Time To Go Home

Whenever Chinese New Year approaches, television viewers are reminded of the one of the holiday's long-standing traditions. A public service promo shows evocative scenes of Chinese citizens getting on trains and buses, making the annual trek toward emotional homecomings. Strains of violin-heavy, reverent music accompanies the slow-motion sequence, preceding the title line:

Time To Go Home.

Except the actual journey to a Beijing bus depot or train station is not nearly as peaceful and gentle as the commercial suggests. It's more like barely-organized chaos. Time to go home? More like time to give you a fat lip for pushing me in the back while fighting to get to the front of the ticket line.

Spring Festival and the Chinese New Year is well-known internationally for the millions of Chinese who travel across the country to visit their relatives. Unlike the West, where most employees can request and receive vacation time at any point in the year, Chinese workers generally get just one opportunity to put down their tools, pack up their bags, and make the trip over-the-river and through-the-woods.

Many of the subjects of the commercials and stories about Chinese traveling for Spring Festival are the country's migrant workers, a lot of whom battled hard with their employer to get paid and find a way to their hometown for the holiday. Some workers haven't seen their family members for a year or longer, and they occasionally burst into tears while talking to reporters about their upcoming reunion. Their stories are so gripping, that it does not surprise me how some Beijing friends felt when I told them I could travel to visit my relatives in the USA twice in a single year.

TWICE?! During ONE YEAR?! Oh, the unfairness of the benefits offered to the foreign devils!

But seriously, some of the best news for foreigners is that Beijing becomes a lot more civilized during these two weeks of celebration, simply because half of the population's left town, and it's not the better half. Then, there's the special experience of the on-going fireworks displays, Temple Fairs, the Lantern Festival, and all the sights and sounds that make China such a tremendous place to be.

Plus, the buses and subways leading to our favorite McDonald's are less crowded. Why can't we have this kind of holiday when it's time for us to go home?

CCTV Chinese New Year's Gala

This month will mark the start of the Year of the Dragon, and the renewal of a traditional rite of the Chinese family New Year celebration. Hundreds of millions of television viewers will watch the state-run TV network's annual variety show.

The CCTV Chinese New Year's Eve gala is an entertainment marathon, produced live at the China Central Television main studio in Beijing. It is a broadcast that has, over the years, been designed to unite the country in much the same way that old American TV shows like "Sabado Gigante" and "The Ed Sullivan Show" did in the 1960s and 1970s. While the American TV universe has exploded to include a thousand channels of entertainment, Chinese viewers still basically receive around 3 dozen channels, virtually all government-controlled. In the end, people in China watch what their government wants them to watch. On the night before the Chinese New Year, the people are supposed to watch 4 consecutive hours of state-sanctioned music, dancing, comedy, and speechmaking.

For Americans and other foreigners who wax nostalgic for such programs of their youth, the CCTV show isn't so bad. The content recalls Sunday evenings watching mop-topped British pop singers, wise-cracking puppet mice, and acrobats spinning plates on sticks. I happen to spend a lot of time at CCTV and get to see the Chinese performers rehearsing for this mega-colossal supershow, and can't help but admire their hard work and dedication.

Yet each year, the Gala exposes a generational split in modern Chinese society that's impossible to ignore. Young Chinese cannot bear to watch this show. They feel that it's old-fashioned and out-of-sync with their lives, not to mention the expectation that it is required viewing in the family living room next to their parents, grandparents, and cousins. Yuk!

Kids who express their preference to play video games or surf the internet until the midnight fireworks start are harshly reprimanded. The youngsters would rather lock themselves in their rooms in silence rather than watch ethnic dances and lame magicians, or hear patriotic songs. It's roughly like forcing a skater punk in the USA to sit down and listen to Pat Boone and Lee Greenwood, amid the occasional sketch comedy of Red Skelton (if he was still alive) and rip-roaring, down-home bluegrass from Dixie.

Of course, the truth is that when these kids in China grow up to become adults, it's expected that they sit down in the living room with their children, and watch this very same show 20 years from now. And they probably will.

On the other hand, nothing like MTV has ever reached the vast majority of Chinese youth, but music videos on the internet have. One gets the feeling the fireworks have yet to begin.

China and Kim Jong Il

Upon receiving the news of North Korean strongman Kim Jong-Il's death, China's leading internet video site, Youku.com, carried a black banner at the top of its home page. It's a mark usually reserved for disasters in China. It showed up during the recovery from the devastating Sichuan earthquake in 2008, and again earlier this year after the Wenzhou high-speed train crash. But Kim Jong-Il? His departure from the world stage was hardly a disaster. I could not believe that China actually wanted its people to join in the mourning for this knucklehead.

China shares a weird kinship with North Korea, or the DPRK, as we're told to call it. There's a common political and social ideology, but really, that's about it. Yet, a lot of Chinese are envious of the impoverished Hermit Kingdom. Either secretly or overtly, they wish China was more like North Korea, closed to public scrutiny, locked-down from foreign influence, belligerent to its neighbors. When the North Koreans told the foreigners in Pyongyang to take a hike during the mourning period for Kim Jong-Il, you could almost hear Chinese hands applauding the move.

The whole big-brother / little-brother relationship between China and the DPRK would probably be OK, except for the fact that Kim Jong-Il had a few flaws. He starved his people, closed-off all international access, rejected technology that would have helped economic development, backed the kidnapping of foreign nationals, shelled and killed islanders in rival South Korea, exploded nuclear weapons, and launched short-range missiles over Japan. This guy was a wrongheaded deadbeat from start to finish, and the Chinese should have been happy to see him go.

If China wants to be all buddy-buddy with the region's most destabilizing nation, fine. But it's hardly the mark of world leadership, even third world leadership.

China Is Not Japan

It is hard to believe that when I chose to come to China a few years ago, I actually had the option of spending my Far East experience in Japan instead. I even went as far as to learn basic Japanese language skills and became endeared to that country's culture and history. In fact, while factoring-through my decision to come to Beijing, I made the mistake of considering Japan and China as similar in a lot of ways: I thought China was a modern, technologically-advancing, economic powerhouse with cities filled with skyscrapers and people busily moving into the 22nd century.

Living in America, so far away from the region, causes you to think these things. Of course, it turned out that the two countries could not be more different in every respect, and China was more like the Flintstones than the Jetsons.

I could have understood it sooner by looking at the recent history between China and Japan. The imperial Japanese of the early 20th century took over China in a brutal occupation, a fact that today's Chinese will never forget. But then, after Japan was beaten in World War II, the country rebuilt itself into a world-leader in business and economics, something that China could have done if it wasn't for its political system, its huge and fractious population, and its failure to open up to the rest of the world.

But it goes a lot deeper than that. The Japanese are simply a kind, humble people. They seem to value kinship and sacrifice. They are even polite when they crowd each other onto subway trains. They are friendly to foreign investment. Their bullet trains don't crash into ravines.

In short, Japan seems to be everything that mainland China is not. There are no hip Chinese kids getting their radical fashion groove on in the flashy shopping districts. There are no unbearably cute Chinese television programs featuring young female pop singers. There are no cosplaying people randomly performing on the urban sidewalks. There are no computer scientists inventing robots to help the elderly live a better life.

In the end, of course, it will all come full circle. Japan's work force continues to shrink; its birth rate keeps falling, and its elderly population is growing fast. It has newfound qualms about high technology and nuclear energy. China is destined to take over as the region's dominant nation.

It all just points to the obvious fact that China is not Japan. And don't get me started comparing it to South Korea.

The Culture Shock Trifecta

I recall Beijing tried a civility campaign in the months preceding 2008 and the Olympic games. The city hoped to improve the general manners and attitude of its residents, and make them more welcoming to the foreigners who would soon show up for the event. It even tried to convince taxi drivers and police officers to learn English.

Now that a few years have passed, I figure we can pretty much declare that little experiment a total failure. Leave the lessons in good manners to London 2012. Who knew that England would need them more than China ever did?

Be that as it may, business and tourism travelers arriving in Beijing brainwashed by the stories of modernization and development should take note that China still inflicts a high degree of culture shock. It's a shame that so many Americans stroll through the financial district of Hong Kong or Shanghai and come home bragging that they've seen China. You have no right to make that claim until you've experienced China's Culture Shock Trifecta in an inland city like Beijing.

Spitting: I've actually met foreigners who have lived here long enough to ignore this nasty habit, until they think about walking anywhere barefoot, including indoors. Even wearing sandals won't make you safe in the Capital.

Public Urination: I place this habit behind spitting, because Beijingers don't have enough public restrooms. In a city with more than 15-million residents, there could be an indoor toilet shack on every other block and it still would not be enough. On the other hand, people of Beijing, why not at least walk behind a bush or a tree to do the deed? Just pretend there's a door, and imagine using some make-believe toilet paper while you're at it.

Busting In Line: This is at the top of the list, by a huge margin. You can always bet on a jet-lagged foreigner arriving in Beijing, already weary of waiting in a line for everything from airport bathrooms to baggage claim, finally getting a chance to hungrily queue up at a fast-food counter, only to have some stranger just barge-in as if he OWNS the hot-dog stand.

The overt, non-blinking rudeness of Beijingers is what will drive the traveler over the edge every time. Of course, just getting to the edge might be tough. Imagine the crowd he'd face there.

Doraemon

Over the years, I've been trying to come up with the definitive symbol to represent things, thoughts, or ideas that are utterly foreign to Beijing visitors, but widely familiar to people who live here. You know, things that cause the locals to consider you stupid for NOT knowing about, like using chopsticks or interpreting calligraphy. In the United States, these things would be rules like "don't break in line," and "look both ways before crossing the street." Things that we consider to be common sense, but concepts which Beijingers have never heard of in their lives.
I finally found that symbol in a ubiquitous cartoon character called Doraemon.

Doraemon is, for lack of a better description, a blue talking robot cat from the future. It is probably more-recognized in Asian countries than either Mickey Mouse or Donald Duck. Why Doraemon does not have its own dedicated theme park chain is beyond me, but it does have a hefty endorsement deal, visible on all sorts of products ranging from refrigerator magnets to boxes of instant noodles.

One thing that makes Doraemon most interesting to me is this: it is just about the only thing from Japan which Chinese people love. Keep in mind that the Japanese will never be forgiven, especially in Beijing, for their imperial reign of terror during World War II. But somehow, the cartoon cat and his pals have risen far above it and become idolized for generations, ever since the series was introduced in manga form and proceeded to regional anime stardom some 40 years ago.

The biggest problem I have with Doraemon, with the exception that it doesn't have ears yet apparently enjoys perfect hearing, is that everyone expects foreigners to know about it, and they are idiots if they don't. If I ran into someone in Beijing who had never heard of Garfield the cat (and there are a lot of Chinese who haven't, believe me), I would be happy to explain everything about the feline furball from Muncie, Indiana. When I profess ignorance about Doraemon in Beijing, all I get is:

"Doraemon? Of course, it is the blue talking robot cat from the future. Everyone knows this."

Me: "But what's his story? What's with the goofy theme song? Why do his friends look like they were bused from Fat Albert's neighborhood in North Philly?"

Beijinger: "Doraemon? Of course, it is the blue talking robot cat from the future. Everyone knows this."

Me: "How far in the future? And why doesn't he ever say anything in English? Don't they have English in the future?

Beijinger: "Doraemon? Of course, it is the blue talking robot cat..."

Me: "Oh, never mind."

The point is, as usual, when you are in an Asian country, just about everyone there is from that country. Immigration, at least the way we know it in the West, has never happened. In mainland China, the chances that you will be born, grow up, go to school, live, work, and eventually die without meeting anyone from another part of the world are still way up there. The idea of running into a non-Chinese person in China is a crazy notion that ranks barely below science fiction.

Speaking of which, I finally found out that Doraemon is from the 22nd century. Hey, that's not all that far from now. I'm sure the Chinese will have invented flying cars by then, which means no one will need to learn any silly rules about looking around before crossing the street in Beijing.

Fashion Update!

It is the end of another summer in Beijing, and the conclusion of another entertaining season of English-language t-shirt messages. To be honest, there weren't as many mirth-inducing misspellings this year. The charm lies in the occasional lack of context, which means they are not that different than those worn by young people in other countries.

Among this year's best:

Give Me Time To Break Your Heart
How Am I Supposed To Know What To Do
Take Me To The Party
Jojo Could Not Be Contacted
Too Young To Regret, Too Old To Be Naive
More Respect Less Attack

and

Everything's Amazing And Nobody's Happy

Much credit to the t-shirt makers for copping Louis CK's routine. Even I would have worn that one. Amid the thick air and high temperatures of a Beijing summer, sometimes I am amazed that anybody's happy.