Changing Faces in CHINA...
Say ‘bian lian’ to anyone in China and they’ll know what you mean.
Translated as ‘changing faces’, it refers to an extraordinary form of Chinese
opera, from the southern province of Sichuan, in which the players’ masked
faces do just that. They change–before your eyes during the performance and
with lightning speed. As the players act, sing, dance and do acrobatics, to the
lively accompaniment of Chinese musical instruments, their colourful and
elaborately-decorated faces suddenly change for no apparent reason and with no
obvious
involvement of hands. One moment deep blue, then, in the blink of an
eye, the same face turns a ghostly white. A quick flick of the head, and red
becomes green, black replaced by yellow – all in a
split second. And I defy any westerner to tell me how it’s done. Ask a Chinese,
and you only get that oriental smile that gives away nothing. The closest I got
to discovering the mystery behind the changing faces was ‘it’s a secret!’
In March, 2008, an uprising by Tibetan
militants was brutally crushed by the People's Liberation Army (PLA). The
militants gained only sympathy from posturing western media – a somewhat
hypocritical response from nations that have spent hundreds of years conquering
and plundering other countries all over the world, destroying cultures and
civilisations in their wake. And there is the Chinese version of the Tibet story:
that Tibet has been a part of China since the Mongols invaded in the thirteenth
century, this association consolidated during the early Qing dynasty until 1928
when, with a weakened central Chinese government following a century of
interference from the West, Tibet claimed independence. Since Mao’s crushing
invasion of the newly-created independent state in 1959, Tibetan
insurgency has
smouldered on, occasionally erupting as seen earlier in 2008.
Could a comparison be made with Britain
and Northern Ireland in the seventies and eighties? Maybe not. One thing is
certain, however. The PLA do not do ‘half-measures’ when it comes to quelling
dissent. But then it is an army,
after all, and this is what soldiers do? Or is it?
On May12th 2008 a massive earthquake,
Richter scale 8, struck Sichuan. I was there with my Chinese wife – one hundred
and eighty miles from the epicentre, on a bus in the Jiuzhaigou National Park. If
our Chinese guide hadn’t told us to
push and shove like the Chinese, we’d never
have got onto that bus. With the motion of the bus we felt nothing at the time,
but at the next bus halt we learned there’d been an accident involving the bus behind
us (there, but for the grace of God!). Later, it transpired the bus had been
hit by a landslide and a Chinese tourist on board had been killed. It remained
buried by rubble for three days.
Gradually the whole picture emerged.
Our guide had a phone call from her boyfriend telling her there’d been a
massive earthquake centred in Wenchuan, near Chengdu where we’d been the
previous day. We had to detour on foot because of another landslide further
down the valley, and on the way back to the hotel our driver encountered a boulder,
the size of a
mini van, on the road. During the night we were shaken in our
beds with each aftershock, and my poor wife’s teeth were chattering like
castanets for it’s a terrifying thing to feel that the very ground you have lived
on all your life is on the move.
Having been shaken by the earthquake,
we were so stirred by what happened afterwards that we felt compelled to donate
as generously as we could to the earthquake relief fund.
China had shown the world a sudden change
in face so utterly different to the one seen when she’d put down that Tibetan uprising.
The speed and efficiency of the Chinese government’s response to the disaster,
at local and at National levels, took the international community by surprise,
but even more unexpected was the face of caring and compassion,
particularly
from the soldiers of the PLA who worked tirelessly, at risk to themselves, to
save trapped victims. They never gave up hope and continued to their search for
the living under the rubble for well over a week –
266 hours in the case of one eighty-year old man who, miraculously, was brought out alive; surely a world record worth
more than anything China’s gold medallists achieved at the Beijing and the
London Olympics.
How did this remarkable change of face
occur? All I can say, from being in the country at the time, is that the
‘caring’ was evident from the very top downwards immediately after the disaster
struck, resulting in swift and thorough organisation of relief. Premier Wu
Jiabao flew to the disaster area within twenty-four hours (if only George had
done that for New Orleans!) and personally
supervised much of the rescue and relief
organisation. The non-stop internal
reporting was transparent, detailed and, above all, intelligent. The impetus
was maintained hour by hour, and it was an eye-opener to see the story unfold,
see how anticipated problems were dealt with: prevention of epidemics,
temporary re-housing of the homeless (fifteen million people displaced),
planning for future rebuilding, counselling for the psychologically-traumatised,
particularly children, and later, after mother nature dealt the region another
blow with torrential rain that caused quake lakes to form upstream of
landslides, plans to re-channel these and evacuate those at risk from flooding
when the dams created by these landslides burst.
It’s hard to say whether the example
set by the government was the cause or the effect of the coming together of
over 1.3 billion Chinese, and really it doesn’t matter. What matters is that
everyone pulled together behind a caring face: a nation of impoverished
peasants and multibillionaire business magnates, of communist cadres and
dissidents, of political ideologists and Daoists and Buddhists and Muslims and Christians,
of old people with
expressionless, yellowed parchment faces that give away
nothing of past sufferings and of smiling, smooth-skinned, doll-faced children;
a nation of impossibly beautiful women. This huge capitalist nation, run by a
communist party, taking with it Chinese from Taiwan, Singapore and Chinese
communities across the globe, became as one and cared passionately about fellow
human beings – in stark contrast to the American response following the
devastation of New Orleans by Hurricane Katrina, or the tragedy played out in
Myanmar after the Irrawaddy Delta was swept by Cyclone Nargis.
Of course, Chinese efficiency, which
doubtless saved many lives in Sichuan, has been there all the time staring us in the face. How else could a country
the size of China have emerged
from desperate poverty in the wake of the
Cultural Revolution to become one of the wealthiest and most powerful on earth
within just three decades?
Yes, there was the Cultural Revolution: a face of China that no one in the
world would ever wish to see again, and one that has left a permanent scar on
the nation herself. None could forget that recent period of Chinese history
when unthinkable terror was unleashed to a level of madness upon her own
citizens; an exercise in social brutality that served as a blueprint for some of
the world’s other madmen, such as Pol Pot. And can we really lay all
the blame upon
the so-called ‘Gang of Four’ which included the wife of Mao Zedong? Was
Chairman Mao asleep for all those years when the Red Guards tried to lay waste
a culture that had grown over five thousand years? And they came very close to
succeeding. Now the official Chinese take on Mao is that he was right seventy
percent of the time and wrong thirty percent of the time. Maybe the same might
be said of other political monsters, but it’s what happens in that ‘thirty
percent’ that determines the suffering inflicted by such tyrants. For the
Chinese to admit the man who pulled the country from the edge of an abyss after
a century of weak and inept government, and a humiliating invasion by Japan,
was also one of the most evil leaders the world has ever known would be a great
loss of face.
Loss of face is very much an Asian thing,
and hard for us westerners to fully comprehend, but I believe keeping the face
of Mao Zedong, wart and all, staring across Tiananmen Square has something to
do with the importance of not being seen to lose face. The Gang
of Four must
take the blame for what happened, so that’s all right now for the man who waved
a Little Red Book at the masses and caused the deaths of, possibly, eighty
million Chinese.
But the real issue for the rest of the
world is whether or not the face China revealed during that awful period will
ever show itself again. Only a crystal ball could give us the answer, but many
still remember June 4th, 1989, when the tanks rolled out across
Tiananmen Square crushing no o
ne knows how many student protesters. It was a
sudden change of face the world outside China hoped it wouldn’t see, for it
seemed the students were only voicing concern about the corruption that was then
rife, not trying to overthrow the government. It’s a topic to be avoided by
those who visit China now, but could that
face still reappear one day? And was this the same face as seen by those Tibetan
militants?
There was, of course, another face to
the Sichuan Earthquake, one the Chinese don’t wish to dwell on:
corruption. The official death toll for
children was 5,335, though some suspect the true figure to be higher. The main
point, though, is that the majority of these youngsters were in school
buildings which collapsed like propped-up playing cards. Had funds intended for
their safe construction been siphoned off? We’ll never know’
Our guide who was with us during the
Sichuan earthquake was wonderful. She showed the two faces of China we needed
to see at the time. Caring and efficiency. Unable to fly out from the nearest
airport the day after the quake struck, we spent a miserable night in a Sichuan
Tibetan hotel, together with many Chinese tourists. The hotel people were kind
and did their best to feed us all, but it was cold and damp and most of the
time the electricity was
off and it was snowing on the mountains outside and
there was vomit on the staircase. Our guide was hardly off her mobile phone,
trying everything she could think of to get us out of the earthquake zone and
on to Yunan, the neighbouring province. She even went to pray at the local
Buddhist temple – and she wasn’t,
she told us, a Buddhist. Either by miracle, or through her sheer persistence,
she managed to get us onto flights out of the earthquake zone, via Chongqing.
She was our guardian angel.
Then there was the passport saga. Our
tour, arranged by a Chinese tour company, was due to last thirty-seven days.
Unbeknown to them, the Chinese government had altered the visa regulations. The
maximum stay allowed had been reduced to thirty days. Eager not to cancel
bookings and shorten our trip (which would have caused the company loss of
face)
they lobbied the Chinese embassy in London, but without success. Thirty days max, they said. The girl who told me had one of those Chinese smiles that so frequently deceive foreigners since it always heralds bad, not good, news (the oriental smile is a whole topic on its own). Cancel all those bookings, then? I asked, my blood starting to boil. Oh no! the girl replied. No problem! Just get a visa extension from a public security bureau in any Chinese city. So, in the Beijing public security bureau we join a long queue of foreigners wishing to get their visas extended. Half way through the wait our Beijing guide, who’d been strutting around glued to his mobile phone, told us we’d need a registration document from our hotel. So off he whizzes in a taxi, back to our hotel, whilst we sit and wait some more. He returns, we rejoin the queue, and as we approach a row of grim-faced women manning the desks, dressed in blue uniforms with intimidating chevrons on their sleeves, he tells us that they’ll have to keep our passports. And the following day we were due to take the train to Shandong to stay with my wife’s half-sister. Leaving our passports behind in Beijing with one of those grim-faced women was almost as frightening as being shaken by the aftershocks of the earthquake.
No problem! they said – our guide and the man at the other end of the phone – the tour
company boss in Beijing with a responsibility for Yanks and Brits. Express
delivery! Your passports will be sent to you in Taian. Couldn’t someone from the
company actually deliver them in person? I asked. What if they get lost in the
post? Silence. I repeated my question. I’ll pay anything for someone to
personally return our passports to us here in Shandong, I said. More silence.
I should have known. If a Chinese feels
there’s no discussion to be had he’ll say nothing. Not a word. It’s the Chinese
way. Of course, it means that neither party has to suffer loss of face. Also, I
should have trusted Chinese efficiency. I’d seen it in action in the aftermath
of the earthquake, and now, having travelled right across China, taken thirteen
flights (every flight on time), two train journeys and two by road, I realise
how extensive this efficiency is. It’s the norm. Our passports arrived, by
express delivery, a day earlier than promised.
In Shandong we saw the best of all
Chinese faces. The face of hospitality. Asian hospitality is legendary, and
combined with a Chinese determination to make promises actually happen (not a feature in all Asian
countries, I believe), it’s a wonderful, and humbling, thing to experience. We
spent a fortnight with my Chinese in-laws and loved every minute of it,
pampered to the very marrow of our bones, with every meal (that’s three a day,
in China) a feast.
It matters not a jot why or how the
faces of the Sichuan opera players change so
abruptly. It’s entertaining, and the
mystery of it is all part of the fun. But the many faces of China? Believe me,
it matters. I love China. Not only because I’m in love with a Chinese woman. I
love her five thousand year history, her calligraphy, an art form itself, her
language that sounds like music; I love the quirkiness of hearing a jaunty
rendition of Jingle Bells in June against a backdrop of the haunting strains of
the erhu, I love the constant smiles
(the
other sort–not the smiles of
embarrassment), the friendly dragons that help bring on the rain for the
farmers, the food direct from heaven and the antics of taxi drivers who must
surely have been coached in hell (Beijing, full speed, wrong side of the road…
wow!) and the police cars with their circus clown honks. But I respect China. And, as a westerner, I
know I should also fear her. The PLA
showed extraordinary gentleness and selflessness in Sichuan, but the PLA is an army. The largest in the world,
well-equipped, well-disciplined, and with nuclear potential. I wouldn’t wish to
come face-to-face with the PLA in its role as a military machine.
Let me now put it like this: there are
insufficient resources, including food, in the world to give the average
Chinese the same life-style enjoyed by the average American citizen. Fact!
China wants her own citizens to have the same living standards as those people
on the other side of the Pacific. Fact! Now do you see why it’s so important
for the west – indeed, the
rest of the world – to take an
interest in the many faces of China? Why we should all learn more about that
vast country and the reasons behind her changing faces? What face will she show
us when the oil begins to run out, and food gets scarcer? Still not convinced?
Well, keep your head buried in the sand if you must, but I strongly advise you do
at least hone your chopstick
skills and learn to count up to ten in Mandarin. Failing
that, then read this excellent book by an expert, Martin Jacques: When China Rules the World.
PS My wife and I are off to China again
in two days!
And so the wheelie bin blog rolls on... as a blogroll...
Please check out the following writers' blogs... they are enjoyable and informative:
Dorothy Bruce, author of political satire In the Wake of the Coup
Jules Horne, Scottish playwright, dramatist and fiction writer
Bridget Khursheed, Scottish Borders poet
Tom Murray, Scottish Borders writer, poet, playwright and Scottish Book Trust Reader in Residence for Borders Libraries.