On Saturday, an anonymous letter circulated online calling for Chinese people to follow after the revolutions in Egypt and Tunisia and launch a “Jasmine Revolution” in 13 different cities in China. The McDonald’s at Wangfujing in Beijing was one of the locations.
(I have to say that this choice of the location is beyond my understanding. First, since Wangfujing is one of the most populated shopping center in town, how do you tell who is protesting and who is shopping? Second, McDonald’s? Really? The revolution may or may not be televised, but apparently that didn’t stop us from soliciting corporate sponsors. Too bad Groupon blew their ad budget on the Super Bowl.)
In the end, there were a lot of police and a handful of foreign correspondents. Unfortunately, somebody forgot to tell the protesters, because they didn’t show.
Later there were rumors that some university officials checked dorms to make sure students stayed away from the “revolution.” And according to AP, dozens of activists throughout China were placed under house arrest and warned about participating in any protests that may or may not be planned for today. So it would appear that the government took it seriously.
The question is:
I confess. I love tuangou (团购 Chinese for “group buying”) and frankly, how could you not? A four-course Cajun dinner with wine for two people only cost 116 RMB, one third of its original price. A movie ticket in a downtown cinema can be purchased for less than half what it would cost to walk up to the ticket window. Once you get a taste of it, you just cannot stop. Or maybe it’s just me. I’ve always loved shopping. And sales. And online stuff. Basically, I am a group buy website’s dream demographic – a professional urban Chinese girl with a decent salary and an eye for bargains.
And apparently I’m not the only one. Within the last year, over a thousand Groupon-style websites have opened in China. They provide deals on everything you need in life (and some of the things you don’t need, but want to buy anyway), from delicious meals in fancy restaurants to imported high-end makeup products, to hotel rooms in nice resorts to cameras and electronic equipment.
For me, surfing the tuangou websites is like opening presents at the Christmas, except it happens every day and you can choose what you want and skip the ones
(Ed Note: With several major projects in the works and with a gig next week guest blogging for James Fallows, I asked my lovely wife and co-conspirator Yajun if she’d like to help out for the next few weeks.)
I was born in a country where 90% of the people share a single ethnicity, where we have no national religion, but where we do have the stomachs to eat any living creature on earth. So it came as a shock to me, later than it probably should have, that some people may not eat certain things out of choice or because of their religion. Sure, China has Hui people who are Muslim and who eat Qingzhen (Halal) food, but prior to university I’d only met a handful of Chinese Muslims in my life. And even in school, it wasn’t that I didn’t respect my friends’ aversion to pork, but it was just completely outside my own upbringing. I don’t think I lacked sensitivity, just a sense of perspective about what diversity means.
This problem is even harder for my mom. During Spring Festival, some of my husband’s students came to our place for a dinner party. One of the students
The New York Times published an article about Han Han last week. In the article, Graham Lee, a Hong Kong native studying in Peking University was quoted saying “His way of thinking is different from that of ordinary Chinese.”
At first glance, this sentence sounds offensive. How do ordinary Chinese think? However, thinking for a second, I am not surprised that he felt this way.
In any other country, I don’t think Han Han would be that special. His criticisms and the courage to challenge authority, even the having the balls to drop out of high school, are common characteristics of young people around the world. He is a very good writer, that’s for sure, but in most places his writing wouldn’t be enough to make him one of the most popular bloggers and an iconic figure. However, in China, what Han Han says and does has value.
When I was in college, I was a fan of Han Han. His books opened my eyes and mind. For the first time in my life, I realized students could criticize and analyze profoundly the problems of the China’s education system. His words were harsh, but they were just so true.
Throughout
From a reader in Sichuan:
Just an aside (and yes, this will be a threadjack), I was wondering if anyone here could help me out with ‘the great laowai’ debate I am having here. I have been living in China for 2 years, I HATE to be called laowai (because of the informal connotation of lao3, because hey, if you don’t know me, you gotta keep some formality… for example, once I accidentally called my then future-father-in-law laoshu, and he got SUPER pissed, etc). One of my friends who has been here a hella long time agrees, another does not. Waiguoren is a ok. Hell, somebody could call me wairen. Am I being overly sensitive, or should I be resigned to my fate to be people’s dear foreigner here?
Also, where the hell did the term come from?
This is one of those topics that is perennial fodder for China bloggers. (See these posts in 2005, 2008, and 2010 as well as my own take on the subject back in 2006. ) Is Laowai a term of respect or of contempt?
I asked Yajun and this was her response:
After all this time, it’s become a label, a way to
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