the ingredients together, mixture should be pretty slimy. Coat the bottom of a sautee pan with olive oil, and cook one or two to make sure that it is to your liking. Then, make the meatballs (pretty small for the timpano) and brown them in olive oil, set aside. Then, once your sauce is cooking, add the partially cooked meatballs.

Beschamel sauce (courtesy of Mario Batalli):
5 tablespoons butter
4 tablespoons all-purpose flour
4 cups milk
2 teaspoons salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg

Directions

In a medium saucepan, heat the butter over medium-low heat until melted. Add the flour and stir until smooth. Over medium heat, cook until the mixture turns a light, golden sandy color, about 6 to 7 minutes.

Meanwhile, heat the milk in a separate pan until just about to boil. Add the hot milk to the butter mixture 1 cup at a time, whisking continuously until very smooth. Bring to a boil. Cook 10 minutes, stirring constantly, then remove from heat. Season with salt and nutmeg, and set aside until ready to use.

**My personal touch: I added a shallot while cooking the butter and flour, and I added cloves. Tasted pretty good!

And below is a copy of the basic recipe for a Timpano. If you click on the picture, it will become bigger so it is readable.

Am I a colonizer?

2010-01-14T09:00:00.003+08:00

In my Colonialism and Collaboration class, we recently discussed Albert Memmi's Colonizer and the Colonized. Our class decided that, while he may have a lot to offer discussions of colonialism, there are some real problems with his work.

But I'm not going to discuss right now the various inconsistencies and generalizations of Memmi's work, but rather, one topic that made me think about my own experiences in China, my role as a Chinese scholar, and then finally, why I think his theory is problematic. He claims that a person from a colonial power living in a colony has no choice but to be a colonizer as there is always an implicit hierarchy, even if the colonizer is perhaps less wealthy or has less social capital than the colonized with whom he interacts. This immediately brought me back to my time in China. I am guessing that when I lived in China, I lived on a lower-middle class income (by Shanghai's standards, mind you, not by all of China's standards). Yet I often found myself implicitly being treated as though I had more money, that I was wealthier, and that socially, I was higher up on the hierarchy. People were much kinder to me, showed me more respect, than I think they would an average person, and assumed that I had much more money than I did. There were other smaller, institutionalized symbols of this hierarchy, such as nice apartment buildings that would only accept foreigners who looked like foreigners, free gifts and better service at restaurants, etc. More than anything, however, I recognized the special treatment I received, even though I was by no means really a special person in any way.

Now, I realize there are a series of differences here. China is not a colony, technically it never was. I am not and could not be a colonizer, even by his loose definitions. And I was not in China for economic opportunity, certainly I was not there to be exploitative. But just from the subtlety of my interactions with others, I felt a certain hierarchy. If I were to take my experiences as any kind of proof or lack thereof of Memmi's theory, I do think there is an area where his argument falls apart. He makes the assumption that because people treated colonizers with this hierarchy that this hierarchy was either a product of an internalized hierarchy on the part of the colonizer or ultimately caused an internalized hierarchy. I can speak for myself to say that this was not true, I often felt the opposite, if any kind of hierarchy materialized in my mental framework. While I cannot in any way speak for actual colonizers, I do believe it is presumptuous to assume that just because a hierarchy materializes in a peoples' treatment of the other does not mean that that other has necessarily internalized that hierarchy and placed themselves above others.

But then again, I could be wrong. Like I said, I'm not a colonizer.

Putting Denver on the China map!

2010-01-13T14:07:00.006+08:00

I'm not normally in the business of stealing, but this picture was just too cool to pass up posting on my own blog (and I am providing a reference for this picture...I think it's fair, Chinabeat has pulled stuff from my blog). This commemorative stamp was issued in 1942, in Denver, where Sun Yat Sen, in 1911, read in the Denver Post in his room at the Brown Palace of the revolution he was supposedly leading (I've even made a pilgrimage...who would have though Denver would make it on the map of modern Chinese history?). Leaders comparing themselves to historic figures is nothing new, it's quite common. But this is a comparison I would not have expected to find. The Chinabeat article does a fantastic job of analyzing this strange tendency of Chinese leaders to compare themselves with Lincoln (currently a common comparison for policy in Tibet); I won't repeat it. But what an awesome picture!

Chinese nationalism in Hong Kong...?

2010-01-13T13:51:00.003+08:00

Scholars who write about early 20th century Hong Kong seem to be fascinated with nationalism in Hong Kong. A few examples include John Carroll, Jung-Fang Tsai, and Ming K. Chan, to name a few. These three scholars in particular all write about protests in the early 20th century in Hong Kong. Chan was one of the first to write labor history in southern China, so his approach to Chinese nationalism in Hong Kong is more reserved (simply because he does not draw as large a distinction; his focus is on the Pearl River Delta). John Carroll's Edge of Empires talks about the growth of Hong Kong due to contributions Chinese businessmen and collaborators.

Of the three, Tsai seems to be most concerned with Chinese nationalism in Hong Kong. According to his work, we see a strong Chinese nationalist movements among laborers in the 1913 boycott of the tram in Hong Kong, in solidarity and support of the 1911 revolution, and even earlier, in anti-foreign and anti-French protests in the late 1880s and early 1890s.

Reading these works, I'm slightly suspicious of the term "nationalism" here. Tsai defines nationalism as "a sense of collective identity with and loyalty to China as a sovereign nation-state.” The problem I see is that, while we certainly see cultural solidarity for reform and revolution in the mainland among Hong Kong Chinese, there is no discussion as to where Hong Kong fits in. The emotional fervor in Hong Kong both in support of mainland China and against foreign invaders never included a tangible place for Hong Kong. Hong Kong was placed in a nebulous space between empires, never fully belonging to either.

It could be the case that protesters and laborers in Hong Kong felt no need to define Hong Kong's place in China: it was already part of this newly imagined Chinese nation. There is, from the books I've read, no evidence to the contrary. The one person who spoke prolifically about Hong Kong, China, and colonialism was Sir Ho Kai Ho. An important Hong Kong businessman and Chinese reformer (a teacher of Sun Yat Sen) Ho argued ardently for republican reform in China, but cited as an example colonial Hong Kong. Carroll argues that Ho represents the complexity of identity in Hong Kong: being both loyal to a nation and loyal to a city.

But it seems to me that as much as Carroll tries to layer this sense of identity, there is a real schism here. How can Hong Kongers seem themselves as citizens of a separate nation when they live under colonial rule in a separate space? Space becomes a crucial issue here: where is the divide, and how does that divide correspond to internal and psychological borders of identity and place?

My personal opinion (based, currently, on no research of my own but only interpretations of secondary texts) that this support of the Chinese nation through protests and symbolic gestures has more in common with Chinese-American support for the Beijing Olympics a couple of years ago. Certainly there were strong emotional ties to a common identity, but was it nationalism? Would cultural solidarity be a more correct term?

This is something I would like to explore more. But this question keeps coming back into my mind. If this is nationalism, where did that sense of belonging to the Chinese nation go after 1949? Did it disappear? I would argue it holds little presence in the minds of Hong Kongers now. So what happened?

New quarter, new year, new research!

2010-01-13T13:38:00.002+08:00

I've done it! I've survived a quarter of graduate school, relatively unscathed (my existential/career-based crises numbered in the single digits; I think that is success). Hopefully, I will take more time to blog this quarter, especially since I will be starting a research seminar on modern China this quarter that will run until June.

Also, happily, I've spun left and right and round and round and finally came to the conclusion that I should start to follow my heart (research-wise...perhaps follow my analytical mind would be a better phrase here?) I am fascinated, frightened, intrigued, excited, and pretty much in love with Hong Kong. I've always had a secret desire to do a People's History/Wang Zheng Women in the Chinese Enlightenment-esque book about 1980s Hong Kong Chinese and their identity struggles with the handover. Unfortunately, this idea is a.) inchoate; b.) already done by some people and c.) not really history yet.

But a class on South Asia made me ask a lot of questions about Hong Kong that actually pertain to history. What was going on in Hong Kong in the early 20th century? Were there anti foreign protests to match those in the mainland? Were there anti-colonial protests to match those in other British colonies? At what point did people in Hong Kong go from being citizens of the emperor to colonial subjects to citizens of China to citizens of the global economy? (Perhaps not all in that order). With all these questions bouncing around in my head, my adviser and I thought it would be fruitful for both of us if I did a historiographical survey of work on colonial Hong Kong. 40 pages later, I have a lot of new ideas, and I'm probably more confused now than I was before. But one thing is sure: I'm not putting this pull to Hong Kong in a drawer.

So this quarter, I want to explore these ideas and hopefully find some insight. I don't know if I have readers, but if I do, and you see something interesting that pertains to my research, please post a comment (or email me if you know me). I always appreciate ideas and directions.

Happy year of the tiger (raar!)

Edward Said and Me

2009-10-30T05:30:00.003+08:00

In our Approaches to History class, a sometimes dry, sometimes exciting, often frustrating, journey through late 20th century historiography, we recently had a lively, heated discussion about Said's Orientalism. As a group we were highly divided, some of us loved the book, others hated it, some loved Said in general but hated the book, some realized his contributions to the field but found the actual scholarship itself vitriolic and unprofessional. But aren't these just the conversations that lead to the best kinds of reflection?

One of the most frustrating things about Said is his ambiguity about a way forward. He very clearly defines the problems of the study of the Orient (in his book he refers exclusively to European essentialization of the Near East and Islamic world), demonstrating not only the problems of very obvious Orientalist practices (such as "scholars" who write books called "the Origins of Muslim Rage," or histories of British India meant to show the backwardness of the people and their inability to rule themselves), but also how vestiges of this practice have seeped into almost all of the scholarship produced about non-European cultures and societies. His way forward, he claims, is humanism. But he spends very little time talking about what this means in practical terms, in other words, how do we escape these vestiges of internal hierarchies that place ourselves above the other? One person (ok, me) pointed out that perhaps the best way to do this is to approach the study of a group that may be considered the "other" by looking at them not for their differences, but for their similarities. The conversation then moved into the feasibility of such an exercise: if we ignore all differences, then we as scholars are not having a dialogue with our subject of study, it becomes simply a monologue.

Perhaps I should have qualified this statement. Perhaps the problem is instead our definition of what constitutes the "other." The "other" can be an exotic East, or it can be our next door neighbors, our siblings or families. We can become other to ourselves. So where is the boundary, how do we solve this issue?

From my discussions with other East Asianists, and my own experience, I have certain preliminary thoughts on how we go from essentializing the other to having a dialogue with an other. I've talked briefly in other blog posts about what initially drew me to China. It wasn't its exoticism, its religion or culture that was so drastically different from ours. It was China's struggles with nationalism, something that I myself struggle with every day (if anyone reading this actually has an interest in these struggles, I expounded upon this more in my previous blog post). It was a reflection of something I see in myself that drew me to China, something that manifested in a much more extreme way in China than it does in my own experience (I do get emotional when I hear the national anthem, but I don't see myself getting swept up into a Cultural Revolution type fervor...then again, the frightening prospect is, perhaps if I were Chinese and in China during that time, I would have. But these are just thought exercises, and there is no way to know). At the same time, Hong Kong continues to be a source of complete fascination with me because of their lack of emotional attachment to anything called a nation. It doesn't make sense to me that, as described in the introduction to John Carrol's book Edge of Empires, Chinese people in Hong Kong would feel happier about British colonialism than being a part of the motherland, mainland China. Aren't the colonized supposed to feel one way about the colonizers? Especially after all of the anti-colonial movements across the world led to the rise of decolonization and nationalism?

So while China's experience with nationalism and identity that mirror in one way or another my own experiences, I was actually repelled by the exoticism of China. I never had the fascination with eastern religions, eastern cultures, eastern thought in the same way as a lot of people who study the same things I do. In fact, that sort of exotic fascination irritated me, and I went out of my way to not care about the things that have recently become popular in the American imagination about East Asia (such as kungfu, Daoism, Buddhism, yin/yang, Japanese anime, etc.) These sorts of things continue to hold little interest for me. I am incredibly attracted to Buddhism, but my attraction stems from a fascination with the way that history influences culture on a global scale, not from a fascination with a completely unknown and exotic frame of mind. It was a difficult journey for me to begin to enjoy Buddhist philosophy and cosmology, simply because I was repelled and frustrated by the way it was talked about, exoticized, and orientalized in the West.

I don't want to say necessarily that my approach to studying Chinese history as an American with no connection to China is the best way, but I do think that it reflects upon Said's argument. When we write about the other, its not enough to simply shed the hierarchical framework. A more nuanced view of the problem of "romantic orientalism" which I somewhat allude to above is seen in Robert Inden's work, but in essence he argues that romantic orientalism is still orientalism, even if the exoticized difference of the orient is lauded rather than scorned. Of course it is not always easy to discard things that interest us, nor is a scholar whose initial interest in East Asia stemmed from an orientalized fascination with Eastern culture doomed to be an orientalist. But I do not think that focusing on similarities among culture results in a monologue. If I were to study Italian American culture in the midwest, a group to which I very much belong, I would still find issues with the group identity that challenge my individual identity. If I were to study American history, of course I would stumble upon ideas, politics, cultural practices, or other things I don't particularly like or ascribe to. This is what makes it a dialogue. But at the same time, I should not immediately approach them as my opposite, as the other. I think this is the best way to approach any area of study, by viewing them as humans first, and then dealing and balancing the differences afterwards, rather than going into our scholarship with the opinion that the subject is our opposite, in a negative way (hierarchical dominance of European culture) or positive (romantic orientalism).

This is easy to say, it is not as easy to practice. While my initial interest in China began with these humanistic leanings, that is not a static or unchanging sentiment. We all struggle with what we study, regardless of how culturally similar they are to us. Also, there is a hegemonic discourse that we as scholars of the non-West are trying to overcome, and unfortunately, in some ways this is impossible because of who we are and where we are coming from. There are real problems with being an outsider trying to understand another culture, especially when the political implications of such a relationship are so heavily politicized. But this is a topic for another post.

Is research fundamentally selfish?

2009-09-29T12:59:00.002+08:00

In a recent discussion about research topics, a professor of mine commented to me that research is always fundamentally selfish. Perhaps we really are "fascinated" or "intrigued" by unknown history of far reaching parts of the world, and perhaps we really can't get enough of whatever strange topic picques our interest, be it Suffi inscriptions, diaries of an old 18th century Chinese intellectual, or (in my case) Chinese elementary school textbooks. But what my professor claimed is that whatever research interests pulls us in the most is that intriguing to us because it addresses a personal and existential crisis of our own, either directly or metaphorically.

An example of this actually presented itself today in one of my classes, ironically completely unrelated to aforementioned discussion. We were discussing Fernand Braudel's historie totale, his overwhelmingly large work on the history of the Mediterranean. While we didn't read all 1200 pages of this massive undertaking (truthfully, we only read introductions and reviews), from what we did read we caught a glimpse of his approach and from that, the reason he decided to take on this massive history of the Mediterranean sea. His approach was almost entirely structural; he talked at length in his introduction about the need to take away agency from individuals, and deemphasize the individual. Individuals do not make history, history makes the individual. Instead, he pointed to anthropomorphized structures such as economics, trade, and most importantly, geography. It is these structures that change history, not individuals, though it takes this "total history" approach to see structural cycles.

Braudel's personal history had a large influence upon his work. He studied at the Sorbonne, and there became immediately turned off by their emphasis on diplomatic history, individual history, and the history of the French Revolution. During WWII, he spent time in a Nazi prison camp, which is actually where he drafted much of what would become his history of the Mediterranean.

Our discussion led us to wonder his reasons for taking on this historie totale, and why he took the approach that he did. Clearly he was reacting against the traditional narrative approach that emphasizes individual agency. But we discussed that perhaps it was more than that. By shifting agency from the individual to non-living structures, we take away from individuals their legitimacy for holding immense amounts of power. In essence, through this kind of history writing, we demonstrate that really no one leader can fully change history. This clearly has political implications considering the time within which this was written. We posited that perhaps Braudel felt that diplomatic and individual history was in fact irresponsible. This way of thinking about history, that a few agents can change it, created disastrous results. We paved the way for people like Hitler and Mussolini to take the power that they did. By stripping those in power of their effective agency, we strip them of their total power. And sitting in a Nazi German prison camp, we can see why a "recreation" of historical thinking was so attractive and vital to Braudel.

So what about me? I never sat in a Chinese prison (thank goodness). This is really never something I have thought about. I've never needed to justify my interest in China; most people either point to China's growing economic hold over the world order or a personal (often) orientalized interest in the exotic. But thinking about it now, China is a very far away place. I have no vested interests in China, I have no relatives there; my personal identity is not directly tied to China in any way. So what existential crisis am I trying to solve in my own research.

Perhaps I should leave China for a moment and take a more thematic approach to this question. One area of history that my questions always seem to come back to is education, and more specifically, textbooks. I tried to think back about my own education, looking for answers there. The root of my interest in education, actually, comes back to a book I remember reading my freshman year of college called Lies My Teacher Told Me. The author came and spoke at our school, talking to us about the problems with American history textbooks (this lecture also made me very thankful for my American history textbook in high school, it did not have a lot of the problems Loewen outlined in his book). This book, and later on classes and discussions I had with others in Hong Kong, made me wonder how we come to believe what we do about our own countries. There was a specific moment when I had a huge wake up call and became self aware of my reflex-patriotism. A professor in a class about Japanese nationalism gave an introductory lecture about nationalist theory. He claimed, very bluntly, that the two most nationalistic countries in the world right now are America and China. To make his point about America (most people in the class, Europeans and Hong Kongers, did not need to be convinced of his argument about China) he asked me, the only American in the class, to stand and say the pledge of allegiance. Almost reflexively, without thought, I stood and said it at light speed, like I always did when I was a child, not even thinking that this would be strange to others in any way. The reaction from my peers shocked me; they looked at me wide eyed, and their shock and judgment was clear as day on their faces. I became suddenly embarrassed (and angry at the professor; it seemed like he knew the reaction I would incite). This got me thinking about my reflexive response. Why could I say the Pledge of Allegiance in my sleep? Why do I actually unconsciously believe that the US government is always a force of good? Why do I feel guilty if I don't immediately answer yes to the question "would you die for your country?" Where do these subconscious feelings come from?

Perhaps my existential crisis I want to solve by looking at education is my obsession with my own country and my subconscious patriotic spirit. The emotions I feel when people insult my country, the guilt I feel for not defending her, the fact that I automatically refer to America as a person (a woman, no less), all point to an instilled patriotism. More interestingly, if I were to study these emotive knee-jerk reactions in another time, I would probably subconsciously think of them as brainwashed (which, admittedly, I catch myself doing from time to time while researching China). Why, in my subconscious, is American history education objective and other countries' are not? The truth is, I couldn't imagine not feeling patriotic. So to be more specific, perhaps my existential crisis is related to my inability to see a world with no countries, and more importantly, an inability to see myself as anything other than an American patriot. And in some way or another, I want to find out why my subconscious automatically reverts back to this emotive patriotic reflex.

There is a very real possibility that this is not it at all. Similarly, I have a lot of interests, most recently in the province of Xinjiang (part of me wonders if this is just my travel bug yearning for Uzbekistan). But I hope to, throughout the year, take some time here and there to explore not only possible research interests, but also their connection to me. As my professor pointed out (and I agree), this can add a whole new dimension to my research, and allow me to see things I might otherwise not see.

My Year in a Quantitative Summary

2009-08-11T18:41:00.007+08:00

I thought a lot about how to think about my year in Shanghai, its ups, its downs, its great Chinese craziness. So here is (what I think) a creative analysis of my year broken down into quantifiable terms. This is all just in fun, but if anyone wants to know stories behind some of these "categories" if you will, feel free to ask.

The Academic:
Number of document folios looked at and used: 52
Number of documents copied: 134
Number of sets of textbooks looked at: 48
Number of years of People's Daily looked at: 10
Number of conferences attended: 6
Number of binders filled with materials: 3
Number of books read (non-fiction academic): 12
Number of Chinesepod podcasts downloaded: 130

And the Not So Academic:
Number of new cities visited: 35
Number of new Chinese provinces visited: 8
Number of new countries visited (officially): 4
Number of new countries visited (unofficially): 5
Number of new countries visited (unofficially and including airports): 6
Number of Mosques visited: 7
Number of Christian Churches visited: 4
Number of Daoist Temples visited: 4
Number of Confucian temples visited: 1
Number of Buddhist temples visited: 31
Number of passport stamps: 35
Number of visas: 4
Number of Chinese visas: 3
Number of mountains climbed: 5
Number of trips to the Terracotta Soldiers: 2
Number of concerts: 2
Number of museums visited: 10
Number of trips to Hong Kong: 3
Number of new Lonely Planets bought: 4
Number of plane rides: 24
Number of train rides: 14
Number of boat rides: 12
Number of nature reserves visited: 4
Number of non-academic books read: 22

The Great:
Number of new languages can now use to say hello: 4
Number of new alphabets learned: 1
Number of Chinese New Year dinners: 4
Number of Starbucks Caramel Macchiatos: I actually could not even calculate this, and if I could, I wouldn't do it out of shame
Number of late night movies with neighbor: 7
Number of great new Chinese friends made: 8
Number of great conversations with cab drivers: 13 (probably more, but these are the ones that stuck in my head)
Number of Fulbright Couches crashed on: 4
Number of dinners with my neighbor's family: 4
Number of Christmas dinners: 4
Number of dinners at the American Consulate (Shanghai and HK): 2

And the...not so great:
Number of Swine flu fever checks: 7
Number of swine flu fever checks that included Chinese people in full white ET suits, masks, and booties: 1
Number of trips to clinic: 5
Number of trips to hospital: 1
Number of injections in the rear end (despite weak and sick protests): 1
Number of times reread Twilight out of sheer boredom: once per book
Number of months of straight construction outside my window: 6
Number of nights kept up because of fireworks: 7

And finally, the "this could only happen in China"
Number of trips to the local police bureau: 9
Number of trips to the exit-entry bureau: 4
Number of trips to the exchange office at East China Normal: 8
Number of those trips that ended or began with tears of frustration: 2
Number of times hired driver crashed into inanimate objects: 1
Number of times hired driver crashed into animate objects: 1
Number of "we do not accept foreigners" hotels we encountered: 1
Number of "cutting in line" arguments: 4
Number of live chickens killed on the street: 1
Number of donkeys harmed in the making of this trip: 1
Number of midnight raids by Chinese police: 1

Peter Hessler and laowai nuzi

2009-08-11T18:29:00.008+08:00

I'm ending my year long China adventure with I guess what could be called "China detox": aka, lounging around Hong Kong. The nice thing about Hong Kong is that it allows me to reminisce about China while not having to deal with *most* of the frustrations associated with living in China.

So as I am lounging around enjoying friendly people, effective transportation, and fantastic pineapple buns, I'm quickly reading through Peter Hessler's River Town, the story of a young American man teaching English in rural Sichuan as a Peace Corps volunteer. To begin with, anyone who is interested in life in China through a young person's eyes should absolutely read this book. I only have three frustrations with this book. The first is the comments on the back which read: "To come across a Westerner patient enough and tolerant enough to try and understand the immense, exasperating and ultimately loveable entity that is China is always a pleasure." I find this almost demeaning both towards Westerners and China. It doesn't take a Mother Theresa to love China the way Peter Hessler does; I can think of 65 people right off the top of my head who have a similar relationship with China (Fulbright and the Peace Corps do have this in common). Which comes to my second frustration: I could have written this book. Yeah, I wouldn't have had quite the same stories about teaching students whose heads are already filled with propaganda, and I certainly never took a boat where rats crawled all over my face. And obviously living in Shanghai in 2008 and living in rural Sichuan in 1996 are two drastically different worlds. But I could point to a number of pages that explained my exact experience.

I don't want to take the time to explain all of the passages and experiences, such as learning Chinese, getting constantly cat-called, having one's name essentially be "foreigner" or "helloooooooo!" What I would instead like to talk about is my third frustration with this book, which is by no means Hessler's fault: his lack of discussion of not only the racial awareness but also the gender awareness that comes with being a foreigner in China. He talks briefly of women in China, and specifically about relationships between men and women in China (and how this overlaps with racial differences). One thing I've learned this year is that racial identity and gender identity are inextricably linked, and I'd like to take this post to talk about my personal experiences with the struggles associated with being a laowai nuzi, or a foreigner woman, in China.

I think my awareness of how most Chinese people see me comes to discussions about Sex and the City. I won't deny that I love that show, but the dangers of exporting such a liberal hyperbole of American male/female relationships became clear to me when Chinese girls began telling me that life in America is very "kaifang" or "open," just like Sex and the City. Statements about this show often are accompanied by a look of both interest and disdain; most Chinese girls admire the independence and openness with which American women can live their lives, but also consider them to be a bit too morally degenerate, which is why Chinese society is better. At first, I found these statements funny, but this quickly became something that made me incredibly angry and defensive. As a woman who is quite proud of my independence and my personal choices, I hated being pigeonholed into this "morally degenerate" category. But it seemed like a losing battle; for everyone I told that this was not the case for even most American woman, 10 other Chinese people would continue to have this same stereotype. Over time, I came to hate that show and the way it represented white American women.

And this stereotype was furthered by advertisements found all over Shanghai. Thinking about it, it is absolutely incredibly how many advertisements depict white women instead of Asian women; it has to be well over half of the advertisements, clearly not indicative of the population. Furthermore, almost all advertisements about lingerie or sexy clothing had white women; advertisements showing good wives or girlfriends in cutesy scenarios were more often than not Chinese. One particular advertisement made me feel naseous; it showed a man and a woman on top of each other, and he is about to touch in her in a way that should be R rated, and not all over the subway (meanwhile, of course, she is all bust). I thought about how the Chinese would react if that girl were not blonde, but instead Zhang Ziyi or some other Chinese star; it would have looked completely out of place. I actually wrote about this when I was writing my thesis last year, as photos in women's magazines from the 1930s had similar patterns of putting white women in more liberal situations. What I argued (and would argue still) is that this allowed the Chinese population to live vicariously in this liberal, modern society without feeling to threatened by too MUCH moral openness. In a sense, they enjoyed the idea of the liberalism, but also wanted to maintain their own standards of morality and culture, and by seeing white women act this way, their own ideas about morality weren't under threat.

Nevertheless, it was frustrating walking around and knowing that this was how everyone saw you. The frustration not only came from the fact that just by looking at my face, people were making assumptions about my own personal life and my moral compass, but that no matter what I did, people would make these assumptions. Furthermore, the steps I took to give off a certain impression of myself in America were no longer valid in China; dressing a certain way made me seem professional and serious in America, while in China it furthered the morally degraded stereotype.

Being a white woman in China also made me aware of the plight of Chinese women. Before I came here, I was well aware of the statistics surrounding underemployment for women, and the importance of getting married for women. But this became a whole new reality as I came to know and love a few Chinese female friends. I had a few discussions with Chinese female graduate students about being a Ph.D. in China. I had heard that when a woman decides in China to pursue a Ph.D., she is essentially deciding to never get married. When I asked other graduate students about this, they would giggle and often awkwardly avoid the question. I came to understand this as tacit acknowledgment of the situation. As a woman planning to pursue her Ph.D., this invariably made me very angry, that women who wanted to think and act independently were punished romantically for their decisions.

At the same time, I also began to recognize the expected behavior of Chinese women. Hessler mentions a certain "xiaojie" that puts on her "cute xiaojie" behavior as she tries to flirt with him. His reaction is one of discomfort and fear. My reaction to such behavior (albeit I am an observer, not an active player in these exchanges) became one of frustration and sometimes disgust. I have learned to approach feminism and gender roles with a balanced attitude; blaming men or blaming women for subtle inequalities really never seemed to help solve any problems, and I have always believed that an active attempt to be more aware of societal assumptions about the roles of men and women would be the best way to change things. However, watching these women "sajiao," the Chinese term for this kind of cutsey childish behavior, whether it be happy cute or pouting cute, made me feel like women were asking to be put in a role of submission. I knew this whole year that logically women should not be blamed for these behavioral expectations, but I found it difficult not to get frustrated when I saw a woman pout by sitting down in the middle of the street and forcing her boyfriend to beg her to stand up, all the while playing up a cutsey pout. I wanted to go and scold this girl, and tell her that this sort of behavior puts her in the position of a child, while her boyfriend takes on a dominant role. I became equally frustrated when I would talk with my neighbor, a bright, mature educated woman with a bright future ahead of her. She and I would have great and insightful conversations, but she fully admitted that she would "sajiao" in front of her boyfriend; sure enough, when they were together, I got to witness the whole show.

I realize as I look at this in retrospect that this is not their fault; this expectation of cutsey-ness is a social expectation that needs to be tackled by all members involved. My disgust, however, also made me look at my own culture. I never particularly liked feminists who burned bras and refused to put on make-up. But by painting my face, or being flirtatious, wasn't I doing similar things? While I don't think of flirting as acting childish, it made me become much more self aware of my exchanges with men, both Chinese and Western.

There were, however, advantages to the intricacies of my gender and racial identity, as oftentimes, Chinese people would see me only as a foreigner and not as a woman. This allowed me access into what some may call the "male world," specifically in terms of academia and politics. At the small archive where I did my research, every afternoon a group of middle aged men would sit around and discuss current events from the newspaper. The other female librarians never participated in these discussions, always busying themselves with other things, but the men actively engaged me in conversation. What did I think about Obama and McCain? America's democratic system? Sarkozy's recent criticism of China's human rights? This not only gave me a way to chat with local Chinese people, but also gave me an in to ask the kinds of questions I wanted to ask about my own research. I found through other conversations that while the hyper-sexual stereotype of Western women probably still existed, many Chinese men actually admired the independence and intelligence of many Western women. I was told on multiple occasions, oftentimes by middle-aged, educated men, that they really admired me, with my giant backpack that I carried myself ("too heavy! too heavy!" they would always tell me), my conversational Chinese, and my research interests.

I guess having this layered identity in China came with its goods and bads, which Hessler ultimately came to accept about his identity as a foreigner in China. There are frustrations with the way we are treated differntly, and the way that just the way we look comes associated with really heavy assumptions about our personality, our behavior, our way of life, and even our country. And when reactions to our identities often come at our benefit, it caused (at least for me) a wave of guilt, knowing that Chinese, or even Chinese women, were treated worse only because of their race, or that I got benefits only for mine.

Famen Temple and the Trouble of History

2009-08-11T18:12:00.004+08:00

Of the many temples I visited recently (over 2 dozen in the last 3 weeks) the one that struck me as the most interesting in terms of its past and present is Famen Temple outside of Xi'an. I already wrote a bit about its modern history, but now I would like to write about its early history, as I think it demonstrates quite a lot about the difficulties of creating ancient history.

According to legend and recorded history from the Tang Dynasty, the original pagoda of Famen Temple was one of 19 stupas donated to China from Prince Ashoka of India, who ruled India from 273 BC to 232 BC and was one of the first great Buddhist evangelists. It was he who really did a lot to spread Buddhism throughout Asia, and he did so by donating relics and stupas to countries and kingdoms all over Asia. While the other 18 stupas reportedly donated to China did not survive, Famen stupa and its Buddhist finger bone relic did. This is also the story told at the museum of the temple. The vice abbot of the monastery told us over tea that the stupa was built in the Eastern Han (220 BC to about 0 AD), which would be after the death of Prince Ashoka. Similarly, a professor we met at Northwestern University told us his theory about Famen temple, which saw its construction before the Qin dynasty.

According to the museum, however, archeological evidence that suggested the temples' existence did not appear until the Sui dynasty. From that point forward, the temple and its finger bone relic became a crucial Buddhist pilgrimage site as well as one of the biggest monasteries to receive imperial patronage. The Tang dynasty saw the golden age of Famen temple. The temple spanned nearly 24 blocks, and pilgrims came from all over China to pay homage to the important relic. It was also largely significant because it was so interconnected to the imperial court; every 30 years during the Tang dynasty, emperors themselves came to the stupa to give gifts to the monastery and the relic. During the Tang dynasty, a large stupa was placed over a chambered reliquary that housed the Buddha finger relic. In addition to the 9 layered boxes that protected the relic, archaeologists also recently discovered underneath the stupa chambers filled with imperial offerings to the relic; these treasures, according to a written inventory on the wall, numbered 2499. They are now on display at the national museum.

Most scholars would agree at this point that there was no possible way that the original Famen stupa was built during the Zhou or Han dynasty. In the most practical sense, the dates don't add up. The brochures as well as the museum date the original pagoda at the Eastern Han, but by that time Prince Ashoka had already passed. More than this, there is little to no evidence of Buddhism entering China until the later Han, let alone a full temple and finger relic at the capital.

But for the temple, or the Bureau of Religious Affairs, to admit to the inconsistencies would mean the complete collapse of the prestige and religious power of the relic. The relic's entire legitimacy is based upon it being a gift from Prince Ashoka, and without that, all of its supernatural power would dissolve with the myth. When we study religious history, this is often a source of contention; how do we create a history that is true to evidence without challenging or destroying contemporary faith? While I know very little of the history of Christianity, I do know that much of their legitimacy is also based upon a certain understanding and reading of history. Once that history is challenged, the faith of millions of believers today is also challenged.

Another interesting point brought to light by this contentious history is the problems of creating ancient history. While archaeological proof of Famen temple didn't appear until the Sui dynasty, that does not necessarily mean that was when it was created. Archaeology does not give us all of our answers. At the same time, legend and written documents does not tell us everything either. In the modern history field, we have different challenges: points of view, reliability of facts in documents, unspoken histories. But in ancient history, these challenges are exacerbated.

So while most scholars would not give a lot of weight to the Han dynasty Famen temple idea, that does not necessarily rule it out. Similarly, just because archaeology points to one story, it does not mean that is the only accurate story to be told.

Buddhism and Communism: A Case Study

2009-08-11T17:54:00.003+08:00

I recently participated in a program sponsored by Fo Guang Shan Monastery in Taiwan that allowed me to study the history of Buddhism by visiting Buddhist sites in and around the ancient Chinese capital Chang'an (modern day Xi'an). This program taught me a great deal about Tang Dynasty history, as well as about the relationship between Buddhism and Chinese society and politics today. I hope to post a few posts about some of the things I learned there.

In the west, we have this conception of Communism in China and their relationship with religion in largely Marxist terms. Religion is the “opiate of the masses” and the Communist government took expedient measures to control and then, come the 1960s, outlaw religion. While this may be a mostly accurate, albeit simplistic, history, the situation then, and now, deserves a bit more analysis, especially since the last 10 years has seen a large divergence from former policy.

Actual government involvement in religious affairs began large scale in 1958 when the government collectivized land owned by monasteries. Since monasteries were in all economic terms owned by the government and therefore forced to conform to collectivization and taxation policies, many monks were forced to disrobe, drastically decreasing the sangha. This continued into the 1960s until the cultural revolution, when a full scale attack began on the vast majority of temples throughout the country. Buildings, statues, and relics were destroyed, and all except a few monasteries who managed to avoid persecution because their monastery had practical purposes, such as international and historical importance (a few prime examples would be the Llama temple in Beijing and Nanputuo temple in Xiamen). Nevertheless, nearly all monastics were forced into lay life as their temples were overtaken by party members.

Within the last 30 years, almost all of the temples destroyed during the 60s began renovation (nearly all the temples we visited, over 25, had been rebuilt in the last 30 years, many of which are still in the process). Much of this was funded by the government. Furthermore, more and more Chinese people began to join or rejoin the sangha. However, the government did not simply rebuild temples and leave them to their own devices. All temples active temples must register with the bureau of cultural affairs, who has jurisdiction over appointments of head abbots. Similarly, they must register with the Buddhist Association of China. This relationship is sometimes, though not always, antagonistic. In the case of most things in China, the relationship between a monastery and the government depends almost largely on the personalities involved. In Jiangsu, for instance, it seemed from those we talked to that the provincial director was quite responsive and open, wanting to have a harmonious relationship with the monasteries there. Other temples have had more negative experiences with this power struggle. Another interesting rule in the creation of monasteries is that no new monasteries can be built, monasteries must be “rebuilt.” However, the definition of “rebuilt” can be quite flexible, as we heard of temples being built upon two stone steles that happen to be found at the site.

A case study that represents the complexities of this relationship, I think, is Famen temple, 115 kilometers outside of Xi’an. This temple, in its heyday during the Tang dynasty, was one of the most famous and important monasteries in China, housing a Buddhist finger bone relic given to China by the Indian Prince Ashoka (according to legend). Today only about 1/24 of the size it once was, this temple saw a procession of emperors and other government officials who came to pay respects to the relic, offering a total of nearly 2500 priceless artifacts as offerings.

This monastery went into decline after the Tang dynasty, though it continued to function well into the 20th century. After the 1949 revolution, the Famen temple received the same treatment as many of the temples in China. It was hit particularly hard in 1966, when red guards stormed the temple and destroyed all buildings except for the central pagoda which housed the relic. As the guard prepared to dig into the pagoda, the one monk still residing at the monastery, a venerable Liang Qi, stacked wood infront of the pagoda and proceeded to light himself on fire in protest. Frightened, the guards abandoned the stupa, leaving it intact. At the monastery today, this monk is revered as a brave and honorable protector of the temple, of 2500 years of history, and Buddhism as a faith.

Beginning in the 1980s, the temple began restoration after the main stupa collapsed. After it had collapsed, monks and archaeologists discovered beneath the pagoda treasures left behind by emperors as well as the relic itself (and its 9 layer cage). This began heavy restoration of the monastery to the way it is today, buildings, stupa, and Buddhist college in tact.

Considering the importance, historically and spiritually, of this temple, it is no surprise that the government has taken a heavy interest in the managing of this temple. While there are very clear borders to the monastery, outside the monastery the government has constructed a vast public space reminiscent of an even larger Tian’anmen which leads to a new main shrine, topped with a gold monstrous statue and lined with gaudy gold statues. Within the last 10 years, the monastery has battled with the local tourism board, who wants to house the relic as well as all the treasures in their museum beneath the main shrine (and charge a hefty entry fee). While they lost out on the latter, which are housed in a museum within the monastery, they succeeded in the former. Currently, the relic sits within the compounds of the large government created shrine, and it emerges itself twice a month for large ceremonies for the gaggles of pilgrims coming to pay respects (and take pictures, of course).

Conversations with the vice abbot very clearly demonstrated the antagonistic and hopeless attitude of the monks at Famen temple. Out of sheer practicality, they play the government’s game by sending 4 monks a day to oversee the main shrine and the relic, and they all participate in the bimonthly rituals (though no dharma talks are given). At the same time, they have refused to allow their monastery under full jurisdiction of the tourism board, which wants to include both sites under one entry ticket (currently, they own the control over the entry ticket into the monastery, and 1 million RMB is donated monthly to the monastery). He also mentioned, in passing, that the monks have committed other very subtle signs of protest against the current situation.

While many of the temples in Jiangsu demonstrate the possibility of amicable relationship between the government and religious authorities, Famen temple is highly representative of the pulls between political power, tourism, and religious faith. While the government certainly likes the idea of having a part (a large part) in such a highly influential space and ritual, they also see the economic benefits of being involved. Meanwhile, the temple sees the current relationship as a threat to their ability to write their own history, significance, and spiritual doctrine (for example, who writes the placards explaining the history of the relic?) It is unclear what the future will hold for this monastery, and many others like it, but from the monks’ perspective, it seems quite clear that they don’t like the situation, but they don’t feel totally powerless either.

Louis Vuitton and Roast Duck

2009-07-05T17:17:00.002+08:00

Just a short post on the recently opened Louis Vuitton exhibit at the Hong Kong museum of art. The exhibit was really fantastic (even for those who are clueless, apthetic, or even hostile towards luxury fashion), highlighting recent artistic additions to the Louis Vuitton team and other contemporary artists from around the world and even home grown in Hong Kong that the Louis Vuitton international company deemed fitting with the rest of the exhibit.

One of the things this exhibit highlighted for me was the crossing of art with fashion. I think in our minds we more often than not separate the two, when really many in the fashion world consider themselves artists. Particularly interesting was Takashi Murakami section, highlighting this new Japanese designer's contribution to the line (ever wonder where the traditional LV print in multicolor or with cherries came from?) Examples of Murakami's prints were accomapined with (in my opinion, kind of trippy) animated videos that show the collision of his ideas with the 19th century LV brand.

Richard Prince not only got his own room in the exhibit, but the museum itself is currently stamped with big seductive posters of various cities "after dark" (often with prelude sexual scenes as the subject). In the actual exhibit, we see this theme as well as silk screen prints of layered designs, harkoning somewhat to Andy Warhol.

A few other mentions that stuck in my head was an installation piece by Cao Fei, which was a strange "China Island" where he took all of the elements of China, interpreted by him of course, and stuck on an island. The maglev went zooming around an Oriental Pearl Tower with pink baubles; Tian'anmen square had trees, and Mao's likeness was replaced with a panda; Buddha and other discarded buildings floated in a basket out at sea, as did a giant statue of Mao; and pollution hovered over the city as the camera zoomed in and out of its inner workings.

And finally, the name of this particular post comes from an exhibit about the lost 1909 Hong Kong film "Stealing a Roast Duck." I did some googling to find out more about this movie, and what I found was well, not much (other than speculation as to whether or not it existed). What I found out at the exhibit was that it was filmed in 1909 by a revolutionary society, and while it was a comedy, it was meant to be shown to expatriates in San Francisco and give them hidden messages about the revolution through symbols in the movie. The installation art that told this story was 2 mechanical talking ducks, who told the story of the film makers, their various subversive techniques (such as hiding messages in duck meat sandwiches; apparently the grease from the duck meat helps to break down the cellulite in the paper after the recipient consumes the message), and of course, the ignima movie. A narration by a male American (the artist perhaps?) was alternated with quacks from the ducks. My interpretation is that it was meant to show how the code was portrayed through the movie; what sounds like duck quacks to us may actually be a hidden message.

This is a really fascinating piece of history, and if my google search indicates anything, no one has really talked about this (of course google search is not the end all of information. If anyone knows anything else, let me know!) Even more so, the bigger topic of international cooperation to spur on the 1911 revolution would be a fascinating topic to explore.

Another thing this exhibit made me think about was the difference between local Hong Kong artists and Chinese ones. As a disclaimer, I admit my experience is quite limited. But nevertheless, it seems that most of the contemporary Chinese artists who are becoming popular, like Cao Fei, are popular because of their critique of China, the communist party, CHina's history, China's consumerism, etc. Hong Kong artists, on the other hand, seem to be largely nostalgic and proud of their own city. I come to this opinion not only from this exhibit, which included 7 local Hong Kong artists all either exploring Hong Kong's history or showing the city's beauty through art (thereby proving that Hong Kong is not a cultural wasteland), but also through an exhibit I saw over a year ago at the same museum called "Made in Hong Kong." This exhibit was essentially a defense to the "cultural wasteland" claim, and included artists representing "their" Hong Kong essentially through sculpture, photography, painting, and installation art. One man painted huge oil paintings of scenes from movies that represent Hong Kong peoples' identity (such as a scene from a Jackie Chan movie where he is saying 'all I know is that I have 6 passports.') Another was a series of black and white calligraphic paintings in a traditional style with "Hong Kong" elements, such as captions on paintings of chickens about avian flu, or a landscape with a few scattered coke cans, or a painting of the crocodile that was loose in the pearl river and no one could catch him.

Personally, I love Hong Kong, and I found all of these exhibits representative of the Hong Kong that so few people outside of its native population get to see. But comparing Hong Kong artists with mainland ones is incredibly striking. Perhaps it is government attitude that causes this difference, or more likely it is because pain and suffering often causes release of that pain in the art scene. It will be interesting to see what happens to the art scene on both sides as time progresses.

China's First International Gender Studies Conference

2009-07-03T13:48:00.007+08:00

Last weekend, Shanghai's Fudan University hosted China's first ever International Gender Studies Conference. Due to the historical significance of this event, the participant list was really quite impressive, including great scholars of gender studies from the United States, China, Japan, Canada (and I'm sure others, those are just the ones I saw). While much of the discussion centered around China, I learned quite a bit about gender studies issues in other countries as well, including Canada, America, and even Iran and India (thanks to the "jingcai" keynote speaker).

Besides all of the information I absorbed from this conference, it also affected me in a very personal way. Before this year, I had really never been "gender conscious" so-to-speak. Of course I know there has never been a female president of the United States, or other statistics that indicate female equality, but I really believed growing up (perhaps in part thanks to our education system) that men and women were really equal. And from my small experience in the world, why shouldn't I? In my gifted program in school, women outnumbered men (in high school anyways) women got better grades, most of my teachers were women. My mom even had a higher position in her work than my dad.

It wasn't really until this year, when I started to notice these small inequalities in China, did I start to notice them in my own country, culture, and even in my own mind. This opened up a whole new way of looking at the world; the way that small things, like stereotypes, can affect a person, a group, a culture. It is for this reason that I wanted so much to attend this conference (well that, and shamelessly networking). I wanted a more in depth understanding of who I was, and how I fit into the world I lived in.

But before I talk to much about the personal, I would like to summarize some of the most interesting presentations I attended (Disclaimer: this is by no means a list of the ONLY interesting presentations I attended, just the ones that really stuck out in my head). On the first day, I attended a session on male studies (the conference was heavily female-centric, which I think is fair due to historiography's male bias...still, we should talk about men...) The first presentation was about Aluba (what? you say) an all male ritual in Taiwan which in Hong Kong is called "Happy Corner." This particular game which adolescent males play involve many men seizing another man, some grab his legs, others grab his arm, and they spread his legs and jam him into a pole, standing blackboard, other similar types of objects. I had actually witnessed this in Hong Kong; this was one of many cultural activities that us foreigners witnessed and would afterwards get together and say "what the hell was that?" Another such example would be Senior Photo Day. However, this presentation was really interesting, as the presenter explained that this type of game was not the same as "hazing" which we do in America, but instead, the most populat guy is the actual victim, and it is all out of fun, inclusive even, instead of exclusive. It is also a way to be ostentatious in front of girls. Another presentation from that session was about male prostitutes in Shenzhen. The presenter argued that even though we commonly think that the power politics in the customer-client relationship would trump the power politics in traditional gender relationships, oftentimes male prostitutes and female clients would not switch power positions, but instead the gender roles would be maintained, and men would often tell women what to do, or even reject them. I found this particularly fascinating, that in sexual relationships, nothing really changes the power relationship. I wonder if this is true in America as well (certain Law and Order episodes would imply otherwise).

The second day I went to many, many presentations. One panel that stuck out in my head that was really interesting was a panel on women during World War Two in Asia (or the Greater East Asian War). When I think of women during WWII, my mind immediately is reminded of Rosie the Riveter, women working in factories, selling their jewelry, etc. However, the first presentation by Susan Glosser addressed this particular ideological trope we have in our heads about women during the war and argued that, due to the immense amount of strain put on people of Shanghai, it is almost impossible to think that women even had TIME to think about the war effort. Women could barely afford to feed their families, often sleeping in just to avoid having to eat breakfast (and, by the way, sleeping in in houses with often 20 or more people). I found this break from discourse really incredible, as this was probably true not only in Shanghai, but also Britain, or even Japan. We know Japan was incredibly strapped for resources during the war, yet we still have this image of everyone in Japan, including women, throwing all of their energy towards the war effort. It would be fascinating to find out if that were really true. Other presenters on that panel including Cong Xiaoping (fellow Fulbrighter!) who talked about divorce laws in the border region under communism. She talked about the way that oftentimes, women would use the new divorce laws to their economic advantage, and would marry men and then immediately divorce them for finanical gain. She claimed that normal discourse paints the reforms to the divorce law in 1942 as the Communists compromising with patriarchy (as it put certain restrictions on divorce, including a waiting period for wives of soldiers) when really it was dealing with these problems that May 4th ideology never prepared them for.

Another interesting panel was (once again) on male sexuality. While a couple of the presentations were way over my head (about Tang dynasty poetry! Yikes!) one presentation I found really fascinating was about Chinese prostitutes in San Francisco's Chinatown in the 19th century. Zhao Xiaojian took a new perspective on this topic, and instead of focusing on how the women were treated, she focused on how the men understood their relationships with prostitutes. As her source, she looked at the diary of one Chinese immagrant who, in detail, discussed his meetings with prostitutes. What was interesting was that he didn't describe the danger, or excitement, but instead saw it as a necessary regular activity meant to keep men healthy and manly, somewhat like going to the gym. This was an entirely different way of looking at these encounters, especially since mainstream America viewed the Chinese prostitute situation with disdain and disgust, arguing that Chinese were "unfit" for America because they were so uncivilized they treated their women like slaves. While this does not take away from the way women were treated during this time, I find it important to look at the other side, as it illuminates what makes Chinese men "manly" and how that manifests when Chinese move to a different culture.

The next day, I barely made it to the first session (8:30 is early when one lives so far from Fudan) but I'm glad I did, because I managed to catch Feng Jin's presentation about Danmei fiction. Danmei fan fiction is one of many types of fan fiction that Chinese youth read online, and it is particular because it include homoerotic, male and male, love stories, oftentimes using familiar characters from such stories like the 3 Kingdoms, popular TV shows, or even Harry Potter! The interesting thing about these stories that overwhelmingly, they are written by heterosexual women FOR heterosexual women. Feng Jin postulates that perhaps one reason they are so popular is that it allows for women to explore these kind of sexualities in a more removed sense as they are not yet ready to explore their own sexuality in the same way. Similarly, while the heroes are male, they are often idealized, containing characteristics that are extremely feminine (she showed us pictures, and I couldn't have told they were male). In a sense, it was about idealized love, love that transcends genders and the harsh realities of life. It reminds me actually of many of our fairy tales, where heroes or heroines are turned into animals (swan princess?). Their love transcends these types of boundaries, just like some of the heroes in Danmei fiction. This is a fascinating cultural phenomenon, especially since we think of China as being so conservative and even homophobic.

However, the session that I think affected me the most personally was the last session called "Defying the Odds: Lessons from Women of Color in American Women's Studies." The panelists included three African American women, one Taiwainese woman, and one Puerto-Rican American woman, who discussed how feminism and race intersect in American discourse. These women talked about how feminist discourse, at least the discourse that is heard, is almost entirely written by white women. While this does not discredit their views, they are not the only views. I admit, I have certainly always thought about my own self this way, that my racial or ethnic identity and my gender identity are separate parts of my self. But in fact, these sections of our identities cannot be easily separated, and the way that Hispanic women and Black women and Native American women understand feminism varies dramatically. These women argued that all of these discourses need to be brought to the forefront, and by understanding this diversity within feminism we can better understand feminism as a whole. These views were supplemented by incredibly stories, and the journies all of these women have traveled as they watched America change in terms of racial and gender equality and inequality over the last 30 years.

I found this session incredibly eye opening. I always knew that racism has always been a problem in America, and still is. But I don't think I was ever really conscious of race until this year, until I was the racial minority, or the "other." That's not to say I never understood the racial tensions in my own country, but it is very different to live it oneself. And being a white woman in China is complex, and certainly not always easy. Ruth Zambrana, our Latina panelist, explained that one of the problems plaguing Latina females in America was the media representation as being hypersexual (i.e., Jennifer Lopez). While obviously there are many, many, many differences between Latinas in America and white women in China, I could personally emphathize with this sentiment, as I feel I am constantly battling with the "Sex and the City" portrayal of white women. Whites in China are very rarely treated poorly, or discrinimated in a negative way (I've gotten laowai discounts at coffee shops before) but it feels personally frustrating to be seen as Samantha from Sex and the City. It disintegrates our culture, or behavior, and our sense of being feminine to an exaggerated stereotype. And while I will never understand the battle that the panelists have fought in my own country, it gave me a personal connection to the way that gender and race are inextricably linked.

I also found this panel a great way to sum up the entire tenor of the conference itself. The keynote speaker argued that instead of bringing gender into a global context, we should be bringing a global context to gender. In other words, feminism is plural, it is not one separate issue. And by learning about its manifestations around the world, we can better understand our own feminity or masculinity. Of everything I got out of this conference, I believe that this would be the most important piece.

Summary: Self Education and Self Motivation

2009-06-25T11:08:00.001+08:00

A few months into my grant, after I had read more textbooks than could fill my apartment, a mentor gave me the research idea to explore less traditional forms of education, namely, those who had used their own time and resources to self-study their way to expertise in certain areas, both practical and ideological.

This opened a wave of new information and ideas. I found, after a few days of searching at the archives, that not only did many people self study (especially in the early days of the Communist period) but in fact it was part of a wider government program to promote mass education. The government realized that as it was spreading education opportunities to new members of society at an unprecedented rate, it couldn't educate everyone, especially two groups of people: those who were older and did not receive an education (or received a poor one) before 1949, and those who were not able to test into higher education because of the lack of sufficient secondary schools. Therefore, the government worked hard to spread awareness about the benefits of self study, and to organize self study groups.

One of the most interesting ways the government supported and promoted self study among its population was by instituting radio broadcasts. These radio broadcasts included broadcasts on political thought, but most of the broadcasts were lessons in spoken mandarin Chinese, basic math and algebra. The government also published textbooks to supplement these lessons, and over the radio, organized self study groups with trained teachers in different areas of Shanghai. This was one of the main ways that the government involved itself in this particular sector of unorthodox education.

Self study took on a different meaning, however, during different time periods. In the early 1900s, during the height of the New Youth Movement and May 4th, self study was a way to improve and better oneself. When the term "self study" was used in these contexts, it was often used for the already educated, and was meant to be a way for people to better and reform themselves, thus contributing to the betterment of society as a whole (these movements heavily stressed education). There were manuals that those with the impetus to self study could use, and they listed different methods and ways to self study. Oftentimes, the topics were literature, science, or foreign languages. As the manuals themselves were often written in difficult Chinese, and the rational for using various methods cited foreign sources, the implication was that people who used these manuals were already well educated. This demonstrates the way that time period viewed self study: it was a method through which people could become "Renaissance men" which would ultimately improve Chinese society as a whole.

Documents are much fewer in number after 1961, but from what little I have been able to glean from informal interviews and secondary sources, the meaning of self study changed once again during the cultural revolution. Once the Cultural Revolution began, standard education was not an option anymore; furthermore, while work unit meetings and other such educational options were still available, the material taught through these options was largely impractical, focusing almost entirely on political ideology. Therefore, those who wanted some sort of future saw self study as their only option. Many people, for instance, used this time period, and the radio broadcasts (which were still performed) to learn either spoken Mandarin Chinese or English. I don't know if radio broadcasts continued in such areas as algebra or science continued after 1966 (as such documents are unavailable to me) but it would be interesting to see of those continued as well.

Exploration into this topics illuminates many themes and ideas from the 20th century. First of all, it raises the question as to the role of government. I think we often believe that in a Communist regime (especially the Maoist regime) that the government sought to control every aspect of society, including thought, activity, and culture. However, the way in which the Communist regime promoted self study implies that the government, while trying its best to control content, also believed that it was the job of the citizen to design their own future through self motivation. On a side note, I found it interesting that many of the documents from the 1950s and 1960s emphasized that children or adults who self studied could have a "future," which seemed to be the main concern of the population. I think that I believed before that once the Communists took over, they never felt the need to talk about such things since the government would take care of everything. Clearly, worries about getting a future career still seemed to permeate Chinese society.

Another question this topic raises is the meaning of knowledge and education. Before 1949, self study was a means to further better oneself once he is already educated. And while reformers from the 1920s and 1930s emphasized mass education, self study was not a big part of that. Education, and self motivation, was reserved for the elite. Furthermore, the content was not necessarily a skill set necessary for life, but instead was scholarly knowledge, useful to those in academia but little else. In a sense, the Communist period saw a shift in the meaning of education. It was not meant necessarily to enlighten, and it was not reserved for the elite. Instead, it was meant for everyone, and it was meant to give participants a skill set to be used in all lines of work; it was for basic education. This demonstrates a shifting meaning of the words knowledge and mass education.

If I were to further pursue this topic, I would need more information from a few things. First of all, I would need to get much more information from the 1920s and 1930s, and more information from the Cultural Revolution period. I have plenty of information from the 1950s and 1960s, but sources are fewer (from what I have explored) during these other periods. Furthermore, I have very little information about what was happening during the war; this is an important period to cover since a lot in terms of mass education was happening during this period. I also would like to get ahold of some of the radio broadcasts from the time periods (although for the time being, I have documents that outline their curriculum).

I think this could be a great idea, and could illuminate a whole other side of the world of knowledge and education. I hope to be able to explore more of this in the future.

Summary: Everyday knowledge

2009-06-21T23:41:00.001+08:00

As my Fulbright year is coming to a close, I decided to go ahead and create a few blogs that sum up a lot of the topics I have been exploring this year, and possible offshoot questions from those topics.

The first is about "everyday knowledge" textbooks, or changshi. I've written a lot about this topic because it connects to a lot of issues. First, it raises questions about education curriculum. By reading the "changshi" textbooks, we are able to look at what children were learning in their early years of education, and for many, especially before 1949, their only years of education. It also demonstrates government priority of knowledge. What made the cut into everyday knowledge? If we educate our public, what are the most important things for them to know.

In a broader sense, it also helps to define what is meant by knowledge, especially in the "modern" sense. In fact, the term "changshi" is specific to modern China (late 19th century onward) as is the whole concept of knowledge as being every day. Historians of nationalism and the modern state often cite Gellner's theory of the spread of knowledge to the entire population as a hallmark of modernity. Before this, knowledge was a privilage for the upper few; there was no concept of knowledge as belonging to everyone, and especially no desire for the government to ensure a basic level of knowledge among the population. Therefore, when we start to see these "changshi" sections in magazines, newspapers, textbooks, radio broadcasts, etc., we see a new dedication to a public with a basic level of knowledge, a population that can exist in a modern world. In that sense, we can look at changshi as a definition of the concept of knowledge: knowledge is available and necessary for everyone who wants to exist in a new society.

But what is considered "everyday knowledge" varies from situation to situation. There are often qualifiers to "changshi" both inside and outside of the education world. There is "economic changshi" "political changshi" "technology changshi" "science changshi" and on and on. But in elementary education, there is often no qualifier; instead, it is as basic and vague as possible, essentially, what every 7-12 year old needs to know.

So by looking at these textbooks, we are not only given a glimpse into what children learned in school, but the definition of knowledge altogether. And what constituted necessary knowledge in the 1930s was very different than what constituted knowledge in the 1950s. I've in previous posts given examples as to why that is. One of the main differences is emphasis on politics vs. other subjects. How much should politics take precendence when a government decides the basic knowledge its population should know? As we see the shift from the 1930s to the 1950s, obviously the information about political systems changed (from the nationalist to the communist systems). But more than that, what is interesting is that through this "everyday knowledge" of political systems, in the 1950s we see more of an emphasis on the importance of civic engagement through politics. To explain this through a counter example, in America I think most would agree that the way our democratic republic works should be considered "basic knowledge" for all of our citizens because we expect all of our citizens to take civic engagement seriously and participate in the democratic system. Similarly, in the 1950s, the communist government, while obviously not expecting citizens to vote, did expect all citizens to actively participate in politics by "continuing the revolution" and contributing economically in production. For this reason, the textbooks included "basic knowledge" about being a good cadre, about participating in the military, and even about being a class leader.

Beyond politics, another change we see that represents how each government understood knowledge was information about technology. What this indicated was how both governments wanted its people to contribute to infrastructue and development through better technology. I even learned through these books more about how planes worked.

But probably the most heavily emphasized topic was health and hygiene, which some could argue indicates that the most important element about being a good Chinese citizen all throughout the 20th century was being healthy and hygienic. This had a very practical purpose; if all citizens participate in public health practices, they become more effective members of society (one is not productive if they are sick). But it also had a symbolic purpose. Many of the developmental theories floating around in the beginning of the 20th century equated health and cleanliness with a higher place on the "development ladder" (cleanliness is close to godliness, no?) As China struggled to put itself on the world map, and prove to the world that it was a developed country, it had to improve its health systems and the behavior of this people. And for those who think this is a practice of the past, think again: as China prepares itself for the Olympics and World's Fair, much of the preparation includes preparing the people of Beijing and Shanghai to "look good for foreigners," which means eradicating the unhygienic practices of spitting in public, smoking like chimneys, or using squat toilets. And this isn't just in the minds of the Chinese, many foreigners come to China and immediately put them lower on the "civilized" scale once a local begins to hawk a loogie.

So what does this all mean in a broader sense, and where do we go from here? I think that a generalized look at the term "changshi" and how it is used in education and other mass media (magazines, books, lectures, newspapers) could give a lot of insight into a.) what is meant by knowledge at this time and b.) what did the ideal citizen look like? Both of these are important topics. Knowledge, and its use in terms of power and culture, tells us a great deal about what a society looked like, what its values were, etc. And the creation of citizenship gives us new kinds of insight, for instance it could help shed light on the eternal debate of the creation of the public sphere. Similarly, the connection between knowledge and politics (how political systems use or control knowledge to shape a society) would be another important topic to explore. A lot of research is currently being done on the Chinese concept of "community" and how that either succeeds or fails because of the political decisions of the party. Perhaps the root of what is happening today could be answered by exploration into the past.

Central Asia

2009-05-28T19:54:00.028+08:00

When I first bought my copy of Lonely Planet China, I was immediately taken in by its pictures of the province of Xinjiang. Part Taklamakan desert, part towering snowcapped peaks standing at over 7000 meters, the landscape and the people of this province are incredibly diverse and unique. So after a year of dreaming, and several months of planning that added and subtracted areas to visit (in fact, if we were to go to all the places we had talked about, it would have been a two month trip!)we finally settled on a week and a half exploring the province and a quick detour into Kyrgyzstan, a small, unimposing ex-Soviet country that borders Xinjiang.

As I said before, Xinjiang is one of China's largest provinces; in fact, it almost stands as a country of its own. First, the population is not majority Han Chinese, but is largely composed of a Turkic ethnic group called Uigher (pronounced Wee-ger). Uighers not only have their own language (of Turkic origin) but also their own distinct culture (largely derived from being so central to Silk Road history) and religion (they are Muslims). Due to this quite distinct culture and lifestyle, they have never really integrated with the Chinese, who they see as invaders in a territory that rightfully should be their own country. And while they are often not mentioned in Western newspapers (Americans care about Tibetan Buddhists, not Uigher Muslims), they are quite central to Chinese policy because of the few separatist groups that have popped up (Beijing has convinced many Americans that they are jihadists, which means that the US has given China its support with the Uigher problem). But China is not about to let Xinjiang go, considering its wide territory and strategic position as a gateway to the rest of Central Asia (Xinjiang borders Russia, Mongolia, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Kyrgyzstan, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, and Tajikistan).

This isn't necessarily a travel blog, or an itinerary. They are more disconnected thoughts about my impression of these places, interspersed with strange stories, observations, or anecdotes. I hope you enjoy this sort of inner monologue-esque discussion of my trip to central Asia.

First stop: Bishkek and Lake Issy-kol, Kyrgystan.

We flew into Bishkek very early in the morning; because of the time difference, even after spending 30 minutes while officials at the airport found a very clearly hungover official to issue us visas on arrival, we left the airport before 10 with a driver who had picked us up; fortunately, I had studied the Cyrillic alphabet on the plane, because when they picked us up they had our names written on a paper not in English, but Cyrillic. We had many places we wanted to go, so we immediately went to a travel agency and arranged a car to the town of Karakol, around the giant Lake Issy kol.

Issy kol is the world's second largest alpine lake, and flying over it from China it essentially looked like an ocean. It took us nearly 3 hours to drive around it, but before we even got to the lake, we drove along the border of Kazakhstan. Our driver pointed to the left side of the road, and said "over river, Kasakhstan." We found it pretty neat we were so close, so when we passed by the border crossing we walked up and took pictures in front of it (see below). We then pushed our luck even further and asked the guards if we could walk across the bridge. They did not understand us, so they just pointed to my camera and said "Foto, nyet" (too little too late...) Then we made the signal of walking, and pointed to the bridge. The guard smiled, but then crossed his arms and once again, "Nyet." Nevertheless, we got a great taste of Kazakhstan just driving by, with giant green rolling hills covered in red poppies and cattle. However, the Kazakh landscape did not compare to Kyrgyzstan on the other side, with vived green pastures pressed up right next to towering, snow capped peaks of the Tian Shan range.

We continued on to lake Issy kol, and around lunch time we stopped at our driver's mother's house for bread and tea. She made us delicious milk tea and gave us bread with homemade apricot jam (which came to be a staple on our trip). We also stopped by the lake to take pictures. It was gigantic, and bright blue, a blue not even matched by the waters of the clearest beaches and oceans. It could have passed for an ocean were it not for the now capped mountains barely visible on the other shore.

Next Stop: Karakol and Altyn Arashan

In the afternoon, we arrived in Karakol. We had already arranged a homestay when we booked our driver that morning, and we couldn't have picked better. Jamilya, a charming plump old woman, greeted us at the driveway and led us into her house that could have passed for a Vermont bread and breakfast. Each room had a theme color, and we were placed in the lime green room. She then led us down to the kitchen, where she made us tea and, once again, bread with apricot jam (the best jam we had the whole trip).

The next morning, we wanted to go to some of the beautiful valleys near Karakol, and we thought that the best spot to aim for would be Altyn Arashan. On a tip from friends, we headed to Yak Tours, run by the eccentric Ukrainian Valentin. He drove us up to Altyn Arashan, a valley at nearly 3000 meters where he ran a satelite location, in his "50 year old jeep in a constant state of repair" (states Lonely Planet). When we arrived, we were able to see just how beautiful Kyrgyzstan was (see below). The valleys were green and lush, surrounded by towering snow covered mountains. To me, this was the whole reason for coming here; hang out with sheep hearders in spectacular scenery.

While we were here, we went horseback riding, we soaked in natural hotsprings, and we had a vodka shashlyk party with Valentin. It truly felt like we were on top of the earth, a place completely untouched by the modern world. We also took some time to have a picnic in another nearby valley; the colors seemed so incredibly vivid (especially as compared to Shanghai, where everything has a gray tint).

Next stop: Back to Bishkek

We didn't have a lot of time in the capitol, but from an afternoon or so wandering the streets of Kyrgyzstan's extremely small capital (we walked almost the whole city in an afternoon), we learned a lot of things about this former soviet states. One of the things that struck us about Bishkek especially was the multi-ethnic feel of the city. For the first time in months, we didn't stick out. It also seemed, from our discussions with people, that everyone was able to freely choose an identity with which to associate: Kyrgyz, Russian, Ukranian, regardless of birthplace or passport. While this is probably not true for the entirety of the former USSR (certainly Kyrgyzstan is currently one of the most stable of the central Asian countries) it is such a different feel than the ethnic tensions we found in Xinjiang.

Nevertheless, this was still a very poor part of the world. The modern conveniences we so desparately need were not common here; for instance, indoor plumbing and good quality roads. We pointed out that if this were China, their major arteries (like the road from Bishkek to Karakol) would have been fixed within a day. Things are certainly moving slow in China, which we enjoyed.

It almost felt as if the country had not changed since 1991. The national museum is still a shrine to Lenin (see above), and Soviet style tanks, toilet paper, foodgoods, etc., are still common. It will be fascinating to see what happens to this part of the world as the world becomes more globalized and connected (however, it seems that of all these countries, the world is much more focused on Uzbekistan).

Next stop: Kashgar China

The moment we arrived in Kashgar, we were completely confused as to how we could still be in China. No longer were we the strange people with different colored hair standing out against a sea of Han. Gone were the garish Chinese lights, and the Ming Dynasty architecture were replaced by carpet shops. Fried dumplings replaced with rice stuffed intestines, and Chinese tea replaced with sour mare's milk. Instead of buying silk scarves, we looked at silk carpets. And gone were the chic high heels of Shanghai; they were replaced by head scarves and colorful full length dresses.

A great example of the strange new culture we had happened upon was the Sunday Livestock market, where men came (yes, only men) from all over the city to sell their sheep (all tied up in a row) cows, donkeys and horses. Standing in this field bustling with people and animals and men yelled at each other to settle a price while kicking a donkey in the butt to make sure it had good reflexes was quite a sight to see.

We spent a day wandering the old town, observing every day life. It felt more central Asian than Kyrgyzstan by far, with carpet salesmen, and winding brick allyways that looked straight out of Kite Runner (actually, I think parts of Kite Runner were actually filmed here). We also learned a lot about the plight of the Uigher people. The walls were stamped with constant reminders of religious restrictions (such as going to Mecca). And while there were no Han people in sight, the explanations of all the tourist sights included insidious statements about racial harmony and anti-religious extremism (obviously spurred on by the recent spurts of violence from separatist groups).

We also learned, right before we arrived, that the Chinese government is planning on tearing down old town to "save it." Essentially, the government argues that because the foundation underneath Kashgar is quite unstable (many of the houses are up on platforms, and it is hollow underneath), they need to tear it all down and rebuild it for safety reasons, in case there is an earthquake. They plan to rebuild the old town in a traditional Islamic style, thus maintaining its original ambiance.

A few interesting things about this current decision. The earthquake argument is understandable to some, and confusing to others. It seems to me that the reason for giving this justification for tearing down the old town would sit well with many Chinese and the international community because of the recent disaster in Sichuan. The Uighers of old town, however, while probably not surprised, find this justification confusing or humorous (according to the Uighers around the old town I talked to). They have lived there for over 1000 years, and the old town has survived many earthquakes and has never fallen down. According to one woman I spoke with, she explained that they saw it as a tragedy to their history that they could do nothing about, and they all strongly feel that they were not given accurate justification for why their homes were taken away from them. They also, at least those I talked to, saw this as a direct attack on their culture, a way for the Chinese to further demonstrate their power over the region in light of growing tension and animosity.

But destroying things in the name of progress is certainly not new for China. It was a common practice of the 1960s and 1970s, of course, but the Beijing Olympics and the coming Shanghai Expo saw similar situations: peoples’ houses torn down with little compensation. Many of Beijing’s old hutongs are still inscribed with the kiss of death, the character “chai.” But this destruction in the name of progress differs from these other situations in its direct relation to cultural autonomy and ethnic tensions. Furthermore, if the Id Kah mosque is any indication of how the new Kashgar Old Town will look, it is likely that it will turn into a Lijiang-type tourist old town with little resemblance to anything except another stop for Chinese shoppers and photographers.

As far as this relates to ethnic tension, the Uighers I spoke with about this situation feel relatively hopeless. But it will be interesting to find out how this will affect a city that already feels more Central Asian than Central Asia itself. Perhaps it will spur on new problems, or it will exacerbate the failure an already dying cause.

Next stop: Pakistan

Disclaimer: For people worried about 1.) my personal safety; 2.) Fulbright rules, we actually only stepped our foot into the border; we more just wanted to see the highway. Please relax and continue reading.

Probably the highlight of our trip to Xinjiang (aside from donkey-buying) was a road trip up to the border of Pakistan on the Karakorum highway. Built 40 years ago, this was meant to be the "friendship highway" between the 2 nations. It passes through the immense Karakorum mountain ranges, passing by deserts, rivers, and towering snow mountains at nearly 7200 meters above sea level. The border itself is on the Khunjerab pass at a harrowing 5000 meters.

Somehow or another, between a violent 24 hour flu that passed among our group, a car that would only start if we got out and pushed it, and a midnight joyride that ended in a dead donkey, we made it to the border and back. The views were astounding, and we were able to witness many of China's fringe groups living in what felt like the end of the earth. We visited some Kyrgyz goat herders and a young Tajik girl with her mother. All of their houses use solar panels, and they are actually given a lot by the state. Not that they would ever forget; propaganda is heavily stamped on every flat surface, sometimes interspersed with China Mobile advertisements.

What was amazing to me is that our driver, who was Han Chinese from Xi'an, seemed to really treat all of the peoples of the silk road with respect and admiration; except for the Uighers. He often made derogatory comments about them, and telling us why they had such a bad stereotype among the Han of Xinjiang (that they are often in jail, they often steal, they get into violent fights, etc.) Similarly, when we had other conversations with Uighers, they (in very low voices) expressed their problems with the Han Chinese. Whatever else we may have discovered, it is clear that probably more than anywhere else in China (except perhaps Tibet) tensions here are incredibly high.

We spent, well, no time in Pakistan. I think the only story we have about Pakistan is the road; it was a fantastically renovated, smooth, safe highway up to the border; in fact, the border was made clear by the line between the renovated and non-renovated road. Also, the direction of traffic switched from right to left (apparently Pakistani's drive on the left side of the road too).

On our last night, we spent the night at Karakol lake with some friends of our driver's, the personal home of a Kyrgyz family. We were finally tucked in under mountains of blankets when at 1 in the morning, we were raided by local police who demanded that we stay in a state approved hotel. Apparently what caught the attention of the police was our driver, who on a midnight cigarette run, hit a donkey and killed it (see below the post-donkey car).

While the situation certainly scared us at the time and made us laugh afterward, what it indicated to me was the amazing amount of control the government in China had in keeping tabs on everyone. I never gave much thought to showing my passport at internet cafes and hotels, but looking back, I realized that the government really does know where I am almost all of the time. I don't live permanently in China, so this will (hopefully) never affect me, but it is disconcerting to think about. It is easy in China, I think, to forget that we live in a single party Communist state, until you begin to realize these small symbols of complete control all around (for more on this, look at the government's new Green Dam project for new computers).

These thoughts, however, all came post-trip. All we could think about after our adventure was the beautiful landscape. See below.

Final stop: Turpan

This was probably the more relaxing and definitely most touristy part of our trip. We only took a day to see the major sights around Turpan, including the Emin minaret (China's largest) the Flaming mountains, Turoq (a cute Uigher village) and some Han dynasty ruins that looked like Utah. While it felt somewhat anti-climactic, the scenery was really beautiful. It was also unbelievably hot; this should not have been surprising considering it is actually China's hottest spot, with record temperatures of 47 degrees farenheit.

This trip was an enormous learning experience for me. I never really knew anything about post-soviet central Asia (or Soviet central Asia, for that matter). And I believe my trip to Xinjiang opened up to me a part of China people very rarely see, a part of China I never really knew anything about. China is a growing, impressive power, but there are underlying problems and tensions. My guess is that eventually, these will slowly be snuffed out rather than escalate into a full scale struggle, but who knows? And while it is sad to see essentially the death of a culture, this situation is certainly not exclusive to China (I think our Native Americans serve as an appropriate, albeit anachronistic, comparison). All that being said, I hope that the knowledge of these peoples, and how they have influenced history, won't be lost as they face the modern world.

And as a side note, I would highly recommend all or any of this trip to travelers with even a slight sense of adventure. The scenery is among the most beautiful I have ever seen in my life, and for sure in China, and the culture is incredibly unique, even in central Asia.

Better City, Better Life

2009-05-26T18:08:00.003+08:00

Recently, I had the fortune of guest writing a piece for the blog China Beat, a high profile blog about all things China (anyone who has the time to read my blog, by the way, should also take time to read theirs). Since I am really excited about the topic I wrote about, I decided to reproduce the blog here:

Shanghai has had a history of personality cults that permeate the visual landscape of the city. However, today, Mao’s presence, ubiquitous only 40 years ago, has all but faded —though you can still find some reminders that he was once omnipresent, such as the big statue of the Chairman that continues to stand on the East China Normal University and the kitsch items for sale at Shanghai souvenir stalls (though these are aimed largely at foreigners). Even the pervasive symbols of American consumerism Colonel Sanders’ and Ronald McDonald’s are not as common as they once were—though each of them have some statues as well, standing (the Colonel) or sitting (the clown) near the entrances to venues selling buckets of chicken and Big Macs, respectively. Today, the latest personality to overcome Shanghai's visual landscape is quite different, a symbol of neither Communist Revolution nor capitalist consumer culture. His name is Haibao.

Haibao, a bright blue wave with a face, is in constant public view. His animated likeness looks out at you from TV screen advertisments in subways, his picture looms down on you from the walls of construction zones, his statue is an even more popular photo subject at the Yu Gardens than the Ming architecture, and he is even often seen dancing on a giant LCD screen that moves slowly up and down the Huangpu River on a barge.

His cult of personality displaces all others, including those of the Olympic Friendlies (not so last year) and Barbie (whose pink allure is celebrated in the city now that it is home to the world’s first megastore devoted to the doll), and he brings with him a simple message: the World Expo is coming to Shanghai, and with it a new chance for Shanghai to become internationally recognized as China's most progressive and global city. The important word in that last statement, the one that draws the distinction between the message of the Expo and of the Olympics (mega-events that have been linked in various ways, including similar roles for countdown clocks and promotional videos featuring Jackie Chan), is the word “city,” not “country,” and this distinction illustrates a lot of underlying issues regarding Shanghai's own self understanding.

The slogans for both events, the Olympics and the Expo, illuminate this distinction. Whereas the Olympic slogan reads “One world, one dream,” connecting China to a world of nations, the Expo slogan reads “Better city, better life,” putting Shanghai on the map of globalized cities, not countries. Creating this type of identity for Shanghai is not difficult either, as Shanghai historically has always seen itself as connected, yet separate, from the rest of China, a gateway through which China connects with the rest of the modern world.

This is similarly emphasized in academic discourse. It is no accident that many books about China’s search for modernization are almost entirely concerned with Shanghai and present the city’s modern history as unique (though other treaty-ports sometimes get a look in as well). Leo Ou-fan Lee and Yeh Wen-hsin, along with countless others, have demonstrated that Shanghai was the birthplace of the modern Chinese nation because of its unique cultural connection with the outside world at the beginning of the twentieth century.

I did my senior thesis research about the magazine Ling Long, a Shanghai women's magazine from the 1930s. The layout and message of this magazine very clearly demonstrated the way that modern people, specifically modern women, should look and act. These modern Shanghaiers lived a unique lifestyle of "East meets West," a lifestyle that could be lived in Shanghai but no other Chinese metropolis. At the same time, Shanghai’s city landscape and unique institutions gave way to this lifestyle, and also fed the belief among Shanghai people that they were the leaders of the modern world in China, and even in Asia as a whole.

The current campaigns for the Expo play upon this Shanghainese notion that it is the center of Chinese urban modernity. One particular advertisement that seems to run on constant replay on twenty meter high screens on the sides of skyscrapers depicts Haibao’s journey through China. He first stops in Yunnan where he is greeted by the Miao people, in traditional costume (the Miao costume includes a very large and distinct white and red headress), who offer him local gifts. He then moves onto Xinjiang, where Uigher girls in flowing country dresses offer him grapes (a regional specialty) and play traditional Uigher instruments around him as he smiles and dances. Then, suddenly, we see a man in a light cotton button up shirt and slacks and a girl in a Western sundress, and they run along a road lined with modern skyscrapers and they take pictures of Haibao with their digital cameras.

The distinction between the “traditional” and “modern” is accentuated by the fact that our modern Shanghairen (Shanghainese) actually watch the “traditional” scenes on a TV screen on a skyscraper (where, in real life, this whole advertisement is played), making the "traditional" elements seem like a movie, not the real and modern Chinese world (in Shanghai). This advertisement sends a clear message: Shanghai is the end of the natural progression from traditional to modern, and therefore the logical place for the world Expo—the contemporary counterpart to the World’s Fairs of old, the first of which were held in London and Paris when those cities represented state-of-the-art modernity.

Furthermore, while also making the dichotomy between a traditional lifestyle and a “modern” lifestyle, the advertisement also implies that all of China’s elements, its diversity, celebrates Shanghai’s greatness. The advertisement actually ends not in Shanghai, but in Hong Kong, as Hong Kong people wave and welcome Haibao. While this could be interpreted in many different ways, what it seems to symbolize in this context is Hong Kong recognizing Shanghai as the new urban center of China, just as all of China’s different minorities recognize it as well. In a sense, there are many forces at play here: the dichotomy of tradition and modernity, the stark contrast between China’s minorities and Shanghai’s urban elite, and even competition among China’s urban centers. But as all of these places and peoples greet Haibao, they are in fact greeting Shanghai’s coming of age. China is essentially centered around Shanghai.

However, Expo public advertisements don't just glorify Shanghai’s place in the modern world, they also strive to present Shanghai as a place where good behavior is on display. For example, on the subway one day I ran across a person dressed up as Haibao, and he was surrounded by people in vests that read “Make this city better, be a loveable Shanghaier.” Along with being cute and loveable, however, the most common adjective connected with expected “Expo” behavior is wenming I have been in Shanghai now for nine months, and within those nine months more and more small signs, specifically in very public places, have popped up, telling people how they should be behaving. For example, most escalators now read “stand on the right, walk on the left, use the escalators in a wenming way.” Or, “Don't spit on buses, be more wenming.”

Wenming is difficult to define. Most dictionaries say it means “civilized,” but this definition carries as many problematic connotations in Chinese as it does in English. Leo Lee, in his book Shanghai Modern, traces the development of this word in modern Chinese. The term was originally borrowed from the Japanese, who used the same characters (pronounced differently of course) in the late nineteenth century to define behavior that was specifically “modern” and “Western,” thus maintaining the same connotations as “civilized” in English. This was picked up by China at the beginning of the twentieth century with similar effect.. The Nationalist government in the 1930s emphasized wenming behavior; it was often used in publications promoting the New Life Movement put forth by Chiang Kai-shek, a movement which encouraged people to be more hygienic and well mannered in terms of clothes, food, behavior, and deportment.. If we look at textbooks affiliated with the drive to improve weisheng (hygiene or health)—another complex term, whose links to visions of urban modernity are the subject of an important recent book by Ruth Rogaski we see them using similar language: calling on readers to raise the level of China’s weisheng by being wenming in the way they use the bathroom, stand in line, and so on.

According to Lee, this word shifted in connotation after 1949 to mean “manners” rather than “Western defined behavior.” However, it seems to me that in today’s usage, the meaning still carries this kind of “civilized” meaning. The term tells people not to do things that are considered uncouth or uncivilized by the international community, and by “international community” the reference remains Europe and North America (with Japan or Singapore getting an occasional look-in as perhaps honorary members of the Western modernity club) In this sense, the Expo is connected with making the lives of Shanghai people better, (hence the “better life”) which is inextricably tied with a population that maintains “modern” and “civilized” behavior.

Other public advertisements emphasize Shanghai’s “coming of age” as it becomes a modern part of the Western world in 2010. At Hongqiao airport, for example, a large mural depicts Shanghai (represented by the Oriental Pearl Tower) as it is connected with the rest of the world. Representations from outside China include the Eiffel Tower, Big Ben, the Coliseum, and the Empire State Building. A friend from Hong Kong with whom I was traveling bitterly commented, “So I guess Africa and South America don't count?”

While this may seem a somewhat simplistic way to read these advertisements, representation of the third world are almost always absent in images of the “global community” (and you’ll look in vane in such visual representations for any sign of India, which constitutes ¼ of the global community). And a final illustration of this phenomenon brings us back to one place you see Haibao, which is on the interactive TV screens located in many Shanghai taxis. While riding in these cabs, people can watch sponsored advertisements (including ones for the new Barbie Store) or play “Expo” games, ranging from a Dance-Dance-Revolution-like one featuring a gyrating Haibao to trivia quizzes that test (and thereby try to increase?) your knowledge of the “world,” via answering questions like “What utensils are used to eat pizza?” and “What type of wine is served with fish and spaghetti?” I’ve only seen one non-Western country even mentioned in these games, and it was Japan, and it only figured in one of the many trivia games on offer in the taxis. The message that this sends is that modernity the West, and Shanghai is ready to become a major player in the modern global community. And this will happen with the Expo, the ultimate symbol of Shanghai’s crossover.

With the Expo less than a year away, Shanghai has a lot of preparation still ahead of it (the most pressing of which are the massive building planned in Pudong). But philosophically, Shanghai has been waiting for this opportunity to regain its status as the center of gravity for China’s modernity for decades. To Shanghai people, this has always been Shanghai’s legacy, and current advertisements feed this sentiment by both naming Shanghai as China’s most modern city and tying it to the Western world, creating, in a sense, a two-dimensional modern identity, both national and international. And while these messages include a certain amount of nationalistic fervor, the real star of the show is not China, but China’s most modern city, its gateway to the rest of the world.

Joint Conference with Nanjing-Hopkins center: Sino-US cooperation and the environment

2009-05-26T18:06:00.001+08:00

Recently, Fulbright and the Hopkins-Nanjing center for American studies held a conference celebrating 30 years since the opening of Sino-US relations. The topics discussed varied widely: from security issues, America's ability to equip a growing China, Sino-American cultural exchange, and (one of my favorite topics) Chinese online nationalism and its influence on Sino-US relations.

But by far, the topic that included the most discussion and exchange of ideas, was the issue of environment and our current energy crisis as it relates to Sino-US relations. The discussion on the environment began with a presentation by a young Chinese girl who essentially argued that while we all need to worry about climate control and the energy, all the finger pointing at China is unfair and unfounded. Her main points included: first, per capita, China has cummulatively contributed less towards climate change and environmental problems than most developed countries. Furthermore, China is a developing country, and Western countries, already enjoying high development, should allow China to catch up. Another argument included the fact that in many ways, the West essentially started this problem as they were developing over the past century.

After her presentation, many others began discussion about this point, claiming that finger pointing was not conducive to an international resolution to solve our problems. Then an elderly professor loudly claimed that we could sit here and talk about cooperation and the importance of balancing environmental concerns with China's development, but all of that wouldn't matter in 30 years when Shanghai and Beijing were both under water. His blunt pronouncement spurred a very lively disucssion about steps that need to be taken to solve our crisis, and what roles the US and China should take in the solution. Another professor supported this opinion, and said, in a more leveled tone, that much of the apologist attitudes meant to counter the finger pointing in essence drive discussion into just discussion with no action. In other words, this problem needs to be moved to the front burner.

I'm no scientist. I admit that I know very little about the problems associated with climate change, especially the environmental science behind the problems. But in Tom Friedman's book Hot Flat and Crowded, he quoted a few Montana farmers that claimed they didn't need any statistics or Ph.D. scientists to tell them climate change is happening; they see it around them every day. Similarly, I don't need anyone to tell me the damage China is doing to their air; just flying in and out of China gives a very clear picture of the pollution hazing over the country. Another participant at the conference echoed similar sentiments; she said that when Chinese people tell her that pollution in China is not serious, she only has to site her degrading health as proof of the problematic air she breathes (having been sick more times this year than in the last 4 years combined, I can empathize).

That being said, it does seem that the more we, or China, apologize or make excuses about China's current environmental practices, the more that talks disintegrate into inaction. Cultural sensitivity is important, as is accomodating China's need for development, but that does not excuse lazy/subpar practices. China has a surplus of money to invest in cleaner air and efficiency, and as evidenced by the Beijing Olympics, when China wants to get things done, it certainly gets things done. The problem is convincing China to not take shortcuts that would spur quick economic development while neglecting the environment (i.e. poor quality cars, overuse of air conditioner by neglecting central heating, subsidized gasoline, etc.)

At the same token, Americans need to start setting and example. It is frustrating to the average Chinese (and the environmentally conscious American) to see our wateful and ignorant habits while we tell the Chinese to be more conscious. At the same time, the Chinese can't live like Americans for 20 years before they begin to turn around their policy.

So the conclusion that we came to at the conference (which I agree with) it is more than cooperation at this point. We need to put aside finger pointing and excuses, and we need to worry less about economic growth (we don't all need 3 story houses with 15 TVs) and more about being environmentally conscious. This isn't meant to understate the gravity of economic hardship, especially among poorer people in both countries, but we need to begin to think of greener practices as a long term investment and not just focus on quick fixes.

Flat Pinyin

2009-05-08T13:59:00.002+08:00

I am currently reading Thomas Friedman's Hot Flat and Crowded. Among many of his arguments, one of them is that the world is flat. By this, he means that, internationally, people's livlihood internationally are beginning to level out, and the playing field for international competition is much more equalized than it ever has been before. This phenomenon is occurring because more and more people are connected through technology, allowing more flowing ideas, more opportunity, and more global competition. Basically, historically, one needed to have the right birthrite to be wealthy and prosperous (or be insanely lucky). These days, with a basic level of comfort and the right technology, the American dream is becoming more of an international reality, and more and more people are hopping up to a global middle class.

A friend of mine and I recently were talking about pinyin, or the romanized version of Chinese. Today, more and more Chinese people are becoming literate; but these days, literate in Chinese characters is not enough, as literacy in pinyin and the Roman alphabet are becoming more and more necessary in today's world. She pointed out to me that nearly everyone in China owns a cell phone (which is true) and that nearly everyone sends text messages. In order to send text messages, one needs to use pinyin, thus necessitating the use of a romanized alphabet just to connect in the Chinese world.

What does this have to do with the flattening of the world? The harsh truth is that, in a global context, in order to compete globally, a basic knowledge of English is required, as English is a highly imperialistic language. (And China knows this. As a small side note, the Chinese government actually wants to outlaw some of China's minority language, such as Uigher, because its use of Romanized alphabet actually makes it easier for minorities to learn English than Han Chinese). And the ability to pronounce words written in a Roman script puts someone on a much higher global playing field than one who cannot. And these days in China, everything from seeing a movie at the theater to going shopping at a department store assumes that people can use a Roman script (for instance, subtitles for English movies often include English words that cannot translate well).

Proponents of pinyin in the 1950s had argued this, claiming that pinyin would essentially help Chinese to be competitive in an increasingly global world. And while characters aren't going anywhere anytime soon, most Chinese who want competitive jobs need to be fluent in the Roman alphabet, not only to communicate but also to effectively use technology.

So even if you don't agree with Friedman's other arguments, this small phenomenon shows how technology is starting to flatten the world.

Funny, Interesting, and totally unrelated

2009-05-06T15:30:00.009+08:00

As I was flipping through the People’s Daily from the 1950s recently, something completely unrelated to my research caught my attention (as often happens...): political cartoons regarding foreign policy. The first one that caught my attention actually regarded American domestic politics: As the cartoon shows below, one man wears a sandwich board, and on the front his advertisement reads "Please choose the Republican party" and on his back the advertisement reads "Please choose the Democratic party." The caption below reads "2 advertisements, 1 boss."

This cartoon literally made me laugh out loud in the archives (drawing more attention to myself than usual) not only because the cartoon is quite funny, but also because it is incredibly perceptive, even though it may not mean to be. I believe the People's Daily was trying to point out that our "free" society was really ruled by one overarching archaic institution, but in fact also makes the point that our parties' platforms are incredibly similar. And when we compare our political climate to the rest of the world, that was true and still is to this day.

If I look at all of these cartoons, all of them show a certain awareness about what was going on around the world. While the People's Daily certainly had an agenda, the points that they make about the West's actions don't seem as biased as they seem astute. I find this refreshing, perhaps because a lot of what I find in the Chinese news today is much less clever in its portrayal of the West's actions around the world.

I’ve reproduced a few of my favorites below. About half of them are from 1956, where the main international news was Israel and the Suez Canal crisis. The other half are from 1966, where the main news was Vietnam.

This cartoon, from November 9th, 1955, the signs all over Japan read things such as "Japanese people cannot do _____here" such as live, work, drive, etc.

This cartoon, entitled "Passing the torch" was from November 6th, 1956. The torch reads "invasion" and as the small British man steals it, he heads towards "Egypt." While obviously the comparison to Hitler is a bit much, I find it interesting that China smartly picked up the hypocrisy in our actions. However, related to the Suez canal crisis, I find the following cartoon even more interesting:

In this cartoon, (November 1st, 1956) the strange looking man with the British flag hat is meant to represent France and England, and they spur on a bull labeled Israel as they cross the fence into Egypt. I really like the way the causality is represented here.

I find a lot of relevance in this cartoon and the next one to today's problems. In this cartoon, labeled "charity" shows an American man with a barrel labaled "Money from Arab/US Oil companies." He rides a carpet labeled "Special Saudi/American relationship" and throws a little money towards we can assume the Arab world, and it is labeled "charity fee." Even in the 1950s, China was aware of America's relationship with the Arab world and our use of policy to maintain a privaledged position in obtaining oil.

In this cartoon, the barrel reads oil, and America steals the foundation holding England up (with an evil grin). I admit I don't know a lot about the American/British/Saudi relationship at this time, but nonetheless, it is a creative cartoon.

In this cartoon, from February 10, 1966, the small support about to break underneath the bridge reads "America's domestic problems" and the tank reads "America invading Vietnam." To me, this could be read in 2 ways: As America becomes more embroiled in Vietnam, the domestic situation will inevitably crumble; OR that America used its domestic woes to support a war in Vietnam. Both are interesting arguments.

This cartoon I find quite funny. The captain, sitting and looking disheveled, looks at the other soldier, daydreaming about his girlfriend, and scolds him, telling him to focus. At the same time, however, he dreams of returning home to America. I find it fascinating that China picked up on the loss of morale in our troops as early as 1966 (or perhaps they assumed it, and it just happened to be true).

This cartoon is from February 19, 1966. The sickly looking horse is labeled as "South Vietnam." I showed this cartoon to a few friends, and one of them (not an American) looked at me and said "well...that's what you guys did." And essentially, he's right.

Research Notes: Self study and the urban-rural divide

2009-04-08T17:13:00.002+08:00

Today's world is almost obsessively concerned with distribution of wealth, and in the case of China, that discussion is often held in conjunction with discussions of the urban/rural inequality of wealth. Throughout Chinese history, there has been a drastic divide between city and countryside residence, and is evident in everything from prices of food and average quality of living to prejudices one holds against the other.

Concerns about the urban/rural divide are imbued in just about every one of China's concerns, including (perhaps even especially) education. While land and wage reform in the early 1950s and 60s began to even that divide, it is deepening once more. And these undulations in wealth inequality were, and still are, paralleled by education inequality.

While there is much to be said on this subject when it comes to institutionalized education, I have found some interesting information concerning this topic when it comes to self study options. While at the publishing house, looking through self study manuals, I began to chat with one of the librarians about his experiences with different kinds of self study. He told me that radio broadcasts were an extremely popular among people of his generation, and he told me the most popular broadcast was actually English lessons. He explained to me that he, like many people his age, was not able to graduate middle school or high school because of the cultural revolution, and by the time traditional education was reinstated, they had a few options, and radio schooling seemed like the best. In fact, potential self studiers could buy textbooks that followed along with the lessons on the radio, thus giving them both written and oral practice. And while he didn't take college or high school exams in these subjects based entirely on radio schooling, he knew plenty of people who did.

I then asked him (since he is from Shanghai) whether this was popular in small towns as well, and he told me of course! In places like Shanghai, people had options for alternative education; they could go to night school, they could go to school after retiring, etc. But in rural places, where could they go to school? There was barely enough institution to house traditional school aged children, let alone adults. Therefore, radio schooling was about the only option. I then asked him if this was true before 1949, and while he didn't know about radio schooling, he did tell me that "free time schools" and nigh schools were enormously popular in Shanghai in the 1930s. This librarian told me that his father actually utilized night schools to learn a variety of languages, including French, English, and Japanese, the first of which was especially helpful since they lived in the French Concession. But, he said gravely, these were options only open to Shanghai residents, and Shanghai at that time was enormously more developed than the rest of China. Furthermore, all of these alternative education options cost money, money that Shanghai residents often have that those in the countryside would not.

Now obviously this is one narrative, and doesn't tell the whole story. For instance, government documents reveal heavy efforts put into rural schooling opportunities for those in factories and those in the countryside. Furthermore, the government encouraged those in cities who did not go on in their schooling to help out in the rural countryside, and in return attempted to give them self study options. But numbers related to these efforts are hard to come by, and it is even harder to know their accuracy. This is why the radio was so important; it truly was the only resource that could be equally spread to all members of China.

This also brings up some interesting new questions. First of all, how did these opportunities for alternative education shift and change from before and after 1949, not only in the countryside but also in the city itself? Secondly, from the little information I gathered, it seems as though material for alternative education was different in the rural and urban settings since knowledge needed for farming and knowledge needed for factory work was drastically different, and it would be interesting to look at the curriculum for both settings. Finally, and this would be the most difficult to answer, how did these policies strengthen, weaken, or maintain the difference between the rural and urban education levels?

This also shows how important oral history is to these kinds of studies. I hope to have more opportunities to find out information from people themselves, rather than simply just from archival sources.

Research Notes: the push for an alphabet

2009-04-06T16:01:00.002+08:00

By 1956, intellectuals and government officials in China has been arguing about language reforms for decades, but it was that year that we began to see real plans propogated among the general public. As Peter Seyblot and Gregory Chiang have point out, language reform meant three things in China during the PRC: simplification and standardization of characters, a standard pronunciation, and a standard phonetic system for that pronunciation. 1956 was the year we began to see the first and second goals have any real affect. Beginning in 1956, newspapers and major publications used simplified characters (although only about half the amount there are today, this process would not be complete until 1972). Also beginning in 1956, the government held nation wide conferences to teach school teachers and government officials putonghua, or what we call mandarin Chinese. And beginning in 1958, all school children were required to learn, and to function, in mandarin.

Therefore, when I opened up the People's Daily at the beginning of 1956, I expected to see news about character simplification. There was indeed a lot of news about language reform in 1956, but nearly all of it focused on the use and structure of pinyin (the romanization of Chinese). While this at first surprised me, it made sense considering that for many in the Communist government, the ultimate goal for language reform was a phonetic character system, either through the Roman alphabet or some other form (like the Japanese hiragana). This was still under debate, and because of that (and other reasons) the government decided to take these reforms step by step, first introducing simplified characters and then moving to only a phonetic script later on.

These debates are interesting, as through debates about language we can see debates about the future of the country as a whole, and which elements of a country's development take precedent over others. Those who argue for an entirely phonetic system focused on how cumbersome Chinese characters are. Wu Yuzhang, for instance, argued at the National Writing conference in 1957, that Chinese characters are by far more difficult to learn than a phonetic script, as one must learn to write the characters, their meaning, and their pronunciation, neither of which are apparent when first looking at the characters. Because of this, Chinese children are much slower at achieving literacy than students in Western countries because it takes them that much longer to learn. They are also complex to write, making taking notes and other things quite time consuming. And in an age before computers, printing Chinese characters was a long and cumbersome process, unlike the ease with which Western countries could type using a typewriter. And finally, spread of pinyin would effectively reinforce mandarin Chinese as a national language. While characters can be read with different pronunciations depending on dialect, an alphabetic system would have only one pronunciation, thus making the propagation of mandarin that much easier. And finally, as Zhou Enlai pointed out, it promotes international exchange, since many countries throughout the world use a roman alphabet.

Arguments against the pinyin system are a bit more varied. Historians and scholars of literature would mourn the loss of a character system because that form of writing was central to China's 2000 plus years of history. Without knowledge of characters, Chinese people would fail to understand their heritage. This is especially true because of the art of calligraphy, which puts additional meaning behind very simple phrases, often composed of no more than 8 characters. Without understanding the art of character writing, and the complexity of meanings behind them, this entire cultural background would be lost on future generations. Other arguments are more nationalistic, claiming that just because the "foreign devils" told us our character system was bad does not mean we should immediately adopt their system (although Mao rejected this idea, claiming that if we are using their knowledge to better our own country, there is no conflict of interest).

Others posed linguistic arguments, claiming that a pinyin system would not necessarily aid literacy or convenience. There are hundreds upon hundreds of homonyms in Chinese, some of which are often confused in spoken Chinese as well. For instance, there are over a hundred characters pronounced "shi" although much confusion is eradicated as these words form compounds. But even the compounds often have homonyms, such as "ziji" meaning "self" and "ziji" meaning "napkin." Tones would solve these problems, as would context, but confusion is still bound to happen, as it does in spoken Chinese today.

Some of these arguments also apply to simplification of characters themselves, as some were simplified beyond the point of recognition. Once again, the diverse nature of Chinese characters is lost when a series of characters are all written the same way. Similarly, those who can already read traditional characters must relearn the simplified ones.

One argument that was not brought out by documents I read, but I believe is nonetheless important as China moves forward, is the loss of a richness of language. The eradication of characters makes the dwindling of dialects that much more likely, and as different languages disappear, so do certain cultural understandings. The more ways we have to express an idea, the more knowledge we have. Furthermore, dialects are often associated with a certain amount of local identity, which would begin to disappear as well. Furthermore, as historians pointed out, as characters are simplified, condensed, and even removed from use, the ability to effectively read ancient scripts goes away as well. This would happen with a phonetic system not only because of not using characters, but I believe that vocabulary itself would also dwindle. As an essay by Cao Bohan pointed out, homonyms become a problem in Chinese; for instance "baowei" can mean to protect 保卫 or to surround 包围. One way to get rid of this problem would be to use "baohu" instead for protect, which carries essentially the same meaning. But if this were to continue to happen with many homonyms, these words which cause confusion would eventually be forgotten, or not in ready vocabulary. Already, the average amount of characters Chinese people know is about 6000-7000, which is not even close to the amount that there actually are.

To me, in a very crude sense, these debates represent a balance between immediate practicality and preservation of diversity. Pinyin would be most practical, but is it worth that would be lost, that might never come back? (similar to environmental problems). I have my own opinions, but my opinions, as much as it pains me, do not matter to the Communist party; however I will say this: John DeFrancis was forever saddened and disappointed that the Chinese government never made the full switch to Pinyin, but I would feel the opposite if that were to happen.

I don't know the future will be for language, but for now, characters aren't going away. However, pinyin is becoming more and more important. Beginning in 2003, officials and teachers must pass a pinyin exam in Shanghai. More importantly, the Chinese love affair with cell phones and texting has made pinyin a necessary tool for any technology-savvy teenager (texting Chinese without pinyin is quite difficult, as Hong Kongers have found). At the same time, though, it has by no means replaced characters as a writing system, but instead is just a tool through which people can better take advantage of technology. Time will only tell, however, whether the communists were the kiss of death to Chinese characters, making one more language dead in favor of a larger system of communication.

Research notes: the extent of hopelessness

2009-03-31T14:57:00.008+08:00

As I have been reading documents about self-study practices, more often than not the subject comes up in the context of not being able to continue schooling after elementary, middle, or high school (that subject is a very succinct phrase in Chinese, 未升学的初中毕业生). This problem is very grave in the 1950s, often to the point where students in this situation in Shanghai feel they have no choice but to go to "Huangpu River University" which, according to later clarifications, is a fancy way of saying suicide. Especially among heads of households, a lack of higher education to them equals socioeconomic suicide. However, by the 1950s, the government had not yet been able to expand public education to the point of guaranteeing everyone a place in high school and college, and therefore had to find alternatives for these students to "keep them off the street" (see my earlier post).

One of these options is to join the work force. Obviously, one would not need a high level of education to work in a factory, and as the government worked towards higher and higher productivity, laborers were needed. This posed a problem, however. As the government consolidated factories and brought them under state control, there was a surplus of factory workers who found themselves unemployed. Ironically, a lot of these laborers ended up working as teachers, as Eddie U pointed out in his book, as of all the jobs in the PRC, teachers were in the highest demand. It would be interesting to find out if a lot of these 不能升学 students ended up being recycled right back into schools.

A very long article published in the People's Daily sought to solve this problem. They claimed that, indeed, factories in cities were being overrun with people, but the countryside could always use help 种地. The article explained that all of the attitudes towards a future in agriculture in the countryside were false: it was an honorable future with a lot of potential (as the main complaint was that such jobs had no future). In fact, those with some schooling from the cities could bring their knowledge to the countryside, thus making the entire country better.

Another option for these students is to self study, a subject I have brought up quite a bit in these last few posts. There are quite a few government documents and newspaper articles about this, and that a person can actually have a very bright future in the world of self study. Another article in the People's Daily pointed out that many experts in many fields never went to college and still made a difference to the field and to the country. For more on this topic, see the post below.

Along with self study, and self made experts, the government put together a series of supplemental learning options together, called either "work education" or "free time education." Another document includes nearly 200 pages of schedules for workers of different companies, demonstrating when they could partake in this freetime education and what kinds of classes they can take. These will usually be "skill" classes related to their work, but others also included culture classes. According to the People's Daily, culture classes (文化）are crucial because it contributes to the improvement of the socialist country and contributes to the betterment of production.

Even with all these options, this problem is a huge problem. It also raises the question of government responsibility. Of all the newspaper articles that address this subject (and there are quite a few) almost all of them begin with: "the education system after liberation has improved quite a bit, but there is still work to be done. In the meantime, what do we do with these students who cannot go on in school?" This statement implies that it is the government's job to figure out how to solve this problem. At the same time, other personal testimonies of people in this situation imply that it is the person's job to take it upon himself to better the country by learning and studying more. For example, an article in the People's Daily tells the story of an illiterate old man who learned to read all on his own by memorizing a few characters a day. This story, and the way he is portrayed as a hero, seems to exalt self motivation and learning during private time, with absolutely no governmental help. This is a tension that should be addressed in all studies about the communist era: the role of the government and the place of the government as opposed to the individual. I think we often believe that the communist government did everything it could to be in constant control of everything, that it found everything within its rights. However, after reading Eddie U's book, I think we need to accept that a lot of our assumptions about both Communist policies and their efficacy are quite false.

However, at this point, this is a difficult measure to make, not only because of a lack of data but also for a lack of measuring. I just think it is an important point to bring up among all these other points. I also think it will be interesting to explore what was going on in this arena before 1949. I found some self-study help books, which mention things like self study groups, often organized by book stores. But this seems to have less of a feel of learning basic skills to increase production, and more like the way we see book clubs in the states today, as embracing personal interests on ones' own. As I read more, I can find out the accuracy of this generalization.

Research Notes: What do we do with hooligans?

2009-03-30T14:46:00.007+08:00

A few months ago, I went to a conference held at East China Normal University about visual histories of Shanghai. One of the presentations that stuck out in my mind was about representations of "Ah Fei" or the quintessential "Chinese Hooligan." I found this presentation interesting because I had never seen this stereotype before, and I also found it amusing that representations Ah Fei often looked like John Travolta in Grease.

While doing research in the past few days, Ah Fei once again reared his ugly head, this time in documents about self study habits. This new topic I have been exploring has brought to light some important topics in the study of education and the study of culture in the PRC. In this document about the importance of self study, the author claimed that filling up workers' time with supplementary learning and self study habits will keep them from becoming Ah Fei. Similarly, another document mentioned that self study practices are important for keeping people from hanging out and doing nothing on the streets. In American terms, basically, teaching kids to study on their own keeps them "off the streets." However, it is more than keeping kids off the streets, simply because Chinese workers (those participating in self study) had a lot less free time than school children in America today. One document outlined the average schedule of a Chinese worker, filled with 12 hour days and self criticism/pary politics meetings. The government, however, was still concerned with fillin the one free evening these workers had with self study practices. Thus, the control or influence the government has on free time is much larger than what we see in America.

This is not the only reason that the PRC encouraged its citizens to self study. One of the main topics that came up both in documents and in newspaper articles is the problem of students who do not 升学， or "move up in school" (I guess would be the best translation). Basically, according to statistics from Shanghai, there are only so many places in high school after graduation from primary or middle school, and there are more students who have graduated than can continue on. Thus, the government came up with a series of plans that put these graduated students into various programs that would efficiently use their productive capabilities. One of these plans is self study small groups, allowing those who could not continue in school to continue their education. As a young girl whose success story in self study landed her in the Peoples' Daily claimed, if you can't 升学, self study is the next best thing.

Self study also solves other problems for the government. There were a series of people who graduated from elementary school or high school before the revolution, and therefore did not receive the political education that those who were growing up post 1949 received. Therefore, the government encouraged workers to take "free time classes" or "supplementary classes" to not only improve their knowledge in areas like math and science, but also improve their political and cultural knowledge in light of the new Chinese government. More practically, self study allowed these people to learn practical skills, namely Mandarin Chinese. I had a chat with a professor who grew up in the late 1950s and early 1960s. While her reasons for self study were due to the Cultural Revolution rather than being to old to receive a post 1949 education, she actively used radio programs to improve her Mandarin. She told me that her Mandarin today is quite good because she took it upon herself to study it from radio broadcasting.

Another reason that the government advocated self study in the 1950s is that it encourages or cultivates the self study "attitude" or "desire." For a government highly concerned with productivity, an attitude of going above and beyond expecations would certainly be beneficial. Many of the government documents mention the importance of the "自学心" or the "自学性," although not much more detail is given. However, other government documents purport that a certain amount of independence, especially in overcoming hardship, is important because "China's problems are big, Shanghai's problems are also big, and individual problems are comparatively small." Therefore, an individual's ability to take his destiny into his own hands is important in a country in reform, which inevitably leads back to the "self study attitude."

We can extract a few major themes from this premilinary evidence. First of all, the government is highly concerned with filling up people's time so as to increase productivity and development. The self study radio broadcasts and other materials focus on two main classes: Mandarin and Math. One implies a desire to create cultural homogeny, and the other implies a desire to improve engineering and technical development among the work force. However, even while a "national language" creates a certain amount of national adhesion in a theoretical and emotional sense, it is also practical: if a country's people can all speak the same language, national production is that much more efficient. Another document clarifies this objective further. Self study classes in Mandarin should promote literacy and putonghua; algebra classes should teach knowledge relevant to factory and labor production; and natural science classes should teach information relevant to agricultural production. Clearly, the government wanted to use these classes so as to improve productivity in every way possible.

At the same time, however, it is important to note that the government encourages the "self study attitude" within the bounds of government control. The government is not encouraging people to simply go out and study as they wish with whatever materials they can find; instead, the government created a series of options from which people can choose: radio broadcasts, government published materials, and self study small groups or supplemental classes. Thus, what we see here is not a continuation of the early 1900s May Fourth self created Renaissance Man-like thinkers, but instead a very narrow field within which people can explore their own talents. This is not the only narrative, but it is the main one. There are times where the government emphasizes that it is lacking in its responsibilities in education, and that individuals must pick up the slack. Therefore, there is this balance between individual work ethic and government help (a balance we are struggling with in the US right now)

I must note, however, that the above view may be slightly biased, since the only places I have looked for evidence is state controlled newspapers and government documents. It is natural, therefore, for this evidence to focus on state created material rather than independent scholars and self created experts. Perhaps interviews or personal testimonies would tell a different story.

China's often forgotten SAR

2009-03-21T18:06:00.005+08:00

When I was in Hong Kong a year ago, there was a great art exhibit called "Made in Hong Kong." The introduction began by debunking a common assumption: "Made in Hong Kong" always refers to Hong Kong's important economic status as a deep water port and the center of production for the Pearl River Delta, but is often considered a "cultural wasteland." Still today, I hear many people (often from the mainland) refer to Hong Kong as a cultural wasteland. The preface to this exhibit claimed that this assumption is false, and that in many ways, Hong Kong is a very unique place with a very unique local culture. It is Asia's most "international city" but in some ways is "more Chinese" than mainland China itself since it managed to escape the Communists' assault on all things traditional. The exhibit included sculptures, paintings, photos, and installation art inspired by living in Hong Kong. This included sculptures of all the people one would meet on the subway (including children with backpacks with Japanese characters, or the stereotypical salesman going to and from Shenzhen with the giant red plaid bags), photos of people who still live in those 10 square meter apartments, and traditional Chinese paintings about local Hong Kong news, such as the alligator swimming about the pearl river that no foreigner could catch. My personal favorite was a series of paintings in which the author had copied scenes from movies that he thought represented Hong Kong culture; one scene he painted was a Jackie Chan movie where a bunch of men were playing cards, and the subtitles read "all I know is that I have six passports."

For the past few years, ever since I lived in Hong Kong, I have always been fascinated with Hong Kong identity, especially in relation to mainland China. I've read a few books and articles, but more than anything, I've made my own observations about how Hong Kongers see themselves based upon conversations with locals. I once read a theory (I can't remember where) that Hong Kong is a unique place because they "missed out" on nationalism; while the rest of the world was solidifying their own national identity, Hong Kong was solidifying its place in the global market. This is where Hong Kong remains today: the center of the market but outside the world of national politics. Yet there is more to Hong Kong identity than just its place in the world economy. A recent speech I heard in Hong Kong at a conference addressed this issue. The speaker, a local Hong Konger, asserted that Hong Kong became what it was because of the failure of the mainland in the past half century, and therefore their own sense of identity is centered around how they are not like mainland China (mainland China is the "other" if you will). We can even see this in the way that Hong Kong people approach public health: we don't want another SARS scare like we saw in the 1990s due to the failure of the Communist government. I was actually surprised at the blunt way the speaker called the mainland "backwards" multiple times throughout the speech as he made distinctions between the mainland and Hong Kong.

The next day at the conference, however, we set off for Macao. While its gambling institutions have made it world famous, still oftentimes we forget about Macao, lost in Hong Kong's shadow. At the conference, we were given a "crash course" about Macao's history, economics and politics. One of the presenting professors said, in passing, that Macao has often had closer ties with the mainland, both culturally and politically, than Hong Kong had ever been. In a private conversation afterward, the professor elaborated on this point. He explained that because of Hong Kong and Macao's diverging history, their relative connection to the mainland has manifested quite differently. While Hong Kong had their great migration from the mainland in the 1960s, mostly people escaping the Cultural Revolution, Macao didn't see its large Mainland migration until the 1980s, thus making Macao's new immigrant population much closer to the mainland. And furthermore, since these immigrants were not escaping political persecution, they did not have the same desire to stay as removed as possible from politics like those escaping to Hong Kong in the 1960s.

Another reason for these digressing trajectories is their relative colonial histories. Both were European colonies well into the end of the 20th century, some of the last territories to gain their independence from Europe. However, while Britain took a very large interest in the general welfare of Hong Kong (such as health care and education) especially throughout the last half century, political turmoil in Portugal left Macao largely forgotten. Hong Kong found their identity in their own burgeoning economy and status as a world economic hub, Macao had to find their own way without the help of their colonizer, and naturally they looked to the mainland.

Obviously, this is an incredibly short and inchoate explanation as to why Hong Kong stays politically alienated (purposefully so) from the mainland, embracing their national identity only when it is positive for them (for example: "Oh we are so proud of being Chinese during the Olympics" but "Oh that habit is so dirty, must be those mainlanders) and why those in Macao seem to feel a closer tie to their now "nation." But as the 2003 protests show (and various conversations with local Hong Kongers) Hong Kong people are quite opinionated when it comes to fear of political domination from their neighbor. I think this would be a fascinating topic to address. Perhaps a comparison would be too ambitious, but a deep analysis of the history of the relations of Hong Kong, Macao, and mainland China throughout the last half of the 20th century could tell a lot about their populations today. I have always wanted to explore Hong Kong identity, as I find it a unique place due to its economic development but loss of national identity. But the truth is, Hong Kong is not unique, as Macao followed a similar history. If I don't get the chance to explore these ideas, someone should.

Research Notes: The Chunjie problem

2009-03-20T15:53:00.003+08:00

I have a Fulbrighter friend who is doing research on the return of migrant workers in Beijing back to their home rural villages. Originally, he had planned to research why certain workers decided voluntarily to leave city life for their families in the countryside, but due to the current economic crisis, he has instead switched his project so that he could focus on forced migrations back to the countryside because of unemployment. Similarly, another friend who looks at migrant education was fascinated to find out how many of the migrant children would return after Chinese New Year, since many of them, after the holiday, had no jobs to come back to.

This migration back and forth, from urban Shanghai and Beijing to the rural west, has been a concern of the party since 1949, although for different reasons. While the current concern of the movement of migrant workers is tied to the economic crisis and the threat of unrest among the population, concern in the 1950s was tied to the psychological effect of moving between city and countryside. A long document in a series from the Shanghai Communist Party branch discussed the possible effects of the chunjie (Chinese New Year) migration. It included statistics of how many migrant workers moved back and forth in the year 1955 for the holiday (their estimates are 225,000 people, about 25% of the working class population) as well as the possible risks of allowing this huge migration. Their fears included the possibility that when the migrant workers return, they may not have the same "energetic spirit" that they had before chunjie. Furthermore, when they see life in the countryside after seeing life in the city, they may have one of two reactions: one may be further faith in the revolution, but another may be disappointment. Many of these concerns are related to a possible lapse in productivity, but also echo a fear of revolt or a loss of faith in the party. Nevertheless, the documents come to the conclusion that as far as 1955, the effect of the chunjie migration was nothing but positive; productivity did not decrease at all, and it seems that there is even higher participation in party sponsored meetings and activities.

What this points to, besides a continued concern about rural/urban migration, is a Communist party concern with the private lives of Chinese people. It is considered perfectly acceptable to worry about workers going home for the holidays and to take record of possible effects a holiday family visit could have on the psyche of the entire country (imagine this in America: documents about the possible effects of Christmas breaks on the success of the government). There is also an assumed responsibility of the government to control the free time of its people. This is furthered by the fact that this document is in a larger set about the problem of laborer's "free time." The documents include research about how workers spend their free time as well as how to fill up that free time with more party activities.

A professor and I were discussing this "free time" issue, and he told me that he had come across an article in the People's Daily about the "free time" issue. The article concluded that free time was state owned, and given to the people. The concern of the government with chunjie holidays seems to point to this conclusion as well, as any free time could feasibly contribute to the failure of the revolution. And while we may attribute this to Communism itself, I'm not sure that this issue is not necessarily a universal one. We even have daylight savings time so as to increase productivity, implying government involvement in our free time (what if I wanted more time at night?). This will be an interesting problem to explore.

Research Notes: Radio schooling

2009-03-20T13:58:00.002+08:00

While I was taking a cab in Harbin, the driver was listening to a radio program I found quite funny. It began with an advertisement about how "we must make our country and our city proud by studying English very well!" A friend in the car made a joke about how this was so important for us, but the cab driver listened quite intently. He then practiced with us, telling us "nice to meet you" and "it is very cold outside" (an appropriate English phrase considering the weather in Harbin in February).

In America in the last 20 years, "video killed the radio star" but educational programs in China still overwhelm the airwaves, and they have for nearly 60 years. Because of a tip from a reliable source, I have been looking into informal education practices in the 50s and 60s, or "self study" practices. This is important not only because no one has really looked at it, but also because during China's turbulent 50s-70s, this type of education became more and more important. The Communist regime attempted (more successfully than most governments) to attain universal education and universal literacy, but because of practicality, oftentimes the official schooling system was quite lacking. Eddie U's book about bureacracy in China and the USSR showed the failures of teacher recruitment in Shanghai in the early 50s: as factories consolidated and became state-owned and the number of students in school increased exponentially, there was a shortage of teachers; in order to deal with this shortage, the government recruited just about everyone to become teachers, including housewives and laborers with little to no education, and even people who had been repeatedly fired from old jobs and had forged their qualifications. Even a friend at the archives told me that his mandarin teacher could hardly speak mandarin herself, causing a lacking in the education system. Furthermore, by the time of the cultural revolution, formal education stopped completely, forcing studious youth to create their own ways to learn new skills. This became crucial come 1976, when the college entrance exam was reestablished.

While these self study practices relied largely on students, they were highly encouraged by government through radio programs. I came aross a series of documents from 1954 which outlined radio shows to teach students who had already graduated from elementary and middle school about language, politics, math, and science. As far as the language lessons, the documents explain that the purpose of these documents is not only to improve reading skills and speaking skills, but also to nurture the "self study attitude." The lessons were also not only political, but also talked about nature, famous artists, and foreign countries (from Moscow to China).

The natural science classes were meant to teach basic geology, chemistry, health, and biology. It was also meant to teach listeners about the fundamentals of science and the scientific method. The math classes were meant to teach "practical" math, and also to cultivate "self study practice." (According to Eddie U's book, while it might be hard to teach math over the radio, this class could be important; he reported from interviews some of thes untrained teachers writing on the board "41 x 1 =1"). The math class over all others seems to focus on giving laborers and the workforce "practical knowledge" that could serve to "increase productivity."

The documents on the politics class seem to, more than the others, address the intended audience for these radio shows. The documents explain that previous classes in politics, under the KMT, didn't give students a full understanding of the true political system or their place within it. Therefore, they couldn't understand the politics classes. These classes seem to have the goal of teaching former students educated under the KMT a proper understanding of the political system of their own government. Obviously, the communist party had many other institutions in place to address this issue, but this also emphasizes the role of the listener to engage in his own learning.

I hope to write more on this issues of self study practice, as this is just one part of it. Since currently I am looking at government documents, and self study implies practice outside of traditional institutions, I have not yet explored the full picture. I hope to, through other sources, delve deeper into this.

Snow and Ice with Colored Lights

2009-02-27T14:10:00.019+08:00

A couple of weekends ago, I made my way up north to Heilongjiang province, in the far northeast of China (China's Maine, if you will)to see Harbin's annual Ice and Snow festival. Harbin is bitterly cold in the winter, usually not getting above 20 degrees Fahrenheit, but it is high tourism season, with flocks of local and international visitors coming to snowboard and ski, and to look at Harbin's festival of life sized castles made out of ice. Held in 3 parks this year, this festival features scaled down buildings, monuments, symbols, and figures all entirely carved from ice and snow, and then illuminated from the inside by colored lights.

Harbin itself is also a beautiful city, full of culture and an interesting modern history. Harbin borders Russia to the north, and is also the Chinese end of the Trans-Siberian railway, and has had close ties to Russia in the 20th century after a railway was built from Russia into Harbin and Dalian at the turn of the century. Russians flooded into Northern China for much of the early part of the century, as evidenced by the architecture (which almost looks like Europe). Still today, many of the goods hawked in souvenir shops are Russian, and the most common foreign tourists are also Russian (which would explain why, while I was there, most Chinese thought I was Russian. Some even tried to speak Russian to me). A lot of foreign architecture was destroyed in the Cultural Revolution, and we are lucky that we still have some of the architecture left today, including the Church of St. Sophia, restored and in beautiful shape.

Harbin is also home to some of China's minority groups, including Manchus and Mongols. Heilongjiang was, before 1949, considered "Manchuria," which is where the Qing dynasty began and where the Japanese began their invasion of China in 1931 (and for a short period it was renamed "Manchukuo"). We can still see influence here through the food, much of which is spicy fatty meats.

The Ice Festival, however, was the main pull for me as I bundled up and headed north. This year, there were 3 parks where we could see ice and snow sculptures. The first was held in Zhaolin Park, and for the first time, was entirely Disney themed. A private company licensed by Disney took over the designs, making giant versions of Cinderella's castle, the Black Pearl from Pirates of the Caribbean, and Mickey's small toon house cottage. We had a wonderful time riding down a slide on the Black Pearl, although (since the slide was made of ice) it was very cold.

The next park we went to was across the Songjiang river in Sun Island Park, which was by far the largest display. This one was distinct because the sculptures were not actually made of ice, but snow. And for some reason (I still am not clear) many of the sculptures were about...Finland...? (except for, of course, the Bird's Nest).

The final park was supposed to be the biggest (as it was the most expensive) but it was actually the smallest of the three, its just that the sculptures were the largest of any of the parks. Giant pagodas, Buddhas, mosques, churches, and of course, a 40 foot tall bottle of Harbin Beer. There were activities at this park also on the larger scale, such as a slide that one slides down on a sled (which means that they go harrowing down a tunnel of ice as ice chips spray in their face so they can't even see as they crash into a hard snowbank, which effectively dislocates their legs), and tobogganing on a pool of ice.

All and all, Harbin was a wonderful place to visit, as, along with our ice castle adventures, we also visited the Siberian tiger park (which was a tentative ride on a bus covered in cages through a field filled with 800 pound tigers that could have very easily made the bus topple over if they had the mind to it).
We also walked along a road with old Russian architecture (and ate some fabulous Russian food), and went to some Buddhist temples, which were beautiful. I actually found Harbin one of the most pleasant Chinese cities I've ever been to, despite the freezing cold and Chinese peoples' attempts to speak Russian to me. I would highly recommend a trip to Harbin.

As a side note, I stopped in Jilin city on the way up to Harbin. I spent 7 hours in Jilin, which was honestly 5 hours too many. I only went up hoping to see the trees crystallize with ice (which they weren't) and to see a Confucian temple (which had been torn down). Also, information for others like me, Jilin has no coffee shop. :P

Research Notes: Hong Kong presentation

2009-02-12T00:10:00.003+08:00

I wrote the following believing that I had to give a presentation on my research at a conference in Hong Kong. While our presentation time is far too short to fully explain the following ideas, I thought it would be good to put something slightly more formal than usual on this blog.

Philadelphia recently opened a new museum to house the original Constitution and Bill of Rights. One of the highlights of the museum (besides taking pictures with metal models of the founding fathers) is a 20 minute interactive presentation about the meaning of the constitution for us today. Viewers are surrounded with a montage of images and sounds which, after spending about 10 minutes on the Revolutionary War and the writing of the Constitution, confronts them with numerous events that shape our identity as Americans: the Civil War, the ending of slavery, the World Wars, Martin Luther King, early cinema, Rosie the Riveter, 1960s culture wars, and numerous patriotic phrases and songs. I remember watching many members of the audience wipe their eyes at the end, moved to tears by a confrontation of our identity as it connects to the past and the seemingly timeless ideals we cling to today.

This is mainly what I have been trying to grasp in China. Chinese identity today stems from its creation throughout the 20th century, and the main venue for the creation of identity (like it is in most countries) is through education. This is especially complicated in China because of the political shifts it has seen in the past century. Americans have been able to attach their identity to a political ideology because its essence has remained for over 200 years, which is also the amount of time our country has even existed as a feasible entity. Chinese people, on the other hand, have had and still have a variety of political ideologies upon which to build their identity, but their history as a collective has remained for thousands of years. Because of this, narratives on what in means to be "Chinese" are drastically different depending upon the time period and the geographic location of the intended audience and the creators.

While this topic is large enough to encompass multiple full length studies, I would like to present a small scale comparison of three sets of textbooks (supplemented by textbooks from similar places and time periods). All are primary school "changshi" textbooks, a rather perplexing trend of textbooks meant to encompass the expected "everyday knowledge" that an educated primary school child should know. These textbooks, which include everything from basic physical science and engineering, to wildlife and history and culture, were supplemented in classes by more discipline specific courses (such as civics and health textbooks), but I found these to be a good documentary basis because, as their name suggests, they are meant to provide children with a foundation. Thus, while some chapters are irrelevant to the creation of identity, many of the chapters point to the publishers' most basic concepts of what "Chinese" identity should be.

The comparison lies in their geographic location and time period, as these geographic and chronological differences point to the variegations of Chinese identity. The first set was published in the 1930s in Shanghai, thus subject to Guomindang influence. The second set was also published in Shanghai, but in the 1950s, thus under the direction of the CCP. The final set was actually not published in China proper, but in Hong Kong, and was also published in the 1950s. These textbooks are also unique in that their audience was not Hong Kong primary school students, but overseas Chinese in Southeast Asia, thus giving us a glimpse into a diaspora identity. For a more accurate comparison, I have also supplemented this last set with a set meant for Southeast Asian overseas Chinese published in the 1930s, thus demonstrating the importance of the time period on the message within the textbooks. By comparing these sets of textbooks, we can better grasp the multifacetedness of Chinese identity, specifically as how the connect to political system and historical memory.

In the 1930s, the Guomindang reformed the ministry of education and helped to create a "new curriculum" for students that included political ideology in tune with the current regime.[1] We first see this new curriculum in a set of textbooks published in 1934. Since this is the first set of textbooks within which we see the height of Guomindang control, these textbooks can best reflect the kind of Chinese identity the government wished to create. For this reason, it is not surprising that one of the most important facets of Chinese identity emphasized in these textbooks is attachment to a governmental institution. In a chapter called "The Republic of China,"the textbook states:

I asked the teacher "why is my country called the Republic of China?" Teacher said "China (中华) is our country's name, and Republic (民国) demonstrates our democratic ideology. Therefore, we are called the Republic of China (中华民国).[2]

Through this quote, we see that even the name of China was tied to the type of government, thus making Chinese identity dependent upon the political system. The textbook also included many chapters about Sun Yat Sen as the father of the modern Chinese nation. It reads: "I asked 'how was the Republic of China established?' Teacher said 'In the last years of the Qing dynasty, the government collapsed. Mr. Sun Yat Sen came and saved our country and our people by acting as our leader..."[3] The chapter then continued with the story of the 1911 revolution. Once again, as we established that China is synonymous with the Republic of China, the association of Sun Yat Sen with the foundation of the country tied government to country, and country to national identity.

However, Chinese identity was not only associated with the government, but also to behavior and civic responsibility. In fact, national sentiment was considered crucial to being Chinese. The textbook explained the importance of nationalism "民族主义" which was one of Sun Yat Sen's founding principles. After explaining its meaning, the textbook told children that they must maintain a nationalistic spirit so that China may one day be equal to the great countries of the world.[4] Similarly, textbooks emphasized civic responsibility through classroom activities, including school groups and meetings. The curriculum outlined the proper format for class meetings. It also emphasized the correlation between public group meetings and the public group, thus contributing to the politicization and growth of the public sphere in the classroom. As Robert Culp has pointed out, the government also heavily emphasized student government organizations after class time, thus furthering the connection between civic behavior and national identity.[5]

The connection between behavior and identity was not limited only to civic engagement. This textbook was published in the height of the New Life Movement, in which the Guomindang attempted to recreate public behavior so that it fit Western models of hygiene. Specifically, the movement focused on the hygiene of "食衣住行" or the cleanliness of our food, our clothing, our living spaces, and our behavior.[6] With this movement in mind, the textbook series emphasized proper ways to brush teeth and wash oneself, proper clothing, proper bathroom etiquette, etc. This was to, as a hygiene teaching manual posits, to bring China to a higher world status through proper hygiene practices. Thus, through a control of personal and corporeal behavior, the government associated modernity with hygiene, and associated itself with this new type of behavior, bringing the understanding of identity to a much more physical light. To put it another way, the government created a certain kind of citizen by limiting the space within which a child can use and approach his or her own body. By manifesting citizenry in this very physical way, a child's entire outlook on life is determined by the parameters set. This is not foreign to us today. Americans are still shocked when they go to China and hear others spitting; in fact, the sound itself creates a Pavlovian response of nausea or discomfort. This concept of identity through body is not a new one, and many scholars have addressed it. I think it is important to bring up here, however, to demonstrate the variety of ways that citizenship can be expressed during this period, and, as we will see, this concept is also borrowed by the Communists in the 1950s.

Finally, this 1934 textbook associated identity with a certain recreation of historical memory. There are two major trends in the history chapters: modern history and colonization, and great Chinese contributions to the development of society. The series stressed the importance of the Opium wars in China's humiliation, and the colonization of China, and specifically the defeat at the hands of Japan.[7] The authors juxtaposed this national pride as associated with victimization and national humiliation with chapters about China's greatness. The chapters about the invention of paper and the antiquity of Chinese civilization demonstrate a proud history to which no great power at the time could compare.

The politicization of identity was (and is) not unique to Guomindang China, and in fact many of these techniques were recycled in the 1950s. The CCP also tied the concept of "China" to the People's Republic of China with similar chapters about the name and its association. One of the chapters that emphasized this most heavily is the chapter about Taiwan. The chapter stated that Taiwan is a Chinese territory, but because of its governmental body and its "colonization by western capitalists" its people (who are still Chinese) live with great pain and suffering.[8] This dichotomy clearly shows that, while Chinese people live everywhere, they were suffering without their government. Similarly, a pride in China is associated with a pride in the socialist way of life. Socialism and Communism is often associated to standing up to the Western way of life and proving that non Western countries can create an equal if not greater way of living. With the establishment of the Peoples Republic, China became a great and prosperous nation. To say that the Chinese nation is simply equivalent to the government is simplistic; instead, we should think that the nation can realize its full potential with the help of the government. One chapter in particular outlines the characteristics of this new China: it is independent, it is a true democracy (which is defined as a society where every person is equally important), it is very free, it is very prosperous, and it is lead by the Communist Party.[9]

Like the Guomindang textbooks, identity is also tied to correct behavior. Hygiene is still considered crucial, and there is an emphasis on science and anatomy, thus creating citizenship in a similar manner as the Guomindang.[10] Children were also taught for the first time a Western scientific method.[11] This new emphasis on science took the Guomindang efforts of the New Life Movement and takes them even further. Science was considered the alternative to backwardness and feudalism, and by relying on science, China could become even better. This element of Chinese identity remained from the Nationalist period. Civic engagement behavior was emphasized as well, though with different behavioral expectations. Unlike the Guomindang, which never mentioned its soldiers in these textbooks, the Communists made the red army members the most important national heroes. A chapter on the liberation army listed the freedoms and privileges that Chinese people received because of the liberation army's sacrifice. Similarly, stories about the long march, the Japanese invasion, and the ever famous Luding bridge story furthered this glorification of military service which encouraged mimetic behavior.[12] Children were also urged to continue the revolution, and textbooks reminded them that the battle against Feudalism and Imperialism was not won despite the establishment of the new China.

Also in continuation with the 1930s, these textbooks emphasized certain parts of modern history over others. While the Opium war and the 1911 revolution received chapters of their own, the authors regarded these incidents as only the first steps. Chapters about the Communist purge in the 1930s, the Communists' role in the war against Japan, and the war of liberation served to shift the creation of "China" as a country from 1911 to 1949, thus painting the 1911-1949 China as inchoate. These textbooks obviously did not forget the importance of the early revolution, and continued to paint Sun Yat Sen as a hero. However, Chiang Kai Shek's collaboration with capitalists makes him the person who failed the new China (although his Communist purges probably in reality gained him that role).

The history of early China was also important, though slightly deemphasized. In one textbook, writers claimed that the origin of man was actually in China.[13] Other chapters talk about China's bronze age and, like the 1930s textbooks, China's great inventions.[14] These chapters, when combined with pride-filled chapters about China's large size in both population and square miles, demonstrate nationalism that stems not only from the Communist party, but also from non-political concepts. Thus, nationalism was not completely politicized, but instead played upon an emotional tie to Chinese cultural entities. However, because of the emphasis on the "New China" this apolitical nationalism is largely restricted. Confucius, for instance, was nowhere to be found.

One large difference between the earlier textbooks and these 1950s textbooks was the emphasis on types of people in society. The nationalist government and the 1930s textbook authors were not concerned with class, as civic behavior could come from any type of person. Communism by definition, however, glorifies the laborers and the workers. Thus, chapters in these 1950s textbooks explained the plight of the rural laborers, and how before the new China, landlords and rich peasants exploited their hard work.[15] Unlike the 1930s, these textbooks granted citizenship only to certain types of people, and very harshly excluded others. The extension of class association to national pride, therefore, is a mark of the Communist platform, and is important in the creation of identity because of who were included and celebrated, and who were eternally excluded from the Chinese nation.

Clearly, the intended audience's time period and geographic location drastically influenced the type of politicization of Chinese identity in the 20th century. How does this identity manifest itself, however, when politics are abandoned? In order to see this, we can look to similar textbooks published in the 1950s in Hong Kong for Southeast Asian overseas Chinese, as the messages about Chinese identity in these textbooks were almost entirely apolitical.

In these textbooks, Chinese identity was almost entirely based upon a celebration of China's achievements before the 20th century. This includes chapters about the great inventions of China, including print, the compass, paper, and fireworks.[16] There are also chapters on Confucius, and chapters about the Chinese writing system, which stresses its antiquity and complexity. This was necessary because of a divorce from politics, however this had ramifications. In mainland China, where traditional culture was being uprooted by intellectuals, these textbooks regress back to a celebration of tradition and antiquity. Gone are the criticisms of "feudal" society, and instead these elements are celebrated, creating a new brand of Chinese identity.

However, these overseas Chinese textbooks do create identity on more than ancient history. Beyond history, overseas Chinese are taught to be proud of their country's current achievements in production. There are chapters on the development of all the major Chinese cities, as well as about China's natural resources. The textbooks celebrate China's rapid development into first world status. A chapter on China's current development claims "China is currently diligently rebuilding, whether it is in the factory and labor sector or the agricultural sector, all sectors have seen great success, and the speed at which China is developing seems without limits."[17] With these two types of chapters, students' connections to the mainland are based mainly upon antiquity and tangible achievements. Current intellectual struggles are abandoned in favor of a remembrance and elevated recreation of China's ancient past.

While all of the chapters referred to China as "my country," truthfully, the chapters about China were very few in number. In fact, there were just as many chapters about Southeast Asian countries as there were about China. Similarly, history was not heavily emphasized. There were a few chapters on dynastic histories, and a history of independence movements in Southeast Asia, but in general, history related chapters were discarded in favor of more chapters on science and anatomy. Similarly, the textbook emphasized a certain amount of multiculturalism. It recognized that the classmates of many of these students may not have been Chinese, and celebrated multiethnic neighborhoods and friendships. It also recognized that China was not limited to Han race people, and a colorful map that included small pictures of China's 56 races furthered the concept of plural identity, both in terms of race and geographic location.[18] In addressing this possible contradiction, there was a chapter dedicated to the Huaqiao of Southeast Asia, which legitimized their Chinese identity as cultural ambassadors to other places. The chapter on Southeast Asian overseas Chinese claimed, "They (overseas Chinese) have given much towards the opening up of Southeast Asia. The have also brought their Chinese culture to Southeast Asia."[19] These chapters, and other chapters that emphasize multiculturalism within a proud Chinese heritage, helped them to solidify their identity as Chinese people living outside of China.

Obviously, the geographic location of the audience of these textbooks was crucial in determining the manifestation of "Chinese identity" as perceived through textbooks. But the time period was also crucial. If we look at changshi textbooks from the 1930s, also meant for overseas Chinese in Southeast Asia, we see another narrative altogether.[20] The textbook still taught children about the geography of Southeast Asia, but besides those few chapters (numbering 7 altogether), they were almost exact replicas of the new curriculum textbooks from 1934. There are chapters about Sun Yat Sen, Chiang Kai Shek, and the nationalist flag had its picture proudly displayed throughout the textbook. Therefore, not all textbooks meant for Southeast Asian overseas Chinese were apolitical; on the contrary, this was a post 1949 phenomenon.

This can be understood by the politics of the time period. First of all, after 1949, many of the publishing companies had fled to Hong Kong, the only geographic location in greater China that had managed to escape the Nationalist/Communist battle. Therefore, it was not either government who determined the content of the textbooks, which was the case in the 1930s and for mainland Chinese textbooks in the 1950s. Furthermore, by this point, both Taiwan and mainland China had begun to look inward rather than embracing the influence of outside countries. Perhaps it is the case (though I admit that I don't know) that neither location wanted to send textbooks to huaqiao of Southeast Asia, and the job fell to Hong Kong. Regardless of the reason, the fact is that after 1949, the dominating force controlling narratives of Chinese identity shifted from mainland China to Hong Kong, a place that after 1949 had also removed itself from the political battles of greater China. These textbooks were not only a reflection of a Southeast Asian overseas Chinese identity, but also of a Hong Kong Chinese identity, which was much more cultural than it was political, and also embraced a certain amount of multiculturalism. This is true today in Hong Kong as well, and while the education system is now in the hands of the People's Republic, Hong Kong Chinese pride is still divorced from a strong pride in a political system.

What does this mean to us today? It helps us to better understand the government and political environment of China in the 1930s and the 1950s, and also helps us to trace the evolution of Chinese nationalism and identity. The nationalism we see in China today, and the lack of fervent nationalism we see in Hong Kong today, is a product of this battle of identity creation. It also helps us to see the process of the construction of identity in general. Different people in different places approach nationalism in different ways, we attach to things we know and understand. Therefore, the nationalism of an overseas Chinese must be presented in a different way from their mainland counterparts. This is only a small comparison, but it helps us to see the broader picture. And it is through small comparisons like these that we can begin to piece together the layered ways in which Chinese all around the world approach their own identity.

[1] Culp, Robert. Articulating Citizenship Civic Education and Student Politics in Southeastern China, 1912-1940.Cambridge: Harvard UP, 2007; 50 -52.

[2]王创星。常识课本，第五册。上海：世界书局印行, 1934; 2.

[3] Ibid, 3.

[4] Ibid, 15.

[5] Culp, 97-108.

[6] N.A.新生活运动。新生活运动促进总会编印，1934; 3.

[7]王创星。常识课本，第五册。上海：世界书局印行, 1934; 67-70.

[8] N.A. 初级小学常识课本: 第六册. 上海：人民教育出版社, 1949; 28.

[9] N.A. 初级小学常识课本: 第八册. 上海：人民教育出版社, 1949; 46

[10] This is probably an oversimplification, but I admit that I don't know enough now to further extrapolate on this topic.

[11] 十年制学校小学课本（试用本）常识第一册。人民教育出版社编出版，上海教育出版社重印，1961; 35-40.

[12] N.A. 初级小学常识课本: 第七册. 上海：人民教育出版社, 1949; 24.

[13]十年制学校小学课本, 1.

[14] N.A. 初级小学常识课本: 第三册. 上海：人民教育出版社, 1949; 6-17

[15]N.A. 初级小学常识课本: 第八册，4-9

[16]N.A.华侨适用初级小学课本常识：第六册。香港：中华书局，商务印书馆，1957; 1-2.

[17] N.A.华侨适用初级小学课本常识：第八册，62.

[18] N.A.华侨适用初级小学课本常识：第四册，1。

[19] N.A.华侨适用初级小学课本常识：第八册，22-23。

[20] N.A.华侨适用初级小学课本常识：第八册， 22-23。

Research Notes: The fun of fairy tales

2009-02-03T21:24:00.002+08:00

I came across a fantastic set of textbooks today that I felt the need to write about. Like most of what I have been writing about lately, these were Language Arts textbooks, meant for younger elementary school children. These textbooks were also somewhat special to me since they were the series that my friend the librarian used when he was a child. The pictures he showed me (see earlier post "Overanalysis") made me eager to begin reading this series.

What made these textbooks so special is that they are from 1955 (thus post Communist revolution) and yet filled with magical fairy tales, or tales about children. Unlike the 1972 language books, these books did not mention the military, the war of liberation (except in passing) and shockingly, hardly mentioned Mao Zedong.

Instead the book is largely filled with morality tales. Some of them include children, some include animals, some even include personified sun, moon, and rainbows. Below, I will summarize some of my favorite tales.

In a story called 小猫钓鱼 (little cat goes fishing), two cats, an old cat and a little cat, go fishing. While the old cat sits and watches his fishing pole, the younger cat is distracted by a bug and goes to catch it. The little cat comes back empty handed, while the older cat has caught a fish. They both continue fishing for a bit when the younger cat is distracted by a butterfly, which he subsequently chases. He again comes back empty handed, while the older cat has caught a few more fish. The younger cat complains that he has not caught anything, fish or bugs, and the older cat explains to him that if he continues to do things half heartedly, he will never succeed. So the small cat sits and fishes diligently, and then ends up catching some fish.

In a story called 狗找同伴 (the dog finds a companion), a dog realizes he is lonely, so he goes about the forest looking for a companion. He finds a rabbit, asks him to be his friend, and the rabbit agrees. But in the middle of the night, the dog begins to bark, and the rabbit tells him to be quiet or the fox will find them and eat them. The dog then realizes that a fox would be a better companion because he is not easily scared, so he goes to find the fox. He finds the fox, asks him to be his companion, and the fox agrees. But in the middle of the night, when the dog begins to bark, the fox scolds him to be quiet because the bear might come and kill them. The dog then decides that the bear would be a better companion, so he goes to find the bear. The bear agrees to be his companion, but in the middle of the night when the dog begins to bark, the bear also scolded him, warning him that he may wake up the humans. The dog then leaves the bear in search of man, and when he finds the man, he also agrees to be his companion. In the middle of the night, when the dog woke up to bark, the man soothed him, which allowed him to finally sleep. This is why man and dog are best friends.

In the story 白胡子老公公的话 (the words of the old man with a white beard), a little boy runs away from home, very upset, and goes to sit on a bench with an old man with a white beard. The boy explains his troubles, that his sister will not share her crayons, that mother will not allow him to try food, and that brother will not take him on his sailboat. He explains that he has no choice but to run away. The old man tells him that he will teach him one word that will make him forget all of his troubles. After that, the boy goes home and tries asking his brother, sister, and mother again using the word "please" (请你) and then all of his problems went away.

In the story 太阳山, there are two brothers, the older richer brother, and the younger poor brother. The older brother had everything, but the younger brother did not even have a place to live. Once, the younger brother sat on a mountain until well into the night, and he was confronted by a phoenix who offered to take him to a mountain filled with gold and treasures. The phoenix warned him, however, that he must leave the mountain before the sun comes up, or he will die. So the younger brother goes with the phoenix to the mountain and fills his pockets with gold and jewels. He then returns home and buys himself a nice house and things. He continues to work, but not like he used to; he now has a comfortable life. But the older brother asks him how he affords such things, so the younger brother told him his story. Overwhelmed by greed, the older brother goes to wait at the top of the mountain, and is confronted by the phoenix, who heeds the same warning. The older brother goes to the mountain to collect treasure, even after he had more than he could ever use. The phoenix returned, telling him that his time was almost out, and that he needed to go back, but the older brother still wanted more. The sun came up, and the older brother died.

And finally, in the story 冬老太太生气了 (mother winter gets angry), the story of winter weather is told through a personified winter. Mother winter wants others to fear her, so she goes through the trees and blows wind so hard all the leaves fall. But the trees still do not fear her. She then goes to the forest and blows snow into the forests, but the animals still do not fear her. She then goes to the lake, blows and causes ice so that the river freezes over, but the fish do not fear her. Finally, she goes to blow snow and ice at children on a lake, but they simply continue to ice skate. Seeing that she cannot be feared, she begins to cry. When this happens, spring is right around the corner.

What I think struck me most about this story is that I felt that, despite the few stories about Mao and Lenin, this textbook could very easily had been American, complete with the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears (translated into Chinese, of course). The main values to be taken from this textbook were respect elders, don't steal or lie, don't be greedy, and more than anything, study hard. In fact, compared to other language textbooks, this seemed to replace the push to "follow the party in everything you do" with "study with everything that you have." No mention of making a better China, or the importance of standing up for the Communists.

I did expect the date of this series to make a difference, but I did not expect such a lack of emphasis on the revolution. In fact, many of the stories offered no moral guidelines at all (such as the story about mother nature). I guess this is just another journal that shows the plurality in the education system under the Communist system.

Research Notes: Free Thinkers in Communist China

2009-02-02T20:13:00.004+08:00

I came across an essay by Mao Zedong entitled 反对党八股, or anti party jargon, in a Language Arts Textbook the other day. In the essay, Mao criticized party propaganda and party doctrine as being disadvantageous to the development of China. He also praised the May Fourth thinkers (a group to which he, once upon a time, once belonged); the May Fourthers were original in their thinking and their plans, and that plethora of ideas caused great development in the new China. This was somewhat reminiscent of Mao's 100 Flowers campaign, which came to a screeching halt in the 1950s when Mao decided to arrest and kill all those scholars he previously told to voice their criticisms. In the article, he claims that Anti party jargon is similar to what Lu Xun taught, and these, which propagate democracy and science, are very good for the party.

There is no need to point out the inconsistencies here, since most of what was included in the textbook was government propaganda. But the theme here I think is worth mentioning, because this is not the only time that the "be original and go against the grain" raised itself in language textbooks. Many of the stories also praise children for going against authority, for being creative and leading others in a new direction, etc. Very few stories praise people for simply following what everyone else was doing. For example, one girl who is so dedicated to the Communists kills herself rather than work for the other side during the Civil war in the 40s. Another group of children help to do a lot of yard work for their teacher even when she doesn't ask for it, calling it their secret (hence the name, the "Secret" of the Little Red Guards). One other example was about children who secretly studied Chinese during the war of Japanese resistance, which was illegal.There are even stories of children standing up to adults, such as one story where a child recognizes an adult stealing sheep from their neighbor, and the child confronts the man and tells him that is not right.

While these stories obviously teach moral lessons about the importance of following party doctrine, it also seems to glorify children who are extraordinary, not ordinary. The idea is that once people have the right basis to stand on, being the party doctrine, they should be creative and original, because that leads to a better China.

I think what I found most interesting about this theme is that it goes against much of what we think of when it comes to the Communist Era. Most pictures and representations and stereotypes of the time imply that everyone was meant to do nothing but follow orders, and that the Communists created a bunch of sheep. Instead, they inspired a generation of people who wanted to stick out and do what was best for the party through extraordinary and creative acts, not just by following what everyone else did. In practice, this is obviously not necessarily what happened. But the fact that this "free thinking" was part of the education I think is revealing about the Communist period. We should not shove off this period as being one of total control and authoritarianism, but rather, a time of creativity within a certain framework. This framework stifled most, but inspired others, such as the people in the stories or even real memoirs. We should also not just pass of textbooks as being simply government propaganda, but accept the possibility that they reflected a feasible reality. What that reality was, however, is much harder to discover.

Huang Shan

2009-01-28T23:47:00.012+08:00

They say in China that once you have seen Huang Shan, or Yellow Mountain, there is no need to ever see another mountain. I think the main reason I would disagree with that is because Huang Shan is incredibly unique, but probably one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen in my life. And finally, the uniqueness of Chinese landscape paintings makes sense, since Huang Shan’s infamous sea of clouds seemed to be directly mirrored in most Chinese paintings.
As the Lonely Planet pointed out, Huang Shan has been a tourist attraction for hundreds and hundreds of years, a popular retreat for literati and painters throughout Chinese history.

I don’t really have a lot to tell about the trip, as in this case more than anything, a picture is worth a thousand words. I will (quickly) highlight our journey. They built a new highway into Anhui province, where Huang Shan is, which means that it is now possible to get from Shanghai to the nearby town of Tunxi in just over 4 hours (where, a couple of years ago, it took more than 10 hours!) by bus. Unfortunately, from there it got a bit more complicated. We then had to take another bus for about an hour (and since it is a rural public bus, it was actually an hour and a half because we had to roam around and pick people up and drop people off in random places on the way) to the town of Tangkou, at the foot of the mountain, and then a short cab ride up to the entrance to the trail.

The hike was both easy and difficult. It was incredibly easy to follow as the path was entirely made up of stone stairs. It would be nearly impossible to stray off the path, making it very safe, even when there are no people around, which occasionally actually happened, a rarity for China. That being said, it was one of the hardest hikes I have ever been on. The hike up was about 8 kilometers, not extremely long, but it was 8 kilometers of nothing but stairs. So, while I enjoyed for the first time in months blue skies, chirping birds, and the sounds of silence, I did while huffing and puffing up the mountain, stopping to take more pictures than necessary simply for the excuse to take a break.

When we reached the summit, it was suddenly incredibly cold because there were no longer trees to block the high winds. We found our hotel and stayed in for the night simply because we were just too cold to go out. The next morning, we awoke early (5:30!!!) to see the Beihai sunrise. Huang Shan has always been famous for it’s sea of clouds (while watching the sunrise, the most common word everyone uttered was “yunhai” or sea of clouds. I am already extremely familiar with the battle with Chinese tourists for optimal picture taking opportunities, as no beautiful spot in Asia is free from Chinese tourists’ expensive professional cameras. So, even though the sunrise wasn’t until 7, I made sure to get there by 6: 15.
There I ran into some other Americans we had met the day before, and we all hiked up the nearby peak for an optimal viewing area. The most abandoned one we found only had one man with his giant camera, light sensor, and tripod all set up at the end of a plank like platform. I asked if he would share the edge of the platform, and he gave me a very long sob story about how he got up at 5 in the morning to get the perfect viewing area, and he wasn’t going to move his tripod (which did in fact take up the entire width of the platform). I gave up the battle because I could still see clearly off the edge, but this man’s battles (and mine) were not over. Eventually the platform began to fill with people pressing up against us, even taking pictures over our heads and shoulders. Another man pushed his way almost to the front with his tripod and camera, yelling at the first guy to share his spot. The first guy gave him the same story he gave me, but the second man with his tripod wouldn’t accept it. He then started yelling about how he had let foreigners near the front, but wouldn’t let him up there.
I snapped at him that we were there first, but that didn’t deter his comments. He began calling the first man a traitor to the Chinese race for letting foreigners near the front but not him, which caused me to yell at him, telling him he shouldn’t discriminate like this, we all want to take pictures and we were there first. I’ve heard of this kind of discrimination before, but never really heard it before, and I was very angry. Fortunately, others on the platform began telling him to be more civilized, and he eventually stormed off to another place, leaving us in peace to take pictures.

All that being said, the sunrise was beautiful, as was the hike down. We hiked down a different path which led us up and over some peaks, along narrow staircases carved along cliffs, giving us a fantastic view of the entire mountain range (again, I’ll let the pictures speak for themselves). The stairs we climbed were somewhat treacherous, going up and down, bringing us to the highest point of nearly 1800 meters only to clamber back down again.

Finally, we reached the end and looked for a taxi to bring us back to the town of tangkou. We shared it with a friend we met on the trail as well as two others, and then transferred to a bus that would bring us back to Tunxi. This is where we learned more about the bus system in rural China: they don’t leave until they are full. So we spent nearly an hour going round and round the town looking for passengers (and remember there were dozens of buses doing the same thing. Finally, we got on a private minibus that then took us to Tunxi, where we transferred to a bus that got us back to Shanghai in only 4 hours!

While this hike left me literally bedridden for a couple of days due to sore muscles, this was one of the most spectacular places I have ever been. But don’t take my word for it, check out the pictures.

Chinese 牛 year *

2009-01-28T21:18:00.012+08:00

This week, all of China and much of the Asian world went home to their families, arms full with big fruit baskets and fixings for dumplings, to celebrate the lunar new year and the coming of the year of the ox. Since Chinese new year is a time for families to get together (some poorer people take much of their savings every year to make the trek back to their home towns to be with extended families) there is often little place for foreigners, which is why I was extremely fortunate to get the chance to spend a Chinese new year with friends and their families. I thought I would just write a short post and reflect on my Chinese new year experience.

Saturday the 25th was the day before 出席, or the day before
the night before "official" new year. On Saturday, I took a bus out to Qing Pu, a suburb of Shanghai, to eat dinner with my friend and her family. Her grandma, aunts, uncles, cousins, and nieces and nephews were all there, I believe over 10 people in all, and we shared a few dozen dishes together. They mostly spoke Shanghainese to each other, so I didn't have a great opportunity to talk with people, but they all made sure I had a lot of red wine (which, according to them, is Chinese New Year drink) and would periodically signal to me to "ganbei" or "cheers." The dinner included a lot of seafood, a particularly "lucky" dish, as well as an array of beef and pork dishes (normally, duck and chicken would also be traditional food, but this family stayed away from it because of fears of bird flu). The feast then ended with fresh fruit.

After dinner, we all went back to my friend's aunt's house to play Mahjiang.
My friend told me that in her family, most of her family members do nothing but work and play mahjiang. While I know that was quite the overstatement, they played (I watched, since it is a 4 person game) for nearly 4 hours. While Mahjiang is played with tiles, from what I could understand of the rules, it could easily be a variation of Rummy if played with cards, and watching her family get so excited over it made me think of my family playing cards. For most of the nights of Chinese New Year, this is what her family did, although I only watched it this one day.

The next day, chuxi (or "new year's eve" so to speak) I had dinner with an American friend and his wife, in laws, daughter, and other friends. It was a great mix of Americans and Chinese people; fortunately, his in laws made the food, so we got to have a great Chinese feast, complete with good wine and bourbon. My favorite dishes were the kaofu, a spongy type of beancurd particular to Shanghai, and babaofan, or 8 treasure rice. After that, we watched the Chinese New Years Eve special on TV. I was told that all Chinese people watch this on chuxi (although I later found out my other friend's family did not, they were playing Mahjiang), and one in our company works in Chinese television, so we watched in and out. To me, the highlight of the program was an international riverdance group, as well as a performance by some poor American exchange student they must have plucked off the street to speak pretty poor Chinese in a skit. As the evening went on, the performances and dances got more and more colorful (probably because their audience was getting more and more drunk), and outside, people were lighting fireworks (not illegal in Shanghai).At midnight, I felt like the entire city had come out of their houses to light fireworks, and the scene was spectacular. I wish I could explain what it was like to have literally hundreds of fireworks going off at the same time all around the city, so to better illustrate, I added a video I took at midnight that at least somewhat shows the magnitude of the midnight fireworks show. However, this scene lost its luster when it continued late into the night and then started up again at 7 in the morning, not giving me much time to sleep.

The next day, Monday, I went back to Qingpu to visit my friend and her family. For breakfasts and snacks, we had what was called "gao" or cakes made of sticky rice and then stuffed with red beans (see my friend next to them in the picture)
For dinner that night, it was just me, my friend, her mother, and her 85 year old grandmother, who (other than my Nana) is probably the cutest older woman I have ever met. We ate perch (the fish traditionally eaten at Chinese new year) in a fantastic soup with fish balls along with bamboo shoots, some pork, and other veggie dishes. Then, the next day, we went exploring around Qingpu, which seemed to me a fantastic community. We walked by street vendors, browsed through local shops, and passed by a local temple built in the Ming or Qing dynasty (we are still not clear). Then, for dinner, my friend's mom made 18 dishes for us and her extended family, including more perch, rice cooked in lotus leaves, eel, and chicken strips for my friend's 1 year old niece (although we all had a bit). After that, while much of the family went off to play Mahjiang, we went to sing at Karaoke, which is always a lot of fun and a great chance to practice Chinese.

Overall, I found that Chinese new year is actually a lot like Christmas in America; some go to worship ancestors, some go traveling, but everyone should be with family, and there is a huge emphasis on food. It seems the most traditional way to spend Chinese new year is with as many family members as possible, but some watch TV, some play games, some go to other countries. The traditions seem to vary, something I didn't expect. But while each family has it's own way of spending Chinese new year, it is a good chance to see family and eat a lot of food, something that many people in China don't often get to do. I was very lucky to be able to witness a part of it.

* For those who don't know, the character in the title, 牛, is the character for ox. It is pronounced "niu" and therefore sounds a lot like "new." It is a goofy and overdone play on words.

Research Notes: Who is a hero?

2009-01-15T20:14:00.004+08:00

I remember as a child having, more than once, as an essay topic， or even interview topic： who is your hero and why? The way we define hero varies from situation to situation; oftentimes it is a parent or an adult with whom we had a very close relationship. But hero doesn't have to mean a hero like superman or even soldiers; it can simply mean someone who has inspired us to be better people.

Looking through language textbooks, however, we see that the term "hero" (英雄) was almost exclusively reserved for soldiers in the military. What is more, in some textbooks nearly 3/4 of the stories pertain to soldiers in the military. Sometimes there are female soldiers, but overwhelmingly, nearly all of the stories about battalions who overcame hardship, natural or human, to claim a victory for China.

I asked my friend the librarian about this topic, as he grew up reading these kinds of textbooks (although, if you see my post below, the textbooks he used had significantly fewer of these kinds of stories, as compared to other textbooks from the 1970s which were almost exclusively military stories).[1] He confirmed my theory, that the concept of "hero" was reserved for those who served in the military. He explained this to me, saying that when these textbooks were written, China had been at war with Western powers for nearly 100 years, and only when the Communist came into power did the Chinese finally start winning (let us remember the Opium wars, plural, the Sino Japanese war, the semi colonization, and then WWII in Asia, all of which decimated the Chinese state). However, the Communists won the civil war in the 40s, and (in Chinese accounts) the Korean war against the Americans in the 1950s. These people were the heroes of the new Chinese state. The librarian also pointed out to me that this still exists today because the PLA is involved with such things as Sichuan earthquake relief (which, by most accounts, was a very successful rescue mission, especially when compared to Katrina). He also admitted his bias, having served in the airforce.

Since I've talked about identity beyond a national sense, my first question would be, "what about women? Do they have no heroes?" But at the same time, women were a part of this struggle too. They fought against the Nationalists and the Japanese. So a lot of stories were about women. One in particular comes to mind about a girl who kills herself in front of nationalist troops rather than abandon the 8th road army (the Communist forces).

This also made me think of America. There is certainly an almost untouchable respect for our troops in America (we must support the troops) but it is not the only way to be a hero. This may be because it has been a long time since a large proportion of our male population has served in a war. More importantly, most of the veterans alive today served in wars of which our nation was not uniformly supportive. The Vietnam war, and Vietnam veterans, still serve as a point of contention amongst the population. No longer is it necessary to be a war hero, or even a veteran at all, to be considered a hero in the general sense. Obama's lack of military service was hardly mentioned during the campaign, and while McCain's experience in Vietnam was exhaustively used by the McCain camp, it's significance was largely lost on the younger generation of Americans.

What does this mean in the larger sense of what it means to be Chinese? I don't think that these textbooks are attempting to claim that the only way to be a hero is to be in the military. I think it serves more as a metaphor. The revolution claimed that sacrificing oneself for the cause was the most important thing a person can do, and military stories serve as a much more vivid example of this kind of sacrifice than stories about peasants who spend 12 hours a day farming, or children who collect nails off the street for the great leap forward. Furthermore, the formulaic story of soldiers overcoming harsh weather, dead surroundings, or an evil opposing army serves to demonstrate the common theme of overcoming hardships for the revolution. Even the "enemy" can serve to demonstrate a larger theme. In the many stories about soldiers crossing difficult mountain ranges, rivers, or surviving harsh weather, the writers of these stories send a message to children that through determination and dedication for the revolution, man can essentially overcome nature (a very radical idea throughout the history of China）. And when Chinese soldiers overcome American or Nationalist armies (I laughed a bit when we were called 美国鬼子， or American devils[2]), the authors can make strong anti imperialist or anti rightist statements.

It is still considered a respectful position to serve in the military, just as it still is in mainstream American society\. But I think these stories are not only meant to teach children to join the military; I think they wanted to teach children the greater themes about the meaning of sacrifice and the rewards of dedication.

[1] The textbook series that is overwhelmingly full of military stories上海市小学课本语文。上海市中小学教材编写组出版，1972。 A few more that had at least 1/3 of the textbook include military stories are: 中等专业学校材语文: 上册. 北京:高等教育出版社, 1959; and初级中学课本语文。上海：教育出版社，1958。

[2]上海市小学课本语文。上海市中小学教材编写组出版，1972。

Overanalysis

2009-01-14T19:22:00.001+08:00

When I was in undergraduate, I wrote a fun essay about a Freudian interpretation of Jack and the Beanstalk, based off a book we read for class called The Uses for Enchantment: Meaning in Fairy Tales, by Bruno Bettleheim. Basically, I took from this book ideas about how to interpret various fairy tales and argued that Jack and the Beanstalk implicitly communicates with young boys that it is ok and healthy to explore their sexuality and sexual urges. Instead of thinking of Jack and the Beanstalk the way we normally do, a young boy becoming a hero, he is instead a child who must leave his mother on a quest of his own sexuality, and after he climbs the beanstalk (doesn't take a whole lot of imagination to see the symbolism there) he comes back a man, ready to take care of his mother and move into the world of adult sexuality. As any good analytical essay should, mine included an acknowledgment of counterarguments to my thesis. The most important one was that I was simply overinterpreting the story; it really is as simple as a heroic magical tale that children enjoy for reasons that have nothing to do with adolescent confusion about sex.

I thought of this today while having a conversation with the librarian at the Publishing House.When I am finished with a stack of books and leaving for the day, I give the librarian a new list, and he gets them for me either after I leave or before I arrive the next day. When I walked in today, ready to sift through a large stack of 语文 (language) textbooks from the 50s, 60s and 70s, he sat me down and said with excitement that I had requested the book he used when he was in primary school in 1959. He told me he recognized the cover, and then proceeded to show me his favorite parts of the book. He showed me a bright colorful picture of a fox and a hen, telling me about the 童话故事 (fairy tale) it depicted (below), and then showed me a picture of a medieval looking Chinese hero riding a phoenix over a pile of brightly colored jewels (seen to the right). It has been 50 years, he said, since he had seen these books, but he immediately remembered the pages where his favorite stories and pictures were. I told him I thought these books looked much more interesting than the ones I had been thumbing through before; the librarian scoffed and said "of course! Those are from right after the Cultural Revolution (pointing to a set of textbooks from 1972) of course they will be boring!"

The way he remembered so vividly these fairy tales, and the excitement with which he showed me the pictures from his old elementary school textbooks, made me think about my old essay. I spend so much time trying to analyze how various stories, pictures, and textbooks, create a certain sense of identity, nationalism, and selfhood. And while I would like to think that my research is not completely useless, maybe sometimes I overemphasize the meanings and impact of textbooks and propaganda. The pictures at the beginning of the textbooks of Mao helping children, or the pictures of Tian'anmen, equally colorful, didn't stick out in his mind; instead it was the fantastic fairy tales that have nothing to do with Communism or the revolution. And come to think of it, I'm not sure I would recognize my old grammar books from elementary school, but I remember exactly how I felt when I read Roald Dahl's The Witches, and how for my book report I spent hours making a puppet with a wig that could come off and shoes that hid square toeless feet. I don't think The Witches had any strong impact on my identity, national or otherwise, but I still remember that book, and the picture of the Grand High Witch without her mask.

I don't know why it is that these fairy tales stick out in our heads more than what the government perhaps wants us to remember; or maybe it doesn't. Maybe the reason is as simple as children like fantastic stories, not stories about red army members crossing a bridge and being national communist heroes. And maybe the librarian is not like every child. I guess this just taught me that maybe sometimes, I should just relax and not try to over analyze everything; some things are just as they are at face value.

Research Notes: Powerful literature

2009-01-07T21:20:00.010+08:00

A couple of months ago, there was an article on Fox News about a woman who was suing the school board of her local county because her son's 8th grade literature textbook included Barack Obama's speech from the 2004 Democratic Convention and an excerpt from his memoir. She claimed that it was a blatant attempt to influence (and in the comments of the article, the word "brainwash" is more often used) her child's political opinions with the upcoming election. The editors of this textbook claim that the reason they had speeches from Barack Obama was because this textbook was used in a district that was over 50% black, and writings from a man who himself has struggled with his identity in America would help them identify in their own search for identity. And while this story may not have made huge news in America (I don't really know, I wasn't there), it certainly incensed the conservative community on the internet.

This got me thinking about the purpose of language arts, or English classes in school. I had always made the simplistic assumption that the purpose of an English class was just that, to teach English. But I guess I had never given it a lot of thought. A 语文 (which translates literally to written language, but for our purposes we should think of this as a Chinese, or language arts class in China) textbook I came across recently I think summed up the purpose of language classes quite well. It claimed:
The use of language is necessary in [understanding] economics, politics, culture, and life; it is something that every person every day cannot live without. If we study the correct use of language, the depths and creativity of our thinking and the extent of our productivity will increase and will have more meaning.
It is not about only teaching the mechanics of language. Language is the means through which we understand ideas; without properly understanding how language can communicate, we cannot fully understand the ideas by which we live (and the work productivity clearly shows communist influence from the 1960s). Therefore, perhaps more than any other class (other than history, no bias there) language arts can be a very powerful political tool. But government propaganda aside (and I would like to think that this Wisconsin language arts book was not blatant propaganda) it is also a way to encourage children to explore their own personal identity. The authors, however, have the very important, and perhaps dangerous, responsibility of creating the parameters within which children can explore their own identity.

I've been recently looking at 语文 textbooks from the 1950s, 60s and 70s, and I have found some very interesting trends. One trend that shouldn't be surprising to anyone is the pervasive themes of Communism. In the 1950s and 1960s textbooks especially, the importance of communism and revolution is pervasive. Half of the stories are about Mao Zedong (in ALL of the textbooks), either songs he wrote, stories he wrote, or stories about him, about people going to see him, about his good deeds. There are also occasional stories about communist movements abroad (such as one in Canada; I didn't know there was a communist movement in Canada), or stories about the Korean war. Each textbook, from every time period, began with 1 or 2 revolutionary songs.

There were other trends, however, that I found more interesting. In the textbooks from the 1950s and 60s, there was an emphasis on youth empowerment, both male and female. There were many stories about children who stood up to thieves or landlords, about children who traveled thousands of miles to see Mao Zedong. Either way, the emphasis is on the importance of children. I would estimate (and this is a very gross estimation) that nearly 1/3 of the stories in the early textbooks are about children. Also, it is important to note that the children whom we should be imitating are both male and female.

This trend changes in the 1970s. Gone are the stories of child empowerment and instead we have stories about the greatness of adults, and there are many essays on the importance of child self criticism (a subject absent from earlier textbooks). Mao still writes many of the essays, but they are not about him as a child and a revolutionary, but instead about him as a leader (an adult leader). There also essays about the responsibility of children, which is to study for the purpose of the revolution. And, in a new twist, there is an emphasis on youth movements of the 1920s, thus looking backwards for influence from youth movements that advocated change and reform.

This shows us the parameters within which children should form their own identity. In the earlier communist period, the textbook writers wanted children to feel their own empowerment, to understand what children could do and their place in creating a new society, both men and women (which is reminiscent of stories children in America learn about following dreams and doing the best they can at anything). By the 1970s, China had learned what happened when too much control is given to adolescents, and so they held back a bit on child empowerment.

This is not unlike America. When I read stories from these Chinese textbooks, and the heroine was a woman, a felt a small surge of pride just like I did when we read about female heroes in high school (my favorite, though I can't remember her name, was a woman who during the civil war hiked up her pants and helped load cannons). Literature and language are the means through which we explore ideas, and if students can't identify with any of the literature or the authors, then we have a pretty unsuccessful class. This is why having stories with which black children, Asian children, Hispanic children, and females can identify is so important. Stories like To Kill a Mockingbird, The Color Purple, and The Awakening are important (although I will admit, while I understand the significance now, I never really identified with the heroine of The Awakening. I personally felt more of a connection with Atticus Finch). This is why Obama's memoir is important, to allow minority children, black children especially, to see a current, contemporary hero (Martin Luther King, while important, I would assume is starting to get old) who also struggled with his own place in society. Shakespeare is certainly important to learn, but with nothing to identify with, children have a much more difficult time exploring the potential behind expression through the richness of language.

To connect this back with China, their language textbooks directly correlate with the sense of youth empowerment that we see in the early communist period. According to many memoirs, women had very little sense of gender consciousness, never felt unequal in school. Children felt like they were the center of the revolution, and many of them felt a very emotional and personal connection with Mao and the Communist Party. Literature with which they could identify allowed them to form this connection. Some even went the extra mile to use literature to express their own ideas (the collection Some of Us has a great piece by Xiaomei Chen, a young girl who as a young girl in the 1950s wrote an award winning essay about being a part of the Communist movement).

I never thought about any of this in high school， but it makes sense to me now. I think more than anything this research has shown me how important education is. I never thought of language textbooks being so powerful, but they in fact are.

I cannot for the life of me find this article again on the internet, but I did find a video from Fox News with much of the same information. http://www.foxnews.com/video-search/m/21258867/fair_and_balanced.htm?pageid=47147&seek=9.014

中等专业学校材语文: 上册. 北京:高等教育出版社, 1959, p 1.
1958 59 学年度上海市高中毕业班复习参考资料语文. 上海:上海教育出版社, 1958 59; 初级中学课本语文。上海：教育出版社，1958; 周建威。小学课本语文。上海：华东人民出版社，1952; 上海市中学课本语文。上海：中小学教材编， 1972; 五年制中学课本语文，上海：教育出版社，1960.

Xiaomei Chen. “From ‘Lighthouse’ to the Northeast Wilderness: Growing Up among the Ordinary Stars,” in Some of Us, ed. Xueping Zhong, Wang Zheng, Bai Di, 55–57.

The problem with language

2009-01-07T18:01:00.002+08:00

Recently, I've been very interested recent language reforms in China, and I have had a hard time finding information about this particular subject. I've tried doing some digging, and I have come up with a somewhat comprehensive, although largely still lacking, timeline of language reform in China.

Right now, China uses a character system that is chronologically and geographically unique. Before the 1950s, the Chinese writing system was (for the most part) unified and consistent, and Chinese people in China and in the larger Chinese empire (at least those who were literate) used the same characters (I admit, I am not an ancient scholar, so I am sure there are exceptions to this, but I'm more interested in modern history, so we are going to stick to this generalization for now). China's spoken language, however, was and still remains largely diverse. While most people who have been through primary school can speak the standard mandarin Chinese (putonghua, literally translating to the normal language), almost every area in China has it's own dialect (with the exception of Beijing, simply because their dialect IS putonghua). Shanghai people will primarily speak Shanghainese. Only 60 kilometers away, in Hangzhou, is another dialect, which is different from Shanghainese, although supposedly from the same family. Each town, each village, has it's own dialect, and it has been that way probably since the beginning of Chinese history. Moreover, these dialects argue over which was the ORIGINAL Chinese; Cantonese speakers will argue probably most fervently for their own cause. We won't even get into minorities in China; while the government will argue there are 55 different minority groups in China, it is much more complex than that, and in fact in some cases, Tibetan probably being the most well known, they not only have a different language, but a different writing system altogether.

Nevertheless, Chinese writing has been largely consistent and unified since the first emperor of China unified it in the 200s BC (I met a man once who went to Guangdong and found that he could not find a hotel because no one would speak mandarin to him, and Cantonese sounded like a completely foreign language to him. He finally wrote down the characters and asked someone, and was then able to find it. He said that was the first time he really appreciated the greatness of the first emperor of China). Then, in 1949, after the communists took over, they decided that the best way increase literacy was to simplify characters. According to one of the textbooks I found, this policy was put into effect in 1956, beginning the shift. Now, I expected to see a complete shift (actually, I expected to see a shift in 1949, until I cam across an explanation in one of the textbooks about the 1956 policy). However, instead of being a complete shift, perhaps half of the characters were in simplified characters, and half in traditional. In language textbooks (similar to the textbooks we would use for middle school English), there was a dictionary in the back that showed traditional and simplified characters so children could easily transition. Then, in textbooks published in the early 1970s, the transition was complete, and it was written completely in simplified characters. I found this half and half thing quite odd, so I asked one of the librarians about it. He explained to me that by the late 1960s, almost all of the children attending school had been brought up with simplified characters, and had been taught simplified characters at the beginning of their education. Before that, many children had been first taught traditional, so the half and half thing was to facilitate the transition. He explained that he had begun school right in the early 1950s, so he began right at the beginning of the transition; therefore, most of his early books were half and half. But for children entering middle school in the 1950s, this transition was more difficult, so the half and half made it easier.

So in a general sense, we see how the transition from traditional to simplified played itself out in the classroom. I still don't know the whole picture, but this is what I was able to glean from textbooks. Spoken language reform was more complicated STILL. I made the assumption that since the Communists took it upon themselves to control and unify just about everything, I assumed that that attitude would apply to spoken language as well. However, I have come across many people (mostly cab drivers) who really can't speak a word of mandarin (makes communication really fun). So I began asking around, and once again Chen Laoshi, the librarian, gave me an explanation. He told me that beginning in the 1950s, everyone had to learn mandarin in school, but it was not a requirement to get a job or anything (although certainly helpful, especially for government positions). However, as he explained to me, many teachers could not even speak mandarin, even though they were supposed to be teaching it (he told me his mandarin teacher in primary school had very poor mandarin). Communication was certainly a problem. I found this interesting; there were still many people who couldn't understand mandarin, yet Mao, who even gave his speeches in Hunanese (although this, to me, sounds like mandarin, I understand some of his speeches), still managed to so closely unify the country in behavior and thought. I asked Chen Laoshi if there were still people who couldn't understand Mao, and he told me "of course!" I then asked why they followed him so closely, and Chen Laoshi told me "that is why local government was so important." And it is true that in a lot of cultural revolution memoirs, countryside people didn't have the time to go on pilgrimages to Beijing to see Mao or follow the Long March route out of political loyalty; all that mattered was what local cadres told them (and that they got enough to eat). They had local meetings and such, but the political fervor that swept the cities and pretty much shut down all major institutions didn't hit the peasants, since their livelihood (and that of the rest of China) depended on their continuing of their every day lives. And besides, most people in China at that time couldn't afford a radio or a TV, so they probably only knew of Mao's words through the local cadres.

However, now, it is a requirement that teachers and government officials not only speak mandarin, but know the mandarin pinyin (the English romanization) and take a test to prove it, but this legislation is only a few years old. And even so, there are still many people who cannot speak mandarin. I assume that through media this will continue to change (although Cantonese may survive through pop songs, Jackie Chan movies, and stubborn Hong Kong people), and most of these dialects will fade away. This still remains to be seen, though.

This is certainly not a complete understanding of language reform, and I would like to know more. Anyone who knows any scholarship about this, I would happily welcome book/article recommendations.

Shanghai Story: A conference

2008-12-22T20:16:00.004+08:00

East China Normal University has been home to two conferences this week; one, on the Cold War, I already wrote about, and the other, held December 19-20, was about history and visual culture in the making of modern Shanghai. The topics were quite diverse, although (mostly) centered around cultural history. Along with a lot of new information that helps us to understand modern Shanghai, the participants were able to engage in some extremely important theoretical debates.
The conference was titled "Shanghai Story," implying an attempt to illuminate how Shanghai came into being the epicenter of modern China's genesis, politically, economically, and culturally. But, as Professor Yeh Wen Hsin pointed out in the round table discussion that ended the conference, even the title "Shanghai Story" is problematic. She claimed that stories, in essence, have a beginning, middle and end. But when and where does this story start? That is a historical question that is difficult to determine.
The purpose of this conference was to look at Shanghai's story from the perspective of visual culture. One of the main topics was photography. Three great presentations that stuck out in my mind were by Professor Gu Zheng and Professor Sarah Fraser. Professor Gu's presentation outlined a photography project, commissioned by the Japanese government in 1937-1938, that was meant to show wartime China directly after the invasion. The photographs, which showed Shanghai people in a sympathetic state, was meant to be wartime propaganda, demonstrating to both Japanese and Chinese that the Japanese invasion should be welcome. However, through these photographs, Shanghai was essentially "visually reproduced" during the war, for both Japanese and Chinese, and many of the pictures emphasized China's colonization by the West and the necessity of an Asian rescuer. Professor Fraser's presentation explored photographs of Chinese people taken by Europeans in the late 19th century, and then compared them to later photographs taken by Chinese photographers of ethnic minorities in Western China. Fraser's argument is that the style, subject matter, and purpose behind both of these types of photographs were strikingly similar. While Western people took photographs of Chinese people to show their backwardness, primitiveness, and static and unmodern status. Similarly, the Chinese Republican government reused these similar types of photographs in their anthropological studies of the Tibetans, Yi, and Miao races in Western China. She claims that through these photographs, a clear understanding of the "modern citizen" was born through representation of the "other." The third presentation by professor Jin Tao was about photographs of women . She looked at photos of sing and dance girls from the 1920s and 1930s and attempted to argue their main purpose: to fulfill men's desires or to promote a healthy body image for women? She argues that there are two elements that a woman should strive for in her physical appearance: health and beauty, and sex and desire. At the same time, many of these photographs also gave a visual perception of the modern, which embraced visual examples of health and sex.
A lot of important theoretical ideas can come from these presentations. First, in a larger sense, the importance of photography as a medium should be explored (which it was at this conference). At the round table discussion, Professor Thomas Bender explained how photography can have many purposes: the can allow us to recognize what we already know, allow us to discover things missing in texts, and most importantly, they can be performative, in the sense that they make things happy. Professor Gu's presentation represented this, in that the publishing of the Shanghai wartime photos recreated Shanghai in the minds of Japanese and Chinese, giving new justifcations for war and a new self image. I also thought that professor Fraser's argument was quite compelling because I see similarities in the way that minorites are photographed today. Advertisements in China do not show them as backwards and primitive, but do maintain a certain amount of "tradition" and at the same time, appeal through the exotic and the sexual. Just like Geisha and female hostesses were photographed and advertised in the West as an exotic and beautiful reason to visit Asia, now beautiful minority women are photographed in their traditional clothes and put on display for Chinese tourists. Even the pictures advertising the Olympics and (more visible to me) the Shanghai Expo show minorities greeting the world and the Expo with traditional gifts in traditional clothes, while the Han people greet them with a modern background in expensive Western clothing. I find this somewhat echoes Dr. Fraser's argument, although I admit, I have not done enough research on ethnic tourism to completely substantiate my argument.
Another medium that was explored was film. Dr. Pickowicz did a presentation on 1920's Chinese films (which he claims have been largely neglected, which is a mistake) and Professor Jin Jiang presented on the play/movie Stage Sisters. Professor Pickowicz argued that the 1920's films, while not being particularly political, were important because of their statements about modern marriages. The three films he looked at, Oceans of Passion, Orphan in the Snow, and A String of Pearls, show that modern marriages, while being a much better alternative to traditional marriages, did not have one particular model to follow. Instead, the movies showed that the modern marriage still had a lot of problems, and that it was largely dependent on both emotional and material needs of both the women and the men. Professor Jiang's presentation explored the 1965 movie Stage Sisters and its 1998 adaptation. She argues that while the former was largely political and worked with a revolutionary discourse, the latter works backwards, eliminating the political elements and looking more closely at female and sisterly love.
Dr. Pickowicz's presentation explored some extremely important theoretical and methodological ideas. First of all, as both he and professor Bender explored, the medium of film itself is unique among many visual mediums. It is with film that an audience can more actively participate in the action, and vicariously play out their own fantasies. He called this "fantastical participation," and for a film to be popular, it had to reach people, and especially women, on this level of allowing them to actively participate in the character's struggles and positions. The ability to reach people on this level makes films unique, and it is unique to the modern world. Another concept that Professor Pickowicz explored is the importance of the national and international. He showed that in all of his films, this place called "China" was essentially absent; also, all three of these films were extremely popular throughout Southeast Asia. Therefore, these themes and ideas, as well as the possibility for audience fantastical participation, spanned across national lines. As Dr. Bender noted, oftentimes city culture can travel in a way that national culture does not. Dr. Pickowicz argued that perhaps, instead of only looking to the past 30 years for examples of globalization, we can see it much earlier than that in the ability of cultural models to transfer on an international stage. Thus, when we explore things like magazines, movies, and photographs, we should look beyond pointing to the beginnings of nationalism and look at both the global and the local levels.
Many other presentations looked at other interesting historical sources. Professor Christian Henriot presented on the creation of space through novels, an idea that I had never thought about but was incredibly revealing. He argues that in novels, time and space are created in order to both facilitate a story and to make a point about geography itself. In essence, by carefully choosing which events occur where and when, an author can make a powerful statement about his own understanding of geographic space. Professor Henriot explored 3 novels written about Shanghai, all three of which made statements about the author's understanding of the city geography and cultural construction. As another historical medium, Professor Andrew Field explored dance halls and caberets in modern Shanghai as a creation of urban modernity. Field traced the beginnings and subsequent popularization of dance halls in China from the 1910s into the 1930s. While making a series of really interesting arguments about the reformation of jazz for the Chinese setting and the politicization of dance halls, I found most interesting his thesis concerning the orientalizing transfer of dance halls from the West. Originally, dance halls in the West were meant to be sources of lewd behavior made acceptable by the presence of "oriental" women. The first dance halls in Europe were filled with Turkish harems and other women from the east, making the more sexualized behavior appropriate because of the inclusion of the "other." However, when caberets and jazz bars were imported to the east, they were packaged as the epitome of class and society in the West. In essence, the East comes to the West and then circles back to the East as a Western import. I believe this happens a lot, if not through popular cute toys and even cheesy souvenirs now sold in the East only to Western tourists.
Another interesting topic was the creation and architecture of public parks, as presented by Dr. Dorothee Rihal. She explained that parks are "purely Western and modern." They have a variety of purposes: recreation, relaxation, aesthetic beauty, and a recreation of natural landscape. But, as Professor Rihal pointed out, in China they inhabited a unique space. They became a symbol not only of Western modernity but also of racial and colonial tensions, as their purpose of "public" space brought them to the forefront as far as racial tensions. Similarly, they became a method for Western colonial powers to absorb space which were not included in the original concession; many of the parks lay outside the international concession boundaries. To that effect, they also were important to budding artists at the time, as while they had recreational purposes, they were also aesthetic, offering an ideal natural landscape in the modern city.
These are only some of the "精彩" (a word used by almost every Chinese professor or student who asked a question) presentations, and of course there were more. These presentations stuck out in my head because of some of the issues they raised: the performative role of photography, the tension between the local, national, and global, important non literary sources, new ways of looking at literary sources, etc. I also think that these presentations stuck out in my mind because I found them as related to both my past and present research. It also opened my mind to sources yet to be fully explored. I wish I could have understood more of the discussion, and I wish I had had more time to talk to all of the professors. But I guess I will have time for a lot of this in grad school.

Society and Culture during the Cold War: A conference at ECNU

2008-12-17T17:15:00.005+08:00

I had the privilege this week to attend a conference held by East China Normal University on society and culture in the background of the Cold War. The conference was held in Chinese, which was an interesting surprise for me. I learned a lot, and I got to practice a lot of Chinese. Below, I would like to list some of the more interesting topics from the conference. I admit, the topics I found interesting are slightly biased, not only because of my own areas of interest but also because of what I was able to understand; a few of the presentations I really struggled with. But a lot of great ideas were presented, and I am glad to see a lot more research on Chinese social and cultural history in the Communist period.
I found Karl Gerth's presentation really interesting because of the more theoretical issues it raises. He argues that the attack on capitalists and consumers by the Communist party cannot be understood simply in the context of early Communist policy; in fact, much of the justifcation for the anticonsumer/anticapitalist policies and the main reason it was so accepted was because of earlier practices and situations of market capitalism in the 1930s and earlier. That is to say, much of the justification the Nationalists gave for high spending and buying national goods was recycled to justify state ownership of all market activity in the 1950s. This is important I think because much too often we make a clear break from before 1949 to after 1949, refusing to acknowledge the fact that much of Communist policy was borrowed from earlier political and cultural models.
A few presentations taught me events and ideas that I had never even known about. Sen Pingchong's 森平崇's presentation talked about the cultural figure Ah Fei, a symbol of rowdy and disobedient children (from what I understood of the presentation). He shows how the figure Ah Fei and his stories, which cropped up in movies and books, represents a cultural model based upon American culture, a wanton unfilial lifestyle that should be avoided. In pictures, he reminds me of Elvis, with high hair that looks like an airplane, holding a cigarrette and mainly being immoral. The Ah Fei campaigns became most popular in 1950 and 1957. He argues that Ah Fei was important in 1950 because of the early communist campaign to wipe out American and Guomindang influence, especially through movies. There was a resurgence of Ah Fei's story again in 1957 because, while American movies and other media influences had mostly been elimintated, there still existed many of the institutions associated with Ah Fei's American deviant behavior, such as coffee shops; also, rock and roll had become popular, and it was immediately associated with Ah Fei. One of the professors during the free discussion time pointed out that the "Anti Ah Fei culture" was not exclusive to China, and in fact this cultural stereotype was equally attacked in the United States at the same time.

Another interesting fact I learned through these presentations was that in 1969, the Communist party, fearing a Soviet nuclear attack, evacuated a large portion of Tianjin's population and dispersed them throughout the countryside. In this process, they lost their urban residence cards, thus making them ineligible for higher living stipends and other benefits. Jeremy Brown's presentation explores this dynamic, showing that the Communist's reasons for this campaign was not only national defense but also domestic.

There were a few great presentations on Soviet-Chinese relations and comparisons. You Ji's presentation explains how the alliance deteriorated over the 1950s, explaining this deterioration over a battle for control and the Chinese desire to maintain autonomy in decision making. Izabella Goikhman's presentation explains the academic interactions among Chinese and Soviets. I found it interesting that, as Goikhman explained, there were limits on both sides as to how much they would share or use, but many of the limits were determined not by the government, but instead by the scientists themselves. The Soviet scientists were not given clear instructions on how much to share with the Chinese, and it was up to their judgment. Martin Dimitrov, the non historian of the group, compared Soviet and Chinese models in dealing with ethnic minorities. He showed that because of certain factors, it is not surprising at all that racial tensions led to the downfall of the USSR while China has maintained its sovereignty over its minority populations. These factors include: the percentage of minorities (Russia is only 51 percent Russian while China is 92 percent Han); the right of minorities to secede in the constitution (the USSR constitution gave that right to minorities, China's constitution does not); levels of urbanization (in China, the level of urbanization is much lower in provinces with many minorities whereas in the USSR it was much higher in high minority regions); and levels of education and social programs (in the USSR many minority groups had education levels above the national average while in China the level of education for minorities is below the national average. Interestingly, health care and welfare benefits is much higher for minority provinces than the national average).

There were also a few presentations which I found interesting and unique. Li Peide 李培德 from Hong Kong University gave a presentation on Hong Kong movies during the Cold War. In the 1950s, when the Hong Kong film industry was really taking off, Hong Kong was stuck at a crossroads between Taiwan and the PRC. While the Hong Kong film industry was influenced by a certain competitve atmosphere, the largest struggle it had to contend with was political pressure from Taiwan and China, both of which wanted to influence the movie industry in this critical location. Another interesting presentation, simply because of my past research, was Chen Yan's 陈雁 presentation on the New Chinese woman. She compared magazine pictures from the 1930s and from today, showing how in both these times, femininity and fashion were admired, and the ideal woman was one who presented her femininity through her clothes, makeup, and decorum. In contrast to that, in the women's magazine "New Chinese Woman" (新中国妇女）the ideal woman was quite difference. Femininity was not emphasized. Instead, women were shown as leaders in the new China, they drove trains, they worked in fields, they defended their countries, and the reared good revolutionary children. One problem I found with Professor Chen's argument, however, is that I found a lot of crossover from the 1930s woman and the New China woman. She used the magazine Ling Long for her comparison (a magazine with which I am quite familiar), and she claimed that Ling Long only emphasized this feminity like today's women's magazines. However, while they were few in number, there were still a substantial number of articles in Ling Long that emphasized female patriotism, female soldiers, and most importantly, female education; in fact, the emphasis on education was not slight, but a prevalent theme throughout the magazine. Thus, as Karl Gerth pointed out, making a clear break at 1949 doesn't work, as there is always a lot of cultural overlap between the two periods.

The conference was fascinating, and I learned a lot from these professors. I am now looking forward to another conference, beginning Friday, where I hope to absorb even more information.

Research notes: The creation of a citizen through the control of time and space

2008-12-13T12:46:00.004+08:00

One of the themes that is prevalent throughout textbooks, especially the hygiene and everyday knowledge textbooks, is the emphasis on a controlled sense of time and space. Culp mentions this briefly in Articulating Citizenship, in which he claims that the Nationalist government instituted strict control over the school day in terms of schedules, classroom arrangement, free time, etc. He claims that this strict control over time and space contributes to creating an environment that mirrors a transition to industrialization. He claims "such organization an control of time as a valued resource, and the coordination of simultaneous collective activities, reflected the shifting conceptions of time that have accompanied industrialization, with its commodification and synchronization of labor." Similarly, Culp claims that a control of space allows an individual to understand his "generic self as an individual citizen in relation to the composite whole of a wider community."[1]
I believe it goes beyond this, as it not only represents a shifting perception of time and space, but a control over the body. By controlling the body, the government can create and mold a certain sense of citizenship that is very real and tangible. Being a citizen was not only imagined, it involved a bodily participation in ritualistic behavior, and the body existed within a certain space and time with others; this new perception of space and time in essence changed the body, conforming it to the "Chinese citizen," which was defined by the government.
This is evident in textbooks. Hygiene and everyday knowledge textbooks both give children a certain sense of controlled time and behavior. They often begin with chapters that tell children to get up early. The first few chapters of each book then bring a child throughout his or her day: get up at a set time, brush teeth and wash face, go to school on time, return home on time, eat dinner at a set time, and go to bed early. Also included in some hygiene textbooks are that children should defecate at the same time every day, that children should learn how to tell time (in later textbooks, when clocks were more common) and how to keep a schedule[2], and what children should do during set time periods, such as "this is what we do during recess time." This sense of controlled time is also expanded to include holidays; most everyday knowledge textbooks include an explanation of certain rituals and activities on important holidays, including October 10th (GMD National day) Children's Day in April, and Sun Yat Sen's birthday. All of these contribute to this controlled sense of time, where children are forced into a certain understanding of time wherein their experience is limited to that of the ideal Chinese citizen, thus compelling them to assume that role.[3]
There is a similar attempt for control of space. Everyday knowledge textbooks include many chapters that describe "the place that I live" "my home" "our classroom" "where we eat" "how to decorate our rooms" etc. Similarly, hygiene textbooks emphasize the environment and cleanliness of the classroom, and chapters on "public hygiene" (公共卫生） talk about the importance of classroom organization. Similarly, teachers’ manuals demonstrate the importance of designing the classroom in a specific way so as to ensure a controlled sense of uniform space.

However, that which is most evident was the government attempt to control the way that children use and handle their own bodies. This concept has been discussed by scholars before; Wang Zheng and Susan Brownell (to name a few) have talked about the importance of the body in creating the ideal citizen. In fact, Mark Elliot discussed the connection of body, time, space, and identity in early China. However, while “hygiene” to us implies cleanliness, to these textbooks it implies much more. Of course there is a heavy emphasis on keeping one’s body clean and free of disease, but there are also chapters on posture, on how to walk in a straight line, on how to exercise, which clothes to wear in the winter, how to greet guests, etc. This echoes a few ideas. First, it echoes Henrietta Harrison’s idea of public ritual in creating the modern citizen through dress and behavior. Similarly, it is reminiscent of a current Chinese public campaign that was put into full swing around the time of the Olympics. The purpose behind this particular campaign was to teach people to be very “文明” or civilized in order to show the world how “first world” China was. This included a smoking ban, harsh penalties for spitting areas where one shouldn’t spit, and to get on and off the subway in a 文明 sort of way. All of these ideas (the subway, obviously, excluded) are included in these textbooks as a way to control behavior through the body. In some ways, this process almost echoes the process explained in Elias’ Civilizing process, with one large difference: all of these changes are not compelled by society, but are compelled by a government desparately wanting to create a modern Chinese citizenry.
There are a few more important points to consider. One of these points is that the control of time, space, and behavior is not limited to the school day; many of the chapters attempt to control behavior and time at home. A teacher’s manual[4] claimed that children spent nearly 2/3 of their time at home, and thus, that time needed to be controlled within the house. This shows the government’s attempt to create this sense of controlled space both at school and at home. Another important point to consider is that much of this control of the body was not only to control personal behavior, but to place one’s body into a group dynamic. Even chapters such as “大家的东西” and “大家的事”imply an attempt to create a collective identity among children. This collective identity would change depending upon where the book was published and when; the Guomindang books emphasized the importance of Chinese collective, while those published for overseas Chinese, especially after 1949, emphasized a more multiracial and international collective.

A final point to consider is that almost all of these examples come from early textbooks, for children ages 7 to 9. In the upper volumes of the elementary school textbooks and in the middle school textbooks, there is less blatant instruction on how to behave. For instance, instead of telling children to brush their teeth and use the bathroom at certain times in the day, the chapters explain the scientific reasons behind maintaining oral hygiene. This shows us that this sense of space and time was to be established very early on, and once the parameters of a citizen’s existence were created at a young age, hygiene became much more of a physical science class rather than a behavioral class.

There are, of course, other examples I did not list here, but this shows an overall attempt to create a certain kind of citizen by limiting the space within which a child can create his own sense of time, space, behavior, and bodily action. By manifesting citizenry in this very physical way, a child’s entire outlook on life is determined by the parameters set. This is not foreign to us today. Americans are still shocked when they go to China and hear others spitting; in fact, the sound itself creates a Pavlovian response of nausea or discomfort. Similarly, we take for granted how on time we are expected to be. For us, classes start at a certain time, buses come at a certain time (as opposed to many places where buses leave when they are full). Desks in a classroom are consciously organized in a certain way; a circle implies discussion, rows facing towards the front imply lecture. This is not just for practical reasons, it is meant to create a certain type of behavior. And even in college, if desks are in disarray, the first students who arrive often spend time managing the desks into an “orderly” fashion. This understanding affects our identity; we are the product of a “modern” nation, and we are prepared to be as such because our schedule determines it that way. However, in China, it was not maintaining a system, but creating it, which is why these rules and ideas had to be a part of the curriculum. It was through this curriculum that all children could be on the same page, prepared to accept an identity as a modern citizen.

[1] Robert Culp. Articulating Citizenship. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 2007: 167-169.

[2]南洋书局编。南洋初小常识教学法 (第三册). 新加坡：南洋书局有限公司，1948。

[3] All of this information comes from the following textbooks, unless specifically indicated: 最新南洋华侨小学常识课本教学法。新加坡：中华书局， 1939；徐允昭。小学卫生课本。中华， 1933。上海图书馆；杨？如。 卫生课本 （高等）。世界书局印行。1933；文堇. 卫生课本 （初等）。世界书局印行。 1933。

[4]赵楚为。小学教育参考书 （上）。上海商务， 1925。上海图书馆

Working at the Shanghai Lexicographical Publishing House

2008-12-06T20:48:00.003+08:00

Thus far, I have conducted almost all of my research at the Shanghai Library, China's largest provincial level library. Their holdings of textbooks is quite impressive, and I've found extensive amounts of material there. However, I read in Culp's book that the largest holdings of textbooks is in the Shanghai Lexicographical Publishing House, known in Chinese as the 辞书出版社图书馆， or for short the 辞书 (cishu). Since I am in Shanghai, I thought I should take advantage of such a wealth of material. I spoke with my adviser, Dr. Jiang, who told me she knew someone at the Cishu; I only thought I needed a letter of introduction, but it seems that Dr. Jiang's connections were much more important than I previously realized. Dr. Jiang spoke to her contacts, a former classmate named Wang Jihong, and I subsequently made an appointment to meet with her at the Cishu.

The building is in a small courtyard near West Nanjing Road, which is much closer to where I live than the Shanghai Library. It shares this courtyard with the Mansion; I haven't figured out what the Mansion is yet, but it is built in colonial architecture and dates back nearly a century. The archive itself is a small dusty building made of cement (which makes it quite uncomfortable to look through the card catalog located near the door in a hallway where small heaters cannot reach). I asked for Wang Jihong, and a woman in a white coat paged her. Wang Jihong was a bustling and very sweet middle aged woman who asked me a lot of questions and was quite complimentary of me in a very sincere way. She and I chatted about education here and in America, about Fulbrights (a program with which she was quite familiar) and how she knew my advisor. Another man then came in and asked what I was doing my research on, and I told him in a vague way. He pressed me further， attempting to understand exactly what kind of material I wanted to look through. Finally, I understood that he was not making polite conversation and actually wanted to get me my materials, so I asked for elementary and middle school changshi and weisheng textbooks; he swiftly left the room and came back within 15 minutes with a stack of books, which I then proceeded to look through.

I didn't realize how lucky I was to be able to use these archives, however, until I went to the archives with a fellow history student from California who I had met through a mutual friend. She and I had both read Culp's article about the Cishu, and thus both assumed that a letter of introduction would suffice for being able to use the archives. When we went together, however, she and I were tossed around to a few people until they finally told her that, even though this was not open to the public, they would allow her to look at only a few materials as long as they were in good condition and were easy to find. Ms. Wang then explained to us that normally, it was necessary for her to have Chinese connections to be able to use this private archives, and part of the reason they allowed it is because she knew me, who knew Dr. Jiang, who new Ms. Wang. Such is the importance of 关系 (connections) in China.

All that being said, the staff is incredibly friendly and knowledgeable. They are also quite proud of their library, and are often engaging in conversations about how many foreign people come to their library. The staff and other researchers also love to engage me in conversations; one older man who often gets my materials had a long conversation with me about Japanese electronics (since my camera is a Nikon); he also found it funny that I wrote everything in traditional characters. The rules are not strict at all, like some other archives; they will fetch materials at any times of the day, they don't force us to leave during lunch, and while we cannot photocopy, we can take pictures for a small fee (half the price of the Shanghai library). Finding materials is slightly more difficult because the card catalog is only by title, although for earlier materials it is possible for them to do a subject search on the computer (this is not, however, possible for later materials, as they are only cataloged on the cards).

It is very clear that the library has a lot of material, and (as Culp's article suggests) anyone interested in education should definitely make use of their collection. It seems that having the support or letter from a Chinese professor, especially one that they know, is helpful in facilitating the process. Similarly, knowing exactly what kind of material you need to use seems to make them more likely to let you in. It is a great place, and I am excited to do more research there, as I know I will continue to find things that I could probably not find elsewhere.

An introduction to this archive can be found in:
Culp, Robert. "Research Note: Shanghai Lexicograhpical Publishing House Library's Holdings on Republican Period Popular Culture and Education." Modern China (2), 1997: 103-109.

Research Notes: Textbooks of the early Communist period

2008-12-06T14:37:00.006+08:00

I was fortunate enough to come across some changshi (everyday knowledge) textbooks from the late 1950s at the Shanghai Lexicographical Publishing House. I thus far found two sets of textbooks: one was published in Shanghai and the other in Hong Kong. The one published in Hong Kong was meant for huaqiao in Southeast Asia, and was published by the Commercial Press (still located in Hong Kong), which had to flee to Hong Kong after the civil war. This particular textbook was based off of the new curriculum changshi textbooks from the 1930s (one of the sets I have used in my other postings) though clearly has been edited for content. The changshi textbook that was published in Shanghai by the People's Education publishing house (from what I can fathom from the back cover). In this textbook, much of the old curriculum has been completely overturned, although the themes remain quite similar. A comparison of this two is quite interesting, but unfortunately, incomplete; most textbooks come with either 4 or 8 volumes, and while the huaqiao changshi textbook is complete, I was only able to find one of the four volumes of the Shanghai one. But I will do my best to show some interesting phenomenon seen in these two books.

In the huaqiao changshi textbook, many of the chapters remained the same as the similar version from the 1930s. The importance of waking up early, studying, being respectful to teachers, and staying clean and hygienic remain. There are still chapters on the various systems of the body, on the importance of vaccinations, and the history and geography of China.

The differences, however, reveal much about the kind of identity these textbooks wanted to create. The new curriculum textbooks of the 1930s were meant to give the huaqiao in Southeast Asia the impression that they are also part of China. Thus, there were many chapters on the flags of the GMD, Sun Yat Sen's biography and contribution to the building of a new China, the dangers of imperialism, and the importance of making China strong (one of my favorite chapters in the old textbook included a hierarchy of the world's strongest countries, simply to show what China had to strive for, seen on the right. I was disappointed that America was number 5). In the new textbook, all of these chapters are absent. In the history section, there is mention of Sun Yat Sen, but it is brief. The chapters about the various races of China remained, although edited with Communist information (instead of 5 races, there are now 56, seen below). However, the modern battle for China is largely ignored, and instead is replaced with ancient Chinese history, Chinese geography, chapters on Southeast Asia, and more and more chapters on bugs.

What I think we can take from this is that these textbooks wanted these huaqiao to feel Chinese, but perhaps Chinese in a Hong Kong sense. At this point, Hong Kong had no loyalties to either government, and instead prided itself on being an international section of greater China, committed to the greatness and richness of Chinese culture that developed over 3000 years, but entirely divorced from the battles of the present. This is also made evident through the pictures. One picture that immediately stuck out to me (probably because it seemed so American) was a picture in a chapter about children's day that showed 3 white children, 1 Chinese child, and a black child all holding hands and being happy (seen to the right). The only time in any other textbooks non Chinese people get photos is when there are chapters about the races of the world. This, however, showed a clear commitment to international harmony. Also, the clothes had changed drastically. The skirts were much shorter for women, and qipaos were rare (see morning exercise below). Instead, they almost looked like small American or British children. In a sense, the huaqiao's identity was now in the hands of Hong Kong; aware of China's vast geography and natural resources, aware of it's long history and Confucian culture, but not necessarily a nationalist or communist.

The Shanghai published textbook, however, took a very clear political stance; this shouldn't really surprise anyone since by 1961, when this textbook was published, everything was controlled and created by the Communist party. There are major themes we see in this volume of this textbook. The beginning few chapters are all history of China. The next few chapters are about basic science and elements, such as water, air, metal and steel. After that, the chapters are on physiology and health. Finally, the last few chapters are on astronomy and science, including the rotations of the earth, seasons, and the lunar calendar.

The history section was largely rewritten. The first man ever was actually found outside of Beijing. We then had the Shang dynasty which led to 10,000 years of feudalism, and apparently history was stagnant up until the 1840s when China had a threat from imperialist nations. The communist narrative for history shouldn't surprise us. But all of the information about science was equally politically revealing. There is a chart included in the book of Chinese steel production, seen on the lower right; since this textbook was published right around the time of the Great Leap Forward, steel was currently an important subject. However, there was also important historical ties that were created to steel; not only was it considered most important to our "socialist revolution" but bronze (which was the next chapter) was important culturally and historically in the bronze age. Although the textbook was important to point out that bronze was important for different things today (such as creating electrical wires), I believe this connection to the "bronze age" of Chinese history was meant to show the importance of these materials to Chinese people all throughout history. While the communists eschewed much of what came before them, they still took pride in the long history of their country. Similarly, all of the sections about astrology and science were crucial to a country trying to leap forward in modernity; before the Cultural Revolution, science was considered the most important of all subjects. Health was also important, because as Mao said: "a health body allows us to study and work well."

While it is possible that more ties to the Communist party and nationalism are made in other textbooks, or perhaps other volumes of this textbook, it seems that those ties have already been made quite clear. Instead, changshi has become "everyday knowledge we need to be productive members of the nation." The difference between cows and horses, and fun activities on children's day are no longer important. All of our knowledge comes back to making people working cogs of the communist nation.
These two textbooks create two very interesting discourses of what it means to be Chinese at this point. One is very clearly tied to the communist narrative, while one is very cultural and historical, but completely divorced from politics and more immersed in an international kind of environment. I believe, however, that as I find other textbooks, other narratives will begin to come forth.

Research Notes: Who is a citizen?

2008-11-25T14:30:00.016+08:00

When reading all these textbooks, one of the most important questions that comes to mind is: who is considered a citizen of the new republic? There are a series of groups that we need to consider when asking this question, including members of different races, genders, and even place of residence. In this post, I will go through these various groups in an attempt to discover what is truly meant by citizen.
First, the idea of "race" is quite often broached in civics textbooks （社会课本）and everyday knowledge textbooks （常识课本）. Culp talks a lot in his book about racial minorities and Western China, and the treatment of these places in geography and history textbooks. He claims that, especially in history textbooks, there is tension between one narrative that promotes racial and cultural plurality, and another that promotes Sinicization. However, Peter Zarrow claims in his chapter from The Politics of Historical Production in Late Qing and Republican China that a conception of China in late Qing textbooks has always been multiracial. Obviously, the late Qing textbooks authors had reason to promote racial plurality, as the Qing rulers were not Han but Manchu, but this concept seems to have somewhat remained. One line in the textbook entitled "Elementary Civics Textbooks" （小学社会课本） claimed "the place that they live is in China, therefore they are also Chinese people."
However, their are implications that question their true status as citizens. First of all, pictures of them imply that they are not as developed as the Han people. I found this picture actually quite illuminating, where other races are made to look almost inhuman (such as the pictures of the Uighers on the right). Similarly, they place pictures of these ethnic minorities that mirror similar pictures in the "development" (进步）sections; these development sections show how the places we live, the food we eat, and the clothes we wear all have gone through development, and the height of that development in clothing, for example, is a picture of a woman in a Qipao. This is furthered by the fact that while the Han people are often very well groomed and look "modernized," minorities are always depicted in their traditional garb, thus further emphasizing their "otherness," as seen in the picture on below. This depiction of minorities, actually has survived until today; in a way, the stereotypical "traditional" way that minorities in the 1930s and today are depicted in China mirrors the way that Asian women were depicted in the early 1900s, thus creating an Orientalism within the country as opposed to the Orientalism that occurred in the West before that.
Similarly, many of the chapters are not flattering at all. In the chapter in Elementary Civics about Uigher people, the only other information (other than that they are Chinese because they live in China) is that they are poor, their parents are also poor, and they are very uneducated. However, as Culp suggested, there are also narratives of racial equality, as other textbooks emphasize equality among all the racial minorities.
In a similar vein, while ethnic minorities, since they live in China, are considered Chinese people, 华侨 or overseas Chinese are also considered Chinese people. We see this in a simple sentence in a lower level elementary school everyday knowledge textbook "Us Chinese people who live in other countries are called huaqiao." (我们中国人住在外国的都叫做华侨）. The important line here to note is "us Chinese people," thus further emphasizing the connection that huaqiao have to their home country. Furthermore, the way that the textbook praises these huaqiao who are in America doing business makes them sound not only like citizens, but great citizens.
In a similar vein, the textbooks seem to equally praise people who live in cities and in rural areas. Historically, people who live in rural areas often feel quite removed from the rest of a country, and sometimes have more difficulty attaching themselves to a national imagined community. These textbooks clearly want to establish that everyone in China, from those who work on farms to those who work in factories, are integral parts of the national unit. Many chapters in the Everyday knowledge textbooks are devoted to teaching children about life on rice paddies, how vegetables are produced, what happens when rural people sell their goods at the market, etc. The message from these chapters is quite clear: rural people are an integral part of the Chinese state. Similarly there are separate chapters about China's major cities, thus showing their significance in the Chinese nation as well.
The inclusion of huaqiao in the Chinese nation is also made evident by textbooks specifically created for huaqiao. At this point, most huaqiao were in southeast Asia, and because of that, the Shanghai Zhonghua publishing house created changshi textbooks specifically for their use. The content is almost entirely the same; the only differences is that the huaqiao textbooks include a few chapters in the advanced books about the various Southeast Asian countries; there is a chapter on Malaysia and one on Indonesia. Also, the chapters about bugs and infectious diseases include bugs more commonly found in Southeast Asia. Nevertheless, by sending these textbooks for use for overseas Chinese, the Chinese government was making a very clear statement that these huaqiao are an important part of the Chinese nation.
Finally, there is the question of gender. This is a bit more of a tricky subject since it is not directly addressed in textbooks. However, as I've implied in my other posts, women were considered not as a regular citizen who should be politically active, but still an integral part of the national unit. Women are often treated in textbooks as mothers, or children who are often overshadowed by male counterparts. When it comes to works of civil service, such as contributing to public hygiene or helping parents around the house, men and women are shown equally. When it comes to studying or taking a particularly civic role, however, the pictures are predominately of male children. Also, the calls for action are normally for 哥哥 and 弟弟（older brother and younger brother) rather than for sisters. Take for example, the picture to the right, where the boy is the leader of all of the nighttime activities, and in the bottom right frame, teaches his younger sister something. The only chapter I found with only girls in the pictures was a chapter on hygiene in the kitchen. The predominance of gender equality varies from book to book (for instance, there is one book where the xiaopengyou (child) is always male, and the only female present is the mother) but it still sends a strong message about the role of females in the modern nation. This is furthered by the depiction of the mother who is often fulfilling her gender roles of cooking, cleaning, and parenting, whereas the father is often depicted as a scholar. For example in the picture below, as the children show their filial piety to their parents, the father holds a book and the mother is washing clothes.
What does all this mean? I would like to fathom at a few possible larger implications for these assessments. First of all, while Culp will debate this, it seems to me in elementary school textbooks, the argument for Sinicization is the dominant one even though others are still present. It seems that, while the text will argue that racial minorities are Chinese people as well, this seems more to be politically motivated than anything else (in order to emphasize the fact that the Western regions should be under Chinese control), and these statements belie what I believe to be the true beliefs among the government, which is shown through pictures. This is further emphasized by the treatment of huaqiao (which are in these textbooks all of the Han race) who are still strongly considered Chinese citizens. This strong emphasis on race and the Han people survives today, as huaqiao and huayi (Chinese who are born in America) are still considered a part of the nation. This to me symbolizes the importance of race over geographic location, an emphasis that is opposite in American textbooks today. Gender is a different subject altogether, where women are important parts of the nation but only if they fulfill their specific designated role as "mothers of good citizens." All of these come together to create a very fuzzy picture of citizen, but a very obviously controlled one.

Research Notes: the ambiguity of 卫生(hygiene) and 常识 (everyday knowledge)

2008-11-18T17:04:00.008+08:00

The two textbooks I have found the most helpful, mostly because I feel they have been the least explored by scholars, are the 常识 and 卫生 textbooks, which translate roughly as "everyday knowledge" and "hygiene." However, these translations are really troublesome, because the subjects included in these textbooks encompass so many things that I'm not sure that any English word could encompass the subject.

Let's begin with 卫生 (hygiene). Scholars have grappled with this term before. One of the most important works on this subject is Ruth Rogawski's book, who translates 卫生 as "hygienic modernity," as one cannot separate 卫生 from the modern concept and the desire to follow public health and bodily practices of the West. I want to expand this concept even further. It includes not only bodily cleanliness, but this process of changing all practices related to the body into "modern" ones. Defining "modern" practices is also problematic, but we will save that for another paper (or post).

In order to further show this definition, I would like to list some of the subjects or lessons included in 卫生 textbooks. There are many chapters on brushing teeth, washing hands before eating, changing clothes often, washing face, cleaning out ears and nose, washing and cutting hair, all things we would include in the definition of "hygiene" in English. There are also chapters on getting vaccinated, taking care of yourself when you are sick, exercising properly, getting enough sleep, wearing a lot of clothes in the winter, how to stay healthy in summer, etc. And the topics that seem to broaden the scope of hygiene even more are chapters on correctly organizing the classroom on national day (including how to properly hang the national flag), sitting up straight, helping parents at home, dressing properly, buying food at the nearby market, and nearly half of the upper level textbooks are devoted to life science, including not only human physiology but also bugs, animals, and plants. In some ways, this is almost an etiquette manual, a life science textbook, and a "staying healthy" brochure from the doctor's office all rolled into one.

Now let's move into 常识 textbooks. This is not only a title for textbooks; there are often 常识sections in magazines and journals (such as the journal I used for my last research project Ling Long). And through looking at Ling Long and these textbooks, I've realized that 常识 can mean just about anything. I read a teacher's manual today that was meant to teach teachers how to teach 常识 classes. They defined 常识 as combining 2 major ideas: human and natural interaction, and service society. I realize these may sound quite awkward, but at this point, that is the best I can do with translation, and to be honest, even in Chinese it doesn't make a whole lot of sense (to me). They then listed nearly 30 things that should be included in a 常识 textbook, including (but certainly not exclusively) Chinese modern history (including the Opium wars, colonialism, the first world wars, and others) Chinese geography (the main cities, rivers, and mountains) the main Chinese-produced products (food and others) Chinese natural resources, main occupations, contagious diseases, major modes of transportation, major plants and animals, etc. What was not listed in this teachers' manual but still included in many 常识 textbooks is information about sitting up straight, staying healthy, being on time for class, why not to put things in your mouth that you cannot eat, and other odd subjects as such.

Personally, I think the best way to define 常识 is any information that an informed public needs to know to be a part of a modern society. Obviously, this definition is hugely problematic, since "modern society" is by no means definable. But, just as how I defined 卫生 before, I define modern not by our current conception of it, but how Chinese people at the time understood it. It was defined differently by different people and groups, but in essence it was a goal, a way of life emulated by the West and Japan that China wanted to achieve, but without sacrificing their "Chinese soul" so to speak.

Still, however, these terms are hugely vague, and there is a lot of overlap. For instance, both textbooks talk about the importance of proper behavior and cleanliness practices. Both talk about filial piety and helping others. Both include lessons on an organized space and an organized daily routine. And both include lessons about basic life science, including animals, plants, food, human physiology, and of course, the importance of vaccinations. But ultimately, neither textbook group tries to hide the desire to "modernize" the Chinese population by emulating Western habits and Western categories of knowledge. Furthermore, the ultimate goal of creating a patriotic nation is quite obvious. But what we must remember is that we can't point and scream "propaganda"; this was a time period when using education to foster patriotism was commonplace, not dangerous. It is how this patriotism is fostered that is important, and the major trend I can take from these textbooks topics is that they focus on controlling behavior, time, space and the body, which is what connects these topics together.

Research Notes: Possible directions after 2 months

2008-11-18T16:47:00.004+08:00

I've now been working in the archives for about 2 and a half months and have been overwhelmed with the possible directions my research could go. What is even more overwhelming is that I have only looked at 30-40 books at one archive (the Shanghai library), and within the next month or so I plan to move into the Shanghai Lexicographical publishing house, which holds more than 25,000 textbooks.

But in general, I have found a few trends that I believe I want to further explore. Some of these I have touched on in other posts, but now I would like to clarify these ideas into a clear list. This is a short post, and I will expound further on these ideas in posts to come.

One idea that I have come across both in Culp's book and among others is the concept of a control of space and time in creating the nation. I know that Culp is not the first to posit this, nor is this concept particular to the modern period (most famously Mark Edward Lewis wrote on this theme in The Construction of Space in Early China). But Culp mainly mentioned the creation of a regimented schedule and uniform classroom setup in creating a modern citizenry; I would like to focus on how textbooks create this idea as well. This is especially created in weisheng (hygiene) textbooks and changshi (everyday knowledge) textbooks, where the proper decorum, dress, and behavior is explicitly outlined. Furthermore, Culp talks about how this construction of uniform space and time helps to create a sense of industrialization and an integrated societal unit of which these young citizens are part of; I think this idea can be taken further and in different directions, which I will talk about in other posts.

Another concept I would like to look at is: who is a citizen? Again, this idea has been nearly exhausted by other scholars, especially by looking at history and geography textbooks, but I think that there are some areas that have yet to be looked at. The idea of race has been mentioned and analyzed, but not yet in full. Some scholars argue the idea of a dominant racial theory, others emphasize the plurality of races in the Chinese nation. But this idea has yet to be resolved. Also, the use of pictures in textbooks to emphasize the rightful place of citizens has yet to be examined. Beyond race, the tensions between rural and urban citizens has not yet been examined. We know that the GMD had more power and hold in cities, whereas the Communists glorified the rural landscape; but in these nationally produced textbooks, it almost seems as though the rural lifestyle is more respected and rural citizens are more important than other citizens. I'm not sure why this is.

Also, I feel that the question of women as citizens is still ambiguous. Paul Bailey has talked about women's education, but no one has asked how women are portrayed in textbooks, and how that effects the subsequent status of females as citizens. If women are using textbooks where all of the pictures of people studying are men, and those who are participating in civic rituals are all men, what message does that send to them? Are women full citizens? Furthermore, while these textbooks explicitly state that Mongolians and Tibetans are Chinese people, the question as to whether women are Chinese citizens is left ambiguous. It would be interesting to see why that is.

Look for further posts that delve deeper into these ideas.

Spicy food and pandas

2008-11-10T10:00:00.039+08:00

Sichuan province is famous for many things. The main ones are pandas, spicy food, and more recently the devastating earthquake. Along with the former two assets, it is also a beautiful province with highly diverse landscapes and peoples, with lush green hills and towering red rocks covered with tropical plants to the east, and snowcapped towering peaks to the West (where Sichuan borders Tibet). After spending a lot of time in the archives (and the lab) a fellow Fulbrighter, Yiyi, and I decided to take a trip to Sichuan. Yiyi mainly wanted to see the Pandas, and I was much more interested in the surrounding landscapes (however, we both ended up fully enjoying almost everything).

We arrived in Chengdu late on Friday, October 31st. After a bumpy plane ride, we took a cab to Chengdu International Dream Hostel (which both of us will highly recommend). There, for 35 RMB a night we shared a room with four beds, and fortunately since it was low travel season, we were able to keep the room to ourselves.

The next morning, we set out on the streets of Chengdu to explore. We wanted to see a few of the big temples, such as the 清羊宫 (the Green Ram temple), a large Daoist temple filled with beautiful gardens (see both pictures to the left). Right behind the Green Ram temple was a street full of shops, which had been recommended to us by the man I sat next to on the plane to Chengdu. There, we bought some stuffed animal pandas since we assumed they would be cheaper there than if we waited for the Great Panda reserve.

We then stopped at the Chengdu board of tourism to see if there was anything else we could see that day. She recommended that we go to a street called Jinli to shop, so that was where we went. It turns out that it was similar to the Old Town of Shanghai, filled with tourist shops with both generic and strange knick knacks (see picture to right) and of course, the ubiquitous Starbucks. After we went shopping there, we went to another area nearby in the Tibetan quarter of Chengdu. That street was also filled with fantastic shops of Tibetan clothes, prayer flags, scrolls, embroidered wall hangings, and just about anything else colorful that could be stuffed into a Tibetan temple. The only downside of this street was the Tibetan "monks" that begged for money on the street. The reason I put the quotations around the word "monks" is I am pretty sure they were not actually monks, but instead just bought the clothing. They were rude, pushy, and sometimes even physical as they demanded money from unsuspecting shoppers. One child shoved books in our face to the point where we fell backwards while he yelled "money money money"; we assume these books talked about their "monasteries" but I am not entirely sure since we never took the time to read anything. Another older man hit us on the shoulder when we denied him money. I found this to be a real shame, since these few people were giving Tibetans, and especially Tibetan monks, a bad name.

Our night ended with some wonderful hotpot, a Sichuan speciality. This dish is somewhat similar to fondue; the table is occupied with a bowl of boiling soup, and you order raw vegetables, meat, seafood, noodles, etc. to cook in the soup. Traditionally in Sichuan, the soup is actually a pot of (I believe) chili oil, or perhaps chili soup; we wouldn't completely know since we got the 白味 hotpot, or hotpot for wimps (with no chili, oil or otherwise). Perhaps we didn't get the "full flavor" of Sichuanese cuisine, but it was still quite good. We just didn't think we could handle the real Sichuanese hotpot.

The next day we took a trip to the Great Panda reserve, about 18 kilometers outside of Chengdu. I won't fill this blog space with gushings about how cute the pandas were, although I will say they moved much like Winnie the Pooh, only cuter. Also, while watching some of the most active pandas (we were quite lucky to see them play together since pandas are mostly nocturnal and love to sleep all day), a very sweet British woman stood next to me and narrated with overly cute phrases that would seemingly be from a British farce, which actually made the pandas cuter.

Other than being a fantastic opportunity to both see great pandas and hold red pandas, the reserve I think is a fantastic example of what the CCP can do. The panda reserve is clearly very well funded and controlled (I'm pretty sure these pandas are fed more expensive and better quality food than most of China eats); it uses the best available equipment and employs the best personnel. The effort to save pandas is left to these kinds of reserves, and the CCP takes that very seriously. For example, a peasant may be offered up to 2 years annual salary if it saves a starving panda, and life imprisonment or even execution is the fate of anyone who kills a great panda. Just like we saw with earthquake relief and population control, when the CCP deems something important, it often very effectively gets done.

After a morning of cooing over pandas, we went back to Chengdu where we spent the afternoon exploring some new temples. We went to a Buddhist temple called the Wenshou temple, where we feasted on a wonderful vegetarian lunch, perhaps only surpassed by the vegetarian banquets I was so fortunate to receive at Fo Guang Shan. We had delicious mushroom dumplings and a vegetarian version of huiguorou, which was actually better than the real version, a dish of fried meat, green onions, and soy beans, though the meat is often 90% fat. The temple was also quite lovely, I think mostly distinguished by the buildings' over exaggerated cloud bracketing, seen in the picture on the right.

After walking around wenshou temple, we once again walked around some side streets selling cute Sichuanese souvenirs, including bamboo wrapped porcelain jars (see to right), candy blown like glass, embroidered silk scrolls, and of course, stuffed pandas.

That evening we thought it would be fun to go back to Jinli and try some street food, much of which we had never seen before. We soon discovered, however, that almost all of it was covered in the Sichuan spices "ma" and "la." "La" refers to chili pepper, as it means "hot" or "spicy." "Ma" is a spice that causes your mouth to go numb, and I'm still not entirely sure what it actually is. Nevertheless, Yiyi and I are not big fans of either spice, and we were thrilled, after spending a lot of money on food we couldn't eat, to find some chicken shaomai. Nevertheless, it was an experience.

The next morning we left for Hailuogou glacier park. It was difficult to give up the chance to go to Jiuzhaigou, a beautiful nature reserve in the north of Sichuan known by all Chinese, but we thought a glacier would be more interesting; also, there is a very real possibility that while Jiuzhaigou will probably be perfectly preserved for a long time, Hailuogou may not be here in the near future. The glacier is a few hundred kilometers to the West, near the Sichuan-Tibet highway, and is surrounded by the astounding snow capped jagged peaks that define the Tibetan and Himalayan landscape. It was about a 6-8 hour bus ride, some of which was quite comfortable on the highway, and some of which was typical miserable Chinese bus rides on poorly repaired windy mountain roads. However, in some ways, the bus ride was the best part because we were able to see the variety in landscape as we made our way west. Small villages with tropical green terraced rice paddies and palm trees became taller mountains with colorful fall foliage within a few hours, and soon after became towering peaks with weaker vegetation. And once we reached Moxi village, which held the entrance to the park, we were able to just make out the jagged mountains covered with snow as the sun went down.

Unfortunately, the bus ride was a bit soured by our tour guide. I have been on Chinese tours before, and since we only paid 280 for the entire trip (which is very little since it included meals 2 nights accommodation, and the 75 RMB entrance fee), we didn't expect a fantastic guide or 5 star hotels. However, it all began when he tried to convince us to attend a performance of Tibetan dancers, as for every 100 RMB ticket he sold, he got a kickback. We told him we were tired and did not want to go, and he continued to pester us. The afternoon was nice, as we stopped for awhile in Luding to see a famous communist monument: the Luding bridge (the town you can see on the right). According to Communist lore, during Mao's long march as the communists were being chased by the Guomindang, the communists were headed for the Luding bridge only to find that the Guomindang had removed the planks and were waiting to head them off on the other side. Being the brave communists that they were, they climbed across the bridge like monkeys with grenades in their mouths and blew the few Guomindang soldiers away, and were able to run further into the mountains before the other Guomindang troops could arrive. The bridge is now a large tourist attraction where the nationalistic Chinese come to see the great victory of the CCP (and see the great picture of me on the right, being a good communist, on the Luding bridge).

The tour once again took a turn for the worst once we reached Moxi town and were forced to listen to a woman at a "Buddhist temple" try and convince us to drop 400-800 RMB (approximately 55-120 USD) to have our fortune told. In the meantime, our tour guide tried to figure out where we (as in just Yiyi and I) were staying as apparently he didn't know. After frightening us ("oh my goodness, are we staying in a complete dump?") it turned out we were staying with everyone else. We aren't sure why our tour guide didn't know that.

The other thing that soured the tour a bit was the food. I knew that tour food was bad, but never had I imagined that they would feed us such unhealthy food, and then not give us enough. 12 people, including sometimes one or all of the 5 men from the People's Liberation Army, were expected to share 8 small dishes which often never included meat and only occasionally included tofu. Once, 4 of the 8 dishes were steamed veggies. We often left the table hungry, grumbling about the lack of food. And in the morning, breakfast was rice and steamed buns, and to get any type of protein we had to pay extra. Furthermore, the food must have been really bad, because I am still (6 days later) getting over the food poisoning.

That evening, after we went to our rooms (which was actually pretty nice), Yiyi and I chatted with some of the girls on our tour. There were three girls about our age whose rooms were right near ours. Two of them were working, and another was a graduate student in chemistry. It was wonderful to talk with them, sharing our opinions and experiences in America while complaining about our tour guide.

The next morning, we woke up quite early to have an unsatisfying breakfast, and then we hopped on a tour bus to go to a base camp at the base of the glacier. The Lonely Planet claimed that Hailuogou glacier park had become largely touristy, so I never imagined that the roads up to the base camp would be so poorly constructed. I would have been unbelievably sick on the muddy bumpy roads ridden with piles of rock and bulldozers had it not been for my anti emetic and the gripping fear that our rushed and wild bus driver might drive us off a cliff. However, after about an hour and a half of sickening hairpin turns on muddy roads, we made it to the base camps. It is also unfortunate that we couldn't see very much because of the thick clouds that surrounded the landscapes, barely allowing us to see 10 feet in front of us. We originally wanted to walk, which our tour guide suggested since the clouds were so thick, but unfortunately, we were chased up the trail and actually run off the trail by men carrying sudan chairs trying to convince us to pay them to carry us up the hill. We then realized our tour guide pressured us to hike because he received a kick back from those sedan carrying men; we saw them talking right before he gave us his suggestion.

Because those sedan carriers actually made the hike somewhat unsafe since they took up the whole trail and surrounded us while yelling at us how we couldn't make it up the mountain. Therefore, we decided instead to take a cable car, and I am really glad we did because on our way up, the clouds parted (literally) for about 10 minutes and we got a spectacular view of the jagged peaks (seen in the picture on the right). We stuck our cameras out the window and snapped as many photos as we could, which was a great idea because by the time we reached the end of the cable car, the clouds had descended once again. We waited for about an hour for the clouds to blow away again, which fortunately they did, but in the picture on the right you can see all of the tourists waiting for it amongst an intimidating sea of clouds. We were able to see the glacier (in the picture above), which had significantly retreated since the posters nearby had been taken, but it was breathtaking. I'll let the pictures speak for themselves.

We then took the cable car back down and met everyone else for lunch. Many of the other friends we had made had decided to hike (and inevitably gave in and allowed those sedan chair guys to carry them up) and while they saw some beautiful forests, but missed the overall landscape. While it was sad to have missed the short hike, I'm glad we saw the landscape. We then had another unsatisfying lunch and an even more unsatisfying bus ride down, we made it back to the town of Moxi. This was a really beautiful town with really friendly people. Small children walked up to me to practice their English (it seems that children are more friendly in rural towns). People were building bonfires and roasting lambs under thatched roofs (we were jealous since they got more meat than we did) and people were herding goats and picking lettuce in fields. I almost feel guilty taking so much joy in this bucolic atmosphere since I don't have to live there, but it is really beautiful. We then went to a French catholic church where Mao and the communists had camped out during the long march. There we met an elderly man watching over the church who let us into the church for free (though expecting a small donation). He was actually quite knowledgeable about Catholicism, and sang us some hymns in Italian and some communist revolutionary hymns. He was very excited about me, though I think a bit disappointed that I didn't know much about Catholicism. After that, we went back to our room for a (moderately) hot shower, and then we had another small dinner. Everyone was exhausted, so we all then went to sleep.

The next day we were dragged to a bunch of places where they wanted us to buy things (especially the tour guide, who got a kickback from the sales). We were angry at our tour guide, so we silently protested by staying on the bus until we stopped at a place that makes its own dried meat, and since they gave away free samples, everyone on the tour (the people we liked) encouraged us to come in and have a taste.

The bus ride was even more beautiful, partly because the skies were blue but more because we received text messages from Fulbrighters in Shanghai about Obama's victory. :) We were able to catch part of the news coverage on a television in a restaurant, and when we found out the results, many of the people on the tour congratulated us. Then, the tour guide took one last jab at us (perhaps because we refused to go to those sales pitches) by leaving us on the entrance to a highway, including the older woman who had broken her ankle, telling us to find our own transportation back. It took us nearly half an hour to find a cab, which made us so irritated that we unintentionally took it out on the girls who worked at our hostel, who of course didn't know that our tour would be that bad. We were just scared that the tour we booked for the next day to Leshan and Emei Shan would be just as bad, but they reassured us and we ended up going (which was a wise choice).

We decided to go and see a temple across the street called Wuhouci, a temple built in 6th century for Zhu Geliang, a hero of the 3 kingdoms period known for his great wisdom (he was also made famous through the numerous novelizations of the period, most famously the Romance of the Three Kingdoms). I won't pretend to know anything at all about this period; what I do know is that there were three states vying for power, and two teamed up to battle the third, and I'm pretty sure that the team of 2 lost. Zhu Geliang was one of the generals and leaders of one of the states. (Please don't make fun of my absolute lack of knowledge on this subject).

Then we went to dinner at a place recommended by our friends at the hostel. It ended up being our favorite place to eat in Sichuan, and we ordered a dish that was stir fried pork over deep fried rice cakes in a sweet and tangy sauce, which was delicious (seen on the left). There was a sweet girl who helped to wait on us, and she wanted to practice her English. She was clearly very nervous, but she continued to ask us questions and was just fascinated with us. Her name was Liqing, and she was from Leshan, a full 2 hours away from Chengdu. She was only 16, and she worked every day which was making her grades suffer in school. My heart felt for her, because it was clear she looked at us as a part of this world she could never be a part of. She made us promise that we would come back again, and then she wanted to take pictures with us, which we promised we would send to her.

The next morning, we woke up VERY early for our tour of Leshan and Emei Shan. We could tell almost immediately that the tour would be better than the Hailuogou tour because we stopped at a small street stall for breakfast where the busdriver himself had some noodles, and he clearly did not get a kickback for it. He dropped us off at Leshan, only 2 hours from Chengdu, the home of the large Buddha which was carved into the side of the mountain nearly 1000 years ago. It stands as the largest Buddha in the world (ever since the Taliban blew up the one in Afghanistan in the 1990's). It was carved out of a mountain face in the 8-9th centuries by a monk named Haitong, and so much rock was carved out of the cliff that it actually changed the water currents of the nearby river, making it possible for boats to travel on it. After spending some time walking from one side of the Buddha to the other (which actually took nearly an hour), we climbed around the area to look at some other temples. Unfortunately, I missed much of the narrative because our guide did not give us long to take pictures.

After Leshan, we had some lunch before we headed to Emei Shan, one of the four sacred Buddhist mountains in China (the others being Wutai Shan, Jiuhua Shan, and Putuo Shan). Not only is Emei Shan famous for its place in Buddhist history and its spectacular sea of clouds (which we, unfortunately, did not see) but also because of the monkeys that roam freely on the mountain. While they are not tied up or kept in cages, they are still incredibly influenced by their surroundings. They are quite aggressive with people, and are very used to opening plastic bags full of nuts which are either given to them by tourists or which they have stolen (we also saw one monkey emptying out a wallet...) However, the mountain has employed many people to make sure that the monkeys to do not attack tourists; they do this by carrying large sticks which they snap at the monkeys if they come too close. I also wonder just how animal friendly the staff workers are since many of the older monkeys were missing one or both hands. We still got a lot of pictures with the monkeys at very close proximity, though they were somewhat frightening (as they are known to have stolen things from tourists).

After taking pictures of the monkeys, we went to the the wanniansi, or the 10,000 year temple. By this point in my China travels, I have to admit that most of these temples were starting to look alike, which I think even the most dedicated of architecture experts begin to feel after awhile (much like those who spend a lot of time sightseeing in Europe; all the churches begin to look alike). However, this temple had a very unique building, one which combined architectural elements in a way I have never seen before. Instead of the formulaic structure of most temples, a square building with cloud bracketing, the temple has a sqaure base with a rounded top. It was painted bright yellow with a few simplistic decorations around the base. It actually echoes original Buddhist temples from India, who simply build large mounds of dirt that were covered and decorated on the outside; the proper way to worship at these temples was to simply circumambulate around the outside. Also like these temples, there was no image of the Buddha in this temple, but instead a large elephant around which pilgrims circumambulated; the theme of circumambulation was even further emphasized by the importance of going to the back of the temple, as rubbing the back of the elephant's knees brought good health.

From that temple, we moved onto other areas of Emei Shan, stopping a few times to get small snacks or try teas. We tried some very bitter tea, some pretty strong alcohol (the older men on our tour very much enjoyed that our young female tour guide could hold her alcohol quite well) and deep fried pheasant and duck, a specialty of the region. The ducks and pheasants were quite small, and there was not much meat (and the meat that was there was quite gamey) but it was nice to try the regions' specialties. We were not going to buy any, but the men on our tour bought some for us. (seen on the right)

We then moved on to hike through some really spectacular landscape. One of my favorite scenes was a pagoda framed by two symmetrical bridges, which was surrounded by lush greenery (seen below). We were somewhat rushed for time, so I had to quickly take photos and run to catch up. I am still disappointed we couldn't spend more time exploring the mountain, and even more disappointed that we didn't catch the sunrise at the summit; we only made it halfway up the mountain because we were on a half day tour. But I suppose that is an adventure for another trip.

Overall, I think what this trip did for me more than anything is give me a fierce travel bug. I am very sad I missed Jiuzhaigou, and equally sad that I have yet to go to Tibet. I guess this just means I will probably be in Sichuan again someday.

Getting stuff done in the archives

2008-10-29T16:55:00.004+08:00

One of the reasons I chose my particular project was that the archives were relatively accessible. And as far as archives go, the archives at the Shanghai Library are well organized, easy to maneuver, and (so I've heard) relatively cheap to copy. That being said, I am not at all looking forward to working with other archives, because I've run into a series of problems. In the scope of things, these problems are probably pretty minor, especially since I've managed to overcome all of them. However, as a break from my research notes, and for the amusement of those who have never used archives before (or perhaps for the amusement of those who have...remember what it is like to be in my position?) these are my experiences at the archives so far.

First of all, trying to figure out how to even check out regular books at the Shanghai library was a hassle. Instead of looking up a number, finding the book, and checking it out, for books published after 1949 but before 2003 (with some exceptions), you have to look up the book on a computer, request it (which is a bit of a Byzantine process...it is not as simple as pressing "request,") wait 20 minutes for your name to come up on a large screen near the counter where a dumbwaiter brings the books, then you can check them out. I am very glad to have encountered another China scholar at the library that day who explained the whole process to me. Then there are other strange rules; for the English books published after 2003, you can check them out, but only from 1:30-5. Why the time limit? I have no idea.

Then there are the archives. The archives are not catalogued online, but instead are still organized by card catalogue. There are three catagorizations, by subject, by title, and by author. You then fill out a yuelandan form (in which you write the book number, the title, and the publisher) and exchange your library card for a number metal board. You then take the small metal board thing, give it to the woman in the archive reading room, and once she has put your metal board into the correct slot, you sit and wait for them to call your number, and they give you the books. This process may be simple enough, but it was confusing to figure out for the first time with no written instructions, with Chinese abilities that have limited vocabulary (such as, what the names of the rooms are, the word for "request" or "catalogue" or even the yuelandan), and with a staff that does not particularly want to explain the whole process. Then, even after all of this, at least in my case, they didn't even have many of the books I needed. It took a lot of prodding and asking questions until someone finally explained to me that they were not giving me 3/4 of the books I needed because they were being digitized. There was one worker who took pity on me and explained that many of the documents I needed were being digitized, but if I explained to other members of the library staff my situation, they would be able to get the books for me. So that is exactly what I did; I went to a small room on a different floor of the library and asked one of the professors there to help me get these books. He wrote a small note on my yuelandan, and after that I was able to get the books.

On top of all of this, I never realized how quickly copying fees could add up. Even if I am quite frugal with my requests for copying, I usually end up spending nearly 20 USD every time I go. The price is 20 cents a page, which adds up really quickly. And for materials which you cannot copy, you can take pictures of them, but they charge 2 kuai a picture (about 30 cents), which I learned only after I had taken nearly 100 photos.

At this point, I feel like I have the system down, at least in the modern archive room. There are still areas of the library I have yet to explore, and once I need documents from those areas, I am sure I can tackle them. I just thought I would share my experiences, and after 4-5 years of graduate school I will look back on this and laugh...

Research notes: Women in textbooks

2008-10-27T20:18:00.005+08:00

One of the textbooks that I have found most entertaining is called 好公民。It is the story of a family of four: 华民，黄裔，华淑， and 华强。 Loosely translated, these names correspond to：Huamin (the Chinese people or Chinese race); Huangyi (the yellow race); Huashu (Chinese virtue); and huaqiang (Chinese strength). The oldest, and the main character of the story, is Huamin. He is the ultimate paragon of great citizenship, and often not only teaches his siblings lessons, but also teaches his parents as well.　He is always the one to point out the behavior that all good citizens should follow.

We'll give some examples of Huamin's behavioral excellence. After a meal, he explains to his family the importance of eating fruit for his health. He designs a landscaping design for his backyard, and instead of relying on others' labor, he creates a beautiful garden with his own hands. He helps older people to walk when they have trouble. When the family goes shopping for New Year's gifts, he is the first to thank his parents for being such good parents, and asks the shopkeeper which toys are made IN the country rather than OUT of the country; when the toys he wants are imported, he decides to make his own toy boat instead.

But instead of talking about Huamin's many virtues, I think that Huashu's role is vastly more interesting. The only female character in the story (other than the mother, who has an even smaller role and is hardly given a role at all), she is often faded into the background.　But the few appearances she does make speaks to the image of women in 1930's China.

First, lets look at her name and her placement in the family. As the oldest and wisest, Huamin, or the Chinese race, is meant to be superior, even superior to the other Asians and to women, the keepers of Chinese virtue. Huaqiang, or Chinese strength, is not often mentioned, but as the youngest sibling, I believe that he represents Chinese potential (though I could be wrong). However, Huashu is inferior to Huamin. In a way, I believe that this also is symbolic of the placement of women in citizenship. The woman is a person outside of citizenship, she is a different entity. Therefore, she is not only inferior to the Chinese people, more importantly, she is considered outside of the Chinese people.

Furthermore, her name, Chinese virtue, explains that as a woman, that is her most important job: to maintain and protect virtue. This stems back from the long, long, long debate of what to do with women in the new modern society. However, as Paul Baily showed, the ultimate purpose of female education was to train good wives and mothers. While there were certainly other roles for women in the "universe of discourse," the main narrative among men was that the main role for women in a modern society was to raise good and modern sons. Of course, education was necessary, but her goal in life was not be a leader, but to be the rearer of good leaders. Thus, in this textbook, the name of "Chinese virtue" is quite appropriate and quite telling in the author's belief of the role of women. To emphasize the further, the character 淑, while meaning "virtue," refers specifically to female virtues. Combined with other characters, this particular character's essence is to describe the ideal woman, her behavior, and her ethical standards.

Now let's look at the few appearances that Huashu makes in this story. One of the first appearances she makes is doing homework with her brothers. The story explains specifically that Huashu does not understand math at all, but with the help of her brothers, she understands it a bit more. This symbolically shows us Huashu's inferiority; she is hopeless intellectually without a man to help her. More obviously, women can't do math (a certain Harvard professor's comments a few years ago rings some bells...). And if we look at the average curriculum of female schools at this time in Bailey's book, it is shown indeed that math and science are not emphasized. This is understandable; how does knowing math or science help women raise good sons? This kind of symbolism is furthered in the next chapter, where Huamin is creating his own garden, and his sister sits by to watch and help. She doesn't really understand what is happening, but she helps anyway, attempting to support her older brother. This can also be read as the role of women: women should support the true Chinese citizens. Finally, we see her as not understanding the nuances of foreign relations when she, and her older brother Huangyi, pick out toys at the giftshop. Only Huamin has the knowledge and understanding to ask "is this made here? Or is it imported from outside?" While both Huangyi and Huashu's toys are made in China, the toy that Huamin desires is made outside of China. Because of this and his incredible virtue, Huamin makes the toys himself. That Huangyi and Huashu are so crudely unaware of the current situation that they don't even think to ask where the toys are made speaks to their level of political awareness; it is Huamin who must guide them. Here, however, Huashu and Huangyi are on the same page, showing that the Chinese people must guide everyone, others in Asia and the women of China, in the correct path to strength and modernity.

This type of portrayal of women in textbooks is not exclusive to this particular one. In other textbooks, especially 常识 textbooks, oftentimes the text will read "小哥哥does this and this while 小弟弟 should do this." Those characters translate as "older brother" and "younger brother" respectively, but there is no mention to what women should do to help around the house, help organize the classroom, be filial, or help to contribute to the public hygiene of the neighborhood. Similarly, in all pictures of children helping out a teacher or parent, or especially studying, the children are all boys. Sometimes, in scenes of playing, there are both men and women. There are also times when classrooms are shown with men and women. But in particular lessons in hygiene textbooks about "using a light when you read or write," the children are both boys. Oftentimes, the most common occurrence of a female in a picture is the mother, thus further emphasizing the true role of a woman.

A question I would like to know is: was this book used in both women's and men's schools? My guess is that they were used in both, as both Culp and Bailey point out that often times, both types of schools used the same books. But I don't know for sure. It is important though, because we need to know who is getting this message; was it women being taught how to be women, or was it men being taught what women should do?

It also speaks to the importance today of teaching children about important figures in women and minority history. As a girl reads 好公民， she is taught that her only role in life is to be a virtuous symbol under a man's shadow, never with real thoughts and ideas of her own, and when she reads other textbooks, there are no pictures or mentions of women studying or doing well in school, therefore giving her nothing to emulate. While I never thought about it as a child, learning about women like Susan B. Anthony and other women's rights advocates teaches in America that women can do anything. And if we didn't talk about Martin Luther King Jr. or W. B. Debois, the only way African Americans would see themselves in textbooks is as slaves. This kind of self-creation is important, and the way that we portray genders and races in our books plays a large part in the self identity creation of our citizens.