Help yourself to my "s'more goes blog"! You'll find trackeds and endtrials through S/SE Asia, my Pan-American overland wanderings, SoCal, and always bridges to and through the Middle Kingdom. Expect only occasional updates now from Jets, Journal, Wonder and environs.
July 29, 2006Our Re-Education Vacation
poverty alleviation in rural Anhui Province, China. Part I of "Developing Pains" [Note: This is part one in a three-part expose on the politics and culture of development work in rural China, as witnessed first hand on a Jane Goodall Institute--Shanghai Roots & Shoots project in rural Anhui Province, July 2006. View my original diary entries here. View my expose outline here]. Read Part II: The Faces of Diplomacy Stay tuned for Part III: Coming Out  The headmaster greeted us with his round face, wide-set eyes and hunched frame all a-twitter. "They're here," he called as we got off our tour bus. His helium balloon voice, his hiked-up pants, and goofy grin made me feel like we were a group of Dorothies being greeted by the Mayor of Munchkin Land. We were--after several hours on a bus traveling by terraced fields down winding mountain roads--far from home.Our first lunch in Tian Tang Zhai Town would set the tenor of the trip. (Note that in China, a town is a higher government designation than a village, and therefore an important distinction). We had our fill of unnamable wild local plants. The town's only journalist singled me out, and said he'd written a story about the town's first first foreign visitor, a wayward backpacker who stumbled through in 1997. Except for me, no one mixed with the locals. Some in our group even spoke Shanghainese, which is almost impossible for outsiders to understand.  We were 30 people: Seven interns/staff and 23 high school and university student volunteers. We were art teachers, English teachers, natural science teachers, music teachers, two intern doctors, two chefs, and our leader, who barked orders into her walkie-talkie between smiles.From Tian Tang Zhao Town, we left paved roads on tractor trucks loaded with our gear: 30 sleeping bags over three stone bridges; 30 pairs of camouflage pants from our days of military training in Pudong (Shanghai); 30 cameras for creating reverse casts of analog life; 30 backpacks with five changes of Roots & Shoots T-shirts; and 30 notebooks for writing diaries and recording the demographic data of Yang Shang Village, a political designation with 1,200 people spread out over 280 square kilometers of muddy mountain trails. The poorest of the citizens don't pull in more than 700 RMB ($87US) per year. Yes, a family living on less than 25 cents per day.  About a third of the 1,200 inhabitants of Yang Shan Village greeted us with a clanging band of Chinese percussion instruments, flags, and firecrackers. We unloaded, leaders assembled, and I got asked to join them at the table in front of the student body. This was not the first time I'd won the "Most Obvious Foreigner" award, but it was the first time I'd been introduced as "Mr. Qiao Shuhua from the University of California San Diego, the first foreigner to visit our village." Then there was silence and all the leaders turned their gaze to me. I slowly realized the full extent of this Hitchcockian scenario, and rose to address my audience, feeling my face turn a brighter shade of pink. I took a deep breath and thanked the leaders for their gracious introduction. Then I pointed out that there were also two less obvious foreigners, both of Chinese descent, but from Singapore and Australia. They had passed as Chinese for our military training exercises. To these local officials--and most Chinese--those two foreign passport holders are not foreigners.After our project manager handed over the giant fake 100,000RMB check to the headmaster, local workers started digging the foundations of the school and we began getting orders. Sweep out the classroom where we're sleeping, wash the bamboo mats we're sleeping on, make a shower out of cardboard and bamboo mats, take roll and introduce yourselves to the kids in the classrooms with dirt floors and real slate chalkboards.  Volunteers carried out our leader's orders to fumigate our sleeping quarters with all speed. They shut windows and sprayed chemicals. I protested to our leader, saying this action was useless, seeing as there were no screens on the windows (which we would soon open) and there were huge cracks in the doors. That evening we had a meeting, and our manager used tactics to quell dissent and ensure that her orders were being carried out without question. It was as good natured as a chewing out session can be, and a good lesson in Chinese management tactics. Or perhaps a parody of a cultyral rev-l-tion re-education trip. Life was not easy in Yang Shan Village, but it wasn't as if we were going to be gunned down by Nationalists if we disobeyed orders. (This part of Anhui, after all, was an important tactical area for the Communist forces). And no one was being forced to do re-education through hard labor. No one from our group but me helped the locals dig foundations, which surprised me. We maintained our class distinctions. As with that first dinner in the village, we maintained our distance. At times it felt like we were in another country. And then I realized that there were no young people our age. We were surrounded by young mothers, children, and the elderly. The reasons for that would become apparent later on.  I asked at one of our first nightly meetings, as politely as I could, and in my best Mandarin, for members of our group to think carefully about some standard development questions, like: What do we modernizers represent? Are we presenting our ideals as "better" than the local ideals? Or are they the same? Do we know what's best for the people in this community? Are we creating a culture of dependency? Are we giving them what they need or are we giving them what we think they need?In some ways, I think our ideals coincided nicely. Everyone in modern China wants to get rich. Most of the villagers complained about being too poor. It seemed they wanted to get rich without taking stock of what they have. You can't deny the poor a middle class lifestyle just because you're bogged down or guilty about your own material glut. As far as creating a culture of dependency, we would have to see. Our biggest concerns that evening were finding mobile phone signals, getting a place to sleep, and dealing with insects.       I woke the next day with a sore throat, probably from the bug spray. I set out to achieve victory on two fronts: 1) get them to stop spraying, and 2) empty my bowels, no matter the smell or fear that had been cultivated in Shanghai of "accidentally falling in." I braved the toilet, and a villager joined me. I felt like Gandhi, who had no qualms about defecating with a small audience. The smell, as I argued to grossed out Shanghainese, was actually better than most Shanghai Internet Bar toilets. (sorry, enough potty talk). If you want to see for yourselves, click on the Youtube link here: The second victory came as I pressed for more "democrazy" in our leadership. I was avoiding exhaustion in the shade by our group leader when she gave the order to spray the room for bus. "But," I argued all the above-mentioned points about why fumigating the room was useless as she agreed to my logic and did nothing to stop them from spraying. "But," echoed the second tier of leadership, "the order has already been given. You'd better think tactics. Talk to her when she's in an air conditioned bugs." Since there was not going to be another air conditioned bus for quite some time, I simply upped my pressure. By the third day, no more fumigation. According to the 3rd tier, our leader was sick of arguing with me. If you're friends with the leaders, you can get what you want. Our luck with the local leaders would be less than what I had achieved within our group. As time passed, it became even less clear that our monetary aid was going to those who need it most.  Read Part II: The Faces of Diplomacy Stay tuned for Part III: Coming Out    Comments:
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