The Cultural Revolution Complex in Contemporary Chinese Art

…How the once brutal real suffering has now become romantic imaginary suffering
By Chen Dehong

[Note: I find the author's summary and criticism of contemporary Chinese art from the late 1970s to present involving the Cultural Revolution extremely interesting and well-formed. Translated with occasional comments (in italic) and annotation added. Original post is slightly longer with a few more images shown. – Xujun] (XNZKZXA4YWZH)

"x/x/1968, snowing" by Cheng Conglin (1979)

The Cultural Revolution ended 30 some years ago, but contemporary Chinese art continues to make a matter of it, as if it wouldn't be contemporary if the CR were not addressed. Reflections on, or utilization of, the CR requires a serious analysis.

1. "Scar Art" Launched the First Wave Displaying the CR

It marked the starting point of China's contemporary art.

"Why" by Gao Xiaohua (1978)

Representative works include Cheng Conglin's "x/x/1968, Snowing," Gao Xiaohua's "Why" and other works reflecting "armed fighting." He Duoling produced "Youth" in the 1980s, which became the epilogue of that wave. Scar art's attention to the CR has artists' commemorating and lamenting their brutal youth; though more of individual experiences, it was in tune with the time's rethinking. Scar art lacks deep reflection on the CR; it uses victim pathos to touch the audience, but is only superficial in its rethinking. At that time this was already difficult and valuable, but its obvious limitations come to show as time goes by.

[I don't completely agree – I view those works as deeper than most of their later counterparts. I still remember how, as a college student, I first saw He Duoling's oil painting "We Once Sang This Song", and how the feeling of shock it caused in me lasted for years. There wasn't  obvious "victim pathos" in that painting, only the scene of a bunch of young "zhi-qing" – city youth sent down to the countryside – singing a song, yet its impact was profound.  –  Xujun]

"We Once Sang This Song" by He Duoling (1980)

2. Early Trend of Modern Art in Reflecting CR

Part of the works in the "Stars" art exhibition [in 1980] criticized the CR's totalitarianism from a democratic perspective; the "Great House Head" series produced by southwest "stream of life" artist Mao Xudong echoed this trend. They touched the core issue of the CR, that is, the intrinsic connection between the CR and China's feudal dictatorships. This trend clashed with the mainstream ideology then; its artistic method is symbolic and metaphoric. This also reflected the sprouting of democratic awareness in the 1980s' ideological liberation movement.

(title and author unknown) "Idol" by Wang Keping (1979)

"Great House Head" by Mao Xuhui (1991)

3. Utilization of CR Symbols in Political Pop Art

This is represented by Wang Guangyi and Zhang Xiaogang.   Wang Guangyi's work directly borrows from posters of the "great criticism" era. It is a kind of commemoration of an unforgettable past; however, in reality, the big shift to a market economy makes that past more and more remote.  Wang Guangyi forcefully pulls that past back in sight, but he also realizes the irreconcilable conflict between the two. Is it a better choice to have Coca-Cola advertisements replace "great criticism" posters? [Good question.] It is difficult for us to give a positive answer. Wang Guangyi's work reflected the Chinese people's bafflement.

"Great Criticism" by Wang Guangyi (2003)

Zhang Xiaogang's "Big Family" series entered Chinese's collective subconscious. These yellowed old pictures induce a melancholic mood of nostalgia, like the melody of an old phonograph record that can't be waved away. This category of political pop art has been mistakenly interpreted as an insinuation of China's political reality, and improperly analogized with ex-USSR's political pop art, by some Westerners. [Interesting.]

"Big Family" by Zhang Xiaogang (1993)

 4. Satire Use of CR Images in Cynical Realism and Vulgar Artwork

The 1989 rumpus [i.e., the Tiananmen massacre] is the background of those works, which focus on China's social reality rather than historical rethinking. They have been labeled as "post 89", and show a political attitude through teasing those once sacred political symbols and images. In dispelling the lofty and disassembling grand narratives, they show a kind of criticalness; however such criticalness is more like a seasoning spice, its cynical attitude refuting serious thought. Thus these works often reduce to a superficial teasing of ideology, their awkward status of "embassy art” based on denying one ideology while having to rely on a different ideological pivot. [Well said.]
 

5. Post-80 Generation's Utilization of CR Images

The post-80 generation was born in the reform era after the CR, and they don't have the direct experience of CR like the "zhi-qing" (the sent-down youth) and Red Guards did. To them the CR was an incomprehensible comedy. CR symbols are cool extraordinary fashion as well as the art market's popular Chinese card. Using their familiar cartoon style to treat the CR symbols becomes those artists' common strategy.

6. Commercial Interest

Driven by commercial interests, the opportunistic use of CR symbols is largely a petty speculation of the art market. Those works completely lack the spirit and point of cultural criticism; all they present is shallow consumption and desire.

7. Middle-Aged Artists' Rethinking and Recalling

The 30^th anniversary of the end of the CR [in 2006] was a symbolic time. The CR was again remembered. As a reflection of the society's mentality, the impulse to nail the coffin and give a final assessment of the CR is understandable.  Furthermore, the mainstream ideology's meticulous avoidance caused a backfire. The rethinking of the CR from middle-aged intellectuals broke through personal experience and rose to historical significance, restoring that history's heaviness and tragic nature. However, this rethinking more often than not stopped at ceremonial commemoration, not raising new questions, and often encounters a double misread from both power and capital.

Xu Weixin's "Chinese Historical Figures: 1966-1976," Sui Jianguo's "The Legacy Mantle," and Liu Yong's "Comrades" etc. are representative of this trend.

"Comrades" by Liu Yong (2006)

Conclusion

The Cultural Revolution was China's most enthusiastic and dreamy time, and it was also a time of broken dreams. In our lofty sentiments and happiness under brilliant sunshine, what we lived through was actually an unprecedented catastrophe. Contemporary new Confucians view the cleft in Chinese culture as formed by the May 4^th movement [in 1919], but in fact following May 4^th was a period of cultural prosperity with all-inclusive cultural trends and thought schools, which established the foundation of modern Chinese culture. But in the Mao era, especially during the CR, we abandoned traditional culture and denied foreign culture, everyone taking pride for being a rough uneducated person, culture falling into a deep abyss. That, was the real cleft of Chinese culture. […]

Today the CR remains a carefully guarded topic. The CR is far from entering history and still linked in a thousand ways to present China. Politics is an art of compromise. Deng Xiaoping oversaw Chinese society's rapid transmission to a new track without getting overly entangled with past issues. Today, despite China's great economic progress, it still faces huge pressure in its development as well as severe social conflicts.   Though the CR has ended for 30 years, historical truth still hasn't been completely revealed. It is not yet time to deliver the final assessment. Temporary avoidance is the practical choice for the incumbent party; however for intellectuals as a collective to rethink the CR is not necessarily a conflict. The first requirement, for such rethinking to have significance and strength, is that it must reach the level of rational historical judgment.

In the post-CR era, in China's art field, the CR has gradually changed from a serious social tragedy to an entertaining comedy for a consumer society. How we commemorate the CR today is a question Chinese can't avoid!!!  Fu Lei once said, "Only real suffering, is capable of driving out romantic imaginary suffering; only the brave tragedy of overcoming suffering, can help us to bear brutal fate; only when we hold the spirit of 'If not I to hell, then who?', can a dispirited and selfish nation be saved."  Fu Lei committed suicide in the CR; he took the hellish way to warn and try to save the nation he loved. However, he would not know that the once brutal real suffering has now become a romantic imaginary suffering, and what a dispirited and selfish soul today's Chinese have. [A powerful statement.]

The Cultural Revolution：unable to get around；not daring to face up;  no way to dispel; unwilling to forget；a thousand contradicting and complex feelings buried in the heart.#

Past and Present Significance of the Cultural Revolution

by Michael Geracie  

[Introduction: I am very impressed and touched by this essay, written by a college senior in Physics. Not only is it well-written, but it demonstrates the discerning eyes of a thoughtful reader.  It gives me hope for the young generation. In addition to Michael's carefully laid-out analysis of the stories and characters, which is very interesting, please pay special attention to his conclusion, which catches the nuance of one of the book's main themes. Posted with permission. -- Xujun]

In Apologies Forthcoming, Xujun Eberlein presents a number of perspectives on the Cultural Revolution. In “Disciple of the Masses,” the reader observes the changing personal meaning of the Cultural Revolution in Shanzi as she realizes a more sophisticated view of her place in China’s political and economic framework. Belatedly, “She saw a reality that would never be taught in school. Sorrow overtook her, and she whispered to no one, ‘I’m sorry…’”. In “Disciple,” this new insight is lost forever, but in “Second Encounter,” the reader is shown how this realization of shame creates both tentative hope and enduring difficulties for all who live with its memory. The author explores the Cultural Revolution’s significance not only across social and gender boundaries, but also across time, illustrating a dynamic picture of meaning that helps the reader understand the Cultural Revolution both as an immediate experience, and as a shared historical tragedy with current and future implications.

In the closing of the book, Wei Dong notes “only those who survive the waste can understand”, and indeed, in “Disciple of the Masses,” Eberlein presents a detailed and messy picture of understanding in transformation, catalyzed by an environment of unremitting tragedy. In the course of the chapter, Shanzi’s confident commitment to revolution develops into a more sophisticated appreciation of the social, political, and economic conflicts within China. However, her story is also characterized by a singular resistance to this change, as Shanzi becomes an unwitting perpetrator of tragedy before recognizing it in the lives of those around her.

Interestingly, Shanzi is portrayed as a highly observant individual. She repeatedly notes the telling details of life in Lily Village, the evidence of suffering. However, her capacity for observation is neutralized by her inability or unwillingness to analyze her environment. When Shanzi first encounters Secretary Xia, she can immediately tell he “had never worked in the fields”. Yet, late into the chapter, she’s still hesitant to view his treatment of the villagers as unfair. Even after nearly a year of observation, “she needed more time to think” before accepting the existence of the social conflict she’s beginning to see.

This superficial nature is immediately apparent in the reader’s introduction to Shanzi. When Mr. Tan asks her why she is being sent to the countryside, he effectively probes her understanding of her role in current events. Again, Shanzi’s interpretation is shallow; she doesn’t even understand the point of asking, as the movement is “mandatory”. While certainly aware of her situation, she does not question or analyze, simply accepting what she’s told to do. Once in Lily Village, her initial ignorance, though understandable, is highly reluctant to give way. Eberlein’s division of the chapter into “seasons” reminds the reader of the sheer amount of time passed, and Shanzi’s delay comes across as even more striking. As soon as the “Summer” marker passes, the reader is aware Shanzi has spent at least two full seasons immersed in peasant life, yet is asking for expensive delicacies and wildly inappropriate questions such as, “do you always have watery gruel?” When Zhou Sixth mentions “public rice eaters” affinity for lotus root, Shanzi’s response “I like them too” shows she does not yet view herself as part of the crisis of want surrounding her.

"Youth" (oil paining by my friend He Duoling)

Shanzi’s eventual realization of the social and economic conflicts surrounding her is thus accompanied by the shock that she’s been a part of them all along. When “the caveman” begins to breach Shanzi’s carefully constructed worldview, she initially refers to an enemy “they,” responsible for China’s deterioration. The correction to “us” profoundly disturbs Shanzi. For her, as with many of the characters in Apologies Forthcoming, the lessons of the Cultural Revolution do not only change their view of the times, or of China, but bear deep personal significance and abiding pain. In the end, “I’m sorry” apologizes not only for informing Secretary Xia of Lily Village’s grain production, but for being part of oppression she didn’t understand.

In “Disciple of the Masses,” Shanzi’s experience is a tragic example of not only loss of potential, symbolized by the unsolved Goldbach’s Conjecture, but loss of memory and learning. However, Wei Dong carries a similar realization to the present, giving him the opportunity to consider the meaning of the Cultural Revolution to both himself and future generations with no direct memory of it. In particular, Wei Dong’s experience in “Second Encounter” shows the enduring difficulties of those that survived the Cultural Revolution. Even before Wei Dong encounters Zhang, he expresses fear of a “mainlander who would not hesitate to lay ambush for a fellow Chinese”. Though Wei Dong seems a model of forgiveness and change, his memory of the Cultural Revolution haunts him with anxiety and mistrust.

In light of Wei Dong’s concerns over future generations repeating the catastrophe of the Cultural Revolution, his difficulty in discussing the past is quite threatening. In his final ruminations, Wei Dong mentions how passing through the Cultural Revolution may have been necessary to understand his own ignorance. However, shortly thereafter, he decides to stop thinking about it. Though he recognizes the necessity of remembering his shame, he is nonetheless quite resistant to actually doing so. This is more powerfully demonstrated throughout his discussions with Zhang. Despite Zhang’s openness, Wei Dong is reluctant to share any information, or even partake in the meal. When Zhang asks Wei Dong for his motivation in freeing him, Wei Dong deflects the question.

Thus, though Apologies Forthcoming shows hope for the future, that hope is portrayed dubiously, as the understanding requisite for future progress is necessarily accompanied by shame. While the shame itself may be a positive influence, the magnitude of the crimes of the Cultural Revolution enhances it to such an extent so as to choke Wei Dong’s attempts to discuss it. When current events remind Wei Dong of his own crimes, “his hands sweat cold”. As distant as the Cultural Revolution may be in place and time, its memory still bears acute significance, enough so to elicit a physical reaction.

At the same time, Wei Dong possesses a remarkable ability to examine his experience. When Zhang recounts the armed fight ‘8.31’, Wei Dong is clearly tense, checking nearby tables, goosebumps rising from the details. Though his emotions are heightened, his thoughts and questions show him approaching the situation with outward detachment. He patiently waits out Zhang’s dramatic presentation of events, carefully confirming the details. Repeatedly, Wei Dong nonverbally verifies Zhang’s account: his superstition, his numerical accuracy. In a number of instances, Wei Dong assesses the motivations of himself and his team. He also attempts to reevaluate the story’s personal significance, asking Zhang if his team killed others after he was freed. Eberlein takes care to note that through all this, Wei Dong holds his cup steadily.

Both “Second Encounter” and “Disciple of the Masses” are stories about realizing the painful realities of the Cultural Revolution. The opening quote connects the stories in this way. Between the two, Eberlein presents the Cultural Revolution as a continuing learning process, viewed from two different times. One story is looking back on the Cultural Revolution while the other lives in it, but both reflect on it. For Shanzi, her newfound awareness is a personal shock,not only upending her scholastic paradigm but elucidating her involvement in the structure of social and economic oppression surrounding her. Even as the surrounding catastrophe enables this realization, it consumes her. However, Wei Dong’s story explores the unique opportunity survivors of the Cultural Revolution have to put these lessons to use. His recognition of his own learning and of the necessity of its continuance show how the Cultural Revolution will and should remain a part of the public consciousness. However, the difficulty with which he endures it exposes lasting challenges to present and future generations. By considering the Cultural Revolution from both perspectives, Eberlein shows its lasting significance and more completely probes its complex meaning to a variety of audiences.

The Oct. 15 "Counter-Revolution" Incident in Chongqing

This is rather bizarre news to me: on October 15, 2009, a "national conference" was held in Wansheng, Chongqing, by the "Chinese Communist Party (Maoist)," or "中国共产党（毛泽东主义）"(简称"毛共"). All (34) attendees were arrested by police. 

I read this in the latest issue of Remembrance, or <记忆>, a Chinese newsletter dedicated to Cultural Revolution (CR) research in China. The above news appeared in a brief report titled "Ten Things in 2009 Related to the CR," because "many of the participants in 'CCP (Maoist)' were Rebellion members during the CR." The CCP (Maoist) "only recognizes CCP's 9^th and 10^th Congresses that were held during the CR; they were arranging the so-called '11^th CCP Congress'."

For the record, the actual CCP's latest Congress was the 17^th, held in October 2007.

I searched the Chinese internet for media coverage, but found only the following two blog posts:

1. "Ten things in 2009 related to CR"  (2009年与文革有关的十件事)

2. "Chongqing's Oct. 15 counter-revolution incident" (重庆1015反革命事件)

The first one is the same report I saw in Remembrance, but the blogger's name, Bai Lei, is different from the byline ("Bian Du") printed in the newsletter. It could be a pen name, I guess.

The second post appeared on a leftist website www.mzdsx.cn, which gives some details of the incident: the participants were "old comrades" and the leader's name was Ma Houzhi; more than 150 armed police suddenly attacked and shots were fired; 24 of the arrested participants were detained for 10 days, and the remaining ten were still in jail waiting to be sentenced. But you have to muddle through its overwhelming CR language to get the details. It's not a pleasant read, I tell you.

Note the term "counter-revolution incident" in the post's title: it does not refer to the conference; it refers to the police raid of the conference. The words sent a shiver through me, as if the Cultural Revolution was coming back all over again.

Who are those people? What are they up to?

When I asked, a Chongqing friend who knew about this told me that the "CCP (Maoist)" has developed two "party groups" (党小组) in Chongqing. All are old factory workers in their 60s- 70s, who had played small roles as Rebellion members during the CR. "You know how muddled those people's minds are?" My friend wrote, "They couldn't even say who 'Teacher Ma' was after being inducted by him into his party, and they just followed him to 'do revolution'! Truly laughable, yet sigh-worthy. On the other hand, it goes to show that Mao's way still has its places at the lower level of society."

Having spent my childhood and part of my youth during the CR, my first reaction to the news was that those people were insane. What for? But I really shouldn't be so surprised. A few years ago when I interviewed ex-Red Guard leaders, one of them, now in his 60s, told me that if he could make enough money he'd build a dissident party truly Marxist-Leninist. The unsaid words: the CCP today aren't really that. I couldn't tell if he was serious or it was just words to impress his audience (me). I'd thought it might be a reflection of nostalgia for his Red Guard youth, a sentiment many other ex-Red Guards displayed during my interviews. Now apparently someone else – some Teacher Ma – was carrying out the idea he was unable to.

Huaxi Village

It was during those interviews in 2006 that I heard, for the first time, of a place called Huaxi Village. The ex-Red Guard who wanted to build a dissident party told me Huaxi Village is an example of true Communism and people there are having a great life. "You must go see it to know what I'm saying," he urged. He got me really curious, and I thought about making the trip. It turned out my younger sister, Maple, an avid traveler, had already visited Huaxi Village at the time. If your purpose is to talk to the villagers, Maple told me, then forget about it. They are not allowed to talk to any outsiders. (That did sound like "true Communism" to me.) Though it was a bit far, I didn't completely give up on the idea of visiting until one day I saw a big photo of the Huaxi Village, in which every house, relatively upscale as they all are, looks exactly the same.

In any case, as a writer I'm still interested in exploring the mentality and motivation of those "CCP (Maoist)" members. Meanwhile, another curious question comes to mind: don't those leftist people have the same human rights as the democratic dissidents do? If so, why haven't I seen any protests against their arrests from human rights groups?

Related articles:

• Mao's Red Guards 40 Years Later -- Victimizers or Victims?
• On Mao’s 114th Birthday, Past Catches Up to Former Red Guard Leader
• Swimming with Mao

Communist Spies at Google China?

Have fun and read this amusing version of the Google predicament story.  Clicking on the Chinese link results in a message "only the author can read this post." Predictably though, a Google search with the Chinese title "google事件真相(ZT)" finds copies on the internet. This time, the copies I saw were on a few Taiwan-based sites.

Did a CCP mole among Google.cn's Chinese employees caused the whole crisis? It sounds plausible. I was almost convinced when I read the English translation last night. However reading the Chinese version today I saw the term "tg" (="土共") in it, and that tells me the post was written by a Taiwanese. A mainland Chinese almost certainly would not use such a term, no matter how strongly he opposes the CCP. This probably also explains why copies of the post have appeared on Taiwan-based websites so far.

In any case, the author could be a good fiction writer. It is an intriging story. To have the original post disappear is also a good way to whet the readers' appitite.

The People vs. Li Zhuang (2009)

The most unusual thing about the Li Zhuang case might be the sharp disparity between local people's reaction and that of the elites around the world.  By now major English media outlets have all reported on Li's sentence of 2.5 years, and almost without exception, questioned the justice of it.

But not the public of Chongqing. Yesterday I got an email from my older sister, a retired clerk living in Chongqing with a teenage son. She wrote, "Lawyer Li Zhuang practices law and breaks the law intentionally, his sentence is too light!" Coincidentally, just that morning I had spoken to a Chongqing friend on the phone. The friend, a senior physician, said that no one he knew had any sympathy whatsoever for Li Zhuang.  "So how do people feel about the crackdown on gangsters?" "All support it of course," he said. He went on to say public security and social order have improved since the crackdown began. As an example, he mentioned a friend's private clinic that he helped to set up. Before the crackdown, the clinic was extorted by gangsters for "protection fees," but those gangsters have disappeared now. He expressed surprise when I mentioned broad sympathy for Li Zhuang outside of Chongqing. "People here don't have good impressions of lawyers in general," he said. "Lawyers care only about money. Who pays more, is who they help."

Personally, I didn't think Li Zhuang's trial and sentence made a lot of sense. The arrest was too hurried and the evidence was weak. It does not bode well for Bo Xilai's image. Realistically, given the lack of judicial independence in China, I did not expect a fair trial. A judge "within the system," no matter how good he is, can't turn the system around overnight. But limiting the harm to society is still possible. Before Li's sentencing on Jan. 8^th, I'd thought there might be a practical way out for the local court, that is, it could deliver a guilty verdict without jail time. I was disappointed, and I thought the judge missed the chance to become a "hero" of some sort.

Now in light of the local people's reaction opposite to what we read in media outside of Chongqing, I realized that the judge might not have merely chosen to be the government's gun. He might have felt that he was indeed doing the right thing for his people.

All this tells me that there is still a long, long way to go for China to become a truly "law-governed society," using the ironical title of the section in China Youth Daily where the first (and biased) report on the Li Zhuang case appeared.

Lawyer's Trial in Chongqing Rivets Public and Tests Chinese Courts

New America Media, news analysis, Xujun Eberlein, Published: Jan. 5, 2010

China's eventful 2009 ended with another controversial episode: a record-length trial in the widely observed case of Li Zhuang, a prominent criminal defense lawyer from Beijing. Li is accused of  fabricating evidence for his gangster client. The trial opened at 9:10 a.m. on December 30 at a local court in the city of Chongqing, with a heated argument between prosecutors and the defense team that lasted for 16 hours. The session adjourned at 1:03a.m. on Dec. 31. No verdict has yet been delivered, and a tense debate between news media, legal circles, and Internet commentators continues.

The Li case might seem minor, but taking place during Chongqing's powerful campaign to crackdown on organized crime, it could set an important precedent. While the prosecution has been criticized by legal experts, there is great local, popular support for a guilty verdict, and the trial’s outcome could affect progress in China toward judicial independence.

The case developed surprisingly fast. On November 22, Li was hired by the wife of alleged organized crime leader, Gong Gangmo, who faced accusations of murder, illegal weapons trade, drug dealing, and running a criminal organization. Li flew from Beijing to Chongqing and met his client three times on Nov. 24, 26, and Dec. 4. According to Li, each time he had arguments with the police who insisted on being present during the interviews.

Eighteen days after Li took on his client, on Dec. 10, Gong reported to the police that his lawyer was trying to fake evidence that he had been tortured. (Gong's action was later commented upon by legal experts as being "extremely unusual." Gong claimed that he did it in order to gain sufficient credit to avoid the death penalty.) Two days later, on Dec. 12, Chongqing police flew to Beijing and arrested Li, where he was visiting Gong’s wife in the hospital. According to reports, he was informing Gong’s wife that he was dropping the case. The next day, Li's arrest was formally approved by Chongqing's Procuratorate.

On Dec. 14, a major national newspaper, China Youth Daily, published the first news report on Li's arrest, written by the chief editor of the paper's "law-governed society" section. The article detailed Gong Gangmo's motivation for reporting on his own lawyer, and how Li obtained high legal fees from Gong – 1.5 million yuan (U.S. $220,000). The report portrayed Li as a greedy and malevolent lawyer. It stated that, on an investigation initiated by the "Chongqing crackdown leadership group," his crime of fabricating evidence and blocking justice had been clearly established by the collaborative work of the police, procuratorate, court, and Judicial Bureau.

The report caused such strong controversial reactions from supporters and contenders alike that the editor was stunned. She was quoted as saying it was, by far, the strongest response "in the 15 years of my journalist career."

Support for the partial report – and Li's arrest – came mainly from Chongqing netizens. To date, the crackdown on gangsters and government corruption has gained the city government and its leader, Bo Xilai, strong popular approval. The overwhelming majority of internet comments from Chongqing expressed anger at Li for "rescuing" a heinous criminal and making big money so doing. They believed that Li acted to impede justice and that he should be punished for it.

On the other hand, the chief voices in Beijing's legal circles, including many law offices and universities' law schools, strongly questioned the legitimacy of the reported evidence and article 306 of criminal law, which provided the basis for Li's arrest. They viewed his conversations with his client as nothing beyond a defense lawyer's standard practice and duty. They criticized the China Youth Daily article for partiality and fanning public sentiment against a man who has not been proved guilty.

In media circles, Chongqing's newspapers and web portals uniformly condemned Li, with most of their arguments based on the justice of the crackdown on gangsters. In contrast, more independent newspapers, such as those of the Nangfang Daily network and The Beijing News, tended to be more neutral,  and occasionally displayed sympathy for Li. After Li’s trial, the aforementioned reporter of China Youth Daily published another story. Perhaps having learned a lesson from readers' criticism, this time the article exercised caution in using derogatory language. However its biases against Li were not completely hidden.

Also worth noting is that several well-known Chinese dissidents used their Twitter posts to publicly support Li Zhuang, and criticize the Chongqing government.

All this made Li Zhuang's trial on Dec. 30 widely watched. Still, no clear conclusion could be drawn from it. From an neutral point of view, the prosecutors' case seems to be weakened by the fact that no single witness was present at the trial, and written statements against Li came from suspected criminals under detention.

The question remains whether the Chongqing court is capable of an independent trial uninfluenced by either the government or the public. During the trial, Li said an interrogator told him that his arrest was a joint decision by "three big heads," --the heads of Chongqing's Court, Procuratorate, and Police Bureau. If this is true, given the lack of judicial independence in China, one certainly has reasons to doubt whether a fair trial for such a case is possible. This said, the thoroughly argued trial that was open to the public did show signs of improvement in Chongqing's court system and raises hope for more.

One main issue the court debated was whether Gong Gangmo had, in fact, been tortured. Judging from various news reports, neither the defense nor prosecution convincingly established their claims. Consequently, whether Li Zhuang had attempted to fabricate evidence of Gong's torture remains unclear.

Legal conclusions aside, the Chongqing public's suspicion that a criminal lawyer like Li Zhuang is capable of doing anything in order to make big money needs no empirical support. Compared to the human-rights defense lawyers, who often work pro bono to help those at the bottom of the society, rich criminal defense lawyers are not as popular. Li's reported arrogance and disrespectful attitude toward the local court during his trial cast him in an even less sympathetic light in the locals' eyes.

On the other hand, the case practically puts the Chongqing government, and the Chinese legal system more broadly, on the defensive. The hurried arrest of Li raises concerns outside of Chongqing that legal process (however imperfect they are) was trampled to achieve political goals and that the broadly supported crackdown may not be as righteous as has been propagandized. Apparently, Chinese people have not totally forgotten the Cultural Revolution of four decades ago, a disastrous time when political righteousness was above everything else.

Related links:

• WSJ:  Lawyer Detained in Chongqing Crackdown
• ESWN: Lawyers in trouble in Chongqing
• The Beijing News: 李庄当庭称无罪龚刚模鉴定有伤
• Shifeike Blog: 李庄自辩书里的刑讯逼供
• China Youth Daily: 焦点：重庆打黑惊曝“律师造假门”

Drake Emerging Writer Award in Short Fiction

My book Apologies Forthcoming, together with Loranne March Temple's Coming to You from the Blue Room, has been selected as a runner-up for the 2009 Drake Emerging Writer Award in Short Fiction. The winner is Andrew Porter's The Theory of Light & Matter.

Congratulations to Loranne March Temple and Andrew Porter! I look forward to reading their books.

Book Review: Paper Butterfly by Diane Wei Liang

Paper Butterfly by Diane Wei Liang
Simon & Schuster (May 5, 2009), 240 pages, $24

The 1989 student movement that ended in blood underlies the cause and effects in this detective novel set in Beijing, China. That year, a 19-year-old student named Lin is condemned to a labor reform camp. Eight years later, he is released and becomes a migrant worker. Meanwhile, private detective Mei Wang, the heroine of the novel, takes on an investigation into the disappearance of a famous pop star, Kaili. When Mei finds a paper butterfly and a stash of old love letters in Kaili's apartment, she feels a historical link between Kaili, the letter writer, and herself. Soon Kaili is found dead, and her boss, who hired Mei for the investigation in the first place, now deploys, without success, all means at his disposal to stop Mei. More paper butterflies appear in a poor neighborhood, where a child also vanishes. With the help of her connections, Mei eventually ties all the ends together and discovers the truth.

This novel is the second of Diane Wei Liang's Mei Wang series that features China's first female private detective. The plot of Paper Butterfly is more gripping than the author's first novel, The Eye of Jade, and there are a number of rural scenes that are rendered quite vividly. Unfortunately, the characterization is weaker. Mei Wang's personality traits, which may have fascinated the reader in the previous novel – her aloofness and distaste for "back doors," her rare courage as a female detective, her conflicting emotions toward her mother – are no longer given enough stage to perform, or develop, in this 224-page thin sequel. As a consequence, Mei Wang's role in Paper Butterfly is not as memorable. Using a political event familiar to Western readers as the plot driver might be a clever idea, but it does not necessarily work well for an uninteresting protagonist.

Contemporary Chinese detective stories are not a new comer in the stage of English literature. Qiu Xiaolong, for example, has successfully portrayed inspector Chen Cao in a series of novels set in Shanghai. Diane Wei Liang's unique angle is the introduction of a female detective, but that uniqueness has yet to be well exploited.

The novel's writing, executed in the author's second language, poses an issue as to how much rendering of foreign-language terminology is too much. The author seems very eager to teach her readers Chinese nouns, as she uses pinyin (the most commonly used romanization system for standard Mandarin) way too frequently. Many of those nouns, such as "hulu," "tufei," etc, are insignificant words in the book which have readily available English equivalents, thus presenting them in Chinese pinyin doesn't seem to serve much of a purpose. A less arbitrary display of Chinese terms might be more effective.

"What Does the Chinese Signboard on Your Book Cover Say?"

[Note: In the past a few months, I've had the pleasure to answer questions from a number of university and high school teachers about my book Apologies Forthcoming. The following dialogue, in chronological order, is compiled from my email exchanges with a teacher at a midwest public university, who is teaching the book in a senior honors course. These are great questions, ranging from particular translation of Chinese terms, to how educated women fared in the 1980s, to the present effects of the way the Cultural Revolution is addressed in China, that I thought both the questions and answers may be of interest to broad readers. Posted with permission. – Xujun]

October 18-19

Q. Would you please comment on why you use the Japanese term 'sensei' in your stories? I'm teaching this book, and Chinese colleagues say they are quite puzzled by the use of the term, especially in stories set during the Cultural Revolution.

A.  The Japanese term "sensei" originated from – and is equivalent to – the Chinese term "xian-sheng" (先生). It is the same term in two different languages, with the same characters and very similar pronunciation. However, if I use "xian-sheng," few English readers would understand. On the other hand, "sensei" is widely known in English.

"Xian-sheng" is a traditional way of addressing a teacher; it has an old-fashioned and more reverent flavor. It was not commonly used during the Cultural Revolution, however even in that fanatic time there existed old-fashioned people who preferred the traditional way, especially in remote areas. My story "Disciple of the Masses" takes place in a rural area, where village people still have lots of reverence for teachers, and old traditions are better preserved than in the cities. That's why they are calling a teacher "xian-sheng" instead of "lao-shi" (老师).   In short, I use "sensei" instead of "teacher" in order to better reflect the local characterization. Part of the story is based on my own experience as an "insert" (a sent-down city youth) in the countryside.

Q. Why did you choose to start the book with Snow Line and Pivot Point and to place The Randomness of Love next to the end?  For me, the other five stories (Feathers, Men Don't Apologize, Watch the Thrill, Discipline of the Masses, and Second Encounter) would make a solid collection on their own. For you, what is most important to convey to readers through Snow Line, Pivot Point and The Randomness of Love?

A. I agree with you that, if the book is only set in the Cultural Revolution, then the five stories you mentioned make a more concrete selection. However I also wanted to depict the years immediately after the CR, because that period was, and still is, largely unknown to the broad English audience, while in my opinion that transitional period is historically very important. Mostly though, I chose to write about the period from early 1970s to mid 1980s because I grew up from a child to an adult in that period, and those where the years that molded me and my generation. There have been many books written in English set in the CR or much later, but the 1980s China seemed to be nonexistent in literature.

From the subject and theme point of view, the choice of the opening story for the US edition doesn't seem to be the best one, and in the book's Hong Kong edition it has been changed to "Men Don't Apologize."  I chose "Snow Line" to open the US edition mainly because of the artwork. As you have seen, several pieces of artwork by Wu Fan, a well-known old-generation artist in Sichuan, are used as illustrations in the book. I have tremendous respect for Wu Fan and his art. Because not every story has an accompanying piece of art, I thought "Snow Line" would make an attractive opening because the story cites its companion art piece "Dandelion." In this way it blurs the boundary of fiction and nonfiction. As it turns out, "Snow Line" seems to get polarized reactions from readers: it was either loved enthusiastically, especially by poetry lovers, or it put off the reader. None of the other stories have had such a divided reaction.

December 4-7

Q. What do you think are the present effects in China of people not being able to openly discuss what happened during the Cultural Revolution, that is, of not being able to assess for themselves what happened, how and why? Friends we have known in China for 25 years say the CR is not a subject they ever expect to be addressed publicly, except in terms of the government deciding Mao was X% right and X% wrong (and he will always be more right than wrong officially).  

A. The current situation is more like this: though the official media largely avoid addressing the CR, the topic is not as sensitive as some others (such as the 1989 massacre). Many books that realistically reflect the time have been published in China, both fiction and nonfiction. One thing comes to mind is Yu Hua's very popular novel "To Live," which was first published in 1994. The movie that based on the novel and won international prizes did not pass the censors and consequently was not shown in China, but a similar TV series based on the book was made and shown in 2006. Many Party seniors have written memoirs about that period. There is no danger associated with talking about the CR among ordinary people.

However, because the memory of the time is very painful to the victims and shameful to those who participated, which include entire generations born in the early 1950s or before, few like to talk about it today. This is more a voluntary silence than one that is forced upon people. Parents don't pass their knowledge of the time to children. This, coupled with the void in textbooks, results in the ignorance of the younger generations. This is where the danger lies: because the lesson has not been learned by the later generation, the same disaster might be repeated in the future.

Q. Can a day ever come in China when people will be honored who spoke out *during the CR* against the violence and madness of the times? Some ordinary people tried to stop the madness, but they are not named and respected today, much less praised. People praise Zhou En Lai, but forget Liu Shao Qi. Is that partly because Mao must forever be honored, no matter how many people died because of his policies?   

A. In the 1980s and 90s, there have been names officially honored in China, such as Zhang Zhixing and Yu Luoke, who spoke with a rational voice and were executed because of it during the CR. However, the more remote the CR becomes, the less we hear about it. It seems that now there always are more urgent and current issues to care about, both to the government and the people. Most seem to have taken the attitude of not dwelling on the past. The history of the CR faces the danger of being forgotten in China.

Zhou Enlai and Liu Shaoqi are both complex figures, about whom I don’t have the space to discuss here. Mao is actually mentioned less and less by the government today, but many Chinese, especially old peasants and factory workers, still love him, so it is unlikely Mao's image will disappear any time soon. This is another very complicated topic.

Q. In the "parameters" of Chinese society as it modernizes in the 1980's, opportunities for people to be happy seem very limited, even in (perhaps esp in) marriage and family relationships. What to you is hopeful in the lives of people during the 1980's, when "love" itself becomes a highly contested possibility?    

A. The 1980s was a transitional period. Though it's true that "opportunities for people to be happy seem very limited," political and life style control by the Party had become less rigid compared to the 1970s. We – the younger generation at the time – saw the hope for more freedom from all perspectives. Since then, freedom has indeed increased, but not as fast, or as broadly, as the economy has grown.

Q. Are Chinese women in the 1980's unhappy because they are "prisoners of their bodies," no matter how highly educated they are?

 

A. I think in the 80s highly-educated women were even more unhappy than their less-educated counterparts, because Chinese men generally didn't want their wives to be intelligent. But this situation is changing now.

Q. Is one reason for the instability of Chinese marriage and family relationships in the 1980's the reality that gender roles have become confused after the severe equality of the CR, or the reality that gender roles are becoming more rigid than ever as society modernizes, or possibly both at once?  In the book, the "independent" women seem emotionally needy to an extreme that suggests their self-worth is shaky. At the same time, the men seem to be seething with anger that comes out in all kinds of ways. What do you see as necessary for marriage and family relationships in the 1980's to become repaired?  

A. This is a very good question. I think it's true that intelligent women had a harder time in the 1980s than, say, 1950s or 2000s. One important reason is that the CR, especially the "up to the mountains and down to the countryside" movement, had caused a disproportionate number of marrying-age women to return to the city from the countryside and have difficulties finding suitors. Another reason may be that intellectuals suffered more during the CR and, for a period of time afterward, many men subconsciously disdained highly-educated women. It was an abnormal time that would eventually pass.

December 11-13

Q. Can you tell us what the Chinese signboard on the book cover says?

A.  The Chinese words on the signboard are: "Ardent acclaim the publication of the New Year editorial!"  This was a popular slogan during the Cultural Revolution. The "New Year editorial" was a joint editorial from People's Daily, The Liberation Army Daily, and Red Flag magazine, the three most authoritative publications of the time. It had become a ritual that, on each New Year's Day, the three of them published a joint editorial to convey Mao's new instructions for the year. Such an editorial often contained Mao's own writing. We used to parade on New Year's Day to acclaim the publication of the editorial.

Q. Do you use "insert" in somewhat the same way you use "sensei" (that is, making up a term of your own for a general audience)? Chinese colleagues say "insert" is an unfamiliar term to them.

PS. Our favorite stories as a class are "Second Encounters,"  "Men Don't Apologize" and "Watch the Thrill." For us, "Watch the Thrill" is a classic of world literature, true of many times and places, even now.

A. The Chinese term for "insert" is 插队知青, which literally means "educated (city) youth who are inserted into a (rural) production team." A more commonly seen English translation for this term is "sent-down youth."  When it comes to translation, I often prefer a verbatim phrase over an idiomatic one, provided it does not add confusion to the reader. This is because Chinese is such a richly pictorial language, verbatim translation often lends more vivacity and color than free translation.

Q. Would you like to tell us what makes you most proud to be Chinese, and what makes you most happy to be American?

A. I've never thought to be proud or not proud as a Chinese. I think a person's race or nationality is not all that important. I love Chinese culture and the language; it is a natural attitude simply because I grew up with such a culture.

Things that make me most happy to live in America are freedom and privacy. I can write whatever I want without fear of persecution. This said, China is also changing, and today Chinese people have a lot more freedom than when I lived there.

Q. Your comment about not being concerned about being proud or not seems unusual these days. Do you think it is unusual? We have heard pride in being Chinese placed at the top of countless lists of what makes people feel unified in being Chinese. "We are proud to be Chinese" comes up over and over whenever we are talking to people about contemporary Chinese life. Of course, what makes one generation proud might not be the same as what makes another generation proud.

A. I think there indeed is a period difference here. Today Chinese nationalism seems to have reached a new peak.  IMO, nationalism is a double-edged sword. It does have the function of unifying a nation, and historically it has resulted in heroic actions fighting foreign invaders (for example in the war of resistance against Japan in the 1930s-40s).  However, the extreme nationalism today seems to work more toward fending off international criticism. That's why the Chinese government encourages it. The ready soil for growing such a sentiment is China's rapid economic growth.  Life is generally a lot better now than it was when I lived there.

On the other hand, many dissidents, both inside and outside China, tend toward the opposite extreme. The disparity seems especially salient among overseas Chinese. A well-known writer that comes to mind is Ha Jin, who is of my generation. In his semi-autobiographic novel "A Free Life" (not his best work IMO), his grudge against being Chinese is so intense it is appalling.

My own attitude might have something to do with the time I grew up in China (1960s-80s), but it is also very individual. Personally, I prefer the Confucian "middle way" position. I think this is especially important for a writer who seeks to tell the truth.

Why Has Chongqing Mayor Wang Hongju Resigned?

Today the headline on xinhuanet.com's Chongqing page is "Wang Hongju resigns as the mayor of Chongqing." This is big news, but the one-sentence ambiguous official report raises many questions. Another report cites "age reason." Singapore's Zaobao notes that Chongqing's many newspapers, with the exception of Chongqing Daily, made no mention of the news, and the fact that, at 64, Wang is one year short of the retirement age for officials with his rank. A Chinese blogger calls the news "shocking" and comments on the resignation's abnormality and possible relation to Chongqing's crack-down on organized crime.

I find myself only partially surprised by the news. In recent years when I made my annual visits to Chongqing, every time I heard local people bitterly complaining about how incompetent their mayor was (which was in sharp contrast to their praise of Bo Xilai), yet year after year Wang Hongju remained steadily seated on the mayor pedestal of China's biggest metropolitan city.

Before coming to Chonqgqing, Wang was the mayor of a small county-level town, Fuling (remember Peter Hessler's River Town?).  In 1997, while over a million unhappy people from the flooded areas by the Three Gorges dam (including part of Fuling) were forced to relocate, and Fuling was merged into Chongqing's jurisdiction, Wang happily took a great-leap to the high position of Chongqing's deputy mayor. Six years later he became the mayor. As far as I can tell, Wang's unusual promotion was another twist resulting from the ill-conceived Three Gorges dam and its consequent jurisdictional politics. Rumors had it that Wang brought a full "Fuling gang" to Chongqing with him to put in various key positions of the city government, something not at all unusual in the crony politics of China's officialdom.

At this point it is hard to say if Wang's stepping-down has anything to do with Chongqing's organized crime. In any case, I think it is a good thing and hope my townsfolk will be better off under his replacement.

New Translation for Lu Xun's Fiction

Prof. Jeff Wasserstrom, editor of The China Beat and author of several books on China, has a very interesting and refreshing article about Lu Xun (鲁迅) titled "China's Orwell" in Time magazine, in which he makes – quite originally – a parallel between Lu Xun and George Orwell, with the insightful point that Lu Xun is not only a great writer, but an essential writer.

I'm also happy to learn from Prof. Wasserstrom's article that Penguin is publishing The Real Story of Ah-Q and Other Tales of China: The Complete Fiction of Lu Xun, translated by Julia Lovell and scheduled for release in January. Since the book is "the complete fiction of Lu Xun," it must include stories from Lu Xun's collection 故事新编 (or Old Stories Told Anew by my translation – not sure how Julia Lovell would have translated this).  In that collection Lu Xun retells several ancient tales with unique language and twists.

It was those stories – not the officially hailed ones such as "The Real Story of Ah-Q" and "Diary of a Madman" – that haunted me as an impressionable high school student in the 1970s. One story I still remember after all these years is about Meijianchi, an 18-year-old boy who hands his own head to a career assassin in order to kill the king and avenge his father the legendary sword maker. The fighting scene between three severed heads biting each other in a boiling cauldron was quite heart-stirring. I've never read anything like that before or after. I'd be very interested in seeing how this story is translated into English.

The edition I read then had end notes by the editor(s), which quoted parts of the dialogue in Lu Xun's stories that were used as satiric retaliation against "four dudes" ("四条汉子"), a name Lu Xun gave to four underground communists who led the "left-wing writers union" in 1930s Shanghai. Though Lu Xun supported the communists at the time (he was never a Party member), there was quite a bit of discord between him and the "four dudes," and he often felt he was being attacked. As caustic a writer as Lu Xun was, he did not openly fight back, instead he chose to mock their attacks in his fiction. I don't know if Julia Lovell has included any notes on this history – it might be very hard to make sense of it all for a Western audience anyway.

Later during the Cultural Revolution in the 1960s, the "four dudes," who had become high ranking Party officials then, were ruthlessly "struggled" by the Red Guards because of their historical "crime" of "opposing Lu Xun." I'm not sure that, had Lu Xun not died of sickness in 1936 and instead lived to the time of the CR, he would have been able to escape denunciation himself. Given his scathing nature, it is hard to imagine that he would have placated the Red Guards or Party officials.

In China's literary world, Lu Xun actually was the most famous for his satirical essays, which far exceed his fiction in quantity. His scathing style was extensively mimicked by the Red Guards for faction fighting during the Cultural Revolution, a consequence he wouldn't have dreamed of.

Lu Xun also translated quite a few English works into Chinese, and he advocated direct (verbatim) translation (直译), as opposed to free translation by meaning (意译). Though some of his translation did not work IMO, for example I remember in one story he translated "good morning" as "好早晨" instead of "早晨好", I agree with him in principle. This is to say, to the extent it does not confuse the reader, verbatim translation often lends more vivacity and color than free translation.

Hot Peppers for Thanksgiving

Monday night Bob and I had dinner with Jonathan Tel, author of The Beijing of Possibilities, in a Chinese restaurant named Chili Garden (川王府). This is one of the few truly authentic sources of Sichuan cuisine in the Boston area. (Numerous Chinese restaurants here advertise themselves as Sichuan, but provide only dishes catered to American eaters who don't know what they are getting.)  Another authentic Sichuan cuisine is Red Pepper (重庆食府) on Rt. 9, which we go to most frequently, because it has a great Chongqing chef and is closer to us.  Chili Garden and Red Pepper have different specialties and varieties; the dishes in both restaurants are mouth-watering. Not surprisingly, many of their dishes are cooked with hot peppers as the dominant spice. Try them for Thanksgiving if you want to go for something non-traditional.

  A Chengdu restaurant prepares hot peppers for lunch (photo by Xujun)

I had thought I was pretty knowledgeable about Sichuan's, especially Chongqing's, history. So much for my conceit.  One thing Jonathan mentioned during dinner surprised me: he said all chili peppers came from South America, and the Chinese history of eating chili peppers is only about three to four hundred years old.

I was suspicious; in my mind we Sichuanese had been eating hot peppers since time immemorial. Digging further after returning home, however, I had to admit Jonathan was right. Apparently, chili peppers migrated into China at the end of the 16^th century, and the first written record of them was found in Ming Dynasty's '草花谱' ("grass and flower album"). They were called 番椒 ("fan jiao," meaning "foreign pepper") at the time. In Sichuan we call hot peppers 海椒 ("hai jiao"), which makes perfect sense to me now because 'hai' in this context means "overseas."

It seems only appropriate to have a post about food today. Tomorrow, for our vegetarian daughter's sake we are going to have a turkey-free Thanksgiving dinner. While Bob is going to cook all those traditional veggy dishes such as cranberries, sweet potatoes and beans, I will cook a Tofu dish spiced with chili pepper. Not your traditional Thanksgiving dish, but neither the turkey nor the chili pepper tradition has been going that long after all. The White House's hypocritical tradition of pardoning one turkey (and eating another) is even shorter. Anyhow, Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

"The Beefiest" (最牛) and "It Sucks"

Yesterday, Damjan of the Asia Healthcare Blog had an interesting comment on my post "The Beefiest Translation." He asked, "[H]ave you explored the possibility that this vulgar expression has been coopted into a more socially acceptable form due to its popularity with Chinese youth?"

The Beefiest Tug-of-War, with100,000 Participants 
(最牛的拔河 from bbs.huanqiu.com)

It made me wonder. Are there similar examples in English, of expressions that were once considered vulgar but have come into mainstream use in the same or a slightly modified form and divorced from their past vulgarity? I asked Bob the question, which seemed to fascinate him. He was pretty sure that accepted vulgarisms existed in English, but couldn't come up an example right away.

Bob then asked a good friend whose college major was English. The friend passed the question to his librarian wife. The knowledgeable librarian mentioned the word "sucks", which used to be prohibited in polite company but is a common word today (as in "This book sucks").

The friend inspired me to dig around the internet a bit further and I found a Slate article titled "Suck It Up – A defense of the much-maligned word" by Seth Stevenson. It is so curious that all the reasons the author listed in defending the word "sucks" can be applied to the case of '最牛'.  Stevenson's defense begins with the following:

Sucks is here to stay. And what's more, it deserves its place in our lexicon, for a couple of reasons. First, it's impossible to intelligently maintain that sucks is still offensive. The word is now completely divorced from any past reference it may have made to a certain sex act. When I tell you that the new M. Night Shyamalan movie sucks (and man, does it suck), my mind in no way conjures up an image of a film reel somehow fellating an unnamed beneficiary.

The similarity between the two cases in two different languages is striking. Even the way each expression's past reference to vulgarity is alike, as well as the ways in which their current usages are divorced from that past. The most notable disparity might be that "sucks" is used only with negative connotations, while '最牛' can be used either negatively or positively, with a slant toward the latter.

The librarian friend also mentioned a big change in young adult literature over the past five years: it has gone from being very straight laced to being much more explicit in language and in situations. This is equally interesting. Does this mean a cultural trend toward more tolerance for vulgarity, or more indulgence of our youngsters, than ever?

Whatever it means, how an expression becomes socially acceptable is independent of one's will. In the case of '最牛', because it has already been broadly used in China, I'm more interested in finding a better translation for it. So far, based on the discussion stemmed from my previous post, we have a few good candidates:

"the niuest" (h/t Matthew)

"the ballsy-est" (h/t Mouseneb and Anonymous)

"the beefiest"

But again, which translation will be most accepted is beyond our will. We can only propose and see. For now, I'll probably continue to use "the beefiest."

By the way, I asked my sister Maple, who lives in Shanghai, to help me find the origin of '牛逼' (niu bi), and she sent me this link http://iask.sina.com.cn/b/7421922.html.  For those of you who know Chinese, have fun reading.

The "Beefiest" Translation

The Chinese internet is a melting pot of popular creations, where new expressions (even new words/characters) constantly emerge like an endless stream. This presents a continuous challenge to a translator like me.

One popular adjective created and becoming fashionable in the new millennium is '最牛'. It is a mocking term that can mean, in humorless translation, "boldest" or "hottest" or "most awesome" or "formidable," depending on the object it modifies. The following image, borrowed from a Chinese blog called 西交虫, might help illustrate the meaning of '最牛':

最牛的司机  "The most [ ] driver"

I've left the English translation for '最牛' blank in the caption above, because none of the English adjectives I mentioned earlier can convey the mocking tone of this Chinese term. Furthermore, "awesome" is a commending word while '最牛' could be used with either positive or negative connotation. The other modifiers might be neutral enough, but they do not bring laughter.

When in doubt, I find that often the best solution to such a challenge is go for the literal, or verbatim (直译), as opposed to free translation by meaning (意译). In this case, because '牛' means "cow," and an associated adjective is "beefy," I'm inclined to translate '最牛' as "the beefiest." The (invisible) driver in the above image thus becomes "the beefiest driver."

The origin of '最牛' seems no longer traceable. In fact, I noticed on the Chinese internet that several such origin-seeking questions had met with mocking answers like "you've posed the beefiest question!". I remember one of the first times the term caught my eye was when bloggers named the Chongqing nail house "the beefiest nail house" and brought it to the attention of the public and the media (even NYT) in early 2007.

More recently, this seemly harmless mocking expression has been frequently applied to bad behaviors of government officials. For example, when a judge tried to force Zhang Hui, a victim of Shanghai hooks, to drop his lawsuit and Zhang did not agree, the judge angrily yelled at Zhang as if to a child, "Be obedient!" ("你要听话!") Immediately that judge surnamed Huang was termed "the beefiest judge" on the internet.

"The beefiest official line" occurred in Guangzhou two weeks ago on Oct. 30^th. In a public hearing on traffic jams, attended by several departments of the city government, a reporter asked whether the traffic police should first notify the public before closing a road. A middle-aged man replied, "Do I have to tell you whether I'm going to shit or not? Do I have to tell you whether my shit stinks or not?" These words quickly became a catch phrase on the internet, which in turn led to the man's public apology and job suspension.

The term has become so trendy that even main stream media can't afford to not use it. On Nov. 11^th, xinhuanet.com reported "The Beefiest Developer Sentenced to Death," about a Chongqing developer who tried to get rid of a nail house owned by an old couple, by hiring thugs to kill their only son.

"Beefiest" is only one of many new slang words coming into being with the internet. I don't view this as simple folk language evolution; rather internet slang symbolizes a new popular culture, providing for the first time a viable means for Chinese people to publicly make fun of officials. I would be curious to know how those officials who are named "the beefiest" something feel when they see their new title. Perhaps they will step a bit more gingerly next time.

Related post: "The Beefiest" (最牛) and "It Sucks"

The Legal Crime of Shanghai Hooks

If you are searching the Chinese internet, a new high-frequency keyword is 钩子 – "hook." It was an innocent young man's blood that brought this word to the media's attention.

(image from xinhuanet.com)

In the evening of October 14^th, a tearful 18-year-old man named Sun Zhongjie (孙中界) chopped off his little finger with a kitchen knife, while grieving after being framed by a government "hook."

Sun Zhongjie was a new driver employed by a construction company in Shanghai, and October 14^th was his second day at work. That night, on a work-related trip, his car was stopped by a man standing in the middle of the street. The stranger, shivering in the cold weather, climbed into Sun's car uninvited and told Sun that he had something urgent to deal with but couldn't find a taxi or bus. Sun was sympathetic. Considering that the man's stated destination wasn't too far ahead along, he gave him the requested short ride of 1.5 kilometers. The man threw Sun a 10-yuan (=US$1.47) bill, which Sun hadn't asked for. But instead of getting off, the man grabbed Sun's car keys and stepped on the brake pedal. Dumbstruck, Sun's first thought was that he was being robbed.

Only it was not a robbery, but a government scheme, and the hitchhiker was a "hook." A hook's task is to entice a non-taxi driver to provide a ride, so that he'll be able to accuse the driver of operating a "black taxi" without a license. In each successful hook case, the hook gets paid several hundred Yuan, while the driver is fined 10,000 or more, by the local government's Traffic Management Bureau.

While Sun was struggling with the "hook," trying to grab back his car keys, the conspiring traffic police arrived. They dragged Sun out of his car and held him in their van for a couple of hours without showing any ID. Sun was released only after being forced to sign three receipts, which he did not even get to read. He learned that he had been accused of "black taxi" operation afterward, from several others who were also being "hooked" and brought to the police van.

The injustice and agony Sun felt was unbearable. Though newly employed and poor, his first concern wasn't the big fine or the seized car, but that he was unjustly wronged. He was innocent. He gave the stranger a ride for kindness, not money. Now his clean name was tainted by the hook. But where could he go to prove his innocence? When he was being held in the unknown van, he had shouted that he wanted to call the police, but his captors laughed and told him "We are."

After returning home, Sun picked up a kitchen knife (the big, heavy kind we Chinese use) and chopped off his left pinkie. The 18-year-old was in so much emotional distress that he did not even feel the pain. He then threw himself in bed and cried, while his severed finger bled unattended. If it were not for his older brother living upstairs, who heard the unusual sound and took him to the hospital immediately, Sun might have bled to death that night.

The next day, on October 15^th, young migrant worker Sun Zhongjie appealed to the media for help getting back his good name, and reporters interviewed him in the hospital where he went through an operation to reconnect the severed finger. (A question remains: had Sun not chopped off his finger, would the reporters pay as much attention to his case as they do now?)

Under public and media pressure, five days later, on October 20^th, the Traffic Management Bureau of Pudong New District issued an official report of their "investigation results," claming that everything the traffic police did in Sun's case was legal and Sun was truly an illegal taxi driver. The Bureau said their witness was not a hook but a "society member with a sense of righteousness."

The public was unsatisfied. Sun told a reporter that what the government bureau did was "having the father investigating the son," as the traffic police team belonged to the Traffic Management Bureau, and of course it wouldn't be truthful. Sun requested a face-to-face confrontation with the "witness," which did not happen. Even CCTV and People's Daily declared their suspicions with the "investigation."

The case caught the Shanghai City government's attention and a new investigation involving independent lawyers was ordered. The investigators discovered that the name of the "society member with a sense of righteousness" had appeared as a witness in other similar cases before. Eventually the man's identity as a paid "hook" was verified.

On October 26^th, twelve days after Sun Zhongjie was "hooked," the government of Pudong New District issued a public apology to Sun, returned his car, and revoked the fine. The government also announced the cessation of the "hooking" practice in crashing-down "black taxis."

This quick reversal brought out tears from Sun Zhongjie's eyes. He has since left Shanghai and returned to his home village in Zhejiang Province. Before his departure, he told the media that he probably would go out again as a migrant worker, but not likely to Shanghai. When asked if he'd pick up a stranger who needs help in the future, he evaded the question.

According to reports, 99% of the so-called "black taxi" drivers have been "hooked" before, and among the hook victims also are many innocent people. On September 8^th, Zhang Hui, a white collar driving his private car on the way to work at a high-paying foreign-invested company, "in a moment of soft heart" picked up a man who complained of a stomach ache and persistently begged for a ride. The man was a hook. Despite the fact that Zhang had refused the man's offer of taxi-price payment, Zhang was arrested and fined 10,000 Yuan on the grounds of illegal-taxi operation. Zhang has been blogging about the case and received broad support on the internet. Meanwhile, media coverage on his case was sparse, and the local government that wronged him kept ignoring his request for justice.

A month after he was framed and two days before Sun Zhongjie's encounter with a hook, on October 12^th, Zhang Hui brought his case to the court. Probably helped by Sun's case, on the same day Sun's name was cleared, Zhang's fine was also refunded. However, the next day a judge from the court that accepted Zhang's lawsuit came to his office and shouted at him, because Zhang did not accept the judge's request for withdrawal of the lawsuit. This story is still unfolding.

Hundreds more hook victims who received big fines are requesting their money back now.

In light of Chongqing's "crashing-down on organized crime" storm, Chinese netizens are inquiring whether the government scheme of hiring hooks, now termed as an "illegal form of law enforcement" by the media, should be considered organized crime.

Chang Ping, a well-known journalist and social commentator, says in a blog post titled "上海钩子" that not only should the hooks bear legal responsibility but they should also sue their government bosses who brought them into a criminal career.

(Update: I just saw that the quick and thorough ESWN has posted and translated a bunch of earlier Chinese reports on this case, providing good references.)