In Memory

As of today, 2002 US Troops have died in Iraq during "Operation Iraqi Freedom". I don't know how many Iraqi civilians.

Opium Wars

As I watched the awful, inexorable "progress" of our nation being led into an unjust war by manipulation and lies, as I saw the dreadful, predictable consequences - 2,000 dead American soldiers, tens of thousands wounded, 30,000 plus dead Iraqi civilians, a country disintegrating into civil war - I half-remembered a quote from a British politician during the Opium Wars. I finally decided to look it up.

The Opium Wars, if you are not familiar, happened in the mid-19th century. They came about as a result of Britain's need for Chinese tea, and their unwillingness to pay for said tea with silver.

China was then the only source for tea, and the tax paid on tea by British consumers was a major revenue source for the British Empire. The problem was, China was not terribly interested in trading tea for Western goods. It was the view of the ruling Qing Dynasty that China produced what it needed for its own consumption, even if distribution was not entirely equitable.

By the time of the Opium Wars, economic polarization in Chinese society had, in fact, reached a crisis state. At the beginning of the dynasty, the Qings had governed competently, and as a result of fairly consistent good times, China's population boomed, doubling in the eighteenth century and reaching 400 million by the mid-nineteenth. Now there were far too many landless peasants, not enough cultivatable land in any case, little industry to absorb this excess labor. Various things happened to the armies of the displaced. They became tenants, subsistence farmers who worked for food and little else, they starved to death; they joined provincial armies or bandit gangs, professions with at times little difference between them. Many emigrated, the Chinese Diaspora that spread throughout southeast Asia and across the Pacific to the Americas. They formed secret societies, mutual protection groups frequently invested with the ostensible goal of restoring the fallen Ming Dynasty, the ruling Qings' predecessor. At times they participated in full-scale rebellions, peasant uprisings that presaged dynastic decline.

But what did this have to do with selling tea to the British? The Chinese government preferred silver, the currency of the Empire, to goods in trade. Moreover, they could not see any particular advantage to increased intercourse with foreigners. They didn't understand who or what they were dealing with.

From the British perspective, the Tea Trade must continue, but England could not simply bleed silver to obtain Chinese tea. It was unfair for protectionist China to refuse to accept foreign goods and create this massive trade imbalance, the real White Man's Burden that was getting in the way of Great Britain's global destiny.

Finally a product was found for which there was Chinese demand: Bengali opium. The Empire objected; drug addiction tended to undermine Confucian family values, since the user, generally the patriarch, expended resources on the drug that the family could frequently ill-afford. After many diplomatic skirmishes, the British government proceeded to wage war upon China in the name of free trade. "Justice, in my opinion," said William Gladstone, then a member of the Tory opposition, " is with them; and whilst they, the Pagans, the semi-civilized barbarians, have it on their side, we, the enlightened and civilized Christians, are pursuing objects at variance both with justice and with religion...a war more unjust in its origin, a war calculated in its progress to cover this country with a permanent disgrace, I do not know and I have not read of."

I've thought of this quote a lot in the past three years.

"Beijing Doll"

In the midst of my novelizin', I'm taking a little time to read Beijing Doll, a notorious roman a clef written by a young Beijinger, Chun Sue, when she was 17 (she's 21 now). As a novel, it's pretty incoherent, consisting of fragmentary stories and derailed trains of thought taken from Chun's journal. The notoriety comes from "Doll" having been banned in China for its sexual content, and, I suspect, for the grim portrait it paints of a nihilistic, rock and punk generation unmoored from both traditional and Revolutionary ideals, and so far, not caring too much about building a strong, modern China either - these are not the pressured, success-obsessed young people or nationalistic robots more frequently encountered in Western media.

Though I can't recommend Beijing Doll as a novel, I'm enjoying the book for its different perspective on China's Generation Y, and as a former rocker/club crawler in Southern California, for the glimpse it provides into Beijing's underground rock scene.

Okay, now back to work!

Bad Blogger, No Donut!

So apparently I got quoted in the Manchester Guardian last Saturday in its web round-up feature for my off-the-cuff philosophizing on the Lu Banglie case and press freedom and rule of law and the lack thereof in contemporary China, etc. Which is really flattering, and also guilt-inducing, because I've hardly blogged a thing since then. That's the problem with starting a blog. I feel a certain obligation to keep it going, and when I don't, I feel lame.

It's not like there aren't plenty of great China stories out there that I'd like to talk about, not to mention the coming implosion of the Bush Regime (and anybody who says schadenfreude is inappropriate or misguided under these circumstances is either a Republican front or just plain stupid. I'm popping the popcorn, personally). But I've had a helluva time just getting up in the morning, lately. I mean, even if the entire Administration ends up in handcuffs, is that going to be enough to halt this country's headlong dive over the cliff, into the dustbin of history where other dead Empires reside? I'm really not sure.

More to the point, am I ever gonna get this latest effin' novel finished? After years of being able to crank out pages of whatever it was I needed to write by whenever I had to have it done, I find myself in the unfamiliar position of feeling like my keyboard's been submerged in molasses.

My saving grace - and also best procrastination device - has been this swell online novelists' group which I accidentally started a while back. I'm in the happy position of being able to read stuff and receive feedback from a couple of really talented writers. The procrastination comes in because I'm finding it much easier to read other peoples' stuff and comment on it than to commit time to my own work.

Maybe it's just a phase. I think I got spoiled because for years I was able to just crank it out without too much angst, maybe because I'd gotten to a certain place creatively and emotionally, and I stayed there for a while.

Now I feel like I've poked my head up into an unfamiliar landscape. Everything is harder to navigate. Where am I, anyway? How did I get here? You'd think I'd be pretty familiar with this sensation by now, as it's defined many major milestones in my life. Whoah, China? How'd THAT happen?

I started this blog because I was at a creative standstill and needed a place to write little pieces without a lot of self-censorship or huge time commitments. Now I'm trying to dig back into the larger projects that I've always used to define myself.

And then I get an effin' quote in the UK Guardian of my little thoughts about Big Issues, and I think, does this mean I have to post more? And be profound while I'm at it?

God, I hope not.

Lu Banglie Update

Good news:

Lu Banglie, the Chinese democracy activist who was savagely beaten at the weekend, has been found injured but alive.

Mr Lu has told the Guardian that he was battered unconscious and later driven hundreds of miles to his home town where he is now recuperating. Civil rights lawyers said they were considering a legal case against his attackers, thought to be a group of thugs hired by the local authorities to put down an anti-corruption campaign against the chief of Taishi village.

According to the Guardian, here is Mr. Lu's own account of his attack:

"Five to six of them pulled my hair and punched me in the head. They kicked my legs and body for a couple of minutes. Then I passed out. Some people splashed water on me which brought me round, then I passed out again." When he came to, he was being driven back to Hubei.

The propaganda office said Mr Lu had been picked off the road near Taishi at 9pm - an hour after the assault - taken to a nearby hospital for a check-up and then at 1.30am driven out of the area.

The Pan Yu propaganda office said there had been "no violence" and that Mr Lu had "pretended to be dead".

Mr Lu said such claims were laughable. "When I came around, I was too nauseous to eat. My body aches all over and my head hurts." But he said only his arm was visibly wounded.

His supporters, who include lawyer Gao Jisheng, say they are considering legal action. The Guardian has asked the Guangdong authorities to investigate the attack but a spokeswoman said a response would be made in the next few days. Mr Lu said he was aware of the dangers and had no regrets about going to Taishi. "I believe you cannot write off truth. The authorities control the village tightly. They try to prevent news from leaking out, which hurts not only the democratisation of Taishi village but the entire country."

WOLFGANG 1988-2005

Wolfgang
Originally uploaded by Other Lisa.

I had known Wolfgang since he was a kitten, but he didn’t come to live with me until he was around 7. He belonged to my friend Lisa, who was going off to grad school in Hawaii. The quarantine laws there, and the uncertainty of her living situation, made it impossible for Wolfgang to go with her.

She begged me to take him. I really didn’t want another cat. I was living in a cramped Venice apartment, and I had two cats already. “He doesn’t need a lot of room,” Lisa argued. “Besides, all he does is eat and sleep.”

What could I do? I took him in.

Wolfgang was one of the most aggressively friendly cats you will ever meet. He had a bad habit of wanting to sleep on your chest and suck on your ear. This might not have been so bad if he hadn’t been such a fat cat. His nickname was “the Football.” Plus he had tiny little paws. Having him on your lap was sort of like having a really heavy woman in spike heels standing on your thighs.

His affectionate nature sometimes got on my nerves. He had to be on my lap, had to head-butt my laptop screen, had to have my attention when I wasn't always in the mood to give it (especially with those tiny paws indenting my thighs). “Boundaries, Wolfgang,” I would mutter, giving him a little shove. “Just give me a little space, here.”

My rejection never phased him. He loved every person who walked in the room and all other creatures besides. Once he ran out the door of my apartment, into the courtyard, just as one of my neighbors was bringing his Rottweiler down the stairs from the lobby. Wolfgang immediately ran up to the Rottweiler and started head-butting it. On the head. The poor dog was mightily confused. She kept sniffing at Wolfgang, trying to get a good whiff of his butt. You could see what was going on in her little doggie mind: “Smells like cat. Acts like dog. But smells like cat. What to do?!”

The only thing Wolfgang didn’t like was vacuum cleaners. Those were instruments of Satan. They terrified him.

About five years ago, against my better judgment, I took in another cat, a skinny foundling my sister named “Spike,” as an homage to Buffy the Vampire Slayer and also as sort of a joke, as this cat looked about as deadly as a jackrabbit. Shortly after I adopted him, Spike got very sick. The vet never could figure out what it was, some sort of “fever of unknown origin,” possibly feline infectious peritonitis. It seemed likely that Spike would die. I took care of him at home, gave him fluids, force-fed him pills and baby food. Surprisingly, he did get better. As he started to recover, Wolfgang would groom him. It was one of the sweetest things I ever saw. Spike rebounded with a vengeance and proceeded to grow into his name (he weighs about 25 lbs these days). He loved Wolfgang. They frequently groomed each other and curled up on the bed together.

Even Murphy, the queen cat, grew to tolerate Wolfgang as they both got older. Unlike Wolfgang, Murphy has perfected the art of the boneless sprawl and somehow can always find a way to fit onto my lap comfortably. Wolfgang’s traditional position was next to me on the couch, head and front paws on my thigh. Sometimes he and Murphy would use each other as pillows. Murphy, who does not particularly care for other felines, didn’t seem to mind.

As Wolfgang aged, he became frail, no longer the plush football I could roughhouse with. His decline was slow and almost unnoticeable. The 4th cat of my quartet, Mags, was taking up most of my attention with her chronic illness (which was a lot more dramatic, involving as it does lots of barfing and diarrhea). I realized though that Wolfgang didn’t look right. I took him into the vet. His kidneys were starting to fail, and his teeth were in bad shape. I’d need to hydrate him regularly with subcutaneous fluids. That wasn’t a problem for me; I’d done it plenty of times with other sick cats.

The fluids worked. His kidney function went back to normal. I’d have to continue hydrating him, but that wasn’t a big deal. He perked up considerably and put back on some weight.

Then one morning, I heard a thumping noise. It was Wolfgang. He couldn’t put any weight on his hind legs. It didn’t seem to bother him all that much. I however was freaked. I called a house-call vet I’d spoken to before, wondering if he was about to die. Probably not, the vet assured me. That kind of thing isn’t normally connected to kidney failure. I took him into my vet. The disks in his back had collapsed. There was some congestion in his lungs as well. At over 17 years old, his body was simply wearing out.

Predinsone might help him regain some mobility, the vet advised. I tried it. Surprisingly, after a few days, it did. Wolfgang could walk, wobbily, it’s true, seeming to tiptoe on his little paws.

We went on like this for nearly two months, I think. The last couple of weeks, Wolfgang grew weaker. He ate less and less. He still wanted to sit with me on the couch, and by scrambling onto the ottoman, he could get most of the way there without my help.

In the middle of the week, he stopped eating completely. I couldn’t tempt him with anything. I also couldn’t force-feed him. He could clamp his jaw shut with amazing strength, and it was hard enough to get his meds down him. And I thought, what would be the point? He was over 17 years old, and he was getting ready to go.

In spite of this, I felt horribly guilty at times. I should have taken better care of him. I should have gotten his teeth cleaned. I should have loved him more.

By Thursday I was seriously debating what to do. He didn’t seem to be in any pain, but he was increasingly weak and out of it. He would stare off at nothing. He seemed confused, and at times he looked sad. I thought maybe he could die on his own. But how could I be sure that he wasn’t in pain? What if he was sad? I called the house call vet I’d spoken with before, a woman whose compassion and caring over the phone had helped me with this debate earlier. But she was still in New Orleans, volunteering to help animals in the wake of Katrina. I got the name of another vet but didn’t call her. I just couldn’t bring myself to talk to a stranger. I went home.

Wolfgang spent the evening with me on the couch. When it was time for me to sleep, I made a bed for him so he could sleep with me, and if he was incontinent, it wouldn’t make too much of a mess. Some time in the night, he crawled off of that and came to snuggle against my back.

The next morning I decided that it was time to call the vet. There must be something about female house-call vets, because this woman was also compassionate and kind. Her earliest appointment was 4 PM the next day, Saturday. She gave me the number for an animal mortuary service as well, run by a man named Richard, who would come afterwards. Richard explained their services to me. My pet would be individually cremated. His ashes would be returned in a lovely wooden box, and I’d receive a clay impression of his right paw-print and a certificate with the pet’s name and any message I would like. There was something absurd about the whole thing, I thought, but I still cried my eyes out and only barely got through the conversation.

I left work early so I could spend time with Wolfgang. When I got home, he’d somehow gotten himself from the bed I’d made him in the living room the short distance to the front door entry. He often liked to sit by the door, in front of the security screen, maybe because the breeze is nice there. His head rested on a pillow I’d left by the door.

When I came in, he looked up, more alert, happier, it seemed to me, than he’d been yesterday. I talked to him and petted him and scratched behind his ears, and he responded under my hand, nuzzling my palm, nose still cold and a little damp.

I spent the evening with him on the couch. At times he seemed to drift away, barely aware, no longer in control of his limbs. But then, for the longest time, as I scratched and petted him, he responded and nuzzled, arched his back a little, straightened his tail. And started to purr.

He hadn’t been quite able to purr for several weeks, even when he was still pretty mobile and active. It seemed to take too much effort, perhaps because of the lung congestion he had. I wondered now if this was some kind of end of life reflex. I’d heard that before, that cats sometimes purr when they are hurt or dying.

Of course there’s no way to know. But he purred as he exhaled, his breathing even and easy as I scratched his head, and he rested his head in my palm, nuzzling me now and again. We stayed that way for an hour. The pupils in his eyes were huge. What did he see, I wondered? As I scratched and massaged behind his ears, his eyes would close, the way cats do when they are content and basking in your attention.

You project all kinds of things onto your pets, I know. Interpret emotions and feelings that aren’t equivalent to ours. But his face was so relaxed. He seemed so peaceful. He seemed to smile. Cats do smile, you know. Don’t let anyone tell you that they don’t.

“Thank you,” I told him. “Thank you. Thank you for showing me this.”

I made up his bed for him so he could sleep on my bed and not be alone, and I went to sleep.

Sometime around 6 AM I woke up. I knew right away that he was gone. I rested my hand on him. He was still warm.

We do these things for ourselves, I know. Cats aren’t people. I don’t think of my cats as my children. They are cats. Weird little fuzzy companions who join us in our lives for a while and then pass on. Today, after Richard from the Pet Mortuary has come and gone, nothing seems so clear as it did to me last night. Maybe I waited too long. Maybe he was in pain. Maybe there was nothing in his eyes but the emptiness of a life-force that was dwindling away. I don’t know.

I do know one thing. If I didn’t love Wolfgang enough, it didn’t matter to Wolfgang. Wolfgang had more than enough love for me, for anyone who walked in the door of my house, for everyone and everything.

Except vacuum cleaners.

Rule of the Mob

Horrific, shocking story in today's UK Guardian:

One of China's leading democracy activists has been beaten, possibly to death, in front of a Guardian journalist. Lu Banglie was last seen lying unconscious on the side of the road on Saturday night after an assault by a mob which had joined forces with police to stop a car containing him, the Guardian's Shanghai correspondent, Benjamin Joffe-Walt, and two other people.

They were on their way to Taishi, a village in the southern province of Guangdong which has become the latest flashpoint in a growing wave of rural unrest that is proving the greatest threat to the rule of the Communist party since the Tiananmen Square protests in 1989.

Mr Lu, one of a new breed of peasant leaders elected without the support of the party, had been in the area on the outskirts of Guangzhou city since August, encouraging residents to vote out officials accused of corruption...

...In Saturday's attack, Joffe-Walt said the car was stopped on a road outside Taishi by a group of about five police, five soldiers and as many as 50 people in plain clothes. The uniformed men soon left and then the mob set upon Mr Lu, dragging him out of the car and kicking him unconscious. They continued the assault for several minutes after he lost consciousness. "I was convinced he was dead and thought they were going to do the same to us," said Joffe-Walt. But he, his assistant and their driver escaped with being roughed up.

Human rights activists in China were shocked by the story, saying that this level of violence is unprecendented. The most telling statement comes from Ho Wenzhou, of the Empowerment and Rights Institute:

"This is an attack not just on Lu but on all people who work for grassroots democracy and human rights in China. It reveals the mafia-isation of local governments."

To me, "mafia-isation" perfectly describes what has gone on as ideology and totalitarianism have loosened their grip on today's China. We should all be grateful that for many Chinese people, the quality of life has improved and the range of personal freedom greatly expanded. I also believe that the central government has made some positive steps in in their struggle to establish a more coherent set of rules and regulations by which businesses and government agencies should function, particularly in areas such as environmental regulation. But they seem to lack the ability to enforce these good intentions on a local level. And this recent media crackdown does Beijing no favors. A more independent media at least could provide some feedback on what is really going on, in those places where the Emperor is far away.

What seems to be emerging in today's China is not the Rule Of Law, it's the Rule of the Mob.

Thanks to Zhuanjia for the tip.

Wolfgang & Murphy

Wolfgang & Murphy
Originally uploaded by Other Lisa.

Gobi Desert Dreams

The LA Times has a strange, poignant story from one of my favorite China reporters, Ching-Ching Ni, about how societal change occurs in fits and starts and sometimes, staggering leaps:

YELLOW SHEEP RIVER, China — This village on the edge of the Gobi desert entered the 21st century much as it had the previous one, with yellow sand blanketing the mountains and poor farmers sharing their mud huts with cows, donkeys and pigs.

No homes had running water. No shops sold clothes, just bundles of fabric to be sewn into shirts and pants. Donkey carts plied the dusty main street, rarely troubled by the rumble of a motor.

No one in this forgotten section of northwestern China seemed to realize that the nation's east coast was booming or that dot-coms were changing the world. But then, out of the blue, came an idea — and a multimillionaire — that promised to bring prosperity here.

High-tech entrepreneur Sayling Wen heard about the village and decided that by harnessing the power of computers, he could beam its 30,000 inhabitants into the Information Age economy.

Never mind that the Taiwanese tycoon had never laid eyes on the place. He would turn Yellow Sheep River into China's first "Internet village."

Inspired by a former classmate, Kenny Lin, who told him about Yellow Sheep Village, and perhaps by his own poverty-stricken childhood, Wen decided he would build a five star hotel and a conference center in this Gobi Desert outpost.

But the real giddiness set in when Wen made his first visit in April 2002 to break ground for the hotel. As many as 10,000 farmers came to meet the miracle maker. Some walked more than 10 miles, others rode horses. The nimble climbed trees for a better view. The sound of drums and gongs filled the early spring air.

Wearing a dark suit and tie, the round-faced and solidly built Wen showed visiting Chinese officials a model of the hotel. He cut ribbons and helped shovel dirt. He posed for the cameras.

"I'm investing in Yellow Sheep River and building a five-star hotel and Internet village because I want to turn Yellow Sheep River into a knowledge-based economy fit for the 21st century," Wen told the crowd. "My hope is that you no longer have to leave home to find work. As long as you come here to the Internet village, you can create wealth, you can change your life and you can preserve your traditional culture."

. As usual, Ni tells this story with an eloquence that defies summarizing. Go read the whole thing. If you can't get to the article behind the Great Firewall, email me, and I'll send it to you.

Torture? What Torture?

From Reuters:

The White House on Friday threatened to veto a $440.2 billion defense spending bill in the Senate because it wasn't enough money for the Pentagon and also warned lawmakers not to add any amendments to regulate the treatment of detainees or set up a commission to probe abuse.

Last summer, Republican Sens. John McCain of Arizona and John Warner of Virginia and others sought legislation banning cruel and degrading treatment of prisoners.

After all, why should the White House care what a former POW who experienced torture first-hand thinks? Private Lynndie England's been convicted; that takes care of the problem, right?

What does this Administration have to fear, anyway?

Saving Shangri-La

The invaluable Three Gorges Probe, a news service/website originally reporting on the infamous Three Gorges Dam, has for some time expanded its focus to deal with other hydroelectric projects in China and their environmental and cultural consequences. They continue their excellent coverage with this translation of a CCTV documentary about local people in one of China's most beautiful natural attractions, Tiger Leaping Gorge, whose ancestral lands may be flooded by future dam building projects on the upper Yangtze (Jinsha) River. Here's an excerpt:

1. Who is going to break the villagers' rice bowl?

Legend has it that Shangri-La is heaven on earth, a mythical, exotic, dreamy landscape. In Lost Horizon, American novelist James Hilton depicted Shangri-La as a wonderland in which people live in harmony with nature and each other.

Late last century, people found a real Shangri-La in the Hengduan mountain range, where the Jinsha [upper Yangtze] flows in southwest China. Jinjiang town in Diqing Zang autonomous prefecture, Yunnan province, is the real Shangri-La in many people's minds, where a multitude of minority groups, including Yi, Tibetan, Bai, Naxi, Lisu and Miao, have lived together for generations in peace and harmony.

Recently, however, local people have begun to feel uneasy, upset by a piece of news. They have heard that a big dam is to be built on the Jinsha River so that water can be diverted to central Yunnan province and, in particular, to the provincial capital of Kunming. Roughly 100,000 people will have to move if the project goes ahead.

Engineers are conducting surveys of the proposed dam site, and red marks [indicating the future water level of the dam's reservoir] have already been painted on some walls, despite the fact that the central government has not yet approved the project. Although the scheme is still at the feasibility-study stage, everybody here is extremely worried, particularly because they have been given so little information about the project.

Chezhou village, part of Jinjiang town, is one of the places that will be affected if the dam is built. Villagers set off together for the village office, hoping to learn more from village leaders. One of the villagers is 67-year-old Ding Changxiu. Her children are grown now, and have left the village for jobs in the county seat. It would be better for her and her husband to move there to live with their children, but Ding would rather stay put because she loves her native place so much.

Villager: We know nothing about the project. I'm wondering if the village leaders know anything about it. We old peasants deserve to know something about it, don't you think?

Ding Changxiu: I feel as if there's a stone weighing down my heart. I was told we'd have to leave tomorrow! The whole village is on tenterhooks. I just met an elderly woman in the village who swore she'd rather die at home than be driven away.

Village leader: Calm down, folks! It's true that the province has proposed building a dam here to move water to central Yunnan. But whether we'll have to move is not clear, because the project hasn't been formally approved, and the experts haven't even finished the feasibility study yet.

The village leader's comments did nothing to ease the villagers' anxiety. The local people love dropping in on one another to chat about all manner of things, but now there is only one topic of conversation: the dam.

Villager: We ordinary people know nothing about it. And we have absolutely no way of leaving even if we are forced to move.

Villager: There are four people in my family. Now we have grain that's surplus to our own needs that we can sell for cash, and I have chickens and pigs that I could kill right now to offer you. We lead a comfortable life, but the good life will be gone forever if we have to move.

Villager: We old people don't care about ourselves any more; we're too old now. But we do care very much about our children, and the younger generations are in for a very hard time if we're moved far away.

This reluctance to move stems not only from local people's deep attachment to the ancestral land on which they have lived for centuries, but also from their awareness of the special nature of the magnificent place they call home. They live at the famous "first bend of the Yangtze" in the Tiger Leaping Gorge area, and they know the value of this spot.

The section of the Jinsha River in front of their houses, together with two other great rivers Ð the Lancang (Mekong) and Nu (Salween) Ð form the Three Parallel Rivers National Park, which UNESCO has designated a world heritage site. Local people are not only tremendously proud of that, but also genuinely seek to safeguard the environment of their native area.

In March of this year, a work team was sent to the village from Xianggelila county to meet with village leaders. The villagers guessed that the work team's arrival had something to do with dam-building, but they had been given no real information, so rumours swirled.

Villager: Somebody told me they'll be paying compensation of 10,000 yuan [US$1,200] per mu [one-fifteenth of a hectare or one-sixth of an acre] of farmland flooded by the dam. The person who told me that said he got the information in a phone call from one of his friends in the county seat. I'm not really sure about it, but in any case I'll never move. You see, we're treated like nothing!

Ding Changxiu: Oh dear! Only 10,000 yuan for a mu of land! We can feed ourselves for 10,000 generations by farming our land. Can 10,000 yuan provide the younger generations with enough to eat and wear?

Villager: It's easier to destroy than to build!

Ding Changxiu: How many days can 10,000 yuan keep us fed? How many years can 10,000 yuan keep us fed?

It's a measure of the complexity of contemporary China and, I suspect, the factionalization of the Central and Provincial governments, that amidst increasing media and internet censorship, a documentary of this sort can be produced and shown on national television. One hopes that this kind of publicity and the increasing grassroots activism of China's environmentalists and the local people who stand to lose the most from these ill thought-out projects will be enough to preserve these national treasures for future generations. Right now, however, the decision could go either way. Past reports from Three Gorges Probe have detailed the pressure on local governments to approve such projects as spurs to development and the role of corruption and kickbacks in the decision-making process. It's still an open question if the government regulations that exist on paper to properly review and prohibit these projects have sufficient teeth to fight this powerful nexis of money and greed.

On the other hand, I've often thought that China's environmental movement contains within it the seeds of greater dem0cracy for China. As unmoored as China has become from much of its traditional culture, the ideas of balance and unity contained in Daoism, that man is a part of nature rather than its detached overlord, still has some potency.

You can find a series of photos of Tiger Leaping Gorge here...

Criminally Stupid

This is a wretchedly awful move on the part of the Chinese government, if they do in fact go ahead with plans to reopen legal trade in tiger parts:

Tiger organs, teeth, bones and penises fetch high prices on the black market, where they are used in traditional Chinese medicines to treat ailments like rheumatism. In other parts of Asia, the bones are considered an aphrodisiac.

China banned domestic trade in all tigers and tiger parts in 1993, but is considering re-opening the business based on farm-bred, captive animals.

But that would send a signal that it is acceptable to buy tiger parts which would threaten wild tiger populations, experts in the wildlife trade said.

"We're afraid that poachers living near the world's last populations of tigers may kill them to supply illegal markets that are likely to develop alongside any new legal ones," Susan Lieberman, head of WWF's Global Species Programme, said in a statement.

"This could be the final act that drives the tiger towards extinction."

I can't think of any positive spin, any possible excuse for this. What in the world is motivating the government? Surely tiger farmers and traders in animal parts aren't that powerful a lobby. I can only take cultural relativism so far. Some things are just wrong.

If anyone has any suggestions on how to take action against this disgusting, irresponsible decision, please let me know...

Spike Kills A Mouse

Spike Kills A Mouse
Originally uploaded by Other Lisa.

I thought it was time to return to Friday Cat Blogging. Can you tell that it's a catnip mouse?!

Decision at the Top of the World

"Aren't we Chinese great? They said it couldn't be done. And yet, we've not only done it, we've done it ahead of plan. No other country in the world could do this. Chinese people are so clever." We are two hours, several beers and half a roasted duck into a journey on the overnight express from Xining, traveling along the completed half of what will soon be part of the world's highest railroad -- the 1,900-kilometer line from Xining across the Qinghai Plateau to Lhasa, the capital of Tibet. But my patriotic conversation partner, Wang Qiang, is just warming up on his favorite subject: China's engineering prowess.

"The new track follows the highway built by our soldiers in the 1950s. The terrain is so harsh that three of them died for every kilometer of road. You have to admire their spirit. But now, we've built the railway without the loss of a single life. Isn't China great?"

Jonathan Watts of the UK Guardian files this fascinating report on the building of the Qinghai to Lhasa railway line, an unprecedented feat of engineering that will be completed next month, three years ahead of schedule. The Qinghai/Lhasa railway, Watts writes, is an example of China's "can-do" spirit proving the experts wrong, the great majority of whom thought building tracks through the Kunlun Pass to be impossible. And this is no ordinary train line:

Luxury trains are being built for the new track. They feature pressurized carriages to minimize the risk of altitude sickness and tinted windows to protect from strong ultraviolet rays. Canada's Bombardier has won the $280 million contract to build 361 cars, some of which will have deluxe sleeping compartments with individual showers, glass-walled sides to provide panoramic views, entertainment centers and gourmet dining areas, and toilets with sewage and waste-treatment systems. The cars will be pulled by diesel engines capable of maintaining an average speed of 100 kph, even at above 4,000 meters, when the thinness of the air can cut power by almost half.

This is a long piece that is both a fascinating travelogue of an isolated region and a commentary on China's rise. Watts details the potential positive and negative aspects of the rail line, the fears among some Tibetans that it will increase Han cultural dominance of traditional Tibetan culture, along with the hope of many for much needed economic development. Watts also looks at the environmental impact of the railroad and the consequences of China's "bigger, faster, higher" philosophy of econonmic development:

The Tibetan dilemma is increasingly shared by other countries as the world tries to come to terms with China's rise. Everyone wants Beijing's money and goods; no one wants its ideas.

Economically, China's expansion is a storming success, with 9 percent growth for each of the past 25 years, lifting hundreds of millions of peasants out of poverty, making a fortune for foreign manufacturers that exploit low-cost labor, pushing down supermarket prices across the globe and boosting trade with other developing nations.

Environmentally and spiritually, however, it is a disaster. China's rivers are drying up, its cities are choked with pollution, the rural healthcare system has collapsed and the cities are seeing record levels of suicide and stress. China is showing all the symptoms of modernity -- only on a bigger scale and at a faster rate than the world has ever seen.

But Watts also points out that, like the railroad, cultural transmission goes both ways:

One of the beneficiaries of the boom is Buddhism. This was evident from the mix of materialism, spiritualism and political cheek at the Ta'er Si, one of the great Tibetan monasteries. Set in rolling green hills just south of Xining and famed as the home of living buddhas since the 16th century, it is attracting an ever-growing number of Han tourists. Their chatter and mobile phones disturb monks as they chant tantric scriptures ("During the peak season, there are almost as many tour guides as monks," complained one acolyte), but, as with the railway, the linking of materialism and spiritualism is not a one-way track.

Outside the monastery, the streets are filled with Buddhist wholesale shops (often run by Muslims) that offer bulk sales of robes, incense sticks, prayer wheels and beads. The customers are not tourists but monks, stocking up on paraphernalia to establish more monasteries. "This is a boom time for Buddhism in China," says Glen Mullin, the author of several books on the Dalai Lama. "Many of the monasteries that were shut down and destroyed during the Cultural Revolution are being rebuilt, along with new ones."

There's a great deal more to Watt's piece, including evocative descriptions of life in the Qinghai Plateau, the rapid changes due to development, even the attempts by a member of Tibet's famed "Wild Yak Brigade" to introduce ecotourism into the area (and if you've been following that story, as I have, you'll be happy to learn that the chiru has rebounded somewhat from the widespread predations of armed poaching gangs). His conclusions are intensely sobering. But at the end, he offers a glimmer of hope:

If railway tracks can spread the tools of modern technology and education to Tibet, the lifestyles of some of the poorest people in the world could be dramatically improved. If ideas are allowed to flow freely in both directions along the track, the meeting of Chinese materialism and Tibetan spiritualism could fill a gap at both ends of the line. And if, as some suggest, the tracks are extended farther south to the border with Nepal and then on through the Himalayas to India, it could transform relations between the world's two most populous and fastest-growing economies.

Present trends, however, suggest a much bleaker future. Fifty years ago, when Qinghai Plateau was part of Tibet, it was a scantly populated wilderness. Now, under Beijing's control, it has become a land conquered and settled by Han engineers, miners, soldiers, police and prisoners. There are few grimmer examples of what Chinese-style development can mean for ethnic minorities and the environment.

In the 19th century, Britain and Europe taught the world how to produce. In the 20th, the United States taught us how to consume. If China is to lead the world in the 21st century, it must teach us how to sustain.

If China is the new "can-do" nation, isn't it possible for all of this energy and spirit to be directed towards this end?

No In-Laws, and a Place To Hang Your Hat

Fascinating article at BBC News about a traditional culture in China that is anything but "traditional" in terms of its social structure:

Tourists come to Lugu Lake for the beauty and tranquillity. The still azure waters are surrounded by densely forested mountains, and the homes are made of natural timber with colourful Tibetan-style window shutters and balconies.

But that is not the only reason the tourists come. Visitors also beat a path to the region because of their fascination with the unique social structure of the Mosuo people, which is very different from that of China's other 54 ethnic groups.

"Mosuo women have the responsibility for all family affairs," explained 42-year-old Ruhen Zashi Chili, in the lakeside hamlet of Lou Shui.

"And most importantly, women determine the family line and only women have the right to inherit."

Traditionally, sons live with their mothers, while their fathers have little to do with the child's welfare.

In fact, in the Mosuo language, the word "father" does not even exist, and neither does the concept of in-laws.

It's unclear what factors are responsible for the Mosuo's unusual social arrangements - the article mentions the lure of the Silk Road, which led many Mosuo men far away from home. But what developed among the Mosuo is so different from traditional Han society that I'm reminded how so much of what we sometimes take for granted as being "traditional" or "natural" forms of social structures are just one of the many ways that human beings have devised to live with each other.

For instance, according to this article, marriages in their more traditional forms did not exist among the Mosuo:

Love affairs were encouraged - but only "walking marriages" took place, in which men could visit at night so long as they returned to their mother's home before breakfast.

In a "walking marriage," the man enters the woman's home by the back door of the house, or if necessary, climbs in through the window. The man then hangs his hat outside the window to inform others that he's inside.

Mosuo relationships are uncomplicated. There are no formalities binding a couple together. If complacency sets in, they just stop seeing each other.

In a 'walking marriage', you have to enter the girl's home by the back door or climb up through the window... We then hang our hat outside the window to tell others that there's a man inside.

"The advantage of our walking marriage is that we don't have the in-law problem to deal with. But the Han Chinese have this problem," said 17-year-old Bima Qizou, who described Mosuo relationships as "pure love".

"Our love is direct! If we love each other, we tell each other directly. We don't consider family background, social position and economic standing."

With the influx of tourists, Han Chinese and the inevitable intrusion of the 21st century, it's uncertain how much, if any, of the Mosuo's traditions will survive. For the immediate future, their economic security may depend on their draw as a tourist destination - selling handicrafts and souvenirs and performing traditional songs, ballads once sung by the women to attract a lover. Now, as the article puts it, the future for the Mosuo of Lugu Lake may be "as performers...in a reality show about their lost culture."

Be back soon!

I've been enjoying a short blogging hiatus, using the time to work on other writing projects and assemble bathroom furniture. I am also finishing up a short Chinese class tomorrow...well, tonight, technically. I'll be back in a few days with my batteries recharged (I hope), and I will also be resuming guest duties over at Peking Duck. So expect to see a bunch of China-related posts here shortly. And also, maybe some posts about writing, the process, the rewards and frustrations, and this really great writing group I'm involved in now...and I'm hoping to ponder some other philosophical-type questions...what is happiness...how does one heal...why is there always one step in easy-assembly furniture that isn't easy?

Stuff like that.

Quick Note

Some of you might know that I've been guest-administering the Peking Duck, a high-volume, China and progressive politics blog while the site owner, Richard, was traveling in Asia. It's been fun, a challenge and mostly, a real honor that Richard entrusted me with his blog.

I can't say that my posting here has fallen off in any way because I've cross-posted the stuff I've written here and at the Duck. But the rest of it - posting other guests' posts, patrolling the comments for trolls (the curse of popularity) and defending my own opinions against, how to put it?

Oh, wingnut asshats will suffice.

Anyway, it's kept me pretty busy. For some reason I still have the mental wherewithal to post lovely, brutal comments on the Duck, but not to sit down and compose thoughtful posts on my own, which I dearly would like to do. I think a few days rest and consideration will put me back in that frame of mind. I do appreciate your indulgence in the meantime.

But following up on the Katrina controversy, here's the comment I just posted to the Duck. It was in response to a post claiming that the White House is, and I'm shocked, SHOCKED to hear this, trying to keep the press out of the devastated region:

Okay, let me start this comment by saying that I didn't put up the post, so all you wingnuts who've been slagging me the last two weeks? Ummm...bite me, okay?

Now that I've gotten that out of the way.

First, for all the laziness and collusion and negligence of the American press in recent years - well, I'm not gonna take all that criticism back, but god bless the press. They've recaptured their critical faculties and their outrage, and if it weren't for their coverage, who knows what we would actually be learning about the disaster in the Gulf?

The one here in the States, I mean.

What Josh Marshall (the post Richard linked to) reports here doesn't surprise me in the least, unfortunately. And here are a few more examples.

One of the reasons that the Federal Government was so slow to authorize additional National Guard troops was because they wanted to Federalize the entire disaster control/relief effort, and the Governor refused to cede her authority. The locals had some very real fears that if this had happened, the White House would use the opportunity to cover up and blame the local governments for everything that went wrong. This was reported in that wild, lefty journal the Washington Post.

I'm not saying that local governments are blameless here. A disaster plan in a city of poor people that did not adequately plan for getting said poor people to safely is obviously flawed. This still doesn't in any way explain or excuse the delays, incompetence, disorganization and downright criminal negligance of the Federal response.

And right now, the White House is trying to spread outright lies about who did what when. They are saying that the Governor of Louisiana didn't declare a State of Emergency as of Saturday August 27. This is simply not true.

Here is a good timeline about who did what when.

So am I surprised that they would try to hide the truth of what happened in the Gulf? Not one little bit. If the American people were to realize the depths of venal incompetence of their leadership, their moral and ideological bankruptcy, and what the logical consequences of their "leadership" are, thousands of wasted lives, old people, sick people, poor people,dying while Bush played golf and air guitar, why, who knows what might happen? They might start wondering if the leadership that claims to represent their moral values actually gives a shit whether they live or die, and if they live, what the quality of their lives might be.

I'm not generally a conspiracist (and I'm waiting for the howls of outrage from our wingnut contingent for that statement). But I've been compulsively watching this disaster unfold. And I can tell you - there are thousands of bodies in the rubble, ruins and sewage of the Gulf Coast. 10,000 is pretty plausible. And if we start getting reports that, oh, not so many folks actually died, it wasn't so bad, FEMA didn't turn away help, your government didn't fail you, really, we didn't...

Well, I'm getting out the tinfoil hat.

Actually, let me rephrase that. Those of you who still don't want to believe it? I'm donating my tinfoil hat to you. You're going to need it.

Supergirl!

Supergirl!
Originally uploaded by Other Lisa.

It's Supergirl! Or, more accurately, it's "The Mongolian Cow Sour Yogurt Super Girl Contest." Jim Yardley of the NYT asks if this knock-off of American Idol presages greater dem0cr@cy in China's future:

The enormous public fascination with the independently produced show has stimulated a nationwide online discussion on issues ranging from dem0cr@cy to standards of beauty to whether Li is a lesbian. In a country where it is illegal to organize many types of public meetings, fans formed booster clubs and canvassed malls to court prospective voters. There were even accusations of voter fraud, as rabid fans circumvented the rule limiting each person to 15 votes.

"It's like a gigantic game that has swept so many people into a euphoria of voting, which is a testament to a society opening up," a social commentator, Zhu Dake, told state media.

No one is saying that the frenzy surrounding the show represents a threat to the ruling Communist Party or foreshadows the emergence of meaningful elective politics in China. But the degree to which the show resonated with people seems to have unsettled the government's propaganda leaders. There is already speculation it will be canceled next year.

Not only that, the winner, Li Yuchun, stands in marked contrast to the typical "model worker models" usually seen on CCTV:

Tall and gangly, with a thatch of frizzy hair, the adjectives most used to describe her in the media were "boyish" or "androgynous." Some commentators speculated that her fan base consisted of young girls who considered her to be their "boyfriend" because of her appearance.

Some speculate that the show also resonated with viewers because the contestants were recruited from the provinces, as opposed to the big city types more typically found on network TV.

Wow. Candidates representative of the people. Individualism over prefab beauty. Who'd have thought that would catch on?

"Here Lies Vera"

"Here Lies Vera"
Originally uploaded by Other Lisa.

A makeshift tomb at a New Orleans street corner conceals a body that had been lying on the sidewalk for days in the wake of Hurricane Katrina on Sunday, Sept. 4, 2005. (AP Photo/Dave Martin)

New Orleans

New Orleans
Originally uploaded by Other Lisa.

Another "ordinary" hero...