Chinese Babies

One of the oddest things about china is the way in which everyone dresses their babies in Beijing. In short, Chinese babies look like marshmallows. I mean, these kids have so many layers on that they are literally round—too fat to walk on their own, and too bundled up to be cold on even the coldest days in Beijing. Too bundled up, that is, except for their genital region, which is open and, for better or worse, flapping in the wind. The logic behind this is that having slits in all of the babies clothes allows them to go to the bathroom whenever and wherever—be in on the street, in a trash can a subway station, or in front of a restaurant. So, if you every come to china, be prepared to see marshmallow-like babies doing their business wherever, whenever.
I also realize that, after not posting for a few months and neglecting things such as my new jobs and Chinese New Year’s, this is a weird post, but it’s something that I thought needed to be said.

I'm Alive

I’m alive. Just busy. Very busy. And tired. Very tired. I promise to put up a few posting while I’m back in the states in early april, but I can’t guarantee that I’ll put much—and by much I mean anything—up between now and then.

A Good Friend Arrives

Finally, after several months, one of my very good friends—and my current roommate—has arrived in Beijing. One of my friends, in what I think to be an apt description, stated that his arrival was like the guy running towards the castle in Monty Python’s “Search for the Holy Grail”—that is to say, it seemed like my friend had been “almost here” forever. Nonetheless, he’s here, we’re living in a new place, and all is well in Beijing.
And I have a student named “Quarter.” A name he gave himself because, well, he thinks that an American quarter is “a lot of money,” or “cool,” or something. In class yesterday, he sat next to Angel, another one of my students who took the liberty of naming herself.

Migrants on the Move

While riding my bike passed one of the larger hotels in the city one day this week, two things immediately became apparent: 1) there were more cops around than usual; and 2) the migrant workers who frequent that area of the city everyday were conspicuously absent. Because I rarely see roadblocks and lots of cops standing around doing nothing, I decided to ask one of the cops what was going on. Predictably, he ignored me and waved me away. Next, I asked a man exiting the hotel if he knew what was going on. “Maybe there’s a meeting here today,” he mused. Finding this response less-than-acceptable, I decided to ask another cop who was stationed 25 meters down an alley what was going on. “A leader is coming here soon,” he told me. When I asked him who this leader was, he responded, “I’m not too clear about that.” Regardless of whether or not the second cop actually knew who was scheduled to arrive at the hotel that afternoon wasn’t of interest to me. What was of interest was that, no more than 50 meters down the alley passed the second cop was a whole slew of migrant workers. So, while the workers had been taken away from an area in which the “leader” may have seen them, they were still expected to be at work, in the shadows, building Beijing.

Stereotypes

Stereotypes are divisive—hatred, bias, and racism are all rooted in stereotypes. A prevalent stereotype is that, for the most part, the Chinese are racist. Due to this widely held belief in the West, I was very eager to teach a class about stereotypes to a group of Chinese adults this past week.
The class I taught on stereotypes was small—I only had two students and, while their English was comprehensible, they both had very limited vocabularies. To start the lesson, I listed several stereotypes about Chinese people—good at math, not a lot of fun, hardworking, no sense of humor, etc. While the students agreed with some of these descriptors, there knew people who didn’t fit into any of the categories. Good, I thought, they may be beginning to understand that stereotypes are, for the most part, mean and false.
Next I asked the students which characteristics they would use to describe Jewish people. Unfortunately, the list contained all of the usual suspects—good with money, rich, and clever. I found this use of clever to be interesting, so I pushed the students and asked how to say clever in Chinese. They both responded, cong ming, which I understand to mean smart, not clever. After explaining that stereotypes were not always true and that I knew a lot of jews who did not fit into any of the categories they listed, I asked them what they thought about black people.
The list about black people was, in a word, nauseating. According to my students, black people are: dumb, good at sports, wear funny clothes, American, ugly and foul-smelling. Wow. After both lists—the one about jewish people and the one about black people—were on the board, I told them that I was jewish. This was, indeed, shocking for both of them. “you don’t look jew,” they said. “well,” I responded, “not all jews look the same.” Next I asked them if they knew any other jews or even a single black person. “no,” they obviously responded. Next I told them that I actually knew a lot of jews and black people who did not exhibit any of the characteristics they had listed.
Unfortunately, I don’t think that either of them was able to draw the connection I was trying to make between stereotypes not being true for all groups.
The reason that these deeply ingrained stereotypes are so powerful—and so important—in a place like china is that most Chinese will never have the opportunity to meet a foreigner, let alone a jew of black person. Therefore, the vacuum of actual information is filled by stereotypes that are based on hearsay and falsehoods. I don’t want to drum this incident into a grand theory on Chinese xenophobia and notions of Chinese superiority, I simply want to say that in a country that is for the most part very homogenous, it is very hard to disprove stereotypes.

Groups to watch in '07 and beyond

As a news junkie, I’ve been reading a lot of year-in-review articles and predictions for 2007 lately. While I don’t pretend to be a prognosticator, I thought that I’d like to stretch out which groups in China I think will be worth keeping an eye on the months and years to come. This is not an exhaustive list, but just a cursory one that I’ve cobbled together since coming to Beijing. Moreover, the list is not meant to highlight the big power brokers but, rather, the demographic groups that, if sufficiently stirred up, could lead to big social and political changes in the country. Finally, I’d like to issue the caveat that I have not traveled through much of China. I am the first to admit that, following for months on the road this summer, my take on these groups may be radically different. It should also be noted that the first two groups on the list, migrant workers and the disgruntled farmers who stayed on the farm, draw from the same population. For better or worse, this following is what my gut and readings tell me:

1. Disgruntled Farmers/Peasant Leaders
Scholars estimate that there are thousands of acts of resistance in rural China throughout the course of a year. Moreover, the number of protests—which can range from a few people to dozens and more—has been rising steadily since the mid-1990s when the urban elites began enjoying the fruits of the economic opening of China that had been initiated in 1979 by Deng Xiaoping. For interesting scholarly works on peasant resistance movements in general, I suggest James Scott’s work. While the literature on peasant resistance and pushes for democracy in China at the grassroots level in becoming more substantial, I am unable to access these texts from mainland China. Nonetheless, it seems to me that the peasant resistance movements going on in most parts of the country tend to be local in nature. That is, they seem to revolve around problems related corrupt or inefficient local cadres. Indeed, these individuals seems to be upset that the economic growth that is transforming life in the cities and the international position of the Chinese state has not positively impacted their lives at the grassroots level. It is interesting to note that, given the fact that these protests generally target local corruption, the central government seems to favor these protest as a way to discover, and then punish, the most inept and corrupt local cadres. Indeed, the lack of an independent media means that the central government is sometimes forced to rely on the citizens themselves protesting the ineptitude of local cadres. While this strategy is currently working, I believe that it has a short shelf life. Once the protest morph from being about corruption and local greed to the problems faced by peasants who are struggling to survive, the blame will not be directed at the local cadres but the Party and the State as a whole. Indeed, the Party seems to realize this—the Chinese language Government-sponsored version of the top priorities for the Party and State listed dealing with the employment, living conditions and happiness of the nongmin, or rural poor and peasants, as the top concern of the government in 2007.

2. The mingong, or migrant workers.
The Chinese word for migrant worked is a combination of nongmin, or farmer, and gongren, or worker (this word generally has an unskilled connotation to it). Even within the language it is clear that the millions of peasants fleeing the farmers and flocking to the cities in search of work and a better life make up an important demographic in contemporary China. Indeed, this group is a logical outgrowth of the upset rural peasants. While these individuals live in the cities, they are ghosts. They are look at, but rarely seen. While biking through the central part of Beijing yesterday, I decided to stop and look around an area under construction. The construction site borders one of the most expensive hotels in the city and is on a major thoroughfare. Yet despite its central location, the gongren that work at this site are hardly noticed by the thousands of Beijingers that pass by them everyday. Before a construction team boss yelled at me and told me to leave, I’m pretty sure that I was able to steal a glance of the tents where many of these men spend nights in the subzero Beijing nights. Moreover, these new work in $1 hardhats and cheap shoes that don’t have enough support for a simple walk down the street let alone digging 6 feet underground in a huge hole.
An anecdotal story involved a group of young and old migrants from Sichuan. (It is interesting to note that men from the same areas of the country tend to look for work together.) These men, ranging in age from 20 to 60s, were trying to put a steel electric pole up next to a preexisting wooden one. In order to do this, a young man scaled the wooden pole using jerry rigged, lumberjack-like shoe attachments and no harness. Once he scaled the 20 ft. pole, he threw a rope over the electrical wires. He pulled one end while the other was attached to the top of the steel pole—essentially making the electrical wires the point at which all of the tension lay. On the other side, 10 men pushed and pulled at the steel pole in an attempt to lift it. Near by, 3 old Beijingers discussed trivial affairs while several workers in the background squatted, smoked, and took a break. The scene was also colored by an interesting machine handled by three men that seemed to do little more than add pollutants into the already murky and thick Beijing air. No more than 50 feet in front of the site was one of the nicest hotels in Beijing. No more than 50 feet to the side stood the ruble from what used to be a hutong. The local outdoor public toilet from this part of the city had two words written across the front in red spray paint: the character chai, meaning to tear down, and the English word fuck. If I could upload pictures to this blog, I would attach one of this scene.
This scene is, indeed, a typical slice of life for these men. In fact, it could be argued that these men are some of the lucky ones—they have work on what looks to be a large and long-term project. Yet while the work guarantees a place to sleep—even if that place is a tent—and food, which may be rice and a few veggies, it does not guarantee that these men will be paid for the work that they do. As they move to the cities, many of these men become disillusioned with the lack of work, petty corruption and the squalor in which they live and work. While most of them still make enough money to send some back to the farm to support their families, I get the sense that these individuals are struggling to survive in the new free market China. Even though many of these men seem to face these hardships with a mei banfa attitude, or one characterized by tough Should these people be stirred up, it could mean serious social unrest. (A recent article talking about the plight of these men and their living conditions was published in the Wall Street Journal, should you want another account.)


3. Students and Recent College Graduates
As I’m assuming everyone is familiar with the events of 1989, I’m not going to rehash them—you can look them up for yourself if you’re not completely clear about the vague reference I’m making. To be sure, students, if sufficiently agitated and stirred up, are one of the key ingredients for starting a revolution or creating serious tumult—the other key group, of course, are the peasants.
I think that the students and, more specifically, the newly minted college graduates are another key group to watch is because many of these individuals cannot find the high paying jobs they had expected to find upon entering the work force. While the economy is becoming more open and market based by the day, access to good jobs is still based primarily on guanxi, or relationships and who you know. Should this not change—and I don’t see it changing as all of the elite have an interest in giving their one child access to a lucrative job—those students who excelled at school and yet are unable to find a good job due to their lack of guanxi could become very agitated. In a country that is bucking norms and has been changing its social order and ideology continuously for more almost a century, the centrality of guanxi could become a key battleground in the months and years to come.

This, then, is my take on the groups to look out for in the months and years to come in China. As I said before, I am no Chine scholar nor do I pretend to be—I didn’t take any courses related to China while an undergrad—but this is how I see it.

Between Hong Kong and Yunan

As a got off the plane in fresh from my trip to Hong Kong, I was struck by the extent to which I could literally taste the Beijing air. During the winter, the amount of coal being burnt to heat the city increases and, with this increase, the pollution becomes intolerable. I know that I harp on the pollution quite often, but it is honestly the thing that I’ve found the most disagreeable since I arrived in Beijing. Were the pollution not so bad, I think that living here would be much, much easier.
After returning to Beijing I only had 36 hours in the city before getting back on a plane and heading to Yunan for a few days. While I did not go back to Beijing specifically to attend the Yale Club Christmas Party, I was happy to be able to attend the event. While the party ran smoothly and has a complete success, there are a few points about the party that I’d like to point out. The first is that sharp contrast that existed between those people attending the party and the lao bai xin, or “regular joe” Beijingers on the street. Don’t get me wrong, the ability to have a conversation in English from time to time and to attend a function that feels as if it is taking place in the States is one of the reasons that I like living in Beijing—it’s comforting to know that, should I want to feel like I’m in the States, I’m able to do so. The one thing that struck me most about the party, however, was an aside that one of the younger club members made to me. While having a glass of wine/chatting away, I mentioned that the cost of attending the event and joining the yale club—only club members and their guests were allowed to attend the party—was rather steep. I went on to say that, as a recent graduate who only teaches enough English to support his language study and travel habits, I found the price to be nearly out of my range. After explaining this concern, she flippantly replied, “well, you come from money, anyways, so it really doesn’t matter.” Wow.
For the most part, this young woman is very amiable and agreeable, so I don’t want to speak poorly of her. My point is that her assumptions that I: a) came from money and b) implicitly, that mommy and daddy/my trust fund were funding my time in Beijing infuriated me. In short, the reason that I liked Yale is that I never encountered that type of moneyed and elitist snobbery while I was an undergrad. Moreover, hearing that while at a party that cost me as much money as I spend on food for at least two weeks made me realize that there are two worlds in a place like Beijing: one for those with money, and one for those without. I’m not saying that I’m in the latter group—I’m far from it. The more I read about migrant workers in this city and see their working conditions, the more I realize that I’m incredibly lucky. My point is just that, as someone on a limited budget who bikes everywhere instead of taking a cab to go from place to place, I think that I see, breathe, taste and live in a different world than many expats here.

Hong Kong

While buying a thank you note for my hosts in Hong Kong, I struck a conversation with the clerk at the store. I said that I was blown away by the cleanliness, modernity and comfort associated with life in Hong Kong and how that contrasted to life in Beijing, Hong Kong’s bigger, grittier, and more “Chinese” cousin. The clerk casually replied (in English), “what did you expect? Hong Kong and China are different countries.” Technically, that’s not true. Sort of. Nonetheless, his comment was insightful and prescient. Hong Kong is China, but it’s different. While mostly Chinese, the city has a very Western flavor. The stores are Western, the infrastructure is Western, and the ethos of the city is, in my opinion, closer to Sydney than it is to Beijing. Perhaps one reason is that the city is sub-tropical—I walked around in a t-shirt, while I’ll have to bundle up before going out in the sub-zero temperature here in Beijing. Do to the similarities with the West, Hong Kong seems like it’d be an easier place to have a family and raise kids than Beijing.
In Hong Kong, a beach with surfable waves is only 30 minutes by car away from the heart of the city. Moreover, the sleepy area around the beach had the feel of a southeast asian beach town, not of China. Within the city limits, one could get any kind of Western food or product he or she desired. Also 30 minutes from the heart of the city, although this time by foot, is the top of a mountain that looks down on the skyline and, in my opinion, the prettiest harbor in the world not in a city named Sydney.
While I’m much happier to live in Beijing than Hong Kong now—for one, people in Hong Kong generally don’t speak Mandarin, but rather Cantonese—Hong Kong is the type of place that I could see myself living in when I’m older. Beijing I’m still not too sure about. I mean, I could see my mother living comfortably in Hong Kong, which would be impossible in Beijing. I realize that this is a weird piece to come on the heels of one about spending four months on the road in rural China, but, at the age of 23, I’m constantly caught between looking into the future and living every moment in China as if I’ll never have another chance to travel and be young.

Houseguests and Graciousness

Since moving to China, I’ve spent extending periods of time with two families, first in Beijing and then in Hong Kong. In both of these instances, I’ve been touched, overwhelmed and constantly left speechless by the kindness, warmth and generosity these families have shown me. Not only have they taken me into their homes, fed me, given me a place to stay and taken me to amazing places, they’ve all made me feel as if I have a home away from home here in Asia.
The reason I bring this up is because I want to make the point that hospitality and warmth have the ability to lift someone’s spirits and put him or her in a better place both physically and emotionally. Without my friend’s family here in Beijing, I would have been lost. And alone. With them, I had a structure, a family, a mother to go to when I felt sick. The same can be said for the family in Hong Kong; I arrived sick and tired and left happy and healthy. Maybe it’s something about the expat lifestyle that draws such caring and compassionate people. Maybe it’s that they see me and see themselves, 30 years ago. Regardless of what it is, spending time with these people has made me appreciate how far a little bit of kindness can go, how little it takes to make someone feel better, and how nice people can be to those they barely know.

Solitude

Sitting in a small coffee shop central Hong Kong I realized that what I want, what I think I need, is solitude. Don’t get me wrong, I love my friends in Beijing and hanging out with people, but I think that, at some point in the near future, I’ll have to get away. There are two ways in which I mean get away: the first is in terms of reading and studying in a quiet place for long periods of time; the second involves traveling to rural China and exploring it by myself. I don’t know why, exactly, I want to get away from the city, from other people, from the stresses of daily life, but I think that I need it. Call is catharsis, call is running from life as an adult (either is fine), the point is that I want to get away. I want to travel. Relax. Think. Walk.
As of right now, I’m planning on spending April and May traveling alone in China. Thus far, there are three things that I’m contemplating doing: 1) I’m hoping to do some research/spend time with local leaders in small rural areas. Many of these individuals are involved in resistance campaigns against corrupt local cadres. I’ve been in contact with several professors who do this kind of work, so hopefully something will work out. 2) Doing Kung Fu in a monetary in the mountains of Yunan. As I’m going to Yunan tomorrow, I’ll soon have a better idea as to whether or not spending time here is something that I’d be interested in. 3) Buying a one-way ticket to a city in China and just going for it. Taking a guidebook, a few changes of clothes, and figuring it out as I go.
I should also note that I’ll be traveling with a good friend from June 5th – August 5th through many parts of China. By combining these two trips and a visa run to Hong Kong in the middle, I think that I’d really be able to see and experience China. I also think that a few weeks by myself followed by 2 months with a good friend would be a great way to refocus my energies and myself before looking for a “real” job in August.

Doing It

As all of you know, I live in Beijing. After spending a few days in Hong Kong, I’ve realized how raw, exciting and different life in Beijing is. From the workers smoking cigarettes, riding bikes and doing construction in sandals to the sweet potatoes sold off of garbage can-like rolling carts on the street, life in Beijing is different. And interesting. But, given the large expat population, it is very easy to eat Western food, only speak in English, and get from place to place in a cab. While this lifestyle has its merits, it makes it hard to see, observe and truly experience life in Beijing. To really live the lifestyle here, I think that one needs to bike, one needs to eat in the small shops on the street, and one needs to observe. After coming back from Hong Kong, I’ve realized that I was in autopilot in Beijing—not taking pictures of my surroundings, not experiencing things as I should.
Linked to these observations was a talk a had with my older sister last week. She pointed out, correctly, that this is my year to experience China and explore. If the jobs I’m interested in regarding law reform and the practice of law here in Beijing don’t pan out in August, I’ll have to go home and start my life in the States. While this wouldn’t be the end of the world, it made me realize that my time here in China is short. And precious. And that I should use it as best I can so I return to the States with no regrets. I’ve tried to do this the last few weeks through checking out cool sites in Beijing, finding a better and more convenient English-teaching job, going to Hong Kong and resolving my visa issues, and deciding to go with a group of volunteers to Yunan to spend a weekend volunteering and teaching English in a remote mountain village.

A Bad China Week

Last week, I had what many people call “A China Week.” China Weeks are something that every expat living here experiences—or, shall we say, endures—from time to time. My China week started Thanksgiving night. After speaking with several friends, I realized that the way in which I had decided to renew my visa was expensive, laborious, time consuming and riddled with complications. Obviously, coming to this realization put me in a less-than-stellar mood. After dinner, I biked back to my apartment, I packed my bags and got ready for a weekend of dog sitting at a friend’s place. The dog sitting gig was something that I’d been looking forward to for a long time. Beyond the Western style food, which is nice, I was truly looking forward to some time alone. To think. And relax. And watch T.V. And reflect. It’s not that I had been unhappy with my life here in Beijing, it was just that I wasn’t doing what I wanted to do. For example, I wanted to spend a lot of time with Chinese but found myself hanging out in expat bars; I wanted to explore the city, but I’d never been to the Westside; I wanted to spend time reading and studying, but I always seemed to be busy, etc.
The next day, I woke up; still a little miffed by the visa complications, I began to bike over to my friend’s house. On my way over, a cab suddenly veered off the road and into an entryway, and, in the process, sideswiped me as I passed the very same entrance to the Worker’s Stadium. Bike wheels bent. Glasses broken. Face bleeding. Back in serious pain. Stunned, I was unable to remember the license plate number of the cabbie. And, while most accidents are settled at the scene, this one wasn’t—the cabbie took off the second he saw that I was a lao wai, or foreigner. Honestly, I would have done the same thing. I eventually got up and walked my bike to a local shop, where I man slowly and diligently fixed my bike. This service, which cost 50 cents, took about 30 minutes, the entirety of which I spent bleeding out of my face. Eventually, I made it to my friend’s house, where I had my first “I need to leave China…now.” moment.
After spending a few days in seclusion, I spoke with my older sister, who pointed out that I was living in China, and that I should treat everyday as an opportunity to explore, to do something interesting. (the contents of this conversation, and how it effected me, will be the subject of my next posting). Nonetheless, this conversation inspired me to get on the subway and go to a random spot the next Monday. I eventually ended up at the Military Museum—a big, Communist building with marble staircases, 25 foot ceilings, and a 20 ft. statue of Chairman Mao in the entryway. After several hours of wandering through picture after picture of the Chairman, and looking at artifacts from the Revolution, I decided that it was time to leave the museum. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to do this until I walked through a huge retrospective—complete with videos, testimonials, and artifacts—of the Long March, which was celebrating its 70th anniversary. When I asked a Chinese about why, exactly, the Long March retrospective was at the end and something that was forced upon ever visitor, she responded that Chinese people like to save the best for last. Don’t I do the same thing when eating grapes, she asked. I replied that, as an American, we generally like to see the good stuff first—upon entering a museum, Americans always run to the most famous painting first (i.e. the Mona Lisa). That night, I grabbed dinner with a good friend.
The next day I went to the Lama Temple with a friend. The Temple was nothing special, but it was nice to do another touristy thing. Moreover, it was finally hang out with her as we’d been having the “you’re fun and we should get together at some point” conversation for a month or so. After walking through the Temple, we wandered around hutongs and eventually settled on a place for a 5 pm snack. After parting ways, I went to the gym in an attempt to get in to shape for this March 31st Half Iron Man.
Wednesday after school, I went to work. After tutoring a few kids and eating a Subway sandwich for dinner, I returned home, where I proceeded to eat some of the Chinese food in the fridge. I’m not sure if it was the Subway, the 2 Snickers, the Chinese food, or the combination, but something I ate woke me up in the middle of the night with a case of la du zi (or hot stomach). While this wouldn’t have been all that bad normally—stomach problems and living in China go together pretty well—I had been having a bad week. And I had both an interview for a new English teaching job and a meeting with a Beijing-based lawyer I’d been trying to meet with for months on Thursday. Sick as a dog and a little green, I managed to convince the English teaching firm to hire me and then went on to have a great conversation with the lawyer.
As a recent grad, I consistently feel pressure to get a good job, to make something of myself, to enter the work world. Indeed, most of my friends from college are either in grad school or making $70,000+ a year ibanking or consulting in New York. At time, juxtaposing their lives—work, drink, work, work—with mine, makes me feel as if I should be doing something more with my time than living in Beijing, studying Chinese and working. Other times, this contrast makes me glad to be doing something interesting, something that I’ll remember.
It turns out that the lawyer I met with—who is now a big deal with an international firm—spent two years after college teaching English in China. He then spent a year living in Taipei before returning to grad school in the States. During our talk, he said that I should take the 4-month backpacking trip in rural China I’m planning to do from April – August. And, like every other older expat living in Beijing with whom I’ve spoken, he thought that spending a year traveling, studying Chinese and making enough money to survive was the right thing to do. Although the stomach was still a little off after our talk, he helped reinforce my belief that I should treat this year as a year to be young. To explore. To travel. To do interesting things.
The next day, I left for Hong Kong, where I spent 5 days reading, relaxing, and resolving visa issues.

School and the Real World: Two Views of China Collide

I recently decided to start studying political words; it’s not that I didn’t like studying words that are used in everyday conversations, it’s just that I wanted to start talking about things that really excite me…like politics. After a few weeks of studying a new book, I can now talk about the People’s Congress, the Communist Party, leadership styles, governments, policy and the like, which is great. One of the more interesting things about studying these words is that you get to read stories in your textbook about Chinese politics. The following is an excerpt that I’ve translated from my book, so if the translation isn’t great, I’m the only one to blame.

Student 1: Since China is a country that is ruled by one party, how is it able to how is it able to give everyone a high level of human rights protection?
Student 2: Correct, China is a country that is ruled by one party; why do you think that the leaders of a one party country are not able to help facilitate/realize a high level of human rights for everyone? The Communist Party of China and its delegates look after and protect the interests of everyone; all Chinese people are protected by widespread human rights. Moreover, China also has several other political parties. The Communist Party is very trusting of these smaller parties; the CCP and the smaller parties work together to discuss big issues and matters. People from the smaller parties hold leadership posts in the government. For example, Mr. Sun Yat-Sen’s wife Mrs. Song Qingling was the Vice Chairman of a Standing Committee of the People’s Congress.

Other excerpts:
In the People’s Republic of China, workers, farmers and intellectuals all have the same rights and are treated as equals.
Hong Kong will reenter a union with China in 1997; Macao will do the same in 1999. I believe that the Taiwan problem will also be resolved in a short amount of time.
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Obviously, it’s a little bit uncomfortable to talk about issues of human rights and the way in which the United States views China with your teacher during class. Yet, possibly because I was hiding behind the fact that I was an ignorant American, partly because I am a student and partly because I was curious, I decided to press one of my teachers about the Party, minority parties and the role of the State in China. Perhaps the most interesting—and obvious—that came to the fore during our discussing was the resolute manner in which she proclaimed that the Party does a great job of protecting the rights of everyone and working with minority parties.
After that discussion culminated, she asked me to talk about US foreign policy and why the US and Taiwan were so close. While we shared a negative opinion of invading other countries preemptively, I was unable to do a good job of explaining why, exactly, the US meddles in the internal affairs of other counties (i.e. human rights issues) On the issue of Taiwan, I tried to explain that the island’s relationship with the US had a lot to do with history and styles of government, but I have a sense that my explanation in Chinese was less than adequate. She concluded this conversation by telling me that she believed Taiwan would rejoin the Mainland in the near future.
After school, a lunch meeting, tutoring, and the gym, I decided to grab a late dinner in a small restaurant that I ride pass on my way to and from the gym everyday. It seems to be crowded most of the time, so I decided to go in a take a look at the menu. Now, you have to realize that this is a restaurant frequented almost exclusively by lower to lower-middle class Chinese—I’m going to assume that I was the only person coming from the nice gym up the street to eat at this place. The room was similar to most of the small restaurants you find in Beijing; the walls were white and dirty, the floor was in dire need of washing, and all corners of the room were filled with small white tables, many of which were slanted and in need of repair. In terms of chairs, small stools were the only option. After looking over the menu, I order eggs and tomatoes mixed together with a side of rice, a huge meal that cost just under one American dollar (note: I usually pay 50 cents for my lunch at my favorite lunch spot). While I was finishing up dinner, I noticed that two workers in their 40s had sat down at the table in front of me. As I’m trying to use my Chinese more in everyday situations, I decided to strike up a conversation and sit with them for a few awhile.
The first worker was dirty, very dirty. He had mud caking his hands as well as some on his nose from his day of installing and working with air conditioners and other machines, although I didn’t understand many of the things he was describing. His teeth were in need of a cleaning and crooked. Yet, despite his disheveled look, and his insistence on questioning why someone dressed like me—I was in khakis and a button down—would talk to him, he was funny and amiable. It turns out that he had moved here from Sichuan about a year ago. He wanted to return home to his son, but he was stuck working in Beijing. He also missed to weather and spicy food in Sichuan. He insightfully noted that pretty much every migrant worker from the south longs to return home. He was eating fried rice (12 cents) sharing a plate of meat and peppers with his friend (50 cents) and drinking a large beer (25 cents). He said that he worked 8 hours a day and, for those 8 hours of work, he was paid 30 Kuai, or almost $4. While this seems to be a ridiculously low wage, you have to remember that some people in Beijing make a lot less than that and 85% of the population of China rural. Moreover, these guys have jobs and a place to stay, which is more than a lot of people can say. Nonetheless, it was interesting to juxtapose this experience with the class about how great things are in China from the morning.