[This is a post I just made for ChinaGeeks, but it seems like it might be worth posting here too]

Given that it’s right around the corner and not much else seems to be happening in the Middle Kingdom right now, this seems as good a time as any for a historical detour into the holiday’s origins.

First, the origin myth of Spring Festival (translated and with illustrations from this Chinese site):

Tradition has it that in ancient China there was a monster named “Year” with long tentacles on its head that was extremely ferocious. “Year” generally lived deep down on the ocean floor, climbing to the shore only on the Lunar New Year to devour livestock and people.

Because of this, every year on that day, people of every village, the old and the young alike, would flee to remote mountains to avoid being attacked by the beast.

This New Year’s Day, as the people of Peach Blossom Village were escorting the old and young to the safety of the mountains, an old man with a slivery beard and eyes that seemed to be sparkling came begging, his frame resting on a single walking-stick and his arms carrying a sack.

Some people in the town were sealing up their windows and doors, others were cleaning and preparing for the journey, still others were herding their livestock; the chaotic sounds of bustling, panicked people and horses were everywhere. No one thought to look after this old beggar.

An old granny from the town’s east end was the only person to give the old man a bite to eat and urge him to head up the mountain and avoid the beast. The old man smiled, stroking his beard, and said, “Granny, if you let me stay in this house for one night, I’m sure I can drive this ‘Year’ beast away.”

The old woman was shocked; looking closer she saw the beggar’s frame was hearty, that he looked spirited and poised. But when she continued to advise the man to go up the mountain, he simply smiled, saying nothing. The old lady felt it was hopeless; out of necessity she left her house and took asylum in the mountains.

At midnight, the “Year” monster burst into the village. He discovered that the scene was different than in years past; in the grandmother’s house on the east side of the village red strips of paper were pasted around the doorway, and inside the room a lone fire glowed brightly. The monster trembled, and let out a strange scream.

“Year” glared at the woman’s house for a moment, then screamed madly towards it. When he neared the doorway, the sudden “bang, pow” of explosions filled the air. “Year” quivered and shook, unwilling to approach the house again.

As a matter of fact, the things “Year” feared the most were the color red, bright flames, and the sound of explosions. The door to the old woman’s house burst open, and in the doorway stood a man wrapped in a red cloak, laughing uproariously. “Year” turned pale with fright and helplessly jumped upwards.

The next day was the first of the new year; as the people hiding in the mountains returned to their homes they were shocked to see that everything in the village was safe and sound. Suddenly, the old grandmother realized what had happened, and hastily told the other villagers of the old beggar’s promise.

Everyone crowded towards the old woman’s home, all they could see were the red paper strips, some unburned bamboo still exploding “bang!” in the courtyard, and a red candle still flickering inside the room…

The villagers were wild with joy, to celebrate this auspicious event they put on new clothes and hats and visited the homes of their friends and family to share congratulations. This news spread quickly through the surrounding villages; soon everybody knew the way to banish the “Year” monster.

From then onward, every year on New Year’s Eve every family puts up red scrolls, sets of firecrackers, and keeps candles brightly lit, keeping watch during the night. When dawn comes, they still go to the houses of friends and family and exchange congratulations. This custom continued to spread and grow as it was passed down, and became Chinese people’s most important traditional festival.

There appear to be many versions of this story, and many versions about the origins of Spring Festival (as one would expect for a tradition so old). Although traditions of celebrating the new year through sacrifices to the gods and ancestors may have started as early as the Shang dynasty (roughly 1600 B.C.E.-1000 B.C.E.), when the new year officially began doesn’t appear to have been fixed formally until the Han Dynasty (206 B.C.E.–220 C.E.). The origins of traditions are also difficult to date; the site that the above story is translated from says that the tradition of writing couplets on red paper for the festival began in the Ming Dynasty (1368–1644 C.E.)and that the tradition of posting 福 (happiness) on the door is from the Song Dynasty (960-1279 C.E.) or earlier, but no evidence is provided. The tradition of spending New Year’s eve with ones family, apparently, comes from the Wei-Jin period (220-420 C.E.)

A good amount of information on current traditions is available at Wikipedia for those outside China, those in-country are welcome to browse the Wikipedia page, but might do better just to go outside and watch the festivities. With all the firecrackers, it’s not like you were going to be resting anyway.

Right before my website was blocked here, a very, very strange thing happened to me. I had planned to write about it then, but the blog got blocked, the holidays came, and somehow the story got lost in the shuffle. Those of you who know me personally have heard it already; for the rest of you, well…enjoy. I swear this is all true.

One Sunday morning I got a notification from the woman who writes our schedules. There was no text, just an attachment. The attachment was laid out like the forms we get informing us that we have a new class, but it was all blank, except for the Notes section, which read thusly (I have not edited this at all):

We have the report now and already gave the paper to EAC. He needs to read this report during the meeting ,he needs to wear the suit (formal clothes ) ,he should practice this report before the meeting ,he should divide the report into four small short sections , and during the reading , when he finishes one small short section , let TA translate ,the whole report should read like this .

Needless to say, I was a bit confused. I also didn’t have a copy of the “report” it referred to, a formal suit, or any idea when the hell this was supposed to be happening, so I sent my boss an email. Turned out, “the meeting”—whatever the hell that was—was the next morning. I got no further information as to what this was, or what it had to do with teaching English (which is what my job is).

I was already annoyed because it meant that I’d have to cancel my afternoon Chinese lesson to go hunting for a suit. Then our office manager gave me the “report” I was meant to read at the “meeting”. It read thusly (also not edited at all, it came with the typos):

Honorable Ladies and Gentlemen:
On behalf of the Palestinian Mother Poole of Britain, let me express my sincere greetings to everybody.
China is a great country with long history and brilliant civilization. Far from the beginning of the 20th century, the rapid development of agriculture in China indicated that of China was the leader of the world.
For the carrer of “Biscay”, my three years working in China has got great support and help from all governments and relative regions. The series fertilizers of “Biscay” obtained recognition and welcome from Chinese farmers.
I have joined in the “Biscay” conferences many times. But today, except for pleasure, I a, also very astonished that Biscay could develop so fast from south to the northeast China, and got great effect. Until now, Biscay has covered more than 20 prvinces of China. It is inseperable to the hardworking of the Chinese staff.
British Mother of the Palestinian Poole is an organic enterprises of research, technology promotion and international trade. The vice president of the company has served in the International Food and Agriculture Organization, known as the “Father of Fertilizer” in Britain. We have close cooperative relations with agricultural research and the most advanced technologies. “Biscay” exports to more than 100 countries and regions in the world. It provides security for the agricultural development and people’s physical and mental health.
In 2009, the headquarter plans to provide 5,000 tons core raw materials to China to assure enough source of manure, and thereupon the maximize profits for dealers and farmers.
I’m sure “Biscay” will bring constructive and profound impact to Chinese agriculture !In conclusion, I wish the meeting a complete success and merry Christmas.

Needless to say, I became a bit concerned at this point. Aside from the obvious spelling and grammar errors in the “report” I was being asked to give, it was becoming increasingly clear that this didn’t have a damn thing to do with English teaching. At best, I suspected I was being brought in to represent some British company solely because having a white person makes your business look better; at worst, it seemed perhaps I was being asked to impersonate a poop vendor.

The next morning I met up with my “translator” (one of the Chinese TAs from our school) and we got into a sketchy van that drove us to a hotel lobby in the middle of nowhere. On the ride, the TA filled me in a bit on what was happening. I was not “representing” a British company, I was in fact impersonating an extremely high level executive. This executive had gone home for the holidays, but apparently a Chinese company he worked with wanted him to make a token appearance at this meeting with yet another company, probably to impress them.

That’s where I come in. With my goatee, roguish good looks and tie (I wasn’t able to find a suit, or even a sport coat in time), I didn’t exactly look the part, but apparently everyone was hoping that nobody would notice this. This made me more than a little nervous. Then my “translator” asked me if I could answer “professional questions.” I looked at her like she was crazy and she said OK, she would try to deflect them. Oh, good. This was going to go great.

We got there and were met by a whole bunch of people who hustled us over to the room where the meeting was taking place. My “translator” subtly reminded me that I was the boss of everyone (as far as they knew), so I should try to act the part. Whatever that means.

The room, as it turned out, was set up sort of like a press conference. There was a table in the front with microphones and eight or nine seats. Places for important people like the Chinese company executives, local agriculture experts and even the provincial agriculture minister. And, of course, me. Opposite the table were probably two hundred seats full of people. Several different people were filming the meeting and more were taking photos; it was quite clear the press was there.

I sat down at my place and spent a while trying to figure out what the hell my shiny nametag, which read 查理斯, meant before I realized it was the Chinese approximation of Charles, my name. So, I’m supposed to be impersonating some British excrement merchant using my own name? I began to suspect that our ruse might not fool anyone.

Not that I was really trying to help pull it off. I was pretty annoyed with the whole situation, so when called on to give my speech (only after a length and very polite, deferential introduction in Chinese) I gave it verbatim, bad grammar and all. Anyone in the room who spoke English would certainly be puzzled, but I suspect I was the only one who understood it or was even listening, since my “translator” was reading the Chinese version of the speech.

After I spoke, we sat at the table, pretending to listen to speech after speech about how great “Biscay” is, all in Chinese. Most of these speeches were prefaced with kind words and thanks directed at “Mr. Charles”, generally in Chinese, but occasionally even in halting English. I’d nod to them and go back to sleeping with my eyes open.

The aforementioned “Biscay”; this is their Chinese name.

About an hour into the process, apparently the people who hired me began to be concerned that the ruse might not look as good as they’d originally hoped. Via the “translator”, they asked me to lean over and talk to the guy next to me at the table. That way, people watching us would think we knew each other (presumably from our previous business dealings?). The guy next to me was an agriculture expert from a local university, but he seemed much less rabidly enthusiastic than the others. In fact, he looked about as bored as I was. I didn’t know if he spoke English, so I leaned over and told him in Chinese that they had asked me to pretend I was talking with him. He seemed unfazed by this.

Right before it was about to end, they remembered they were supposed to give me water. I wasn’t thirsty, but I was bored, so I opened it and promptly spilled some on my tie, creating a gigantic dark spot.

Then the meeting broke for lunch. We wanted to jet quickly before anyone got a chance to ask me any questions or figure out what was up, but everyone wanted to take photos with me. Some of them wanted to talk business, too, but I pretended I didn’t understand what they were saying and the “translator” deflected their requests for business cards and the like. Anyway, somewhere, there are photos of me shaking hands with some of the highest-level movers and shakers in Heilongjiang’s agricultural field!

And that’s it. We fought through the photos and got out clean, if somewhat weirded out by the whole process. I’m still pretty uncomfortable with it on principle, and I still don’t know why they chose me to go (rather than, say the old British man who loves acting and also works on staff here. No seriously, there actually is a guy like that.). It does make for one hell of a story, though…

I’m now a contributing writer for the expat blog Lost Laowai, and just did a piece for them on crappy subtitle translation in the movie There Will Be Blood. It’s pretty funny, I think, head over there and check it out.

Now that it’s been up there for a few days, here’s a copy of the post:
Last night, I had nothing to do and no classes this morning, so I popped in a pirated copy of There Will Be Blood. About halfway through, I decided to turn on the Chinese subtitles, since I’d seen the movie before anyway, but I was pretty surprised at what I found, and parts are pretty funny, so I thought I’d share it with everyone.

I’ll preface this by saying that this has been done before, by John at Sinosplice. He, however, reviewed Closer, a film with a Metacritic score that barely edges out The Wackness. The Wall Street Journal called it “an airless, ultimately joyless drama.”

There Will Be Blood, in contrast, was universally lauded. It won multiple Oscars and had been out on DVD for quite a while when I picked up this pirated copy. I was curious; would the translators invest more time (and/or get someone who actually spoke English) for this film? The answer: a resounding “No.”

For your enjoyment, I’ve translated four crucial scenes from the film, with the original dialogue in bold and then the subtitle translation after it in italics. These scenes are all extremely important to understanding the main character of the film (Daniel Plainview), so I thought they were especially good choices for illustrating this epic subtitle translation fail. They are by no means the only scenes with mistakes, though.

If you’re pressed for time, skip to the Scene 3; that’s where it really gets crazy.

WARNING: THESE SCENES CONTAIN PLOT INFORMATION AND SPOILERS. IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN THE FILM, DON’T READ BEYOND HERE.

SCENE 1

The preacher ELI comes to confront DANIEL about DANIEL’s promises to the church shortly after DANIEL’S SON has been injured in an oil-drilling accident and lost his hearing.

ELI: When do we get our money, Daniel?
Subtitle: When do we get our money, Daniel?

[DANIEL slaps ELI]

DANIEL: Aren’t you a healer and a vessel for the Holy Spirit? When are you coming over to make my son hear again? Can’t you do that?
Subtitle: Do you mean to say you didn’t hear? Isn’t your specialty the spirit? What did you come here for? Is it possible that you can’t do anything?

ELI: If you had let me bless the well, this wouldn’t have–
Subtitle: You really are a bastard.

[DANIEL slaps ELI again]

ELI: You shouldn’t have done that, Daniel.
Subtitle: You shouldn’t have done that.

ELI: [Crawling away] You owe the church of the Third Revelation $5,000. That was the arrangement that we made.
Subtitle: You bastard. I didn’t do anything. It wasn’t me who did it.

So much for plot points!

SCENE 2

A man named HENRY has shown up, claiming to be DANIEL’s half-brother.

DANIEL: Where are you coming from?
Subtitle: Where did you come from?

HENRY: From New Mexico.
Subtitle: From Mexico.

DANIEL: Yes, I know. From where?
Subtitle: Yes, I know. From where?

HENRY: Silver City, I’ve been there for two years. I was trying drilling of my own for years, getting leases in Texas, Louisiana…
Subtitle: I’ve been there for two years. I was leading the vagrant life for many years, then I came here.

DANIEL: Anything that produced…?
Subtitle: And you had something?

HENRY: No, not like your success, no.
Subtitle: No, I’m not as successful as you.

[Later.]

DANIEL: Are you an angry man, Henry? Are you envious, do you get envious?
Subtitle: Are you an angry man, Henry? Are you envious? Do you envy me?

HENRY: I don’t think so, no.
Subtitle: I don’t think so, no.

DANIEL: I have a competition in me. I want no one else to succeed. I hate most people.
Subtitle: I’m competing with myself. I won’t let anyone else succeed. I hate most people.

HENRY: That part of me is gone. Working and not succeeding, all my failures have left me…I just don’t care.
Subtitle: Yes, many people are gone now. Work and success, all I have heard are my own failures. I don’t care.

DANIEL: Well, if it’s in me it’s in you. There are times when I look at people and I see nothing worth liking. I want to earn enough money I can get away from everyone.
Subtitle: Whatever’s in me is in you. The people I find, I have nothing in common with them. I want to earn enough money to get away from everyone.

HENRY: What will you do about your boy?
Subtitle: So, what about your son?

DANIEL: I don’t know. Maybe it will change. Does your sound come back to you, I don’t know…maybe no one knows. A doctor might not know that…
Subtitle: I don’t know. Maybe it will change. I don’t know, maybe it will influence him deeply. Maybe no one knows, maybe only heaven knows.

HENRY: Where’s his mother?
Subtitle: Where’s his mother?

DANIEL: I don’t want to talk about those things. I see the worst in people, Henry. I don’t need to look past seeing them to get all I need. I’ve built up my hatreds over the years, little by little.
Subtitle: I don’t want to talk about those things. I see the worst things, Henry. I don’t want to see those things. They have already become history, over the years I will gradually forget.

DANIEL: Having you here gives me a second breath. I can’t keep doing this on my own, with these…people.
Subtitle: I want to find a breath of fresh air. I can’t keep going on alone like this. If things stay like this, people…

SCENE 3

This is where our friend the subtitle translator really starts to lose his grip on what the hell is going on. DANIEL has a gun to HENRY’s head, doubting that he is really who he claims to be.

DANIEL: What was the name of the farm next to the Hill House?
Subtitle: I want to give the house I will grow old in a name.

HENRY: I can’t remember.
Subtitle: Yes, I don’t remember you.

DANIEL: Who are you?
Subtitle: [No subtitle]

HENRY: I’ll leave, Daniel.
Subtitle: Are you Daniel?

DANIEL: Who are you?
Subtitle: Who are you?

HENRY: I’m no one. Just let me get up and go.
Subtitle: I’m no one, just an unimportant person.

DANIEL: Do I have a brother?
Subtitle: You are my brother.

HENRY: I met a man in King City who said he was your brother. We were friends for months, working in King City. And he wanted to make his way to you, Daniel. He didn’t have any money. He died of tuberculosis. He wasn’t harmed, wasn’t killed, nothing bad…but he told me about you, and I just took his story. Used his diary. Daniel, Daniel, I’m your friend, I’m not trying to hurt you. Just survive. No!
Subtitle: In a dream, I came to a Crime City; I became a criminal. There, there were no friends or relatives, but there were many laborers working in the city. It seems like I was there waiting for somebody. Saying it, I’m sure you won’t believe me. Later, I left that capital of crime hurriedly because I didn’t want to see people die. The things you just said to me; I can only say this is still a beginning. Especially as far as you’re concerned. Daniel, we’re friends, true-hearted friends, isn’t that right? Yes. I want to sleep. No!

Ah yes, a dream about Crime City! That’s got about the same impact as the admission that a character is impersonating someone’s dead brother for financial gain. Well done, translator!

SCENE 4

Near the end of the film, ELI shows up at DANIEL’s house, trying to get him to invest in some new property he wasn’t able to purchase when he originally started drilling years earlier.

DANIEL: I’d be happy to work with you. But there is one condition for this work. I’d like you to tell me that you are a false prophet. I’d like you to tell me that you are and have been a false prophet, and that God is a superstition.
Subtitle: I like to hear you speak. You can continue your elegant exposition. It is like hearing heavenly bells. To tell you the truth, I don’t like religion, but I don’t oppose God.

ELI: But that’s a lie, it’s a lie, I cannot say it.
Subtitle: But that’s a lie. I can only say that that is truly a lie.

[After the business details are ironed out]

ELI: I am a false prophet and God is a superstition, if that’s what you believe then I will say it.
Subtitle: Benevolent sir, please help, repair our church.

DANIEL: Say it like you mean it. Say it like it’s your sermon.
Subtitle: Why are you speaking so softly? Say it using that loud and clear voice of yours.

[...DANIEL eggs on ELI until ELI is screaming]

ELI: I am a false prophet and God is a superstition!
Subtitle: In the name of God I am endlessly grateful if Daniel and I can help each other.

DANIEL: Those areas have been drilled. Those areas have been drilled.
Subtitle: You spoke without emotion. It doesn’t seem like truthful words.

ELI: [mumbles]
Subtitle: Oh, yes?

DANIEL: Yes, it’s uh, it’s called drainage, Eli. I own everything around it so of course I get what’s underneath it.
Subtitle: Yes, child. I would never plan, I have given a lot.

As you can see, anyone watching the movie and relying on the Chinese subtitles would, at best, be really confused. It’s a shame they don’t get people who know what they’re doing to write the subtitles, especially for movies as great as this one. Anyway, those of you with Chinese girlfriends, keep an eye on the subtitles when you’re watching movies together, because the two of you might not be watching the same movie!

No, it’s not the pollution, or the fact that there are so many people here. My least favorite thing about China is this lingering cultural perception that everything about China is, at some level, ultimately incomprehensible to everyone who isn’t Chinese.

This is manifested at every level, from the extremely superficial to the deeply personal. For example, China-watchers may recall the hubbub over Ang Lee’s recent film Lust, Caution, which some Chinese people claim is impossible for non-Chinese to understand. I haven’t seen the film and I’m sure it does have a lot of cultural references that make it difficult for foreigners to understand, but impossible? Really? (It should be noted that one of the two writers of Lust, Caution was a foreigner).

This phenomenon exists even in perceptions about the language. Chinese people are, by and large, deeply impressed that I can speak decent Chinese and generally shocked when I tell them that I don’t think Chinese is a difficult language to learn (at least, no more difficult than other languages). Yes, Chinese is written with characters, yes, it has tones, yes, it’s a very old language, but why does that mean it’s impossible to learn?

In those more public arenas, I’m not particularly bothered by it, to be honest. It’s fair that Chinese people expect foreigners to be ignorant about their culture; after all, the vast majority of foreigners are. What’s frustrating is when a difference of opinions with a friend who knows you aren’t ignorant still leads to what seems to be everyone’s fallback defense: “You’re a foreigner, so you don’t understand.”

Now, I’m not claiming that I know everything about China, or Chinese culture, because I don’t. But I do know a fair amount; more than the average Chinese people about some things. In my college classes, I’ve straightened out students who were confused about which ancient philosopher wrote what, and what Lu Xun’s original name was (Lu Xun is a pen name). Still, I’m pretty sure it will never be enough. If a difference of opinion runs deep enough, the eventual response I get is always “you just don’t understand.”

This phenomenon is, I think, one part of a larger issue for me: the clear delineation between “foreigner” and “Chinese person” based completely on ethnicity. Although I haven’t lived here half a year yet, among my coworkers there are people who have lived here for years, married Chinese women, had children. In America, those people would be considered American; in China, they will always be Foreign. And, by extension, it seems they will never really understand China.

Personally, I don’t think I understand China as well as Chinese people, not yet. But I believe there are foreigners who do, and there are plenty of aspects of Chinese culture I understand well enough that I should be able to discuss them without getting the old “you don’t understand” in return.

In the interest of clarity, the conversation I’m thinking of was regarding marriage/dating and a friend of mine who is being pressured by her parents to find someone. I’m of the opinion that she’s still young and can afford to wait until she runs into someone she likes. She thinks I don’t understand, but I do; I understand the extreme pressure she feels from her parents, I understand that different marriage customs mean people get married younger here, and that if she waits too long she might not be able to find anyone. I understand that she’s seeing her friends pair up and get married or move away and she feels a lot of pressure to change something. But I also understand her well enough to know that she isn’t one of those girls that can live happily as long as they have a tolerable husband and material comforts. That does work for some women, but it’s not going to work for her. She’s not mature enough for a real relationship either–she’s admitted that herself–and I don’t care what country you live in or what social pressures you face, those factors make it a bad idea to get married. That’s my opinion. Readers who understand Chinese culture better than I feel free to correct me if I’m wrong, but I feel I completely understand the social situation she’s talking about, I just feel that her own happiness is more important than conforming to social norms, even if it means making her parents angry. I KNOW that Chinese culture has different values regarding obeying your parents, it isn’t that I don’t understand, I just don’t agree.

So it hurts to hear even as close a friend as her brush of my arguments with “you don’t understand.”

That’s why I could never live here forever.

Finally finished translating this, with a bit of help from my good friend Alice. Still not sure why I can’t get Final Cut to export widescreen videos, but this will do for the moment. Enjoy!

(The church at the very beginning of the video is Harbin’s famous St. Sophia)

Those of you who have been reading this blog from the beginning are perhaps familiar with the saga of my first roommate here, the most arrogant human being I have ever encountered. He is, without a doubt, my least favorite person ever. I knew something was wrong when he murdered someone’s pet, and my suspicions were confirmed when he overheard a coworker and I discussing how frustrating lazy students can be and told me that any teacher with negative thoughts about any of their students wasn’t cut out to be a teacher and was “shit”. I countered that it can actually be helpful to vent about frustrating students outside of class because it keeps you from exploding at them in class, but he wasn’t buying it. Before he left, he also intentionally attempted to insult me in front of coworkers.

I figured he was gone from my life when he moved to another city at the end of our training, but he showed up at my apartment during the National Day holiday and was baffled as to why I wasn’t excited to see him. I showed him the door–actually, I never even let him into the apartment–and figured that was it.

Well, not quite. Yesterday I heard that he was fired from his English teaching job for–wait for it–exploding at his students. Apparently he was frustrated they weren’t working hard enough and started screaming at them that if they didn’t work harder ‘America was going to come hurt them.’ (This is especially odd considering he’s a South African, not an American). Although I feel bad for his (former) students, when I heard that I couldn’t help thinking “I love this moment so much I want to have sex with it.” (That’s something Dr. Cox once said on the TV show Scrubs).

Karma 1, Arrogant Prick 0.

Most people know about the horrors perpetrated by the sadistic heads of Nazi concentration camps during World War II. Many also know about the American failures to rescue Jewish refugees and the general lack of urgency about shutting down the camps. I think the number of people who know about the atrocities committed by Japan during WWII, and the part America played in that is much lower. Today I came across some information so disturbing I feel I really need to write about it.

WARNING: This blog entry contains graphic descriptions of the horrifying human experiments carried out at Unit 731 by Japanese scientists. If you have a weak stomach, or just aren’t looking to read something disturbing, I highly suggest you skip this entry.

For China, World War II began in 1931, when Japan invaded Manchuria, seizing a large chunk of territory and setting up a puppet state called Manchukuo. Harbin, of course, is a part of that region, and so came under Japanese jurisdiction starting in 1931.

In 1932, the chief medical officer of the Japanese army, Shiro Ishii, was placed in command of the “Army Epidemic Prevention Research Laboratory”, based in a suburb south of Harbin. Here, secret chemical and biological research was conducted until the facility was attacked in 1935. The Japanese government, sold on the usefulness of this type of research, gave Ishii a blank check to begin a more extensive program, and in 1936 his team began work in a much larger facility closer to Harbin. Officially, they were the Epidemic Prevention and Water Purification Department of the Kwantung Army. Colloquially, they were known as Unit 731.

Officially, the 731 was a lumber mill; but in actuality its purpose was human experimentation. Scientists and staff jokingly referred to their test subjects as “logs”; these logs were acquired by the Japanese secret police, who stole men, women, and children off the streets and shipped them by train to Unit 731. What exactly happened to people once they got there? The list is long, and extremely horrible.

For one, the scientists performed numerous vivisections–surgeries on live patients–often without anesthesia. Sometimes they would infect the “test subjects” with diseases first. Sometimes they removed organs. They amputated limbs, sometimes reattaching them to the opposite side of the body, they froze and unthawed body parts to study the effects of gangrene, removed parts of people’s brains, raped and impregnated women and then experimented during the pregnancy. They even performed vivisections on newborn infants.

God, I wish that were all.

They also tested the effectiveness of explosives (and effective treatments for shrapnel wounds) by tying unprotected test subjects (i.e., Chinese people) to boards at varying distances surrounding an explosive, and then detonating it. They also tested numerous chemical and biological agents in this manner, as well as flame-throwers.

They infected their subjects with numerous diseases from syphilis to the bubonic plague, then infested their living quarters with fleas. The resultant infected fleas were dropped from airplanes over Chinese cities, resulting in thousands of deaths.

Other miscellaneous experiments were also performed. The full extent of these will probably never be known, so here’s a sampling courtesy of Wikipedia. Prisoners were subjected to:

-being hung upside down to see how long it would take for them to choke to death.
-having air injected into their arteries to determine the time until the onset of embolism.
-having horse urine injected into their kidneys.
-being deprived of food and water to determine the length of time until death.
-being placed into high-pressure chambers until death.
-being exposed to extreme temperatures and developed frostbite to determine how long humans could survive with such an affliction, and to determine the effects of rotting and gangrene on human flesh.
-having experiments performed upon prisoners to determine the relationship between temperature, burns, and human survival.
-being placed into centrifuges and spun until dead.
-having animal blood injected and the effects studied.
-being exposed to lethal doses of x-ray radiation.
-having various chemical weapons tested on prisoners inside gas chambers.
-being injected with sea water to determine if it could be a substitute for saline.

I wish I were making this up, but the people at Unit 731 even gave out poisoned candy to children to study its effects in the local population.

Now, all of that alone would be horrifying enough, but unfortunately there’s more. When the war ended, Shrio Ishii and his fellow butchers knew their lives were in danger, but they also know that their experimental data would be of interest to American military scientists (who weren’t allowed to experiment on people) eager to get a head start on the Russians. They met with the Americans and parlayed a deal, trading the data on their horrifying experiments in return for complete and total immunity. I’ll say that again, because it bears repeating: The United States of America granted the heads of Unit 731 complete immunity. Shiro Ishii, a man who Joseph Mengele could take evil lessons from, died in 1959 of natural causes, without having served a single day in prison.

Someday, I intend to go to Unit 731, which still exists today as a museum. I’m not sure I’ll be able to stomach it, but it seems like the sort of thing I should see anyway, as a reminder of the horrible things that war and righteous nationalism result in.

“Free Tibet” is a phrase with a bit of a history. More or less since the Chinese army entered Tibet in 1951, some people have complained that Tibet should be its own country. Over time, rhe cause became popular among Westerners, especially students and celebrities. The intensity of the protesting comes and goes as things in Tibet happen (or don’t), but the song has remained more or less the same: “Free Tibet.” Well, in the West, anyway.

Why has this particular cause attracted so much attention in the West? As I see it, there are two reasons. One is Western perception of the Chinese government, which is shaped mainly by the knowledge that they are Communist and that they once killed students in Tiananmen Square. They are, as a result, “evil”. Western perceptions of Tibetans are based on the Dalai Lama, who seems calm, wise, peaceful, spiritual—everything it seems the Chinese government is not. Controversy closer to home is always complicated, but from afar the China-Tibet issue comes off as good-versus-evil to the uninformed.

The other reason I believe Tibet has attracted so much attention is that it appears to a certain nostalgia many Western intellectuals have; a desire to return to a simpler, more “pure” time. Tibet’s “spiritual” traditional society, its ruggedly beautiful terrain, and its ancient, mysterious religion all give it a special sort of “flavor” that Westerners feel is being destroyed by the modernity the Chinese government brings to Tibet.

Unfortunately, those perceptions are grossly misguided. Traditional Tibetan society was essentially a slave society. The vast majority of Tibetans were extremely poor, there was no real justice system, and the political structure of its “spiritual” government was rife with corruption, exploitation, and perversion. In the book The Struggle for Modern Tibet (the autobiography of a Tibetan who has lived in Tibet, mainland China, India, and the United States), Tashi Tsering describes how he was chosen to become a dancer for the Dalai Lama, taken from his family (forever) as a kind of “tax”, and forced into a dance troupe run by a sadistic director and forever plagued by horny Tibetan monks. These monks (not allowed to marry) took out their sexual frustration through sexual relationships with the children in the dance troupe—Tsering describes this as common practice. Anyone who believes Tibet should return to its roots, leave China, and become a religious nation headed by the Dalai Lama should read that book.

Similarly, what China does in Tibet often goes unreported or is misinterpreted by a Western public eager to find fault with the Chinese government. For example, last May, some Tibetans began a violent riot that caused millions of dollars in damage and touched off a series of racially-motivated hate crimes against Han Chinese and Muslims. Non-Tibetans in Lhasa were stabbed, beaten, and even burned alive in the streets. The Chinese government sent in police to stop the riots, and even though there’s no evidence of violence and the Western reporter in Lhasa at the time reported seeing no police misconduct, the story that played in the West was one of a “brutal crackdown” against “peaceful Tibetan protesters”. CNN even doctored a photo of Chinese police vehicles that ran on their website, editing out Tibetan rioters who were attacking the trucks. Myriad other news media ran misleading headlines and photographs, including numerous photographs of police in Nepal beating protesters that were labeled as if they were photos from China.

Lest you think I’m parroting the Party line here, I urge you to read the aforementioned book (The Struggle for Modern Tibet) and do some research about Western news coverage of Tibet yourself. All of this stuff is well-documented.

You might be surprised to learn that even the Dalai Lama isn’t interested in seeing a fully independent Tibet. While he does want more political autonomy for the region, he does not want it to be a separate country. Nor should he. If Tibet became independent, it would be a disaster for the Tibetan people.

Why? Well, as it turns out, Tibet is still quite undeveloped, economically speaking. China pours money in but gets almost nothing back. The Economist reports:

In 2001, for example, for every renminbi of Tibet’s economic growth, central-government spending increased by Rmb2, according to Mr Fischer. In that year alone, state spending increased by 75%. By 2004 the situation had changed only slightly, with Rmb0.65 of economic growth requiring only Rmb1 of increased subsidies and state investment.
-The Economist

Many might be inclined to blame this on government policies designed to keep Tibet weak, but actually NPR reports that in fact, Beijing pays for 90% of all government expenditures in Tibet, and floats gigantic infastructure projects like new highways and a massive hydroelectric dam.

Now, let’s imagine for a second that tomorrow, Tibet were to become its own country again. What would happen?

Well, the Dalai Lama and the rest of the exile community would probably return. They would arrive to find a society greatly changed from the one they ruled half a century ago, and a people who have had little contact with them for decades. They would also find strong racial tensions that did not exist in the 1950s, and that has frequently erupted into violence in the past. They would also find the embittered remnants of the former Tibetan provincial government, possibly unwilling to rescind control. It seems unlikely that the exile leaders would actually be able to run a modern nation on their own; but even if they were theoretically capable, what money would they use?

As mentioned above, Tibet’s economic output is insufficient to support the region. The removal of all Beijing’s political infastructure would undoubtedly weaken Tibet’s economy further, leaving the new “nation” in the hands of an inexperienced relgious sect with little governing experience and no money.

Tibet would have almost no hope of finding support from other nations, either. China would certainly never support an independent Tibet, and other nations would also refuse support for fear of angering China and harming trade relations.

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it, and I can’t imagine any way that a “Free Tibet” wouldn’t quickly devolve into some third-world hellhole, complete with all the starvation and social instability that comes along with that title.

Maybe someone can convince me otherwise, but it seems to me that the first thing we should have in mind here is what’s best for the Tibetan people, and I just can’t see any way it’s good for the Tibetan people to separate from China. Feel free to argue with me in the comments.

[The following is a piece of short fiction I originally wrote for a class in college. It's based on some things that really happened the last time I was in Harbin, and I thought it might be interesting to post the occasional piece of fiction here in addition to everything else.]

I think I was leaning a little heavily on Lauren as we stumbled out the dark gates and onto the street. It was quiet now, nearly midnight and the lights were switching off one by one inside the park fences. Outside, an old man sat on a rusty folding chair by the ticket booth, smoking a cigarette and regarding us with ambivalence. Was it because we were white, or just because there was no one else on the street to watch?

The problem with Chinese streets is that they all look the same when you’re drunk and it’s dark. Lauren was of the opinion that we were fairly close to Zhongyang Dajie, but neither of us knew which direction we should start in, so we picked one at random and began to wander. The streets were lit by the KTV signs of various karaoke establishments, some flashing characters in dancing Technicolor and some buzzing “KTV” in stationary neon, and we walked slowly. It’s possible we were just enjoying the evening, and it’s possible I just couldn’t walk any faster—I must admit that I don’t entirely remember the first twenty minutes.

That was only half my fault. I do like a drink every now and then, which is the reason we went to the park in the first place, but I had not planned on running into friends, and being compelled to sit and drink with them for several hours or risk appearing rude. Not that I didn’t enjoy it, but even people with a higher tolerance than I eventually reach a point where “Gan bei!” starts to sound like a curse. Anyway, I drank whatever they poured me to be polite, and I can’t be blamed for forgetting a few minutes of nighttime wandering as a result.

My memory fades back in right around the time the flashing KTV bars began to be replaced with squat, industrial apartment buildings and sprawling lines of street stands, most of which were being packed up for the night. Sparks darted out clouds of charcoal smoke and sprinted towards the sky as grills were overturned and emptied. We walked through the stalls, weaving around discarded chairs, stools, and the piles of half-eaten kebabs littered around the tables. Many of the people packing up their enterprises for the evening didn’t stop to glance at us, or if they did, they did it subtly. A few stared, but no one spoke, save the one man whose stall was still open.

To call it a “stall” is actually probably misleading. It was really just a rug, or maybe a blanket, that he had laid a number of books on top of. Whether he was selling his personal collection or whether they were pirated was unclear, but I’d guess the books were his—he looked the right age to be a college student, and many of them seemed to be math textbooks. He had been lolling against a wall in the shadows with some friends, but when we got near him he walked into the light, calling out:

“Hello!” The accent was heavy, but the word frustratingly familiar. As a general policy, we don’t respond to “hello”, and I was in the middle of a pretty impassioned speech about the effect of culture on language learning, which Lauren was listening to politely and—I imagine—bemusedly. We ignored it, but a second later he realized we were speaking Chinese to each other and tried again in his own tongue.

“美女！美女! 你来看看吧！” he called, “Beautiful girl, come look!” pointing to the books and chuckling. Lauren laughed nervously and politely declined, quickening her pace a bit. I lurched forward to keep up with her and tripped over a stool, managing to keep my balance but eliciting a laugh from the man. His laugh was echoed by an invisible chorus; his friends leaning against the darkened wall, I imagine. Perhaps spurred on by their implicit encouragement, he raised his voice and yelled “美女！” Whatever inviting or comical tone might have been there before was gone now. His friends cackled as he raised his voice, and we hustled on until his voice was a shrill scream behind us in the blackness.

One of the main reasons I’m here in China is that I think it’s extremely important Chinese and Americans understand each other. While I’m here, I can learn more about China and also help Chinese people better understand America.

Anyway, I sometimes ask my university classes what they want Americans to know or understand about China. The answers vary, of course, but the following are some of the things that come up again and again.

-Chinese people are friendly. Many of them want to meet and interact with foreigners, but travel is still prohibitively expensive for most Chinese. Still, they seemed to enjoy playing host to the world during the Olympics and would like to do it again. As one of my students put it, “Tell your friends we welcome them to come to China.”

-China is a developing country. They are aware that China has problems with pollution, product quality control, etc. They are working to fix these problems and make China a better country; what they need is time.

-Chinese people love peace. They have high hopes for the future, especially the relationship between China and America. Many Americans view the Chinese as a threat, but the perception among Chinese (at least among Chinese English college students) seems to be that America is a “developed” country that they hope to one day equal, and continually cooperate with. There isn’t much sense of rivalry.

-The China of today is NOT the same place as the China of twenty years ago. This is an especially important point to consider for the people to whom the mention of China conjures thoughts of Tiananmen Square, 1989. China has made great strides on many fronts (yes, including human rights, pollution control, etc.) since those days, and the way Chinese people think has changed since then, too.

-Americans should know some Chinese history. History is understandably less significant to people from a nation with less than three hundred years of it, but history is a powerful cultural force, especially in a culture as old as China’s. Learning a bit about the last hundred years in China, especially, might be helpful.

There were more things, of course–many more–but that’s the basic gist of it. They are genuinely friendly and enthusiastic about learning about America. Many of my students are reluctant to speak about this or anything with foreigners, but as one of them said today: “Although we may seem shy, actually, our hearts are full of enthusiasm.”

I wonder if the same could be said for American students. (And by “I wonder”, I mean, “it cannot, but I wish it could.”)