This morning I returned to China, for a look at Postcolonial criticism, and again it struck me, how strange to be learning about this from within the East, in contrast to when I came across this subject in my Australian university degree. And this topic is always of interest to me, because I’m never quite sure where I fit. The oppressive colonizer? (But look at me, I’m Asian!) The oppressed colonized? (But listen to me, I’m a Westerner!)
We discussed the way “Orientalism” was less the “East” and more an imagination of the “East” in the minds of the “West”, and I wondered out loud, if similar things weren’t going on today. There only ever seems to be a handful of storylines about China that pop in the Western media (internet censorship, human rights record, economic rise) and in my short three months here I can assure there are plenty of other, very compelling things to look at in this country. (Have a look at this discussion to look at what is possibly driving the “Western media bias”.)
Perhaps, again, our representation of China says just as much about us, or our relationship to them, as it does about them.
Similarly, it’s interesting to look at an “Eastern” response when a certain, handsome young writer grants an interview with a famous, Western publication. (Or, more accurately, that link is to a Western response to an Eastern response to an Eastern writer being portrayed by a Western title … confused yet?)
What are we looking at here? Subtle racism? Cultural misunderstandings? And from which side? Was Han Han really pandering to the West by granting this interview – and a West that refuses to even try to understand the East? Or aren’t these golden opportunities to show a different side to China – something every country should be attempting to do, in the spirit of internationalism, rather than in support of some kind of ongoing Western hegemony?
These questions aren’t going away anytime soon and constantly pop up, because let’s face it, words matter. Just take a look at the PRC’s quick dumping of the catchy phrase “China’s peaceful rise” in 2004 when, alarmingly, the Western media came to emphasise the ‘rise’ part, much more than the ‘peaceful’ side.
Now the Party are having to put out global ad campaigns in order to downplay fears about China’s dominance on the world stage. Particularly during a time when Western capitalists countries are in a time of identity crises, leading to articles like these, and movies like this.
Lastly, do you think I should dump the code words, and just call a spade a spade?
“This topic is becoming very hot,” said my student.
“Mmm, it’s probably better to say, ‘this topic is becoming very popular.’” I corrected.
No doubt he had learned that in informal speech, you could replace the word “popular” with “hot.” But in this case, it sounded strange. And how to explain that while “this topic is becoming very hot” sounded odd, “this is becoming a very hot topic” didn’t? There’s no rhyme or reason – it’s just a feeling one acquires. After many hours, years – a lifetime – of being immersed in English.
And I know, that for the reverse, the same is happening for me. I shoot out words and phrases in Chinese that are total stabs in the dark. Even when I’m grammatically correct, perhaps – completely unbeknown to me – my choice of words sound strange, or evokes a feeling that’s different to what I intended. And the sucky thing is, there’s no way of getting the hang of it except through years of immersion.
And that’s just the language. What about everything else?
Let’s take something small: some Chinese men like to grow the nail of their little pinky long. As someone who’s grown up in a culture where this is uncommon, there’s something jarring, and not very attractive when I see this. I associate long, nicely shaped nails with women, and then the fact there is only one nail on the hand like this – well that’s just confusing.
But for a Chinese, I’m certain they don’t have the same response. For them doing this, and the sight of it, means something else. And even if I was told what that something else is*, I can’t internalise it straight away. I still feel an instinctive sense of dislike, that can only be eroded by years of immersion, when my brain acclimatizes and begins seeing things the way they see things.
And that’s just something small. What about bigger things, like customs, love, family, work, politics, art, big events like the 60th anniversary celebrations? There are a multitude of subtle cues, signifiers, indicators working together that you can only read, on a subconscious level, after being wholly familiar with a culture as a whole. A knowledge of Chinese history plays into understanding the modern day workplace. A knowledge of traditional customs plays into understanding politics. A knowledge of the education system plays into understanding why a certain tragedy happened.
And right now, in terms of understanding these things, I’m 26 years behind a Chinese person.
As one of my favourite “foreigner-in-China” bloggers Uln of Chinayouren writes in his post on why Chinese is the world’s most difficult language:
Anyone living in China long enough realizes how aware Chinese are of their long history and their status as a different civilization. This discourse is irritating for Westerners, because it reminds too much of ultra-nationalistic creeds back home. But it has one essential difference with those creeds: in the case of China, it is true. As we said before, China is justified to see itself as a cradle of civilization, and it is the only such culture that has survived practically independent from World mainstream till modern times. This cultural awareness is the main reason for the preservation of the language as we know it, surviving different regimes and even periods of chaos.
When we study Chinese we are not merely learning another language, we are learning the words of a parallel World, the last independent system of vocabulary and writing that humanity still has. It is the most similar experience available on Earth to learning the language of another planet. If Chinese is really so hard to learn, this should provide enough motivation for anyone to try it.
I came here, foolishly believing I could learn Chinese in one year. Within the space of two weeks, I wrote to my father saying that one year would most definitely turn into two. And now, three months later, I can see that after two years, I will have only a basic grasp of the language. Many more years will be required to be anywhere near a native speaker. And a lifetime would be required to have any hope of truly understanding this place – and I’m not sure if I have a lifetime to give.
And yet, I am not discouraged. From neither trying, nor documenting the process in this blog. That’s the thing about blogs – they stand less for imperative truth, and more for subjective storytelling. Again, I turn to Uln’s about page to eloquently summarise why I’m here, and why I write:
Thousands of foreigners live in China today, and a fair part of them seek to extend their contracts and are in no hurry to leave. There are different reasons for us to stay, from the old dream of the billion customers to the patient, tolerant nature of the locals. But there is one reason that all of us share to some extent: That vague feeling that it matters, that it’s here and now that history of humanity is being written.
Hence the blog’s subtitle: Of China changing the World
I have been in China for over 2 years, enough to understand that I will never really understand this country. But enough also to be completely fascinated by her. I want to give my own point of view of what is going on in China today. It will not be the voice of the expert but I hope I can make it an original, thought-provoking and entertaining read for all who come into my blog.
* The internet, as always has all the answers. The most common answer seems to be that it’s a “status symbol” indicating the wearer doesn’t do manual labour.
This great clip from my Chinese-American friend James, aka VJ Fader, a visual artist based in Los Angeles, who says:
Here is a 30 second web video protesting the Great Firewall of China, for blocking Youtube, Facebook and many other media sites from the Chinese people.
这是一个30秒的网影视抗议中国伟大防火墙，阻拦了Youtube、Facebook、和许多其他媒介站点从中国人民。 请寄发给您的朋友。
Yesterday a Chinese family was kind enough to take me out for Peking duck. Their son is studying at an Australian university and translated parts of the conversation for me which had turned to Sydney selective schools. The family likened them to the top schools in Beijing: not the best because they were filled with the brightest students in the city – just the students who worked the hardest. “And many of those Sydney selective schools are populated by Asian students,” I pointed out.
I expected the family to be proud of that indefatigable Chinese work ethic, but in fact, they too recognised that the insane amount of hours Chinese students study was getting out of hand. I was a little surprised – I’d always thought that even though we foreigners thought it crazy that these university, high, even primary school kids filled every waking hour with study*, for them isn’t it normal?
And it is normal – in that it’s what everyone is doing – but many here are starting to realise it’s normal bad kind of normal.
I brought up this topic with my Chinese student today (I’m tutoring him in English). He nodded vigorously in agreement. I asked him if it was a case of “race to the bottom” – that is, if you know that the only way to get a good job is to be the top of your class, all you can hope to do is work that extra bit harder than everyone else. Only problem is every single other student has the same idea, so they all start trying to work that extra bit harder. Which means now you have to give even more “extra work”, which everyone else is doing now too, and so you have to give a bit more and so on and so on until everyone is doing, no joke, 14 hour days.
“And the teachers tell us this,” he said disapprovingly, “that we have to be the best if we want to get anywhere. So all we become obsessed with defeating one another! That’s all we want to do, beat each other.”
And the pressure was getting to them, with concern about the mental health of these kids. Yesterday at lunch the family discussed the sad and pressing issue of suicide among overseas Chinese students (or even worse), who not only have to contend with pressures related to academia, but all the other stresses related to being in a vastly different country to your own.
The Chinese family used an illustrative anecdote: ever noticed that Western children carry their own bags? Whereas here in China, parents carry the bags for their children. Their son studying in Australia – a really cool 21-year-old dude, engaging, friendly – put it to me like this: “Chinese kids spend their whole childhood studying, and in the closed world of their family. They don’t know anything about the world. And then suddenly they’re in Australia where they’re meant to be independent. Not just because they’re away from their family, but also because Australia is a very different culture where young people are much more independent anyway.”
And from what I’ve so far gathered, young, Chinese students, particularly those under 20, are more inexperienced and less assertive than their Western counterparts. (Although by the mid-to-late 20s it all seems to even out.)
I cautiously asked him if he thought being more independent was a good thing. He replied, “yes! Definitely. I wanted to be more like that, which is why I went on exchange to Germany in high school. And man, was that a learning experience. I could barely even speak English then, let alone German! And there wasn’t anyone there who could speak Chinese, so every second I was having to work out words with my German host family,” he said with a laugh, stabbing an imaginary dictionary with his finger.
Perhaps it’s no accident that the story of my last post, should come out of China.
Of course the imperative question, are things changing? Firstly, are things worse now? Or is this simply one of those idiosyncratic cultural characteristics?
“It’s getting worse,” my student confirmed. “My parents are of the generation of the Cultural Revolution, so they didn’t even study! But now, all we do is study and the number of hours is escalating (actually I taught him the word “escalating”, lulz.) Before you worked hard in high school to get into a good university. But now to get into a good university you have to get into a good high school. And now they’re even beginning to take notice of what primary school you go to!”
And most hilariously he added, “and haven’t you noticed that all Chinese students wear glasses?” Funnily enough I had noticed just that at the last Chinese class I gatecrashed. “It’s because all we do is study! It’s a national tragedy,” he added, shaking his head.
And is this really of any benefit to the nation? Aren’t you simply creating a generation of exhausted, frazzled robots with brains full of data, but not a single thought? Doesn’t a truly great nation need workers who don’t just work hard, or know a lot of stuff but are also creative, innovative, worldly, confident and most importantly mentally sound? They’re the attributes you sacrifice when your kids are buried in books, working themselves to the bone.
But yes, as always, I have faith! The 80s generation are feeling burnt out. Writers like Han Han, icons of the new Chinese gen, are out there, criticising the education system. Yes, when you live in a country with a one-party system political activism may seem impossible, but in fact, I think it just takes forms different to our own. And these kids have one very vital trump card that previous generations in this country never did. It’s called the INTERNET, heard of it?
But that’s a post for another day!
*And a friend tells me that in one province of China, the children go to school every day of the month, with only two days off.
The students had always found this teacher to be intelligent, and thoughtful. He never censored them, and was interested in their opinions. They respected him, and thought him a good teacher.
On Thursday, he came and asked them, “can we just talk?” And so they put the syllabus aside and talked, about philosophy, culture, politics. The big stuff. But there were hints that all was not OK. He divulged embarrassing personal details: he was 30, still lived with his parents, didn’t have a girlfriend.
The next day he came to class, and started the same. He spoke of Nietzsche, Confucious, the Sino-Japanese war, liberty, equality, freedom, the past, the future – but these students weren’t at a level of Chinese where they could fully understand him. But still he spoke, he rambled, on and on. One of the French students described it as, “mettre son âme à nu” – literally, “undress his soul”.
And then, in the midst of this undressing of the soul, he undressed his body as well. For fifteen minutes, in front of a shocked, horrified class, he stood, talked, completely naked.
When this true and scandalous story rippled through the university that day, eventually reaching me in the afternoon, it saddened me greatly, and has haunted me ever since. How desperately lonely he must be. How shocking this act, how incredible, but also how human.
Isn’t that what we all want? For people, for someone to know we exist. Know that I am here. See me for what I really am.
And is this blog not a similar kind of sad, self-exposure?
Only days earlier I read this disconcerting story, of a lonely and isolated Chinese student in Sydney who went mad and stabbed a cabbie to death. There is madness in the air. Do we all stand teetering on the edge? What does it take for someone to so suddenly slip and find themselves falling?
I worry about what prolonged loneliness may do to me.
I met a guy at a party and thought him tall and attractive. I liked how deliberately he talked. He had a masculine presence, and when I talked to him I felt like he was really all there, a full person, giving me his careful, clear and undivided attention. And there was something intriguing about him, he didn’t seem like the rest. And I was certain he too was curious about me.
Then I felt a huge, angry sock in my stomach. No!
Why do I do this? Why do I over romanticise like this? Why do I see magic in a moment that has none? There was no special connection, this isn’t the beginning of a story, of which I am a protagonist. I and he are not interesting, sexy or worthy of writing about. There is nothing and no one in this. We are just two strangers sharing the same space. We are all alone together, not touching.
I blame novels. I blame movies, music and art. But most of all, I blame novels.
I am on the verge of finishing Jean-Paul Satre’s The Age of Reason, and I blame him. Life, and the people in it, will somehow never be as alive as the invented reality of that novel. Because in that fictional existence, every single element has a purpose. Every single thing serves a higher meaning, something concrete and purposeful – the beauty of the narrative.
But in my narrative – that is life – there is no point. Things are just there, for no reason, and they don’t give a fuck about me, and any need for something real, and deliberate.
When this guy saw me, he probably saw an empty body, and felt nothing. When I saw him, there was nothing beyond my projected desire for authenticity, meaning, connection, love, respect, friendship, – and a narrative that has some sort of point, some bracketed subtext where I could say “the reason why this happened is because …, and how extraordinary and worthy it was.”
Instead of being here, like a ghost. All of us living in suspended states, revolving door strangers, together alone, not touching.
