Diplomacy

China-UK relations have been everywhere in the media this week. Whenever I went for lunch, the big TV screen in the university canteen seemed to show nothing but images of patriotic Chinese people waving flags in London, or magnificently attired guards on horses in the Mall, or Xi smiling enigmatically while meeting some politician. Meanwhile, local taxi drivers have commented ironically or patriotically, depending on their temperament, for example, last Friday one noted, "Just think, 100 years ago, it was the British who were building railways in China under the Qing dynasty, and now, 100 years on, we're the ones building railways in the UK."And an old colleague from Xinjiang even left this peculiar message on my answer phone: "David, the…the Chairman…the Chairman…the Chairman Xi Jinping of China will visit the UK in…recently. Maybe you had better notice this news."

No doubt about it, this visit has had tremendous political significance over here, and judging by the coverage in the UK media, it has not exactly slipped by unnoticed back home either.

Usually I don't comment on such affairs, but this time I want to, because the sumptuousness of the visit (the stay in Buckingham Palace! the address to MPs from the royal gallery! the banquet with the Lord Mayor of London! the visit to Chequers!) seems to signify a major shift in Britain's official attitude towards China. This impression is only confirmed by the details of the trade agreement that Britain has struck, which includes concessions in critical infrastructure such as nuclear power and railways. And then, lest we forget, there is the Chancellor, George Osborne's, own recent pledge to make Britain "China's best partner in the West". Taken as a whole, there is little doubt that big changes are afoot.

Why does this concern me? I suppose the simple answer is that I think any diplomacy with China needs to factor in our different political systems, and I feel that George Osborne, with his narrow focus on economic issues, has abjectly failed to do this. Indeed, the very language he has used - particularly his promise to "stick together" - , suggests a sort of diplomatic naiveté that casts doubt on his ability to exercise sound judgment. As one commentator shrewdly observed, "there are reasons why major shifts in foreign policy are not customarily expressed in the language of the kindergarten playground." (c.f. http://www.chinafile.com/conversation/britain-chinas-best-partner-west).

This same flagrant disregard for the difference in our political systems was on display when George Osborne went to China recently. Among the places he visited was Xinjiang, where I lived from 2004-2005. Xinjiang is ethnically diverse, and there are considerable tensions between the ethnic minorities and the Han people. This was true when I lived there; it was true in 2009 when ethnic riots broke out over several days in the provincial capital, killing several hundred people; and I imagine it is still true today.

Ethnic tensions go to the heart of the ongoing problems in the region - this is something that all the Chinese (Han) people that I know will admit to, even if they also maintain that Xinjiang is an irrevocable part of Chinese territory. In other words, even within China, there are large numbers of people who believe that Xinjiang's problems are not merely economic. And yet, what did George Osborne say in response to Western pressure to comment on the political situation there? As far as I am aware, he said nothing. Or rather, he said he had raised political/human rights issues in the context of "economic development, how we help kids from poor areas of China." Dear George, is this really the best you can do?

I am not trying to suggest, as some activists seem to do, that every British politician who ever works with China has to press it over its human rights record at every possible opportunity. To me, this is blinkered and arrogant. Blinkered, because it seems to ignore the fact that by lifting hundreds of millions of people out of poverty China has arguably done a lot more for human rights in the past 30 years than any other nation. Arrogant, because it assumes that in any conversation with China, the West should always get to set the terms of the debate, and because the West gets to choose the terms, it should always come out looking better.

But what I would hope for from our government is the clarity of vision to say that, yes, China has done remarkable things in economic development, in health, in education, in infrastructure, in any number of dimensions that you might care to mention, but that doesn't mean that it is beyond comment regarding the way it protects the rights of its social minorities, or controls information. Essentially, it would be nice to hear an enlightened government asking the question, "Hang on, what makes you so sure that economic development is incompatible with political development?"

Until fairly recently, this willingness to question was a characteristic of our diplomatic engagement with China. I believe it came from an awareness of our different political systems, as much as from any differences in our relative economic status. And, based on my experiences, such questions had a valid basis. For example, while working on HIV, I met someone who had been refused cancer surgery because he was HIV positive and the hospital didn't want to operate on him. This was plainly illegal under Chinese law, and yet the courts took steps to delay and eventually block the trial. Why? It is hard to know for certain, but a likely explanation is that the hospital connived with the courts to block the trial because the case was embarrassing to them. This is not an unusual anecdote, nor are such tales of abuse of power limited to HIV. Of course, abuse of power happens everywhere, and are by no means a uniquely Chinese problem. But China is interesting precisely because its political culture takes the submission of the individual to the collective as a fundamental principle. The philosophical and ethical merits of this outlook deserve serious consideration, but it is not hard to see that at its most unchecked, a system where individual rights are not guaranteed can easily lead to the intimidation of minorities by the majority, just as a system where individual rights always trump the larger collective interest can easily lead to social fragmentation.

It would be nice to see the UK government show a little of this questioning spirit still. Failing that, if asking questions is too much of a stretch for the Tories, at the very least, it would be nice to see them tacitly recognise the difference in our political systems and the values that underpin them. Yet the recent trip to Xinjiang, and the government's eager-to-please reception of Xi, suggest only too clearly that for this government, money always trumps values when choosing one's friends. 

One week in Chengdu

I have been in Chengdu for almost a week now. Two books in particular have kept me company: "Alone in Berlin" and "The Dragon's Backbone". On the surface, they do not have much in common. The first is a novel by a German author, who lived uneasily through the Third Reich, and wrote this book in a furious burst of creativity shortly after the War ended, as if trying to purge himself of the Nazis through this one act. It is based on the true story of a factory worker and his wife, who became disgusted with Hitler and began writing and distributing anti-Nazi postcards until they were eventually caught and executed by the Gestapo. The second book is a collection of pen-and-ink drawings with accompanying text depicting the various kinds of tradesmen that one could see in Chengdu in the 1920s and 1930s. It came about as a collaboration between a Quaker missionary, who lived in Chengdu (and taught at the university where I am based!) and his Chinese teacher - the Quaker supplied the words, and his Chinese teacher supplied the images. It's a beautiful testament both to their friendship and to a long-vanished world.

But the nice thing about books is that they inevitably riff on one another in one's own head. And it occurred to me in the past few days that both books not only have an incredibly strong sense of place and time, but also a deep, tender regard for people that perhaps comes from being an outsider. Whether it is Hans Fallada writing about Berlin during the War, or William Sewell writing about Chengdu ten years earlier, their decision to set down what the world was like from their somewhat marginal perspective - without judgment, and often with affection - was a profoundly humane act. 

It's with this in the back of my mind that I am trying to write about Chengdu. I fall short of their compassion though, because part of me recoils from this city of 10 million (or 12 million, or 14 million - I do not know the exact figure). There is a look and feeling to any large Chinese city that would be instantly familiar to anyone who has spent time here, and hard to describe to those who have not. The architecture is massive - not just the buildings, but also the roads - everywhere you look you feel like you are the tiniest morsel of food that has just been swallowed up by some giant. And the giant is fearsomely hungry, for everything is moving and bellowing all the time - cars, scooters, people, cyclists, on roads, off roads, over roads, under roads. The other morning I stood at a junction, among a crowd of people waiting to cross, and could have sworn that I heard the giant's pulse, a rhythmic whooshing and sucking that propelled me across the road. There is energy here, and perhaps that is the marvellous part of it, the human energy driving it all. But at this point I still find it intimidating and unloveable. 

Two things strike me as curious in this. Firstly, I don't particularly remember feeling this way when I used to live here. Admittedly, I don't remember ever finding most Chinese cities "picturesque" either, but it's nevertheless a shock to come back to a country where I lived for 7-8 years and to feel uneasy. Secondly, I have found it hard to capture this feeling with photographs, and I think that's because its source is fundamentally dynamic. I would probably need to stand in the middle of a major road, with traffic bearing down on me from all sides, and then click my camera, in order to capture it, and I am just not that keen to be flattened.

Although this reaction has been strong, this is by no means my only reaction to Chengdu, and in fact, further exploration has led me to some pleasing discoveries. Some of these are echoes of other places, and bear the imprint of those happy memories. For example, Chengdu has its own version of "The Bookworm" - a bookshop/cultural centre that is something of an institution in Beijing, at least among expats. The Chengdu version is rather more elegant, if you ask me:

Then there are the internet cafes. I must have spent entire days of my life holed up in Chinese internet cafes, as during my first years here I didn't have a laptop. Back then, they were dingy, dimly lit places that looked like the modern equivalent of opium dens (and possibly were). But I notice that these days, internet cafes are looking much sprucer. In fact, they seem to have learnt a trick or two from Chinese cafes, which themselves often seem to be striving for an elusive "Western" sophistication. This internet cafe even has chandeliers and a coffee bar:

Then there are the relics of an older Chengdu. For example, I came across this sign just close to the university where I am working. It dates back to a time when Sino-Western exchange was, if anything, more common, and rather less ideologically charged. I find it heartening:

This list could go on much longer, but for me the greatest source of joy has been the university itself. Where much of the city is an ear-splitting neon roar, the university is tranquil and leafy in this lovely, crumbly way. There are whole sections of the campus where I live that appear to have been abandoned. At night, I can walk along these unlit paths, and with a little effort I can convince myself that I am in a wayside village in the countryside. 

Even in the daylight, the buildings retain an overgrown, tired look that is quite charming.

In the interests of honesty, I should probably add that I am not living in buildings like these, which probably explains why I can wax romantic about them - my accommodation is in a modern block, which is both less picturesque, and almost certainly more comfortable. Incidentally, the view from my window gives a good sense of how much of an oasis the university campus is:

The university is also home to views that I think of as somehow representative of an older, more contemplative China. Or, to put it another way, you can see things that look like what Westerners like me imagine China used to look like. Things like bicycles leaning against grey brick walls (that grey colour reminds me of Beijing); or men doing tai qi, glimpsed through trees; or women in red sitting on bridges, overlooking clock towers; or autumn leaves falling onto a sloping roof (again that Chinese grey colour - this is the view from my office, incidentally):

In truth, it's the other China, outside the university gates, that is more representative of the country as a whole. But I am happy that there is still at least some space for this other, quieter China, and while it is just a minority concern, it is nevertheless equally alive and authentic.

Finally, this week has brought me a few surprises that did not square with any of my previous experiences in China. For example, the postal system in the university. It seems that packages that arrive are just scattered, as if they had been dropped by plane, onto a square outside the canteen for students to pick up. From what I could see the students quote a serial number, and then take their things away. But how do they know things have arrived for them in the first place? And wouldn't it be quite easy just to pick something up and walk off with it? And what about when it rains? When I asked this last question, the man running the operation gave a hearty laugh, and said "We have umbrellas!", all the while giving me a look that clearly said "Are you stupid, or something?"

And there is also the large number of Indian medical students on campus. In fact, this university is ranked second in China for medicine, and presumably the fees are quite reasonable. But I was still surprised to walk into a cafe off-campus one evening, and discover that ALL the kitchen staff bar one were Indians (from Kerala). Part-time, as it turned out, making a bit of extra money while they complete their studies. When I see how globalisation has opened up opportunities like this, bringing Indians to China for affordable further education, I find it sad that some people challenge it so unequivocally.