Part 9 (1/2)
This was how the changeover looked on campus, but as I spent more time in the city I began to realize that everything was different for the average Chinese worker, the sort of person who was described as laobaixing laobaixing, ”Old Hundred Names.” Two or three times a week I stopped to chat with Ke Xianlong, the forty-seven-year-old photographer in South Mountain Gate Park, and the more I got to know him the more I was surprised at his political views. He was completely uneducated but he had interesting ideas; sometimes he talked about the need for more democracy and other political parties, and these were views I never heard on campus. Once I mentioned Hong Kong, but he simply looked bored-it meant nothing to him.
”If Hong Kong hadn't been British for so many years,” he said, ”it wouldn't be as rich as it is today. If it had been Chinese, it would have had the Great Leap Forward and the Cultural Revolution and all the other problems, and those would have affected its development. We would have ruined it like everything else.”
I had never heard another person in Fuling say anything remotely like that, and I told him that none of my students would agree with him.
”Of course they have different ideas than me!” he said scornfully. ”What do they know? They're too young! They don't understand the real world; they have no experience.”
”But even the older teachers I know don't have ideas like that.”
”Of course! They have those political cla.s.ses every week-they have to believe whatever the Communist Party says. We Old Hundred Names can have our own ideas. I don't have to study that stuff they study in the college.”
I realized that as a thinking person his advantage lay precisely in his lack of formal education. n.o.body told him what to think, and thus he was free to think clearly.
It wasn't the sort of revelation that inspires a teacher. The more I thought about this, the more pessimistic I was about the education that my students were receiving, and I began to feel increasingly ambivalent about teaching in a place like that. In particular it bothered me that very little in my relations.h.i.+p with the third-year students had changed since the fall. They had always been obedient and respectful, and they were incredibly enthusiastic about literature. I had a great deal of faith in poetry, but nevertheless this faith had its limits; I believed that my job was not only to teach literature but also to develop a mutual respect and understanding that would allow us to exchange ideas comfortably. I could see this happening with my Chinese tutors, despite the enormous language and cultural barriers that had made things so difficult in the beginning, and this change was impressive because it had required a great deal of patience and effort from everybody involved. Mostly, it had required honesty, even if these moments of candor were occasionally unpleasant.
But my relations.h.i.+p with the students was still miles away from making this transition. I could not mention Chinese xenophobia without their becoming defensive, which told me that they identified more with the random Chinese hara.s.ser on the street than they did with their waiguoren waiguoren teacher. And there were still far too many moments when they dropped their heads in discomfort. This was something I came to loathe-the great head bow. Whenever that happened, I realized that I was not teaching forty-five individual students with forty-five individual ideas. I was teaching a group, and these were moments when the group thought as one, and a group like that was a mob, even if it was silent and pa.s.sive. And always I was a teacher. And there were still far too many moments when they dropped their heads in discomfort. This was something I came to loathe-the great head bow. Whenever that happened, I realized that I was not teaching forty-five individual students with forty-five individual ideas. I was teaching a group, and these were moments when the group thought as one, and a group like that was a mob, even if it was silent and pa.s.sive. And always I was a waiguoren waiguoren standing alone at the front of the cla.s.s. standing alone at the front of the cla.s.s.
Other aspects of local life were starting to disturb me as well. Increasingly I realized that I was being monitored in Fuling, although it was hard to tell what the point was. My letters home often showed signs of tampering, and occasionally I received something that had been opened. That spring my parents mailed me a copy of the New York Times New York Times travel section, in which I had written a story, but somewhere along the way my article had been carefully cut out. The strangest part was that the story had been about the Mississippi River, and the only reference to China was the brief biographical note at the end of the article, which said I lived in Fuling. Not long after that, I sent my parents a long letter on computer disk, and by the time they received it one section of the text had been erased and replaced with a string of x's. It was the only sensitive part of the letter, a description of an incident in which I had been harra.s.sed by three drunk college students. The rest of the story was intact, and out of curiosity my father took it to a computer expert at the University of Missouri, who said that the change could only be the result of deliberate tampering. It was impossible for a disk error to produce an alteration like that. travel section, in which I had written a story, but somewhere along the way my article had been carefully cut out. The strangest part was that the story had been about the Mississippi River, and the only reference to China was the brief biographical note at the end of the article, which said I lived in Fuling. Not long after that, I sent my parents a long letter on computer disk, and by the time they received it one section of the text had been erased and replaced with a string of x's. It was the only sensitive part of the letter, a description of an incident in which I had been harra.s.sed by three drunk college students. The rest of the story was intact, and out of curiosity my father took it to a computer expert at the University of Missouri, who said that the change could only be the result of deliberate tampering. It was impossible for a disk error to produce an alteration like that.
These incidents were mildly disturbing, but mostly they were pathetic. What was the point of censoring an article about the Mississippi River? Who took the time to read letters sent by foreign teachers in places like Fuling? Couldn't this effort be put to some more useful application? I figured that the purpose must be intimidation-it was so clumsily done that they obviously wanted me to know it was happening. But in fact the tampering was far more effective in giving me examples of the kind of pointless paranoia that composed Communist China.
College life also showed signs of well-organized monitoring. In January, another Peace Corps volunteer near Chengdu had been taken to the local police station after an altercation with a cab driver. The volunteer was clearly in the wrong, and eventually he was sent back to America; but during questioning he learned that the police station had a record of everything controversial that he had ever said in cla.s.s. All of it was there-his remarks about Capitalism, and Mao Zedong, and everything else that was sensitive in any way. He had been particularly disrespectful of the Chinese political restrictions, but I knew that all of us had stumbled across those lines in one way or another. And I knew that in the Fuling police station there was probably a file with my remarks about Chinese xenophobia and the Opium Wars, along with many other things that I had said in cla.s.s.
There were students whose job was to report on the material I covered-political informers, more or less. Most likely they were the best students; probably they were some of the ones I liked the most. But still they kept track of what I said, and it was hard not to think about that when I taught.
ONE OF THE MOST DIFFICULT THINGS to do in cla.s.s was to have a debate, because usually the students' opinions were exactly the same. You had to think of something foreign like Robin Hood, because in those cases they couldn't turn to what they had been told to think. The point was, more or less, to trick them into coming up with their own opinions. In the fall it had worked well with Robin Hood, and in the spring it was the same way with Adam's planned-birth-policy debate. to do in cla.s.s was to have a debate, because usually the students' opinions were exactly the same. You had to think of something foreign like Robin Hood, because in those cases they couldn't turn to what they had been told to think. The point was, more or less, to trick them into coming up with their own opinions. In the fall it had worked well with Robin Hood, and in the spring it was the same way with Adam's planned-birth-policy debate.
He was doing a unit on population problems in his culture cla.s.s, and we thought of the debate topic one night while we were sitting on my balcony drinking local beer. There was no way you could ever debate openly about China's planned-birth policy-n.o.body would dare to oppose it-but you could speak freely about America. So that was the topic: Should America also have a law that limits most couples to one child?
Adam did it with four cla.s.ses, and it always divided them evenly. There was a pattern to these divisions-the Party Members and the other students in positions of authority were always in favor of inst.i.tuting the policy, while the opposing side included more of a fringe element. They wouldn't have been considered a fringe element in an American cla.s.s, of course, but in Fuling they stood out-some of the quieter students, the ones who seemed slightly removed and had nothing to do with the political organization of the cla.s.s.
In every case they ended up debating about China without realizing it, which of course was exactly what Adam had wanted. During the last debate, as the arguments grew heated, a student named Rebecca stood up.
He was one of the third-year students who had chosen his English name poorly. He had bristly crew-cut hair and tired eyes, and it was clear that he was intelligent, but he was hopelessly lazy and often failed examinations. I never saw him a.s.sociating with other students. In the debate he was opposed to America's adopting the one-child policy, and he quickly made his point.
”In America,” he said, speaking clearly, ”the people are used to having more freedom than we have in China. They are very concerned with human rights. Americans would never support the one-child policy, because they would see this as going against their freedom.”
He sat down. An angry murmur ran through the cla.s.s; for an instant it felt like one of those times when they bowed their heads awkwardly. But then somebody reb.u.t.ted Rebecca and the moment pa.s.sed, and the debate concluded without any more comments of the sort.
The next day I finished literature cla.s.s and Rebecca followed me into the hall. He asked if he could borrow a magazine, and I told him to come with me to my office, where we had stacks of old Newsweeks Newsweeks that the Peace Corps had sent us. that the Peace Corps had sent us.
We were walking up the stairs when Rebecca spoke again. ”I think you must notice that in China there is not as much freedom as in America,” he said. There were students all around us and many of them could speak English. Adam had told me about yesterday's debate, and I knew that must be what was on the young man's mind.
”Let's go into my office,” I said. ”I have lots of magazines there.”
I left the door partly open. In the hallway it was too loud for people to hear us, and I a.s.sumed that Rebecca must already have a reputation; a closed door would only seem suspicious. But he didn't seem worried about that-he sat down and looked me straight in the eye.
”I often think that our China has many problems,” he said. ”There is not enough freedom in China. I think in America you have more freedom.”
It was the first time I had heard a student speak this way, and I wasn't sure how to respond. ”I guess I would agree with you,” I said slowly.
His English was not very good and he had to think for the words. After a pause he said, ”I very much admire your American freedom.”
”But some people think Americans have too much freedom,” I said. ”That is one of the reasons why there is so much crime in America. People have the freedom to own guns, and they can have any strange ideas they want.”
”I think that is not so important,” he said. ”The life for most people in America is very good, and the economy is very good, because there is so much freedom.”
”I think that most of your cla.s.smates would not agree with you.”
”No!” he nearly shouted. ”They are all different. But they say that I I am not the same-sometimes they say that I am a 'New Man.' They don't understand why I think this way.” am not the same-sometimes they say that I am a 'New Man.' They don't understand why I think this way.”
”Well,” I said. ”I guess I agree with your ideas. But I think you probably should be careful.”
”Sometimes I have fear,” he said. ”Often I am afraid I can't say what I think.” The crowds in the hall were diminis.h.i.+ng, and it was growing quieter, and I was thinking: Why are you still talking so loudly? But it was clear that he had steeled himself for a long time to have this conversation, and he ignored everything else as he stared at me and spoke evenly.
”I don't like this college,” he said. ”I don't like the rules, and I don't agree with the ideas of the other students. And I don't like the rules in China.”
”Probably things will be different in the future,” I said. ”And already I think they are a little different in places like Beijing and Shanghai.”
”Everything changes too slowly in China,” he said. ”I wish I could live in a place like America where you have freedom.”
I knew that this was unlikely but I didn't say it. ”Many people think China is changing quickly,” I said. ”You might find that it's very different in a few years. I read something about it a week ago.” I picked out a magazine that had an article suggesting the government might reevaluate the Tiananmen protests in the near future. It wasn't much, but I had nothing else to offer Rebecca.
”You might think this is interesting,” I said, handing him the magazine. He took it and thanked me, and then he stared me in the eye again.
”Do you like living in China?” he asked.
”Yes,” I said. ”But probably I don't have the same problems that you have. Sometimes I don't like the political system, but it doesn't affect me very much. There are many other things I like.”
”If I were you,” he said, ”I would not like it here at all. I would stay in America.”
That was all he had to say. He stood up, nodded goodbye, and left. On the way out he closed the door to my office.
I sat there alone for a while, thinking about what he had said. He was the only student who was anything like a dissident, and I remembered how I had imagined those figures before coming to Fuling. I had always a.s.sumed that they were n.o.ble characters-charismatic, intelligent, farsighted, brave. Perhaps that was the way it had been in 1989, and perhaps it was still like that in the bigger cities; but here in Fuling things were very different. My best students-Soddy, Linda, Armstrong, Aumur; the ones who were charismatic, intelligent, farsighted, and brave-those were the ones who had been recruited long ago as Party Members. If you had any talent you played by the rules; being a Party Member was good for your career, and in any case all of the students seemed to think that it was good to be patriotic in the narrow way that they were told to be. The image I had once had of the Chinese dissident had no reality in Fuling.
All I had was Rebecca-he was the only one, and he was a loser. He was a bad student, and he was socially awkward. He had no friends. He had a girl's name. Some of these characteristics had conspired to set him apart, and in his bitterness his ideas had undoubtedly swung even further from the Party line. If there were big changes in China's future, it was hard to imagine them coming from people like Rebecca, or, for that matter, from any of my other students. I realized again that any major developments would happen first in Beijing or Shanghai, and then at some point they would reverberate down to places like Fuling, just as they always had.
Never again did Rebecca speak openly about the subject, but a couple of times I gave him magazines and he always thanked me. On the final exam I graded him higher than I should have. Partly I admired his bravery, but mostly I just felt sorry for him.
IN THE MIDDLE OF JUNE, the sinus infection moved into my right ear and broke the eardrum. It happened quickly-one afternoon I began to feel pressure building in my ear, and by dinner it was painful and soon it was unbearable. The entire right side of my head throbbed with the pain, but there was nothing to do except wait for the pressure to break the eardrum.