SHARING UMBRELLAS AND NOT TAKING TOO MUCH UMBRAGE
A look back at China during the forward-looking times of reform and opening up
A note to readers: Currently taking a break from the incessant coverage of TV coverage and stepping back from both Chinese politics and US politics for a change of pace. At the moment I’m on the road with the wind on my back and trying to get some work done on a novel.
SHARING UMBRELLAS AND NOT TAKING UMBRAGE
Philip Cunningham
The present condition of US-China relations is tense and troubled. Given the dark clouds gathering on the horizon and the winds of change, it looks like a long, hard rain is gonna fall.
No one can, with complete accuracy, predict the weather, let alone the future, but state-to-state relations have reached such a state that even kinetic conflict is not out of the question, and if things are to go that way, the world as we know it is done for. Even if sensible minds prevail and open conflict is avoided, the erosion of goodwill and undoing of constructive ties that were painstakingly built up over half a century will continue apace.
At a time such as this, it is worth taking a look at sunnier days, dating back to the 1980s, when Americans and Chinese first got to know one another after a very long hiatus marked by revolution and ideological polarization. Emerging from the daze of the Cultural Revolution and Cold War politics, the US and China reconnected and plunged enthusiastically into cultural exchange, business and trade.
Looking back it was a short golden age. It’s not that there weren’t difficulties during the genesis of reform and opening up, but traveler’s tales attest to wells of good will, a can-do attitude and a willingness to resolve or reduce conflict. Some of the effervescent attitude led to resourceful, makeshift solutions to otherwise intractable problems, a central aspect of which was a slightly anarchic willingness to bend rules in the name of friendship and getting things done.
When China first started to open up nearly everything had a rough edge to it; it was not a time of seamless convenience or creature comforts, let alone luxury. It was a brisker, simpler time, a time when a poor, abused, confused but forward-looking populace was sufficiently imbued with good will and big dreams to tentatively welcome the world in.
The folksy hospitality was often awkward and rustic, which was somehow fitting with the tenor of the times when the very concept of refined, first-class service was repugnant, sort of like a bad joke, or an oxymoron for people still in recovery from the cataclysmic class warfare of previous decades. To be sure, foreigners enjoyed better accommodations and greater access to better quality goods than ordinary locals in the 1980’s, but even the best hotels, restaurants and travel destinations were hard-pressed to offer anything above no-frills basics, and sometimes even the basics were lacking.
When the Great Wall Hotel first opened in the early 1980s, it had all the appearances of a Western mega hotel dropped in from the sky, enough to attract the admiring stares of locals, but shiny looks, thick carpets and chrome detailing can be deceptive. The fancy revolving restaurant didn’t revolve, and my lasting memory of an expensive French meal paid for in Foreign Exchange Certificates was watching one black-clad waiter open a bottle of Coke with his teeth while the other waiter asked if he could practice English with me while I waited for my ersatz French meal.
Despite the missteps and misapprehensions, funny stories abound and good will still reigned supreme.
Little gestures went a long way, whether it be a shared watermelon on a street corner, a cup of home-brewed tea, or even a cigarette, that was pre-lit and placed in the mouth of the esteemed foreign guest before said guest could protest and sputter, ‘no thanks, I don’t smoke!’
The rail network, then as now, was the transportation backbone of the nation, but one had to navigate a baffling array of choices--hard seat, soft seat, hard sleeper, soft sleeper—with the caveat that foreign cash or FEC certificates could access better service and even tickets on a sold-out train. The train journeys were ponderously long it those days, it was possible to spend several days on a train crossing the country, but if one was lucky enough to secure a bunk it was a comfortable journey in sturdy carriages in which foreigners and locals could mix and meet in a way that was still difficult on the outside.
Thus it stirs considerable nostalgia, recognition and empathy to listen to the accounts of Americans such as Melinda Liu, David Moser, Roberta Lipson and others who have been recently profiled for a documentary series called “Living History: Stories from the Opening of China.”
The interview series, produced by Christian Petersen-Clausen and Wu Yuxiao, offers a glimpse back into what, in retrospect, appears to be a kinder, simpler time.
Individuals profiled to date include journalists, academics, and, for lack of a better term, “old China hands” all of whom have experiential chops and emotion-laden memories of navigating China at the dawn of what might truly be considered a golden age in US-China relations.
Melinda Liu, who went to China in 1980 to report for Newsweek, recalls the days when it was probably an advantage to be “young, inexperienced and naïve.” Back then, the Beijing Hotel was the best in town, but predictably full, so she had to settle for a lesser hotel that turned out to have a bat flying around the bedroom. She recounts the travails of days when offices and hotel rooms were indistinguishable, and getting on a bicycle to file a story by teletype was state of the art. She sums up the local reception of foreigners, including ethnic Chinese, as being a case of good intentions that sometimes went awry, because the locals “wanted to treat foreigners well but didn’t know how to.”
In “How I translated this book into Chinese Without Computers” University of Michigan budding China scholar David Moser tells a remarkable tale about arriving at Beijing University with a big book translation task at hand. Not just any book, but Douglas Hofstadter’s Pulitzer prize-winning gem, the notoriously delightful but difficult “Gödel, Escher, Bach: an Eternal Golden Braid”
Moser’s experience, like that of the other Americans in 1980s China, is full of false starts, unrealistic hopes, high expectations and surprisingly copacetic results despite the challenges. It was a time when almost anything seemed possible and many almost impossible things actually got done.
Roberta Lipson tells of her 1990s collaboration with a US-returned student Dr. Bing in taking on the “crazy idea” of opening up a private hospital up to international standard, which, despite the odds and disbelief, resulted in the highly successful Beijing United Family Hospital.
A shared mindset of curiosity, naïve ambition, thirst for knowledge and an open mind shines through many traveler’s tales from this period. A good sense of humor, humility and a willingness to forgive petty irritations along the way made it possible to overcome the inevitable obstacles, contretemps, arguments and misunderstandings along the way.
For the intrepid early American visitors to a China in the midst of reinventing itself, even arrest was something that could be dismissed and put in the big-picture perspective of a legal structure in flux. “Living History” includes an episode about American scholarship student Brian Linden that runs under the provocative title, “I was arrested 18x Exploring Rural China.”
The troubles encountered by the adventurous Linden are central to personal myth-making of facing adversity, overcoming it and somehow coming out on top. And yes, he’s still in China and still enjoying it, though it wouldn’t be such a funny thing to be arrested now.
Visiting foreigners, who only a few years previously would have been dubbed imperialists, capitalists and foreign spies, were now dubbed honorable guests and foreign friends, but not everyone got the memo.
As a student and tour guide in 1980s China, I was arrested several times, mostly for travel-related offenses of “entering an area forbidden to foreigners” or being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Not carrying the right kind of papers was a common offense. Although being detained is never trivial, even in the best of circumstances, in those days foreigners generally got off light, and could laugh about it afterwards.
I was arrested in 1986 in the south of Yunnan Province while visiting director Chen Kaige and cinematographer Gu Changwei on the set of “King of Kids.” The story was filmed in the deep countryside, not far from the border of Laos, and officials got very upset seeing me and some British friends poking around in there. We were held for a day, but the local police tasked with detaining and interrogating the outsiders carried out orders only with the greatest reluctance and eventually let us go after some back and forth with the Chinese film crew and the transfer of a bottle of Nescafe Gold instant coffee. It was determined we should be kicked out of the region, but not the country, and then enjoyed a friendly four-hour escorted drive to the nearest “open” area near Kunming.
Indeed, one reason why personal tales of encountering China in the early days are so colorful and captivating is that getting in and out of trouble was a way of life. China itself was in the midst of changing paradigms, so it’s no surprise that visitors sometimes got caught in the shift. Absurd, funny, insane, sad and otherworldly encounters ensued.
The “honorable foreign friend” routine was certainly overdone, but it had real-world consequences. I recall chatting with a newly-wed couple in Hangzhou at the Six Harmonies Pagoda overlooking the Qiantang River when a sudden downpour drenched the park grounds. The couple offered me one of their umbrellas and would not take no for an answer. I protested until the happy groom said, “My darling and I are married now, we need only one umbrella.”
What made the rough patches easier to tolerate in those early days were bold gestures, citizen-to-citizen, such as that. Personal generosity helped make up for the absence of material plenty. Of course there was much puzzlement, and cause for confusion, but the reservoirs of tolerance and resourcefulness were deep.
On the one hand, it was easier to get in trouble, on the other, it was much easier to get out of it.
“Living History” and other reports from the “early days” are well worth a watch. The past is past, but memories of the fleeting US-China historical embrace bring to mind the timeless spirit of unbridled cultural exchange, a time during which lasting friendships were forged.
The effervescent attitudes of the 1980’s stand in stark contrast to the grim bilateral challenges of the present day, but there is continuity, and maybe a little bit of hope to be found in the strange tales of first encounters and the admirable make-shift attempts to bridge the China-American divide.