In the Hutong
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In the Hutong
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Deep under China World Trade Center
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"China Needs Design that Sells: As the country changes from a manufacturer to a consumer nation, companies must learn how to market to a diverse public" By Patrick Whitney, BusinessWeek, April 25, 2006 Professor Whitney from the Illinois Institute of Technology makes some superb points in this op/ed piece. Among them he notes that companies have to stop thinking about China as a single market; and that standard tools of market research don't cut it. Right on, Dr. Whitney. BTW, Whitney is the Steelcase/Robert C. Pew Professor and the director of the Institute of Design at Illinois Tech. Here's a guy who is not even focused on China, and he gets it. Originally Posted 7 May 2006
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ARTICLE: "Last Stop: Lhasa: Rail Link Ties Remote T1bet to China," by Joseph Kahn, The New York Times, July 2, 2006 BOOK: Nothing Like It In The World: The Men Who Built the Transcontinental Railroad 1863-1869 by Stephen E. Ambrose, New York, Simon & Schuster, August 29, 2000. BOOK: Empire Express: Building the First Transcontinental Railroad by David Haward Bain, New York, Viking, November 1, 1999 With no other intention than pure escapism, about six weeks ago I finally pulled off of my shelves two unread books about the building of the first transcontinental railroad across the United States. I've finished Stephen Ambrose's highly readable work, and I'm now deep into David Haward Bain's well-written, far more scholarly tome on the subject. In retrospect, the timing could not have been better, as global coverage begins on the opening of the final 712 mile section of the Beijing-Lhasa railroad. The parallels are compelling: • The Pacific Railroad (as the transcontinental railway was called in the 1860s) was a dream almost as old as the American Republic, having been a matter of discussion for nearly 50 years before it was realized. Similarly, the Lhasa railway has been on and off of the national agenda in China for over 50 years. • The political reasons given to justify the expenditure in both cases was "to tie the nation together" by linking a remote region with the rest of the country. • The Pacific Railroad could never have been completed without Chinese help (in particular, the effort to get through the Sierra Nevada mountains of California.) Similarly, the Lhasa railway relied on western help to address some critical challenges. I could go on, but you get the point. More important, perhaps, is contrasting foreign coverage of the Lhasa link with the coverage given the Pacific Railway some 140 years ago. Perhaps in the age of air travel we've all grown a bit bored by railroads, but I think that's because in an age of air travel and truck transport, railroads seem a bit quaint. In regions like North America and Europe, with their wealthy economies and dense populations, freeways, autobahns, and discount airlines railroads seem relegated to hauling coal or commuters. (They aren't, but that's the subject of another post.) What we lack, therefore, is an appreciation of two things: how hard this was to do, and what effect this will have on Xizang. A Engineering Feat and a Human Achievement Ambrose and Bain both make visceral the science, craft, and sheer physical effort it takes to build a railroad across a mountain range. You need to find an "alignment," a course for the road that does not rise more than about 100 feet every mile, but that is as straight as possible because every foot of railroad in terrain like this costs a small fortune. You then need to dig, chip, and blast the grade through cuts and tunnels through mountains of solid granite. You need to fill or bridge rivers, canyons, gulches, and even little dips and do it in a way that won't be washed out by floods, avalanches, or made impassible by high mountain winds. And if you think that's easy in the 21st century, remember that you need to do all of this in some of the most remote territory on earth, hauling men, machines, material, and the food, energy, and fuel to keep all of them working up a narrow artery of steel. Oh, yeah, and one other thing. You've got to do all of this at an altitude considered too uncomfortable or indeed unhealthy for a sleeping airline passenger, much less a manual laborer. But with few exceptions (notably Rui Xia's superb late-2005 Asia Times article) you'll see very little credit given to China's engineers and workers for accomplishing this task in the international media. That's a shame, not only because these hardy souls deserve it, but because the failure to give such credit causes the Chinese and foreign engineers who know how tough it was to build the Lhasa road causes all of them to question the balance of the international media on Chinese topics. In addition, it allows observers to underestimate the innate capabilities of Chinese engineering in spite of the kind of big-ticket-project related shenanigans we're used to hearing about in China. The Great Wall Builders are back. All of us should be contemplating the implications. Linking Lhasa Joseph Kahn has put forth a yeoman's effort covering the story from his chair in Beijing, as much as I'm sure he'd have rather been covering it from the train itself. It's left him taking a more political take on the road, which is a shame. I won't go into what he wrote - you should give him a read yourself. Given the sheer volume of hyperbole from both proponents and opponents of the line, it is impossible to capture with any justice the essence of either position, much less debate it. But a few thoughts to contemplate as you weather the barrage of coverage. Expecting a single rail line passing through a small part of a province larger (and less accessible) than Alaska to bring fundamental economic change to the region stretches the bounds of credulity. Certainly, those living it Lhasa and its environs will experience some quality of life improvements based solely on the fall in the cost to schlep goods up the hill. It also opens the region up to a class of tourist or traveler who cannot afford an air ticket. For the line to deliver any significant economic benefit (or harm, depending on your point-of-view,) its Lhasa terminus must become the hub of a transportation and communications infrastructure that links all of the cities and villages of the region. That's the sort of nitty-gritty investment that is difficult to justify when sitting in Beijing, but that will become necessary if the nation is truly serious about including the Xizang province on the benefits of the China's economic development. As to whether the road will Sinicize the local culture, that is a far trickier question that in the end is determined more by one's political and ideological viewpoints than on anthropology. There are some who see Xizang as the Shangri-la of James Hilton's novel Lost Horizon and thus see any intrusion of modernity as the functional equivalent of genocide. Fair enough. Yet in no small part, the matter remains in the hands of the locals themsleves. It is instructive to note that in the face of globalization we live in a world where a wide range of distinct cultures and ethnicities have survived or even flourished. For what destroys cultures is not the coming of railroads, but the departure of relevance. History demonstrates that a culture that is deeply relevant to those who treasure it will survive. As long as a culture remains meaningful, assimilation will be held at bay. (None of this, of course, is likely to mollify someone (like that deep political thinker Richard Gere) who maintains a canonical belief in the value of turning the Xizang province into an isolated mountain theocracy. For those folks, I'd suggest that a review of the histories and status of Nepal and Bhutan serve as good examples of the direction such an experiment might take. They invite pondering.) On to India One last thought about the railroad. Throughout history, railroads have also served to pierce and bridge borders between nations. In my view, the High Road to Lhasa is half a road that will accomplish its greatest historic purpose when it can form the bridge between Delhi and Beijing. Contemplate that. Originally posted 2 July 2006
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Starbucks Pacific Place
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In the Hutong
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In the Hutong
"I find the whole practice of hiring Chinese and paying them to post favorable comments on a per-posting basis to be an unethical PR practice. According to the BW article, this is common practice."
"Imagethief has been doing PR in China long enough to know that the ethics of Chinese media, including online media and therefore of the PR industry that surrounds it are still pretty grey. But that's not the whole picture..."
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In the Hutong
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In the Hutong
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In the Hutong
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Starbucks Pacific Place
If true, Boeing is going to take some heat, and rightfully so. Nothing comes before passenger safety in commercial aviation, and nothing should come before the needs of the people in uniform in defense procurement.The story that emerges from this study reveals how the acquisition was skewed in favor of certain helicopters from the very beginning by lawmakers and Pentagon officials, regardless of the requirements set forth by the Air Force’s own CSAR experts.
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In the Hutong
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In the Hutong
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In the Hutong
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Jingshun Road, Bridge on the River Wenyu
Give a man a car, he thinks he’s Michael Schumacher
1426 hrs.
Whether in writing or over an adult beverage, at some point or another each of us who live in, study, or frequently deal with China find ourselves in a conversation that focuses on China’s faults. I have heard these conversations take tones that range from the respectful to the patronizing, and from people who have motives ranging from a genuine desire to build a better China to those who seem to have made a hobby of gratuitious panda-slugging.
The common thread running through each of these conversations is a focus on things as they are, and usually how they compare to some other place. They are rarely infused with a perspective on China’s own history and conditions.
In the passion of such moments remarkable things are said, but one thing I hear with numbing regularity from people who have never lived in Asia is the suggestion that perhaps China would have been better off under the Guomindang, or KMT. The sole support offered to this argument is usually someone saying “after all, look at Taiwan.”
The Last Warlord
Regardless of where one might fall in one’s leanings on that issue, such an assertion begs for some context, and I usually recommend Theodore “Teddy” White’s seminal 1946 book Thunder Out of China. Not only did White write without the benefit of the hindsight we have, he did so before the Red Scare and the McCarthy hearings forever changed the nature of the debate over communism and its alternatives.
White did, however, write with the benefit of years in China dealing with and around the Nanjing (later Chongqing) government. He had the kind of access granted to a reporter working for a publisher - Henry Luce - who was among Chiang Kai-Shek’s most vocal and dedicated overseas supporters. White’s insights are biting.
While he must have been tempted to use the power of his pen to vilify Chiang, White strives (and occasionally struggles) to retain a journalists objectivity. His descriptions make clear that while Chiang had clearly cobbled together a polity of sorts, China even before World War II was not so much a nation as a loosely unified confederation of local warlords and special interests. Herding such a band of cats could not have been simple. Chiang’s first mistake, in White’s view, was that he saw himself and the tentative order he imposed as the only viable solution for China.
If history - both Western and Eastern - has proven anything, it is that hubris bordering on a messiah complex is not a formula for successful leadership, and White shows Chiang a man blinded by his indomitable self-confidence.
The Generalissimo believed he knew China better than the Americans. Granting that most Americans in China offered little, those that offered genuine insight - the Army’s General Joseph Stillwell and the State Department’s Jack Service among them - were systematically ignored, then banished.
Worse, White suggests that Chiang believed that he knew China better than any other person in China. As events bore out, in this he was patently - and fatally - wrong.
Caught in a Landslide
What pervades White’s descriptions of Chiang and his government is a view of a man whose ability to govern had been overtaken by events - not just the war, but the pace of change inside of China.
Indeed, through the narrative we see a Chiang who was so overwhelmed by the speed and scale of China’s own internal developments that he had no idea that the political ideas and social programs formed in the crucible of the 1911 revolution were, a mere thirty years later, obsolete. White subtly reminds us that in the course of two decades Chaing himself had migrated the breadth of China’s political spectrum, starting as a leftist revolutionary and ending as a conservative on China’s far right, as clear an indicator as any that he had not only lost political initiative, he had also lost touch with the country.
Nobody living in China today - or even visiting periodically - can help but sympathize with Chiang’s plight. Keeping ahead of the pace of change in China is a brutal race for any government, party, agency, bureaucrat - or merchant. But to govern at all demands a means of governing that is attuned to change, and White paints a picture of a government in pre-revolutionary China that had ossified some years before.
Chiang lost, to use a phrase from von Clausewitz, his fingerspitzengefuhl, his finger-tip feel for the actual situation on the ground, and as a result presided over a bureaucratic apparatus that was incapable of either caring for the welfare of the Chinese people, holding his coalition together, or fighting the Japanese, much less all three at once.
A Picture in Time
Regardless of where you stand on the matter of the Chinese Revolution, you will probably agree that among the great tragedies of the millennial changes that began in 1911 was the long line of missed opportunities for a more harmonious ending than the national bifurcation that is still called “the Wound of History.”
More vocally than any other foreigner of his era, Teddy White yearned for a unified China that took care of its people. Armed with a belief in that future, he wrote Thunder Out of China as a witness to the events that set China on its current course, and his words deliver insights into the national soul of China that after 62 years have lost none of their edge.
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Rain + Smog = Smain or Rog?
1046 hrs.
Good books about China - by “good,” I mean those that are worth reading for the insight they deliver, rather than those written to settle scores or for personal aggrandizement - generally fall into one of four categories. They are either histories (like the works of Jonathan Spence or the late Iris Chang), the occasional memoir (Reginald Johnston’s Twilight in the Forbidden City, or Sidney Rittenberg’s The Man Who Stayed Behind), a deep-dive look at a certain aspect of China (Joe Studwell’s The China Dream, or Andrew Nathan and Robert Ross' Great Wall and the Empty Fortress), or what I think of as a high-resolution snapshot of China as it is at a given moment.
The latter type of book actually live two lives. The first is when they are current, which in China time gives them about 18-24 months of shelf life before China completely passes them by. The second is when they become history, which usually happens 10-15 years after publication. My favorites among this category are Theodore White’s superb Thunder Out of China, Edgar Snow’s writings, and the more contemporary works of Orville Schell.
To that list I am adding China into the Future. The book serves well as an excellent overview of the issues facing China and in providing some new takes on the issues facing companies doing business here. It steps beyond those expectations when it concludes with a detailed scenario exercise projecting 16 routes China may take into the future.
The contributors are a group of experienced China watchers, and the book reads like the extended proceedings of a CEO-level conference on China - and I mean that in a good way. Reading this book gives one the feeling that one is sitting in the back of the room of the conference. I found the book is best read in sessions, sitting down and concentrating on a single chapter at a time and appreciating it for its fullness, thinking through the authors' assertions as you go.
Those of us living and working in China will inevitably have quibbles with the book in different places. Throughout the book, and particularly in early chapters, one is occasionally touched with a suspicion that this is a work created by people whose primary view of China is from the window seat of the Dragonair flight from Hong Kong to Beijing and back. There is a palpable detachment, a distinct feeling that street-level insight is lacking throughout. Little wonder: all contributors except the estimable Ken DeWoskin were based outside of mainland China as of the book's writing.
There were other little things as well. The references in the preface to the contributors as China "experts" only served to remind me of a conversation I had with Professor Fan Gang of the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences eight years ago, when he noted that he would hardly call himself a "China expert," and he was suspicious of those who did. "There are only China specialists. There are no China experts."
As I said, quibbles. None of that serves to make to book less valuable - indeed, the sooner you accept that this is the archetypal fifty thousand-foot view of China, the more quickly you will appreciate its value. No book about China can possibly be all things to all people, especially to we self-designated China hands who pride ourselves on the kind of knowledge and insight that can come only from immersion.
But all of us need the benefit of a wider view from time to time, and China into the Future delivers it in a way that is bound to be valuable to anyone with an interest in China.
At the very least, China into the Future is a sanity check, a reminder that as as always in China the threat of chaos lies sufficiently close to the placid surface as the world’s largest nation hurtles sans historic model into the murk that lies ahead.
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Starbucks Lido Beijing
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