The ruan (zhongruan)

The ruan (阮) or moon guitar is a four-stringed Chinese instrument similar to the pipa. It is also sometimes called the qin pipa (秦琵琶) and ruanxian (阮咸).

The most common ruan is the zhongruan (中阮) or tenor ruan. The bass ruan (大阮) is also fairly common; less frequently heard are the soprano (高音阮), alto (小阮) and contrabass: Diyinruan (低音阮) versions.

In this video, Wang Yiping (王一平) plays “Yi Dance”, a song adapted from folk melodies of the Yi minority. if you can’t see the video player below, you can also watch it on Youtube and Tudou.

This video was shot and edited by Jonah Kessel.

More about the ruan and “Yi Dance”
Wikipedia: Ruan
Philmitic: Yi Dance (played on pipa)
Paul Knoll: Ruan

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The erhu

Liu Hong plays the erhu

Perhaps no musical instrument is more evocative of China than the erhu (二胡), but its origins are in central Asia: The erhu is one of several instruments including gaohu, zhuihu and jinghu that were historically known as “huqin” (barbarian’s fiddle) or “xiqin”.

The erhu became a common accompaniment to opera in the Ming and Qing dynasties. In the early 20th Century, compositions for erhu by Hua Yanjun (1893-1950) and Liu Tianhua (1895-1932) gave the instrument a respectable solo repertoire.

In this video Liu Hong introduces the erhu and plays the classic folk tune “Running River” (江河水).


You can also watch this video on Tudou or Youtube (Video shot and edited by Jonah Kessel).

More about the erhu: 
Wikipedia: Erhu, Abing (aka Hua Yanjun – famous blind erhu composer and performer)
Chinese Erhu Music: Erhu MP3s
Youtube: Performance of Running River by erhu master Min Huifeng, Musical life of composer Abing(CCTV documentary)
Philmultic: Erhu (with brief bios of erhu composers Abing and Liu Tianhua)
Danwei: A Blind Beijing Beggar and His Erhu, Chinese instruments and the creation of a national music – listen to silk- and metal-stringed erhu pieces at bottom of post

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A Chinese student on 9-11

9-11 in China

This image is currently being circulated on Weibo. It’s a series of screenshots from a Phoenix TV program on the tenth anniversary of 9-11. The screenshots show an interview with a student in Beijing. These are the captions:

Q: What was your reaction to 9-11?

A: I was very happy, because it was [caused by American] hegemonism.

Q: Would you go to the USA if you had the chance?

A: I’ve already applied to go.

Q: How long will you stay there?

A: If I can stay there, I’ll stay.

In China, this is not an unusual view of the world.

You can watch the Phoenix TV program online. The original Weibo posting is here (Note: the captions as reproduced in the Weibo post translated above are slightly different from those on the screenshots.)

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Opening the door to American universities with lies

A wall of posters advertising companies that help students apply to foreign universities

There’s a growing perception that American universities are admitting Chinese students based on fraudulent applications. How big is this problem, and who is responsible for it? Tim Hathaway investigated the problem for the Southern Weekly, and this is what he found:

April Xu studied jazz dance for a time.  She thought this would be good to mention on her applications to foreign master’s degree programs.  After all, many foreign universities don’t just look at test scores.  They also take into account a person’s background and abilities.  It’s a comprehensive selection process.

However, she was unfamiliar with this process and felt time was tight, so like a majority of Chinese students with aspirations of studying abroad, she paid someone to help her, especially with the statement of purpose.

“He wrote that I had performed at a school gala but this was an exaggeration.  After I finished reading it, I said I felt a little nervous or even dishonest because the event I danced at was much smaller,” April Ke said.

“But he told me that this is nothing, that there are students who inflate grades or have others take tests for them.”

There has been a rush to study abroad over the last few years.  Chinese students are the largest group on American campuses, with 40,000 in undergraduate and 66,000 in graduate programs in 2010.  There has been a proliferation of Chinese applications to U.S. universities over the past few years and with that, a rise in application fraud that has overwhelmed admissions offices across the United States and hurt the reputation of China abroad.

“If the perception is that Chinese applicants are not honest that reflects poorly on China.  And I think the perception is Chinese applicants are not honest,” said Sarah Smith, an American education expert based in Beijing.

Ms. Smith provides advice to American universities on how to deal with suspicious Chinese applications.  Although, she is quick to point out that most Chinese students are excellent and the legitimate ones may suffer due to the actions of a few.

The causes of application fraud are complex. It is not just limited to a few unscrupulous people, but also desperate parents, poorly trained admissions offices, increasing competition, and the lack of transparency of the American education system. However, the main facilitators of fraud are Chinese education intermediaries: companies that make their money by “guiding students through the application process..

What school wants to make things difficult for its students?

American universities expect students to fill in their own applications, write a statement of purpose, obtain authentic recommendation letters and send transcripts and standardized test scores.  However, intermediary companies, let’s call them application consultancies, are only paid if students are admitted.

“Once the contract is signed the students are told that not only should they not worry, they’re not allowed to access their own application materials.  They’re not allowed to handle the email correspondence with admissions offices,” said Meng Jiasi, a former employee of application consultancy USA Daxue.

“We just tell them to write [personal statements] in Chinese and we have people that translate it,” he said.  “But I would say a high percentage of the essays in Chinese were not written by the students at all.  They were written by my coworkers…. or they took essays from previous years that were successful and tweaked them.”

If time is tight and one’s work experience is lacking, Mr. Du at application consultancy Oxbridge International says that his company can arrange a three week internship at HSBC (汇丰银行), but write on the application that it lasted three months.  Furthermore, if the client opens an account for international transactions with a significant deposit at that bank or any other, it will be possible to obtain proof of the internship and even a letter of recommendation. “We’ve been working together for years, and it’s been a happy cooperation at that,” he said.

American graduate schools often require sample essays and recommendations from people in the applicant’s field of study.

“Each one requires three to four essays, so if you apply to ten schools that’s 30 to 40 total.  These written materials are very important.  We have staff in China and abroad who help complete these for you,”  said Ms. Bai of application consultancy Wiseway International.  She said her staff in San Francisco can help with recommendation letters as well.

“Most of them are from different fields,” she said.  “They can find people from your major.”

“The most basic factor behind fraud is the white hot competition,” said Liu Peng, who has been working in the industry for over five years.  “The one’s who decide to do it are the students and parents.”

Many American universities want more international students and are eager to find reliable partners because they do not have the resources to recruit overseas on their own.

The American International Recruitment Council (AIRC) was established in 2008 in order to bring regulation to the industry.  Only eleven agents operating in China have received accreditation.

Wiseway International has been accredited since 2010.  When asked if U.S. universities will check the veracity of written documents, Ms. Bai said, “That’s not likely.  Unless you make up some international award, they don’t usually follow up.  You don’t need to worry about that.”

Transcript alteration is one of the most common forms of fraud among applicants, especially for undergraduate programs.  Agents themselves do not usually recommend this action in order to avoid legal responsibility.  However, once a client obtains the school’s consent, an agent sometimes makes specific changes in order to meet the GPA (grade point average) requirements of the schools the student is applying to.  After the changes are made, the parents have the schools notarize the documents.

“Schools almost always notarize them because you’re going to study abroad.  They’re very willing to help.  What school would want to make it difficult for you to do this,” said Ms. Chen from China Education International, another application consultancy that is also accredited by AIRC.

Discrimination can be “troubling”

“We have received word from various faculty across the university that a number of these [Chinese] students are ill-prepared for NYU, and have had disappointing classroom participation skills,” said an admissions counselor at New York University.  It is updating its policy on fraud this year mainly due to the experience with Chinese students.  However, she is unfamiliar with some standard practices among Chinese agents.

The admissions counselor said that NYU uses email to verify a student’s English ability.  When asked if she was aware that agents regularly impersonate applicants, she said she was “uncomfortable” answering such questions and declined further comment.

Despite widespread frustration over application fraud, dozens of universities declined comment for this article.  According to two industry experts, this is because they are unsure what to do about it.  They do not want to be seen as inept, nor do they want to be seen as criticizing China.

There is no way to ascertain if Chinese fraud is in fact worse than that of other countries, but since Chinese applications outnumber all others, this has become the perception.

The problem of application fraud is compounded by the fact that most American universities simply are unable to deal appropriately with foreign applications, including functions as basic as evaluating credentials.

“You’ve got schools admitting people quite literally to graduate schools who only have a high school diploma, because they misunderstood what the credential represented.  And you have people with degrees that are being rejected because they don’t understand that the degree is in fact comparable to a US bachelor’s degree,” said Dale Gough, director of International Education Services at American Association of Collegiate Registrars and Admissions Officers (AACRAO).

“The sad fact is that most [American] institutions do not have staff trained or are equipped with the necessary resources to do a credible job in evaluating foreign credentials.”

Mr. Gough provides training in international credential verification and warns that it is a problem in every country.  In fact, he says international students ought to be wary of American diploma mills. (There are 3,500 accredited institutions in the United States.  Accrediting agencies are all independent.  The Department of Education does not have authority over their programs and cannot revoke accreditation.)

In China, the China Academic Degrees and Graduate Education Development Center (CDGDC) is the official agency responsible for maintaining the integrity of Chinese graduate education.  In addition to evaluating graduate programs, they also verify diplomas and transcripts.  It operates under the auspices of the Ministry of Education.

According to Assistant Director Wang Lisheng, the problem of fake transcripts and diplomas in China began in the late 1990’s when students began studying abroad without government support.  The government set up this office in order to assist foreign institutions and ensure the integrity of Chinese diplomas abroad.

“Premier Wen Jiabao has said repeated that we need to do this well.  We need to manage our education credentials well and not let this cause problems abroad,”  he said.

CDGDC currently has cooperative relationships with several dozen countries and organizations around the world.  In February, CDGDC signed a cooperative agreement with AACRAO and in June Wang Lisheng gave a presentation at the NAFSA’s annual conference in Vancouver in early June, an event attended by many American universities.

One of the most hotly debated topics among professionals at organizations like NAFSA is whether or not universities should contract with agents to recruit international students.  Supporters say most schools have no other way to recruit, and oversight from AIRC and local governments can ameliorate the problems.  Opponents believe there is an irreconcilable conflict of interest.  Who is to say an agent is not going to send highly qualified students to lower ranked universities simply because of the financial incentive?

Ironically, the debate over how best to internationalize a campus has been decidedly solipsistic.  It is centered on the needs of universities and what relationship they ought to have with agents.  It has ignored students and their families who see a need for this kind of service.

Nearly two out of every three current undergraduate students from China has paid an intermediary to help gain admission to American universities, according to a recent study funded by Dr. Zhang Yi for the Center for Enrollment Research, Policy and Practice at USC.

Dr. Zhang, a Zhengzhou native, said that one surprising finding is that many of the students who did not pay for these services still benefited from them, making intermediaries an integral part of the application process for the vast majority of Chinese students.  They utilized information from  consultants from web sites, open seminars, and free consultations.

There are several thousand application consultancies across the country.  A typical full service contract may cost families up to 60,000 yuan, if accepted to a top tier school; and 25,000 yuan for one that is not in the top 100 according to U.S News and World Report rankings.  There are currently about 273,000 Chinese students in America, Canada, England, Australia, and New Zealand.  If only half of them used agents and paid an average of 25,000 yuan, then the educational intermediary industry in China alone is well over $100 million per year.

Dr. Zhang Yi interviewed dozens of students already enrolled at American universities. They agreed that enough information is available for them to apply on their own but they often don’t know where to find it or if it is reliable.

“It’s there but the information is difficult to access,” Dr. Zhang said. “I think that universities in the U.S. should acknowledge the influence and the positive impact of the agencies on students’ applications.”

This situation would not exist if the U.S. did not use the comprehensive evaluation system which dates back to the 1920s. The system has its origins at a time when officials were afraid alumni would be upset if large numbers of Jews or Catholics were admitted.  Future students might choose another university.  So in addition to an entrance exam, officials based admission decisions on subjective data such as personal background and recommendation letters.  The American admissions process is not transparent and was never meant to be.

In 2003 the Supreme Court made the controversial ruling that race or ethnicity is an acceptable reason for admission decisions in the name of affirmative action.  If universities revealed the subjective and sometimes capricious reasons for admissions decisions, there would undoubtedly be a torrent of litigation.  This secrecy acts as a legal shield over universities’ own conflicts of interests.  For example, it is well known that some universities give preference to students who can pay full tuition, which is one reason Chinese students are more and more attractive to foreign universities.

But this secrecy also hides their inability, or even incompetence, when detecting fraud.  It is possible that many Chinese students are being rejected merely on the suspicion of falsified materials.

How many U.S. institutions err on the side of caution by rejecting applicants without proof of fraud?  Does the fear of fraud produce an unconscious bias against Chinese students?

Dr. Linda Serra Hagedorn, a professor and associate dean of undergraduate programs at Iowa State University, researches and publishes her work on international students with her coauthor Dr. Zhang Yi. She agreed that these questions are nearly impossible to answer:

“I sometimes get very troubled with what I see as discrimination against specifically Asian students,” said Dr. Hagedorn of her three decades of experience in American academia.  “That’s one more area that we could pursue and do additional research.”

“I’d rather spend two years studying abroad than in China”

Chinese parents and students should do research as well if they have plans to study abroad.  Dr. Zhang said that students realized many services were unnecessary. For example, obtaining a visa is quite simple and does not require professional assistance. Another nearly universal complaint is the difficulty of finding a trustworthy agent.

Parents need to be wary of agents who do not admit contractual relationships with foreign schools, according to Sarah Smith.

“The greatest harm,” she says is, “when you see a kid being sent to an American school that is of dramatically lower quality than that kid could have gone to simply because the agent doesn’t have a commercial relationship to that school.”

When evaluating an agent, parents should not ask how many clients have been accepted by elite schools; this may be untrue and in fact is irrelevant to their child.  Instead, Ms. Smith recommends parents ask three questions: What is your economic relationship to these foreign universities (do not sign a contract if they refuse to answer); How often and how many of your staff physically visit US universities; and what are your policies related to fraud?

Another problem may be the use of U.S. News and World Report rankings, which most agent fees are based on.  Though they are quite influential and considered authoritative, many experts believe the rankings are flawed and even biased against smaller schools, which are not nationally known but have excellent regional reputations.  The U.S. government does not provide official rankings.

There are also risks for parents and students who are tempted to alter transcripts or allow agents to exaggerate their abilities.

In addition to creating a black stain on the image of the nation, individual schools who regularly change transcripts gain a negative reputation in the admissions community, making it harder for legitimate students.  Admissions personnel are well aware of the most unreliable schools.

Those who grossly exaggerate their abilities often fail out, creating a loss of face for them and their families.  But for most students the only repercussion is a rejection letter and for those who are accepted, perhaps a stain on one’s conscience.  If schools discover fraud after acceptance, they generally do not take action.   Schools do not want to punish the students when the culprit may well have been the parents or an agent.  However, students who commit financial aid or scholarship fraud are very likely to be expelled.

For those who need information about financial aid, EducationUSA is an organization sponsored by the United States government which can answer any questions about studying abroad.  There are over 400 offices worldwide.  It is the closest thing America has to China’s Confucius Institutes because its mandate is to promote U.S. education as a means to understanding the country and is values.  It is primarily an information service but also provides training in things such as how to write a personal essay.

Lauryne Massinga, Ed.D., director of EducationUSA in Beijing, says her organization is a viable alternative to agents because they provide  “all the necessary tools, information, and advice” for DIY.   For example, her staff can easily show students how to tell if a university is in fact a diploma mill.  All services are free and primarily in Chinese, and they do not currently accept funds from students or universities.

“I haven’t come across any family or any student that couldn’t do it themselves,” said Dr. Massinga who has been in the Beijing office for nearly two years.

Clearly, however, EducationUSA with its 10 person staff will not be able to dramatically reduce the market for agents any time soon.  These companies’ services are likely to exist as long as demand for a foreign education far exceeds that of domestic education.

The number of Chinese students studying abroad continues to rise with people like April Xu.  She didn’t want to pay hefty fees for an agent, nor did she want to exaggerate her personal statement.  But she did it anyway and succeeded.  She will attend a graduate program in journalism in Boston in September and start the next chapter in her life.

“Many classmates choose to take the entrance exams for Chinese graduate programs, but I always felt that domestic programs don’t offer anything special,“ said April Xu.  “I’d rather spend two years studying abroad than in China.”

 

NOTE: This article first appeared in Chinese in Southern Weekly on August 25, 2011.  The original version is here.  Fang Kecheng and Xu Ke contributed to this article.  Some names have been changed at the request of interviewees.

Tim Hathaway is a regular contributor to Southern Weekly.  His column with article and commentary translations in English can be found here.

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Kuang Kuang and the 38th Parallel

san ba xian screenshot

Here is another episode of Kuang Kuang’s Diary, featuring Kuang Kuang, the primary school boy with a permanent bloody nose, and his girlfriend Xiao Hong.

This episode is called The 38th Parallel, a reference to the border between North and South Korea. In Chinese primary schools in the 1970s and 1980s, boys and girls who shared a desk would often draw a line down the middle of the desk and call it the 38th Parallel, meaning it was not to be crossed.

The 38th Parallel is presented here for the first time with English subtitles.

Kuang Kuang and the 38th Parallel

Uploaded to Danwei’s Youtube account with the permission of the creators. All rights reserved by 北京互象动画有限公司 Copyright 2010-2011 Kuanger.com, subtitles by Kuanger.com.

More on Kuang Kuang

On Danwei:
Blowing up the school, Rabbit Rampage and Director Pi San on his Year of the Rabbit animation.

On Hutoon’s web pages:
Kuanger.com, pages on Tudou, Youku or Sina.

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Chinese students and a foreign agony uncle

Ralph Jennings is a journalist who has contributed advice columns to the Beijing-based 21st Centurynewspaper since 2000.

I was working at the China Daily eleven years ago. One day, during an editing shift,  a colleague suddenly popped up beside my desk and said the paper’s English-language weekly 21st Century needed an advice columnist and could I do the job.

Sure, I said, but I don’t know what to tell the 10 to 15 people who write in every week with complaints about dark family pasts, bad breakups, test score distress, scholarship corruption and college roommates who steal things.

I have written the “Just Ask” column ever since then, as much as to give the people behind the letters a few trashy lines of advice that they could have thought of themselves as to learn from the students about how things work in China.

The column, which I now write from my kitchen table in Taipei, has become my telescope into the fractious, conflicted lives of the weekly paper’s main readers: Chinese students from grades six through grad school.

I could design a course curriculum on what the column letters taken as a whole say about the risks of going to school in China.

It would cover getting torn between the pursuit of test scores, the traditional parentally approved bedrock of school, and emerging interests of the younger crowd such as dating, speech contests and part-time jobs.

My course outline would hit on the disappointment that sets in when high school students find that their university is either a cesspool of lazy professors or a place so competitive that they can’t sustain the high marks that they got in lower grades.

There would be a lecture on how to get on with roommates: Talk to them even if you don’t like them, otherwise you get ostracized. I would make a note about friction between poor rural university students, usually the most studious, and their urban classmates.

But perhaps my most memorable lesson was that problems reported from middle schools begin an education — for them — in how things really work in multi-layered, barely transparent China. Here are three classics:

 

The rules don’t matter

Middle school taught Hu Wenjing in 2001 that she could not just follow the rules to succeed. The student from Hubei province would need to master both book smarts and world smarts to stand out in hyper-competitive China, where admissions, scholarships, job hires, plum assignments and promotions are decided by an opaque mix of scores, connections, looks and luck.

I am a senior middle school student. Recently I’ve been puzzled about my studies. We students work hard at our lessons in order to get good marks. I’m this kind of person. For my hard work, I have made great achievements. During the past two years, I did very well in my studies.

But now, in grade three, I feel confused because other students who didn’t study hard got a better mark than I did. They even didn’t finish their homework. I’m a so-called good student. In fact, I often failed exams. Am I a real failure? I believe in “no pain, no gain.” But why have I paid so much and gotten so little? I’ve felt very sad and lost heart.

 

Persistence

Bamboo-lin of the Guangxi autonomous region discovered in 2002 another long-term lesson: Persistence pays in reaching a major goal. In college and later the job market, the more you fight the more you win.

I am a senior middle-school student and have just taken the National College Entrance Exam. Unfortunately, the result was cruel. I failed. It is really a pity, because I found many problems in the papers which I could do well but did wrong. Many wrongs were due to my carelessness, while others were due to my lack of skill.

Now all that has gone, but sadness comes. Not only tears and fears, but also sorrows attack me, especially when I face my parents. To my comfort, my parents both encourage me to make a great effort to prepare for next year. I will never give up my goal. However, I have no idea how to rebuild my confidence.

 

Love

The once book-centered definition of “study” has shifted along with China’s wealth and modernization. Chen Peng of Henan province focused his middle school research in 2005 on the study of companions, possibly one lasting a lifetime.

I’m a grade-three middle school student, a handsome boy. I love a girl in another class. I’m very eager to express my love to her. Two months ago, I wrote a love letter, but she hasn’t answered. I think she has refused my request, or because of her busy studies perhaps she has no time to answer, or she hates me.

Anyhow, I’m very anxious about the result. Is it necessary to write a second letter asking her why she hasn’t replied? I don’t know how to deal with this matter. It occupies my mind and affects my study heavily.

Ralph Jennings is a journalist in Taipei. You can find other writings by him and more of the letters he has received over the years, and other writings in the Danwei archive (alternative link).

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Confessions of a Chinese graduate

Classroom

An essay by Danwei staff writer Eric Mu. 

When I was a kid, university graduates were as rare as unicorns, now they are more like popcorn: cheap and plentiful. No big surprise, considering there are millions of fresh ones every year to join a large pool of millions of existing graduates. All are desperate for white-collar jobs that are not easy to come by in China’s manufacturing economy. The problem of university graduates finding jobs has been debated in the media for at least a decade as a difficult social issue and it never improves.

My father is a cleaner at a local paper mill. In his mid-fifties without any professional skills, he works for 50 yuan a day. What can 50 yuan buy?  Two cups of coffee at this not-too-fancy coffee shop in Beijing where I am typing these words. But if you are a college graduate and want to find a job in my hometown, you can expect to start with an even lower salary than my father. Earlier this year when I went back to my home village, my parents told me that a girl in the village had gone mad. Why? She went to college, where she studied English for four years, and the best job she could get was to peel shrimps with coworkers who had only finished middle school and were at least four years younger than her.

So, a college degree, once a coveted holy grail, a glamorous passport to a fulfilled and secure life, has lost its luster, right? So  people are shunning it and pursuing happiness through a different course, right? The fact is that despite the bleak financial prospects and diminishing advantages of being a graduate, the competition to become one has never been any more severe.

My high school life, which was not so long ago, might give you a small glimpse into the real situation: How too much competition poisons people’s relationships, and how when you feel that the guy sitting beside you is your potential enemy who may rob you of a lifetime of happiness, altruism is not going to be your guide. Students hold to themselves and are reluctant to help others. If you have a math question you cannot crack, you keep it to yourself, because all the students are very proprietary about their learning. To offer your knowledge or even your questions for free is not only time consuming but an aid to  your enemies.

I have to say that high school is a monastery and an army boot camp combined. Eleven classes every day. We had to rise before dawn and went to bed after 11. After the last class, we were encouraged to use any bit of extra time for study. There was one student who would go to read his lessons every night in the toilet, because that was the only place where the light would be kept on 24 hours. Everyone hated him, because his breach of a delicate equilibrium that is vital for us to live in peace with each other — he studied just a little too hard. The school encouraged us to be frugal with our time. It had a slogan hanging from the main building: “Time is like water in sponge; if you squeeze harder, there is always more.”

Even though you can always squeeze, even God may need to take a day off every week. For high school students, it was every four weeks. The day was meant for us to go home to pick up some spare clothes and money to sustain us for the next four weeks. But it also offered a rare chance of leisure. One day, think about it, ten hours of freedom, plus undisrupted sleep. How wonderful! I always anticipated the day so much that I kept planning and planning: Going to the bookstore to read the history book that I hadn’t finished? Going to the noodle place in the market to have noodles with lamb soup? When the day eventually came, not a single second passed without causing great anxiety in me like a stingy man counting every penny that he has to shell out.

Teachers are a mixture of army training sergeants and Amway salesmen. The former abuses, the latter promises. A teacher is not only expected to teach, he also needs to motivate. Some male teachers were very good at that, capable of evoking in their subjects the deepest sense of shame that even a Freudian would admire. They did it with verbal ingenuity that a rapper would envy. I remember a teacher once warned us that if we didn’t work hard we would “go and poke a dog’s teeth,” What he meant was that we would end up being tramps or beggars. Now many years have passed but the image of myself with a beggar’s pole trying to fend off a bunch of barking dogs still haunts me.

The first few days of my high school life I was pumped up by a sense of triumphalism and I was a bit stuck up. After all, I had just passed a very difficult exam, I thought. My teacher spotted that dangerous tendency and he talked to me about it. At first he was using metaphorical language, telling me how a full bucket cannot take any more water. When he found out that I was not improving, he called me an ingrate and a mistake of my parents. It was only later that I realized that the teacher didn’t say that only to me. He said it to most students with the exception of the very best and the very worst in the class. The top ones were treated with respect and the worst don’t deserve his time because it won’t make a difference anyway.

It was not only the students dealing with a lot of stress, but the teachers as well. A teacher’s salary was correlated by how many of the students that they were responsible for went to university. Even the school principal would be evaluated on such statistics. At my junior year, a girl committed suicide. Not a big surprise. There are always weak ones who just can’t make it. That is how natural selection works. The cause of the suicide was that the girl’s head teacher asked her to forgo the college entrance exam. Not that he hated her personally. He simply talked to all the students who were deemed hopeless and would only dilute the average results of the class. The girl refused. The teacher told the girl something that must have been very humiliating, and she drowned herself in the sea that afternoon.

Three years of running this strenuous marathon. The inevitable climax was more of an anticlimax. The test didn’t turn out to be as I had imagined it – a grand battle. I had been seeing myself on stage, with a war bugle blowing and bullets whizzing by and here I was, a soldier crouching in his trench and ready for a bayonet charge, to take my fate by its throat. The reality was much duller though. A room packed with 40 students huddling in front of their small desks, under the scrutiny of a surveillance cam and two chatty supervisors. We were no warriors but prisoners. If we were fighting for anything, it was just for our own survival.

During the few days prior to the exam, some interesting changes took place. My head teacher seemed to have a personality transplant. He appeared to be a different person. He was now such a nice guy that I barely recognized him. In our final class, he gave us his goodbye speech. He told us how pleasant it had been working with us for the past three years, that he had been proud of us and would never forget us. I had been thinking the exact opposite – that we were the worst class he had ever taught and that he had always hated us — particularly me, the sullen mean type who just won’t cooperate — and wanted to wipe us from from his memory as soon as we are gone.

He proceeded with his emotion-charged speech. “If I ever hurt any of you, it was not my intention. As a teacher , I always had my students’ best interests in mind.” Some girls were moved to cry. “One day as a teacher, a life as a father,” he quoted an ancient saying, which gave me a feeling of embarrassment for the hypocrisy.

All theatrics aside, the message was clear to me: “I know I abused you but I don’t want to be hated. Now, as you are about to leave, there is no point for me to be harsh any more. What can be done can’t be undone, and it is all the past, so let’s move on and forget it and be friendly to each other.”

“I love you.” was the signal for the end of the speech, a rather clichéd wrap-up. “We love you too.” The students yelled back. Liars!

But a ritual like this worked. Reconciliation was achieved. Damages were forgiven. Grudges healed. Even I, the most foolhardy, unrelenting hater, felt that it might not be fair to blame the guy for his offensive remarks about me. He was, after all, doing his job.

The morning before the exam started, I walked through a crowd of students’ parents. They were anxious and gazing expectantly at their children, praying that they would ace the test. My dad was there too. He brought me a can of Red Bull.

“Son, don’t be nervous.” My dad passed me the can.

How can I not be nervous seeing you wimpy like that? I was thinking, gulping down the liquid.

“Your teacher said you are good. He said you have no problem.”

My teacher? My teacher doesn’t care about me at all. All he cares about is statistics.

“We can try again next year if you fail.”

But next year. How many next years I am going to have?

But I just said bye to my dad, throwing the tin can as far as I could, and strode into the exam room, ready to take my destiny by the throat, or, be taken by my throat.

The three days of examinations proceeded without incident, except occasionally the kid in front of me snuck a look or two at my exam sheet and the teachers there pretended not to see it at all, or they were too involved in their chat. But how can I let my three years of hard work be stolen by this sneaky bastard? I stared back at him with my hard, venomous eyes, covering my sheet up. The thief turned his head back.

Then everything was over. I walked out of the room feeling like an abandoned condom, used and hollow. Exhausted too. All I wanted to do was to catch up on all the sleep that I had missed over the past three years. It was not only because I was so sleepy, I wanted to sleep away the horrible three years, to forget them like a bad dream. When I woke up again, I hoped that I would find myself a fresh person with a new life.

A month later, I got the admission letter from a university, my family was exhilarated. But I was only relieved to have my burden removed, if only temporarily. I knew intuitively that university would by no means be as wonderful as the teacher depicted to me. Compared with three years ago, I was now older and in no small measure, wiser.

My feeling was vindicated; university life was but another cycle. We would go through another round of anxiety, angst, boredom and disillusion, only with different tokens for goals: then it was about passing the exam and going to university, now it was about becoming a Party member and finding a girlfriend and getting a job.

See also on Danwei: Blowing up the school.

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The rawap – a Silk Road lute

A Uyghur man plays the rawap

I lived in the far west of China in Xinjiang from 2006 to 2010, and I was captivated by the musical heritage of the Uyghur people. Much of their history and entertainment revolve around gatherings of song and dance, and their most popular instrument is a stringed lute known as the rawap.

The stringed instrument is usually made from the wood of a mulberry tree at a length of no more than 3 feet. The most distinctive features, however, are the snakeskin face and the “goat horns” that serve no other purpose than to decorate the round, pear-shaped body. Similar instruments exist in neighboring countries like Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan, and even within various regions of Xinjiang, slightly different forms of the instrument are produced including the Kashgar rawap, Khotan rawap and Dolan rawap.

After listening to a local musician perform on a rawap, it’s tempting for modern guitar players – including me – to pick it up and think we could play. Adding to this notion of simplicity is the fact that of the 5 strings you’ll find on most rawaps, only the bottom pair are used to produce melody. The remaining 3 are known as “sympathetic” strings because they essentially sing along with the melody without changing tone.

I picked up my first rawap in Kashgar, the old caravan outpost on the western tip of Xinjiang. Following along with a seasoned local player, my left hand moved effortlessly along the fret board, free to worry about only a single pair of identical strings. For most guitar players, left hand positioning on six different strings is difficult to master, but not so for the rawap.

In contrast, my right strumming hand was having a terrible time keeping up with my local counterpart. Movement took place at the wrist, not the elbow, and the back and forth motion was two to three times the speed I was used to. The style reminded me more of playing a mandolin than a guitar, with the exception that the three sympathetic strings were only periodically struck to resonate with the melody as opposed to being strummed at all times.

I quickly decided to pick up a small drum and let the local musician play the rawap properly. Despite what seems like a limited range of notes, the instrument somehow filled the room with a rich sound that conjured up images of a time when Xinjiang was inhabited primarily by herders, merchants and traveling caravans.

Back in the regional capital of Urumqi the local bazaar is buzzing with people, many of them tourist. Stall after stall displays local nuts, fabrics, knives, art and every other imaginable tourist souvenir people would want to buy. In virtually every single shop and stall, however, there hangs a distinctive instrument with 5 strings, a snakeskin face and two goat horns. It’s a symbol of the region, its people, and the history that makes Xinjiang – and the Silk Road – so special.

Josh Summers edits the blog Far West China.

More on the rawap:
Meshrep: Rawap
Oyqa: Uyghur musical instrument
London Uyghur Ensemble: Music of the Uyghurs
Far West China: Uyghur Man Plays the Rawap
Stacey Irvin: Photographs of the Uighurs
Sina video: Rawap
Youtube: Music of Celebration & Uyghur Rawap (performed by Dawut Awut), Devran Alimjan Ghopur play Rawap, Uyghur Caplima Rawap, Instrumental Uyghur Music (Mining Rawabim)

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Scenes from the tobacco harvest: Why China can’t quit smoking

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Gejiu is a city of 135,000 people that lies 280 kilometers southeast of Kunming, the capital of Yunnan Province, and several hours north of China’s border with Vietnam. Sibling mountains cradle Gejiu in a narrow valley, made even smaller by the wide Golden Lake (金湖) which sits at the city’s center.

To the west of Gejiu rises Laoyin Mountain (老阴山) and to the east Laoyang Mountain (老阳山). In Chinese, yin denotes feminine while yang stands for masculine. As Laoyin Mountain dwarfs its masculine counterpart, residents of Gejiu are quick to remark that this symbolizes the comparative strength and formidability of Gejiu’s women.

Although spoken in jest, geography has indeed influenced the station of Gejiu’s men. The ridges that unfold on either side of Laoyin and Laoyang Mountains hold rich deposits of tin that have made Gejiu the site of Asia’s largest tin industry and home to the Yunnan Tin Corporation (云南锡业集团). Beyond these mountains, fertile hills to the south supply leaf for Honghe Tobacco, one of China’s most iconic cigarette brands.  Together, tin mining and tobacco production – twin engines of Gejiu’s economy – have united to give Gejiu a lung cancer incidence rate for men that is among the highest in China and 5-7 fold higher than among US populations of comparable age (Qiao et al, 1997).

Outside of hospital wards and accounting ledgers, the history of Gejiu’s tin and tobacco industries rises from the gentle incline of Laoyang Mountain. Half-way up Laoyang sit three-story brick houses, the former dormitories of Soviet technical advisers that helped restart Gejiu’s tin industry after WWII. Further up Laoyang, a new development of multi-story, single family homes with yards and carports houses employees of the Hongyun Honghe Tobacco Group Company (红云红河烟草集团有限责 任公司), the world’s fourth largest tobacco company after Philip Morris, British American Tobacco and Japan Tobacco. Hongyun Honghe produces some of China’s most famous cigarette brands, including Honghe, Shilin and Yunyan – all named after growing places in Yunnan or neighboring Guizhou Province.

Gejiu sits near the center of China’s tobacco industry yet remains virtually unknown outside of the People’s Republic. Even within China, Gejiu has maintained a low profile for a city with such prominent extractive industries. Friends in Gejiu often invoked the phrase “the sky is high and the Emperor is far away” to describe Gejiu’s relative obscurity. More than once, people in Gejiu joked that few of China’s political leaders could locate Gejiu on a map and would only come to Gejiu if war broke out with Vietnam. Like China’s political leaders, I knew little about Gejiu before traveling there in the summer of 2010 to assist a local public health program. Expecting to find a dusty mining town, I instead discovered a jewel of a city awash in wealth and civic pride for its local corporate giants. As June turned into July, I set out to learn more about Gejiu’s tobacco industry and the Hongyun Honghe Company, perhaps the least well known of the world’s major tobacco companies.

* * *

China is the world’s largest producer and consumer of tobacco.

The 2010 Global Adult Tobacco Survey,  conducted by the Chinese Centers for Disease Control in partnership with the US CDC and the World Health Organization, estimates that China has 350 million smokers, or more smokers than the entire population of the United States. Smoking in China remains a highly gendered behavior with 57.4% of men and 3% of women smoking, respectively (WHO, 2010). The concentration of smoking among men reflects advertising and marketing strategies that have linked tobacco to traditional notions of masculine identity (nanzihan – 男子汉), political leadership (imagery of Mao Zedong and Deng Xiaoping smoking) and expressions of nationalism and patriotism (cigarette brands such as Zhonghua – 中华). Anthropologists such as Matthew Kohrman have described how exchanging cigarettes forms the currency of male networking and friendship in rural and urban China (Kohrman, 2007).

In 2007, China produced 40% of the world’s tobacco leaf crop on 1,364,500 hectares of land. Although this constitutes less than 1% of China’s total agricultural land area, tobacco leaf contributes an outsized proportion of government tax revenues in tobacco producing regions. Over 40% of land under tobacco cultivation in China is located in Yunnan (Tobacco Atlas, 2009). Many in the industry consider Yunnan tobacco among this highest quality grown in China due to Yunnan’s high elevation and plentiful rainfall. The majority of Yunnan tobacco is grown in seven prefectures located in central and eastern Yunnan – Kunming, Yuxi, Chuxiong, Zhaotong, Qujing, Dali and Honghe (Eng, 1999).

In 2007, revenues from tobacco production contributed 50% of total tax revenues collected by the Yunnan Provincial Government (Tobacco Atlas). An April 2011 Quarterly Economic Update published by the Yunnan Statistics Bureau called tobacco production Yunnan’s “primary mainstay industry” and a “critical driver and support for provincial industry” (云南省统计局, April 2011).

Despite being one of the world’s largest tobacco companies, little has been written about Hongyun Honghe. Hongyun Honghe formed in 2008 through the merger of Hongyun Group and Honghe Group, two formerly separate tobacco companies. This consolidation occurred under permission of the State Tobacco Monopoly Association (STMA), a state organ under the Ministry of Industry and Information Technology charged with managing China’s state-owned tobacco industry. Interestingly, the Ministry of Agriculture does not hold authority over the production, pricing or marketing of tobacco leaf. The STMA issues tobacco production quotas and licenses and enforces these directives through the China National Tobacco Corporation, which controls the procurement, transport, storage of tobacco leaf (Hu et al, 2007). This model of vertical governance is intended to create a centrally integrated command chain, although in reality local governments exercise considerable influence over regionally-based tobacco companies (Eng, 1999). The merger that created a united Hongyun Honghe reflects the general trend toward consolidation of China’s fragmented tobacco industry in order to manage inter-regional competitiveness between China’s tobacco companies while positioning the larger industry for greater international influence and expansion.

* * *

To better understand the role of tobacco in Gejiu’s economy, I joined an official Hongyun Honghe tour of tobacco farms during harvest. A close friend attended elementary school with the wife of a Honghe brand supply chain manager. After a flurry of SMS messages between my friend and her classmate, I found myself eating dinner in the well-appointed, company-owned home of Big Qu and his wife (all names are pseudonyms).  When my taxi pulled into their new subdivision on the upper slopes of Laoyang Mountain, I noticed that all of the stand-alone homes were painted the same shade of pale yellow. I have come to associate this yellow with young real estate, as it colors the facades of new apartment buildings, luxury towers and residential districts across Yunnan. It is identical in hue to the dry mud that stuccos the walls of family compounds in rural villages – a bit of country aesthetic coloring Yunnan’s new urban landscapes.

Over a meal featuring local seasonal mushrooms, I told Big Qu about my family’s historical involvement in tobacco farming. Generations of my father’s family farmed burley tobacco in the fertile hills of central Kentucky. I related how my great-grandmother, Zelma Crump, managed a 100 acre farm, a portion of which held a Federal tobacco allotment allowing her to grow and sell tobacco to a local curing barn. Issued by the United States Department of Agriculture, tobacco allotments set quotas on the amount of tobacco individual farmers could grow in a given year, thereby supporting the price of tobacco by limiting supply. Zelma kept a small portion of the farm’s tobacco, which she used to roll her own cigarettes, disdaining the introduction of filters. In response to the Surgeon General’s landmark 1964 Report on Smoking and Health, Zelma  cut down to smoking just one pack of hand-rolled cigarettes a day. I neglected to mention to Big Qu that Zelma died of emphysema in 1971, after which her daughter sold the farm to neighbors and moved to Louisville.

After hearing my story, Big Qu raised his shot glass of bai jiu and proposed a toast. He had visited Kentucky several years earlier while on a company study tour in the United States and remembered it as “green” and “beautiful,” with hills similar to those in Hong He. At the end of the night, he invited me to accompany him in two days’ time on a tour of tobacco farms several hours to the south of Gejiu in Ping Bian County (屏边苗族自治县). Accepting his offer, I confessed that I had never before seen a tobacco plant; family stories of Zelma were the closest I had ever come to a tobacco farm.

At the appointed time, I waited for Big Qu on the steps of my hotel, watching rain strafe Golden Lake, the run-off unfurling long tendrils of street debris into the blue-green water. Five black SUVs pulled into the hotel’s roundabout, and Big Qu rolled down a window and waved for me to get into the fourth car. At dinner several nights earlier, he had described this trip as a routine checkup on the beginning of the harvest. Now he explained that a company executive, Boss Wang, had decided to accompany the tour and would be meeting with local government officials along the way, cementing the close relation between Hongyun Honghe Tobacco Company and political leaders in Ping Bian County.

We left Gejiu’s narrow valley driving south, descending hills into the broad plain that stretches to Mengzi, Hong He’s new prefectural seat of government. Along the road we passed new mixed commercial and residential developments – acres of recently constructed ghost towns, half the buildings painted Yunnan yellow, the other half unadorned cement. Just outside of Mengzi, we passed a hulking compound of buildings fronted by an enormous statue of a charging bull, the symbol of both Hone He Prefecture and Hong He cigarettes. “That’s the new government seat,” Big Qu explained. “It’s bigger than your White House!” Leaving Mengzi, we began to ascend gentle hills, entering a countryside of unpaved mud roads and sporadic developments of low slung buildings clinging to the side of the road.

July marks the beginning of the tobacco harvest in Yunnan as well as the halfway point in the rainy season. A steady rain fell over verdant fields, low clouds scraping the surrounding hills, as we toured several farms and granary centers. Most tobacco farmers in Ping Bian County are ethnic Miaozu, also known as the Hmong. Families own the land on which they farm, but contract with the Hongyun Honghe Tobacco Company to sell the season’s harvest to company-controlled collection centers and curing barns. Big Qu explained that farmers in Ping Bian are not allowed to sell tobacco leaf on the open market or to other tobacco companies such as the Hongta Tobacco Group (红塔烟草集团), headquartered one prefecture away in Yuxi. Hongta Tobacco Group retains a similar purchasing monopoly over tobacco grown around Yuxi. This system of restricted purchase allows the China National Tobacco Corporation to manage competition between its local partners and brands.

Tobacco farming in Yunnan remains un-mechanized, so farmers pick leaves by hand and then pile them into tall stacks which they carry on their backs. Planting also occurs manually, as does “topping,” a process by which farmers remove the flower of the tobacco plant to promote leaf growth and increase the plant’s nicotine concentration. As our caravan of SUVs pulled up to the first farm, we saw several farmers descending the slick hillside, wearing clear ponchos and shouldering culled leaves to be sorted and dried. Boss Wang stepped out of his car and struck out into the field. A film crew followed behind him, everyone sinking their loafers several inches deep into the spongy mud. Boss Wang wore a spotless pair of hiking boots into which he had tucked his suit pants. I watched from the road as a man in camouflage fatigues spoke to Boss Wang, gesturing out over the field. Standing in the shelter of my umbrella, Big Qu remarked that the man in camouflage worked for the nearby township government.

As the farmers approached the road, I noticed that none were wearing gloves. Harvesting tobacco in the rain increases the risk of acquiring Green Tobacco Sickness (GTS), or acute nicotine poisoning caused when nicotine from tobacco leaves dissolves in rain water and then leaches into one’s skin upon contact with dew. Symptoms include nausea, vomiting, dizziness, weakness and fluctuations in blood pressure and heart rate (CDC, 1993). Studies in the United States have estimated that the average harvester working in wet field conditions may absorb the nicotine equivalent of 36 cigarettes from contact with dew per day (McKnight et al, 2005). The risk of Green Tobacco Sickness is particularly high when harvesting flue-cured tobacco, the type of tobacco grown in Ping Bian. Flue-cured tobacco is dried in a heated room and harvested one leaf at a time. Workers snap off individual leaves through “trimming,” a process that occurs over a period of several weeks as tobacco plants develop and mature. Burley tobacco, the kind grown by my great-grandmother Zelma in Kentucky, is harvested as a whole stalk cut at the base and then naturally air dried in the field or in a barn.

Once the farmers reached the gravel road, they turned and headed toward a collection of single-story brick homes built on a gentle incline above the fields. Leaving the farmers, we walked several hundred meters in the opposite direction until we reached a long, narrow building that resembled a storage facility. Boss Wang stood at the front of our group as another man in our party explained that this building housed flues, or ovens and racks used to dry and cure wet tobacco leaf. A man swung open one of the doors to reveal a room of sloped wooden shelves. Further up the road stood a large, open air garage that served as a storage facility and loading bay. Covered trucks parked next to stacks of dry, khaki-colored tobacco, wrinkled and slightly shrunken in comparison to the piles of just harvested leaves awaiting curing. After drying, the leaves are trucked to a factory in a larger town where they are processed and rolled into cigarettes and stamped with the iconic emblem of the Honghe cigarette brand: a charging bull.

We departed the loading facility for lunch at the township government office. Our caravan pulled into a courtyard surrounded by a two-story white concrete building. Women in cooking sleeves stood bent over an open drain, washing dark green vegetables and running in and out of a small kitchen.  Inside the dining room, the township government representative joined his colleagues – several men and one woman – all similarly dressed in camouflage pants and jackets. The local government leaders and the Hongyun Honghe employees greeted each other, a flurry of cigarettes exchanging owners across handshakes. After sharing pleasantries, everyone fanned around Big Wang in a wide horseshoe shape as he smoked Hong He cigarettes from an enormous shui yantong, or water pipe. Each time he finished a cigarette, an arm reached out and replaced it, dense puffs of gray smoke following moments later.

Dizzy from second-hand smoke and unable to understand the local dialect, I left the room and wandered around the cement compound. A bulletin board posted in a hallway on the second floor displayed the picture and title of each township government officer. I matched names to the faces I had seen earlier in the morning, noting that not a single one was smiling, perhaps to convey an air of seriousness.

* * *

The Chinese tobacco industry argues that tobacco leaf provides a high-return crop upon which poor farmers and rural agricultural communities depend. In a 2004 article published by the Beijing Economic Science Press, T. Liu and colleagues estimate that four million Chinese families rely on tobacco for their livelihood – either through farming or employment in other sectors of tobacco production and sale (Liu et al, 2004). The STMA has released a more generous count, estimating that 20 million farmers representing 5 million farming households engage in tobacco leaf production (Hu et al, 2007). The economic importance of tobacco has been invoked to justify the industry’s presence in rural communities from the southern United States to Malawi to Brazil. Based on experiences with tobacco farmers in the United States, many advocates and academics working to transition rural communities away from tobacco farming concede that no “silver bullet,” or single alternative crop, offers a natural replacement for tobacco leaf (see Beach et al, 2008).

The notion that no crop can match tobacco’s profitability – an idea promoted by the tobacco industry and accepted by many in public health and government – needs to be critically reexamined in the context of local agricultural economies. Recent survey data from India and China suggests that the economic weight of tobacco relative to other crops varies across communities. A 2004 survey of 586 farm households in Yunnan found that tobacco had a lower revenue-to-cost ratio than fruits, beans and plants grown for vegetable oils. For every 1 元 (yuan) spent on tobacco, farmers received 2.4-2.8 元 in return; the survey found that other fruit and vegetable crops earned farmers 3 元 for every yuan spent (Hu et al, 2006). Certainly the unpaved roads and mud homes of Ping Bian County suggest that Miaozu farmers are not the primary beneficiaries of tobacco’s economic promise. A story with similar themes told through different details has played out in other tobacco-growing communities. From the United States to Malawi to China, government quotas restricting tobacco production and sales have allowed multinational tobacco companies to consolidate economic influence while doing little to advance the health and material wellbeing of farming households.

* * *

Back at the township government office, lunch was served. A lazy-susan circulated dishes of rice noodles, pork and the delicate mushrooms that fill Yunnan wet markets for a brief window of summer. Seated to my right, Big Qu filled my glass with clear rice liquor, pouring from a small metal tea kettle. Conversation continued to flow in dialect, with brief pauses in Mandarin for my benefit – mostly to explain my presence as an “American friend” of Big Qu and current student of public health. If my studies gave anyone pause, it did not show on their faces, warm from afternoon drink and the steady huffing of cigarettes.

In the afternoon, we drove to another farming community where the villagers had planted tobacco right up to the road. Broad green leaves held remnants of that morning’s rain, now reduced to a fine mist that hanged in the air almost motionless. This community struck me as more isolated from the company supply chain than the first one we had visited, without curing barns or storage facilities located nearby. With evening fast approaching, Big Qu informed me that our car was going to break from the group and drive into Ping Bian City, the county seat and site of a large Hongyun Honghe office. The road to Ping Bian City hugged the side of a lush mountain, tracing a river below and occasionally opening to views of hillsides planted with banana trees. When we pulled into Ping Bian, it was well after dark.

Before depositing me at my hotel, where I slept on the company dime, Big Qu drove to the Hongyun Honghe offices to check-in with his staff. He explained that he lives in Ping Bian City in a shared, company-owned apartment for several weeks at a time, leaving his family behind in Gejiu. While Big Qu worked in his office, I chatted with a woman surnamed Zhou, who sat behind a computer screen, one of half a dozen people still working at 10:00 p.m. Zhou moved to Ping Bian when she accepted a job with Hongyun Honghe Tobacco Group after graduating from Kunming Agricultural and Forestry College several years earlier. Like Big Qu, she did not consider Ping Bian home, often escaping to Mengzi and Gejiu during her leave time. “Do you like it here?” I asked her. “Not really; there is nothing to do. The conditions here are very poor.”

* * *

Why do farmers in Ping Bian continue to plant such a tightly controlled, labor intensive crop? The oversight that the STMA exercise over tobacco farmers frees farming households from worrying about storage, marketing and transportation costs. In losing access to an open market for their product, farmers are also absolved of responsibility for managing tobacco’s complicated supply chain. Many farmers may also be unaware of alternative crops, or may believe that tobacco leaf offers the highest return for their investment. Farmers are notoriously risk averse, and surveys of tobacco farmers in the southern United States suggest that those farmers most likely to transition away from planting tobacco have greater training in risk management than their more reticent peers (Beach et al, 2008). These findings have sparked a nascent conversation among public health experts about the need to integrate agricultural development into broader tobacco control initiatives, including efforts to better educate farmers on risk and reward.

Incorporating agricultural development into tobacco control faces significant obstacles in a country where the Ministry of Agriculture holds no authority over tobacco farming and where local and provincial government officials refer to tobacco as a pillar of economic development. Chinese tobacco companies actively promote their centrality to China’s economic and human development initiatives. Like their international peers, Chinese tobacco companies spend enormous sums on corporate social responsibility projects (CSR) designed to bolster public and official support for their industry. These CSR projects include the so-called “Hope Schools” tobacco companies sponsor in rural areas, the scholarships they provide to high school students and the massive, 58 million dollar sports complex built by the Hongta Tobacco Company outside of Kunming before the 2008 Summer Olympic Games (Li, 2010; 红云红河烟草集团, 2009; China Sports Today,2008).

Boss Wang’s tour of Ping Bian tobacco farms fits into this larger corporate strategy – the boots sinking into mud, the exchange of cigarettes before lunch and the guided tour of company facilities provided by the local government all serve to solidify the already close relationship between Ping Bian County political leaders and Hongyun Honghe executives. Notably, the actual farmers had no role in our tour; Boss Wang interacted with government officials, supply chain operators and other company employees, but never spoke to the men and women trimming leaves on the slick hillside.

Efforts to reduce tobacco use in China will require action on many fronts – in clinics, government offices, schools, workplaces, retail stores and international forums. Earlier this spring, China’s Ministry of Health unveiled a national public indoor smoking ban applying to hotels, restaurants, theaters and transportation facilities. Reflecting the Chinese government’s conflict of interest in regulating tobacco, the ban excludes offices and government workplaces and has vague penalty guidelines. Despite these challenges, Ministry of Health officials have signaled a greater intention to implement the legally-binding articles of the Framework Convention on Tobacco Control, which China signed in 2003 and ratified in 2005.

Universities and civil society organizations have also begun to mobilize in the fight against tobacco through sponsoring public education campaigns, lobbying government officials and working to encourage smoking cessation and tobacco education among Chinese physicians and healthcare professionals. As the tobacco control movement in China slowly builds momentum, public health advocates will need to consider the full production chain of tobacco, a process that begins when Hmong farmers in Ping Bian, Yunnan contract their fields and turn over their leaves to “Big Tobacco.”

Mike Frick is a graduate of Harvard School of Public Health and has been living in Yunnan off and on since 2007. 

 

Works Cited

Beach, R., Jones, A., and Tooze, J. (2008). Tobacco Farmer Interest and Success in Income Diversification. Journal of Agricultural and Applied Economics, 40.1, 53-71.

Boylan, B., Brandt, V., and Muehlbauer, J. (1993). Green Tobacco Sickness in Tobacco Harvesters – Kentucky, 1992. Morbidity and Mortality Weekly, 42.13, 237-240.

China Sports Today. (March 20, 2008). “China’s High-Altitude Training Centers.” Retrieved August 1, 2011 from http://www.chinasportstoday.com.

Eng, I. (1999). Agglomeration and the Local State: the Tobacco Economy of Yunnan, China. Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers, 24.3, 315-329.

红云红河烟草集团有限责 任公司. (December 31, 2009). 红云红河奖教奖学 荣誉助推成才梦想. Retrieved July 20, 2011 from http://www.hyhhgroup.com/html/news/newsarc.php?id=7563&lb=ss.

Hu, T., Mao, Z., and Ong, M. (2006). China at the Crossroads: the Economics of Tobacco and Health. Tobacco Control, 15, i37-i41.

Hu, T., Mao, Z., Tao, M., and Yurekli, A. (2007). The Role of Government in Tobacco Leaf Production in China: National and Local Interventions. International Journal of Public Policy, 2.3, 235-248.

Kohrman, M. (2007). Depoliticizing Tobacco’s Exceptionality: Male Sociality, Death and Memory-Making among Chinese Cigarette Smokers. The China Journal, 58, 85-109.

Li, S. (2010). Should tobacco sponsorship of education be banned? Beijing Review, 4. Retrieved December 10, 2010 from http://www.bjreview.com.cn/forum/txt/2010-01/26/content_242146.htm.

Liu, T., and Xiong, B. (2004). Tobacco Economy and Tobacco Control [in Chinese]. Beijing: Economic  Science Press.

Mackay, J., and Eriksen, M. (2009). The Tobacco Atlas, Third Edition.  Geneva: The World Health Organization.  Available online: www.tobaccoatlas.org.

McKnight, R., and Spiller, H. (2005). Green Tobacco Sickness in Children and Adolescents. Public Health Reports, 120.6, 602-606.

Qiao, Y., Taylor, P., and Shu-Xiang, Y. (1997). Risk Factors and Early Detection of Lung Cancer in a Cohort of Chinese Tin Miners. Annals of Epidemiology, 7.8, 533-541.

World Health Organization. (2010). Fact Sheet China: 2010. Global Adult Tobacco Survey. Retrieved July 15, 2011 from http://www.who.int/tobacco/surveillance/gats_china/en/index.html.

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Blowing up the school

Kuang Kuang blows up the school

Early this year, an animation showing a group of bunnies oppressed by tigers and then rising up in rebellion became an overnight hit in China, soon making it to international TV news, including Australia’s ABC.

The video was part of an long series of animations featuring Kuang Kuang, the little boy with the bloody nose. Kuang Kuang’s adventures are pure fantasy, but to many Chinese people born in the 1970s and 1980s, Kuang Kuang’s school experiences are all too familiar. The animations are also the closest thing China has to South Park.

In the episode you can watch below, Kuang Kuang is madder then hell, and he’s not going to take it any more, so he blows up his school, something many overworked Chinese school children have probably fantasized about. The episode is presented here for the first time with English subtitles.

Blowing up the school

Uploaded to Danwei’s Youtube account with the permission of the creators. All rights reserved by 北京互象动画有限公司 Copyright 2010-2011 Kuanger.com, subtitles by Kuanger.com.

More on Kuang Kuang

On Danwei:
Kuang Kuang and the 38th Parallel, Rabbit Rampage and Director Pi San on his Year of the Rabbit animation.

On Hutoon’s web pages:
Kuanger.com, pages on Tudou, Youku or Sina.

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