Welcome to town
Joe. The Vice President is here in
Beijing. Our air is quality is back down
to “dangerous for sensitive groups” which is nice. The sun’s out, blue skies. I
hope he has a pleasant stay and all the bonding he apparently did early on with
Xi Jinping, bears some fruit. Jinping welcomed
his Delaware chum as “my old friend.”
It appears that the Chinese while not backing off the air
defense zone claim, have softened the tone for his arrival. Some regional static with a lesser, regional
player, that needn’t ruffle the exchange between the world’s two predominant
giants. Fascinating to watch the choreography, isn’t it? A blunt, forceful gesture, delivered with the
delicacy of a mallet, issued knowing full well the VP would be here the
following week. And so, when he comes it
is grace, charm and flexibility. They
know how badly America wants to believe that China is flexible and friendly at heart. Force the tension, force the release, keep them off balance. It is hard to imagine Hu Jintao referring to
anyone, let alone a U.S. leader as “my old friend.” We’ve come a long way from when Al Gore
visited and worked awkwardly the entire time to not be seen next to Premier Li Peng, lest the photo with a infamous
Tiananmen axe-man compromise Al’s shot at the presidency.
Apparently Joe and Jinping spent 5.5 hours making case and
counter case. I can only imagine these
meetings are rather tedious and lacking in spontaneity. But, who knows? It is a calculated effort underway here to
reinforce the notion that China is the only other super power worth the name and
that things that happen with secondary powers like Japan, are peripheral. If Japan doesn’t want this to become a fait
acompli they will have to be much more creative about engaging China, than
they’ve been to-date. And those are big
shoes for China to fill, when it still acts in ways that suggest regional
temper tantrums by hot-head generals, rather than measured big-power
magnificence. 笑脸相迎[1] is something Japan is still
better at, for now.
I hope they put “Amtrak Joe” on the 4.5 ride down to
Shanghai on the Gaotie. The high-speed network’s been thrown up in
less time than it takes a senator to serve a term or two. The same trip from say Boston to D.C. on
Amtrack would, of course take twice as long.
Joe is apparently a big come-all-yee fan of the Chieftains and must do
the ride with “Danny Boy” in his ears to avoid having to talk to the person
next to him. I must make some time for
Irish music one day here on the DB. I adore
much of the tradition, but it isn’t what I want to listen to when I write. Or when I ride.
Rather, I’ve some angular, honking
Archie Shepp on the air from his “Live in San Francisco” disc, released two
month’s before I was born, in 1966. He
has a startling way of upending familiar songs like “The Girl from Ipanema”,
or, what is playing now, Duke Ellington’s “In a Sentimental Mood” which is both
respectful and disruptive. I knew he was
close with John Coltrane but I hadn’t realized he’d actually played on the
‘Love Supreme’ set. His contributions
weren’t part of the classic release, but are apparently available. I’m gonna dig those up.
I recently finished a book my sister recommended, “Let the
Great World Spin” by Colum McCann. It
traces the intersection of various New York lives back in 1974 when Philippe
Pettit, a tightrope walker walked the span between the newly erected Twin Towers.
I hadn’t realized I’d also read and enjoyed an earlier work of his, “This Side
of Brightness”, also set in New York, further back in history. It’s odd, but being from New York and far
away from it, I resist reading about it.
The story begins, after a short scene in Ireland with two brothers in
the Bronx war zone of the 1970s.
Somehow, I think I already know this story, as I begin. Fortunately Mr. McCann wirtes well, and
architected something remarkable so I continued and was pleasantly
rewarded. I haven’t been back home since
the summer and it was good to be there for a spell, reconsidering all the cross
cutting cultural tensions that form and reinforce my own identity, in the world
beyond China.
Apparently Mr. McCann lives in Manhattan. I’m glad that someone still does. These days when I visit it seems that
everyone besides Madonna and Jeffery Sachs have moved off the grand island and
set up homes in Brooklyn or the ex-burbs.
Is it facile to imagine returning to Manhattan one day? Like Merce Eliade’s “Myth of the Eternal
Return.” “There’s no
place like home.” Would I get there and
find that all the neighborhoods I used to love are boring and sterile and I’d
be constantly heading out to Brooklyn or beyond to meet people? Honestly I don’t know where I’d really live
if I went. It would be lovely to have a
perch on the Upper West Side, but I really don’t know a soul there at this
point. Same for the Village. I will have to strike out like I did in the
dream I referenced yesterday and find some new Avenue H or I to embrace. The how’s and where’s of returning do press
louder after a week of air like we had earlier on this week here in Beijing.
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