きよしこの夜による、、、

Stille Nacht! Heilige Nacht!
Alles schläft; einsam wacht
Nur das traute heilige Paar.
Holder Knab im lockigten Haar,
Schlafe in himmlischer Ruh!
Schlafe in himmlischer Ruh!


Silent night! Holy night!
All are sleeping, alone and awake
Only the intimate holy pair,
Lovely boy with curly hair,
Sleep in heavenly peace!
Sleep in heavenly peace!

（http://www.stillenacht.at/en/text_and_music.aspにより）

これは多分もう知っている「清しの夜」から最初の連。歌の生まれてきたドイツ語に基づいてのこの英語には、もっとも人気のある下のバージョンを比べたら、多くの違いに気づくかもしれない。そして、その日本語：

Silent night, holy night
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon virgin mother and child
Holy infant so tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace
Sleep in heavenly peace

清しこの夜、星は光り
救いの御子[みこ]は、馬槽[まぶね]の中に
眠り給う、いと安く

現在のこれの英語がどうできたかのについてはあまり分からないけど、日本語バージョンの方は不思議だと思う。これもよく分からない。日本語ウィキペディアによりの説明を読んでも明らかにならない。ここからの下記しかなかった：

「【きよしこの夜】にはじまる日本語の歌詞は由木康による。」

でも「由木康」のリンクには何もつないでいない。そしたら、記事のその続きは：

「近年では中学校などで英語教育も兼ねて英語の歌詞で歌われている。また中学2年生の英語の教科書の一つである【NEW HORIZON】で、きよしこの夜が作られるまでの物語が紹介されている。」

この事実からこそ、僕が歌のもとを調べたかったな。やっぱりここまででもの結果は面白いなと思う。

Merry Christmas!

bilingual misconception

This is an essay i wrote for this year's prefectural English Journal, which circulates around the junior high teachers' offices of Kagawa Prefecture. The actual publishing date is sometime in early spring, I believe, but as it probably won't be read by anyone outside of the prefecture (not to mean that everyone in the prefecture might), I'm posting it here as well. I was going to call it "Bilingual Misconception," but I reconsidered after a conversation with someone outside work regarding how important a role the title can play to a mainstream audience. I chose something possible more intriguing, especially to any teachers who are curious or neurotic about English teaching here.

The original plan was to have a complete Japanese translation to appear side-by-side with the English. Unfortunately, there was a general lack of time and writing skills (on my part) to get it finished on time, and as it would have come to something like six pages anyway, i scrapped all but the translation of the first paragraph (to serve as, I hope, a sort of hook for Japanese readers, for whom it is especially intended). I also had to do away with about a page or so of information I believe is quite important to a lot of the argument being made here -- again, page limits forced a compromise, and it would have taken far more that what I had at the time anyway to fully demonstrate the links I wanted people to see.

Nonetheless, I hope someone out there gets something out of it. Tear it apart as you wish; it's an open forum, and we're all well opinionated persons at this point in the game.

11.2007

平成十九年十一月

Our Mistakes Concerning English

kelsey

I read the sentence again for perhaps the sixth or seventh time, listening to the early teenage girl sitting next to me in an empty, stuffy classroom try to correct her mistakes and repeat it to me accurately. She only has three more days, through which she is already busy with club activities and other obligations, to memorize a full-page length speech that she is expected to give in front of a live audience that includes teachers and parents. Yet she is still unable to adequately recall even the first few lines of the first paragraph. I had already made her translate it and began the practice under the impression that she had some idea of what she was trying to say in this foreign language. But the words continue to disappear into the sounds of the rotating fan, her face tense in concentration to dig up, or simply create from nothing, the right sounds to, what is after all to her, a nonsensical string of sentences. Through the window, the tinny melody of one of the last representative tunes of old-Japan nationalist fervor grows louder from the van’s blaring megaphone outside. The student tightens her face all the more, trying not to　forget the tones she just heard sound from my mouth.

六、七回目に文を読んだところだっただろうか。風通しの悪い、空いている部屋で隣に座っている女子中学生が、何度も原稿を繰り返して言い直し、僕のことばを繰り返しながら聞いていた。彼女にはあと三日しかなかった。スピーチの原稿を暗記しなければならないのに、部活や勉強に忙しくて、まだ最初の一、二文も、ちゃんとおぼえていないらしかった。先生や両親が聞いている前で発表しないといけないスピーチの原稿の一ページも。すでに、彼女に文章を書き直させていた僕は、英語で言いたいことを、彼女はもう分かっていると思いながら練習に入った。ところが、彼女の自信のない声は、部屋の扇風機の音に消え入ってしまって聞こえない。発音しようとしている単語の意味もよく理解していないのに、彼女の顔はだんだんこわばっていった。窓からバンのメガホンをとおして、昔ながらの響きが残っている愛国心を代表する曲がブリキのような音で鳴ってきて、彼女は曲の音にかき消されないように、もっと顔をぎゅっとして、ただ僕の言ったことばに集中しようと頑張っていた。

This is not an uncommon scene here in Japan today. The Ministry of Education, Culture, Science, Sports and Technology (MEXT) has been generously funded to carry out the government agenda of creating a bilingual Japan by 2006/07.[1] Though the agenda’s timeline has ended, the popularity of English as an international lingua franca, and the government’s own international economic interests, have not died down. The plan applies to everyone in the country, and not just those interested in the language. It seems to be assumed that English will be as valuable to the rice paddy farmhand of Kotohira or Tsuji as it will to the corporate employee of downtown Tokyo or Osaka. Japan believes there is much benefit in a bilingual citizenry – a citizenry that includes any one regional Japanese dialect and the ‘international’ monodialect English. This belief has coincidentally arisen at the same time with a national reawakening for Japanese tradition and national identity.

Of course not everyone thinks this way. JET Program ALTs, including myself, have had a valuable opportunity to see and work in the inner structure of the education system in this country, and to witness a small part of the period of adjustment Japan is still making to the overarching globalization effort. Through this short time, I have reconsidered many times what my purpose is in being here and what the government’s actual intentions are for us ALTs through this major reforming engagement toward Japanese-English bilingualism. It now seems to me that there are a few conceptual mistakes about the role of English and why English has become a mandatory subject in Japan’s education.

There are at least two major factors for the discrepancy concerning what version of English should be learned in Japanese education. One of these factors is country-wide popularity of the globalizing World English (WE). With the awareness of the growing number of English speakers in the world, there is a pleasant but unrealistic idea that has formed that English can be an all-encompassing communication bridge between us and the billions of other people around the world, interlinking us in a web of idea-sharing and harmony. Thus, WE is thought of as a sort of ‘door to the world’. This may be partially true, but it ignores essential lingual and political details, for example that there are over twice as many speakers of Chinese (about 1.051 billion) than English, and that in fact English (at 340 million) is only fourth in the sheer number of native speakers in respect to Hindi (370m) and Spanish (350m).[2] In fact, English is really in the top ranking only in the number of countries where it is spoken, due to the European and American colonialism that spread around the world, including Japan, centuries before. There have been identified hundreds of different dialects and thousands of country-variable portmanteaux of English – thus, it is better to say that there are many Englishes throughout the world. However, with so many differences and exceptions, it is hard to say that WE is really a single, unifying lingual ‘bridge’.

Secondly, with the United States being the highest ranking economic competitor in the world (in regards to GDP), if any English is important to learn, many say it should be the ‘American’ dialect. These people perhaps believe that it is for the country’s benefit to develop good economic relations with the world’s wealthiest superpowers, and one clearly diplomatic way to do this is to study and use the wealthier country’s particular version of its language. Indeed, nearly all of the resource materials available for private English study, as well as those that are used in the public education system [3], cater to a United States version of English, especially in pronunciation, intonation, word choice and spelling.

There may be other reasons to cater to this particular form of English. For instance, some argue that ‘American English’ is the most neutral form of English among those of other countries. But in reality, this idea of neutrality is absurd. The selection of a ‘neutral’ – which here means ‘being a common middle-ground among a diversity of types’ – is arbitrary: it is merely propagated as a ‘standard’ variation. The lingual monoliths known as General American English and Received Pronunciation (RP), or the Queen’s English, are each also known as “Network English” and “BBC English,” denoting the English accents and word choices used in media in the United States and Britain respectively. They have become representative dialects of the nations they serve, despite representing only a small particular region of each country among a diversity of language variations.[4] However, as BBC has reduced its discrimination against English accents and manners of speaking, it has lost popularity among English authorities and learners in other countries (i.e. Japan). These countries instead consider monodialect United States Network English the ‘most neutral form’ of the whole English language.[5] Unfortunately, this particular kind of English is often what people refer to when talking about World English – thus, WE has become more and more associated with the United States’ General American English.

In my opinion, we should recognize that the education of English as a truly international language cannot resemble the education of any other subject in Japanese public schools, for English’s diversity in the real world – what I call real-world Englishes (RWEs) – requires diversity in how it is learned and taught. Therefore, one more point to consider is that Japan’s present highly centralized education system would probably be in knots trying to accommodate that diversity. With RWEs, English education would revolve around mostly those living in the English-speaking communities of particular regions of the country or continent, including both immigrants and English-speaking Japanese, and not merely around the dominant patterns offered by superpower nations. Today’s ‘World English is little more than a language industry provided by those supporting the world’s dominating corporate leaders. Meanwhile, an education system of RWEs supports the world by giving equal representation of the world’s English speakers and not conforming to one standard form of English in one’s own country. This system of RWEs would also prove what many authorities and learners of English might fear: that there really is no perfect English, only more context-appropriate English. In reality, the present education of World English is strongly centralized around the United States. That is, this order for bilingual citizenry is a top-down determination by authorities, further perpetuated by its popularity among a misunderstanding public, concerned for Japan’s welfare in a U.S.-oriented world economy.

In short, the simplistic pragmatism idealized in World English as a single language communicable among the world’s billions is critically challenged by the technicalities of the language’s evolution, as well as ethically challenged by its political history and government intentions. I do not mean here that all intentions for learning English are to appease the United States. Besides envisioning it as a door to the world, the government and many education authorities appear to view the language as a door to Japan as well.[6] But with language imperialism comes cultural imperialism, as we can see with the English language detracting more and more attention from the nation’s traditional character through its introduction of especially U.S. attractions (i.e. Disneyworld, Hollywood, Halloween, individual-oriented attitudes toward pedagogy, etc.). In any case, if this nation-wide Japanese-English bilingualism is to come true, I believe it is now every Japanese citizen’s obligation to reconsider exactly why English has become such a valuable industry to this small island country, and finally, if everyone can live with English’s unnecessary lingual and cultural American monopoly.

[1] From the MEXT English program website: http://www.mext.go.jp/english/topics/03072801.htm

[2] There are many websites and disputes regarding this topic. These are some of the sites I referred to: http://www.vistawide.com, http://web.ku.edu/idea, and http://www2.ignatius.edu/faculty/

turner/languages.htm.

[3] Mike from the New Horizon textbook may have been born in Australia, but the textbooks’ CDs reveal that he didn’t grow up there…

[4] Network English was actually derived from only a small portion of the United States mid-eastern region. Unfortunately, the mistaken idea of a ‘neutral’ English (i.e. media’s Network English) is made by many United States citizens as well as Japanese, such as the big business of accent reduction indicates.

[5] Of course, this American English will naturally seem easier for you to understand if you have only listened and read American-style English since you were a student. But this does not mean it has any ‘natural neutrality.’

[6] There is a persistent theme throughout the textbooks and in the opinions of many teachers that English is an essential tool to sharing aspects of Japanese culture to foreigners and the ‘outside’ world.

I wish to especially thank Kishinoue Kayoko, Ben Dewar and Nakamura Hanako for their constant help and support in the forming and writing of this essay.

The Last Days

The final days of my trip in China – which basically entails the last half – included many more new experiences that I did not bring myself to write about. On the evening of my last journal entry (the one just prior to this one here), I noticed that I had come to the very last line to the very last page of my notebook. I intended to buy a new notebook the next day to record the rest of the trip, but as I began to look for one, I firstly realized that finding a notebook without going completely out of the way in a city I knew little about was proving to be futile, and secondly, that I was spending so much of my evenings writing that I was perhaps missing out on some of the other events my colleagues were talking about. I decided to take the last page as a sign and not to pursue finding another notebook right away.

A while later, it has been hard to choose how to talk about what I saw during the rest of our time in Xi’an and the remainder of the trip in Shanghai. Rather than try in vain to give a detailed chronology of events, I want to share a few of my most memorable impressions from the country before I returned to my home in Japan.

>>><<<

On our final day in Xi’an, we visited the world renowned Terracotta Warrior statues. Emperor Qin, the one who united the kingdoms of ancient China to make it one land – and the same emperor who I believe is featured in the famous Chinese film Hero – upon reaching an elderly age ordered that a life-size clay imitation of each of the thousands of warriors who served him in his armies be created, so that he may be buried with them after his death. The people under this bidding suffered endlessly to have them ready by their tentative deadline, shaping and firing the clay in pieces before gluing them together and painting them (now the paint has been destroyed on most of them due to the immediate effect of the air upon their exhumation). The emperor died before their completion (and so the necessity to carry out the order to the end was halted as well), however as many as 8000 (maybe more) statues were buried along with the emperor. Over time, people with a vengeance against the emperor’s cruelty are said to have broken in to the underground and destroyed many of these statues.

Regardless, hundreds now stand excavated in one of the burial sites for all to see. They stand together, horses, weapons (real ones), carts, all facing one direction as if prepared for the next battle to come. It is such a mix of emotions to stand before something so hauntingly amazing yet knowing that it required so much involuntary suffering to make. I left with the others for Shanghai with that image in mind, of thousands of warriors standing, waiting together for a battle that would never come, in an age where battles no longer bear any resemblance to the ways of honor and even respect that hand-to-hand combat entailed. Mind you, I still find all war ugly – but there must be given a great care of respect in one’s regard to the difference between the warriors of old and the State-wielded militia of our time. It is not black and white either. The past had its share of military-minded individuals, and the present still holds, I believe, at least a handful of new warriors. But the hearts of the military-minds carry no philosophy, no meaning, no sense of life inherent to the concept of death they witness; and the present-day warriors’ swords are no longer blades of metal – indeed, they are in their greater numbers likely not found in the fields of war today at all.

>>><<<

Upon arriving in Shanghai, we all sat on the bus from the airport sleepily observing the environment around us, perhaps only a couple of us listening to the information our new Chinese guide was serving us. She was younger than the others and her slightly wavering fluency gave the impression that this was still one of her new experiences in her business. In my dreamy state, I watched her carefully, noting her movements and fluctuations, little details of her personality revealing themselves through her more unguarded moments. I allowed myself to enjoy this one-way company with someone I had never met, forgetting about myself even for a bit to enter her head (as best I could) and see the world through her. She was nervous but also headstrong. Her youthful, slightly inexperienced appearance seemed to annoy the other older male guides with us, and I felt that despite her somehow sensing that, she kept her confidence about her. In forgetting about myself for those moments, engrossed in this simple and honest willfulness, I allowed myself to become completely engrossed by a stranger.

I have not really spoken of it with anyone, but I feel now, with the likeliness being that I will never see Lilang again, this sort of obligation to write about it and make yet another case of the mysterious of life and love known to others. It deserves it, I think.

She told everyone that her English name was Meibo (not a name I am particularly familiar with, but a nice one nonetheless), however I still came to call her by her real name. I am not a confident person when it comes to attractions to people – I tend to create romantic scenes in my head and prohibit it from becoming anything more than that on my part. I do not think it is so much that I am closed to the idea as that experience has taught me to look for signs of promise in people that I rarely actually see. In any case, though, this time it had nothing to do with any romantic endeavor, and the attraction really had very little place in the preset as it did in the effect following my selfless meandering into her persona. Confidence usually being held in check by a sense of disbelief in my fantasies, it ran into no antagonism here, as there was no fantasy to which it was expected to respond. I felt completely free to just say something to her – and I did, at almost every opportunity that presented itself, sharing everything from families to our multiple international names to future intentions. From our first meeting on, I regarded her as a close friend, intimate through the deep and boundless potential she contained for something more than that. And her smile indicated she felt the same of me. We smiled often.

>>><<<

Shanghai was simply amazing. My general distaste for cities is often nevertheless overridden by the sheer wonder of design and structure that some of the world’s major cities incorporate. Shanghai, like some places in Japan, shows a large interest in developing its more eco-friendly aspects alongside its mass industry. All along the highways and the building rooftops were trees and gardens, some tucked under beneath the roads below, wasting as little space as possible on bare concrete. The next day, I would visit, alone with two other travelers, the city planning and development center to observe a full-scale model of the city that covered the floor of a three-tiered, banquet floor-size room, surrounded by displays of management and development details, videos, maps, etc. A lot of it was rather tourist-oriented, but it did succeed in giving the sense that Shanghai had a pretty elaborate plan for itself in the years to come. One display arranged a line of photographs of the city’s major river inlet and port region, showing one-year increments of growth over a ten year span. The speed was unbelievable, and it left me speculating just how much of the country’s financial resources were being pulled in, not unlike a black hole, by this centralizing vector of a yet widely poverty-stricken nation.

In fact, financial distribution had become a prominent theme to this remainder of the trip. Considering Shanghai alone, my very first experience having got off the bus was a brief detour through a side venue to a park to get to a region of the city whose marketplace guaranteed a place for us to eat. The path along this venue was stricken with people. Broken, disfigured, poorly or hardly clothed, old and young, unmercifully approaching us to sell us some junk they found, or to simply beg from us with plastic cups, save those who had clearly given up long before and now merely lay on the road waiting for nothing. In catching sight of one girl whose face was heavily scarred and whose hands had apparently been the victims of some previous tragedy, followed only a few steps away by a beaten, crumpled man who was forced by some inexplicable condition of his legs to travel the streets on a wooden board with wheels, I nearly lost myself despite being among my peers. I wanted to cry out, hold the girl who hopelessly staggered through the streets in my arms and take her away from that place, scold without remorse those who I was traveling with for their utter insensitivity to it all. The inhumanness of that moment was unbearable, and I was reminded again of the people I had seen in the poor village of Xi’an, irrationally contemplating how it was possible that this could happen to people.

Humans among humans, now all the more resembling humans among machines. We do not realize the nature of ourselves, machines, as that all that is human is left abandoned somewhere else, on the outskirts, on the streets of the forgotten. I think the lesson of diplomacy here was perhaps lost on everyone that day.

Turning a corner to board the bus again after our meal, a woman quietly approached us with her cup, and I immediately noticed her shoeless feet and collapsing figure – not so much her body even as a lack of any outward signs of hope that are regular of a person. In her other arm was an infant, silent, its body as worn as its mother’s. We all walked by, and then, despite my awareness of the danger of giving to one when others are near (they can swarm you as if with the mind to eat you), I ran back at the last second on an impulse to drop what was in my pockets into the cup, replying to her sad Chinese ‘thank you’ with a Japanese ‘I’m sorry,’ as it was the only thing that managed to come to mind for me to say. Fearing I would lose it again as I nearly had at the park, I ran back to the bus without looking back, catching a glimpse of her just one more time as the bus passed her corner, the baby on her shoulder still lying motionless.

>>><<<

On the second to last day, I believe, we held an ISLP diplomacy workshop. It was meant to resemble something like the sort of forum actual ministry of affairs officials held, and the issues we were asked to debate in groups over were supposedly authentic issues that U.S.-China relations ministries were themselves pondering over. I have unfortunately forgotten a good bit of the particular issue my group of assigned, but I believe it basically ran that: There is a hypothetical business opportunity for a hypothetical U.S.-based multinational corporation that proposes proffering China an industrial location in one of the country’s less economically viable regions. It entailed production and export of a native form of craft (I think) that was already frequently produced by the region’s locals, offering a new venue of employment for them and a new assembly line for a popular exotic product for America. ......I am quite sure there was more to it than that, but the details have slipped my two and a half months later. In any case, we had to consider the value in this proposal, as to whether or not it would be and come up with legitimate alternative courses of action were something to go foul.

I am sure to the other members of my group I did not seem the least bit interested in the activity. I was in fact very interested. My apparent lack of participation was triggered by a quick realization that my response to the details of the issue were different in numerous ways from the others, and I decided that I would stand to learn more about today’s present day politics – through the newest line of American individuals predominantly educated in political science, economics and international affairs – by taking note of my colleagues’ deductions rather than imposing my own.

Philosophy (in the least) had clearly influenced my disposition to a perceived issue, whereby I immediately relegate to all possible ethical concerns, with heavy reflections on my own sense of morality, before making any initial decisions. My political-science / economically minded peers, however, laid out first and foremost America’s wins and losses at every step of the issue. No attention was called at all to the nature of the product concerned (it could have been anything from bamboo lantern stands to McDonald’s new tiger penis hamburger patties), or whether it would have a positive effect on the health and attitudes of both the people producing it and those demanding it. So much for any progressive forms of modern consumerism. Second, the common denominator remained the United States’ overall profit and return. Any negotiations that may have involved benefits for China’s rapidly changing economy were left completely unaddressed. There was no hint of prediction of the course of the country’s, or even just that particular region’s, growth in the presence of a possibly successful multinational enterprise. If there had been a map offered us to refer to for the activity, I am positive it would have been immediately replaced by a scoreboard: U.S. and China.

It is scary for me to think about the new generation of business and political leaders in the United States. I have to believe that those least likely to serve for the good of the nation, if simply because they are also those who would think to serve for the good of the world, are the ones who will make the most substantial difference in times to come. Carefully watching the attitudes and responses of my colleagues to this foreign culture, a culture we have by habit for centuries now posited as the Other to the West, I recognize the same tendencies that the least understanding of us also frequently display. It is one thing to be misunderstanding of a culture – and it is another to approach from the start with a preset of assumptions, or (in the style of the neocolonialist) an agenda, and an utter lack of sensitivity to the present differences. For a country whose history is riddled with chaotic changes, the States’ peoples are more often than not the least willing of those I know to change. I do not believe I am necessarily implying a liberal worldview – I am merely saying that to keep a conservative outlook in a nation that least resembles their own is dangerous and inherently illogical. One cannot be progressively diplomatic and not be open to change. (Note that I do not mean the business of forming comprises, but of amending the conditions for agreement from the bottom up, starting with the assumptions of what is ethical and what is important for each party.)

Some of those I watched on this trip displayed this sensitivity, I believe, and I hope that in time they are each recognized and encouraged for this character (as I do not feel it is my place, with respect to age and whatnot, to do this formally). We will very much need it.

>>><<<

On the last night, we dined at the top of Shanghai’s Oriental Pearl Tower. (I continue to wonder who gave it its English name.) Standing far above the layout of the massive city, on a rotating floor that gave one sitting in her chair a full 180 degree outlook of both sea and skyscrapers, we became engrossed in the dim-light ambience, presented with a buffet of everything from French fries to pickled seaweed to all form of noodles. Again, the scene of my professor’s story stands out in my mind, looking out over a world of GDP-fixated corporation development and relentless poverty, ourselves immersed in an isolated hamster-ball world of pleasure and consumption.

I do not mean to be entirely cynical, of course. These were indeed also good times. We shared stories of our pasts and futures that gave way to a quiet sadness that we would have to depart from each other soon, many of us claiming that among all the academic congregations we had attended, this was by far comprised of the greatest people. I could feel how far my personality had slipped back into its more American mode of character, and I allowed myself to really enjoy it with few reservations for the remainder of that last night. I knew I would miss many of the friends I made on this trip. Throughout the evening, Lilang and I exchanged smiles at a distance, and I believe that I may have been the happiest person in the building that night.

>>><<<

We all left for the airport in fatigue, despite being yet the last caravan that morning to depart for it. The bus ride seemed mostly silent to me, except for the conversations I had with my new friend from Georgia sitting next to me (unaware I had hoped Lilang would have the chance to sit there, thrilled that she would accompany this particular portion of the group to the airport). My eyes brushed back over the rushing city landscape, enjoying the pitfalls from the highway rail sides into deep green tree groves or city fountains. I reflected over all the experiences I had had in this city and those in the days before. The trip seemed to have lasted a month or so in my mind – hence the power of travel over even just ten days.

I separated quietly from the line waiting for baggage check, being one of the few who understood that I would be returning to Japan from here and thus obliged to depart on another airline. I preferred the secrecy of my unannounced farewell (caught on the way out by only a couple of people who made me promise to keep in touch). I sat in the waiting area, preparing for a three-hour hiatus preceding my flight home. I suddenly recognized Lilang walking toward me, showing no sign of hesitancy in sitting right up next to me, cutting off between us any of the physical distance I am so used to from my Japanese friends. She smiled. She had to return home in a few minutes. I asked if we should go downstairs for coffee or something, and she chirped that she does not drink coffee. Oh, yeah, I thought, I don’t either. I nearly laughed aloud at my life’s blunt refusal to be comparable to any extent at all to a movie scene, even in its more romantic moments. We talked about our homes for a little while, and she promised to contact me if she ever considered visiting Japan (which she said she had wanted to do anyway). She is still the only one of us to have any contact information between us, assuming it did not get lost since the time we first met. She left with both hands waving, subtly, disappearing from this last chapter of the journey as well. I was by far happier than I was sad.

After four hours in the air, I stared mesmerized out my tiny window at the black night of nothing that slowly became little by little overtaken by tiny lights, becoming swarms and finally a pronounced shape of coast and islands. My Japan was a beautiful sight to return to.

Day Six

There was one morning, about a year and a half ago now, I think, when one of the most influential teachers in my life, Prof. Curtin, told us a story during class of a trip he made to India. He and his colleagues went through a traveling nightmare, apparently to see and meet the unconditionally benevolent Mother Theresa at the abandoned facilities she was using as a hospital for the helpless. He said he recalled arriving and being immediately put to work, caring for and becoming intimate with those who had not a coin to spend for medical services. The Honorable Mother was restless, tending to each and every broken, diseased and occupationally inviable patient there, unable to tolerate a moment wasted entertaining guests while others lay in their agony. After a few hours of directly experiencing the very real faces of poverty of these slums, the already exhausted travelers began their return to their hotel, leaving unshaken in her compassion-driven stamina the heroic Rev. Mother.

The hotel they returned to was high-class and extensively prosperous, servicing as well some of the wealthiest businessmen in the country. Together, Prof. Curtin's colleagues and these businessmen sat wrapped in towls, surrounded by the steamy waters of the hotel hot tub that overlooked the city, sharing cocktail glasses over bouts of laughter and jokes. Upon coming across this scene, my professor said he felt in himself an absolute shock at the surrealness of the reality he was seeing; how could these men possibly sit in hot tubs, spending money on Epicurean-fashion refreshments, in a tourist hotel that was in part responsible for the wealth imbalance in this region of the nation, with the very men who openly invested in and profited from the businesses to blame for the massive unemployment rate and social welfare injustices felt by those suffering around them? Had they already completely forgotten where they had been that day, the pain on the faces of those unheard by their own government?

Upon hearing the end of this story, I too mysteriously experienced a pain that struck me to the core. I contained my overwhelmed emotions of anguish and bitter resentment -- and just pure sadness -- provoked by the scene my teacher described until class ended and I could return to my dormitory room to dwell on it.

Today, in the far outreaches of a dryland (well known, however, as the Loess Plateau) two hours outside Xi'an, there is a small rural village outlayed on a mountain ridge overlooking a valley. The sun was blazing over the overlapping ridges, eventually reaching its full flammation as the bus climbed one of the steeper and tallest ridges to the top toward the village. We stopped at a small elementary school, sitting directly on the crest of the mountain, its grounds smaller than the standard American suburban home property. In the center of the grounds were four lines of students, suited in traditional garments, waiting patiently for our arrival while their unfashionably dressed parents stood and watched from the periphery. The student stood on either side of a central flagpole, bearing the school's and China's national flags, in the order of their four grades from left to right. Around them was a common U-formation of three miniscule, one-storey buildings that included bathrooms and all other necessary facilities. The students smiles and excitement in seeing the bus stop in front of their school radiated several times more brilliantly than even the summer sun. For the next couple of hours, each grade demonstrated their well-rehearsed lyrical dances and watched us improvise a few American songs and simple dance we recalled from childhood. They exchanged with us pictures and paper ornaments they had made for candy, snacks and sports equipment the program provided us to give them. Going from an order of performance and observation to a chaos of gift-giving, handshakes and attempted greetings between every student and program member, everyone gathered around the back of the primary building to play with the new soccerballs, jump ropes and tennis rackets together. Even the parents standing at the edges of the arena watched with endearment the interactions between their children and travellers from a distant region of the world. Village neighbors stopped their bikes and the occasional truck to stand and watch us from the dirt street out front.

I took this opportunity while many of the others were playing to ask one of the English-speaking coordinators for this visit about the structure and education of the school. I was already aware that it owed its existence to Plan International, an NGO that worked with the government to found such a facility as this within the village, a solution to the common problem in rural regions of China where distance to the nearest schools prevents families from sending their children there, despite the pressures of China's nine-year compulsory education. This particular school had been founded in March last year, which explained the still missing upper grades that would have to wait two years for fulfillment. Five teachers and one principal secured management and teaching positions for 66 students, their salaries payed by the government to meet sufficient living standards though only by unwavering commitment to a contract for occupation. The services of the NGO start with the costs of land purchase, building construction and other financial procedures, but Plan Int. also committed itself to orgainizing an education that would ensure children's participation in matters of decision-making concerning their own education and the development of their rural community. Documented evaluations of their participation presented to the right government authorities would guarantee, the organization believed, a more dedicated and heavier interest in the work such NGOs provided, perhaps to the point of granting them further capacities and resources toward extending their abilities and impact on a national level even. This hope has persevered and may yet for some time to come.

I had to note that among its six subjects of curriculum taught, this school, unlike schools residing in the city that are properly funded, had no science course, by which it might to some extent understand the intricate workings of biology underlying the process of the farming that provided most of the average village family's source of income. This village, a township named Cheng (I believe), occupied a land that was mostly unarable and thus, along with government decree, coerced the villagers to surrender their efforts to nothing but the farming of apple trees, the fruit of which has since become widespread in sale despite the low pay to the farmers who produce them. Acres of procured and harvested apple trees surrounded the school and bordered the residential dwellings of the villagers. The direness of this singular dependency on an only mildly dependable crop -- that is, the bad side of extreme monoculture -- seemed to me exacerbated by the singular dependency of the future farmer's cultivation and maintanance on only their own family's breadwinner, who probably now knows little other than how to grow and tend apple trees. I wondered what immediate effects could be seen in the hypothetical introduction of science classes that incorporated an education of farming biochemistry, preferably twoard the long-term goal of sustainable development over industrial economic development (at this point now belabord ad nausium by government authorities). (Perhaps I can receive some responding comments here from my knowledgeable and dear friend, Tom, on this subject...)

The residences still comprised of mudcake blocks for houses, now in their better days also having adjoining brick additions deliberately constructed in front to hide the older facilities. Government slogans promoting the one-child policy -- which is almost entirely ineffective our here where extra farmhands are necessary for survival -- and some of the more profitable names of local businesses stained the walls of nearly every home in striking red and white hues, all beyond the choice or even likely the care of the homes' owners. We visited two near the school, both with children attending the school: The Wang family occupied a hand-shoveled out five-room mostly underground dwelling, meant for their family of six, which they built within three months of the year 1973. The dirt and concrete walls were covered in newspaper clippings and magazine ads, which they said was meant for decoration. Their kitchen stove was a metal table over a small fire pit. They all shared beds. Meanwhile, standing a little closer toward the center of the village was the Liuo family, whose slightly higher-status abode housed only five people and, being built in the 1990s, was all above ground in the more contemporary fashion. The presence of more furniture in their homes did not hide the fact that it was all of the poorest quality by our standards. Both families had children and spoke in a tongue that even our Chinese guide could not interpret. In showing us their homes, I noticed both families carrying a plain and simple pride, marked with curiosity at our desire to see their abodes and well-accustomed living standards. Regardless to the shock in difference between this and what we had all see in China so far, the official I inquiried at the school told me that he himself hardly considered this region 'poor' -- after all, it unlike many had the tremendous benefity of having roads (whatever their condition) to travel and by which we were able to come to see it.

I got on the bus for the return to the city in a state of extreme yearning to get back off and stay and work alongside these people -- these people who still knew what work was in terms of day by day survival. No amount of briefing or description truly prepares us for the absolute reality that presents itself when we come to these places -- be it the outlying regions of centralized China, or the often ignored backwater neighborhoods of Mississippi or Louisiana. And the moment we feel the impulsive urge to do something, not merely pass judgement or console ourselves through agreements of pity with our same-status peers, is the same moment we are forced to regard the full realy of OUR living conditions, our worldview and complementary lifestyle, now under the threat of not being the innocent society or example of justice we thought it was. The world's globalization necessarily must include an integration of even the most regional perspectives to account for the lack of responsibility toward them that has ensued on the part of every one of us thus far. It entails a shaking of one's present world to dislodge from it the pieces yet unseen, unseen but just as intimately vital to the continuous activity of compassion and responsible living.

That evening, I ate with the others at a fanciful restaurant to the point of bloating; I joined some on a trip to a professional foot massage; I sat with them in the polished brass and marble hotel lound drinking tea and champagne; and I continued to despair in the surrealiness, the absolute shock that applied as readly to myself as to those around me: Had I alreadly forgotten where I had been today? For a moment, I thought I could feel the inclination of Prof. Curtin's comfort-seeking fellow travelers, the desire, however indeliberate it may be, to disregard the inadequacies of what I have known, and have now come to know, to be true, to retreat into the simpler logic of pleasures and pains of only oneself, to respond to the inconsistent pieces of the story unfolding before us with the security that "at least I am satisfied, at least I have the potential within my lifetime to be happy." This statement, in a sense, is not possible for me anymore, so long as I know and adhere to the truths that promote remembering what is forgotten. As was said by the famous utilitarian years before, "'Tis better to be Socrates unsatisfied than a pig satisfied." I would restate it now it its potentially evolved form: "It is better to realize satisfaction through not merely attempting to avoid depriving it from others, but creating happiness in the lives of all concerned, which in part entails learning about them -- and oneself through them." Make a nice day.

Day Five

This morning held an opportunity I could have only imagined before: a private conference with the diplomats of China's Ministry of Foreign Affairs. The panel that sat at the Front of the press room were Deputy Director Shi Yuanqiang -- who gave no speech but led us through question and answering afterward -- Deputy Director General Xie Feng -- who did most of the talking throughout -- Assistant Minister He Yafei -- who left for another meeting immediately after his opening remarks -- and Councilor Feng Tie -- whose speciality appeared to be SARs (Special Autonomous Regions) like Hong Kong, Macao and Taiwan, but who received no questions from us at all after his speech.

Questions were naturally given preformulated answers or, for unexpected questions, vague interpretations of already mostly obvious answers. Considering my intimate connections with Japan at this point, I took it upon myself to ask at least one question regarding Chinese-Japanese relations. In answer to my request for a description of China's response to Japan's Prime Minister Shinzo Abe's call for militarization -- which was supposedly cued by North Korea's explicit nuclear armament -- Deputy Director Xie replied that relations have been mostly peaceful with Japan since the war but that China hopes it has learned its lessons from that time. This is a good example of a vague interpretation of an alreadly obvious fact or likely opinion. However, this is expectable of diplomats, expecially those representing any form of government endorsing the simple message of peaceful international harmony and national development. The extent to which international harmony was stressed, though, was beyond what I had expected.

We then split into several smaller groups, to allow us to have a larger number of our questions answered, as well as to allow the interning representatives for these representatives to practice addressing our questions. In my group, I put a little pressure on the intern to list any concerns the CCP (China's Communist Party -- which has held the primary legislative and executive positions in China's government for decades now) or other government officials might be showing for the degradation (perhaps soon to be near obliteration) of the cultural identity for the Chinese minorities (less often regarded ethnicities) living in the SARs. With the CCP in place as it is, local democratic governments of any region are consistently bureaucratically managed by installed authorities of the CCP, all aiming (in a very monistic fashion) toward the goal of a nationally unified economic development and higher ranking GDP: a more highly recognized economic status at the price of (among other things) minoritarian cultureal erasure. He remarked that respect for these culture was still a point of attention for the government -- as can be seen in its granted funds to refurbish the Buddhist monasteries and temples in Tibet -- and that the CCP, since its formation in 1921, has always served as the country's most active agent in the democratic movement. (By the way, do not forget that I am NOT referring here to a form of democracy that necessarily resembles our American form of government.) Of course, the matter of the prolonged banishment of the Dalai Lama and his brotherhood services remains a problem left unaddressed...

Several hours later, we were on a plane bound for Xi'an, far away from the observable centralization and racing industrialization taht Beijing displayed. It was time to see another face of China.

Day Four

This morning, we made an early trek out to the Temple of Heaven. The parks around it, filled with hordes of people practicing tai chi, fan dances, and just general wandering, stretched in all directions, it seemed. The music and song of old China rose in pockets between the lines of trees, to remind us occasionally of the sheer age and depth of culture into which we were entering.
Within the actual temple grounds, we came upon the central Hall of Prayer for Good Harvest, a three-tiered monolight that punctured the gray sky above with its tip. The first tier depicted carvings of clounds; the second, the heads and torsos of an army of phoenixes; ending at the top with an army of dragons. These designated the realms of Earth, the emperor's domain, and Heaven, respectively. The temple grounds felt immense for such a small place, and in the distance, one could see the outskirts of the city, modest in its proximity as if scared to approach the depth of geographical sacredness the place held.

Following that, we dined at an ethically diverse cafeteria-type restaurant, the Yu Friendship Store. I tasted practically everything laid upon the inset turntable (to which I was quickly becoming accustomed), unable to contain my excitement to eat. (I suppose it is still one of my top absolute favorite things to do.) The bottom floor featured an arts exhibition, with glass shelves and counters arrayed with all manner and color of fabric by creation. I had earlier that morning bought a traditional-design robin's eggo blue sild pillow case for a friend, and decided that I wanted to purchase a small, darkly blue-and-purpled bird that sat among a flock of much taller roosters and pheasants, all of them inlaid with intricate patters of copper lining between which paints were set, fired, and glossed. Walking around, I became obsessed with the mastery of the makers of all these pieces, as they openly created them right there in the room for others to observe. I was particularly enraptured by the process of one man who painted -- in the centuries-old sumi-e style (I do not yet know the Chinese word for it) -- upon the inside of hollowed glass globes, pictures of everything from zodiac animals to market places to battlefields.

Our final group destination was the Great Wall. I captured everything I could on my cellphone camera, having sadly used up my digital memory from the previous couple of days and no time to upload it to the internet or somewhere. (Memory cards were intolerably expensive where I was, and I had had no practical foresight to buys any before coming.) I did my very best not to go overboard, allowing my senses to take in the most there was to experience in the place -- the age, the immensity, the singularity of its design and purpose, the sheer coercion of its construction without regard to slope or topographical obstacles. We stood together in the light fog surrounding the mountains, watching people of arbitrary ethnicities climb over and through the wall's convoluted structure, like ants investigating an ancient and warped spinal column in the cool mist. The very dynamics of its intended polarization -- inside and outside -- now deintensified by the lack of the geopolitical border it once maintained, made it seem lonely but forever tenacious in its purpose. It was one of those few things that highlights the sacred truth that the dead always live on.

The day ended with the best Indian curry (a vegetable kofta, to be precise) that I have ever tasted. Just when you think you have already had the very best of something...

Day Three

6:30 wakeup call; 7:30 bus departure. We left in our formal suits and dresses for our first private lecture at Tsinghua University. The lecturer was Dr. Yuan Peng, whose specialty and lecture topic concerned Sino-American relations and foreign policies. I took extensive notes...

At the end of the lecture, during questions-and-answers, a single Chinese girl -- first in Chinese, than in English -- asked the professor about cooperative government and then turned to us, Americans, to ask by what means we demonstrated our love for our motherland, as she herself wished to do. One or two people hesitatnly made comments about volunteer work or what-not, but I came to realize that not one of us had adequately understood the question. It would seem, at least now to the Chinese students and professor in that room, that the idea of a steadfast love for one's country, to the same extent as for one's mother, has practically to residence in the mainstream concept of politics for young Americans. What is 200 years, anyway, compared to 5000, no matter how long we may be adjusted to our present economy and form of government? It is an idea with little ground for us...

We had lunch on campus, where each table of seven or eight people was joined by a university student. To my excitement, my table was joined by a Ms. Maeda Yoshie (前田よしえ), who was originally from Kobe and had come to Beijing to study law (-- her mother was Chinese and her dad provided the law influence). It was unexplainably lovely to exchange some words in her native tongue, making me realize, after our brief conversation about my job and her family, how very intimately Japanese has become a part of me, a part that felt as though it had been holding its breath before surfacing, now forced again for the time being to remain submerged. She proffered her card (名刺), and I planned to contact her again as soon as I could.

The next stop was the U.S. Embassy, into which I was prohibited to carry even a pen and paper notebook to record the one-hour interview with four of the embassies staff members; I have thus forgotten their names. They took their seats at the front of the small, florescent-lit delegation room -- three more or less obviously American middle-aged men, who specialized respectively in diplomatic relations, education/environmental/cultural policy reform, and economic reform: and between them sat a woman of Asian descent whose primary office, I believe, was human resources. They each gave a brief outline of their role and position in the embassy and then immediately opened the floor to questions. We, the students, as expected jabbed them with a few difficult, or at least detailed, inquiries, to which the staff members responded with a good deal of beating around the bush -- no less than Dr. Yuan had in response to questions that entailed giving his personal opinion or equally detailing answers. Many of us failed to get our questions addressed at all. A great opportunity given too little time to experience it.

We returned to the hotel, changed clothes, and had our debriefing of the past two days. It was rather difficult to believe that we had in fact covered as much ground as we did in just under 48 hours. But many of the deeper implications to what we had seen and heard still seemed lost on some of the (many) less contemplative group members. It still seemed to me taht everyone was continuing to speak of democracy and capitalism as though America represented the only true model of either, and I made an open comment about it toward the end of the meeting. I hoped that even a few were truly comprehending my lead. To be unaware of our language, in whatever realm of subject, especially in a country as foreign as China, can too easily be compared to walking into a dark room with a sword you only think you know how to wield -- everyone is prone to the diplomatic error of forgetting that they are the very embodiment of assumptions about life and what it even means to be living, let alone forgetting what some of those assumptions are. Knowing we would soon leave Beijing in another day, I quietly anticipated finding out how deep some of those assumptions lay for us considering the experiences we would soon have away from the familiarity and comforts of the city.

The evening ended with a trip to the theatre: a narrativeless piece comprised in its entirety of body motion, in dance, kung-fu, and stunts of balance and pain that again challenge the assumptions of what the body can do. The story of the hero, aspiring endlessly to become a perfect master in his art, even as to avoid the temptations of a beautiful woman from his dreams, deeply moved something in me, churning my melted innards to the rhythm and tones of a mix of traditional (and modernly-depicted 'traditional') soundtrack. I fell in love with the lights and colors and hot smells as well as the fluctuations of speed that marked the phases of inner evolution of the boy-monk becoming master of the bodymind, becoming out of the pure necessity of his fated being. The warrior in me -- aware, too, of the warrior in you -- stirs at the thought.

Day Two

I awoke the next morning to find a rather different city than the one I had sleepwalked through the night before. Parts of it did indeed still resemble my home city in America -- probably the same parts that every other city in the world shares with Nashville. But the characteristic differences in Beijing were far easier to perceive in the light.

It started with some features of the hotel itself. The oddly placed Western suburban appearance to the room was slightly jostling but more or less easy to adjust to. An open arena, with the exception of the fenced-in basketball and tennis courts, resembled a small park and children's gymnasium setting -- though what it basically comprised was a strip of strikingly green grass and some trees, erratically spotted with what were actually brightly colored adults' manual athletic devices. All this was encompassed by a straight, looming wall whose full-length printed illustrated depicted the outside of a traditional leisure house surrounded, to the entiretly of the left side, by a blue-green quiet marsh, complete with a crowd off lilypad heads. Fading red, pink and white chrysanthemums stood in waist-high patches along portions of the concrete walk, which eventually came to an open patio marked on one side by a red and rust-brown covering for a row of opposing benches. Just in front of that stood a vertically poised stone of a short man's height, embedded in a white concrete founding. The open patio area was aligned by tiling, set off by dark borders, and let me to guess that it was an area for independent taichi practicers. A nostalgic but small grove of bamboo grew to the right of the benches, right at the base of the photographed leisure house and next to a stylish gazebo that matched the bench covering, including even a ridiculously small and insignificant waterfall.

Beyond the wall, I could see the tracks to one of the nicer trains I thought I would see; just beyond the tracks, another strip of park whose color of green and off-color chrysanthemums resembled the first. Just beyond that, separated only by a lime-green fencing and forcing a stark contrast with the city that grew all around it sat a block of old houses, connected at lenght by their brick and concrete walling, their roofs revealing the true color and traditional form the bench covering and gazebo had been intended to imitate.

>>><<<

do things without appearing to do things
act spontaneously within the limits of the moment
touch the kingdom with a gentle hand
embrace peace and cultivate stillness
shape your intention and let it overflow
allow good things to happen without meddling
allow your bodymind to order itself

-- Tao Te Ching, Ch. 57

Day One of ISLP study abroad in China

Seems it's always just trying to get to the airport on time that's the hardest part. I set my alarm for 5 and 5:30 AM, assured that if one did not get me up the other most certainly would, though 5:30 would have been a significantly late start. When I opened my eyes to the morning sunlight, the reflex linked to some unconscious understanding of the time given the amount of light in a room flung me across the bed to wrench my cell phone, which read 5:45, from its charger on the bedstand. I made my fastest morning exit ever at 5:48 and took an extra three minutes to discover that my suitcase was too unwieldy to ride my bicycle with. Knowing no taxi phone numbers and that the first city bus did not make its rounds until 7:30 -- almost an hour after the bus departure for the airport -- I wielded the lumbersome brick of a suitcase over my shoulderblades, clutching the handles on either side, and ran (if you can call it running) like mad in the direction of the station on the bank of the inland sea ferry ports. Another impossible situation where all I could do was raise my face up and say, "Okay, I'm doing my part here..."

The only convenience store within a manageable distance, considering the time, was crowded -- no use calling for help there. Then, raising my head again to break the perceptual rhythm of my awkward panting, I saw a single black taxi cab, in all its shiny chrome glory, sitting quietly at the curb less than a block up the street. I used what energy was left to bound up to it and wheeze my destination to the driver.

I got to the terminal about twenty minutes early.

>>><<<

few understand the wisdom of unforced non-action

because it can not be expressed with words and labels

it can only be intuitively felt

it can only be understood with the softness and formlessness

of water

it can only be implemented with the softness and formlessness

of water

-- the Tao Te Ching, ch. 43

>>><<<

happiness

misery

the seed of one is always within

the other

-- ibid, Ch.58

>>><<<

A long day as expected.

We began with a two-plus hour orientation, reviewing points of culture and history, as well as terms of behavior to apply to the length of our visit. There was also an introduction, a brief synopsis of who each of us were, followed by where we were from and some 'unique point' about ourselves, each given by the individual on our left within a congregation of eight or nine small circles. From across the room, I heard the point made that someone was a vegan and a feminist -- I took note of her and later learned her name, E---. By the end of the day, I would come to know her and a couple of others a little better.

We were on our own for lunch, so I trailed a few other people by taxi to a local mall. Walking with two other guys up floor after floor of fashion and garment design, gaining bit by bit more confidence in my ability to decipher the Chinese characters through my Japanese training, I eventually found myself standing with them within a crowded top-level food court, congested with four-chair tables, fake plants, neon lights, and confusing mixtures of smell. My self-confidence had for whatever reason peaked by that point, and I took us up to a counter for Chinese donbori (whatever that might be in Chinese). It seemed all too easy: just say "I want" and the number of for the set in the menu listed above. I chose tofu -- again, proud that I could read that it was indeed that -- and pulled off my most nonchalant Chinese ordering voice. "I want five." The woman looked at me blankly and gestured toward a copy of the menu that lay on the counter between us. I pointed and said again, "I want five." The woman looked up to me.

"Five?"

"Yes."

She then began to rattle off questions concerning size and side orders, and I managed to complete the rest of my stunt through pointing and grunted confirmations. She seemed inclined to sell me the drink in a special dinky thermos that had a built-in straw, and not having the stamina, nor even the actual ability, to argue with her, I agree to it.

I turned to the guys next to me with what must have been a look of boast on my face when the woman handed me a large clear bag filled with drink thermoses over the counter. I blinked, absolutely lost to what was happening, just as the full nature of my error dawned on me. I quickly tried to get the woman's attention, racing through the practically nonexistant vocabulary list I had with which I might tell her what I meant; a girl my age behind me even asked if she could help, in clear, nearly perfect English, because she was tired of waiting in line to order. But even as she talked between the clerk and me, trying to reach what was supposed to be such a simple agreement of terms, the result of the damage revealed itself at the left of the cashier: a tray of five tofu rice bowl sets ready to be picked up. The error eventually cleared up, but the blood in my face did not go away for several long minutes. I made plans to study Chinese more thoroughly later that night.

>>><<<

The first group event after the orientation was a visit to Tian'anmen Square. The largest city square in all the world, it can apparently hold up to half a million people within its massive scape. As I walked along its borders, taking photograhps and jotting notes about the location of the Parlaiment Building and other surrounding monuments, I reflected on the nature of the horror that took place on this very square in 1989, when thousands of people, many students, stood in numbers here to foice their dissatisfaction with the Communist Party of China, only to be herded, beaten, and even shot, by soldiers and martial law officesr sent by the leader of the CPC at that time, Deng Xiaoping -- some, I believe I read, had even been crushed, run over by the tanks manned by these 'keepers of the peace.' It was a horrendous historical event that I was very surprised to have not heard mentioned at all by our tour guide, as he led us toward the Heavently Gate of Peace.

The Gate, literally just across the road from the Square, stood as a massive wall, featuring on its front the renowned face of Mao Tsetung in painting, and having bridges lead one into its ominous and dark tunnel entrances. Despite their appearance, the entrances immediately gave way to the light of the first courtyard of the outer palace to the Forbidden City. For the next two or three hours, we caravanned thorugh courtyard after courtyard, intermittently enlighted by stories of the emperors and their successes (or failures) provided by our tour guide.

Having finally reached the inner palace, where no men, save the emperor and his eunichs, had been allowed to enter only a couple of centuries before, we viewed leisure rooms and statues for emperors of every dynasty. Our last stop before exiting was the imperial gardens, where stood in magnificent architectural grandeur stones imported from Thailand that ellicited images of waterfalls with not water, and cedar tees that we were told included many as old as two and a half centuries.

Our evening concluded with Peking duck -- the likes of which I do not think I have ever tasted and cannot begin to describe in its marvelous, succulent flavor -- and more stories about tables about people's backgrounds and intentions for travel. I was exhausted by eight fifteen.

>>><<<

The night extended before bedtime, however.

Through more unraveling of the beautiful mystery, I met a guy who also had a keen interest in philosophy, though his special interest was Kierkegaard. I told him a bit what I was looking into, and then, as the talk began to become more focused on the nature of belief in today's philosophy of politics, I gave him Slavov Zizek's name (that's right, Tom -- you became extensive that night too), saying I had never read him but that the couple of lectures I had seen him give were fantastic (...and controversial for me). Andreas seemed pleased, and we parted promising another discussion before our final departure.

This was in the dark bar on the botoom floor of the hotel. Several members of the group had gathered there for some 'buy one, get one free' Beijing draft opportunity. We, the Americans were noisy... I had gone down there to chat some more with with E---, but as she became engaged with a couple of others, I instead came to know Eugene (originally from Ukraine and whose real name I cannot pronounce), Garry (who had also been bent on teaching English and studying Japanese through the JET Programme, but was some reason rejected), and Maria (who was also originally from abroad, Puerto Rico). In my free second draft stupor, I expounded generalized observations about Japanese psychology, Chinese-Japanese relations, language (of course), and a couple of other points of interest, and had to work to reserve myself to listen to their stories as well -- it is amazing to me how active my mouth can be once it is loosened. I then went to bed, head spinning but mostly happy, with a book of Chinese grammar in my restless hands.