polymorphism

When I was a student in China, I rode the train every year for this or that reason. Now it has become a rare experience. The last time I took a train was in Italy. I walked into the rail station, easily and quickly checked in, and saw my train quietly waiting there. The train looked like an old and reliable friend to me. It’s going to take me to a fun place far away.

We mostly travel by car, by air, or by train. I like them all. They all have their advantages. Traveling by train is a unique and comfortable experience. No harsh security checks. You don’t have to get to the rail station two hours before the departure time. Trains are mostly on time. Hopping on it one minute before it leaves is just fine. You don’t have to turn off your cell phone when the train is leaving or approaching a station. Carriages are much more spacious than planes. Your luggage is with you. You can get your belongings when you need them. No lost luggage. Trains slides on their rails, smoothly and quietly. When the train stops and rests at a small station for a while, you can take the time to explore the environment and people. Traveling by train is easy, because it’s natural.

Trains are no longer the old fashion trains I used to see. On Dec 26, 2009, the world’s fastest train service started operation between Wuhan and Guangzhou. It finished 1,100 kilometers (684 miles) within three hours. The average speed of the train is 350 km per hour, with a maximum speed of 394.2 km per hour. The speed described by passengers was “like flying over the ground.” It’s a significant increase in speed compared to the world’s existing railways. The average speed of high speed railways in Japan is 243 kph, 232 kph in Germany, and 277 kph in France. In a TV news program, to demonstrate how smooth the train is, the correspondent put a cigarette upright on the table when the train was running. The cigarette didn’t move a bit.

However, high speed train travel, in many cases, is not economically feasible. Ticket price is the major complaint from the public about the Wuhan-Guangzhou rail line. The lowest fare is 490 yuan ($72), while the airline price for the same journey starts from 250 yuan ($37). There will predictably be more direct competition between airlines and railways. It doesn’t seem to be an uncommon problem of rail lines. For example, it’s cheaper to take a plane than a Eurostar train between Paris and London. However, travelers may choose to take the train for a combination of many reasons. For example, rail stations, unlike airports, can be located in the city’s central area. It can save overall travel time.

The advantages of high speed rail over road travel and air travel are more than that. Travel experience is an important factor, as I mentioned earlier. Trains also consume less fuel per passenger per kilometer. And compared to air travel, rail travel is much less affected by severe weather conditions such as heavy snow, fog, and storms.

The Wuhan-Guangzhou railway is only a small part of China’s ambitious plan. China already has the world’s first operational maglev (magnetic levitation) train service that was inaugurated in 2002. By 2012, a 13,000-kilometer high speed rail network will be completed. That’s more than half of all high speed lines currently on the planet. The total construction cost of the rail system is $300 billion. By 2020, China will have the largest and fastest railway network in the world.

Can we have high speed railways in the U.S.? It’s a complicated matter. The U.S. mainly invested on highways and airports, for good reasons. A big difference between North America and Europe and Asia is population density. Railways are more competitive in areas of higher population density. And railways work better with connections to other mass transit system. Our public transportation system isn’t as extensive as other developed countries’.

Suppose we have a rail line between Madison and Chicago which takes only half an hour for the trip. No taking shoes off at security check, no turning off cell phones, no seat belts, no lost baggage. It sounds very attractive, but we have to take everything into account. Because population density is relatively low and places are sparsely located, trains, buses and metro lines can’t conveniently carry me from where I live to the places I go. I would drive to the rail station where I would pay for a parking fee. When I arrive in Chicago, I would rent a car (and pay a rental fee, of course) and then drive to the places I want to visit. On the other hand, if I choose to drive from Madison to Chicago by myself. It takes longer but costs much less and is convenient.

Having said my concerns, I see many potentials of a high speed rail system in the U.S. Whether the system turns out to be a success or a failure depends on how it’s designed, implemented and operated. I dream to have a modern rail station in our city. That is a high speed future I’m looking forward to.

      There is no doubt about it, the Three Kingdoms is the most beloved historical period that people like to watch about (programs or movies), to read about, to study and discuss. It spans the second century into the third century. The almighty Han Dynasty was declining and China was in endless wars. Three forces eventually rose to power, building their kingdoms. Their stories were told in folklore and were finally written into a classic novel, the “Romance of the Three Kingdoms” (ROTK) by Luo Guanzhong in the 14th century during the Ming Dynasty. To be sure, ROTK is not real historical records. It’s a novel based on history, in which characters largely remain their true color.

      The Chinese made an 84-episode TV series based on ROTK 15 years ago, two movies last year, one animated series this year, and they’re filming another TV series for next year. Online history discussion forums often give this relatively short period a dedicated place for discussion.

      The Japanese’s devotion is no less than the Chinese. They draw serious manga books and write numerous fantasy stories. They even print a fake newspaper  based on the Three Kingdoms. KOEI, a video game company, releases Three Kingdoms games every year. I used to play Dynasty Warriors a lot, which is very popular in Japan and also elsewhere, including the U.S. The never-ending enthusiasm about the Three Kingdoms in Asia seems to have puzzled the American game industry. I once read a game review in which the author wondered why the Japanese company keeps telling the same story. Isn’t it boring by now? The answer is no, never.

      What makes me write this article is a new movie coming to U.S. theaters at the end of November, John Woo’s movie “Red Cliff.” The battle of Red Cliff was the greatest and the most dramatic battle that involved all the three forces — Wei, Shu, and Wu. To be accurate, at the time, the three kingdoms had not yet been established. But for the sake of telling the story, let me call them Wei, Shu, and Wu.

      Wei’s ruler, Cao Cao, was a genius in many fields. He was a decent fighter when he was young. He became a military genius who conquered almost half of China. Cao Cao was cruel and killed many innocent people. But he was not a tyrant. He brought prosperity to the people. Cao Cao was shrewd and a frequent liar who often lied to his enemies and sometimes to his allies as well. But he was also exceptionally honest sometimes. He dared to tell the truths that no other politicians dared to tell. One thing that made Cao Cao stand out among all historical figures is his talent in literature. He was arguably the best poet in his time. His poems are still widely appreciated today and are taught in middle schools. Cao Cao was admired and feared. He was different from anyone else.

      Liu Bei, who later became the ruler of Shu, was the opposite of Cao Cao. He was the protector of the poor. His idealist color was in sharp contrast to Cao’s pragmatism. For many years, he wasn’t successful as a warlord. When Cao Cao had unified China’s north, Liu Bei served under the command of a provincial warlord. Yet there must be some extraordinary characteristics in him. He was followed by the most loyal and powerful generals including Guan Yu, Zhang Fei, and Zhao Yun. And the most wise and noble strategist ever in Chinese history, Zhuge Liang, joined his force. All these people believed only this man, Liu Bei, could bring the world peace and light. Liu Bei was also respected by other notable people. Cao Cao had long identified Liu Bei as his only worthy rival.

      And of course, there was the Wu, a people who had great traditions and the toughest bones. They wouldn’t give up anything without a fight, even in front of Cao Cao’s unstoppable army.

      The story of Red Cliff began with the conflict between Cao Cao and Liu Bei. Cao Cao’s massive army easily overwhelmed Liu Bei’s force. Liu Bei fled to the south, where they would meet the talents of the Wu people and convince them to join forces against Cao Cao’s aggression. To win the war, they would need the most brilliant schemes, the strongest and bravest warriors, and a little magic moment.

      With the timely debut of the movie “Red Cliff,” it’s a good time for me (a Three Kingdom fan among many others), to explain, after all, why we are so attracted by the story. In short, I like it because it’s the most inspiring story. It’s more inspiring than many fictional stories, yet it is real history. Any story with one or two characters I care about and like is a good story to me. But in Three Kingdoms, I find more than a dozen people I heartily care about and like. That’s why I call it a great book, a true classic.

      Actually, I can’t really claim to be a true fan, because I have never thoroughly read the classic novel ROTK. However, the Three Kingdoms is not only a book, but more importantly, a culture. I think every Chinese, even those who can’t read, can name at least three names from the book. I first learned about the Three Kingdoms on radio when I was a kid. Traditionally, there were folk storytellers who told oral historical fictions called “ping shu.” The storytellers were a kind of street performers, like street acrobats or magicians. Ping shu, like operas, carried out basic education of history and moral teaching to common people. Today, I don’t know if folk storytellers still exist. At least I don’t see them in big cities. But they’re on air now. Radio has them telling ping shu everyday. Ping shu usually covers a period in history and is very long. A ping shu show can run nearly a year.

      Listening to ping shu everyday, I fancied the story. I couldn’t believe it actually happened in history and these people existed. As I grow up, the more I think about them and what they had done, the more I understand them and admire them. I think many people have had the same experience with the Three Kingdoms like me.

      A typical fan is like this: he learned the story from ping shu when he was a kid. He can’t even count the number of Three Kingdom video games he has played, and he can easily name over 100 people in the book. It may sound incredible to others, but it’s a predictable result, considering how many hours he has invested into it. He likes watching Three Kingdoms TV series, even though he knows every detail of the story. He watches the familiar story only to see how it’s done. When it’s done right, he enjoys and feels relieved and gratified. When it’s not done right, he feels insulted, irritated, and outraged. What does it mean to be classic? The feeling evoked by the Three Kingdoms is a good example.

      So, did John Woo do a good job directing “Red Cliff”? According to American film reviewers, this is a movie that you cannot miss. But according to many fan groups, the movie is almost irrelevant. The movie irritated a lot of people, mostly because it changed the classic too much and lost its spirit.

      I understand that people have different needs. I may not like the movie but I’m glad many others do. As for me, I’m going to watch it. I just like watching people like Sun Shangxiang and Zhuge Liang talking to each other. Even if it’s made up by John Woo, I just can’t resist seeing these people back to life again. I’m counting the days of this movie’s release.

“Beijing Memories” is a documentary series produced by BTV, the city’s local station. It tells a lot of tales of the ‘80s, the dawn of economic reform. It celebrates the country’s achievement in the past three decades with pride, joy and nostalgia.

I’m mainly attracted to the retrospective elements of the documentary. It brings back many warm and sweet memories when life was simple and poor. I lived in Beijing for 20 years. I love the city and its people.

The series has 15 episodes and covers many aspects of urban life, including food, commerce, art, private and public transportation, road construction, telecom, new immigrants, housing and architecture, etc. In the ‘80s, many families lived in dormitory-like apartments, with shared kitchens and restrooms. Several buildings shared one telephone. Beijingers didn’t have many vegetables to eat in winters other than cabbage. There were not many restaurants and taxis. But today, people around the world go to China to see the future. It’s not only amazing but utterly shocking to see how much people can accomplish in a few decades.

It was sweet to see Zhongguancun in its early stage again in one of the episodes. I was very familiar with the area, but eventually a district of 127 acres was completely wiped out and then rebuilt, leaving few places recognizable to me. The episode makes an interesting comparison between the city’s east side and west side. The east side is purely business and is much internationalized. The west side is more about culture, art, technology and intellect, because it has the country’s best universities, institutes and think tanks, including Tsinghua University, Peking University, Chinese Academy of Sciences, National Library of China, Beijing Film Academy, Central Academy of Fine Art, Central Academy of Drama, and on and on.

I consider the program the best documentary series of the year. Of course, that’s totally personal. I’d like to quote a British shop owner who has lived in Beijing for 15 years. His shop has a lot of old everyday items. He said in the program in Mandarin, “…Things like a washbasin, or a subway ticket — others may not care — but in my eyes, they’re as important (as) the Temple of Heaven. So I print them on T-shirts, as a celebration, because I love Beijing. I want to show people my Beijing, the Beijing in my eyes, the Beijing in this laowai (a slang for foreigners)’s eyes.”

He said it very well. This is all about MY town, my life, and my story. The stories of the interviewees are collective memories, but are also very personal.

However, I must say, not everything is becoming better. The first thing that comes to mind is pollution. The last time  I landed in Beijing and walked out of the plane, I saw air. It was not fog but just highly polluted air that I could literally see. The gigantic new airport terminal that was under construction not far away was looming in the thick air.

Then one day, I was sitting in a cab on my way to a newly developed suburban neighborhood. I recalled that when I was in school, our transportation was bikes. We biked to places like the Summer Palace during holidays and summer breaks. Those places sounded so far away. It took a long time to get there. But we were happy, biking and chatting with friends. At that time, the sky was blue and the air was fresh. Now many places that were not within the city range are connected by highways. I was amazed by the convenience of the modern invention. Then, I saw a familiar building profile a few miles away, enshrouded in traffic haze. In a few seconds, it disappeared behind nearby buildings. It took me a while to realize that the building was Fo Xiang Ge, the Pavilion of the Fragrance of Buddha. It was a bit hard for me to realize it, because I didn’t expect to see the pavilion at all, in a cab, on a city highway. That pavilion was among my memories of summer days, when I was young and innocent. It was so elegant, so beautiful, and so heavenly. Now it is dirty, obscure, and encroached by ever expanding pollution.

What have we done?

And now, children no longer play. They have more toys but less time to play. They’re busier than their parents. Years ago, when the average salary was less than US$100 per month, the Chinese bought pianos and let their children learn and practice in their small apartments. That was a social phenomenon called “Piano Fever.” At that time, I thought that was normal and was just what people do. Now I think of it in
retrospect and compare it with other countries, the investment and value stressing on education in Asia seems incredible. To some extent, it’s fearsome.

I’m not against progress. But I see costs as well. Now that I live in the U.S., I’m not sure if we have the right to demand people in China to do things better and fix all problems. It was, however, a heart breaking moment to see how Fo Xiang Ge revealed itself in front of me.

When I was a teenager, like many others my age, I was very much into music, video games, and cartoons. I didn’t understand why adults were so indifferent to them. I pondered if my interests would last when I grow up. My answer was, definitely yes, because this stuff is really good, those stupid adults just don’t get it.

It can be difficult for parents and children to communicate because of the generation gap. In a society like China where everything is expedited, the gap can be even wider and deeper. For every 5 years there is a whole new breed, living different lives, thinking different ways, facing different problems.

But I no longer play video games and read cartoons. I still think they’re fun, and I consider the gaming and cartoon industry as an interesting and promising career path.  I guess I just have found something else to do. I still am interested in music though. I am not as enthusiastic as before, and am not a fan of a specific artist. Sometimes, I’m just curious about the music that today’s youth is making and listening to.

I recently read an interview of Zhang Shouwang by Esquire magazine. Shouwang is a gifted musician, not only in rock music but also in other genre. The New Yorker named one of his performances last year number two of top 10 classical music events of 2008. I really like his music and music from other people of his age in general.

My first impression is that their music is very cool, like British or Japanese music. I’m amazed by their talent and what they have done. But when they talk about how they’re creating something real that fits their generation, I feel funny. I don’t find their music real. Instead, I find it unreal. They murmur meaningless lyrics.

I liked those old school rockers in ‘80s and ‘90s, because they had attitude and strength, and were honest and serious. They created something real for those decades. Just listening to Zhang Chu’s “Heaven Bless the Well Fed People” can drag me back into that year and that street, working like a time travel machine. The feeling of the song is exactly right. I can almost see how Zhang Chu stands in the street looking over the people. I can feel what he feels at the moment. However, I never felt those old rockers were cool. Why do bands have to be cool? These new bands are universally cool but unexceptionally soulless.

What I’m afraid of is that we’re losing some precious qualities. CCTV is filming Dream of Red Mansions again. Dream of Red Mansions is one of the Four Great Classical Novels. It was made into TV series in mid-‘80s by CCTV and was a huge success. Now doing it again will test the quality of today’s TV industry. Unfortunately, public confidence is not very high. It sounds sad to me. Consider this: how often do directors, actors and actresses have the chance to film something as great as Dream of Red Mansions? Probably every 20 or 30 years. If this team fails us, we’ll have to wait for another 30 years to see another Dream of Red Mansions presented by the next generation. Does this group even comprehend the pressure and expectation of the audience? Or are they happily satisfied with their creation and new interpretation of the classic? I have no confidence in them. I can imagine critics roaring at the team after the series’ broadcast, “Someone did it 30 years ago, and they did it better than you!”

But I must stop ranting about irresponsible commercial society. Now I’m criticizing today’s youth, but was I different from them when I was compared with my parents? Didn’t my parents frown when I was listening to those “noises,” like I frown upon the young bands today? My parents would say, “Why don’t you try Ode to the Motherland, and Up the Songhua River?” Didn’t I feel bored by old stuff, and now my stuff has become boring old stuff to teenagers? Maybe, their music is indeed real to them, only not being understood by me.

Before accepting the notion that new ideas should constantly replace the old ones as human society progresses, there is an alternative, in which youth will start to appreciate older generations as they grow up like what I have learned in these years. The differences between parents and children are not a gap between generations, but a gap between different ages. However, if that is true, that’s an even bleaker picture, in which people will never change and all eventually will retreat to old ideas and fight old wars when they become old.

This is the philosophic question for intellectuals and can be found in many people’s minds: how do we find the balance between tradition and progress? The question is more prominent in rapidly developing countries but it’s universal for everyone else as well. What do we want to or not want to change? What will or will not change regardless of our will? What is our place in history?

Music is universal. People speaking different languages find a shared language in music. It can be personal and also private, as well. Music is different, just like people are different. The Mainland, Taiwan, and Hong Kong are often referred as “Two Shores, Three Places,” because they’re divided by the Taiwan Strait and three different systems. The music in these “three places” is interlaced yet also unique to their region.

The Taiwanese music industry has consistently produced the finest pop music in the past three decades and talent seems to pass down to younger generations. In my opinion, they’re the best in female vocal music accompanied on the piano. Yet more importantly, many Taiwanese musicians don’t see music as a business, but as an art form to express themselves, and a media to record the dramatic changes in Taiwan. They have done it so gracefully and faithfully that I can feel a sense of historical responsibility and an inherent urge to seek higher wisdom in some of their music. Musician Luo Dayou is a good example; he combines keen observational social issues with his musical skills.

Luo Dayou was a brain surgery physician. The best brain surgery he did was not on a patient but on Taiwan itself. His first album “Zhi Hu Zhe Ye,” released in 1982, was the most significant album in Taiwanese music history. Among “The 100 Greatest Albums of Taiwan (1975 – 1993),” this album was ranked number one. Luo’s second album “The Protagonist of the Future” is even more mature and its lyrics were later included in school textbooks. Luo was controversial and was called a “protestor.” But his third album “Home” was a surprising return to his roots. Home, homeland, and parent’s love have been a structural theme throughout his music since then.

Under too many demands from supporters and attacks from the other side, Luo left Taiwan and moved to New York in 1985 and then settled in Hong Kong in 1987. Living abroad made him not only think about Taiwan but also the entire Chinese race. He came back with one of his best albums, “Comrade Lover.” Luo established his studio Music Factory and released a string of more ambitious albums, “Queen’s Rd East,” “Yuan Xiang (Original Land),” and “Capital.” These albums coincidently used three geographic terms in Hong Kong, Taiwan, and the Mainland as their title. They touched upon China’s history, reality and destiny. They’re not as successful as Luo’s early works in term of commercial and artistic values, but they’re a bold experiment and valuable records for everyone who lived in that era.

Luo is no longer as prolific as before. But he can always give his followers a surprise. I consider his newest 2-CD album “Beautiful Island” to be his third best album. And his performance with friends in this year’s New Year Gala, the most watched show in China every year, brought back a lot of happy memories for the audience.

Mainland’s music development came later than Taiwan’s. Their music is much harder and stronger. Like Taiwan, the Mainland has many singers who use their guitar and voice to document what they see and how they think. But their approach is noticeably different from their Taiwanese cousins. While Taiwanese singers observe and tell people’s stories, the Mainlanders often tell their own stories to reflect the society. They are extremely candid, more involving and more personal. This creates a warm feeling. By listening to their music, you simply know them. Luo Dayou is a master, while Mainland rock musicians are heroes.

To understand more on Mainland music movement, please read my previous article “The Origins of Chinese Rock Music”.

Hong Kong is the most Westernized place among the three. Meanwhile it has become the stronghold of Cantonese culture. The best voice from Hong Kong is Faye Wong. I find it impossible to describe her character. If I had to choose one word to explain what attracts me, I would say “longing” – her longing for something that is so beautiful and precious that it can’t exist in the mundane world. She’s a little mysterious, barely talking about her feelings in the media. She’s extremely popular but doesn’t want to be bothered by others. She’s a little rebellious but not very much, because she doesn’t care about the absurd and ironic outside world after all. She’s happy for small things and doesn’t ask for more, even when she deserves much more. Should I say her life is wasted, or ultimately a healthy attitude to deal with real life? No matter. She can’t be judged.

That longing can only exist when one is living an illusion where nothing is real and nothing lasts. Maybe even Faye herself is an illusion. I can’t tell if what we see in her is her true self or a carefully manufactured persona. But does it even matter? Why don’t we just listen to her songs and enjoy the love in her music.

Faye was a Beijing girl. She moved to Hong Kong when she was 18. The most important man in her life was Dou Wei, her musical partner and first husband. When she moved back to Beijing and lived with Dou Wei in 1996, entertainment reporters from Hong Kong discovered that Faye, the superstar, was living in an old traditional alley that didn’t even have private toilets! There was a pretty woman with a beautiful voice and an attractive man with great talent, who had sacrificed anything for their love. Weren’t they a perfect couple? Faye and Dou Wei had one daughter; but then they later divorced. Dou Wei, a once prominent rock musician, has switched to a totally different domain: traditional instrumental music. Faye married a boring actor and formed a happy family. How interesting.

Taiwanese music is culture. Mainland music is heart. Hong Kong music is illusion. I don’t mean to stereotype them, for they cannot be stereotyped. They salute and enrich each other.

Xidan Book Building, one of the largest bookstores of Beijing, is quite a sight. The four-floor building has endless shelves and aisles packed with books and readers. It can easily keep one awestruck. Just imagine the work behind every book. Every book takes its author several years to finish and then takes editors several months, if not years, to edit and publish. This book superstore displays hundreds of thousands of books, which is only a small fraction of new books published every year in this country. I feel humbled and awed every time I walked into the vast space of this bookstore.

But, for book lovers, there are many different choices beside superstores. Large bookstores are located in commercial districts. They are often too crowded, and despite their huge collections of popular books, they cannot meet everyone’s needs.

On the northwest side of Beijing reside the best colleges and universities of China. There are some distinguished bookstores near the campuses. Two of my favorites are Fengrusong and Wansheng (or All Sages).

They don’t seem distinguished from the outside at all. Fengrusong is located on the underground level of an office building outside of Peking University. Conversely, to enter All Sages, customers have to climb up narrow and steep stairs. It’s the books that make the stores different. Like I said, an average book, perhaps, takes its author several years to complete. But here, many books took a scholar’s lifetime to accomplish. These bookstores are quiet. Their visitors are students and scholars. I once saw a student who was the most shortsighted person I have ever seen in my life. He literally put the book on his nose to read the page, like smelling it. The gesture was imprinted in my memory.

The bonds between the bookstores and their customers are uncommonly strong, which can be reflected in an interesting story I overheard in the dialogue between Liu Suli, the owner of All Sages, and a Japanese publisher,  Kato Keiji.  There was a rumor going around that Mr. Liu was about to close down All Sages and move to the United States. A great uproar ensued. Customers angrily accosted him. “You think,” exclaimed one, “that you can open this store, then close it down whenever you feel like it?” It is exactly that deep connection that encourages Liu. He said, “Clearly, All Sages has become something much bigger than the enterprise of just one individual.”

Fengrusong and All Sages are specialized in certain fields. For those who are not serious readers, there are small bookstores and stands for casual reading. When I was in middle school, the city’s streets had a lot of stalls selling clothes, small electronics, and foods. Book stalls were plenty too. I supposed the owners were not highly educated people, but their collections were decent, from comic books and wuxia novels (a type of fantasy fiction about kung fu society) to poems and economics and stock market analysis. About  10 years ago, those stalls were eliminated from the streets, giving space to sidewalks and lawns. Markets were converted to shopping malls. I can’t say I miss those stalls, but I miss those old days very much. Toward the year’s end, I would go to those stalls with friends to select holiday cards for classmates, in the cold winter winds of Beijing, with a baked sweet potato in my hand.

My nostalgia aside, no one really wants to read books outside in wintertime with numb fingers. However, there are exceptions. Book markets are a good place to get discounted books! Parks have regular book markets for readers. They often happen once a season, and last for one or two weeks. They are not arranged by bookstores, but by publishers, which is one of the reasons for lower prices. On weekends, these markets can be a festival to book lovers. Shopping for books in parks is no doubt a pleasant experience.

There are also some bars called “book bars” that have opened in recent years, which I haven’t visited yet.

I don’t know what will happen to all these places when Internet book sellers arise to dominance. I hope they won’t disappear. I believe readers need bookstores.

      I traveled to Europe this fall. Many times during the trip — when I was walking on La Rambla and it was teeming with people, florist shops, and street performers, when I was eating a piece of pizza bought from a street side shop — I felt so well and so right and couldn’t help comparing America with Europe. Why can’t we have such a life?

      Europeans seem slimmer, happier, and possibly poorer than Americans. Their cars are smaller. They walk and talk to strangers more often than we do.

      In America, streets are mainly for driving. In other countries, streets are primarily for walking.

      In America, wherever we go, we tend to drive. One day when I was driving, I noticed a simple fact that I had often seen but didn’t comprehend before: there was no single human face showing on the street at that moment. We’re living in a city of cars. These cars actually have personality. Some cars are friendly, some are not so much, some are snappy, and some are stocky. Cars are like our shells. We build a shell around us to carry us to a destination. There are no people on the streets, only shells floating around. Does it sound like a “daymare”?

      With cars, we move to suburbs, build a castle called home. Sometimes I even wonder, “Do Americans like people?” Why do we isolate ourselves like this? I prefer a condo or a flat, but I was scared when someone told me it’s a bad investment because they are difficult to sell.

      Every workday during lunch break, we drive to a nearby fast food restaurant, grab a hamburger and a soda, and finish them quickly. We can even eat in the car to save more time. I feel angry about fast food. They cook without thinking. They don’t think how to make food tasty. There are no cooking skills or styles involved whatsoever. They only think about how to make more money out of food.

      Europeans eat in small restaurants with colleagues. They chat and their lunch takes a longer time. Not as efficient. But which life would you call a happy life?

      Population density determines many aspects of life.

      I’m from Asia, a populous continent where people are forced to interact. For example, in college, six to eight students are assigned to the same dormitory and they would live together for several years. (The dorm condition might have improved by now.) I can honestly say that it’s not bad at all, as some might imagine. Strong bonds are built among these students. The power of growing up together is immense. My best friends are from my student years, from elementary school to college.

      Some may ask, but what if a jerk is assigned to be my roommate? In fact, there’re much fewer jerks in the world than we think. If you live with a supposed “jerk” under the same roof for four years, you will discover what makes him laugh and what makes him cry, how he talks to his mom, how he struggles for his dream, how he falls in love, and perhaps how he loses his love.

      During the process, one acquires a better understanding of people. It becomes easier, even a habit, to understand other people’s perspectives. Then we can talk about many things other than sports and weather.

      Population density determines urban shape as well. Suburban neighborhoods cannot afford restaurants and shops in walking distance. Small businesses won’t survive because there’s not enough customers. So people drive farther to find places for eating and shopping. When we get into the car, it doesn’t make a big difference whether we drive five minutes or 15 minutes. So we’ll end up in a warehouse store where parking is easier, and goods are cheaper and plenty. Colorful urban life cannot exist in suburbs, just like one-stop shopping at warehouse stores cannot exist without cars.

      Having complained so much, I don’t mean that I don’t like American life. Between America and Europe, I still prefer living in the U.S. Of course, as a tourist, I tend to admire rather than criticize what I see in Europe. And tourist cities might just look artificially happier than they really are. However, traveling abroad is an enriching experience. Seeing other cultures allows us to reflect on ourselves and see alternative possibilities for the future.

The TV drama series “The Courtyard of the Qiaos” tells the story of Qiao Zhiyong, the most powerful banker in the late Qing Dynasty. In one of his last days, when Qiao had become a slow and old man, he said to his wife, “I had a strange dream last night. I dreamed of this courtyard. There were a lot of strange people in the yard. They looked like us, but they were not us. They spoke Chinese but I could not understand them. They dressed differently and acted differently. I couldn’t recognize who they were.”

That is a well designed ending. The show doesn’t conclude with the end of this character’s life. It sets our eyes on the long history before and after him. The strange people Qiao dreamed about were us, people living today. Qiao knew the country was undergoing dramatic changes and the generations after him would be entirely different. His words raised an interesting question: What has changed since then and what has not?

I like reading classic Chinese poems and stories. I can connect with Chinese ancestry this way, although I am much different. Their time has long gone and can never be reached again. Even the rivers and mountains we live around and love today look different from the land they lived in and loved. I feel so connected, yet so disconnected to them.

Ancient Chinese were very proud of their civilization. They believed they had found the law and pattern of history, and they should follow the mandate of heaven. They believed they lived in the center of the world and wrongly called their neighboring countries “barbarians.” In Emperor Qian Long’s reply to British King George III, he wrote, “You, O King, live beyond the confines of many seas, nevertheless, impelled by your humble desire to partake of the benefits of our civilization, you have dispatched a mission respectfully bearing your memorial. … To show your devotion, you have also sent offerings of your country’s produce. I have read your memorial: the earnest terms in which it is cast reveal a respectful humility on your part, which is highly praiseworthy.”

Qian Long, arguably the second greatest emperor of Qing, might have valid reasons for his confidence and lofty tone. Obviously, he didn’t foresee the future of the island nation living “beyond the confines of many seas.” I don’t know if people are arrogant because they are ignorant, or they become ignorant for they are too arrogant to learn, then and now. I do know that this arrogance led to ultimate corruption and a century of disasters in China. The rest is history.

Today, the Forbidden City has become a public museum. People, like Qiao dreamed, dress differently and act differently. However, has everything really changed? I don’t think so.

Not everyone has read the Four Great Classics, but many know the stories of the four novels. Not many study the text of Confucianism, Buddhism, Taoism, Mohism, and Legalism, but people are familiar with many of their principles and quotations. Their teachings formed the Chinese culture and became the Chinese  language. In particular, the past few years were marked by the rise of “guoxue” (studies of national classics). Indeed, seeking one’s spiritual root is a natural consequence when one is materially satisfied.

The most ideal personality in tradition is called “Junzi”, which can be roughly translated as “gentleman.” What is a Junzi? What is not a Junzi?

Junzi is never about mediocrity. The “Book of Changes” described Junzi’s attitude. The “Book of Changes” is an arcane ancient book; most of its contents can only be comprehended by fortunetellers. Studying the law of the eight basic elements of the world, the book sheds light on what a Junzi should do to follow the profound design of nature. It reads: “Heaven’s movement is ever vigorous, so must Junzi strive without rest. Earth is ever low and stable, so must Junzi bear, with great virtue.”

The philosophy is always about two seemingly opposite yet interrelated things, yin and yang. One must mediate between the two. That is the relationship between Heaven and Earth, and between vigorousness and stability. Junzi is also an “Inner Saint and Outer King,” a harmony between mind and appearance, a consistence of motivation and behavior, and a unity of objective and method.

Junzi never retreats from society. Junzi should bring his ideals to society. Mencius told us, “In obscurity, one should pursue a private moral life. In times of success, one should nurture the world Under Heaven.” Junzi has great ambitions. There is balance between mission and personal life, too. Not everyone has the capability and opportunity to realize his ideals, though everyone can at least live a moral life and stand on their principles.

Junzi is not simply about being nice and caring. In the Analects of Confucius, someone asked Confucius, “What do you say concerning the principle that injury should be recompensed with kindness?” A common response to injury is often “an eye for an eye,” though should enlightened person treat viciousness with kindness? Confucius replied, “With what then will you recompense kindness?” Treating everyone equally with kindness is a common pitfall and logically a misconception. Doing that, one removes the line between right and wrong, and essentially loses moral standards. Confucius then pointed out the third choice. The Master said, “Recompense injury with justice, and recompense kindness with kindness.”

Reading the classics is a pleasure. Some universal questions, about life and death, about humanity and society, eternally puzzle every generation. I always feel puzzled. Our ancestry had their answers. These answers can be a guide to a peaceful and meaningful life in a very different world, too.

May 12, 2008, Sichuan. It was a common Monday just like any other day. In an elementary school, teacher Wu was conducting a class. In a resident apartment, Mr. Wang and his wife were watching a DVD. He just returned from work in another province. The couple were enjoying the precious moment of being together. In streets, cab drivers were complaining about the traffic. Somewhere in the city, a young mom was looking at her newborn baby. The baby was only 4 months old, as tender as dew in the morning.

They didn’t know their lives would be forever changed, and that many of them would never see the blue sky again.

At 2:28 p.m., a magnitude 8 earthquake struck Wenchuan county of Sichuan …

Tens of thousands perished in the catastrophe. I have seen heart-wrenching pictures from Sichuan. I saw so many that I decided I could not see any more. The sorrow had somehow sunk in, and has become not only a part of my news reading, but a part of my life. Every day I woke up, I would feel that day as different from yesterday. And there are some other pictures haunting my mind, the pictures of the moment before the earthquake, of the ordinary folks we see every day. The disaster changed their lives, and it changed me too. It made me believe in people. I didn’t know these people were heroes inside. They are the people I can count on, they will come to save me when I am in danger, even at the risk of their own lives, and I would do the same for them.

When the earthquake struck, teacher Wu carried his students from the classroom to the ground. But when he realized that a few students had been left behind, he rushed back without hesitation. He sacrificed his life to save his students. Many teachers made the same choice. Rescuers found students under the protection of their teacher’s body. The teachers were Tan Qianqiu, Zhang Miya, Yuan Wenting …

Mr. and Ms. Wang were buried under rubble. In tremendous pain and desperation, the couple supported each other. They whispered about their life and their daughter, about the moment when they first met, and what they would do when they got out alive. The only thing giving them hope to hang on in the endless darkness was love. They were rescued the next day.

The mom of the four-month old was buried with her baby. She shielded him with her own body. When they were discovered by rescuers, she had died while her baby survived. People found a message to the child in the mom’s cell phone. It read, “If you can survive, always remember that I love you.”

Her love, and the love of many who died or survived, will be remembered. On May 19, a week after the earthquake, the whole country of China held a moment of silence. Time seemed frozen. Cars came to a halt. A billion people stood silent for three minutes, while the only sound in the air was sirens. The citizens gathered in the square of Sichuan capital were holding hands. After the mourning, however, they rallied, “Be strong! Go, China, Go!” Witnessing the solidarity, unyielding spirit, and commonly seen altruism, a reporter wrote, “The earth broke open, but rifts between hearts are healed.”

Within two hours after the earthquake, Prime Minister Wen Jiabao had arrived in Chengdu from Beijing. During the days and nights of the crisis, he proved to be the best prime minister since Zhou Enlai. More than 100,000 soldiers were mobilized, including parachute troopers who entered the towns in mountain areas that were completely cut off from rescue due to landslides. At the end of a CNN interview with a village’s local authority, the reporter asked the official if his own family was okay. He shook his head, weeping, and then returned to his work. Many local firefighters, police, doctors and nurses who had lost their own family worked around the clock to help others. They didn’t have time to mourn, to rest, or even to think about what had happened. The only thing on their minds was to save lives and fulfill their duties.

Disaster relief is always a duty of the government and sometimes of the army too. But this time, the entire nation joined the effort. According to eyewitnesses, “Within hours, people rushed to rescue. Blood donation lines ran for a hundred yards, and people waited hours to donate blood. Within 24 hours, all major blood banks ran out of storage space. The highway to the earthquake-struck city of Dujiangyan was almost jammed one hour after the quake; not by people fleeing the aftershocks, but by volunteers, led by over a thousand taxi drivers, who came from Chengdu to rescue.” In an online discussion, when asked by anxious people whether they needed more hands, a volunteer actually politely refused, “We have enough people. Please do not come if you are not a trained rescuer, because volunteers, too, will consume water, which is in shortage now.”

China was not alone in the disaster relief efforts after the quake.The seismic waves was literally felt as far as Thailand and Russia. People across the globe provided great help to China, including monetary donation and other forms of aid. Taiwan, a longtime political rival of China, promised a heartwarmingly huge donation of $65,000,000. South Korea, Russia and other countries sent in rescue teams. Australia, Finland, India, Japan, Korea, Malaysia, Norway, Saudi Arabia, Turkey, and many other countries sent significant donations for disaster relief. Many of them are not rich countries, and many are far away from Asia, but they all extended helping hands. The U.S., too, offered a $500,000 donation.

The month was a very difficult and painful time for every Chinese. We saw flattened cities, ruined homes, heartbreaking sacrifices, and lost lives. The earthquake was a trauma for the nation. When Premier Wen visited surviving students, he wrote a Chinese classic teaching on the chalkboard, “Distress rejuvenates a nation.” That is the spirit needed to rebuild our homes.

About 30 years ago, finding a foreigner who spoke Chinese was akin to a miracle. Now, the number of foreigners speaking Chinese is growing, as many people venture to China for study, work, or travel. Nearly 50 million tourists visit China every year. More than 50,000 Koreans live Beijing. In a small commodity-wholesale city Yiwu, about 10 thousand foreigners are doing business. Half of them are from the Middle East. I am not sure of the exact number of foreigners living in China. However, from figures mentioned above, the total number is conceivably large.

These people come to China for various reasons and have been a positive and constructive part of the society. I always feel grateful for their contribution. They are curious about the country, its history, and its people. In like manner, the Chinese are curious about them, too.

I’ll talk about two such people. Coincidently, they are both Australians.

People call the two best cinematographers “Northern Gu and Southern Du”. Northern Gu is Gu Changwei, who lives in Beijing and is a long time partner of Zhang Yimou. Southern Du is Du Kefeng of Hong Kong, who has worked on a wide range of films and is most famous for his contribution to films directed by Wong Kar-wai, my most favorite Hong Kong director. Du Kefeng, which means “like the wind” (I wish I had a name like that), is the Chinese name of Christopher Doyle.

I have long known Du Kefeng because I often saw his name listed as a cinematographer in movies. But I didn’t know he is White until I saw “Comrades, Almost a Love Story”, a movie in which he played a small role as a drunken English teacher. When I saw him on the screen, I was totally confused. “So, Du Kefeng is not Chinese?” Maybe Doyle himself is puzzled by his identity too. He once joked about himself being “a Chinese with some skin disease” (referring to his white skin).

Doyle spent much of his youth travelling the world. He was a cowherd in Israel, a well-digger in Indian, a doctor of Chinese medicine in Thailand. He studied at the University of Hong Kong and then joined the art sphere. The shining list of directors he has worked with is enviable to any cinematographer: Edward Yang in Taiwan, Wong Kar-wai in Hong Kong, Zhang Yimou, Chen Kaige, and Zhang Yuan in Beijing. He partially defined, and is partially defined by, the films of Wong Kar-wai, which are distinguished for vanguard camera angles and movements, stylish colors, and manipulation of film speed . In Doyle’s camera, the city and people of Hong Kong, from the sixties to the nineties, are so charming and unforgettable.

Another Australian who speaks fluent Chinese and caught my interest recently is the Prime Minister of Australia, Kevin Rudd. An interesting exchange took place during the Boao Forum for Asia, a world leader and entrepreneur summit held annually in Boao. After the President of Kazakhstan gave a surprise speech in Chinese, the host of the meeting thanked him for the great speech. He then turned to Rudd, who had been an active and popular speaker because of his proficient Chinese. “Kevin, you’ve got a serious challenger this year,” The host warned.

Rudd majored in Chinese language and history. Using Chinese concepts and vocabulary makes his speeches more influential among a Chinese audience. In his speech to students at Beijing University in April, Rudd suggested building a relationship of “zheng-you” between Australia and China.  He said,
A true friend is one who can be a “zhengyou”, that is a partner who sees beyond immediate benefit to the broader and firm basis for continuing, profound and sincere friendship. In other words, a true friendship which “offers unflinching advice and counsels restraint” to engage in principled dialogue about matters of contention. It is the kind of friendship that I know is treasured in China’s political tradition. It is the kind of friendship that I also offer China today.

People often judge outsiders with the question “Are you with us or against us?” They are unlikely to compromise under realistic or perceived pressures and threats. A genuine behavior change can only be achieved through reason from within, rather than dictation from the outside. What Rudd meant was, “We’re with you in principle, but may disagree with you on many specific matters.” He appeared as a partner and a helper, not a lecturer. China needs help and has a lot to learn from other countries, especially developed countries. Rudd’s words, citing the tradition of zhengyou, are easier for his audience to understand, and help remove the doubts about the motives of criticisms from the West. Rudd’s effort to lay a foundation of mutual understanding and trust is a good step toward building a long-term, healthy relationship. The change may not be immediate. But his genuine tone of his speech will be remembered by officials and the public.