Memoirs of an Expat

Fireworks Free For All

It began about a week ago as sharp noises echoing through the chill winter air of Beijing. It started with isolated instances—noises heard far in the distance that reverberated from high rise to high rise. As the week rolled on, the frequency increased. Heavier explosions would leave car alarms blaring long after the echo died away. Shrill, whistling screams would be followed by a deep, echoing boom! The cacophony peaked at midnight on the 7th, becoming a ceaseless barrage and leaving at least one dead and many hospitalized. Today, empty cartridges and shreds of red paper litter the streets, blowing like tumbleweed across broad avenues, accompanied by gritty powder and ash that stings the eyes. The faint tang of sulfur lingers in the air.

This, however, was a happy occasion, and not the open conflict it sounds like. Spring Festival, which marks the Lunar New Year, has arrived once again in Beijing, and the Chinese are celebrating it the way they always have—with massive amounts of fireworks.

According to legend, gunpowder was accidentally discovered 2,000 years ago by a cook in the kitchen. Sufur, saltpeter, and charcoal were not uncommon in field kitchens of that time. The prevailing theory is that gunpowder was discovered in the 9th century by Taoist alchemists searching for the elixir of immortality. Regardless, by the 12th century it was being used to make firecrackers for religious purposes: the loud bangs are said to scare off evil spirits. Evil spirits are also known for being both small and not able to jump, which is why there is a large lintel at the entrance of traditional Chinese houses.

Starting in 1994, fireworks were forbidden within the city limits of Beijing, for reasons of safety. If one wanted to set off fireworks, one had to go outside the 5th ring road. Three years ago, however, the government lifted the ban and allowed fireworks (of restricted explosive power) to be set off within the city. I was not here for that Spring Festival, but I’m told the night sky was as bright as day and the festivities continued well into the small hours of the night. I was present for Spring Festival last year, however, and I was left speechless at the display.

My house lies near the center of Beijing, with views that face both north and south. In every direction, there was a never-ending stream of fireworks exploding all across the horizon, lasting nearly all night. Every family buys a few fireworks and goes outside at various times to set them off. My uncle spent almost three hours riding his bike home on New Year’s Eve, a trip that normally takes 30 minutes. Every street was packed with people setting fireworks off in the middle of the road, taking turns and without a single pause. Huge crowds gathered in parks and other open spaces. To give a sense of how many fireworks are set off, there was approximately 54 tons of debris picked up over a ten hour period the morning after. Used cardboard boxes and tubes are piled high outside each apartment complex and the pavement is scorched black in places.

There is a downside to the sparkling lights and riotous glee. Each year, hundreds are injured during Spring Festival. In 2007, there was 1 death and 715 fireworks-related injuries in Beijing. There has already been one death this year—a man named Zhang who, after drinking heavily, decided it was a good idea to set off large fireworks. Things are getting better, however. So far, officials report that injuries are down 42% compared to last year. Almost all the accidents are due to substandard illegal fireworks produced by non-licensed factories or improper use. The Chinese government does its best to close down these factories—checkpoints were set up on all major highways leading into Beijing to inspect for illegal fireworks. Over 3,000 boxes of substandard fireworks were destroyed in Beijing alone this year. Regulation of the fireworks industry has gotten more reliable over the past decade, meaning that much fewer substandard fireworks are being produced and distributed. Production is left primarily in the hands of licensed professionals. The thousands of street stalls that are set up in the city are monitored to ensure quality.

Regulation, however, comes at a cost. Due to taxes levied on officially licensed fireworks, many residents turn to underground sources. Illegal fireworks are cheaper, and often pack a much bigger bang than officially permitted fireworks. “Ten years ago, 1,000 RMB could buy a lot of fireworks. These days, 1,000 RMB buys you hardly any,” says Belinda, 23, a native Beijing resident. “If you go to the outskirts of the city, the fireworks there are ten times cheaper and also much bigger.” Despite the dangers, Beijing residents are still enthusiastic about the holiday, and adamant about celebrating it. Fireworks are an integral part of Chinese New Year, part of the Chinese cultural identity—imagine Christmas without Christmas trees or Santa Claus.

Spring Festival is a roving week-long holiday that changes each year, as it follows the lunar calendar. It marks the turn of the Chinese calendar, ushering in the new spring. It is a time for family, functioning in a similar way to Christmas and Thanksgiving in the U.S. Far-flung relations return home for a banquet—this year, the Chinese Ministry of Railways estimated that 178 million people would use the trains during the holiday. For many of China’s millions of migrant workers, this holiday marks the major payday of the year and is their one chance to return home. Many will stand on overcrowded trains for up to 30 hours or more to get back to their families. The vast majority of Chinese families spend Lunar New Year’s Eve at home, watching the annual New Year’s Gala on CCTV; a variety show that mixes music, comedic skits, intricately choreographed dance routines, acrobatics, and more.

Arguably the best part of Spring Festival for children, however, is the red envelopes of cash—called yasui money. Yasui money is traditionally given to children by their older relations. The red envelopes are meant to stave off bad luck and ill health. Unlike the West, gift-giving events in China such as weddings or New Year’s traditionally occasion the presentation of cash in small red envelopes rather than presents.

Yasui money has an old story behind it. The characters are, when literally translated, the ones for “to press” and “age.” The story goes that in ancient times there was an ogre with a black body and white hands named Sui (a different character from “age”). This monster would only appear once a year, on the night of the Lunar New Year. It would go around to children’s beds and stroke their heads three times. The child would awake crying and burning with fever. Several days later, when the fever abated, the child would have turned into a simpleton. Villagers would gather together on that night with many lanterns and candles in order to protect themselves and their loved ones from the monster. In one village, there was a family surnamed Guan. Afraid of the monster, the parents tried to keep their child awake all night. The child began playing with a piece of red paper, folding and unfolding it in various ways with some copper coins. In the end, he wrapped up eight copper coins in the paper and left it by his pillow when he finally fell asleep. The parents Guan, however, did not relax their vigil. All of a sudden, the door banged open and a gust of cold wind blew in, extinguishing all the lights in the house. The monster Sui came with his white hands and reached out to touch the child’s head. All of a sudden, he saw a gleam of light from beside the child’s pillow. Startled by the sudden shine, he fled from the house. The light was, of course, from the copper coins. The Guan family told their friends and neighbors about this method of scaring off Sui and thus the tradition of wrapping money up in red paper was born, as well as the term yasui; more freely translated as “to suppress the demon Sui.” Over the years, the character for the monster Sui was no longer used, and the modern character for age was substituted.

The first day of Spring Festival is the most riotous, but the fireworks last all week. Chinese typically get one to two weeks off work for Spring Festival, and they make the most of it. The volume of fireworks this year seems to be smaller than last—the novelty of being allowed to set off fireworks is dying down a bit. Still, the celebration of Chinese Lunar New Year far surpasses any Fourth of July display I’ve ever seen. Chinese people still retain a childlike glee and fascination with fireworks which promises that the traditional Lunar New Year celebrations will always be both loud and bright.

© 2008 The Hypermodern.