A question of WHY

Published in The Hague/Amsterdam/Rotterdam Times 11 August 2006, page 14

Two lines in last week’s feature “Cabinet collapse: the rise and fall of Balkenedende II “really stood out for me. First, “ … Hirsi Ali got to keep her passport, which had become rather important for Hirsi Ali personally, as she needed it to get a visa to the US.” And second, “If I (Hirsi Ali) would sign the statement, the whole problem would be solved … The pace of the matter was more important than a little pride. I wanted to continue with my life.” In my opinion these two lines go beyond the rise and fall of this government, and they highlight the plight of immigrants and asylum seekers the world over, people much less prominent than Hirsi Ali. I think the debate was simply political posturing. Of course she lied about her name and about where she was coming from. We shouldn’t be questioning whether or not she lied, but WHY. Why do people feel compelled to lie on immigration documents or to desperate lengths to sneak in to developed countries? What is the root cause of a rising tide of illegal immigration all over the world? People go to desperate measures because poverty, persecution, environmental disasters, or war make staying at home impossible, and because immigration policies in the countries they are trying to enter are so stringent that it is easy to believe telling the truth will lessen ones chances of successful entry. I don’t agree with all of Hirsi Ali’s opinions and I’m fairly sure she doesn’t agree with mine, but I understand why she lied in 1992 and why she signed the statement that led to the fall of the government: her future was hanging in the balance and she wanted to get on with her life. We should be asking ourselves, as pointed out in the editorial, what is the root cause of the problems that are triggering mass human migration, and we should be asking ourselves if visa policies that make a person with a passport for one country seem more valuable than a person from another are really humane. Just as an immigration decision has determined the life and death of this government, the lives and deaths of hundreds of thousands of migrants hang in the balance all over the world everyday. The time is ripe to consider their stories and to examine the WHY?

China Chronicles - Fourth Installment

Day 9: The Great Wall and the Hutongs, Beijing

I left my hostel bright and early and boarded a minibus for the Great Wall of China. Most people think of the Great Wall as a single entity, but there have, in fact, been five major walls all built to defend the Chinese heartland from Mongol and Turkish nomads. It is the Ming Great Wall (built 1368–1640 that tourists visit today. Trying to avoid a plasticized off-the-bus-snap-the-picture-on-the-bus experience I opted for a hike of the more distant portions of the wall. The distance between Jinshanling and Simatai is about 12km and the hike took me over both restored and original sections of the wall. The views were stunning (if a bit hazy) and the sheer length and breath of the wall was breathtaking. But I have to admit that the hike was challenging. In well over 30 degree heat the steep ascents and descents over crumbling sections of the wall were exhausting and many people gave up and paid eager locals for guided shortcuts. I made it only by taking frequent stops in the shade of the watch towers. While resting I drank in the view, the scent of jasmine plants, and a total of two and a half liters of water!

Upon retuning to the city I grabbed some street food and ate near my hostel in the Qianmen hutong district, one of the last vestiges of residential Qing dynasty architecture. Since my arrival in Beijing I had seen the demolition of similar old areas to make room for high rise apartment blocks. It is true that these poorer hutong districts have little in the way of services and almost looked like slums. But, it is hard to know what is worse the soulless apartments that loom above, or the dirty jumble of brown stone alleys lined with garbage below. I believe in vertical cities and I feel that in this era of urbanization we will have to start building up rather than out. But we need to make apartment towers into vertical communities. In Beijing the hutongs have character. Children run and laugh in the dusty streets and neighbors gossip and play mahjong in doorways. Life is played out on the streets and while eating my dinner I watched it. In front of a music store a group of young men tested guitars and drums while older men wandered around with their shirts rolled up to their nipples trying to beat the heat. Mothers, fathers and children played all around me, the kids running around without pants or in crotchless trousers (the preferred method of toilet training in China where disposable diapers are still too expensive for most). Further away two teenage boys flexed their muscles and tried to empress a girl. Still, who am I to judge hutong demolition? After all, when preparing for something as important as the Olympics, many developed nations might also sweep away their poor in order to keep up appearances.

Day 10: The Forbidden City and the Temple of Heaven, Beijing

The next morning I crossed Tiananmen Square again. By day the square seemed harder, greyer and colder (though not physically as it already felt hotter than 30 degrees). Chinese tour groups had gathered in the square and a queue four persons deep was already snaking its way around Mao Zedong’s Mausoleum. For many Chinese, Mao is still a hero despite his deeds and excesses during the Great Leap Forward and the Cultural Revolution. Passing under Mao’s portrait on the Tiananmen Gate (Gate of Heavenly Peace) at the north end of the square I joined the queue at the Wumen gate and entered the Forbidden City.

The contemporary Palace Museum and its grounds are known as the Forbidden City because they were off limits to normal Chinese people for 500 years. The city was home to the emperors of two dynasties, the Ming and the Qing and is the largest and best preserved cluster of ancient buildings in China. But I was initially disappointed upon entering because the Hall of Supreme Harmony, the quintessential icon of the Forbidden City, which I had seen umpteen times in magazines and movies, was entirely covered in bamboo scaffolding. Nothing was visible, although to their credit the Chinese government had thoughtfully painted the silhouette of the structure on the scaffolding for effect. Still, I took a picture for the irony of it all and I pressed on. It started to pour rain and I was lucky enough to have the place almost to myself as I wandered past courtyard after courtyard and through gate after gate, finally internalizing the grandeur of the palace. My favorite area was the Inner Court, where I felt the royals really lived rather than simply governed, and the beautiful Imperial Garden with its 300 year old trees. Still, despite the grandeur I couldn’t help but think that living within these walls might have become confining. My feeling of claustrophobia may have been caused by the crush of tourists that arrived immediately after the rain cleared. I decided it was time to leave and headed north to Jingshan Park where I climbed to the top of the hill in search of a coveted aerial view of the Forbidden City. In the photo I can make just make out the golden pagoda style roofs of the northern palace halls, but the southern gates are lost in a cloud of grey haze. Still the photo is representative. After all, the haze in Beijing is just as much a part of China as is the Forbidden City.

My whirlwind tour of imperial China was not over yet and I headed south, following the ancient procession way of the emperors (now filled with pedestrians, vendors, buses, taxis and bicycles) to the Temple of Heaven. Here the Son of Heaven came on the winter solstice to perform solemn rites for good harvests. The Temple of Heaven has three defining monuments. First (if you enter from the south) is the Round Alter and Heavenly Center Stone. This three tiered marble alter revolves around the imperial number nine with the top tier symbolizing heaven. If you stand on the center stone and say something the sound waves are bounced off the marble and travel straight to heaven. I figure heaven must be a noisy place judging by the parade of people waiting to scream something from that center stone. Next to the north comes Echo Wall which was under scaffolding during my visit. However, the crowning glory of the complex, the Hall of Prayer for Good Harvests, was newly restored and gleaming. This magnificent example of Ming architecture (in truth rebuilt several times since the Ming) is a round hall with a triple-eaved roof covered with blue, yellow and green glazed tiles symbolizing Heaven, Earth and the mortal world. The blue, green and gold detailing of the temple was exquisite and I felt deeply moved. True, the feelings of the earth moving beneath me may have been caused by the physical strain of walking over 20 km in the heat and pollution of Beijing, but I was happy to chalk it up to divine intervention.

China Chronicles - Third Installment

Day 5 and 6: A traditional cafeteria in Northpoint, Victoria Peak and an upper class kindergarten, Hong Kong Island

 

I spent my next few days playing local in Hong Kong. We dined in a cafeteria above a wet market where live produce is sold by day and workers eat and relax at night. The cafeteria was huge, stark white and reminiscent of a BINGO hall. We were the only Westerners around, there was no English anywhere and we loved it. All around us people enjoyed their food, drank beer from bowls and chilled wine in huge plastic buckets right on the tables Before we ate, our chopsticks, bowls, cups and spoons were sterilized for us in steaming tea and then we joined right in toasting Hong Kong with beer-in-a-bowl and munching on deep fried pig elbow.

I attempted to hike on Victoria Peak but the day I arrived threatening clouds were hanging on the western horizon. As I walked along, a short man came running in the opposite direction shouting something that sounded like the Chinese version of “ay-yi-yi!” He motioned for me to turn around and when I rounded the corner and saw the view I knew why. Victoria Peak gives a stunning view of the skyline, but the entire western side was engulfed in a sheet of grey rain. It was impressive and I snapped a few pictures before high tailing it to cover.

I also spent an afternoon in the kindergarten where my friend works. The school was obviously affluent and there was even a miniature climbing wall for the kids. But in the end rich four year olds are still four year olds and I had a great time pounding play-doh with them.

Day 7: Hong Kong to Beijing by train

Hong Kong can have hellish air pollution, but during my stay the air had been very clear. However, as my train neared Guangzhou and I got my first glimpses at mainland China the sky became a yellowy brown and although it was still a sunny day, the sunlight became diffuse - as if struggling to shine through a veil. The source of the pollution was evident in the many factories we passed as well as from the cars stuck in gridlock in the city and the many garbage fires necessitated by a lack of trash collection. I have seen such trash fires before in Ecuador, Peru, Panama and even in the Netherlands, but never have I seen air pollution blot out the sun. Though I had read and heard about it I was stunned. The rivers were also astonishing with the water running black or brown or red or fluorescent yellow and mixing like paint where tributaries met. The sun set blood red that night disappearing into a cloud of grey haze well above the horizon, and as the train rumbled past factories in the darkness I felt a deep sadness for what we are doing to our planet. Sure it is easy to blame the Chinese and to say that the sky and the rivers are still blue in Canada or the Netherlands, but pick up any manufactured good and read the label. If it says “Made in China” then we are just as guilty as they are – if not more.

Day 8: Arrival in Beijing

I entered Beijing around noon and after the initial shock of seeing hundreds of people sprawled out asleep on the floor in the train station (not homeless just taking a midday nap) I headed to my hostel. Beijing is an interesting contrast to Hong Kong and in terms of urban planning they seemed to be polar opposites. Hong Kong is a vertical city with towering skyscrapers, raised pedestrians walkways and expressway flyovers everywhere. In contrast Beijing is a sprawling city with huge expressways crisscrossing its centre in a neat grid. I considered these huge roads a hazard to my health and not just because of pollution. There are a few pedestrian underpasses near tourist sites in Beijing, but for the most part crossing the street amid bicycles, buses and taxis (all with horns blaring) was a cross between a 100 meter dash and a game of Frogger! Also, Hong Kong is ringed by green mountains and hiking is easily accessible via the subway. Beijing on the other hand appears flat and dusty, and although there are mountains nearby, they are completely blotted out by smog, which obscures even nearby buildings. Still, though Hong Kong wins hands down in terms of livability, Beijing wins in terms of cultural history. On my first night I was brought to tears as I got my first glimpse of Tiananmen Square - vast, lit by flood lights, and ruled by a huge portrait of Mao Zedong. The history of the place, both revolutionary and repulsive, was overwhelming. I wandered the square for about an hour and as I left via a rare pedestrian underpass I was startled by the sound of gunfire. I gazed in amazement at vendors selling robotic toy soldiers that crawled along the ground firing very realistic sounding machine guns. Whether this was an inappropriate way to make a buck or a carefully disguised reminder of the past I don’t know, but the sound chilled me.