As notions of art and beauty continue to be disassembled and repackaged with increasing vigor around the planet, new spaces for creative exploration emerge on a daily basis. Unfortunately much of it is pomp and fluff – ineptly masked pastiche. Innovative works that push aesthetic boundaries while challenging the relationship between art and observer appear intermittently. For now, some of the most compelling terrain for imaginative probing takes place in cyberspace, and one Chinese artist remains at the vanguard of this emerging, and sometimes lucrative, field of fancy.

Cao Fei, a 29-year-old Guangzhou native, uses the much-heralded Second Life online world as an artistic medium. The user-generated virtual environment first inspired her video project i.Mirror, a Second Life documentary using screen captures of her digital avatar dubbed China Tracy. Cao Fei begins the sequence of videos with a quote taken from William J. Mitchell’s Me++: The Cyborg Self and the Networked City, “I construct, and I am constructed, in a mutually recursive process that continually engages my fluid, permeable boundaries and my endlessly ramifying networks. I am a spatially extended cyborg.” What follows is a surreal montage of dreamlike landscapes interlaced with fleeting relationships. Cao Fei calls it an illusion, but one dominated by youth, beauty, and money – something too well connected to reality and therein capable of transcending the many boundaries commonly placed between the digital and physical self.

Her newest project, RMB City, is also making waves in the international art circuit with its recent appearance at Art Basel in Miami and the Istanbul Biennial. Designed completely within Second Life, RMB City is a recreation of China’s social landscape in all its paradoxical glory. Giant panda’s hang from cranes while the Bird’s Nest stadium lies partially submerged off the island’s waterfront. Even Tiananmen Square has a swimming pool. Her manifesto explains, “RMB City… doesn’t restore the full present, nor does it recall our reminiscence of the past. It’s a mirror that partially reflects; we see where we were coming from, discover some of the ‘connections’ that fill the pale zone between the real and the virtual, the clues of which get disturbed, enriched, and polished.” Still, plots on the island are up for sale at prices only someone with Cao Fei’s clout could demand for cyber art. A European collector already secured his nook of virtual real estate for 100,000 Euros. Apparently participation comes at a price.

Second Life has drawn its fair share of praise as it blends formerly disparate modes of collective experience, but Cao Fei now promises to take it to a new level. RMB City, as a work of art, cannot be enjoyed outside a digital network. Its environment demands continual submersion into virtual spaces – liminal worlds fueled by self-expression and unfettered by social mores. For some it might continually erode their reality, but others find solace in the online worlds and continue to explore different aspects of the self as Cao Fei lives through China Tracy.

The art of telling stories using caricatures dates back to prehistoric man. Although cave paintings didn’t survive Beijing’s urban upheaval, new and more subversive forms of pictorial narration now issue forth from the comic underground. The once popular bison and ibex motifs of yore gave way to more pertinent contemporary themes such as teen angst, social detachment, and disgruntled robots. One of Beijing’s leading cliques of illustrators, aptly dubbed Cult Youth, take innovative strides with such matters in their newly minted anthology of graphic shorts.

Whether you like it or not, comic books and graphic novels are turning into one of the most widespread and influential forms of popular culture. Although China is far from eclipsing Japan’s manga scene, younger generations in Beijing with unprecedented access to foreign media are getting hooked. Cult Youth stands at the forefront of this movement. Guoqi (郭麒), one of twenty plus Cult Youth affiliated artists, noted, “that caricatures from any historical period are very valuable, but this generation in China saw many comics from different countries while growing up and now understand their important nature. People no longer believe comics are for children only.” Everyday occurrences enter the illustrator’s palette and take on new forms that fascinate both the young and old.

The most appealing nature of Cult Youth’s newest anthology is the eclectic array of themes presented in each graphic short. In many ways, it mirrors the kaleidoscope of often-conflicting interests, desires, and traditions that exist in modern China. Ca (擦), one of the founding members of Cult Youth, expounded, “We don’t say exactly who we are. We don’t pretend to represent any particular thing about China. Rather, our work grows out of our own personal interests. We have a wide range of opinions and aren’t primarily interested in any sort of pure documentary effort or work that invokes a feeling of social responsibility.” The unparalleled multiplicity of people in China defies any generalization and Cult Youth mirrors that chaos with their unstinting and often trenchant conceptual takes on life in the Middle Kingdom.

Still, many of the Cult Youth artists claim to grapple with a materialistic void growing within society and therefore feel their influence is gaining momentum. “China’s masses deal with an impoverished mainstream culture. Many are hungry for more, and it seems Cult Youth’s free and willful comics is what they need,” asserted Songqi (宋麒), Guoqi’s (郭麒) twin brother. With more dedicated readers, the anthology certainly resonates in a particular manner – the witty and insightful strips draw you in with their arresting and sometimes grotesque illustrations.

Cult Youth personifies the increasing number of Chinese becoming aware of the impact of international media on their country and the disjunction it represents from the experience of previous generations. “Older people had a world of their own,” Ca (擦) continued, “Such things cannot be passed on. The new youth access everything.” Many of the artists expressed the need to lead people to a new understanding of the information explosion occurring around them and therein present new outlets for individual expression while underhandedly capturing the pitfalls of modern China. According to Heilichi (黑荔枝), “Independent thinking leads to happiness.” There is a growing sense among the Cult Youth illustrators that even if they get labeled as outsiders, their work will continue to speak for itself.

In the end, Cult Youth still agrees on one thing: they want people to laugh and appreciate the absurdities of life. There is a mischievous air about the group as they reinterpret the already convoluted world surrounding them in Beijing. Not many of them know what the future holds, but they love their work and produced a unique anthology of graphic shorts that present a small but captivating window into contemporary China.

Homosexuality in China doesn’t elicit the same cross-burning fanaticism that it does in the United States. In all my time spent here I never heard of a hate crime aimed at a homosexual. Chances are that such occurrences might not get reported or covered in the media, and discrimination certainly exists in various guises, but I have yet to encounter people who label homosexuality as “evil” and support its whole scale eradication. Instead, sexual deviance tends to inspire curiosity and awkwardness amongst typical Chinese urban dwellers. It remains a latent oddity within the social milieu.

It still came as a bit of a surprise when Dinah Gardner, the longtime Gay & Lesbian columnist for TimeOut Beijing, told me we were going to the White Cloud Temple and the Source of Law Temple to ask monks about their respective views on homosexuality. Even though I consider myself well versed within the Daoist and Buddhist canon, it never really crossed my mind to ask such a question before and I was interested in how the monks would frame their responses. As the photographer, I could also sit back and watch the fireworks fly.

Lou Jiayong, a Daoist monk at the White Cloud Temple, was the first to get entrapped by Dinah. She started the interview with some elementary questions concerning Daoism and then popped him the big one: “In the West, Islam and Christianity often persecute homosexuals. How does Daoism feel about homosexuality amongst practitioners?” Lou handled the question surprisingly well. According to Daoist principle, homosexuality represents a metaphysical problem. The union of two Yang forces (male on male) creates disharmony within the Dao and must eventually be resolved. “If there is only Yin or Yang it is imbalance or disharmony,” stressed Lou. Homosexual relationships do not perpetuate natural life. At some point, Yin must mix with Yang to produce more babies. Lou did emphasize that Daoism would never discriminate against homosexuals but remained adamant that Daoist ideology could never condone what he considered lewd sexual acts and anomalies in the natural course of existence.

Zhi Yong, a Buddhist monk at the Source of Law Temple, remained unperturbed throughout his interview. Buddhist practitioners of any orientation are encouraged to stem their sexual desires in order to achieve inner peace. At the heart, there is no absolute right or wrong with regards to homosexuality. Zhi continued, “[Homosexuality] is abnormal to me, but of course from the point of view of a gay person, it is quite normal… In Buddhism everything has two sides. How can you say, ‘this is right,’ or, ‘this is wrong?’ There is no right or wrong in this world. For some people they are right, for others they are wrong.” While I might not support such moral ambiguity in other situations, being gay and Buddhist doesn’t represent a problem for lay people. Still, if you want to join a monastery you must leave any prurient thoughts at the door.

As the glut of newfangled galleries within the 798 art district continues to swell, those looking for more creative space head a few kilometers up the road to Caochangdi. Here the Three Shadows Photography Art Centre embraces aesthetic standards often occluded in China’s consumptive art frenzy – empty spaces are nourished instead of filled. Ai Weiwei’s minimalist design lends the exhibition hall an austerity that complements the starkness of the surrounding neighborhood. Low slung buildings surround an open courtyard dotted with fledging tress wrapped tightly with rope. The sparsity and tranquility of the area engenders a contemplative environment fit for an afternoon perusal and, more importantly, encouraging future generations of artists to push the boundaries of the medium.

Unlike other purported art centers, cofounders and noted photographers RongRong and inri dedicated over 130 square meters of workspace for three darkrooms and a digital lab. True to their mission to foster contemporary photography in China, the workspace is open to the public at prices undercutting commercial labs. Photo enthusiasts can make gallery quality prints with enlargers for 120 film, an Imacon 949 scanner, and an HP 44-inch inkjet printer. It is a rare opportunity to get hands-on experience with such equipment, let alone in such a supportive and stimulating atmosphere.

If inspiration is still lacking, Three Shadows also maintains the Library of Contemporary Photography. “It is a resouce for young photographers and artists,”explained Stephanie Tung, International Affairs Officer at Three Shadows, “something RongRong lacked when he first started.” The fine assortment of books encompasses a broad swath of both Chinese and international art publications. It is well worth spending an extra hour saturating one’s brain in perennial favorites and more eclectic selections from the collection. With support and donations, the library will continue to become an important aid to any local photographer – access to so many art photography books in one place is a unique find anywhere in the world.

Hopefully more galleries and art centers will pick up on Three Shadows undertaking to not only provide an excellent venue to view art, but also foster and motivate a new generation of artists. Art director Zhang Li, who just won the Grand Prize at the 2007 Nantes Film Festival for his film Crime and Punishment, promises to explore fringe developments in contemporary art while surveying important works from the past. The current exhibition, Convection, takes this task at hand with selections from Man Ray, Robert Frank, Zhang Haier, Liu Zheng, and many others. Stay posted to threeshadows.cn for upcoming speakers and exhibitions.

The French retail megastore Carrefoure faced a public relations nightmare after three people were trampled to death during a cooking oil sale earlier this month at a Chongqing outlet. The five-liter bottles of oil were marked down 20% for a total savings of about $1.50 per bottle. People began to line up around 4AM and hastily swarmed the racks when the doors opened – three dead and 31 injured were left in the wake. The embarrassing incident prompted Chongqing officials to call for an immediate investigation into supermarket safety standards and their, “arrangement of product displays.” The Carrefoure sales pitch sunk the hook too deep into the consumer’s mouth.

While many pundits attribute this tragedy to substandard store design or base materialism, the heart of it lies in desperation. Over the past year the Chinese state singled out Chongqinq to be a frontrunner in a national campaign to urbanize the interior. Even though government subsidies abound, they do not trickle down to the lower rungs of the social ladder. Chongqinq remains a precarious place to make ends meet. Getting ahold of discounted cooking oil, a bare essential in any Chinese home, thus represents a wish to avoid the privations of winter and not low-minded greed.

In any case, retail outlets continue to attract shoppers in large droves. The economies of scale are too big to resist and dominate the increasingly consumer-oriented mentality of Chinese urbanites. Multinational corporations fall over themselves catering to this acquisitive upsurge. Ikea just built its largest store in the world in Beijing. The garagantun space boasts over four floors of housewares and furniture – everything a new homemaker could possibly imagine. Unfortunately I fall into this category and lined up with the rest to indulge the guilty pleasures of my nesting impulse.

This advertisement keeps popping up in various Beijing subway stations and continues to baffle me. I have no idea what to make of “Quiet + Sprints: In the Primeval Forest Movement.” A better translation might be “Tranquility + Running: Physical Recreation in a Primeval Forest,” but still doesn’t mesh with the enthusiastic boar slayer gloating over his kill. First of all, if companies in China continue to splurge on advertising, they need to start paying the extra cash to drag in some foreigner to see if their moniker MAKES ANY SENSE AT ALL FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. Also, this is the first time that I have seen hunting as a leisure activity so prominently marketed. It might not be duck hunting in Alabama or an African shooting safari but certainly establishes financial clout amongst coworkers who can’t afford such an extravagant weekend. This poster will continue to haunt me. Hopefully I can convince a magazine to send me out for an adventurous weekend of quiet and sprinting.

There is no escaping the frigid winter silently creeping in under Beijing’s lofty autumnal skies. Dropping temperatures nip at pedestrians scurrying about in formidable layers of clothing. Aside from hardy members of the Houhai Polar Bear Club, exposing oneself to the elements for more than five consecutive minutes is anathema and, for many, the only solution is to hibernate. Thus the already crammed streets of Beijing bear witness to one of the great shopping frenzies of the year: the annual winter cabbage sale. Massive loads of cabbage are hauled in from the countryside and sold in bulk on streetcorners. For three weeks locals swarm the towering stacks of frayed vegetables to fill out their caches of winter edibles. Thirty heads of oversized cabbage in the cupboard guarantees that one can always cook up a tasty treat without venturing forth into the bitter cold.

The industrious purveyors of this cabbage deluge never rest during the peak purchasing period. After sunset they spread blankets on the ground and watch over their hulking mounds of produce through the night. My neighborhood cabbage dealer usually lives just north of Beijing where he runs a large market garden. A keen salesman, he is quick to offer a cigarette and always sports a billowing navy-blue suit. Apparently he doesn’t mind the three weeks spent on the street even though others complain about the “bitterness” of the whole entrerprise. “This is when I make all my money,” he explained, “it’s fun on the street and my girlfriend loves me when I get home.” Fortunately nearby residents can’t get enough cabbage – a perennial treat for any old hand in Beijing.

Oliver August submitted a great article to Wired on the Chinese state’s imprudent attempts to monitor and filter domestic Internet content. The impractical task continues to disconcert the central government as millions of new users chip away at the “Golden Shield” on a daily basis. Still, nothing can stem the burgeoning flow of digital traffic and desire for unadulterated information access. Adaptive technologies such as proxy servers and encryption constantly spoil attempts to seal outside media from online denizens. The problem will only expand as a younger, tech-savvy generation comes to age. Restricting the Internet only seems to create a stronger urge amongst adolescents to devour the forbidden fruits beyond the “Golden Shield.”

Although this does not mark the eminent demise of the Chinese Communist Party’s (CCP) iron grip on the Chinese state, the CCP is scrambling to revamp their ministry of disinformation (aka The Central Propaganda Department - 中共中央宣传部) and methods of pacifying perturbed social groups. Puppet strings amongst the masses are growing taut and sometimes snapping as the Chinese state loses ground in an increasingly influential online world. Bloggers and journalists now regularly flout bans on reporting events blacklisted by the Chinese state. As the masses continue to grow wary of the Chinese state’s official mouthpieces, they actively seek out alternative media outlets both at home and abroad. Even though only a tenth of China’s massive 1.3 billion population consistently access the Internet, these numbers are rising just as fast as China’s breakneck GDP growth.

The greatest hope for this information revolution subsists in the Chinese state’s reliance on new communication technologies to drive economic expansion. They cannot simply unplug the masses. While Burma cut the Internet with ease during recent pro-democracy protests, the Chinese State would bring untold ruin to markets that increasingly depend on the Internet to drive business and communication. It would also represent a massive step backward in desperate attempts to present a polished facade for the world during the Olympics. In any case, the future political battlefield will certainly take place online where everyone can have an equal stake much to the CCP’s dismay.

Link: The Great Firewall: China’s Misguided — and Futile — Attempt to Control What Happens Online

Hedgehog is the band to trump in Beijing these days. Putting on raucous shows around the city, their energetic beats and skilled instrumental work attract larger and larger crowds every week. Atom, the petite but boisterous drummer for the outfit, stole the show at D-22 last Friday – she also walked off stage with a piece of my heart. Hopefully this wave of success can inspire them to new musical heights. Even as they fluidly move through sets and work crowds with increasing confidence, everyone is expecting bigger and better things. Their talent tickles the fancy of having an underground indie group break through the pop-dominated music mainstream in China and reach a broader fan base. Such a class act would be playing to packed venues across the country in the United States and deserves similar status here. Hedgehog may be one of the first in a wave of alternative rock to push the limits of China’s bland music taste.

As urban residents wield greater purchasing power, sophisticated shopping becomes an ever-important status symbol. Those at the top of Beijing’s increasingly stratified income brackets constantly seek to distinguish themselves from the rest of the pack. Conspicuous consumptive habits thus provide instant prominence and luxury companies are scrambling to cater to and expand upon every whim and desire. Designer clothing, sports cars, and jet-set vacations become necessary additions to any ostentatious parvenu enjoying the taste of once forbidden fruits.

This weekend I bore witness to the star-studded opening of Lane Crawford’s department store in Beijing. It’s a four-story behemoth in a glitzy mall and only stocks vogue international fashion designers. Apparently Beijing has stepped into the sartorial big leagues. Whether or not the store will make money is another question. Beijing doesn’t exude pretentious airs quite like Shanghai or Hong Kong yet. Local shoppers prefer to browse the racks and then hit the streets in search of similar black-market counterfeits. Still, this won’t stop major luxury brands vying to cash in on Beijing’s nouveau riche and their swelling materialistic obsessions. Too much is at stake in this potential market.

Unfortunately sipping on Moet all evening and ogling $5,000 USD Raf Simmons leather jackets can only provide so much enjoyment. Such prices smack of insolence considering the average income of rural farmers in China still tops out at around $225 USD per year according to the Xinhua News Agency. Even most city dwellers who average $750 USD per year would be left out of the commodity feeding frenzy occurring in department stores across Beijing. Many disenfranchised economic groups are starting to take action though, and the Chinese state is starting to realize the vast potential of widespread social unrest if income gaps continue to widen in favor of those already lining their closets with Givenchy, Paul Smith, and Prada. Even though the potential for a luxury backlash looms ever on the horizon, for now nothing seems to stand in the way of these corporate giants.

See “China’s hunger for luxury goods grows” for an excellent description of Chinese yuppies aka chippies.

The #5 subway line was all the rage when it first opened earlier this month. Locals lined up for blocks to catch an inaugural ride on the latest edition to Beijing’s underground. Although initial excitement soon subsided, people’s expectations for more and better transit options reached new heights. The slick #5 subway cars sported flat screen monitors displaying local news, spotless interiors, and exacting temperature control. The antiquated #1 and #2 subway lines still run on time, but now stand out as the ugly stepsisters of Beijing’s expanding public transportation system.

The opening of the #5 subway line also reshuffled Beijing’s suburban housing market – everyone wants to live next to a subway line these days. Traffic congestion is without a doubt the largest drawback stemming from recent surges in urban wealth and population density. Beijing’s newfound love affair with the car might come to a grisly end if traffic levels continue to rise at the current pace. Nobody can escape the mind bogglingly clogged expressways after 5PM. I would rather shoot myself in the foot than face such a cataclysm on a daily basis. The northern terminus of the #5 subway line thus stands to become the newest haven for low-income workers looking to escape increasing housing prices in the city center while maintaining a relatively short commute.

Picking an appropriately dreary afternoon, I headed out to investigate the new residential developments at the end of the #5 subway line. The area in question encompassed the last three subway stops and bore the unsettlingly kitschy name Pathway to Heaven Gardens (天通苑). If your idea of paradise includes high-rise concrete housing blocks arranged like a precarious domino set, look no further. These hulking domiciles symbolize the pinnacle of China’s insipid community planning; even the grassy fields surrounding the development appeared devoid of life. Only the occasional movement of tenants scurrying in and out of the complex lent a breath of vitality to the concrete jungle.

The only redeeming value of the area was the people living there. I stuck out like a sore thumb and soon struck up a number of conversations with inquisitive locals. My favorite included a gang of young security officers from Hebei Province skirting their duties and hanging out underneath the end of the of #5 subway line. They were happy to have jobs in Beijing but found the community lacking the warmth of their hometowns. It’s not hard to imagine such difficulties would occur within the migratory population, but their living environment did nothing to establish new bonds between the residents. I plan to revisit this area throughout the year so expect more reports concerning the Pathway to Heaven Gardens.

The 17th National People’s Congress taking place this week in Beijing has solidified President Hu’s grip on the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) and insured his ideological musing will be engraved alongside those espoused by previous leaders of China. Calling for a “harmonious society” that implements the “scientific concept of development,” President Hu’s moralistic yet vague proclamations also provide cover for the real issue at hand: no one knows how the most critical decisions regarding China’s future are being handled and whether or not economic or environmental reform will actually be implemented. While the “democratically” elected People’s Congress with ethnic minority representatives in full native dress put on a good show, they are mainly there to give a nod of approval to predetermined policy. No one has the slightest clue as to what goes on behind the closed doors of the Politburo.

Even though transparency within the CCP’s decision-making process will not come to light in the near future, President Hu looks good on paper. The China Daily has recently put together an impressive collection of propaganda articles that introduces us to the lighter side of President Hu. My favorite part has to be the slide show entitled “President Hu meets people.” Truly inspirational. Even though the China Daily still remains a mouthpiece for the CCP, they did surprisingly post a few articles criticizing the government’s inability to implement a green GDP system and highlighting how the complaint bureau remains the busiest office in Beijing due to widespread corruption. Luckily President Hu is “meeting people” and has called for officials to remain, “sober-minded, firm in politics, [and] pragmatic in style of work.” What a fine man we have at the helm of the most populous nation in the world. I already feel myself being lulled into indifference.

Luckily this ambiguous situation provides plenty of fodder for China pundits and graduate students forcing out dissertations around the world. Everyone wants to take a whack at the good old CCP chopping block. Fortunately I do not feel qualified to unravel such a skein. My only wish is to blindly submit myself to the nationwide morality drive implemented by President Hu last year concerning the eight honors and disgraces of society: Love the country, do it no harm; Serve the people, never betray them; Follow science, discard superstition; Be diligent, not indolent; Be united, help each other, make no gains at other’s expense; Be honest and trustworthy, do not sacrifice ethics for profit; Be disciplined and law-abiding, not chaotic and lawless; Live plainly, work hard, do not wallow in luxuries and pleasures. Sounds good to me but let’s see what happens.

Beijing’s burgeoning music scene is finally coming into its own. Venues like D-22, Mao Live House, and Yugong Yishan serve up nightly sets of rock, punk, and other emerging talents that defy categorization. When I first arrived in Beijing seven years ago not much could be said about local live acts. Aside from a few diamonds in the rough, cheesy jazz trios and mediocre cover bands dominated most musical engagements. Now I have already witnessed numerous performances that could put New York’s much touted music scene to shame. There is an undeniable energy in these small clubs as more bands emerge on a monthly basis.

Some of my early favorites have to be the Subs, Queen Sea Big Shark, The Scoff, Joyside, Banana Monkey and the Carsick Cars. All of them sport a raucous sound and driving beats that quickly whip crowds into frenzied states. The Subs lead singer Kang Mao deserves special mention. Her inspired performance last Friday at D-22 blew me away – she has a remarkable stage presence (apparently she maintains such intensity at every show). This might be old news for Beijing music aficionados but deserves attention from anyone returning to Beijing and looking for some raw action.

Joyside and the Carsick Cars also just released albums under the newcomer Beijing label Maybe Mars. Their powerful, pop-inflected tunes earn them a deservedly loyal fan base. Joyside devotees are especially notorious for their alcoholic excesses inspired by front man Bian Yuan who bears a marked resemblance to the great Jim Morrison in his tight leather pants and tapered shirts. Lastly, even though I have not met him yet, vocalist Lee Lee from The Scoff seems like the coolest dude in town.

Expect more entries about the local music scene in the near future – I have luckily landed myself a gig to take portraits of these musicians for D-22.

A host of unpleasant situations potentially face the Chinese State while it prepares for the 2008 Summer Olympics. Political activists in China and around the planet see the event as an important opportunity to air their many grievances. Groups like Students for a Free Tibet have already taken advantage of the situation and garnered international attention by staging a protest on the Great Wall concerning the military presence and lack of political autonomy in Tibet. Disenfranchised domestic social groups and prohibited religious movements like Falun Gong are all likely to make some sort of appearance next summer and the world will be watching. For many, granting Beijing the Olympics slights the humanitarian ideals the event is supposed to represent.

The Olympic Charter’s second Fundamental Principle of Olympism:
“The goal of Olympism is to place sport at the service of the harmonious development of man, with a view of promoting a peaceful society concerned with the preservation of human dignity.”

Much can be said about the Chinese state’s lack of commitment to such standards but now an even larger blemish has appeared on the face of the forthcoming Olympics: the Chinese state’s refusal to take action against the Burmese military junta’s brutal oppression of recent nonviolent protests staged by Buddhist monks. Such tactics have been employed in the past by the Chinese state and their unwillingness to put pressure on the Burmese military may foreshadow events to come.

Fred Hiatt at the Washington Post has taken an excellent stand on the issue: What We Owe the Burmese

Only those of true revolutionary spirit braved the elements to witness the Chinese flag hoisted above Tiananmen Square at dawn this National Day. Not many survived the long night of revelry to diligently stand at attention on the hallowed ground where Mao founded the People’s Republic of China and was finally laid to rest in his oversize mausoleum. Fallen patriots who succumbed to the cold rain lay scattered about underground walkways leading up to Tiananmen while running dogs of capitalism bustled about hawking their overpriced umbrellas and ponchos to the shivering masses. Luckily I came prepared in my windbreaker and marched resolutely into the square after tucking in a plate of steamed buns at Qianmen.

Jockeying for position close to the flagpole proved difficult when police officers cordoned off various sections of the square devoted to massive billboards displaying nationalistic slogans such as, “Vivaciously celebrate the 58th anniversary of the establishment of the People’s Republic of China!” or, “Steadfastly hold to the great path of China’s unique social ideology!” Nonetheless, the assembled revolutionaries seemed more concerned with the persistent umbrella battle raging amongst those packed closest to the front – many were martyred on spiked parasols wielded by tiny ladies repelling the ceaseless tide of bodies cramming for a closer glimpse of the ceremony. The sea of umbrellas only receded when the stirring drum overture of the Chinese national anthem called the crowd to attention. Everyone then raised their mobile phones to solute the flag and capture the special moment as “March of the Volunteers” resounded throughout Tiananmen.

Arise,
Ye who refuse to be slaves!
With our very flesh and blood,
Let us build our new Great Wall!
The peoples of China are in the most critical time,
Everybody must roar his defiance.
Arise!
Arise!
Arise!
Millions of hearts with one mind,
Brave the enemy’s gunfire, March on!
Brave the enemy’s gunfire, March on!
March on!
March on!
On!

The spirited lyrics of the song struck a deep chord in the audience. Seconds after the final note everyone marched straight to the exit. I remained to pay respect to Mao’s portrait looming over the entrance of the Forbidden City - it’s pastel background reflecting the soft hues of the rising sun.

The New York Times recently started a very important series of articles on China’s “epic pollution crisis.” Although the rhetoric might appear a bit alarmist there is no doubt that the Chinese state needs to implement immediate measures to curtail the adverse effects of their developmental explosion. It is an issue that will soon affect the whole planet. One of the most unnerving announcements is the International Energy Agency’s finding that China is surpassing America in emissions, about ten years ahead of schedule. Such a staggering rise in pollution levels are only going to be compounded as the Chinese state grapples with the recent development upsurge in the interior of the country – most provincial metropolises have renewed investment in and expansion of their urban infrastructure in an attempt to catch up with boom cities like Shanghai, Tianjin, Beijing, and Guangzhou. Everyone is looking to cash in while low construction costs persist and environmental regulations go unenforced. Moreover, many construction projects look to only cash in on short-term payoffs and will have to be eventually replaced. It is detrimental to China’s future that pollution-adjusted GDP growth rates factor into urban planning and national legislation. This economic juggernaut must be transformed in the coming decade. The rest of the world can no longer ignore how 1.3 billion people chose to live on this side of the planet. As easy as it is to point the finger at the Chinese state, the US government is just as guilty for promoting and investing in the industrial explosion across China’s eastern seaboard. We have done nothing to set new criterion for clean energy and waste management and can thank our own consumptive practices for the current mess. The US government has consistently ignored the situation and now the Chinese feel just as entitled to engage in similar excesses. The whole country is going to have to swallow a bitter pill sooner rather than later. The Chinese state must start setting new and innovative precedents for urban living as the country takes up a specious banner of modernity and progress.

Link: Choking on Growth - As China Roars, Pollution Reaches Deadly Extremes

My recent foray into Mustang represented the culmination of many desires, interests, and frustrations I bear concerning the fate of contemporary Tibetan culture and Buddhism. This preoccupation first took hold while visiting Lhasa in 2001 after living in Beijing for a year. At the time I considered the long overland journey a pilgrimage to a center of faith that held the solution to many of the afflictions plaguing consumer culture and the developing world. Although my convictions certainly evolved over the years, that first encounter still left an indelible mark on my notions of cultural transformation in communities pried open and incorporated into the strata of modern nations.

Like many travelers before me, I first sought in Tibet the fleeting aura of a Shangri-La constructed under the influence of western media, and, like many travelers after me, I became deeply disappointed with the developmental scheme imposed on Lhasa by the Chinese state. Lifeless Tiananmen-esque squares and mindless concrete buildings dominated the Potala Palace and temples scattered about the city – religious institutions functioned in a nominal fashion and only insofar as they catered to the burgeoning tourist industry and ideological whims of local Communist Party representatives. Although some certainly welcomed much change, it could not be denied that this metamorphosis was imposed on Tibetans in a brutish manner.

My hope now is not that Tibetan culture be permanently shielded so that it may return to some traditional past but that they are finally given sovereignty over major socioeconomic decisions that impact their communities and family life. Fanciful notions championing the protection and containment of an idyllic Tibet of yore have long been lost to me. More pressing needs must be addressed as younger generations of Tibetans are forced into an often-alienating process of sinocization. Tibetans are consistently denied their supposed autonomous status more so than other officially designated ethnic minorities in China.

Mustang thus represented an anomaly of great curiosity to me. Situated along the Tibetan border in Nepal, communities within this ancient kingdom shared a longstanding linguistic and religious heritage with Lhasa. Although culturally bounded to Tibet, Mustang also maintained close political ties with Katmandu and aligned itself to Nepal when the People’s Liberation Army invaded Tibet in 1951. This propitious decision saved them from the vagaries of a Chinese state that systematically destroyed religious centers and social bonds throughout greater Tibet in the ensuing years. Mustang instead became a holdout for Tibetan insurgents and fiercely guarded the sanctity of its land and ancient way of life.

It was only in 1991 when the King of Mustang permitted tourists into the region that these communities slowly opened to the outside world. Even then, visitors allowed entrance each year were capped at a thousand and forced to purchase expensive permits (regulations that persist to this day). Mustang consequently earned the moniker the “Last Forbidden Kingdom” and prided itself on nurturing a distinct and unbroken heritage. I could not help but let such preconceptions tantalize sentiments I once held about Lhasa while walking up the Kali Gandaki Valley and first spotting the deep reddish hues of Mustang’s corrugated hillsides.

In a word, the hike was spectacular. For two weeks we crossed high passes providing sweeping vistas of bucolic villages penned in by irrigated fields of pink buckwheat and golden grains. These settlements split the arid valleys in a riot of color that was only intensified by the piercingly blue skies of the Himalayas. Every bend in the trail offered new marvels and the possibility of glimpsing the massive peaks of the Annapurna region hovering amongst the dissipating monsoon clouds in the south. Then, at the end of each day, we would settle into a local lodge that usually amounted to an extra room with a few wooden beds in a family home.

Aesthetically, Mustang did not differ greatly from rural towns in Tibet that managed to avoid the dull infrastructure development implemented by the Chinese state. Except for a number of restoration projects not much had changed over the centuries. Clustered villages consisted of whitewashed adobe houses crowned with fluttering prayer flags and interlaced with gurgling channels of water diverted from the surrounding hills. Only the impressive monasteries with their ruddy walls and ornamentation broke the ubiquitous flow of architecture.

Although I was probably not the most disinterested observer, the one major difference I detected was a certain tranquility that pervaded the dimly lit rooms and cobbled courtyards of the houses in Mustang. These communities did not perpetuate the air of anxiety I constantly encountered in Tibet where an underlying current of fear still runs rampant. Mustang had largely escaped the violence and persecution suffered in Tibet over the past fifty years and did not show the lingering effects of a people uncertain of their present freedoms and future livelihood. In an incongruously dispirited manner, it came as a relief to me that even a small slice of Tibetan culture had escaped such a fate.

Communities are still bound to change in Mustang. The serenity that blanketed most of the region ruptured in many places as people expressed their impatience for roads, consistent electricity, and other important social services such as better schools and clinics. Residents do not wish to suspend themselves in a fixed bubble catering to the sentimental whims of tourists. Fortunately such decisions and the manner in which they are enacted are still in local hands. They are opening up in their own time and on their own terms – an opportunity usually not afforded to rusticated communities suddenly faced with the impositions of an outside world.

While stopping for lunch in a small village, we met a woman who had just returned from living in Queens for two years. She was cooking in the kitchen and totally indistinguishable from other residents in the valley with her native dress and manners. It therefore came as a shock when she started speaking to us in English and bantered with us about life in New York City. When asked as to why she returned to Mustang she merely gave us a small grin and simply stated, “I like living here better.” No further explanation was needed.

Over the past year I have attentively bent my cartographic obsessions upon Central Asia. It represented a gaping hole in my world geography – a nebulous patch on the map boxed within more prominent regions. The puzzling jigsaw of borders, deserts, and inland seas nonetheless eluded any fixation in my mind. Even a month before my departure I could barely pronounce the names of areas I was to visit. I conjoined various syllables of neighboring countries and fed them to inquiring parties, “Yes, I will be visiting Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, and Tushkazilstan throughout August.” The amusing game made me feel better about my own ignorance, especially when people didn’t pick up on it. Newfangled post-Soviet republics convincingly sprang into existence on a nightly basis. It lent an air of mystery to the whole enterprise.

Despite such buildup the alluring bubble of Central Asia viciously popped while crossing from China into Kyrgyzstan. After struggling through initial immigration hurdles with a gaggle of rotund Uzbek ladies breathing heavily down my neck, two friends and I faced a five-kilometer stretch of hot tarmac before the first Kyrgyz outpost – a most unwelcoming no-man’s-land. Desperation soon set in after the same Uzbek ladies quickly snapped up the only empty seats in cargo trucks also waiting to clear Chinese customs and the ensuing barren expanse. All attempts to acquire spots of our own proved futile as passing drivers waved off our imploring gestures to board their vehicles. Nobody seemed interested in our plight.

Finally, after serious contemplation of crossing the inhospitable terrain on foot, a driver with a toothless grin beckoned us into his cab. We immediately crammed into the dingy compartment. Unfortunately, my initial joy upon scoring a ride blinded me to the predicament of his transport. Two trailers precariously balanced and strapped with cheap Chinese goods swung behind the ramshackle rig. The prohibitive weight of his haul limited our speed to about 5mph, thereby ruining any hope of a glorious entrance into Central Asia. Even the most stubborn mule would have easily left us behind in a wake of ruddy dust.

After an additional seven passport checks, two more hitched rides, and an officious interrogation regarding the intentions of my stay in Kyrgyzstan, I was finally in Central Asia. That fleeting moment of exultation was soon followed by more despair however. Border towns do not always lend the best impressions of a country, and the massive junkyard that comprised the frontier village offered no signs of enticement for the month of travel that lay ahead. Luckily an enterprising young girl selling meat pies took the edge of the whole escapade. Dusty and downtrodden, I nibbled on the tasty treat and peered about for a car to take our group to Osh.

Three hours later I was passing in and out of consciousness in the back of a small Russian jeep - every bump and rut on the haphazard road unfailingly slammed my head into the passenger window. My restless slumber finally came to an end when our driver stopped to assist another vehicle suffering massive engine failure. I stumbled out of the car only to be met with a vision more bizarre than the dream-fueled haze fading from my sensibility. A pastoral spread of yurts, farm animals, frolicking youth, and glossy Soviet trailers backdropped by the mighty Pamir Alay range spread out before us.

The proprietors of the peculiar estancia immediately offered us teeming bowls of yogurt and ushered us behind a trailer where we sat observing a young woman intently weaving thick bands of rope used to bind the slender frames of their yurts. The deft movement of her hands captivated me until a contumacious young burro disturbed my meditation, forcing me to chase him around the yard a few times. I had to cut my caper short though when the Uzbek ladies who so brusquely purloined our rides at the border that morning pulled up in their own jeep to rest and investigate the scene. I prepared myself for a mortal showdown.

Standing in the front yard with my bowl of yogurt and a clenched fist, I put on my most imposing visage. Like any hardened Asiatic traveler, I held longstanding grudges for anyone who broke queues and these particular offenders snagged our rides across the border without a hint of remorse. The Uzbek ladies, bedecked in gaudy robes and sporting flashy gold crowns on their teeth, took no notice of me however and quickly entered the trailer for a mid-morning snack. Noting their apparent disinterest, I continued my own exploration of the nearby area while our driver continued to slam the engine block of his friend’s car with a large mallet.

After playing with the rest of the farm animals including a gregarious brood of chicks that would expectantly clamor about your feet in search of food, loud accordion music started blasting from the front yard of the homely trailer. The Uzbek ladies had thrown open the doors of their jeep and instigated a dance party using a surprisingly loud stereo system. In spite of earlier resolutions, my ill will began to melt as the energetic pack of bodies bounced about the yard, wrists twisting into various exotic poses at every beat. They soon engendered a raucous wresting match amongst the children living in the yurt and attracted the expectant attention of neighbors on the surrounding hills. I could no longer harbor any discontent in the face of such impromptu revelry. Even lazy dogs enjoying afternoon naps emerged from their shady corners to bask in the energy of the boisterous crowd.

Thus, bowl of yogurt firmly in hand, my love affair with Central Asia firmly took root. The sentiment could not be resisted. I surrendered to the upbeat accordion music sweeping across the high plateau and threw my lot in with the spontaneous frivolities taking place around me. Such absurdities must always be embraced and I was in no position to refuse such a gift.

Chongqing, one of the fastest growing municipalities in China, garnered the attention of an Economist article this week. Like other western metropolises, Chongqing is flush in government subsidies as the Chinese state attempts to rectify the wealth imbalance currently favoring coastal cities. Mass urbanization projects in China unfortunately are often poorly planned and executed. Shoddy housing, poor roads, and faulty electrical grids are endemic in areas where city legislatures are more concerned with reaching statistical goals than providing sustainable living environments. The drive for profits married to a lack of a genuine oversight also leads to rampant corruption.

As the Chongqing leadership attempts to “urbanize” 6,000,000 rural constituents over the next twelve years they need to establish innovative approaches to development that promote a higher quality of life. The municipal population otherwise faces a bleak future already experienced by many cities that are prosperous on paper but live in cramped and polluted conurbations. China and the planet can only handle so many mega-cities like Beijing and Guangzhou that don’t take sustainable development and alternative energy resources into full consideration. To the detriment of the environment and the health of residents, a lack of foresight still pervades some of the largest urban planning strategies ever implemented in human history.

Link: Urbanisation in China - China’s Chicago

After the resplendent Tashilhunpo and Sakya monasteries, the road west from Lhasa soon enters one of the most remote regions in the world. Outside the infrequent villages only herders seeking high summer pastures inhabit the wide valleys spotted with electric-blue lakes. These desolate stretches of earth girdled by impenetrable snowcapped mountains engender a sublime trepidation, as if one has trespassed upon an inhuman landscape fit only for the gods and demons that adorn the walls of local temples. Here heaven touches the earth and yields Tibet its undisputed title as the roof of the world.

Western Tibet, known as Ngari, also remains a land of pilgrimages, chief among them Mount Kailash. For Hindus Mount Kailash is the domain of Shiva, Lord of the Cosmic Dance – both destroyer and creator. For Tibetan Buddhists Mount Kailash is the domain of Demchok, a wrathful manifestation of Sakyamuni – the historical Buddha who set the Dharma Wheel in motion some 2,500 years ago. For all faiths that venerate Mount Kailash the pilgrimage culminates in a ritual circumambulation of the mountain. Hardy locals complete the 32-mile circuit in a single day. Such a physical feat was not on my agenda however, especially with an extra thirty pounds of camera equipment strapped to my back.

I opted for a three-day trekking plan in order to stay at the monasteries en route and enjoy the views of Mount Kailash’s magnificent faces. Even with the extra time the trek was no small feat – the trail’s altitude averaged at about 15,000 feet and crossed a pass over 18,000 feet on the second day. These heights compounded by the occasional hailstorm added to the surreal surroundings. Luckily the rarefied atmosphere only amplified my lightheaded musings. Sore thighs and shortness of breath were quickly forgotten as I snacked at the summit of the pass with a group of other pilgrims looking to wipe away a lifetime of sins through their pilgrimage to the sacred mountain.

The descent proved more formidable. My legs turned into jelly near the bottom of the pass, making a long break at one of the many dark nomadic tents doling out tea and noodles necessary. Here I relaxed with a group of young Tibetan men dressed to the nines for the important pilgrimage - heavy woolen coats were complemented by polished leather cowboy hats and colored sunglasses that even Bono would be embarrassed to wear in public. Their modish attire clashed amidst the older pilgrims who unwaveringly twirled prayer wheels while whispering mantras to the deities dwelling atop the surrounding peaks.

The dark corrugated faces of elderly Tibetans exhibited decades of weathering at the hands of bitter winters and a piercing sun. Despite the Chinese state’s attempts to raise the quality of life for scattered provincial populations, a large majority of Ngari still relied on herding and sustenance farming for survival. The Tibetan plateau’s harsh environment forgave little in their lifetimes and the long pilgrimage to Mount Kailash represented for some the ultimate appeal for release. The past decade has been an especially incongruous time for them though. The specter of imposed socioeconomic reforms and their entailing skewed notions of progress loomed ever large on the horizon.

Ngari encompasses a major swath of bleak tundra that persists relatively untouched by the commercial markets spreading from Lhasa. Still, like Kham in the east, newly built roads are slowly opening insular communities. Increasing numbers of trucks and tourists ply these once isolated routes and bring with them an all too familiar stream of consumer goods and ploys. I can only hope that the decisions as to what manner and extent these areas open up to the outside world remain in indigenous hands – a liberty not often granted to these supposedly autonomous regions.