—

It all started with some small talk. I got into a cab at Xidan after the buses had stopped running, and the cabbie, who was the talkative type, decided to make conversation.

“Did you participate in the moment of silence?”

It was a hard question to answer, though it shouldn’t have been. The answer was “No.” Simple as that. But I equivocated. I told him that I was in a mall during the moment of silence and that I saw some people observing it (which was all true), what about you? He said that he was on the street, standing beside his car, honking his horn. I asked him why and he said dismissively that the state had ordered him to.

If he had said that he had lost someone in the quake, I would have let it go. And maybe if he had said that he thought it was the right thing to do, I wouldn’t have pressed him. But from his insouciant answer I thought that maybe he thought the whole forced outpouring of guilt as absurd and inconvenient as I did.

So I said: “I think it’s bullshit that they are closing entertainment venues because of the earthquake.”

“Why?”

“Because KTV and roller coasters have nothing to do with the earthquake. And the government doesn’t have the right to tell me how to mourn. If I want to pray for the victims, then go out and have fun with my friends, I should be able to.”

He glanced at me like, “Are you serious?”

“You can’t have fun while others are suffering. There are mothers, childen—buried. These people don’t have homes anymore!”

“I understand that, but every single day someone is suffering somewhere…”

We were driving north from Xizhimen. On our right flashed the Beijing Film Academy. There were no cars in front or around us so the cabbie hazarded a look in my direction and said, “你是中国人么?” (“Are you Chinese?”) Usually this question is meant as a joke, but that night it seemed less than facetious and more than idle curiosity. It seemed like a veiled threat.

This time I replied honestly: “No. I grew up in America.”

“No wonder.”

I didn’t ask him what he meant by that. In my six months here in China I had never felt so American as I did in that moment. No, I don’t mean “American”—I mean “not Chinese.” I had never felt so un-Chinese as when he asked me that question. But he was right, try as I might, I couldn’t understand the situation from a Chinese perspective. I was connected to China ethnically and could understand it intellectually, but where was my emotional connection, and did I ever have one in the first place? These are all questions I pondered afterward. At the time, I pressed on.

“You’re right. I’m an American. You know about 9/11. We had one national day of mourning but that was it. But after, you could still go to the amusement park if you wanted to.”

“That was terrible, but at least those people had homes they could go back to. There are millions homeless right now.”

“What about the floods in Myanmar? There are many more victims but no moments of silence.”

“But they aren’t Chinese.”

“Chinese people die every year of floods too.”

“But that is a few hundred people at most.”

“So it’s about the numbers?”

The cabbie drove faster and faster, his hands shook on the steering wheel, which caused the car to sway.

“These people are starving! Trucks can’t get through, they can’t find these people, and they are dying!”

“But what about the famines during the cultural revolution? Millions died then.”

He was exasperated. He laughed in the way you laugh when dealing with irrationality.

“Maybe it’s different in America—I don’t know, but in China this is the first time since ’49 that the government has acknowledged tragedy publicly. It shows that they are caring more about regular people. And I’m not talking about me—I’m fine. I’m talking about the peasants.”

“I agree that the government is making changes, and that it is great they are acknowledging the tragedy, but I wonder if they don’t get something out of it.”

“Of course they are. No one talks about Tibet anymore, not even the Western media. The government is instituting these things like the moment of silence and the ban on public recreation. If they didn’t the people would begin to wonder—do they not care about us? But most of this stuff, like the donations, are voluntary. Usually companies will force their employees to donate a certain amount of money but not this time. You give what you want. I’d say—and I’m just guessing, I don’t have the numbers or anything—that 30% are doing it because they have to but 70% are doing it because they want to.”

The conversation continued like a Platonic dialogue. The cabbie was a smart man, I could tell. He might have been thinking up his points on the fly (while trying to keep the car from scraping the median), but he had his information. When we got to my apartment I thanked him for giving me something to think about.

—

It is meaningless to compare human misery. Numerically, culturally, or socially.

I cited 9/11 when I argued with the cabbie but the nature of 9/11 was different. 9/11 was a conscious attack perpetrated by an outsider; the horror of 9/11, other than the casualties, was mostly psychological—it was an attack on American soil that reminded those of us not alive for Pearl Harbor that America is not invulnerable. This is a feeling I don’t expect most of the world to understand, because America is one of the few nations that have not had to fight a war on its own soil (I am talking about America in its fifty-state form and thus discounting the Revolutionary and Civil War).

Likewise, it is hard for me to understand what this government intervention means to Chinese people. How would I have felt if the government halted recreational activities after 9/11? Would I have taken it as concern or a violation of civil liberties?

Perhaps Americans are inoculated against disasters. We give our hurricanes names. We endearingly refer to the places most frequently destroyed by twisters Tornado Alley. We distance ourselves, watching the devastation from a helicopter’s point of view. Or we do what we do best—turn it into a media event, oversaturate the news so that people get tired of hearing about it. Katrina was apparently a big deal but I couldn’t believe Kanye said that shit about Bush.

Or maybe disasters just don’t effect us as much. The worst earthquake in American history was the 1906 San Francisco earthquake which killed about 3,000 people. Ironically, the top 9 events that have claimed the most American lives are all wars, with Iraq inching in on the 10th spot, which is currently held by the deadliest natural disaster in America: the Galveston Hurricane of 1900 which claimed at least 6,000 lives.

But if Americans can be inoculated against disaster through media coverage, so can the Chinese. The Sichuan Earthquake was a great step forward in government transparency (even though, as my colleague Yulin Zhuang argues, the government is using the earthquake as a political tool), and the fact that it claimed so many lives will only help to cement it in the Chinese consciousness. If this openness continues, maybe when the next disasters strike (knock on wood), the outpouring of support will be less and less and the donations fewer and fewer because people will unwittingly make comparisons to this earthquake, and after a while they will become numb.

When I got home I thought about the original question the cab driver had asked me, the one I had lied to. I thought back to 2:28 in the afternoon. I was at the Starbucks in The Place, chatting with a friend when the PA came on reminding everyone about the moment of silence. Some employees, in identical red-and-gold cheongsams, ran past to join the small crowd that had gathered outside to gaze at the large screen broadcasting a montage of the tragedy. My friend and I talked in a hushed whisper. Beside us a young Chinese man was yelling into his cell phone, and behind me three Chinese wives bowed their heads and clasped their hands in prayer. And outside, perhaps incredulous to find the streets empty, a car sped past, its engine roaring, going as fast as it could.

Many netizens have decried him as the most “shameless” man in China. The disparaging “Song of Running Fan,” which was written to warn Chinese against acting in such a cowardly manner, will soon be released as a cell phone ring-tone. To his great credit, the opprobrium of the masses has not cowed Fan into issuing an apology or condemning his actions. “At such a life-and-death moment, I would only give up my life for my daughter. I would not do it for other people, even my mother,” he wrote.

The web-based attacks against Running Fan are the latest in a series of nationalistic outbursts against Chinese who aren’t sufficiently patriotic. The last such outburst was directed at Grace Wang, the Duke University freshman who along with her family received death threats after she attempt to reconcile Pro-Tibet and Pro-China protesters on the Duke Campus.

In the wake of the 1989 protests, the Party began to inculcate a stronger sense of patriotism and nationalism through a school curriculum that emphasized “patriotic education.” Twenty years and one generation later, it is easy to see the fruits of this campaign in the attacks on Running Fan and the post-earthquake proliferation of young people in Beijing wearing “I love China” t-shirts with a Chinese flag etched into the heart.

Showing one’s patriotism by lashing out at others online or wearing a t-shirt (or a flag lapel pin) is an easy and convenient way to feel good about oneself―and one’s country―without exerting much effort. Real patriotism requires sacrifice. This does not ipso facto mean dying or fighting for one’s country, but it does necessitate something more than a superficial indication that one is “patriotic.” For example, forgoing a lucrative job that is damn near bequeathed to one upon graduating from Peking University in order to teach in a place as rural and poor as Dujiangyan is the essence of a patriotic desire to give back to one’s country. And this is, of course, what Fan Meizhong did. Before more people run off to attack Running Fan for his actions, they should think about which is more patriotic: writing a scathing message condemning someone online, or devoting one’s life to helping those in need.

The cinema chain UME has decided to ban two of Stone’s upcoming film releases this year from their theaters, which I suppose assumes that people would have gone to see them in the first place. And, taking a hint from Carrefour, Christian Dior has pulled all advertisements featuring Stone, who models a cosmetics line, from Chinese stores, lest they find themselves the target of another capricious Chinese boycott (Dior is French after all).

From Dior China’s statement:

Due to some customer reaction we have decided to pull her image from all of the department stores and from all of China…. We just want our customers and fans to realize that her personal comments are not related to the company and of course we don’t support any type of commentary that will hurt the feelings of our customers.

It seems that China is getting good at a popular American pastime: taking offense at things. Watch out, Wal-Mart, Dixie Chicks, et al. I am not defending anything celebrities say or companies do (especially if they are ridiculous and untrue), but China is getting quite adept at drawing apologies—from CNN, BBC, even Stone herself. Is this indicative of an oversensitive population, anxious about the Olympics? Or is it a symptom of the West trying to capture the essence of a country they can’t quite read? Or maybe it’s just another episode in the long-running soap opera, “People Doing Stupid Things.”

Stone’s apology, issued through a statement so you know she means it, goes something like this:

Due to my inappropriate words and acts during the interview, I feel deeply sorry and sad about hurting Chinese people…. I am willing to take part in the relief work of China’s earthquake, and wholly devote myself to helping affected Chinese people.

I fully support Stone’s commitment to help with relief work. If she goes to Sichuan to help with disaster relief, she can show the Chinese people that she isn’t wholly insensitive. But if, while helping remove rubble, a neighboring wall collapses on her and leaves her trapped for days, she would no longer have to apologize, because there might be something to be said for karma after all.

The video has several parts. It begins with an introduction by an anchor then goes into Stone’s rambling, followed by reactions from carefully-selected bystanders. Only the first reaction is in Chinese; the rest are in English. Watch the video, then we’ll talk.

In defense of Stone, she seems mildly inebriated/baked/both. Maybe that’s why she speaks with the grammatic variation of a four-year-old (sorry four-year-olds!). But although she phrases the idea of karmic retribution in the form of a rhetorical question—which either implies that she doesn’t really believe an unseen force caused the deaths of tens of thousands of innocent people in retaliation for “not being nice” or that she lacks the sense, common or otherwise, to not express those ideas in public—the use of the subjunctive only makes her comments slightly less egregious and inordinately offensive.

Stone’s comments are unjustifiable, so I won’t waste any more time criticizing her. I just wonder, were the reporters asking everyone on the red carpet for their opinions on the earthquake, or did they somehow sense that Sharon Stone had the best chance of making a mockery of herself when responding to a current events question?

But Sharon Stone isn’t the only one talking about Tibet again. The Dalai Lama, after a meeting with Britain’s Gordon Brown, claimed he heard from a military source in Tibet that “after the Olympics 1 million Chinese are going to settle in the autonomous region of Tibet.” He continued, “There is every danger Tibet becomes a truly Han Chinese land and Tibetans become an insignificant minority. Then the very basis of the idea of autonomy becomes meaningless.”

These two stories serve as a reminder that the earthquake might have bought the China a reprieve from outside scrutiny, but the ceasefire won’t last forever. Soon, the familiar questions will resurface, along with several new ones: why did the schools collapse? Could anything have been done to mitigate the damage? And if so, who, if anyone, could be held responsible?

I wonder if this video will cause as much of an uproar as Jack Cafferty’s gaffe on CNN. It certainly surpasses all previous benchmarks for obscenity, insensitivity, and ignorance, placing it on par with blaming Hurricane Katrina on a homosexual parade. I hope Chinese audiences can rise above this bizarre spasm of logorrhea and realize that, in the grand scheme of things, Sharon Stone’s opinion on China-Tibet relations counts for very little. But the reporter’s loaded questions (“But these people are innocent right?”), and the video’s description (“This is the real face of this high IQ hollywood star!!!” which I imagine refers to Stone’s debunked claim that she was a member of Mensa) belies an insecurity or perhaps a concern that people might actually take Stone seriously. When the second French reporter characterizes the earthquake as “just a natural disaster, and that’s all,” the reporter asks, “It’s not something political right?” A political earthquake? Unless the tectonic plates are shifting places because some of them support Tibetan independence while others oppose it (Eurasian plate I’m looking at you), I think we’re okay.

There is no need to defend China against attacks like these. They are absurd and any sleep lost over them is as meaningless as the comments themselves. Let’s focus instead on the issues at hand: the earthquake, the Olympics, and boycotting the next Sharon Stone movie.

Leaving out the Tangshan earthquake (four generations of Chinese leaders ago), the Chinese government had solid reasons for attempting to cover up the disasters of the past decade. Yellow River flood control was one of the biggest programs of the Chinese government; the building of thousands of dams and higher and higher levees worth billions of dollars were meant to tame and control the Yellow River, often called “China’s Sorrow.” The floods represented a catastrophic failure of one of the cornerstones of China’s domestic improvement policies. The SARS epidemic sparked a panic, flooding China’s already overcrowded hospitals with patients with complaints both real and imagined, as well as keeping frightened people with the disease at home where they could infect others rather than seeking medical treatment. While the Chinese government can be criticized for slow action, it is hard to imagine otherwise in a country with an overtaxed health system and no centralized computer information sharing. In any case, the reasons for suppression were twofold—to keep a panic from developing and to conceal China’s slow response. The train crash represents another dramatic failure which could be laid at the hands of Chinese government. China’s rail network carries hundreds of millions of people every year—a record 170 million during the week of Spring Festival alone. A disaster like that might erode public trust in the Chinese railway transportation system, which could have a very negative effect on confidence in the government. If the government stands to lose face from an incident, it will be covered up as they are best able.

The key question in all of these previous examples is: “Could the government have been more prepared, and prevented this from becoming a disaster?” The answer is, “most likely, yes.” Better land management or flood control on the Yellow River, faster action and treatment of SARS, and a better information network for the train, are all possible answers. It poses a challenge to the legitimacy of the government. Apply that rubric now to the earthquake. The Chinese government could have done absolutely nothing to mitigate the effects of the earthquake. This is one kind of natural disaster that no one can be expected to be able to prevent. While there have been unprecedented levels of openness and access so far, this will soon change. The Chinese government has a long history of allowing open access at the beginning and then suddenly reining in coverage. Already, in between the when the first draft of this article was written and when it will be published, you see the beginnings of that reversal.

Many Chinese will point to the fact that China often shows its poorer face on the news these days. Stricken farmers with piteous situations are often featured in the nightly news, struggling to make a living when there is no water to irrigate their plants with. In this case, disaster victims huddling in the streets, afraid to enter their homes. The key difference is that the blame is on Nature, not the government. The government is not being expected to solve or prevent the problem—merely to mitigate its effects. That is the key difference with the media response to the earthquake. People of any country unite around common disasters, and this represents a golden opportunity to solidify support for the Chinese government by showing off that it is doing everything it can. Put a picture of a woman crying over the dead body of her child next to a picture of a grave Wen Jiabao standing amidst rubble, and you have a propagandist’s dream: a win-win situation for the government. Now that many are perishing before they can be rescued from the rubble, and now that exposure is beginning to take its toll on the survivors, the openness is being reconsidered.

This is not to say that the Chinese government should not be praised for its quick response—it deserves to be lauded. It is outdoing itself in its response to this disaster. Many pundits, however, seem to be surprised by the media openness that is being seen to this disaster, and speculate if it represents a new trend in Chinese thinking. To the contrary, this is merely the continuation of basic principles of news broadcast propaganda that have been followed for years: stir up the people’s emotions against an outsider (be it America, Japan, or Mother Nature) and show them how the government is doing well against them. That is what happened in 1999 for the Belgrade bombing—initial open news coverage was then suddenly throttled—and it is what will happen now with this earthquake.