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.

As the cultural center and capital of Tibet, Lhasa constantly remains poised to set the socioeconomic tone for the rest of the region. However, after a third visit over six years, characterizing that tone continues to evade me. Lhasa’s elusive nature never seems to resolve itself as the colorful Tibetan quarter continues to hold out against the encroaching conurbations inhabited by immigrating Han Chinese. Two years ago such architecturally uninspiring edifices seemed poised to swallow old Lhasa whole, but now I feel quite the opposite.

The Barkhor pilgrim circuit encompassing the Jokhang temple at the heart of the Tibetan quarter emitted a vivacity I had never felt before. On a daily basis thousands of pilgrims, monks, nuns, and awkward tourists rambled around the residence of the most revered Buddha image in Tibet. An odd cacophony emerged from the crowd as the murmur of prayers mixed with shuffling feet, congenial conversations, and the occasional resounding smack of pilgrims clapping their hands above their heads before prostrating on the ground. More importantly, the alleys surrounding the Barkhor teemed with Tibetans perusing small local markets and bustling about their daily business. I felt I had slipped into a vibrant Tibetan city instead of a fading relic of the past.

Since Tibet’s “peaceful liberation,” the Chinese state has largely committed itself to implementing “progressive” socioeconomic policies in Lhasa in hopes of bringing the rest of the region under more centralized control. Many indigenous customs were condemned while major religious institutions endured heavy censure and sometimes destruction in an attempt to redefine their identities and role in communities. For example, since the fourteenth Dali Lama’s 1959 exile into India, the Potala Palace was transformed into a state museum used to portray his presence as a figment of the past overcome by the ineluctable advent of modernity. Monks that attended the shrines were not even allowed to wear traditional monastic robes – the Chinese state did not want any indication that it still remained a functioning religious institution. Within the scope of socioeconomic progress, the Chinese state attempted to consign the Potala Palace to a bygone epoch just like the Forbidden City in Beijing. Still, its potency and ability to inspire awe remained, just as an undeniable resilience still prevailed within the Tibetan quarter.

Lhasa embodies an odd paradox posed by free market reforms and the rise of consumer culture introduced by the Chinese state. Newly built strip malls now crowd important temples and monasteries – centers of a faith devoted to self-abnegation and rarified spiritual pursuits. Nonetheless, a monk pulling a slick cell phone from beneath his robe no longer seems so strange a sight. Many religious institutions subsist on a very ambiguous line as mere tourist attractions and functioning monastic and spiritual centers. In all, generalizations continue to fail to capture this marvelous city as it persistently twists into a stranger synthesis of global influences and longstanding traditions.

The first major leg of my Kunming to Tashkent journey came to a close yesterday after safely arriving in Lhasa. For eight days I rode along the haphazard roads of eastern Tibet, crossing passes reaching over 17,000 feet and dropping into subtropical gorges with glaciated massifs rising over verdant slopes. The area, traditionally known as Kham, spouts some of the most pivotal rivers in Asia – the Mekong, Yangzi, and Salween all find their headwaters amidst this geologically variegated landscape. Stunning vistas aside, Kham also represents one of the last frontiers in Tibet that the Chinese state has keenly targeted for development as described in its Tibet’s March Toward Modernization report commemorating the “50th anniversary of the peaceful liberation of Tibet” in 2001.

The preamble from Tibet’s March Toward Modernization:

Modernization has been an important issue confronting countries and regions worldwide in modern times. Since the invasion of the Western powers in the mid-19th century, it has been the most important task of the people of all ethnic groups in China, the Tibetan people included, to get rid of poverty and backwardness, shake off the lot of being trampled upon, and build up an independent, united, strong, democratic and civilized modern country. Since the founding of the People’s Republic of China in 1949, and especially since the introduction of reform and opening to the outside world, the modernization drive in China has been burgeoning with each passing day, and achieved successes attracting worldwide attention. China is taking vigorous steps to open even wider and become more prosperous. China’s Tibet, with its peaceful liberation in 1951 as the starting point, has carried out regional ethnic autonomy and made a historical leap in its social system following the Democratic Reform in 1959 and the elimination of the feudal serf system. Through carrying out socialist construction and the reform and opening-up, Tibet has made rapid progress in its modernization drive and got onto the track of development in step with the other parts of the country, revealing a bright future for its development.

This year is the 50th anniversary of the peaceful liberation of Tibet. Looking back on the course of modernization since its peaceful liberation, publicizing the achievements in modernization made by the people of all ethnic groups in Tibet through their hard work and with the support of the Central Government and the whole nation, and revealing the law of development of Tibet’s modernization – these will contribute not only to accelerating the healthy development of Tibet’s modernization but also to clearing up various misunderstandings on the “Tibet issue” in the international community and promoting overall understanding of the past and present situations in Tibet.

While the Chinese state’s continual insistence on referring to their militant subjugation of Tibet as a “peaceful liberation” remains dubious at best, their reference to a “law of development” guiding Tibet’s modernization now appears just as disconcerting. Imposing a socioeconomic developmental aim and spinning it as theoretically indubitable is overbearing in the extreme, especially as it begins to lock Kham into a consumer cycle of wage earning and spending. Activists might continue to push the Chinese state for a truly autonomous Tibet, but the real transformation is well underway as commercial goods slip in with the paved roads slowly branching between Lhasa, Kunming, and Chengdu.

These stable trucking routes established commodity markets replete with utilitarian products such as plastic washbasins, kitchen utensils, tools, and the now requisite electric blender used for churning various yak products. Thoroughfares in major Kham towns were lined with shops purveying such goods – provincial youths would walk amongst them in awe while local residents blithely smoked cigarettes and busied themselves with cell phones. Even though many of these implements represented a substantial benefit for many rural families, they also cloaked the arrival of less vital commodities slowly working their way onto store shelves. Traditional wool-lined overcoats now gathered dust behind overpriced t-shirts showcasing Western name brands.

As the trip continued toward Lhasa it became clear that this “law of development” aimed to prop up commercial markets reliant on more centralized economic systems that, in turn, were dependent on subsidies provided by the Chinese state. The towns I passed in the most advanced stages of development, such as Pomi and Bayi, were flooded with supermarkets, designer clothing stores, beauty parlors, and upscale restaurants. These products and services engender a consumer-oriented dependency that the Chinese state finds easy to manipulate or threaten to withdraw. In the end, I cannot help but see the Chinese state’s “law of development” as an important tool for incorporating Kham into its own particular standard and vision of socioeconomic development that essentially undermines any semblance of ethnic autonomy within the region.

While this growth certainly benefits impoverished areas at first, its adverse effects become even more drastic as the commercial boom continues to attract and largely benefit immigrating Han Chinese who have the requisite business skills to take advantage of free market reforms. Their presence is growing by the year and already dominates major urban centers such as Lhasa and Shigatse. Many Tibetans already feel left behind despite promises of a “bright future” by the Chinese state. Continued grumbling about the lack of autonomy and political reform in Lhasa now seems irrelevant as the Chinese state’s “law of development” draws rural Tibet into homogenizing consumer trends already sweeping across mainland China.

Six years ago I stepped off the bus in Dali, a provincial town five hours outside of Kunming. An appealingly antiquated road lined with curious shops and small guesthouses stretched out before me. For years backpackers were drawn to Dali’s laidback feel and the welcoming climes of the province in general. I was drawn to the possibility of eating a decent stack of pancakes at one of the cafes flaunting their newfound western culinary expertise. Although I only stayed for two days, the place stuck with me over the years and I looked forward to my eventual return.

Six days ago I stepped off the bus in Dali, what is now a major stopover on Yunnan Province’s tourist circuit stretching from Kunming to Zhongdian. The quiet lane fit for afternoon strolls had completely disappeared beneath a cobblestone pedestrian mall lined with indistinguishable storefronts and punctured by lurid guard towers fashioned after medieval counterparts found elsewhere in China. The town had undergone massive cosmetic surgery – bordering on a complete sex change. Decent stacks of pancakes still abounded but little else shown threw this once charming town.

China’s burgeoning middleclass and their surplus wealth has led to an unprecedented domestic tourism boom throughout the country. Unfortunately, such demand tends to overwhelm and eventually reshape the architecture and surrounding landscape wherever it manifests. Many areas of Yunnan Province have been particularly susceptible to the lure of such a cash heavy industry and Dali fell in quick succession. Its high concentration of tribal cultures, officially designated as “ethnic minorities” by state legislation, easily became an exotic and alluring foil for the rest of China.

Despite the growth of these tourist rackets that seek to cater to ever broader and more lavish tastes, such leisurely devices cannot be completely dismissed considering the vagaries suffered by many of these same people over the last fifty years. A wizened old couple wandering wide-eyed through the streets of Dali approached me to take a snapshot with them (group photographs with random foreigners are still a highly prized memento for many Chinese vacationers). I talked briefly with them but will never forget the startling strength of the old man’s grip when I shook his hand to depart. His slender, sinewy arm concealed a lifetime of toil in tiered fields and this trip represented one of his first leisurely respites to a tourist destination – something I too often take for granted. It’s hard to deny him such an experience even if I felt he was wandering around a farcical tourist trap.

Trying to repress nostalgic whims for untrammeled locales does not come easily in my travels, even while observing the enjoyment that many Chinese tourists take in these cultural theme parks. A disconcerting tendency still emerges as these destinations become washed out due to the massive influx of clamoring sightseers and their desirous gazes. Lijiang, the next town on the Yunnan Province tourist circuit, is probably the worst case. Its once mesmerizing downtown dominated by winding streets crisscrossed with bubbling streams are now subject to an enforced lighting scheme. The area resembled a movie set and massive buses spat out an illimitable flow of bobbing heads led by tour guides with megaphones and company pennants. Although I still found some peace and quiet on the fringes of the chaos, I still secretly indulged my wish for this tide to ebb.

A very interesting article appeared in this week’s Economist concerning developing communication technologies and their impact on social resistance in China. Anonymous text messages helped fuel and organize a protest against the construction of a massive chemical plant in Xiamen, a coastal city already feeling the burden of increasing urban pollution. The ability to quickly disseminate messages and assemble demonstrations without a distinguishable culprit for the Central state to detain will continue to plague the CCP as increasing numbers of people become more savvy with mobile and Internet technologies. Wider access to variegated news sources and information technologies are expanding at an unprecedented pace. China’s online Internet population is soon set to eclipse that of the United States. It seems only a matter of time before larger social movements fueled by digital communication forums unfettered by censorship begin sweeping the country – they have become for many the only medium to voice grievances against corruption and other vices perpetuated by rapid and often unchecked economic development.

Link: Protest in China – Mobilised by mobile

This can always be found on my sidebar under Mission. I thought it appropriate to post it now at the beginning. Subject to (slight) alteration!

Introduction

During the 19th century China was dubbed the “Sick Man of Asia” when the great regional power failed to resist the depredations of European colonial enterprises. Now such a moniker might seem laughable. The sheer immensity of China’s developmental efforts along with the opaque administrative practices of the Chinese state perpetuate a cloud of anxiety around its emergence into contemporary international socioeconomic affairs. Under these auspices, the Chinese Communist Party has become a formidable player within the power dynamics of a now globalized planet. The once dormant dragon has begun to stir.

Whether pejorative or complimentary, appraisals of China must not denote it as a monolith. The unparalleled multiplicity of people and regions defies any generalization. A name alone cannot encapsulate the kaleidoscope of often-conflicting interests, ethnicities, and traditions the Chinese state claims to represent. Simplifications only produce barriers to realizing initiatives that might establish intercultural consonance and systems of sustainable development between China and the United States.

More importantly, a host of domestic troubles already face China that could potentially impact the rest of the world. Among these problems are pollution, natural resource extinction, speech and media censorship, inequitable judicial systems, the urban/rural wealth gap, and corporate/government collusion. Despite its increasing international clout, China can perhaps still be characterized as the “Sick Man of Asia.” The seed of this malady no longer sprouts from its inability to defend itself militarily, as was the case in the 19th century, but from an improvident vision of modernity and progress guiding the largest national population in the world. For the foreseeable future, it is impossible to ignore how 1.3 billion other people live on this planet.

The Project

In an era when prudent international cooperation is critical, clear perceptions of China and its people have become imperative. Paranoia and xenophobia lurk where many misconceptions of China flourish. My photo documentary will attempt to elucidate the conventions and everyday dispositions of individuals suspended within Beijing’s shifting socioeconomic spectrum in order to undermine barriers that stifle practical dialogue between China and the United States.

This visual narrative will primarily be composed of stark portraits of people in Beijing facing new challenges in ever-changing urban environments. As similar struggles play out in the United States, the project should evoke mutual concerns about the role of media, technology, and government in constructing communal spaces. The dynamic between such imposing architectures of transformative power and identity formation needs to be clarified through specific cases and patterned collective trends. I will thus employ a bifurcated approach to document individuals. Some people will be photographed and interviewed within composed private spaces such as their homes or in a small studio I will set up in my apartment. They will represent the core of the project and be revisited throughout the year. Other people will be photographed as they interact within public spaces such as markets, transportation centers, malls, monuments, and parks.

The timing of this project is also essential in that it culminates with the 2008 Summer Olympics in Beijing. The Chinese state has eagerly anticipated this event for years. A heavily symbolic mirage depicting a coherent, unified, harmonious nation will be conjured for the world – a spectacle that will both entice and deceive. By the end of the year, my accumulated photography and writing will confront this elaborate production by juxtaposing it with the stories of people trying to come to terms with the imposition of the Chinese state’s vision of modernity. The Olympics should benefit the country but cannot be an opportunity for the Chinese state to mask the quandaries stemming from the implementation of its improvident socioeconomic policies.

My work will hopefully offer a glimpse into an elaborate process of personal and cultural identity transformation. The underlying diversity of China must be recognized and appreciated in order to avoid using the term “China” as another empty metaphor suited for promoting national chauvinism. Instead, its people should be approached as potential neighbors of widely varying backgrounds who, nonetheless, seek common humanitarian ideals and social equities. The United States and China share a mutual future and responsibility in this world and must, as partners, look to provide greater civil liberties and establish effective systems of sustainable development.

Influences and Method

I have recently been very moved by the photography of Sze Tsung Leong and Liu Zheng. Both artists produce documentary work analyzing the fragmentary process of personal and cultural identity formation in China. Their respective visual narratives “History Images” and “The Chinese” are startlingly poignant and provide blunt depictions of people and places that provoked in me a fundamental revaluation of the socioeconomic transformations currently underway in China. These changes are strangely familiar to us all as they play out across a globalized planet splintered by nations struggling with their discordant visions of modernity and progress.

As great world powers, a thoughtful mutual dialogue between China and the United States is imperative. I hope to break down obstructions that derive from prejudiced conjectures of what or whom the Chinese state stands for by offering candid portraits of individuals in Beijing – people who often share similar concerns and aspirations with constituents of the United States. Ideally, my photography will engender some form of empathy that allows viewers to appreciate and be inspired by the plurality of human experience and its underlying bonds.

The creation of my own discourse concerning China and its people should be a humbling experience and explore the efficacy of the documentary project itself as well as the socioeconomic policies implemented by the Chinese state. Still, by offering a short glimpse into the complex cultural web emerging in China, I hope to help people in the United States begin to fathom and more closely identify with its diversity and subsequently their own. We can no longer worry about what it means to be Chinese or American, but what it means to be a part of a globalized planet with increasingly intrusive architectures of transformative power subtended by media, technology, and governments. The photography must draw viewers into a jarring but familiar world that show people struggling for self-determination and greater agency to express themselves.