Sunday, October 27, 2013

A One Yuan Note Up His Nose




“Abbey Road” sounded beautiful last night driving my kids back from school, and then again this morning, dropping them off.   Playlists turning on random are what I usually default to but an album is a cohesive artistic expression, the songs were meant to be heard together, they have been heard together countless times and while I know I could queue up the album on my iPod, I don’t.  It is lost in digital list within, with 149 other Gigs of music.  Putting the physical CD, (let alone the vinyl with the warmth and pops and scratches, right where they always were) you’re committed to the entire artistic work.  Sadly, I note how completely anachronistic all of these concerns are.  No Beatles album has a lower nadir than  “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer” to my ears.  But when its on:  Paul’s backing vocals on “Come Together”, the harmonies on “Because”, John’s yell on “She’s So Heavy”, the three of them trading guitar solos at the end of the Medley . . . it radiates, a “sun king.”

OK, OK.  There are limits to the amount of diligence you can do, if you try to post blogs daily.  But I probably should have invested four or five minutes yesterday to see if the emperor Akihito had ever actually visited China, before suggesting that it would be a wise thing that he did.  Your humble blogger committed a 似是而非[1] of haste.  The occupant of the Chrysanthemum throne, the only reigning monarch who still uses the title “emperor” did come to China, one year before me in 1992, twenty-one years ago, this week.  http://www.nytimes.com/1992/10/23/world/akihito-visit-stirring-bitterness-among-chinese.html

And so perhaps some credit is due to Emperor Akihito as a potential source of inspiration for Queen Elizabeth II’s Republic of Ireland visit, rather than the other way around.   And be that as it may, the trip obviously did not facilitate a major reconciliation between China and Japan.  During the visit, the Emperor stayed close to official script.  He did not apologize but rather acknowledged that Japan`s wartime occupation had “inflicted great suffering on the people of China.”

It is fascinating to pause and read a few articles about the China of 1992.  China was, of course, still largely an international pariah, still three years after the events of June 4, 1989.  It was a different time, when Japan was still the regional economic giant and was, in a way, showing great magnanimity, or practicality engaging at a time when others would not.  Bill Clinton had yet to be elected and was on the campaign trail talking about the “butchers from Baghdad to Beijing.” Deng Xiao Ping had yet to make his famous southern tour, opening the country irreversibly to international trade.  The article mentions that trade between China and Japan had reached US $20.2B, which must have seemed like a lot.  The same figure for 2011 was US $345B.  Chinese citizens were told to keep quiet and not protest publicly and for the most part this is what transpired. 

And it would appear, therefore, that it was a missed opportunity.   China and Japan both had their purposes for the visit, at that time.  Secure international legitimacy, expand trade, and broadcast the essential civility of Japan and China to domestic audiences and the people of the world.  Nothing wrong with these, per say.  But neither Japan, nor Emperor Akihito were ready to apologize, he, no doubt after detailed consultation, did not do so.  The Chinese people were served up a lite, feel-good showcase that did little to address, let alone assuage historical bitterness.  Most Chinese leaders quoted at the time, like Beijing mayor Chen Xitong, who would later be deposed, sound robotic and uninspired.  Nothing like the spontaneous “wow” repeated three times by the Irish prime minister, when Queen Elizabeth II, spoke to the room in Gaelic.

The Japanese public sphere is more mature.  Rights to freedom of speech are, for example, protected and enforced.  The far right were not happy, at the time of the visit.  They would presumably broadcast considerable acrimony were the emperor consider apologizing outright today.   But I don’t think their frustration would fray the fabric of Japanese society beyond repair.  Japan is better prepared to have a mature discussion of this topic in the public sphere, if only because rights are respected.  And it is not impossible for the emperor to consider an outright apology, if only because further snooping about revealed that he was proposing a visit to South Korea in 2012, for the explicit purpose of offering just such an apology.   http://japandailypress.com/emperor-akihito-wishes-to-visit-south-korea-will-apologize-if-necessary-2112902/

And there is nothing wrong with a missed opportunity.  As long as you learn from it.  If Akihito were to visit China again, I think he could accomplish much more if he extended the same offer for full apology to China that he appears to be offering to South Korea.  Without knowing all the nuance of translation and what may have been lost, the sadness reflected upon in 1992 and the “apology” offered to South Korea last year appear to be different.  And a visit these days would also be different for so many reasons, if only because public discussion would not be so easy to control in China.  But I do maintain that Queen’s visit suggested potential, heretofore unrealized, by the visit of Akihito’s from 1992.  Using clear language that unconditionally apologizes, would be one step forward.  And as I’d suggested if Akihito were prepared to speak in Mandarin, to the Chinese people, if only for a phrase, it would be symbolic and powerful and another step towards reconciliation. 

A brief aside; yesterday was a fine fall day:  I shot some hoops with my daughters, I decided to take as many pictures of green things as I could on the way home in anticipation of them all departing soon and then, we got back and carved our pumpkin.  I used to hate Hong Kong and San Francisco, as you’d carve your pumpkin, set it out and it would rot in the heat a few days later, before reaching 10/31. 



In the evening my younger daughter of nine put on a play for my wife and myself.  It was a grand, Euripidian-like affair.  I was thinking what a fine playwright she’ll be and perhaps an actress as well, but her vision is somewhat larger.  It may be that she ends up as a a promoter and a mall developer as well.  During intermission we were taken to the store she’d set up for intermission, introduced to shops and told to spend money.  And we were asked to use hard RMB currency for whatever it was we wanted.  I bought a book for three RMB.  My eagle-eyed daughter pointed out that one of the RMB 1.00 notes that I’d presented was a fake.  This happens in China.  Usually you wind up with counterfeit 50’s or 100 RMB notes.  But this bill was no ordinary counterfeit.  On the back was printed some anti-Party propaganda, courtesy of Fa Lun Gong.

The rough translation is something like:

“Heavenly god, over throw the Chinese Communist Party.
Withdraw from the Party and save your life.
Where are you going to look for peace?
Withdraw from Party’s team.
Where are you going to find happiness?
A heart, which has truth and endurance.” 



It seemed to me a poignant reminder of how precarious the pathway is forward for the PRC is as it moves millions of people a year through the “checkout counter” I’d referenced two posts back, en route to a middle class existence.  Regardless of whether Fa Lun Gong was or was not a group seeking the overthrow of state power in the past, before they were cracked-down upon, they clearly are now.  And as with insurrectionist messages passed in holiday moon cakes, or seemingly religious movements like the Taiping or the White Lotus morphing into Buddhist, or Daoist or proto-Christian rebellions for state power, the manner in which China’s order is so fragile, is often so hard for Westerners to understand.  But clearly it is quite real.  And the threats are not simply those of the web 3.0 social networking, but sometimes as simple as One-Yuan note that made it into my hands, and would have continued on its way, were it not for my daughter and her budding business acumen. 

If I see Mr. Mustard, I’ll offer him the note for his other nostril.





[1] sìshì'érfēi:  apparently right but actually wrong; specious (idiom)


Saturday, October 26, 2013

Chrysanthemums in Gaelic




Zoot Sims apparently once referred to alto saxophonist Stan Getz, as a “nice bunch of guys” to describe his many personalities.  The son of Ukrainian Jewish parents, born and raised in NYC, Stan Getz music certainly had many different musical personalities.  I’m listening to this lovely 1972 creation “Captain Marvel” that has him with an all-star cast from that period, Chick Corea, Stanley Clarke, Airto Moreira and Tony Williams.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Captain_Marvel_(album)  What could have easily turned into fuz-ack drivel with that cast at that time, feels broad but rooted.  I never got to see Stan Getz perform though I would have loved to.  I feel connected to him somehow regardless, as my mom had booked him a few times, at theatre where she worked, when I was a punk, and couldn’t have cared less.  His ashes were scattered in the sea near my friend’s house at Marina Del Rey, in California.  I’ll have to remember to make a bow and blow the sea a kiss, next time I’m there . . .



I had the good fortune to meet two brothers from Ireland last evening.  They were here in Beijing on business.  Their company had perfected a means of extracting hazardous chemicals from waste and there were discussions about their prospects here in China. 

We got talking about a matter I’d written about recently, the role of Queen Elizabeth II in reconciliation between Great Britain and Ireland.  I’d discussed the how it was remarkable that she shook hands with, for example, Martin McGuiness who’d all but certainly given the orders to assassinate Lord Mountbatten, her uncle.  They had a better story. 

They described to me what it was to watch the Queen tour the Republic of Ireland and visit Croke Park stadium the site of the infamous 1920 massacre, when British troops opened fire at a Gaelic football match killing thirteen spectators and one player.  They described with great clarity how tense it was to watch her visit, for you and the whole nation were all but certain that some hothead somewhere must certainly be poised and ready to ruin the moment, tragically. 

But no one did.  And later that evening she gave a well regarded speech at Dublin Castle concerning relations between Ireland and the United Kingdom, and surprised everyone by opening her remarks in Gaelic:  “A Uachtaráin, agus a chairde” “President and friends.”  My new friends described how powerful it was to hear this. 

I’d written for a number of days pushing the notion of reconciliation in North Asia.  I’d suggested that Japan was stuck and unlikely to initiate something new and that, in the current circumstance it was difficult to imagine innovation on the matter coming from China.  Might Korea, perhaps drive something creative and disruptive on the question of reconciliation?  What I thought about last evening and discussed with folks aloud, was: what might it be like for the emperor of Japan, Akihito, the son of war-time emperor Hirohito, to come to China, for example, and make a humble speech of reconciliation, speaking in part, in Chinese. 

I’m sure this is not the first time this juxtaposition has been posed.  I am certain there are a slew of reasons why this could never, would never, should never come to pass.  I don’t care.  There were certainly the same impasse between Scylla and Charybdis when someone first suggested as much concerning Queen Elizabeth II.  People must have guffawed when it was first suggested that such an idea could be brought to pass.  羝羊触藩[1]

Both she and Emperor Akihito are of course, only figureheads.  But this gives them greater fluidity and symbolism.  I find it a refreshing meditation and want to think about it some more, and have a look at all the reasons why people must be saying it is impossible.   I’ll return to this vision of a Chrysanthemum Throne visit to the Middle Kingdom. 



A few drinks later, the older of the two brothers spoke to me in Gaelic.  If memory serves, he used to teach the subject and we bonded on this matter of being former teachers.  And I’ll say briefly that it was beautiful to hear.  I’ve heard people conversing in Irish before, but I don’t know that I’ve ever had anyone address me, and try to converse with me in the tongue.  I know I’ll seem like another predictable, lachrymose Irish American here, but something about the cadence was familiar.  I adore an Irish brogue, can do a passing version myself, I imagine it when I read Joyce, I note the way the it has shaped the New York accent, and the Boston accent and the Australian accent and influenced American slang in hundred ways.  But as Joyce notes, this is all in another tongue, that of English, as if it were always trying to burst out of the seams of this adopted, indeed mandated, language.  Hearing Gaelic spoken calmly and clearly, it almost seemed as though the cadence and the rhythm were all at peace. 

I don’t know if life will afford me the time before my ashes are scattered somewhere to actually learn Gaelic.  Chinese is, frankly, hard enough.  But perhaps I could make the effort to learn a few phrases like her majesty did.  I’ll note it as a ‘must-do’ for my next visit to Eire.  Maybe we could entice the honorable Akihito, to consider the same.






[1] dīyángchùfān:  lit. billy goat's horns caught in the fence (idiom from Book of Changes 易經|易经); impossible to advance or to retreat / without any way out of a dilemma / trapped / in an impossible situation


The 900 Million Queue




In the “Seven Deadly Starbucks” (7DS) I try to have a look at the primal sin of anger.  Anger is of course something that affects us all as individuals.  I, for one, tend to loose it, when I’m made to wait.  Standing in line for coffee, standing in line at an airport, delayed by someone driving.  The ambiguities of working across a language mean there is greater room for misunderstanding. 

China, I suggest, has also been waiting in line.  China has miraculously managed to drive some 300 million people from subsistence level living, through the check out counter, if you will, to something like a middle class existence.  Or at least from; "Will there be enough to eat?" to “I’ll take the pink phone.”  Warts, and there are many, notwithstanding, at no time in human history have so many people migrated to comparative wealth, so dramatically.   And there is three fourths of the population, another 900 million or so, still in line. 

Elites who have made it through the VIP express check out, and are now actually wealthy are keen to protect what it is they’ve secured.   The queue is unfathomably large, tempers are flaring as there is now some movement and nearly everyone wants the line to move faster.  People from elsewhere in the industrialized world, are concerned with so many people making their way through.   If another one to two hundred million people make it through every decade, to the point where they have cars and refrigerators and all sorts of choices, just like other middle class people have, the earth may not be able to sustain things. 

Chewing on all this, cleaning up after last night’s party it was a fine time to bump into Russell Brand this morning.  A dear friend back in Los Angeles had sent me a link of the hirsute Mr. Brand speaking with Jeremy Paxman of the BBC.  The tube title suggested the two of them were sparing off and indeed they were.   http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lLYcn3PuTTk

I don’t see many movies.  I don’t watch television.  I don’t really know Russell Brand’s work.  I’d seen him once before on some bit where he was funny, but lite.  I’d read his thoughtful obituary comments when Amy Winehouse passed , which I appreciated as I was and remain a big Amy fan.  But my friend was suggesting I watch this as it had resonances of Bill Hicks, and that is another matter entirely.  To my mind Bill Hicks was one of the most disruptive and meaningful comics I’ve ever heard. 

And I was very pleasantly surprised by what I saw.  Mr. Brand is trying to walk the precarious line between cheeky humor and poignant social commentary.   And he navigates the path, despite Mr. Paxman’s persistent and reasonable jabs with exceptional dexterity, successfully appealing to the interviewer’s own humanity and sense of frustration, but ultimately claiming his own voice to the other’s detriment. 

As a piece of performance art, it is remarkable.  As a platform for what to actually do it is rickety rhetoric.  But as he rightly points out, that’s not his role.  He’s painting with broad-brush strokes giving sonorous articulation to a very real and endemic sense of frustration.  So, I’m sure, did Robespierre.  When pressed for specifics Brand reached for something vaguely “socialist” which sounds fine as a tonic to “corporations” but is unlikely to do much, in my opinion, to satisfy his important north star-like goals, in a highly competitive, increasingly multi-polar world.

It’s easy to pick apart at a reasonable, real-time attempt to explain something layered and vexing.  Where I don’t agree, I’d like to anchor it.  As I told my friend, I would enjoy the chance to discuss with Russell Brand off line, off camera, etc.  I wonder what he thinks of China. I’m not sure Mr. Brand is trying to secure followers per se or even lead.  What I do appreciate is that he claimed and vigorously defended his position and his right to fundamentally disregard the electoral process, and much of the way “the system” is run.  In this, he reminded of my teenage heroes, Crass. 



Crass were an anarcho-pacifist, vegetarian punk band from the class of 77’ who lived on a farm outside of London.  Their albums were wrapped in posters that had, in the words of one critic, “shock slogans” like “Fight war, not wars” and messages like “do not pay more than 1.99 pounds for this record.”  I was about fifteen or so when I first heard songs like “Banned From The Roxy” and I do believe the world stopped for a moment, as I pondered what they were saying for the first time.  It was an angry, intelligent call to reject all participation in “the system.”  I came to ardently believe, this was true.

And I set about considering, as a sixteen year old, a life disassociated from implication in “the system.”  I realized that Crass and others were influenced by thinkers before them and got my hands on Peter Kropotkin, Encrico Malatesta and Emma Goldman, (right there at the Poughkeepsie public library!)   And of course I still wanted to buy albums, and drive cars, and wear things like leather jackets, and as with teenage zealots throughout the ages, I struggled. 

I attended a wonderful Quaker high school there in Poughkeepsie, The Oakwood School, where I talked incessantly with everyone, all the time, about anarchism.  I carved out a position safely off the spectrum where everyone else was wrong, and naïve and implicated.  And I could win arguments, or at least exhaust other people into saying “yeah, you have a point.”  I can remember walking home, thinking I should get a loom and spin my clothes like Gandhi.  A wise teacher and a calloused veteran of the anti-war movement pulled me aside one time and reminded me, “John, don’t think you’re ever going to escape from being “implicated.”  You have to walk home on Cemex’ concrete, don’t you?”

Fortunately, by the time I reached my undergraduate institution, (I strongly considered moving into an anarcho-vegetarian squat in the Lower East Side, instead.) Wesleyan University, I began to have doubts about my zealotry.  Healthy in retrospect, but terribly painful in the moment, I wasn’t enjoying making the same argument over and over that everything around us was an abomination.  More importantly, I found lots of capable people who didn’t buy it and made compelling counter arguments.  I wasn’t winning these discussions and I had to stop and think and be honest with myself.  There was a great deal I still needed to learn.

All zealots, I should think, need a support program of some sort to reacquaint themselves with nuanced conversation and confront a world of uncertainty, without the steel rails, of faith or absolute conviction.  And the call of absolute moral clarity, purity and certainty remains forever seductive.  When I see Russell Brand artfully, humorously and convincingly defend his disdain for the electoral process, it is attractive. 

And there are many millions of people in the industrialized world who’s frustration with the status quo of ecological degradation and ever widening genie coefficient’s is quite real and pungent.  But the 900 million people waiting in line in China, for example, and the CCP who are stewarding them through the check out forcefully, at a breakneck pace, don’t particularly care, yet, about England or France’ struggle to protect a middle class life their parents earned.  Perhaps François Hollande and his “socialist” platform in France at least the rhetoric he ran on, is something more like what Russell Brand would like to see.  (perhaps not.)  But England, or France legislating a massive redistribution of wealth, doesn’t seem like it will do anything but ultimately accelerate the decline in overall living standards, in a competitive world, where Chinese for example, don’t care about France perception of what a civilized work environment should be.  The French have every right to fight for it vigorously, but in an interdependent, competitive world, it may not be defensible. 



Sitting in Beijing, watching Russell Brand zing Mr. Paxman with an eloquent, forceful critique of the status quo, feeling the zealot’s pull, I wonder what he knows about China.  Is it just dismissed in his mind as some massive draconian polluter?   I’ll afford the benefit of the doubt that the movement in his mind is for all the world’s people.  But China’s rise, the movement all these hundreds of millions of people through the queue, towards the choices that he and I enjoy, is not going to stop for England nor the United States’, factions left or factions right.  Another civilization has begun to assert itself and we must find a way to work with it effectively.  To that end, I think it is incumbent for social critics, left or right to learn about Chinese civilization and its momentum.  It’s coming.  And a traditional socialist critique offers little to China, whose rulers are well acquainted with that particular tradition and are culling together something old and something new.  温故知新[1]






[1] wēngùzhīxīn: to review the old and know the new (idiom, from the Analects) / to recall the past to understand the future