Scripts, syntax, and competing definitions of nation and civilization

Now mocking Chinese state media for breathless and brainless historical hyperbole is a bit of poor sport, but this little bit from the ChinaTibet portion of the People’s Daily website seemed even more breathless and, if possible, brainless than usual.

The article, in theory, is about the opening of a Museum of Chinese Characters in Anyang.  So well as that goes, Anyang is known as a place for studying ancient writing and early scripts.  But then the article takes a little detour from Henan out to the western steppe.

At the top of the page a prominently displayed caption reads:

Photo taken on November 16, 2009, shows the silver plates to commend high commissioners sent to Tibet by the Central Government of the Qing Dynasty (1644-1911) displayed in the Chinese Character Museum in Anyang, central China’s Henan Province. They serve as the witnesses to the fact that Tibet has been part of China since ancient times.

Leaving aside the question of whether the 18th century qualifies as “ancient,” it’s the desperation and the chronic lack of self-awareness that makes this so sad/funny (Like a drunk baby, but maybe not as funny) and it is this shrillness that tends to make

November 19th, 2009

The historical record for November 19: Xu Zhimo

It’s November here in Beijing.  Three weeks ago, before the snow really started to fall, we took the plants in from our garden.  A week later, as we were looking out at our small patch of bamboo bending under the weight of the snow and ice, we decided that it was unfair that it should suffer too.  So we made a place for it in our living room.  It actually looks kind of nice and seems to be adapting well to the artificial warmth of being indoors.  But now when I look out from my desk and into the yard, it all seems so gray.  We have pumpkins on the windowsills and corn husks hanging so there is a bit of (autumnal) color, but I do miss the greenery and warmth of the garden in bloom, plants and flowers filling the corners and nooks of our small outdoor space.

The cat sitting on my desk, staring out at the garden in summer.

Xu Zhimo was a poet of the

November 19th, 2009

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