Self-Made in China

Idiots and Maniacs

2007-07-17T03:27:00.000-07:00

This entry is terrifically long, and somewhat terrifying, but I think that if you take the time to read it, you will find yourself gratified. If you think this is not the case, just skip past the “Subjects” to the conclusion (look for the asterisks) at the bottom and you’ll get the gist. There, you have your out. But I hope you read the whole thing, it's an important entry and it’s been two weeks in the making.

Also, upon my Editor's (M's) tactful and sensible suggestion, I have removed some overly harsh judgments from the following since initial posting. Thanks, S.

******

Dave Barry once wrote that the one thing that we all have in common is that each on of us believes that we are a good driver. If I remember correctly, he phrased it by saying that we commonly say that anyone driving faster than you is a maniac, and anyone driving slower than you is an idiot. The implication is obvious. Perhaps the one thing we all have in common is that we all essentially believe that we are good, responsible, worthwhile people.

The extreme example of this is darkly apparent here in China, primarily with the Westerners here. Since arriving in DongGuan, I have seen fewer than 20 white people on the street, only one of them a woman, and I have become acquainted with less than 10. Here is my preliminary analysis of most of the ones we know. I credit the cast in order of appearance:

******

SUBJECT A.

First, we have Subject A. A introduced himself as a businessman extraordinaire. A is making a ton of money and having a great time doing it! He brings us up to his office, sets us down, and starts (in his head) ticking off what I imagine is a list of things that he wants us to “know” about both himself and China. Mostly himself. The information we gather is that he has been in China for 18 years, know “about 40” essential Chinese phrases that he “would be happy to share with us” (he didn’t and hasn’t), and he has a Chinese wife who is young—in our heads, we’re thinking 20s. He’s at least 45. He then proceeds to drop us little tidbits of information that are meant to inform us of how much money he “has”; what’s in his house, his love of shopping, his ownership of a few patents, his love of ladies of the night, and the fact that he owned a NASCAR team for 7 years awhile back (“oh man, it was the best three years of [his] life, followed by the worst three years of [his] life!” I didn’t bother to point out that that only makes 6). He also impresses us with his first “China experience”—three days after his arrival in China, he claims to have seen a number of prisoners executed. The way he told it, a convoy of military/police vehicles pulled into a busy intersection, stopped, disembarked the prisoners, and shot them all in the head right there in the middle of said busy intersection. Apparently, this caused A to “go back to Hong Kong for three days while [he] did some soul-searching to figure out if [he] was ‘cowboy’ enough to stay here.” He sought to impart wisdom to us regarding social habits, including taking care not to fall into a homesick depression, things to be aware of on the streets (here he bragged: “now, [he’s] not worried about a knife or a fist…well…[he] can…HANDLE that.”), in nightclubs, in karaoke bars, with women, and with the Chinese at large. He offered the sage (and yet obvious) advice: “You can’t change ‘em [the 1.6 billion Chinese, that is], so don’t bother tryin’.”

Since that first day, we have come to understand that his company is bleeding profits, that his wife (if they are indeed married; we’re not sure that’s the case) is in fact about 24 (and Chinese), the school was originally a bribe to keep her in-laws off of his and his woman’s back about him being a westerner [*statement removed*], that he failed the first grade at least three times, that he’s a chronic liar (and never did in fact own any patents) to gain/save “face” (something you will hear about later), and that he has a gambling problem. All of this AND in order to listen to anything that he says, one must sift through and immense pile of putrid nonsense and other forms of bullshit to figure out exactly what the truth is and how that will determine his (probably irrational) action. These conclusions come AFTER our first impression of him as an arrogant imperio-capitalist lecher bent on the wanton rape of the Chinese economy for his own material benefit, were he given the power. Needless to say, we were appalled.

SUBJECT B.

Now we come to Subject B. Immediately upon introduction, I distrust him. He reminds me of a snake. I’ve come to believe that he’s not at all snake-like. That would be libel to the noble snakes of the world. B’s entire world revolves around cynicism towards the Chinese and China. He takes every opportunity to remind us, in the face of an observation (or complaint) that we’re in China now, and things are far worse than the United States. But then, he never fails to slip in some United States-bashing either. I quote: “Yeah, after Bush got reelected, I decided I was done with the United States for good.” Now, a lot of you may agree with that, I for one don’t. The way I see it, if you feel that strongly about it, God knows we need you BACK in the States, not out of them. But that doesn’t really matter, because we (and I speak for all Americans) don’t want B anyway. After all, he is known to use Chinese women for long-term companionship under the usual rules of the very amorphous “Chinese girlfriend,” frequent whorehouses and offer intimate knowledge on how to do so ourselves, and complain about everything remotely related to the world around him, and, we assume [*statement removed*]. The people with whom he associates (one Israeli and two Frenchmen are all I’ve met so far) are generally all less pleasant and more tasteless than him, and at almost 30, he seems content to teach English in Asia for the rest of his days. For some people, I would say that this is noble. For B, it’s much more accurate to say that he is simply avoiding the real world.

Upon closer review, I’ve found him to be relatively pleasant (relative to other Westerners here, that is) company whose two years of experience teaching in China (with accordingly helpful language skills) and infinite patience with some of the more idiotic people at this school make him one of the two somewhat-palatable Westerners I’ve met here, and a decent conversationalist, if nothing else. [*statement removed*] However, this barely favorable judgment upon B comes because he’s a burnout as opposed to an asshole. And burnouts are always more tolerable than assholes when beggars can’t truly be choosers. If I had met him at the Grind, given the choice, I never would have spoken to him a second time.

SUBJECT C.

The first time I spoke to Subject C, I realized that this was the person who was chosen by the company’s CEO to take over the business when he retired (or at least that’s what he told us), and immediately upon measuring him up, I couldn’t help but worry not only about the future of the company (for only half a second before I didn’t care again), but also about the sanity of the CEO. This guy’s IQ can’t possibly be above 80. Seriously! He can’t even speak English properly, much less (from personal experience) for the life of him even BEGIN to learn the rules of poker. Morever, he never hesitates to flash a greasy-salesman’s smile (except it’s full of yellowed, crooked teeth). He has social mannerisms that would barely outdo the friendliest gorilla if that gorilla lied to you and conversationally patronized you all the time. I’m not the most adept of socialites, but I am quite good at reading people, and this guy is so full of BS he could fertilize a small, famished African nation for a year. He has also managed to pick up a Chinese “wife,” probably following suit to his mentor, and she’s QUITE the prize herself. My last words on him will be that upon meeting him, I realized exactly how frightfully easy it would be to insert ourselves into this company and be running everything and probably tripling or even increasing by (an) order(s) of magnitude the meager profit of this company inside of a year if that starting our own business wasn't much easier.

SUBJECT D.

Now, you probably thought I had talked about the worst of it. Oh no, we’re just getting started. Subject D is at least 60 years old, and has been sighted on at least two occasions with women who are probably younger than me. I assure you, he hasn’t aged well enough at all. Could anyone age well enough to look respectable with someone who is ONE-THIRD their age? My friends, the answer is NO. He never ceases to encourage us to make it to Karaoke Bar A (“they have great drinks there!”), and he always tells us how good it would be to see us at Karaoke Bar B (“the women are FAN-TASTic!”). Some of you have heard about the Asian karaoke phenomenon and may be thinking, “what harm could there be!?” So, briefly, according to my ever-expanding second-hand understanding, you go to a karaoke bar to get drunk on cheap or counterfeit liquor, and when your party is seated, you are joined by a number of women who will be paid 200 Yuan (about $30) + drinks (about $5 each for good alcohol) to sit with you all night, and then, at the end of the night, single men are expected to drop an extra 300 Yuan (about $43 dollars) per girl to take them home for the night. These women are VERY good at their job, and given the chance, you WILL take them home, according to popular opinion. After all, they had BETTER be good at their job, since most of them are dirt-poor country girls from other parts of China and this is all the money that their family can conceivably use.

I won't at all fault these poor women, generally, they're doing what they have to do; however, I’m not interested in taking advantage of the sex trade here in China, and frankly, despite the plight of these women and Westerners who are, all told, ENTIRELY too willing to “ease” it, I look down on said Westerners. Subject D disgusts me. The other day, he invited M and I to an American style BBQ coming up in the next month or so, and at first we planned on politely refusing when the actual invitation eventually came, after all, what harm could he and his Western cohorts do with a good ol’ barbeque with beer? Then he mentioned the fact that he would ensure that the women there were of the highest quality. We were speechless—we had vomited in our mouths.

SUBJECTS E and F.

These two take the cake. And the icing. And the candles. In fact, really, they can have it. The cake is, assuming they've touched it, probably infected with a hitherto unknown STD. Just after being within 10 feet of them, I wished I had access to a Western doctor to get checked for venereal diseases. Let me preface the record of the encounter by noting that these are NOT attractive men. Subject E looks like Danny Devito, 20 years younger (an ugly 35-45ish?) who had been smoking for 20 years and hadn’t slept for most of them. He is a bit taller than Devito with the same girth spread out over that distributed height. He wore a shirt with a death metal band of what I can only assume is limited appeal, wore a backwards black ball-cap, hadn’t shaved in about a week, and along with a chain-wallet, wore baggy calf-length shorts that looked like the were out of the closet of some 90s, angsty teenager who was still mourning the death of Kurt Cobain 5 years after the fact. Ugh. Subject F is at least 45, of UK-origin, balding with a miserably failed attempt at a combover, is cockeyed, probably weighs about 280, and is about six feet tall. For those of you who have seen me, imagine my build, but much pudgier, pastier, and sweatier. Cockeyed. Double Ugh.

The details of how I got myself into the following unfortunate conversation are irrelevant, what’s important is that the Subjects are joint-owners of some factories here, mainly producing model airplanes, but also—go figure—sex toys. Subject E does not hesitate to ask if I have “been out on the town” yet and subsequently expresses his shock that I have not yet visited the brotheloke bars. He follows up this glorious pearl of human interaction by informing me that he and Subject F take “the entertainment” here “VERY seriously.” Then, after I somehow manage to change the subject to a discussion of sleeping habits (by this point in the conversation, I’m wishing that I could just sink into a hole and die, not from embarrassment but because it’s cleaner and has fresher air than the verbal pollution this guy is spouting) and notes that his partner “slept for what…he turns to said partner…one hour last night?” Subject F responds by allowing that approximation as probably accurate. E then says “well of course, you were busy [BRACE YOURSELF, I CANNOT CENSOR] licking that sweet little twat all night long.” I would have added emphasis, except that that’s not as bad as it gets. Because THEN, Subject F responds, “well, she had just turned 18, it needed to be done.” There, emphasis added. Dizzy with shock, horror, disgust, and just general nausea, I made my excuses, politely protested their assumption that they had “scared me off” (really that’s the case. I was scared--scared I was going to throw up and make those nice girls that work in the coffeshop clean it up), and went home. Keep in mind, all of this happened IN PUBLIC at the only local coffeeshop. The impact upon the Chinese folks in the shop was probably buffered by the language barrier, perhaps, but that only shows you how much more disrespectfully brazen these two pigs are. It was real fear that made me leave. Fear that I would actually have to see and speak to those two spawns of hell for another moment.

******

My dear readers, I’ve met some pretty awful people before. I’ve done some pretty awful things, myself. But the vast majority of horrible people that I’ve met and awful things that I’ve done have been abhorrent on a psychological level. I guess me and these other people take consolation in (or in my case, don’t, but at least acknowledge) our calculation of what we do and why, and most of us would never seek to lay waste to others’ lives and would even, despite or in sacrifice of our overarching goals, actively try to prevent that outcome. There’s a certain art to it, a certain care. And none of us that I’ve ever met have truly believed that we are good or decent people.

I have never all at once met so many people with such an open disregard for other people. It’s not that they pursue self-centered ambition, it’s more as if they subconsciously reject the idea that anyone else exists and simultaneously refuse that there is an objective reality beyond the their small, hedonistic minds. If life is the road, and we are all drivers, these people each believe that they are good drivers. Were they to be given full knowledge of my opinions of them and their actions, they would probably call me an idiot as they flew past me at twice my speed, just as I am calling them maniacs here.

Whether or not we have the right to pass judgment, these people all currently appall us. It makes us feel terribly lonely, despite the greater amount of wonderful Chinese people that we’ve met. You see, unfortunately, these six Subjects represent all except for one of the fluent English-speakers with whom we’ve become acquainted since our arrival, so roughly 100% of the white population in our area is, in our opinion, the scum of the Earth. It’s terrifying. And the only iota of a remotely encouraging conclusion from this information is that if all of these losers can succeed here (and they all have on some level), then we DEFINITELY can.

Entry Number Two

2007-07-14T09:32:00.001-07:00

It’s as simple as the law of supply and demand.

With 1.6 billion people in this country (maybe more—every time someone tries to count they invariably lose their place), who can blame the Chinese for not valuing every human life? It’s just that, there’s so much of it around.

This manifests in so many ways, not the least of which is that China executes more people every year than anyone else. Even more than Texas! I know!

In fact, they just executed the guy responsible for all that tainted Puppy Chow that killed America’s pets. Are you happy now, soccer moms?

Of course that’s just the government, and we all know a government, especially this one, can only be but so representative of the people. In this instance, however, it seems those old, grey commies really are taking their cues from the common man.

Don’t believe me? Cross a street.

It doesn’t really matter which one or what city you’re in. Any street will do. And once you cross it, you will understand that China doesn’t care one whit about you, your life and your little dog, too.

At first the traffic system seems chaotic. People swerve in and out of lanes with no regard for the turn signal perched so closely to their hand. They stamp their foot on the gas pedal at green and red lights alike, as if they were non-existent, plowing into on-coming traffic looking for a way to squeeze through. People even fly down one-way streets when it suits them, especially before making left turns. And if you happen to be a pedestrian in the middle of all this, run! Because no one is going to stop for you; they aren’t even going to slow down.

This is not to say that the Chinese haven’t built some lovely traffic lights, some of which are decked out with countdowns to the next light change and everything. It is that they are completely disregarded.

In the event that someone is struck by a vehicle, they sit down in the middle of the road until the matter is resolved. The only way to protect yourself is by becoming a nuisance; impeding other traffic to the point where someone has to take notice.

No one goes for help. People crowd around not to give aid, but only to see what happens. There are no police, and no insurance, involved. Everything is handled in cash, which, I suppose, is why there seems to be more ATMs than trash cans in this city.

After you’ve witnessed this a while, and the sheer shock of it wears thin, you realize, this isn’t really chaos, this is the system. It’s a dog eat dog world out here, and 70 mph steel beats your fragile flesh any day of the week.

In such a place one shouldn’t be concerned that cars seem to speed up as they see you crossing the street. Instead, one should be grateful they don’t swerve to hit you. Life’s little pleasures, you see.

Now if this is the system as you’ve known it since birth, where one cannot see the value of life over convenience even while crossing the street, who’s to say what fair is? The individual is nothing but a roadblock to be plowed down. And so lying, stealing and cheating in business or everyday personal interaction becomes as second nature as breathing.

So when you read that Chinese factories have replaced wheat gluten with a harmful substance or switched water in a plastic toy with a corrosive chemical, don’t be surprised. After all, China is a massive semi hurtling toward you at great speeds, and it’s not going to slow down for anything, certainly not a puny person like you.

And this is why the concept of an individual having certain rights just for being alive simply hasn’t caught on. Power is all that really matters. This is might makes right taken as far as it can go.

That’s Chinatown, Mac. That’s progress.

Ain’t it grand!

It's the Little Things

2007-07-08T22:46:00.000-07:00

The other day, I did laundry for the first time. The trivialities are what break you down in a country where you are illiterate. Not that I was daunted, but it was certainly a faith-based experience…after all, first we had to be laundry detergent. Easy enough, right? Our conversation resembled the following:

M: We need laundry detergent for when we do laundry.

S: Yes…I saw what looked like Tide on sale back there.

M and S walk over to display. There are about six different varieties of Tide on sale.

S: Picks one of them up. I think this is good…

M: Points to another. But what about the fresh rain scent?

S: How do you know that that one is fresh rain scent?

M: It has a picture of rain on it.

Sure enough, it does.

S: I like this one. It has flowers. The floral scents are always good.

M: Rolls eyes, scoffs in a very M-esque manner. Al-RIght. WhatEVer.

S: Wait…what if this is bleach…

M: I’m pretty sure it’s not.

S: Yeah, but pretty sure is the difference between destroyed clothes that are extremely difficult to replace and being able to keep wearing them.

M: Well then lets just try it with clothes we don’t like.

S: Rolls eyes, scoffs in a very S-esque manner. That’s just not going to work. Let’s ask.

M: Semi-exasperated. How?? We don’t know Chinese!

S: I brought my dictionary.

Pulls it out, and a minutes-long fumbling session to discover the word for “bleach” ensues. Finally, finding “bleach,”( 漂白剂 ; piăobái jì) they practice the pronunciation (it still sounds wrong, since we have no idea how the tones work and pinyin is almost entirely useless as a pronounceable language. Then, they proceed to bicker over whether or not any of the characters on the bag of Tide indicate that the detergent has bleach, before finally, S go to find the nearest sales associate, M reluctantly and embarrassedly in tow. Sales Associate returns with them to Tide display.

S: Picking up floral-scented Tide and pointing emphatically. P-yOW-bY-jee?

The SA, after a pause for stare of disbelief at S’ horrific butchering of her native language, with an annoyed half-smile, shakes head lightly.

S: Syesye (谢谢 ; xièxie).

S walks of feeling triumphant, M follows, completely embarrassed by S’ public humiliation in his presence.

With that out of the way, I thought that it would be an easy matter to do the laundry, one would think so, right? As they say in La France: Au contraire! Looking at the washing machine, I realized that all of the buttons, indeed all of the directions, indeed EVERYTHING on the washing machine except for the name of the washing machine is in Chinese. Fantastic. I spent 45 minutes staring at the characters on the washing machine and trying to decipher them, getting far enough to make an educated guess.

This is an important process—worth every minute. These are, after all, my only clothes. God only KNOWS how hard it would be to find clothes that come even remotely close to fitting me here. Perhaps I could find some in Hong Kong, but it’s a gamble. My clothes, besides our computer and my iPod, are probably the most valuable thing I brought with me due to the expense of having new ones sent to me and the trouble it will take to replace them.

So finally, I feel confident enough to just go ahead and hit the buttons, and 56 minutes later (at least I think that’s what the digital numerals 56 meant), my clothes are wet and clean, clinging to the sides of the washer. Now, I have to hang them up to dry. Looking at our picture galleries, you’ll be able to see what our washroom looks like. The floor and walls are all ceramic tiling, and the wall to the outside of the building is a giant window with decorative wrought-iron bars and thin mesh to keep birds or other things out while letting “air flow” in. I place “air flow” in quotations because here in Dongguan, there is very little in the way of “air flow.” But that’s for another time.

In China, everyone air dries their laundry because clothing dryers take up too much energy, according to one of our fellow teachers. Not surprising, since the appliances themselves are too expensive. They are also generally an inefficient use of China’s strained electricity resources (see also this Washington Post article) and the families' wages (see also this BBC article, which unfortunately gives statistics in Pounds; GDP per capita: $7,500 in 2006—PPP applied; 10% below the poverty line in 2004) devoted to utilities. One of the phenomena that you first notice here on the grimy buildings is the abundance of colorful balconies with laundry swaying in the hot wind. So, because I had to, my laundry has been swaying in the still humidity of our laundry space for about three days.

Anyhow, now, about three days later, all of my laundry is finally dry. Yes. Three. Days. Later. This country teaches patience, I suppose.

Entry Number One

2007-07-06T02:37:00.000-07:00

Do you know anything about running away?
I can tell you that I don’t. I do know a lot of things about dropping everything you’re doing, abandoning that which right up until a few days before was your whole day—really your whole life by virtue of it taking up so much of your time. I can tell you about putting your life into boxes and hauling them up into your parent’s attic, and throwing everything else into storage.
But I can’t tell you a damn thing about running away, because, honestly, there isn’t a damn place to run away to; there’s no such thing as far-off foreign lands. And really, that’s a shame. Sometimes I really fucking want to run away.

When you fly for a long time, your body enters some kind of coma. When you finally land, it’s like waking up for the first time. Your body gets numb all over and—Christ, you need a fucking cigarette. Anticipation builds; how the mind races at what you’re about to experience! What adventures and strange, new sensations await? God you just can’t wait to be born again. And when you walk away from the airport, far as the eye can see there are tall buildings and MacDonald’s hamburger franchises.
How surprising is that, really? People like tall buildings and MacDonald’s hamburger franchises.
So I can tell you there is truly nothing new under the sun. And flying half-way across the world isn’t adventurous—or even exciting—it’s just moving.

Now here’s something great about moving, apart from all the hassle. Moving allows people to dream. When you start over, you get to create a new and improved life for yourself. And as long as you’re moving you can dream about what that life is going to be like. Maybe this’ll be the time you finally find that true love, or land that great job, make a lot of money, have children and die. As long as you’re packing and hauling your shit from one place to another you can dream like this, and I, for one, think it is essential to do so. Life so rarely affords the opportunities to dream like we can while we’re moving. So don’t get me wrong about moving, I appreciate that feeling of drifting in transit, not really existing in one place.
Then, once you arrive, of course, you have to stop, and get to work.

And so I just finished moving, and because I was moving so far I got to dream for a very long time. And then I woke up in a sea of tall buildings and MacDonald’s hamburger franchises. First I had a Big Mac. Then, I got to work.

I suppose most people will be reading this post from the United States, and that is where I used to read blogs too. Here’s a great thing about the United States: People used to make a lot of money there. Now, of course, the people who made a lot of money in the past don’t want anyone else to make any. I don’t have to tell you that; look around, you know it’s true. This strikes me as silly and a little petty. After all, we don’t have to take money away from them; we can always make new money. But that’s not the way they see it, and I guess we’ll have to listen to them since they’re the rich ones.
This is why I decided to move to a place where people are making money. We can all grow to be nouveau riche together. You know, I don’t know how useful it is to have money, but I can tell you it’s a pain in the ass not to have any.

I won’t bore you with details of our plan. Trust me when I say it’s a good one. I suppose now I’ll have to say if it’s working or not. At least.
Ok, I’ll let you know the beginning. It involved $2,000 USD and a lot of will. Guess which was harder to find?

So there. That’s a little of who I am, how I got here and what I intend to do. If you insist on coming back, here is what you’ll find: I will write a little about being an American in this place, what I see and how I see it. I may write a little about what I do and share success and pratfall alike. Mostly, I will show you what it would feel like to walk as if you were me, see through my eyes and hear the thoughts in my head. Everything will be edited for American consumption.
You know, being an American is no simple task (especially so far from home). But, I find it grows easier with practice. Let us hope so, anyhow.
God Bless America.
And God Bless China.

See you soon,
M.

In Medias Res

2007-07-06T00:28:00.000-07:00

This entry is submitted by S. Eventually, if he deems it necessary or worthwhile, my cohort, M may post in this blog as well. We use our initials because we reside in a place where our names attached to this blog may be used against us, and we will be scrupulously honest about the people we meet here. Although this “disguise” is a thin veil in the face of the PRC’s super-savvy techno-hounds, our aim is not to criticize China itself. In fact, this country has thus far embraced us. The blog is more to serve as a lens through which you all can see what we see and we can more clearly see ourselves.

This blog is not merely meant as a travelogue, since M and I are not really “traveling,” per se. We are, in fact, living here now. And that is completely different from that act of moving from place to place as an outsider or an explorer. The real purpose is to shed some light on our strategies to take control of our lives for a cause and to trace our victories and defeats along the way.

In terms of this entry, I’m settling. In reality, I finally just decided to bite the bullet. I’ve been working on what would have been a monster blog entry if I had posted it all at once. Then, realizing that I had three full, single-spaced pages and I hadn’t even finished the 14 hours that I spent in Hong Kong or even started the rest of my absolutely insane week here in China. So I’m going to go ahead and just start with a vague, initial reaction. I will certainly elaborate upon my experiences later.

As for now, China is for me, an alien place. I read about and hear from all of my closest friends about how they explore new places, refamiliarize themselves with a second home, or just generally set out to conquer their futures, and I struggle here in Dongguan to conquer mine. Indeed, that is our true goal here. But, one can never tell how large the world is, or how small one is, until they meet with surroundings that hollow out his old perceptions and completely reformulate the meaning of his skillsets and talents.

For now, I need to reflect a bit more. There is so much to say, perhaps I will post again later tonight. I suppose that whenever someone meets another person, it is like reading a story that begins in medias res. We don’t know where our new acquaintance has been, and we may only hope to find out as we see where they are going. Consider the preceding paragraphs an effective introduction to our future writings. Our work here in China is the result of years of fear, desire, and preparation; it is the manifestation of the course upon which we each set our wills even if we could not see clearly along that path during the many years since we made that decision. I hope that we can do that journey justice here, and I look forward to speaking with you soon.