At the sacred cave we visited outside Labrang, there was one moment when the darkness surrounded us.  We had ventured (at least into what felt like) down to the belly of the earth, where the gentle rays of the sun could no longer reach us. Our headlamps guided us through our fears, and our peers alleviated our spirits from the natural ponderings of “what ifs” and our hidden memories of childhood ghost stories. We turned off our headlamps and abruptly ended our relieving chitter chatter to give room for the darkness to sink in.  Having our eyes open or closed changed nothing, and we had to learn to see without our eyes.  A tender drip of water on my rain jacket became an explosive sound and the calm flow of water in the nearby underground stream roared into my ears.  The scent of mildew in the air plunged through my nostrils going deep into my lungs, painstakingly reminding me of my asthmatic, feeble body’s twofold attitude to the air we breathe – as the barer of life but also of tiny particles making it harder for the air to be absorbed.  I grabbed the earth underneath me to feel stable, to rely on the only solidity I knew would vanquish my unearthed fears. The aroma of salt arose as I crumbled the limestone through my fingers, allowing the firmness of the rock to ground me.  A quiet squeak of rubber rubbing onto that same ground I was seizing, no more than three feet away, quieted my fears and allowed me finally to take in the experience as I had wanted to – with awe and amazement.

I had never been to China before, and I don’t speak the language, and yet I am leading a group of ten teenagers in this foreign and forgiving land.  Since I lack the most basic of communication skills I am left to rely on my other senses.  I speak with my hands and exaggerate my facial expressions.  I hop on every chance I get to show my good intentions to the people here.  I look for opportunities to communicate through doing, instead of being, whether it is cooking in the kitchen, or playing soccer with the kids on the street.  Similar my conclusions from the cave, I find that only upon losing the sense we rely on the most can we discover and explore the world and ourselves in a different way.  The challenges I have been required to overcome would have seemed the most simplistic in a language I control fluidly: paying a taxi driver the correct amount, buying coffee without milk or sugar.  But this inability or lack of fluent communication has allowed me to see the very things my eyesight would have so easily skipped over.  As my co-staff both speak fluently, I am the one who tends to wonder and wander off during the incomprehensible conversations that fly over my head, and I seek to figure out this unfamiliar land with my over accentuated sense of non-verbal communication. How I have come to value the precious time that comes with the lack of understanding.  It allows me to notice the little things that I never would have taken the time to really see: The homes that are built from brick and mud interchangeably;  The shelves in the homes haphazardly arranged by string hanging from the ceiling; The electricity sockets sticking out of the wall nonchalantly; The washing machine that needs to moved outside to the central communal space because it’s the only place with running water; The visibly photo shopped center piece in the living room of a traditional Tibetan artist’s house;  The shiny color of a spicy red pepper;  The delicate stench of grey water coming from the massive water infrastructure the flows freely in the streets.  The stark contrast that arises from every vantage point combining sacredness and trash, history and development, a sense of past and future that merges into this newly found modernity that is similar to ours, and yet remains so foreign.

What’s the opposite of being a reactionary? Or, cultural dilemmas in a foreign land

What’s the opposite of being a reactionary? Or, cultural dilemmas in a foreign land.

 

When you read about China, the first word that pops from the page is development.   From a classic economic standpoint, development has one single measure – GDP growth, and one simple question comes with it– how to grow the output of the economy at the fastest pace possible? It seems that at an average growth rate of close to ten percent in the last thirty years – China knows what it’s doing.  But as an observer of society, using economics as a tool and not an end as of itself my question is different – how can people use the tools at their disposal to make their lives better?  Money is definitely one of those tools, but it’s not the only one.  This question is a little harder because the measurement for a better life is diverse and often changing.  GDP simplifies things, but then again, I was never one to go for simplicity.

While walking around the streets of Xiahe, which includes an ancient but still active Tibetan monastery by the name of Labrang, the question of how people want to make their lives better comes into the direct view.  People are building, and building and building.  Every other street is unpaved because of the construction work, and they work from dusk til dawn, which happens to be at 9pm here. The rambunctious pace of the city is subdued by the calmness of Tibetan monks sharing the same unfinished lack of sidewalk.  The city combines three separate cultures of Han (Majority ethnicity of China), Hui (General term for Chinese Muslims) and Tibetan (religious and cultural minority in China).  As the English speaking Tibetan monk told me yesterday during our tour of the monastery – “we like to live in peace and for happiness, no point in fighting”.  This was of course a direct response to me sharing with him my country of origin. 

So I asked myself, what would make these people’s lives better, in the most inclusive yet general sense of a small town in western, rural china?  Is it access to electricity and clean running water, or is it a prosperous economy based on tourism?  Is it a lack of outside western imperialist intervention, or maybe our presence here was contributing to their well being?  Was it lack of tension, or was the tension itself the thriving engine of growth?  When asking these questions, to the students and my co-staff, I often encounter their desire to apologize for western imperialism.  Their lackluster attempt to be overly apologetic and genuine is often hidden under the guise of appreciation for the antiquity of the locals’ culture, for the traditionalism of their society and the continuity of their values.  Encouraged by privileged liberal values of acceptance and post-colonialism they tend to romanticize the rural culture without appreciating the locals desire to develop in the same industrial way that we did a century and a half ago.  We focus on agriculture and food, the epicenters of traditionalism, without stopping to recognize the mega complexes and shopping malls being built right next to the monastery.  Is that a western imposition or a Chinese version of modernism? Is that what people want, or is that the imposition of a reality in which more and more tourism comes this way?  Are the rules of supply and demand are more universal than the values we believe they so dearly cherish? And is that an imposition itself of western values or are they truly universal? Is there even such a thing?

My friend and co-instructor Shiqi told me that her grandparents are farmers.  Their only dream for their children and grandchildren is to never be a farmer.  It’s too hard they told her, and they want her to have a better life.  Several generations ago, before industrialism had come into play in the west, our great grandparents wanted the same for us.  But now that their lives have become a distant memory, we can look back and idealize their lives – close to the land, an organic pace of being and without the alienation of mega cities and post postisms.  But only because we are so removed from that generation can we be so romantic about these back to the land ideals.  Here in China, it seems to me at least, to be different.  The agricultural generation is still alive and kicking, 46 percent of the population is still agrarian hoping for greener grass for the ones to follow them.  In this observation truly lies the clash between us westerners wanting to value traditionalism, and the locals who want their lives to be better.  So what is better, and who’s imposing on who?

The truth lies somewhere in between; it’s fluid.  It doesn’t necessarily lie in one or the other, but rather in the joint fabric of a small town that may or may not represent something bigger. It lies in the same human fabric that holds power plays and ideals, that holds genuine desires and intents alongside tricksterisms and manipulations.  The idealist in me still seeks for a truth, but the realist in me accepts that there might not be one truth, but rather the genuine and manipulative desires merge in order to form a reality that is perceived so differently from each individual observer.

And the choices we make, and the perspective that we choose will form this truth.

Whether universal or not.

קצת על שפה וצניעות

עברתי שתי תקופות שונות בחיי בעבודתי החינוכית.  התקופה הראשונה, הארוכה והמשמעותית, היא כמובן חיי בתנועה.  חדור ברצון עמוק לשנות את החיים של האנשים סביבי, ניסיתי לעצב את האופק החינוכי עבור חניכיי הידיעה העמוקה של מה נכון בשביל אנשים אחרים.  התקופה השניה, הייתה בשהותי בארה"ב בעבודה בתחום של טיפול דרך שטח.  עם השינוי לשפה האנגלית ועם העזיבה המהותית יותר של דרך חיים ברורה ומעוצבת, ניצבתי בפני תהום שבה לא ידעתי להגיד לחניכים שלי מה נכון.  נדרשתי לעצב מחדש את התפיסה החינוכית שלי, ובמקום להגיד לחניכים שלי מה נכון ומה לא נכון, ניסיתי לעצב שדה חברתי ואישי שבו נוח להם לקבל החלטות על עצמם.

אני מחנך אחרת באנגלית ובעברית.  ועכשיו שאני נמצא בשדה זר לחלוטין שבו שתי הגישות הללו רלוונטיות, פחות, אני נדרש שוב להחליט איזה מן מחנך אני, ולמה אני מחנך.  הפער התפיסתי העמוק שבין חניך ל , student  שבין מדריך לinstructor משנה את מה שאני חווה ומה שאני מצפה מחניכים.  אני שואל את עצמי האם אני יכול  בסביבה  הזאת לדרוש מהחניכים לרצות לשנות את העולם, או שמא להסתפק בלרצות לשנות את עצמם? אני רוצה להיות מחנך ומדריך, אך המגבלות שלי בשפה האנגלית מאפשרות לי פחות.  לא בגלל שהאנגלית שלי לא מספיק טובה בשביל לתווך את הדרישות שלי מהחניכים, אלא פשוט כי אני מכיר את עצמי כל כך אחרת בשפות שונות.

אנחנו נמצאים עכשיו בכפר במחוז סיצ'און בשם לה מוסה.  זהו כפר קטן ונידח יחסית, עם נוף מדהים ביופיו סביבנו.  הכפר הוא ברובו עם אוכלוסיה טיבטית, על אף שאנחנו לא נמצאים בטיבט, אך כעם וכתרבות נוודית, הם יצאו לפני שנים רבות מהאיזור המתוחם הנקרא מחוז טיבט.  הכפר נמצא בתנופת בניה רצינית, חלק מהכבישים סלולים וחלק לא.  הזבל נמצא ברחובות, יחד עם ריחות האוכל רחוב, הכבשים והיאקים שורצים במרחב החברתי יחד עם האנשים והכלבים הסוררים.  צפוצי המכוניות הרועשים והמולת הרחוב הסואנת מלווה בתחושת רוגע השורה על הכפר מגגות המנזרים הטיבטים הפרוסים למרגלות ההרים הירוקים.  הנזירים מתהלכים ברחוב בהדרת קודש נונשלנטית, במאין קבלה ברורה של כל הסובבים שזוהי מציאות חייהם.

ובעודי בוהה במה שאני חווה כהתנגשות חזיתית בין מודרניזציה למסורת, בין קדמה לרגרסיה, אני תוהה מה אני חושב שנכון עבורם, ומה נכון לשאול את החניכים.  איפה עובר הגבול בין הרצון לשפר את חיי היומיום שלהם עם מכוניות, מים זורמים ואינטרנט לבין הרצון לשמר דרך חיים ששרדה אלפי שנים.  אני שואל את עצמי למה לחנך את החניכים שלי אל מול המציאות הזאת? האם זה בכלל קשור אליהם והאם צריך להיות להם איכפת?  מה אני מצפה שהם יעשו עם תחושות האי נוחות שאורח החיים שהם נתקלו בו וחוו מעורר בהם?  ואין לי תשובות טובות במיוחד.  אני רוצה לדרוש מהם לעצב דעה, לעצב מציאות, אך המילים הנפלטות מפי הם בסך הכל בליל פוסט מודרני של פרספקטיבות ונראטיבים.  בליל של ניסיונות לבלבל אותם ואולי תוך כדי למצוא בעצמי את התשובות.

ואין לי תשובות בינתיים.  אך יש לי יראת כבוד ותחושת צניעות אל מול החיים של האנשים האלו.

במהלך השוטטות שלנו בכפר, עלינו לנקודת שיא גובה.  ממזרח לנו התנשא לו מן צוק אדום אדום, המתפרס אל עבר האופק.  ממערב, הפסגות האפורות התפרסו אל מעבר לקו האופק והתמזגו עם העננים המעפילים לכדי יחידה אחת.  מצפון לנו הכפר, על גגותיו העשויים פח ועץ והמנזרים המנצנצים באופיים הטיבטי הייחודי.  ומדרום לנו נמצאה חווה חקלאית קטנה המגדלת מספר חיות מצומצם ושני חקלאים הפרוסים על הדשא ליד, מפטפטים וחולמים בהקיץ.  וכששוב מצאתי את עצמי מנסה לדמיין אם הם חולמים על מה נמצא מעבר להרים או על מה טומן לו המחר, החלטתי להניח לזה להיות, ולהנות מהעובדה שאני נמצא במקום שאולי אני לא אשנה אותו, אבל אני יכול לאפשר לו לשנות אותי.

נראה אם זה יצליח.

About being a foreigner

Yesterday I went on my first solo adventure.  Or at least solo adventure. You see, most of the time my goal is to empower the students to explore and learn to travel, that I don’t get much chance to do some explorations by myself.  But yesterday I went to buy bus tickets with Shiqi, my co-staff, and asked her to let me lead and find the way myself. It wasn’t easy to say the least, and required quite a deductive thought process.  We entered the subway, and my goal was to buy subway tickets to the bus station. I knew the name of the bus station, and found it in English. Then I copied the characters onto my notebook and went to the automatic vending machine.  I found the station in Chinese, and pushed a bunch of buttons until I finally had to put money in, and it worked.  It took a couple of times, and twice people stepped in front of me and I expected them to help me out, but to no avail, they bought their tickets and left me there.  I think this is was Americans feel like when they visit Israel. And I have to say that it’s not upsetting or anything, I just have to bring myself to realize that everything I do will take more time. 

A lot more time.

As a group we’re probably the only westerners in the area we are staying.  And just to give some proportions, Chengdu is a city of 7 million people, and seven million more on the outskirts.  It’s a big city, with plenty of hustle and bustle, things are constantly happening around us.  Consumerism plays a big role, and people are doing their thing.  Wherever we go, we seem to be an attraction, but when I walk alone every once in a while, I get a chance to see the glares and stares of the people at me.  I’m still not sure if it’s the hair, or just the fact that I’m white, but I definitely seem to be the focus. On the way to the bus station in the subway, while walking with Shiqi, a guy comes up to her and says something in Chinese, which I obviously don’t understand.  Shiqi starts laughing really loudly and I ask her what happened.  She explains to me that the guy told her that he was very shy, and doesn’t know any English, but asked her to tell me that I was very handsome, and that he wanted to be my friend.  We laughed a very long and awkward laugh, and continued with our day.  I could continue with more stories about being a foreigner that we experienced with our students, but their essence is clear.  It’s interesting to be on the other side of being the weird one out. 

But more tales will be told another day, now it’s time to go to sleep.

Google v. China

Four days into my Chinadventure, and I’m starting to pick up the pace.  It’s interesting to lead a trip to a place you’ve never been to before, because it requires a subtle balance between trying to explore for yourself and actually leading something.  I find myself mostly trying to pick up cues as quickly as possible in order to prep the students for something I don’t know much about myself.  Some things are pretty easy and universal, but as insular American kids they just don’t get. For example, watch the road when you cross the street here, because a green light doesn’t necessarily mean cross blindly.  For me, the second I stepped into the road I understood the lesson, for students, it takes a couple more times.  Other things are a little more complicated, like actually speaking Mandarin.  Most of my students speak significantly more than me which puts me at a complete disadvantage, and I’m trying to embrace it.  What I’ve learned quite quickly is that it’s not a matter of trying to communicate directly, but rather communicating your needs to another person, most of the times hand gestures and common grounds work wonders. 

For the past three days we were in at educational center in a village outside Chengdu.  We learned about development, and the tension between urban expansion and rural conservation.  Which was somewhat interesting, but to me the lessons of this place could have been learn in Mobile, Alabama just as much as they in Chengdu, China.  The times at which I wish I could communicate better with the people we were staying with was when we talked about what they wanted.  We were told that they wanted to keep their house, and continue their agricultural way of life, and not move to the city.  I kinda wanted to hear it from them, and ask some hard questions about modernization and how their desires are manifested, but alas, all I could say was “du zi bu shufu” (and in case your Chinese is weak, that means my stomach hurts). So instead I just ended up cooking with them. I can cook some awesome motherfuckin Chinese food! (with the right guidance of course).

Maybe the most interesting thing about this trip to me is the perceptions.  The trip was marketed as “China – off the beaten path”.  It attracts upper class kids, who want to learn how to travel and desire to be challenged.  To the instructors they perceive themselves as in a position to change their lives, to change their beaten path of becoming corporate lawyers or management majors and to project their lives into a different course that is more meaningful through this authentic experience.  But intentionally or not, the “unbeaten path” leads to an appreciation (and maybe even over appreciation) of a conservative lifestyle that cherishes the old and undervalues the new.  A lifestyle that is based on beliefs and notions of self that are becoming lost in today’s hyper-Urbanizing China.  Most of the instructors here come from American liberal perspective, and have a deep desire to expand their minds and see beyond their closed western perspective, but end up inadvertently propagating a conservative agenda, that if it was presented to them as “Southern Wisdom” in overalls, a pick up truck, a drawl and a sun burnt red neck, they would be revolted.  But presented in a monk suit and a triangular hat and a desire to “free Tibet” (please pardon the misplaced stereotypes) and everyone is moved by it as a genuine experience and the ancient wisdom.   That seems pretty western too, but what the fuck do I know, I’ve never even been to China before.

The food has been amazing.  My mouth has been on fire for the past three days, and both the people in the village and in the city have exceeded my expectations for spice. 
Besides that, tomorrow is a new day. Or as I’ve been saying to most people here, most of the time:

Woda changuan bu hao. (look it up)