CHINA, SOCIETY, FEATURE SERIES, On the Road to Shanghai...: The Beginning

[This is the second installment in the series: On the Road to Shanghai... The editors]

By Lianne Li

When the Golden May holidays dropped like a hoard of treasure before my eyes, I seized upon an opportunity to visit Shanghai--and get a glimpse of Hangzhou, Suzhou, and Nanjing along the way. I received my mother's grudging permission and was accompanied by an upper-class photography freak, Wang, who was kind once I got used to his unkind remarks.

Wang was a frugal-minded economy major, so when he suggested that we sit our way to Shanghai on the train, I agreed. Two 179-yuan tickets provided us two separate seats and a small space on the rack for my pack of clothes and his packs of camera, tripod, film rolls, food and drinks.

I was too busy minding my purse and mobile phone to spare time to talk with the suspicious strangers with me in the seating compartment, while Wang guffawed with the crowd seated on the floor. As the train started to rock me to sleep, images of rainy alleyways and brick mansions invaded my drowsy head from the novels of Irene Zhang.



Shanghai.

We arrived in the forest of skyscrapers at half past nine, unwashed and decidedly un-refreshed, and were immediately shoved into the subway passage. Wang struck through the surging crowd into the metro car with his huge black backpack and tripod and waved back towards me. But before I was able to squeeze myself into the metro car, the door snapped shut, and the car pulled away.

I shrugged at Shanghai's welcome ceremony, and took the next car to meet Wang. Our destination was the flat of Yang, our former schoolmate but presently an employee of the stock office in the Bank of China; his generosity was remarkable. He showed us around the CD stores near the University of Fudan, and treated us to a lavish dinner at a bourgeois Italian restaurant.

"As sophomores, you still have time before selling yourself," Yang said as he launched an attack on a second serving. "The only thing is, whether you will be bought by a nice place."

"You know that 5-star grand hotel opposite my apartment?" he continued. "My boss from Hong Kong stayed there for a few days, and all he talked about was how poor the hotel services were, and how he was unable to get a golf course that matched Canada's. And while he complained about the 5-star hotel services, I huddled myself in an air-conditioned taxi with my take-out food, feeling awfully happy!" Yang laughed.

It was already dusk when the taxi got us to Waitan. Like ants thrown into a kaleidoscope, we landed in a whirlwind of illuminated skyscrapers, splashy billboards, the Commercial Bank of China, China Unicom, Pepsi and NEC, endless streams of buzzing cars and swarms of fast-moving people, all very anxious to see more or get more in Shanghai.

While Wang busily took pictures down the road alongside the Huangpu river, Yang pointed to the Oriental Pearl TV Tower on the other bank: "See that? What a pity! The first time I came here, I was with a male colleague. How I wish it was a girl!"

The Nanjing East sidewalk was the most bustling pavement I had ever seen. So many people--tall and short, fat and slim, black-haired and blonde-haired, delicately dressed and raggedly dressed, fast-paced and slow-paced, speaking Shanghainese, Putonghua, English, German and Japanese. All around were even more brightly lighted apartment buildings, plazas, offices, restaurants and beauty salons, and the incessant rumbling of motors, the squealing of children, the Babel-like chattering of the crowd, the trembling of the stores' rock-and-roll. All of it was packed into a moist night air, shaking your spirit.

I was wondering how long such prosperity could last when I noticed a mirage-like skyscraper under construction at the end of the horizon.

"That's what normally occurs to Nanjing East's buildings. They are primarily the remains of the Old Shanghai foreign settlement and are in constant need of repair," explained Yang. He then pointed to a row of low-rising old-looking buildings on my right.

"You see those second-story windows with hanging clothes? On summer nights you may see a fat middle-aged man in a vest puffing a cigarette and looking down the street with the look of an emperor."

"Do they live there?"

"Yeah. And they refuse whatever lucrative government compensation is offered for relocation just to keep that view."

"Must’ve been lonely living up there," I giggled.

Soon it was time to return to my lodging provided by a friend at the Shanghai Science and Technology University. After half an hour of waving at the curb, I was finally able to get into a taxi. Bone-tired, I settled myself in the backseat and watched the glare of neon lights fade from the rear window.

I hoped one of those lights was for me.

CHINA, SOCIETY, FEATURE STORY: My Nanjing

[This is a prologue to and an installment in a series entitled: On the Road to Shanghai.... The editors]

By Lianne Li

After three-and-a-half hours of tumbling in the train, I was jammed into a crawling bus full of passengers bound to the youth hotel at Fuzi Temple, where I had a bed reserved.

My first stop in Nanjing was to neither the tomb of Zhongshan nor the remaining city walls of the Ming Dynasty, but the Memorial Hall of the victims of Japanese Invasion. Since it was Friday, and the memorial hall was open everyday from eight to five except Monday for free, I felt lucky to be in time.



The number 300000 carved on the stone overhead flashed before my eyes like a lightning bolt. Below it, a sculpted skeleton desperately looked up from a heap of pallid pebbles as if to cry out its mere existence.

I walked a curved path among the stone slabs in memory of countless people massacred in various bulwarks, street alleys, homes and riverbanks. Soldiers and civilians, old and young, men and women, died in the battles, or were herded and stabbed, shot and buried alive.

There was not a single number without shocking zeros. Scattered in the pit where Japanese soldiers buried people alive, chilling bits of unearthed skeletons and bones struck me with crushing pain at the memory of the generation of my great grandparents that migrated from Nanjing. Almost all pieces of bones had a serial number signifying its assumed identity, but their names were buried and eliminated, leaving only the mass number of 300000.



"The crimes committed by Japanese invaders cannot be witnessed by one person alone. What I saw was that the brook was red, and the river was also red," said a witness of the massacre, whose words were exhibited in the museum of historical records. What I saw were pictures of an infant crying in the debris of a destroyed house, women assaulted by barbarism, blood-rusty sabers used in the competition of man-killing, and black, shocking grenades that exploded in the middle of crowds.

I witnessed what disasters had befallen my ancestors, and went through some of the throbbing terror they experienced. Restraining tears, I was afraid I would not have enough sorrow to spare. Everyone who died was my kin. What atrocities! As if it were not enough, the world remains a powder keg.

What memorial hall can bring those dead souls to life again, even at the wishes of a nation? What was there to do for all of the visitors with restrained tears except to remember the past with the hope of peace?

"To forget the massacre is to commit the second massacre to Najing," wrote Iris Chang. But to remember the massacre is not to retaliate against Japan, but for the prevention of such massacres in the future, because the pain our nation suffered was enough for the world.

Whatever the past may be, there is always a way for the two nations to befriend each other; if only all of the people can remember history, and think with a cool head.

"Every year, some Japanese visit the memorial hall," said a guide as he pointed to the green pines growing at the side of the paths. "And these were planted by visiting Japanese organizations pleading their guilt."

INTERNATIONAL, SINO - JAPANESE RELATIONS, Opinion: Spirits Sobbing in the Wind

By Linda Lynn

I haven't had a single night of sound sleep in a month because of the spirits I hear sobbing in the wind. I've never been a religious or superstitious person, but I hear these spirits sobbing, stirred up by great human indignities.

Many of my countrymen hear it too--the sob of our late parents and grandparents, and tens of millions of other victims in the War of Resistance against Japan (1937 - 45).

Many westerners cannot understand why Chinese people can never let go of that past. Simply ask yourself a question: How would you feel if Germans denied the existence of the Nazi death camps?

In early March of this year, Japanese Foreign Minister, Nobutaka Machimura, openly denied the barbaric 1937 Nanjing Massacre, in which hundreds of thousands of Chinese were slaughtered by Japanese aggressors.

While the German Premier kneeled down to 忏悔 to the Jewish victims, the Japanese Prime Minister kneels down annually to honor the 14 Japanese Class-A war criminals, despite all of the fierce opposition from neighboring countries. On the first day of a visit I made to Berlin, the German senior high school student who received me took me to the Jewish Memorial Hall. She told me that their young generation would never forget the shameful past of their country.

But the Japanese government bans their students in China from visiting museums memorializing the War of Resistance against Japan. Their young generations do not know their country's past. Before we can manage to get over the hurt feelings, a new Japanese history textbook is unveiled whitewashing Japan's wartime past, under the screening of the Japanese Education Ministry.

Now, and in the future, Japanese youth will think us Chinese insane when we talk about their invading troops forcing so many young Chinese women into being teenage sex slaves for Japanese soldiers; mobilizing men for labor under dehumanizing conditions; and even changing the name of the country "China" into "Sino" so that "Japan" transcended it in alphabetical order.

Probably in these youngsters' eyes, the historical "truth" is that innumerable Japanese soldiers once went for a very long holiday or to construction projects in China and greatly and heroically helped China with its modernization.

However, this outrageous deed was only a prelude. On May 16, the Japanese Prime Minister indicated his plan for another visit to the controversial Yasukuni Shrine, the fifth time since he took office in 2001. It is really astounding, how can people who are so ignorant of their own country’s history govern the country? They shouldn't have been allowed to graduate from primary school.

If they do know historical truth, how can cheaters without the slightest sense of responsibility govern a country? Ironically, this strange and most ridiculous thing is exactly what has happened in Japan for decades.

But above all, the most regretful thing is that despite its notorious history and recent outrageous deeds, Japan is now bidding for a permanent seat on the UN Security Council, and Mr. Annan appears to back Japan's candidacy as part of his reform of the UN. We perfectly understand the UN's call for reform and actively support it. However, what should be reformed is the operating system, not the fundamental duty and mission of the organization. If money talks louder than justice and truth, Mr. Annan is certainly pushing the credibility and authority of the UN into a serious crisis.

There is an old fable in China: A thief wants to steal a bell. So he covers up his ears believing that, like him, others will not hear the bell ring. Even little kids find this thief silly, but Japan is doing the same thing as the thief.

The Japanese believe they can reverse history by distorting their textbooks; but from beginning to end they are making fools of themselves. We are not begging for sympathy or hypocritical apologies, but demanding to preserve the truth of human history.

As long as Japan refuses to correct its attitude over historical issues and continues to provoke its neighbors, it can only be an economic giant but a political dwarf. What these shameful deeds bring Japan is endless hatred from young Asian generations haunted by spirits sobbing in the wind.

INTERNATIONAL, Opinion: Disaster Profiteering

By Ding Xiaoyue

A disaster denotes something very bad that happens and causes a lot of damage or kills a lot of people. However, for certain kinds of people, a disaster amounts to something quite the opposite.

Politicians excel at taking advantage of disasters, from which they often find opportunities to win popularity in the first place. The 9/11 attacks, the catastrophe that dropped a shadow over global security for international peace-lovers as well as the American masses, turned out to be a golden opportunity for the Bush government to wage a war in furtherance of its goal of dominating the Middle East.

The Bush administration also succeeded in diverting public attention away from national affairs as well as realizing its geopolitical strategy. Of course, a disaster can be a double-edged sword if not handled carefully. British Prime Minister Tony Blair is not as lucky as Mr. Bush.

Merchants are another group that benefits from disasters, natural and manmade. They never miss a chance to make fortunes while supplying aid to victims, or bargaining the price of ammunition and ordinance with governments on all sides of a dispute.

Statistics show that before the Iraq war, shares of U.S. arms merchants, such as Raytheon and General Dynamics, staged a rally while the stock market as a whole was plunging downward. So far the biggest arms merchant that made the biggest profits on disasters is beyond dispute the United States, which to a large extent credits its enormous strength and power to arms trading during World War I and World War II.

Similar to merchants, entertainment circles--via philanthropic parties, beauty contests, etc.--benefit from disasters. A star that takes part in these fundraisers may be utterly ignorant of where the disaster even took place. But he or she is definitely clear about whether there are VIPs attending, with whom he or she can build a commercial relationship.

From another perspective, it is rather ironical that people turn on the TV to admire the gaudiness of the activities and the stars, while showing total indifference to the segments when the stars make speeches of tender mercies for the victims of the disaster.

It is hard to define whether the last on the list is a group of opportunists or humanists--the media. On the one hand, we truly appreciate the courage and professional spirit of field journalists who keep shooting and reporting at war fronts or in disaster areas. On the other hand, a disaster does offer opportunities of fortune and fame for the media; in some cases it can be an overnight success, e.g., the Peninsula TV Station.

In 2004, Pulitzer prizes for International Reporting went to ten reports all relating to disasters directly or indirectly. Indeed, a good number of journalists admit that disasters, especially wars, are stimulating to cover. What's more, whether to rescue or to record in a disaster is still a question unresolved for many journalists.

Obviously then, for some a disaster can be expedient rather than destructive. No wonder the U.S. is considering another man-made disaster, the war against Iran.

Maybe one day we will no longer regard disasters as great misfortune because we have become so accustomed to them as entertainment or opportunity.

CHINA, INTERNATIONAL, OPINION: A Thought On Sino - Japanese Relations

By Vivian Guo

Recently, in both China and Japan, there have been protests and violent actions revealing the personal hostilities that still exists between the two cultures, which has strained the relationship between the two nations. As a result, many normal exchange programs in the fields of education, tourism, culture, economy, etc., have been influenced and even forced to stop or be postponed.

For example, the principal of Tokyo University announced on April 23 that "considering the current situation," Tokyo University would have to postpone the exchange program with Peking University, which originally involved more than 3,000 people. Moreover, according to Japan's National Traffic Department, Japan's tourist industry has suffered significantly due to the sharp decrease of Chinese tourists. They said the number of Chinese tourists visiting Japan reduced by 3% - 5% just during the May Day Holiday.

Inevitably, the business field was also struck. Quite a number of Japanese companies took a second thought when making further movements in the huge market of China--namely, Casio decided to put off the promotion of its new product, the electronic dictionary, which had originally been planned to debut in April in Shanghai, and Kirin also postponed a press conference on its new marketing strategies in China.

Facing these facts, scholars and experts of both countries have voiced their deep worries: "As a Chinese in Japan, I felt very sad after reading those reports," said Yaozhong Duan, president of an overseas Chinese newspaper in Japan.

"I hope that I can do something for the communication between China and Japan," Muxiajunyan, a Japanese professor at Zaodaotian University said. "Anyone who has consciousness, either from China or Japan, should be aware that the relationship between the two nations is strained." He also felt great sympathy for the large number of international students (both Chinese students studying in Japan and the Japanese students studying in China) who have, according to him, the dream of seeing a healthy relationship between the two nations.

Fortunately enough, the governments of both sides have reacted wisely and rationally to the situation, which ensured communication between the two nations at this critical moment. For instance, on April 23, in Indonesia, President Hu of China met the Japanese Prime Minister and they had a talk. Both sides decided to continue and enhance the official talks at high ranks to prevent the relationship from deteriorating further. This would include the ASEM held on May 6 and May 7, in Japan, with the attendance of the heads of both nations' Foreign Affairs Departments; and vice premier Yi Wu meeting the Japanese Prime Minister at the 'China Day of the Loving Knowledge World Expo' held in Japan on May 19.

"“China and Japan, the most important trade partners of each other, have already formed a mutual reliance. Resisting the other side’s products is like resisting oneself," said an authoritative Japanese journalist. Let us take made-in-China DVD players for example. If we are to resist Japanese products, we will have to take all the little parts out of those players and throw them away.

Conversely, many high tech parts in the products of Japanese brands like Sony and Panasonic sold in Japan are actually made in China. Therefore, it is absurd to speak of resisting the other's products in today's situation.

For all the historic misunderstandings and current disputes, we should clearly realize the mutual reliance and take rational action to keep the economies of both nations from being adversely affected.

Inevitably, as rivals in East Asia, China and Japan will have conflicts in the future. However, the friendship between China and Japan built in 1972 is precious, and we cannot let go of it simply because of emotional disputes based on misunderstandings.

Further more, while emphasizing the communication between the two nations, we should also strengthen interpersonal communications between the two peoples. That is to say, if more Chinese and Japanese could make friends with each other, the understanding of each other's culture and way of thinking would be improved while conflicts and disputes would be reduced.

The relationship between China and Japan has come to a critical moment. Every citizen of the two nations should take a stand and contribute to the development of friendship. If for no other reason than the peace and prosperity of their own country.

And of the world.

CHINA, CRIMINAL JUSTICE, Analysis: The Executed Can Not Rise Again

By Xu Yan

"It is better that ten guilty escape than one innocent suffer." Francis Bacon

"Please bring back my son, my poor son…" An old woman mournfully beseeched the journalists’ favor in the setting sun. Everyone present was deeply moved by Zhang Huanzhi, a heart-broken mother. Her son, Nie Shubin, was executed for rape and murder ten years ago.

These are the "facts" agreed upon by the police, the investigators, and the justice system: On the afternoon of August 5th, 1994, the not-yet-21-year-old Nie Shubin stole a blouse while wandering around Kongzhai Cun on a blue racing bicycle. He found the victim, Ms. Kang, riding her bicycle through the area. He followed her, ran her down, then raped and strangled the 38 year-old woman with the stolen blouse in a cornfield.

On April 29th, 1995, after trial first by the Shijiazhuang Intermediate People's Court, and then the Hebei Province Supreme People's Court, Nie Shubin was executed bearing two heinous crimes upon his name and family--rape and intentional homicide.

However, these seemingly definite facts came into doubt in January 2005, when an escaped criminal was captured. The Xingyang police had arrested Wang Shujin as a suspect in several crimes. During interrogation, Wang admitted to killing and raping four women in Hebei. The Xingyang police immediately brought Wang Shujin to the police in Guangping County, Hebei, where he was officially registered as a resident.

Unexpectedly, Wang Shujin admitted that in 1994, in the area of Kongzhai Cun, he had raped and murdered a local woman. He was able to describe the crime scene and offer details that only the rapist and murderer would know. Of course, whatever he said was of no help to Zhang Huanzhi. Her son was irreversibly dead, executed for a crime he did not commit.

After learning of the situation, the Hebei Politics and Law Committee formed a group to investigate the Nie Shubin case again. In an interview, the secretary of Shijiazhuang Intermediate People's Court said that they were trying their best to search the records and gather the evidence. He admitted that since the case was wrapped up ten years ago, it was exceedingly difficult.

According to legislation on wrongful convictions issued by the Supreme Court, the relevant people should bear corresponding responsibility: criticism punishment, discipline punishment, or indictment.

Although there are still uncertainties about the real criminal, and about whether the execution was in fact an unjust case, it brought abolishment of the death penalty and reforms of the criminal justice system into the spotlight.

Many officials and experts in criminal justice have argued that China should revise its approach to the death penalty to demonstrate respect for human rights and to radically avoid false convictions. "When it comes to life or death, we have to be very cautious," said Wang Mingdi, vice president of the China Penology Society, claiming that the move will help reduce death roll numbers and prevent miscarriages of justice.

Chinese media commentators say the scandal should accelerate Beijing's plans to allow the Supreme Court to review death-penalty cases. A commentator on the People's Daily website, Yuan Yuan, said he opposes the death penalty because the Chinese judicial system is too opaque and unaccountable. "Look at this case," he wrote on a Chinese website. "Only a single piece of evidence, a confession obtained by torture, can decide someone's death."

However, Prime Minister Wen Jiabao told reporters in Beijing at a press conference during the NPC this year, "Given our national conditions, we cannot abolish the death penalty."

Thus, facing the current situation, we should turn to reforms of the judicial system, especially judicial review of all death-penalty sentences.

Fan Chongyi, a professor at China Politics and Law University, believes that two bulwarks of the judicial system must be established: first, the standardization of gathering, validating and presenting evidence; second, a valid and effective system of rectifying false convictions.

On practical measures against incorrect verdicts, Professor Fan offered two suggestions. One is founding a supervisory bureau to handle the public's appeals for help. Another is counterchecking all severe-punishment cases automatically, death penalty cases in particular.

It is far from enough to only be outraged when confronting wrongly convicted cases. What we need are rational thoughts and practical solutions to prevent a second, and a third Nie Shubin. It requires the endeavor of government as well as that of the public. It is deeply rooted in the public's mind that every criminal should be severely punished.

But as life is exceedingly precious and punishment and death are not reversible, we should respect every life and deal cautiously with all suspects, assuming their innocence in the first place, offering them the opportunity to testify or keep silent, the right to challenge all evidence presented against them, and to be aware of all judicial proceedings in their case.

Therefore, although every judicial system has flaws and mistakes will happen, we can at least claim that we have spared no efforts in perfecting it and that we prize life above all.

CHINA, SOCIETY, OPINION: When Love Mixes with Money

By Yang Xiaobao

If I were 81 and poor, would you marry me? What if I were 81 and rich? That's a tough question, yet people must give satisfying answers in real life.

Several days ago, a rich widow in Wuhan published an advertisement expressing her wish to find an ideal husband. The women, a millionaire, after losing her husband in Taiwan, moved back to her hometown Wuhan 8 years ago. Living alone, she wanted to find a husband to enrich her late years. Ms. Wu said her ideal husband should not be too old, should have a good education and a decent job. In addition, he should be good looking. Soon after the advertisement was published, over 300 people called Ms. Wu to declare their willingness to marry her along with promises to take good care of her.

The applicants' ages vary from 20 to 88. There are professors, doctors, scientific researchers, and athletes among them. While their ages and occupations differ greatly, they have one common ground: all of them claim a wish to marry Ms. Wu, but that their wishes have nothing to do with her money.

On the one hand, I really appreciate Ms. Wu's courage and open mind. In old China, there was a conviction that a woman should have only one husband in her life and she was to be loyal to that husband. When her husband died, she was expected to stay single till the end of her life. Even though born in old China, Ms. Wu was not chained to this old conviction. In her early eighties, she chose to find happiness again through marriage. In modern society, we believe that everyone deserves happiness. But not everyone has the courage to pursue happiness through marriage at such an age. So Ms. Wu's courage is really admirable.

On the other hand, I worry about her happiness. Within the 300 applicants, Ms. Wu can easily find a husband that meets her requirements. But how can she be sure that her future husband loves her more than her money? Don't take me wrong, I am not a skeptic. I believe in true love and I believe that there is someone who will take Ms. Wu as an ideal wife-to-be and take good care of her. But do all 300 applicants have the same pure purpose? I am afraid not. Ms. Wu, however, is quite optimistic about the applicants' motivations. When interviewed by the local newspaper, she said confidently that with enough life experience, she could judge whether the applicants truly loved her or only her money.

If Ms. Wu's story happened two decades ago, the conservative Chinese people would be astonished. Yet in a modern society where money plays a dominant role, everything seems reasonable and acceptable. As money has played a more and more important role in our society, earning money has become the chief goal in many people's lives. And some of them choose to take short cuts. So a good marriage--marrying a rich person--is considered wise and proper means to gain wealth and a better life. It is such a pity that with the trend of commercialization everything can be taken as a commodity. Even marriage is not spared.

Goethe once said: "I love you, but nothing about you." And this saying was used to move countless people decades ago. But nowadays, his saying is interpreted as: "I love you, but nothing about your money." And this interpretation suits Ms. Wu's story quite well. Love was once believed to be a sanctity. But money whitewashes the divine light of love as well as marriage.

Ms. Wu's story has stirred up heated discussion on the Internet. Some people regard it as valid proof of virtue lost. Suddenly the 300 applicants become targets for these people online. I think it cruel to criticize all of the applicants as examples of the loss of virtue. But their deed is at least a challenge to the traditional value of Chinese people.

However, the 300 applicants have their supporters. They hold that there is nothing wrong in marrying an old woman with a great deal of money, because money is also a part of the attractiveness of marriage. An expert on social science said that a happy marriage is composed of three parts: love, sex, and material gain. Each element counts for one third of the whole requirement of a happy marriage. On that basis, the 300 applicants should not stand accused as they are, as material gain plays a big part in any marriage.

But the expert neglected something important: in Ms. Wu's future marriage, the very origin of love is money, because the applicants know nothing about her except that she is 81 and a millionaire. And I doubt that sex will play any role in the marriage of an 81 year-old woman. Therefore the foundation of their happy marriage turns out to be 100% material gain.

I can understand the practical need in the marriage. But I firmly believe that only love is the real foundation of marriage. Am I too out-dated to catch up with the latest concept? Am I too idealistic to fit into this ever more practical society? I don't know.

But I hold that when love mixes with money, the marriage is no longer a pure one but a contract, which may assure you a well-off life but which could also fail to give you a life with true love. Anyhow, I sincerely hope that Ms. Wu will select her Mr. Right and have a happy marriage with no connection to material exchange, only love.

CHINA, LIFESTYLE, TRAVEL: Sightseeing In Lien Chan’s Footsteps

By Xu Yan

"The chairman of KMT Lien Chan's eight-day journey takes him to his birthplace, Xian…" I am reading this encouraging news in The Beijing News on the train to Xian. "It seems Mr. Lien has the same traveling plan we do." I am trying to cheer up my touring partner. Having seen a large amount of negative reports on the seven-day May Day Holiday--usually referred to as Golden Week--she has reasonable doubts about the quality of our tour: Chinese travelers will make 36.8 million journeys by train during this year's May Day holiday (from Shanghai Star).

"It only proves every person, ordinary or VIP, chooses to go on a journey during Golden Week," she refutes my attempt at consolation. "I just hope we can safely return," she adds. I can hear my optimism collapsing. In fact, I had realized all of the disadvantages of a Golden Week tour long before she felt the need to remind me. Nonetheless, a tour is a better choice compared with passing time in the dorm. And the majority of people share the dilemma with us: they also only have Golden Week and Spring Festival holidays and have to take advantage of them. Thus, going out is inevitable. The choice is between a long-distance journey and a jaunt.

I have taken Xian as an ideal destination: a comfortable distance by train, cheaper prices and lots of historic sites to visit which will attract less visitors than natural sights in Kunming, Guilin or Hainan. My whimsical assumption shatters the moment we get out of the railway station. Unfortunately, two luggage-carrying tourists can't get a single cab. We move from one place to another to try our luck; however, when mountains of people are trying their luck, the probability factor is equal to winning the lottery.

Having walked only two blocks in an hour, with both of our arms numb, we finally seize a cab from the hand of a young couple. I sense the husband's flaring rage. The only saving grace is that one of those good points I expected proves true--the low cost of consumption. Although stuck in a traffic jam for more than 40 minutes, it costs us only 19 Yuan to the hotel.

"Not a bad beginning," I say. Putting down the luggage with relief, I smile to my partner and add, "Not as bad as it was described in the media." My friend is speechless in her dissatisfaction. She frowns deeper and deeper as she examines the facilities, the narrow space, the old-fashioned TV, the lack of a bathtub, etc. I can see it narrowly escapes her baseline comfort zone. After all, she succeeds in bearing up under it. On the whole, she is a pleasing partner, considerate, interesting and best of all not too particular.

It is only accidental that we are following in Mr. Lien's footsteps, always going to the sights he visited one day later, such as the Drum Tower and the Terracotta Warriors Museum. I think about rescheduling our plan, and maybe getting a chance to take some photos of him as homework for my photography course. But, instead of taking photos of one famous person, I take pictures of seas of ordinary ones. And the latter job is far easier than the former one amidst the impossible crowds.

A nightmare happens at Mountain Hua--of queuing. As a civilized and educated person, I strongly stand for queuing, orderly and efficient. Sometimes I even like small queues: you can take a tiny rest or have an observation of other's manner to learn the procedure. Forget that when you and 4000 people are queuing for a cable car that transports 600 people per hour. It drives us crazy since we only have 7 hours to linger at this sight, which one would think is adequate to go up the mountainside and then down without much variance. Instead, the term "cable car" loses its purpose--convenience and timesaving.

Even though it is tiring, a waste of money and time, I have no choice but do it--take things as they come. Totally distracted by the waiting process, we have no interest in appreciating the scenery. But there is other fun--talking to strangers: a woman in her 40's tells us that her husband and she haven't traveled for 8 years; an old couple say they are taking this journey to celebrate their silver anniversary; a guard at Mountain Hua advises us to come again, avoiding Golden Week, as there are 400 visitors on common days, not the 30,000 a day during Golden Week.

We spend the last day of our 5-day journey in Xian buying souvenirs, an indispensable part of traveling. Personally, I regard the Forest of Stone Steles Museum as the most remarkable sight in Xian, though you have to acquire a great knowledge of steles beforehand to appreciate the historic and cultural beauty. Unfortunately, if you are ignorant of steles and just go with the stream, it may be you who touch and lean on those precious steles casually and will only remember your visit by photos. Have you some lore of steles, it is a good choice to buy a few rubbings.

Xian is also famous for its snacks, but it is a pity that you can't bring back a lot of delicious snacks, as mirror-like cake, glutinous rice dumpling with honey, should be eaten shortly after being made. However, you can't miss mutton with dunked cakes that have been packed like fast noodles.

Carrying several packages of souvenirs and special local products, we head for the train with floods of people. When we are looking for our seats, it strikes us that the two seats are in two different carriages. Suddenly it dawns on me, that mysterious smile of the manager of the travel agency? "It's really hard to arrange all the things in Golden Week, tickets, hotels, etc. And please understand us and forgive us," I remember him saying.

I now know that it was a hidden apology rather than some formulae.

CHINA, POLITICS, Analysis: Communication Brings Peace Across the Taiwan Strait

By Teru Chen

On May 5th, after Kuomintang chairman Lien Zhan's "visitation for peace" on April 27th, another Taiwan sachem, Song Chuyu, also joined the group that Chinese people warmly welcomed. The Channel is becoming a thoroughfare and China has now reached a whole new stage of cooperation that allows politicians of Taiwan to visit the mainland.

The driving force of this change mostly comes from the great aspirations of inter-coastal people to communicate and understand each other better. Communication brings peace, Lien Zhan's visit has already proven that and Song Chuyu's visitation will give it even more meaning.

The talk between chairman Hu Jintao and Lien Zhan that emphasized "develop au pair negotiation, strengthen communication and enlarge cognition in common," reflects public opinion. The economic trade between China and Taiwan strongly demands communication. If we lack communication, it brings losses that are hard to measure.

No direct access by postal communication costs both the mainland's and Taiwan's post and telecommunication offices nearly 60 million U.S. dollars every year. Taiwanese spend twice as much as necessary every year to visit their relatives on the mainland, or to come and go for education and other reasons. Most trade products from both sides cannot go directly through the CIQ, which results in an economic loss of more than 10 million U.S. dollars per year.

The people's benefit and demands provide great national motive to further communication; more and more Taiwanese appear to support Lien Zhan's visit to the mainland. They also have great expectations for Song Chuyu's visit. All of this proves that further communication reflects public opinion.

Communication needs sincerity. Chairman Hu Jintao expressed our bona fides by the Four Ideas of developing the inter-coastal relationship. We'd like to talk to anyone no matter the party he belongs to or where he comes from with only one condition, and that is the recognition of only one China. When this recognition is admitted, all talks can resume, not only about how to establish trust in military affairs and Taiwan's international position, but also the political position of the authorities in Taiwan and the framework for a non-jarring, peaceful development. The Communist Party of China will show its utmost sincerity in order to make space for communication between the mainland and Taiwan wider and freer. This will encourage people who love peace all over the world.

Communication also needs to express public opinion. What is the public opinion of China and Taiwan? It is to admit one China and oppose Taiwan's independency; it is trust in politics, respect for each other's ideas and seeking common points while reserving differences; it is the development of au pair negotiation, strengthened communication and enlarged cognition in common; it is further communication and understanding between inter-coastal people.

All of this can be expressed by one China. As long as one China is admitted, inter-coastal people will draw together and China will be stronger. Inter-coastal public opinion cannot be shut out. Only communication can gain trust and resolve conflicts; only communication can reduce bifurcation and enlarge recognition in common.

Though communication can not solve all of the bifurcation, many problems have a chance to be solved and many conflicts may be resolved once the door of communication is opened. The leaders of the Communist Party and the Kuomintang hadn't met each other for 60 years, but they gained great achievements with only one interlocution. Lien Zhan's visitation was successful, so will Song Chuyu's.

Communication brings peace, and peace may bring economic bloom and Inter-coastal people's solidarity. Solidarity is the most important thing, because it can remove estrangement and benefit the welfare of Inter-coastal people generation after generation.

CHINA, POLITICS, Analysis: Lien Chan’s Step of a Thousand Miles

By Anita Sun

In the autumn of 1949, the Kuomintang planes took off from the airport in Shanghai with the rumble of cannons and gunfire at their backs. No one had expected such a rapid retreat, not the United States, not even the Kuomintang themselves.

When Lien Chan, the Kuomintang president, stepped on this land again, it was exactly fifty-six years later. He had come to shake hands with the mainland. Let us not emphasize the war fought sixty years ago, because at this harmonious stage, a single mention of the long-ago dispute could be considered ill-intentioned.

The highest leaders of both parties had not met since the 1946 Chongqing Negotiations. Over the ensuing six decades, the highest leadership of the CCP passed through four generations, from Mao Zedong, Deng Xiaoping, Jiang Zemin, to Hu Jintao; the duplicate happened to the Kuomintang: from Jiang Kai-shek, Jiang Jingguo, Li Denghui, to Lien Chan. The fourth leadership of both sides had run beyond their second and third predecessors, and had finally come to a joint point.

If we are careful enough, we cannot fail to discover that Lien's visit was not all about flowers and applause, but about risks and opposition as well--and the protest is not too weak. A survey done to determine the popularity of Lien's visit found a 70% approval rating on the mainland. To our relief, it is a majority, yet it is not an absolute majority.

Opposition largely derives from the advocates of Taiwan independence. In light of the interests of the party, the Kuomintang, and Mr. Lien Chan, he risked much of his own interests in making the historical visit. "Mr. Lien put his own fame beyond consideration," said Mr. Shen, a member of the standing committee of the Taiwan Legislation Congress. "The Kuomintang used to lack the courage to express its will of unity, and they dared not visit the mainland for fear of losing voters. But Mr. Lien broke this terrible stalemate," Mr. Shen said.

The visit, although lasting only eight days, proved to be an epochal leap forward. After so many years, the two parties finally joined hands again, for the single fact that they both recognize themselves as Chinese, with the same blood and cultural heritage. They both realize that the country will go nowhere unless they make joint efforts to combat Taiwan independence.

The Kuomintang, whether in or out of office, has always been against Taiwan independence. However, in recent years in Taiwan, the notion of independence gained strength and spurred Chen Shuibian's rise to power.

As for Lien Chan personally, he, too, underwent some dramatic changes. His position has grown clearer and more determined. Lien had expected a sound success by the Kuomintang in the 2004 Taiwan election; the result was more than just a great surprise to him. From that moment on, Lien sensed that the danger of secession was imminent. Something had to be done. Mr. Lien called his trip "a visit of peace"; he planned it on the basis of rationality, mutual trust, and mutual respect.

Although the Kuomintang is a party out of office and may not have the administrative power to exercise the fruits of the talks, Mr. Lien's visit still takes on substantial meaning. It is this visit that makes the Chen Shuibian administration feel pressed and dilemmatic.

In this general atmosphere of peace and reconciliation, if Chen Shuibian rejects the positive results of the visit, he will put some of his supporting base at stake. In fact, some gestures on Chen's part have proven that he knows this--he has shifted from his previous claim of "bringing (those who visit the mainland) to justice," to a "wish of blessing."

Mr. Lien Chan's visit was a successful prelude. It provided an unprecedented opportunity for real cross-channel talks. When unity is no longer a demand of an individual party but of the majority, the Taiwan authorities will have no alternative but to consider the mainstream request, lest it fall into passivity.

It took 56 years to cross the strait, yet it was not too late. When we come to look at those long years of remoteness across the strait; when we come to look at the obstacles set between us by Li Denghui and Chen Shuibian; when we come to look at the crowds congregated at Taipei's Zhongzheng Airport--not to see him off, but to protest his going--we immediately sense what immense courage it required for Mr. Lien Chan to step out; and it is exactly this difficulty that makes it a step of a thousand miles.

CHINA, SOCIETY, EDUCATION, Opinion: Everything is Down, Except Tests

By Lianne Li

Even before being able to hold a pen, I was repeatedly exposed to the truth of life: Everything is down, except study. Any of my distracted peeping out of the window, idly gazing and head scratching was prone to receive my father's thunderous roars: "You girl with no future! What's the sense of keeping you, huh?" In order to convince me, he cut off the TV cable at the discovery of my secret infringement of his ban on watching my favorite cartoons.

I began to get the sense of my father's roars later, with gratitude: In this country, entrance to a fine college is the first knock on future's door, if your future is to elevate above jobless high school graduates and low-paid vocational school graduates.

But entering college is like having a thousand troops cross a narrow footlog--in this most populous country, only three out of five average junior-high graduates get to enter high school; four out of five average high school graduates get to enter college, and for an average high school graduate to enter a prestigious university is to be one out of a thousand.

So there's no wonder at the swarms of parents waiting at the examination-section border, or at the news of a student killing himself for failing a catastrophically complex Mathematics test. A test is a test, and marks are the lifeline of students. There is no way to argue your way into college for lack of one or two marks. A mark can drag you above two thousand test-takers and onto your dream college's admission list, or push you down to the catch-22 of choosing between another grisly year of test preparation and an unwanted major in an unthinkable college.

In the present schooling system, no one cares whether you can play several instruments if you pass the test for a science degree; no one cares whether you are great at oil-painting if you fail tests to be allowed to pursue an art degree.

The question is simple: Pass or fail? If you pass whatever, worthy of your devotion or not, you are among the most educated group; if not, you are out. For Cheng Danqing, an art professor at Tsinghua University, it was a disheartening breakthrough to see the truth that has been inherently seen by students. After five years of futile effort to admit one post-graduate student of art with talent and enough English and politics marks in the post-graduate exam, he handed in his resignation with no hesitation last October.

"I don't intend any misunderstanding for Tsinghua University. My resignation is my private issue and education is the public issue. What I criticize is the general policy of admission and examination as well as the current academic administration instead of any specific school," he said, after enclosing his resignation letter in his book The Collection of Regression, an observation of current art development of China. "By my observation, the domestic art education, whether in fundamental studies or high-level studies, has two unspoken clear-cut objectives that have been reached: firstly preserving its furnishing and secondly filling our stomach by preserving its furnishing."

Upon his first year in Tsinghua, not one of the 24 applicants for master's degree were able to pass the English test, and the five students admitted later received no degree for failing the suspended make-up tests. In the year 2002, all of the 19 applicants for post-graduate degrees failed, including a female student who achieved more than 90 points on her major tests but lacked one mark in both the English and politics test. "Our leaders reiterated in the conferences that we should admit talents without sticking to one pattern. Then I said, there is one pattern all over the hand-out application forms."

Even for those who eagerly look back into the age when Qian Zhongshu and Wu Han (both became prestigious writers) were still admitted even when they failed their Mathematics tests, there is no sense not to prepare for what everybody is preparing for, despite that English has little to do with the capacity to hold a paint brush or that politics is never so important as to deny one access to a music school.

The present schooling system is designed for more than a hundred million students, not for an individual student like Han Han (a young writer who only finished high school because he failed all the tests except for Chinese). Not that we have any say on what we should learn, it is the schools that choose to make us into mass products to fit the massive demand of society.

Ironically, both the school and society tend to sniff at high-mark, low-ability students who end up unemployed, with little regard to how much pressure is imposed on every student to pass the demanded tests. Revolutionary efforts are made, but the broth of the soup doesn’t change. Although the advocacy for "Quality education" has been around for a while, high-school students still have to compete their heads off for the college entrance exam. Although the renovated CET 4 and CET 6 test policy settled no division on Pass and Fail, marks still exist, and it is up to the schools and companies to decide what means passable. In a nutshell, the pass-or-fail pattern is never stirred. A test is a test.

What we can choose, however, is how we are going to take it. Those with a smarter head migrate to provinces with less competition in college admission quotas, or find a backdoor and pay their way in. As long as the tests are immovable, there's no shortage of ways to cope with it--legal or illegal, survival is best.

Now if you excuse me, I have my TEM 4 to prepare for. Though I don't know what I can get out of the test, I guess I still have to bear my father's instruction in mind: Everything is down, except tests.

INTERNATIONAL, CULTURE: Chinese-American writers

By Xu Yan

Chinese people have gone to every corner of the world. But wherever they've gone, they have never dropped their habit of using the power of the pen to keep culture alive and record new experiences. Gradually they generated a group of English language Chinese writers who have had a great influence on world literature.

The ancestor of such writers is a woman whose penname was Daffodil in the early 1900's. But it was not until the 1920's that a really popular book appeared, written by the princess Delin, who described the secrets of the Qing dynasty in detail from the vantage point of her special identity. During the 1930's, the famous man of letters, Lin Yutang, surprised the English world by writing even more beautifully than the native writers.

Since then, female writers occupied the Chinese-American writing world. Zhang Ailing, Li Jingyang, Han Suyin and Ni Hualing, all gained high fame in the English speaking world. However, there were still no professional critics analyzing Chinese-American writers.

It was Maxine Hong Kingston’s Woman Warrior: Memoirs of a Girlhood among Ghosts that attracted the world’s eyes to Chinese-American writers. The book mixed Chinese fairy tales, legends, opera stories and the accomplishment of the American dream together; it even stimulated a number of colleges to open courses about female Chinese writers. During this period, female writers like Maxine Hong Kingston and Amy Tan, who were second or third generation immigrants, were mainly concerned with Chinese people's experiences in America.

Then came the new immigrant writers--who were born in China and received higher education in China--to prevail on the literary world. Those writers were mainly male, like Ha Jin and Qiu Xiaolong, who wrote about Chinese people in contemporary China. Ha Jin's most well-known book, Waiting, about a doctor at an army hospital in China, won two major American prizes, the American Book Award and the Pen/Faulkner Award. And Qiu Xiaolong, who used to be a famous translator in China, was good at the detective story. His Death of a Red Heroine won the Allen Poe Whodunit Prize.

Having addressed the three generations of Chinese-American writers, we may ask how can they conquer the English-speaking world? It's owing to the characters these books have in common, that is, adopting a method which the Westerner can accept to represent China.

Many Americans have the impression that Chinese writers are too sensational as they use a lot of adjectives, which may move Chinese readers. Americans prefer concise, powerful diction, like Ha Jin's. Besides, those successful writers base their books on a successful plot. They will add elements of China, such as traditional poetry and well-known fables into their books. But they will not write of China for China's sake. That is the most difficult part.

It is easy to understand why writers like Amy Tan write in English as they were born American. But for those like Ha Jin, who adopt English as a second language, why do they choose to write English works? Ha Jin's answer is typical: he does it by chance and writing in English gives him freedom.

Whatever reasons or aims they have, and although their works can hardly be accepted in China (actually, their works receive very little attention in their motherland), they are making the effort to tell the world about a real China. And it is encouraging.

CHINA, CULTURE: Haoyou, Will the Drums Fall Silent?

By Lianne Li

To the assistant's steady rhythm of backstrokes, Long Guoan, the 73-year-old Hmong rose to his feet, hunched, approached the red ridge of the drum and gave it a few tentative taps as if to listen to its heart beat. Then all the energy of a monkey exploded from the old, skinny body with an intense rain of strikes falling from his side and back, pausing now and then with a slouched arm holding a drumstick in the air and his wrinkled face brimming with sly monkey-ish humor.



The drum dance, called monkey's drum, has been passed on for hundreds of years as a necessary ritual for festivals and as spare-time entertainment in the Haoyou Hmong village. Every man is taught to play drums at the age of twelve or thirteen. The talent to play drums has been the major criterion for judging a young man's wit. In Haoyou, they say, no one will marry his daughter to a fool who does not know how to hold a drumstick. This unique feature of the Hmong village gave it another name: drum village.

The Hmong village rests deep in the mountains among the rural areas of Phoenix, the well-known multi-minority town in western Hunan that has seen the birth of the great Chinese writer Sheng Congwen. For centuries, the Hmong village was inhabited by red Hmongs, and now has a population of over 900. The majority of them share the family name of Long, whereas a few are named Wu. Much of their traditional customs remained the same except they now wear Han dress for the sake of its cost and simplicity, and the young generations no longer choose their mate by singing antiphonal love songs as their elders did.

The villager's lives are still centered around the farmland from which they earn their living, as their ancestors did centuries ago. But changes have come along with the advances of the times. They have far surpassed the poverty line first set during the depression from natural disasters and political turmoil in the 50s. Slower, though, is their pace of economic progress; they now have a mud road to the town, finished a little over a month ago; and all families have tap water and electricity, some finally own televisions and telephones.

"We are farmers. So farming is what we chiefly do, and other things are also good to do. This is what Chairman Mao said," Long said. The local government has made a great effort in the promotion of tourism to benefit the local handcraft industry. The profit to Haoyou from sales of traditional Hmong garments -- hand weaved laces, silverware, batik -- is not as much as that of some of the more frequently visited villages in the area. Nonetheless it helps pay for some daily necessities and comes in steadily.

If only the villagers ceased to marry and multiply, their farming and handcraft industry would suffice them for their everyday life with little demand for food and clothes.

"To raise a boy is to lose money. I would have no worry if I have a daughter. With a son I have to save a lot of money in order for him to marry," Long said. According to the ancient custom of the village, a boy needs to offer at least 10,000 Yuan worth of silver as the bride-price to the family of the girl he wishes to marry, a tremendous sum that could never be afforded from their farming income.



Almost 90 percent of the young laborers have left the village for big cities and towns to earn money, the old and the women stay behind with their farmland. In Long’s case, more than 80 percent of the family's income is from earnings from his sons working "outside" (in cities and towns).

"We have less than 1 mu (1/15 of a hectare) farmland on average as a result of population growth," Long said. "A mu of farmland here usually produces some 350 kilos of rice. Our family can produce 1000 kilos at best, but that is only worth 1400 Yuan if we sell all our harvest with nothing left for food. A young man working 'outside' can make as much as 8,000 Yuan per year, supporting the family at a much better rate."

The income from young outside laborers is the main source of bride-price and tuition for the children. By policy of the central government, every couple in the village can have two children. The children are sent to an elementary school founded by the villagers, employing only 5 teachers from outside the village to give standard classes in Mandarin for over 120 pupils. Most villagers can only support their children through junior high and the common notion of the village is that a junior high school education is adequate for the youngsters working outside. With what little education they have, the 16 year-olds start working outside to support their families and save money for their future marriages. 10,000 Yuan worth of bride-price means more than two years of working.

So one generation of the Hmong village comes from the elder, drops school to work, works to earn money for marriage, and marries to give birth to the next generation who drops school at the same early age. It's no wonder the Hmong village has never produced a college graduate. He or she would be both difficult to support and cultivate in the vicious economic and educational circle common in Chinese villages.

"We have much progress in culture anyway," a teacher working at the village school said. "Every teacher has a task to teach a certain amount of villagers to read. The majority of villagers now know how to speak Mandarin, and with children's basic education guaranteed, the illiteracy rate of the village is lower than ever."


Long sat and gazed into the fire, sighing: "My drum dance today is not so nice, as I am not in a good state." He has been earnestly teaching several men the monkey's drum, but the zeal in the vigorous drum dance is faltering and fading among average youngsters. "I really wish youngsters could play better than I am now."