Today, for my talk show, I interviewed Rowan Simons, the author of an interesting book entitled Bamboo Goalposts with the subtitle: one man’s quest to teach the People’s Republic of China to love football. China has become a ｓｐｏｒｔｉｎｇ ｓｕｐｅｒｐｏｗｅｒ. At 2008’s Olympics, the country won more gold medals than anyone else. xml:namespace prefix = o />
But the world’s most populous nation doesn’t seem to know how to play a small ball - football, or soccer – as the Americans would say, even though China boasts a massive sports infrastructure, a massive viewship and of course, a super massive talent pool – there are 1.3 billion people to choose from. This year, China has failed, once again, to qualify for the World Cup. Simons lays the blame on the government – its interference and its top-down system in selecting the elite without a solid grassroots to support that. He is fighting to introduce the football culture to the country.
would be sex worker day - today I was interviewed by BBC's World Today, commenting on the arrest of an activist who called for the legalization of prostitution and today the sex worker day.
I am heading to Brazil for the book tour in the end of August. Hugely excited about it!
A GAROTA DA FÁBRICA DE MÍSSEISxml:namespace prefix = o />xml:namespace prefix = o />
MEMÓRIAS DE UMA OPERÁRIA DA NOVA CHINA
LIJIA ZHANG
Desde criança, Lijia Zhang criou o hábito de manter um diário. “Escrever sempre foi uma maneira de compreender a vida”, define a autora de A garota da fábrica de mísseis – memórias de uma operária da Nova China, que chega às livrarias com o selo Reler Editora. O lançamento será em setembro, com a presença da escritora, que também é jornalista e visita o Brasil pela primeira vez.
Publicado em vários países e festejado pela crítica, o livro não foi publicado na China. Na obra, Lijia narra sua busca pela liberdade política e familiar, no momento exato em que a China abre suas portas para o capitalismo. “Meus amigos e eu éramos muito jovens para perceber que o tédio poderia ser algo prazeroso, se comparado ao terrorismo político que nossos pais sofreram”, diz a autora que tinha apenas dois anos quando a Grande Revolução Cultural Proletária estourou na China, em 1966.
Ao mesmo tempo xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />xml:namespace prefix = st1 />xml:namespace prefix = st1 />em que Lijia narra sua vida na ditadura comunista, o leitor acompanha as mudanças comportamentais na China dos anos 1980. Existem poucos livros sobre essa década, que não foi apenas de transformações para a economia da China mas também para os habitantes do grande tigre asiático – “O mercado é inundado com memórias da Revolução Cultural, mas poucos são definidos na década de 1980. Uma época em que a China começou a se recuperar do seu passado traumático e deu início às mudanças. Com o tempo, a China se tornou o que é hoje. Eu senti que tinha uma história interessante para contar e que iluminaria essa transição”, explica a autora.
Aos dezesseis anos, Lijia foi ‘arrancada’ da escola pela mãe para trabalhar em uma gigantesca fábrica de armamentos, de onde saíam mísseis projetados para atingir os Estados Unidos. Liming, a empresa estatal onde ela permaneceu por uma década, é um dos cenários do livro. Determinada a não ser mais uma trabalhadora inexpressiva, Lijia, uma chinesa que nasceu com cabelos encaracolados, foi buscar sua independência vestindo roupas ocidentais, estudando inglês e se graduando em uma escola técnica. Além disso, publicou artigos no jornal interno da fábrica onde trabalhou e assim, quando os protestos aconteceram na Praça Tiananmen, em 1989, ela liderou um grupo de manifestantes diretamente da fábrica, em Nanquim. Em 1990, casou com um escocês e com ele teve duas meninas.
Atualmente Lijia reside em Pequim, colabora para o Washington Times, The Independent, Newsweek, The Observer, BBC, CNN e outros jornais, revistas e canais de TV e rádio. É co-autora (junto com o ex-marido) de uma história oral da China contemporânea para a Oxford University Press.
“Lijia Zhang é de uma franqueza desconcertante e tem uma dose precisa de humor”, destaca a jornalista Claudia Trevisan no texto de orelhas de A garota da fábrica de mísseis. As memórias de uma nova operária da nova China certamente vão agradar os leitores brasileiros.
A garota da fábrica de mísseis – memórias de uma operária da nova China, de Lijia Zhang
Tradução: Roberto Grey
Texto de orelhas: Claudia Trevisan
416 p – R$ 49,00
Editora Reler www.relereditora.com.br Telefax 21 3322-09411
Peony Pavilion xml:namespace prefix = o />
A Romantic Experience
Last Saturday, I went to see Kunqu opera Peony Pavilion, staged in the Ming Dynasty garden in Zhujiajiao, an ancient water town one hour’s drive from Shanghai. Peony Pavilion, the most romantic play from ancient China, tells a love story between a beautiful lady who falls in love with a scholar she dreams. The charming garden, with a pavilion, an arched stone bridge and winding pond, provided the natural setting of the drama. It was a visual delight to watch the actors and their reflections in the narrow pond, the only thing that divides the stage and the audience of 180 people. Artistic director Tan Dun injected new life into this ancient play with his original music (musicians played in different corners of the garden) and very creative stage design. (the dancing lanterns, for example). The rain that made many little dimples in the pond only increased the atmosphere. I have to say that this was one the most romantic experiences I’ve had this year. It also made me think that perhaps Romanticism didn’t just exist in 18th and 19th century’s Europe.
One version of this article was published in New York Times In May, 2009
China’s Growing Cagexml:namespace prefix = o />xml:namespace prefix = o />
The Legacy of Tiananmen
By Zhang Lijia
Whenever mentioning “1989”, people in the west instantly think about the protesting students in Tiananmen Square. In fact, although starting in Beijing and led by the students there, the democratic movement was a nation-wide event, drawing together people from all walks of life.
Twenty years on, I remember vividly every detail of that day when I organized a demonstration among the workers from my Nanjing factory in support of the movement. It was Sunday, May 28, a week before the crackdown in Beijing.
The death of Hu Yaobang had triggered the spontaneous democratic movement. The popular former Communist Party secretary-general was ousted, in part for his sympathetic view towards students’ protests. When the government rejected their request for his rehabilitation, Beijing students marched towards Tiananmen, demanding greater freedom and democracy. Like a match thrown onto kindling, students from all over the country took to the streets. They were soon joined by ordinary citizens who were disgusted by wide spread corruption, rising inflation and lack of personal freedom.
By then I had been working for the factory, a missile producer, for nine years in Nanjing, my hometown. The factory was a mini-Communist state, housing us in identical block buildings, feeding us at dining halls, indoctrinating us at meeting rooms and controlling our lives with strict rules: no lipsticks; no high heel shoes or flare trousers; no dating for the first three years at the factory. Every month, all women had to go to the hygiene room to show blood, virtually, to the so-called ‘period police’ to prove that we were not pregnant.
To escape, I decided to teach myself English in the hope of getting a job as an interpreter outside the factory with one of the foreign companies. What I learnt, of course, wasn’t just the ABCs but the whole cultural package. I dared to be different: wearing short skirts and having boyfriends. After I mastered enough English I became obsessed in listening to the BBC, which broadcast news very different from our propaganda. I attended political-charged lectures at Nanjing University, debating if the western style democracy was the answer for China.
On that Sunday in May, after watching televised images of workers in Guangzhou marching in the rain, I decided to organize a protest. I telephoned all my friends at the factory, and some of them informed their friends. We got the banners and placards ready in just a few hours.
Under the wary eyes of our factory leaders, about 300 of us set off, as if for battle, defending a noble cause. Walking at the very front, I held a red flag and felt a sense of liberation that I had never experienced before. Behind me two workers carried a cloth banner that read, “Here come the workers!” The little strips of bright red cloth tied to our arms and heads flamed in the wind.
We marched toward the Drum Tower, Nanjing’s version of Tiananmen. On the main street, our group melted into a flow of marchers. Before us walked students from a technical school; at our tail were several dozen workers from a glass-making factory. We chanted slogans like “Long live democracy!” “Down with the repressive government!” “Anyone who dares to crack down on the democracy movement will be condemned for 10,000 years!” Onlookers cheered us on. Along the way, hundreds more workers from our factory joined in, which made ours the largest demonstrations among workers in Najing during the movement.
During that time, my ear was glued to my shortwave radio, and I learned about the crackdown at Tiananmen from foreign broadcasts. The following year, I left for England, feeling defeated and pessimistic about my country’s future. In 1993, when I returned, I was surprise by China’s booming economy. Many commentators had predicted that the authoritarian regime would have collapsed, especially after the massacre. It lacked political legitimacy and had an over centralized-power structure.
Over the past twenty years, apart from short spells living abroad, I have been more or less based in Beijing. I’ve witnessed and reported, as a freelance journalist and writer, China’s remarkable transformation: the economy has charged ahead like a steed without a reign; foreign trade and investment have expanded greatly and China, with its successful foreign policy, has become a more important player on the world stage.
One might argue that China still has no real democracy or it has not made fundamental improvements in civil or political rights. Many topics are off-limits, such as the Communist Party’s monopoly on power. Of course, discussion of ‘June 4 Movement’ remains a taboo. But it doesn’t not mean the Party has not learnt some lessons from those events two decades past.
Over the years, amid overwhelming economic and social changes, it has navigated its way forward, proving to be more flexible and adaptive than ever before and very resilient.
The leaders make it clear to citizens that that it is futile to pursue political reforms. Political debates that once buzzed at university campus in the 80s and excited me and my fellow idealistic youth are no where to be found.
The country’s paternalistic rulers consciously channel people’s energy into making money. The Chinese people have indeed embraced the consumer culture whole-heartedly.
The authority has been crushing hard on potential threats: Falungong was outlawed and dissidents were thrown in jail. On the other hand, it has loosening certain control and granting people more personal freedom. We can now choose our own life styles. Lipsticks, high heel shoes, the width of trousers, one’s period, dating and sex life all fall into a place called ‘privacy’ which didn’t really existed before.
These improvements shouldn’t be lightly dismissed. Personal freedoms and the emergence of urban middle class can potentially lead to democratic process as seen in other parts of Asian countries.
However, China seems to be different. The urban professionals and the business people have been absorbed by the Party as a new “elite” class. The entrepreneurs are welcomed into the realm of politics; and Party members have flowed to the private sectors. The mixture of power and business makes it hard to distinguish private from the state-owned in today hybrid economy.
Back in 1989, the educated urban elites enthusiastically took part in the democratic movement not only because they felt the economic change required political relaxation but also because they were bitter about their low salaries, their poor living conditions and lack of opportunities while the children of the high-ranking leaders made easy and vast profits. In a TV interview, when asked what they wanted, Wu’er Kaixi, one of the leading students leaders at the Tiananmen replied, somehow flippantly: “Nike shoes. Lots of free time to take our girlfriends to a bar. The freedom to discuss an issue with someone."
Not just Nike shoes or other designers goods. Many urban professionals are now proud owners of cars as well as their own homes. They find themselves the beneficiaries of the government’s strategic generosity policy, enjoying higher salary and other perks. Academics now can travel abroad freely. And most choose to return after their study abroad.
My sworn sister, who works for Nanjing government, has an enviable life style, living in a flat she bought at a knock-down price, enjoying medical care and being driven around everywhere. She was sympathetic to us protesters back in 1989. But why would she want to protest against the government now?
Ever since the “May 4 Movement” in 1919, the intellectuals and students have always been the frontrunners of mass demonstrations. In recent years, public protests have occurred all over the country like mushrooms after a spring rain, mostly by victims of land seizure or laid-off workers. With the economic downturn, 2009 will probably see more protests. But without the participants of intellectuals, such outburst of discontentment will unlikely grow into a national movement or cause large scale social turmoil. The urban elites are too content with their lives to upset anything, though they’d describe them as liberal and pro-democracy when asked.
As for today’s university students, they grew up in an affluent society. China’s growing wealth and rising position in the world have made them assertive and nationalistic. The outburst of nationalism in the wake of ‘Tibet Unrest’ last March was just an example. At least for the time being, if the students go out to demonstrate, it will be more likely against some foreign power rather than its own government as in the case of 1989.
There’s still a cage in China. But for many, my fellow marchers from Nanjing included, the cage has grown so big that they can’t feel the limit. The movement in 1989 didn’t reach its final goal – to bring democracy to China. But I wouldn’t describe it as a total failure. Without the effort by the hot-blooded students and all of those who participated, the rulers might not have expanded the cage.
Ms. Zhang is a Beijing-based writer and the author of “Socialism is Great!” A Worker’s Memoir of the New China, which will come out in May in paperback by Random House.
The leaders make it clear to citizens that that it is futile to pursue political reforms. Political debates that once buzzed at university campus in the 80s and excited me and my fellow idealistic youth are no where to be found.
A Brief Encounter with Amish Family
On Saturday 26 Sept, we – all the writers from the International Writer’s Programme at University of Iowa - were taken to Kolona for its annual Fall Festival. Kolona, about one hour’s drive southwest of Iowa city, is a small Amish settlement. I’ve come cross the term ‘Amish’ from the film The Witness, starred by Harris Ford. Amish people are known for their devout religious belief, their simple, conservative living and their refusal to adapt to the modern life. I am not surprised that the Amish community was on the programme – that’s probably the most exotic thing about Iowa, a state in the Middle-west offering little else than cornfield. It is probably the vast space between the cornfields that provides a fertile breeding ground for some alternative communities.
I didn’t have high expectations, and what I saw, at the first sight, reinforced my view. Okay, at the entrance, a guy wearing a hat, was offering rides by horse cart, the traditional type some Amish people still prefer to use instead of cars. When I asked if he was an Amish, he smiled: “I am just an ordinary American who happens to wear a hat.” There were fresh local produce, such as corns and pumpkins, for sale; there were food stalls, selling fried chips, burgers, and ice creams, with none of the appeal of promised ‘home-made’.
Most people there looked like your average American Joes, except a group of women selling cheese-dips, clad in simply blue dresses and their hair covered in head scarves. “Are they Amish?” I asked a lady selling friend chicken in the next stall. “They are Mennonites.” I thought they were the same thing. “No, Mennonites are the more moderate ones while Amish more conservative. Some of them refuse to drive cars or even use electricity.”
There were occasionally Amish people in the crowds. When I spotted a bearded man in a blue shirt eating burritos with a few children dressed like the cheese-dip ladies, I introduced myself as a writer from China and asked if I could take a picture. “Of course, please,” the man replied. “What would you say when an American goes to China and wants to take a picture of you?”
“Well, I am not sure, if people want to take picture of me because I am some sort of exotic animal or something,” I said. I did feel a little awkward for the request, but I’ve spoken to my children about my visit to this Amish community. I needed some proof. So I took a few shots and thanked him.
“No problem,” he said. “What brought you to Iowa?”
I explained that I am a visiting scholar at University of Iowa.
He asked me more questions about China, Olympics and the Dam (Three Gorges Dam). So he reads newspaper?
I answered his questions, which in some ways, justified me to ask for more, I felt. “Are you an Amish?”
He hesitated for a moment. “I am from an Amish family. My family is originally from the German-speaking part of Switzerland. My name is Henry, by the way.” He makes a living from construction work, he said but added quickly that he is also a singer and songwriter. He gave me his name card with a picture of himself wearing a typical Amish felt hat, holding a guitar.
“I guess that you are not an orthodox Amish man?”
“You may say so. I have been ex-communicated by the church.”
I understand that the church plays a central role in the Amish community but I didn’t understand the term “ex-communicated”.
“I was kicked out of the church,” he said, taking a glance at his children. “Like my father.”
I gather it was easier to talk about his father. “What did he do to upset the church?”
“He got into drinking.” He explained that when his father was young, the community went through some changes and the outside influence became stronger, for example, TV was introduced. In any case, he was a bit too fond of his drinks.
I had hundreds questions about him and his mysterious community. So I bought some food and sat down with the family.
I said hi to the four children sitting around Henry, three girls and one boy, aged from 3 to 9. Well-behaved, they didn’t barge into the adult conversation. They go to a school run by the church, paid for by the church.
“What do you learn at school?” I asked 9-year-old Anna, who is almost the same age as my younger daughter Kirsty.
Anna looked at her father, who said something in German. I guess Henry was encouraging her to speak.
“Literacy?”
“Yes, literarcy, math,” Anna began timidly, in English, the language at school. “And history.”
“History is mostly religion related, Biblical history, for example,” Henry cut in.
“Do you want them go to university?” I asked him.
“I hope so, I really hope so. Most Amish people don’t get high education.”
“But it also depends…” I wanted to say it depends how much you inspire them to reach out to the bigger world and go to university. But I couldn’t find a way to say it diplomatically. I chatted more with the children. They are not very aware of the world beyond their own community. They don’t have TV, but they do occasionally watch movies sanctioned by their parents.
As we were talking, two teenager girls turned up. Henry introduced the younger one. “This is my daughter Ada. She is 13.”
I went up to shake hands with the girls.
“My name is Christine,” said the other girl.
“Do you go to the same school?” I asked.
“No, I’ve done with my education. I am 16,” Christine said.
“What are you doing now?”
“Helping out my father’s construction business.” Then Christine added that she is considering go to a nursing college – if she can save enough money in the next few years.
“Is it a normal nursing college or Amish one?”
“Normal.”
Christine was wearing the same style brownish check-dress, her dark-blonde hair covered under a white headscarf.
“Will you dress like this? Will people stare at you?”
Christine nodded. “I’ll dress like this. I’ve got used to people’s stare. It’s good to stick to what you believe in.”
I doubt this one will ever be kicked out of her church.
After the teenagers left, another boy – a son of Herny, came over to ask for some change.
“How many children do you have?”
“Eleven.” Henry said. I had read that Amish people are not allowed birth control.
“Is it normal?”
Henry said he is one of the ten children.
Wow, what a task to feed, clothe and take care of so many children. Now, his three older ones are living outside the family home. I noticed that Anna helps to talk care of the youngest kids.
Henry said he and his wife got married when they were both 26, fairly late by their standard, then they started to have another child about ever two years. He has been working and his wife staying at home, running the household and raising children.
Henry asked me lots of questions, saying he is interested in talking with people from different culture. Obviously he is a bit of rebel.
When I had to leave, he went back to his car to give me two of his CDS.
We returned to our vans. Most of the writers felt disappointed by their experience while I felt excited to have a chance to chat with the family. I promised the children that I would send them a DVD Gongfu Panda.
One lady writer from Israel said: “If you have to be an Amish, you are much better off to be a man. Men got a much better deal. Women just stay at home, producing babies. Amish men are handsome but the women look old, even the young ones.” That’s pretty true.
Henry doesn’t seem to be too happy with his lot though. As our van driving through the endless cornfield, I wondered if I would be less happy with my rocket factory if I had not known about the outside world.
- A Merry Dance around the Middle East (25-Jan-2008 02:06)