I'M GETTING THE KEYS TO THE TREEHOUSE

Xiao Bao attempts to disguise himself as a very small cougar when faced with his electronic likeness (no one is fooled).

I'm so busy these days that I don't make it down to the Treehouse much, once a week at most. Which is too bad because that cozy little cafe is still probably my favorite place in the city. Some expats prefer shiny Beijing, the cool, modern spaces of clubs and upscale restaurants, but I like my little hutong paradise, full of random objects, familiar faces, and one tyrannical meowhead. Allow me to explain by describing a better-than-average visit:

I went to the Treehouse last night on my way back from the office, intending to chat with Wu Jie about having my mother (who is arriving next week) bring an ipad from the states for her husband and to do a little fieldnote-writing and document translation. When I arrived, Wu Jie and Sophie had just ordered some Muslim food from a nearby restaurant. Our friend Er Ge was there too, recently returned from his travels in India and Mauritius and the recipient of a lot of teasing from the rest of us about how he had become enlightened after several days of smoking bhang in Dharamsala. Wu Jie asked me to put on some music I had introduced her to the weekend before (Florence + the Machine) and we sat down to our meal.

A few customers drifted in: a Chinese couple and later a pack of guys who are in a local band. They ordered their own food, bowls of steaming noodles delivered by a lady who lives across the street, sipped some coffee, and were treated to a slideshow of India by Er Ge.

I returned to my computer after eating and as soon as my lap was clearly available Xiao Bao jumped into it and promptly went to sleep. But I didn't get much work done. Another regular, Xiangzi, who runs the first charity shop in Beijing in a nearby hutong, stopped by for some birthday beers and watermelon and I treated everyone to my new favorite animal videos on youtube, foxes on a trampoline and standing Zorro cat. Animal videos are excellent cultural universals.

I tried to leave around 10 but Xiangzi wouldn't let me. He pleaded birthday privileges and insisted on buying me a beer to thank me for promising to pick up his kids from daycare on Friday when he and his wife will be at work. Their kids are adorable. I often visit his shop on the weekends when his whole family is hanging out on the stoop, drinking tea, chatting with the neighboring shopkeepers, and hearing the local gossip. Xiangzi's wife Terry is a red-haired Canadian and we joke that we make it look like the shops' main product is foreign women.

So I stayed for two hours more, talking with Xiangzi, Sophie, Wu Jie, and Er Ge in a mixture of Chinese and English about contemporary Chinese society, socialism in Canada and China, living a meaningful, principled life, and how much we all love Beijing and the incredible people one can meet here. And then we all made out.

Just kidding.

But I am entirely serious when I say that I have rarely been so challenged, fulfilled, and happy in all my life. I feel enormously lucky to be here and to be surrounded by such a great variety of wonderful people. And I really am getting the keys to the Treehouse. Sophie and Wu Jie have agreed to let me hold my focus groups there on weekend afternoons before they open and they have taken to calling me "san laoban" (boss #3) and saying I can let myself in any time. I own this town.

P.S. See some of Wu Jie's stunning pictures of Xiao Bao, Sophie, Beijing, Qinghai (site of the recent earthquake) and more on her blog. RECOMMENDED!

TAPE PAPER SCISSORS

It was on my first trip to China that I first starting making postcards, Carrie and I having found ourselves in untouristed parts with nary a ready-made 明信片. On that first go I bought a glue stick and some packing tape, harvested all our magazines for interesting scraps, and crossed my fingers that they wouldn't get chucked by the postman (I must concede that the idea of making one's own postcards while on the road was not originally mine but belonged to the lovely Vanessa).

I'm not sure when this little hobby turned into the full-blown obsession it is today. Some days after I've found a new source of weird quotes or usable images but find myself too busy to play with them I end up daydreaming about my little craft kit when I'm on the subway or out to dinner with friends. I am a dork. But I must say honestly that sitting down and listening to an album or two while cutting and arranging and constructing is one of the most reliably pleasurable things I know of as well as being a textbook example of Flow (I just finished the book and trust me, the wiki has all you need to know), Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi's term for an optimal mental state in which you are fully immersed in an activity. I had an awful case of the mean reds the other day, depression and anger and anxiety all wrapped up together, but after a few hours with old Nancy Drew books rescued from the trash pile at the American School in Beijing (I only cut up the ones that were already falling apart), Osho quotes, and some colored pencils, I felt a hundred times better. The results, along with a sampling of all the other postcards I've made and sent this year are below.

I only started taking these photographs for my own records a few months ago and I'm sorry if the quality isn't great. If you haven't ever received a postcard from me (or if you have moved recently, MARK) and would like to I probably don't have your address -- make haste and send it to me through a secure channel. And please, if it sounds like any fun at all to you, start making your own!

Soft Rock Sutras

Penguins

Chinese Opera

Animals, assorted

The Dao of Nancy Drew

LET SLEEPING COMPUTERS LIE: NOTES ON MODERN COMMODITY FETISHISM

I like stuff. Every object, no matter how mundane, seems to me to contain a whole world. I think I’ve always been like this. I was raised going to thrift shops and garage sales, learning to find value in history and singularity, and of course in my yearly purchase of one brand new item (though my affairs with Bongo, Benetton, and International News shirts were both hotter and briefer than those I had with many thrifted items). I don’t think I’m unique in that I have intense relationships to objects, just more reflective about it than most.

Most of my early interest in consumption was socio-politically or ecologically driven; later I got excited about signs, spectacle, shifting values, and all the rest of the academic onanism. Do other people engage with objects on so many different levels, thinking about natural resources and production processes, about brands and their emotional value, about standardization, planned obsolescence, about style versus function? I know I’m not the only one.

The fact is, I feel a great affection for objects and I have relationships with them, as I think we all do. Karl Marx argued our relationships with things mask our relationships with people and camouflage our positions in the production process but he has been rightly criticized for ignoring how objects can act of carriers of meaning when they are bought, traded, inherited, or given.

The extraordinary significance of the gift is beaten into the skulls of anthropology graduate students everywhere but that is not entirely a bad thing. It is in large part through gift giving that I have established and developed relationships here, and while my intention is partly instrumental, I like to think it is primarily affective. I love connecting with people through things. A gift always changes relationships (sometimes this is not welcome, as when it reveals someone’s ulterior intentions towards you) and though the symbolic weight of the act of giving is an important part of this, it is the object given that determines the ultimate meaning of how two individuals are now differently linked.

One of my favorite academic works is Peter Stallybrass’ chapter “Marx’s Coat” in the otherwise uninspiring Border Fetishisms, the gist of which is that the concept of commodity fetishism as a practice in modern societies is “one of Marx’s least understood jokes”. Once upon a time those who studied “primitive” peoples used the term “fetish” to refer to [inanimate] objects believed to possess magical powers or to be possessed by a spirit. Stallybrass argues that what these Europeans were observing was instead groups of people who recognized that objects cannot be separated from people, the people that make them, give them, and own them; in this way they are not inanimate. The word fetish, when used by these early Orientalists to claim knowledge about “primitive” peoples, revealed much more about the societies from which they themselves came from. In Stallybrass’ reading, the concept of the fetish

“implied a new definition of what it meant to be European: that is, a subject unhampered by fixation upon objects, a subject who, having recognized the true (i.e. market) value of the object-as-commodity, fixated instead upon the transcendental values that transformed gold into ships, ships into guns, guns into tobacco, tobacco into sugar, sugar into gold, and all into an accountable profit. What was demonized in the concept of the fetish was the possibility that history, memory, and desire might be materialized in objects that are touched and loved and worn” (186).

Marx’s concept of concept of commodity fetishism then, reversed this valuation, “ridcul[ing] a society that thought it had surpassed the “mere” worship of objects supposedly characteristic of “primitive religions” (186). In his estimation, the inability of “modern” Europeans to see the real value (meaning embedded labor, personal sentiment, and natural wealth) revealed another way in which people living in capitalist societies are alienated from objects and from each other.

In my opinion this assessment still holds, but it misses the effects on society resulting from the further development of consumerism. While fetishization recognizes that every object is unique, commoditization (aided by industrialized production) insists that they can be made equivalent. At the same time, economic growth requires continuous consumption, and the marketing and advertising industry broadcast messages insisting that new stuff is unique... at least until the next new stuff comes along.

“Each new consumer product must present itself as sovereign, as absolutely singular and as absolutely desirable. Yet, in order to satisfy the desire of the consumer, the product has to be mass produced, such that, as soon as it enters into our possession we recognize it for what it is: a vulgar, common-place object. Thus, we pass from one object to the next, in pursuit of the promised land of total consumption... If it is difficult for us to know with certainty anything about a given moment in time it’s because our attention is always being directed towards the next moment, the next major product launch, the next year’s holiday, next season’s cultural highlights."

The above, from a book by Douglas Mourret about the French film-maker Jean-Luc Godard, is a summation of situationist Guy Debord's thoughts on consumer culture. Some of Godard’s mid-60s films suggest the influence of these ideas. Characters wander through a vivid landscape of mass produced consumer goods but show little emotion towards things or one other. They embody an alienated modernity: drifting in a world where real meaning has become unmoored from objects and affected people’s relationships with each other.

One line of thought suggests that the only way out of the consumerist trap (i.e. buying for the sake of buying) is to value our objects in a different way, even to fetishize them. This may sound rather abstract, especially in an era when so many of our cherished objects are shiny technological devices. On the one hand, it is easier to see an iphone as potentially animate than to see a pair of socks as such; on the other hand, it is very easy to discard said iphone when the next model comes around, or at the very least to be dissatisfied with what you have when the updated version has SO MANY NEW FEATURES OH MY GOD MY PHONE IS SO SLOW AND OLD AND BORING!!!

I think this is a good illustration of Debord's thoughts. Even when one has the very newest model one is constantly aware that it could be made obsolete next year or next month and this constant dissatisfaction and upgrading is good for almost no one. It is useful for the bottom line, yes, but it is terrible for the environment, bad for poor countries rich in natural resources (see coltan mining in the Congo), deleterious to societies, and difficult for individuals (in this time of economic downturn there is no shortage of personal accounts touching on how people psychically suffer when they lose/can’t buy the stuff their identity relies on).

One day, after a frustrating episode with my still-very-new laptop, I ran down the concrete stairwells of my building out into the sunshine, thinking that if the shiny beast just slept for a few hours maybe it would fix itself. And a charming image appeared in my mind of actually putting it to sleep: giving it a wee pillow and a blanket and tucking it in for a spell.

Ridiculous idea that it was, it made me feel a little more fondness for my machine, which suddenly seemed less a collection of interchangeable drives and cogs and wheels and I don’t know, lasers? and more like a magical creature that I should protect and cherish.

It may not be the way out, but it can’t hurt. Does anybody know where I can get a macbook sized blanket?

THE MORTAL PART

One of the most fascinating places we visited in Macau was the Protestant cemetery, a small graveyard in the old part of the city. Macau was an extremely Catholic place once upon a time, a fact that accounts for the tiny number of protestant dead. The graves, mostly from the 18th and 19th centuries but with a smattering from the early 1900s, told the saddest stories of seamen and settlers.

Captain Huddart bore his "long and painful Illness" with "the utmost fortitude"

Mrs. Seth left behind a "disconsolate Husband and Sons"

a nameless "apprentice Boy" died from "the Effects of a fall into the bold"

we saw evidence that such deaths were common (though more often described, as above, as "a fall from aloft") and guessed that they resulted from sailors climbing masts, particularly in stormy weather.

"The Mortal part" of Mr. Cruttenden rests here "In the hope of a joyful Resurrection". I sincerely hope that worked out for him.

It was surprisingly touching how many of the graves and tombs had been sponsored by the shipmates (and in at least one case, "messmates") and friends of the deceased, rather altering my image of sailors as callous "yo ho ho and a bottle of rum" types. But maybe that's just pirates; maybe sailors have been gentlemanly folks all along.

There were also a handful of non-English inscriptions, mostly in German. I could understand just enough to make me quite sentimental.

However, as a Harry Potter reader, this tomb gave me quite a start. I know it's not quite accurate what with that extra initial and "s" at the end, but I wouldn't put it past Voldemort to engage in such trickery just to throw us off the scent.

Cremation has long been exclusively practiced on the Chinese mainland and if there are any physical cemeteries I've never seen one. Besides, this wasn't your usual graveyard; it was just as fascinating a place as the city it belonged to and quite the pleasant place to while away an afternoon with new friends.

MACAU [SAR]: CITY OF THE FUTURE, CITY OF THE PAST

A tiny 9 square kilometer city containing half a million residents Macau (muh-cow) makes a charming place for an evening stroll in mid-March, provided you watch out for the killer buses rounding the corners of narrow streets at high speeds.

It is also an exceedingly strange place. Settled and colonized by the Portuguese in the 16th century and "returned" to China in 1999, it has seen ten years of growth and change even more dramatic than that occurring on the mainland. Numbers tell part of the story: in two of the last ten years economic growth has approached an unbelievable 30% (4% is typically considered healthy and stable). Geography tells another: "reclaimed land" has more than doubled the area of peninsular Macau (its landmark lighthouse is now quite far from the coast), and the islands of Taipa and Coloane, shown as separate below, have recently been completely conjoined.

Although an extreme case in many ways, Macau's extraordinary history and contemporary situation tell us many things about the big world we are living in. I would love to teach a class someday that used the city as a way of understanding the big trends of the last several hundred years. I would begin by talking about Macau as a trade center, a missionary outpost, and a Portuguese colony. The area's history complicates the mistaken assumption that globalization is somehow new: there was trade, cultural and linguistic exchange, and even frequent intermarriage between Indian, Malaysian, Portuguese, Chinese, and other national groups several hundred years ago. Macanese food epitomizes this mixture, featuring paella-like seafood dishes, Indian spices, delicious egg tarts, and lots of Chinese vegetables.

I would also explore how Macau becoming a Portuguese colony and Hong Kong becoming a British colony illustrate the justifiable fear of early 20th century Chinese citizens that their nation would be carved up by foreign powers as well as the widespread contemporary belief that China's late development is greatly due to the unfair treaties and punitive trade policies forced on the young nation by colonial powers.

Colonialism, like feudalism, sounds like something that happened long ago, but that is more a reflection of what we would prefer to believe than the truth. In a Macau drugstore, a security guard noticed the faded henna on my feet and asked me where I was from and where I had been traveling. He was an economic migrant from the Philippines, which he called with a chuckle a "former colony" of my country. He had worked near one of the Philippines many American military bases before it was closed and had been earning remittance money in Macau for four years now. He recognized the henna because he said Indian migrants in the Philippines often hang out on the beaches offering to paint young backpackers with it. This is not what we usually think of when we conceptualize globalization.

Rapid economic development has attracted a steady stream of international migrant labor to Macau to build hotels, infrastructure, and flashy new casinos, and to work in the ever-growing service sector. Gambling revenues make up a huge percentage of total government revenue and the excess in funds has lately ensured that cultural institutions (museums, public art, architectural heritage) libraries and education have been heavily invested in. Our group was treated to many tours and talks about all the work underway to protect and preserve cultural heritage, from listing the city as a UNESCO world heritage site and the old Macau patois as an endangered language, to restoring old buildings, to developing cultural education programs for schoolchildren. This is all good news but it is worthwhile to take a step back and look at the bigger picture. There would be no money for these programs without the casinos, and there would be no casinos without the wealth coming from the mainland with all its new billionaire industrialists and developers. It's hardly the Butterfly Effect but China's growth has changed Asia in a thousand tiny ways we hardly ever see.

We are so awfully accustomed to the discourse that it seems obvious that money ought to be invested in preserving cultural heritage that will attract tourist dollars but I always like to ask those uncomfortable questions that force us to see that things haven't always been this way and that in fact they could be otherwise. At other times in human history structures like St. Paul's Cathedral from the 17th century

were built for the glory of god (or perhaps the glory of the religious men and benefactors who were believed to be the gateway to god); three years ago in Beijing many a stadium was constructed to celebrate the nation on the global stage and no cost was spared. I'm not saying these reasons are superior to the justification that capital ought to be invested that it might attract more [tourist] capital, only that we ought to pay attention to what we, as societies, think worthwhile and that there are other justifications for social and government expenditure than the almighty dollar/yuan.

And the last lesson on the contemporary world I took from Macau? We, the human race, are still extremely far from being post-nation, post-race, post-gender, post-ideology, end of history, etc.

It would be tempting to see the apparent melting pot of Macau as the future: in that tiny place, after all, there have been hundreds of years of cultural coexistence and intermarriage, not to mention the fascinating objects and delicious foods that result from intense cultural interaction. The head of the cultural heritage preservation office, for instance, is originally from Scotland, but now speaks Portuguese, Cantonese, and Mandarin as well and has lived in Macau for decades with her Chinese husband and their children.

There appears to be more openness and tolerance in the port cities of the South China Sea than in the rest of the continent but even if race has become less of a focal point for difference and hierarchy (though I don't know if my friend the Filipino security guard would agree) it has been supplanted by concerns with national origin. The Macanese are far less concerned with skin color than with political ideology, as 40% of the city's infants were born of mainland mothers and are seen as likely to grow up with views and values similar to them. The days of self-administration, civil rights, and open political criticism may be short, illustrating that in Macau, as in the whole of this interconnected, globalizing world, national origin is becoming more, not less, significant.

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Okay, class dismissed! you can look at the pictures now...

Yes, that is a public dog toilet. What a civilized place!