Chris In China

There is nothing wrong with patriotism.
In the United States, most people are fervent supporters of the Constitution, and some are very proud to be U.S. citizens. When the country is attacked, physically or verbally, there is no lack of patriotic rhetoric defending and declaring the greatness of home.
But during the lead-up to the current war in Iraq, when the United States was attacked verbally by its allies across the globe, there was a wave of patriotism that perhaps went too far: How could one forget “freedom fries” and “freedom toast"?
When people in Europe and the United States began verbal attacks and protests against China and the Olympic torch during the aftermath of last month’s unrest in Tibet, the Chinese reacted in a similar manner.
As an American teaching at a university in China, I have been given a unique perspective of this response.

Over the course of this school year, my students have come to know and trust me. They know I will be honest without belittling them or their country, and they are comfortable asking pointed questions about my opinion on various topics. I do not volunteer my opinion, and hardly ever ask them theirs, but when pressed by them, I try to demonstrate that I am a journalist concerned only with the truth.
So this week, when Chinese students across the country started a campaign to boycott Carrefour, a French-owned department store chain, for allegedly supporting pro-Tibet demonstrations during the Paris leg of the Olympic torch relay, I wondered if my students were in the loop.
Apparently they were.
The first questions arose during class on Thursday.
“Do you know the French store Carrefour? Do you think it should be boycotted?” asked a male student.
“Don’t you think the Dalai Lhama is trying to split up our China?” asked another student.
“Why are Western people trying to destroy the Olympic games?”
“Don’t people know about all the Chinese people that were killed during the Lhasa riots?”
And finally, a female student who appeared a little worried timidly asked, “What do Americans think of us Chinese?”
The flurry of questions ended only when we were out of time, but students wanted to ask more after class.
Most of the questions were of this variety, leading questions based in patriotism, which has been fueled by state-owned media reports and official government responses.
Promoting nationalism has always been part of the agenda for the Communist government. For example, in response to the destruction of the Chinese embassy in Belgrade in 1999 by a U.S. bomb, anti-American protests swelled up across the country. And again fierce nationalism arose in 2005 in response to a Japanese textbook’s version of the invasion of China precluding World War II. In these cases and others, the Chinese government, to a degree, encouraged protests as a campaign of unity within the Chinese population.
But with the upcoming Olympic games and recent anti-China sentiments coming from the West — such as comments made by CNN’s Jack Caffety (who called the Chinese government a “bunch of thugs and goons"), and French President Nicolas Sarkozy’s threat to boycott the opening ceremonies — nationalism has surpassed a level of simple pride and reached a level of maddening obsession.
Before, it was almost cute: The country was laden with Olympic mascots attending ceremonies to open new stores, pictured on everything from liquor bottles to postage stamps, and carved into juniper gardens across the country. Excitement for the Games was seeping into nearly every part of life, and the Games were often discussed in essays students of mine submitted.
I had to go so far as to ban the use of the phrase, “As we all know, China will host the Olympic Games” in essays because it was so overused.
But now, anti-Western protests online, in the Chinese news media and on the streets are focused on CNN, the BBC and French-owned properties, like Carrefour and the French embassy.
And there are suggestions to boycott other Western businesses and institutions. A student of mine expressed her concern about going to a McDonald’s recently.
In schools, French teachers have been instructed not to talk about politics in their classes, and some parents have even removed their children from French language lessons.
Most of these actions seem ridiculous, but I can party see where they come from.
Obviously, the Chinese are keen on showing the world a modern homeland where peace flourishes, and they plan on using the upcoming Olympic Games, when an estimated 1.5 million foreigners will be in China, as the platform for their demonstration. Commentators have said that the Games will be China’s unofficial “coming out” to the world.
As for my students, who are representative of a large part of Chinese students nationwide, they are upset with the apparently biased coverage of the Tibet issue in the Western media. They claim that the West is out to destroy China’s reputation and the Olympics, and that it should not “meddle with China’s internal affairs” — a line often used by the government when questioned on Tibet, Taiwan and other issues. They do not understand why the West is so concerned with human rights right now, claiming that the Olympics have nothing to do with politics.
But if China is going to use the Olympics to show itself to the world, it should be prepared to accept the backlash and questioning it is receiving. It is inevitable. China should try to answer all the questions without becoming vituperative.
There’s pride and patriotism in protest, which is good, but then there’s defensive anger and resentment, which is reactionary and unproductive. Both the United States and China can be accused of the latter.
Meanwhile, the protestors who advocate for greater Tibetan autonomy must realize that putting China on the defensive will only make things worse. I agree, there is a need for greater religious and political freedom in China, but the desire has to come from within its borders, and the freedom-loving West should do everything in its power to support that effort.

Chris Gauthier is a recent Massachusetts College of Liberal Arts graduate spending a year in China teaching English at Hebei University. He writes regular columns for The Advocate during his stay in China. To read all of his Advocate columns, visit blogtheberkshires.com. Readers can also read more about his experiences on his own blog at chrisinchina.wordpress.com.

Posted by Rebecca Dravis at 11:52 AM | Permalink

Last week, I made a surprising discovery.
I was cycling back to my apartment after a filling lunch of jiaozi (dumplings), and getting my hair cut, when my eyes and nose suddenly became aware of something I have not seen in a long time — a sight and smell that seems so foreign to this land of scripted urban landscapes, but so familiar in my own.
It was the unmistakable cone-shaped panicle of the Syringa vulgaris, better known as the purple lilac.

On its branch 6 feet from the ground, it appeared lonely and neglected, surrounded by anemic vegetation clinging to the side of a rust-stained edifice that marked the barrier of a small backyard in an apartment block near the campus. Although it was small and hidden, it somehow managed to grab my attention with its pale purple pedals, and with the sweetness of its fragrance.
A man stood nearby examining me with a puzzled look.
“Is this your flowers?” I asked in Chinese.
“Yes, my flowers,” he replied.
I wanted to tell him they smelled great, they smelled like home, but all I could muster was, “We have them in America, too.”
He didn’t know that, he said.
I once learned in a neuroscience class that the sense of smell has the strongest relationship among the senses to memory. Odorants enter the nose as chemicals in the air, and are captured by extremely sensitive nerve fibers called cilia.
The odor particles are absorbed and then synthesized into information in a part of the brain called the olfactory cortex, which is (perhaps deliberately) located directly next to the hippocampus and amygdala, both important components involved with memories. That is why familiar smells usually remind us of someone, somewhere, someplace or sometime.
As the distinct, heavenly smell of this particular lilac saturated the tiny hairs in my nasal cavity, I was transported to a mild, late spring evening seven years ago. I was cruising along a back road in New Hampshire in a small Japanese sports car, with the moon roof open allowing the lunar glow to bathe my dashboard with its radiance. There was something good on the radio, and in that moment I felt like there was nothing more I would ever want or need in the whole world. It was a moment of pure bliss.
This memory triggered a feeling of homesickness, and after the initial shock of discovering this familiar bush in China passed, I was surprised with what I felt.
Eight months of new experiences (food, culture, language, people, laws, weather, history and new plants, animals and flowers) have allowed me to succeed in staving off homesickness. The time has felt suspended, like I pressed the pause button on the VCR to go to the bathroom.
But the physical reminder of home the lilac represented jarred me into the realization that time constantly moves forward. Spring is here, and it has arrived on the other side of the world, too. Am I missing something by being here and not there?
Undoubtedly, yes, I am missing some things: the closing of my favorite restaurant, 55 Main, in North Adams, the graduations of friends from MCLA, the birth of a close friend’s baby and an entire year’s worth of birthdays. These are important events, and I am sorry to be missing them, but at least I know about them. I can keep up with these things through correspondence and photographs.
But I am missing things that people cannot tell me about, like the dirty snow piles turning into cold streams, the fresh buds of maple trees, and that first warm day when the sun shines brightly on bare skin that has gone through an entire winter being covered with thick layers of clothing.
I hate to miss all that, but I only have to reflect for a moment on the unique experiences the spring brings in China.
The holidays, for example — Chinese holidays around this time of year are truly interesting.
Spring Festival, marked by the lunar New Year, is the most important holiday of the year. It’s a time for families to reconnect, eat buckets of dumplings and light off fireworks by the truckload. The lantern festival 15 days later is very similar.
The Chinese also had the “Day Bright” festival, also known as “Grave Sweeping Day,” a day in which people visit the graves of their ancestors to pay their respects, plant new flora and do a little spring cleaning.
I am very fortunate to have the ability to witness those traditions firsthand, and if I were not spending the spring in China, I would have no clue about the importance of such events.
And, although the plants and flowers are different than those at home, they are no less beautiful.
In a park near the university blooms trees such as the brilliantly pink flowering Prunus tribola, known as the rose trees of China, the immaculately white Prunus yedoenis (Yoshino cherry tree), and more than a few large-budded Malus micromalus (Kaido crabapple tree). They are stunning to look at and very fragrant.
I cannot forget to mention the dust storms. How unique and special those are! The sandy loess and coal dust particles whipping through the city streets driven by heavy gusts of wind are a sure sign that spring has arrived in this part of China.
While the differences between a Berkshire spring and a Hebei Province spring are many, they share a special connection. After all, spring is spring, and time moves on at the same speed there as it does over here. Everywhere, the seasons change, new growth emerges and people continue to live their lives. There’s something remarkable about that.
I look forward to the day I’ll be riding my bike along some back road in Berkshire County and come across a lilac tree. When I stop to take a whiff, maybe my amygdala will remember this wonderful spring in China instead of some Japanese sports car.

Chris Gauthier is a recent Massachusetts College of Liberal Arts graduate spending a year in China teaching English at Hebei University. He writes regular columns for The Advocate during his stay in China. To read all of his Advocate columns, visit blogtheberkshires.com. Readers can also read more about his experiences on his own blog at chrisinchina.wordpress.com.

Posted by Rebecca Dravis at 4:58 PM | Permalink