Ears
In the summer of ’89, I was ten years old and because my grandmother did not speak a syllable of English, my parents entrusted me to accompany her on the lengthy flight back to her hometown of Beijing. Before departing, my father who was fully aware that I was a plucky and precocious child imparted a few words of wisdom. Eyes peering sternly through his pince-nez, he said “China is a very different place than the United States. You must be on your best behavior. You must “tinghua” (which roughly translates to being obedient.) And then he told me to beware of pick pockets and to always be mindful of my wallet. Upon arrival, an Aunt who I had never met before but to whom I was distantly related, picked us up from the airport and took us to her tiny one-room government subsidized apartment. It was old, terribly run down and highly reminiscent of the Nola lower ninth ward projects that you see in dirty south rap videos. Spinning on my heels, I helped myself to a quick tour and stated matter of factly, “Damn, those Communist bastards must be cheap cuz this place is a dump!” Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere and with the precision of an F1 fighter pilot, this strange woman who I had only met a few hours before, grabbed me and hugged me so tightly I could barely breathe while whispering in Chinese that “the walls have ears.”Fall semester at the University of Hong Kong, I took a class titled “Information Technology Law of the PRC” taught by a mainland Chinese professor. She was young, probably in her early 30s, obviously v. intelligent, and spoke perfect textbook English which surprised me. I was curious about her educational background and whether she had published anything that was available in the US, so after class I asked for her story -- to which she responded “I am just a normal person. There is nothing special about me. Please just focus on the class material and not on me personally.” The following week she walked in red faced and visibly distraught. I thought she was borderline paranoid schizo because her eyes stared nervously at the door while she paced up and down the aisles checking our laptop screens. Someone (I think it was one of the mainland Chinese students) had recorded her lecture on China’s encryption technology from the previous class, and she my professor was "contacted." After reprimanding us for a good twenty minutes, she proceeded to spend the next half hour explaining that her lectures are not her opinion, but merely an objective recitation on the current state of technological affairs, adding emphasis by pounding the podium while figuratively pounding in our heads that she was not “revealing Chinese state secrets.”
Tonight I was restless from bar prep, so I phoned a friend who lives in New York to discuss the provocative topics du jour. We often talk about international politics and the sad and increasingly irrational state of US foreign policy. This evening’s discussion centered on an oldie but goodie – terrorism and why oh why does the rest of the world hate us. (Answer: arrogance, both ours and theirs). In the middle of our conversation, somewhere between my analysis on Osama’s prowess and my friend’s attempt to understand Al Quaida’s faith based killing, my friend says “You know, somebody’s probably listening to us right now. Let’s talk about the Simpsons instead, OK?”
posted by Asian Provocateur @ 12:28 AM
Emotional Outbursts: 1
