In June of 1986, I joined the Duke Study in China Program, for a planned seven months in China, encompassing a summer session at Beijing Normal (or 'Teachers') Institute (now called Capital Normal University) and fall semester at Nanjing University. We arrived at Hong Kong, which looked like this at the time.
A Hong Kong street scene, viewed from the upper level of a double-decker bus.
A residential apartment building in Hong Kong.
A small floating city in Hong Kong. People lived on these boats.
Leaving Hong Kong (then still a British colony), we entered China by train, arriving at Guangzhou (pronounced 'Canton' in the local dialect), on my twentieth birthday. Guangzhou was the only port open to Westerners, before defeat in the Opium War (1839-42) forced the Chinese to open more ports. Later, Guangzhou was the base of operations for Sun Yat-sen (1866-1925), a republican and nationalist leader, shown here in statue. Sun's Communist-friendly motto, 'All under Heaven is for the public,' is inscribed on the placard on the building.
We progressed northward by train through the interior of China, traveling 'soft sleep' class, which accommodations are pictured here. Soft sleep was the best way to travel, with four berths per compartment.
The pro-market reforms of Deng Xiaoping (1904-97) were gaining traction and much in evidence during our visit. Every village we passed through boasted a vibrant marketplace, and everyone seemed to be hustling for nickels and dimes -- somewhat to the disappointment of the left wing of our American student group.
We finally arrived in Beijing, where living conditions were still rather primitive: many people burned coal for personal heating and cooking -- producing a pervasive, unforgettable smell and a black discharge from the nostrils at bedtime -- and donkey carts were quite common on the streets. Pictured is a hutong, a residential neighborhood of narrow alleys, a trademark of Beijing.
The old Summer Palace (Yuanmingyuan) was built in the early Qing dynasty (1644-1911) and included several European-style palaces, resembling a miniature Versailles. It was looted in 1860 by British and French invaders during the Second Opium War (1856-60) and subsequently fell into total ruin. It is currently maintained as a 'Shrine of National Humiliation.'
The Great Wall.
The Marco Polo Bridge (Lugouqiao), in the suburbs of Beijing, was the scene of a shootout between Natioinalist Chinese and Japanese troops on July 7-9, 1937 that led to the massive Japanese invasion of China proper. Japanese troops had been stationed nearby, as part of a previous treaty arrangement; the firing began through a misunderstanding, when the Japanese went on maneuvers. Lugouqiao is known as Marco Polo Bridge in the West, because Mr. Polo referred to it in his writings.
The new Summer Palace (Yiheyuan).
Five Pagoda Temple (Wutasi), in the western section of Beijing, was a peaceful retreat near school. Carved into the surfaces of the buildings are thousands of Buddha figurines. The grounds currently house the Beijing Museum of Stone Carvings, mostly a collection of stelae, or commemorative monuments.
Also near what was then called Beijing Normal Institute was this pagoda from the Ming dynasty (1368-1644). Unfortunately, I have forgotten its name. At the time, it was surrounded by suburban farmland, but by 1999, the neighborhood had changed to an industrial shantytown.
A detail of the pagoda, showing the exposed wooden skeletons of the old figures.
An active Buddhist temple in Beijing.
During a field trip to the Xian area, we stumbled upon the tomb of the mythical sage king Yu the Great, who supposedly tamed the Yellow River and taught the Chinese the art of irrigation.
Temple guardians like this one are imposing wooden figures, positioned at the entrances of temples, to discourage thieves. I believe there are usually four guardians. This one wields a halberd; another carries a musical instrument like a guitar, that he can strum so loudly, it will send trespassers to hell. When Westerners arrived in China, they were at a disadvantage, because they seemed to the Chinese to resemble these ogre-like nasties.
Near Datong, on a mountain called Hengshan, is the Hanging Temple (Xuankongsi), attached to the face of a cliff.
I believe this is the Huaqing hot springs, where Yang Guifei, a femme fatale of the Tang dynasty (618-907), used to bathe. Later used as a resort, the place was the site of the Xian Incident of December 12, 1936, in which Nationalist Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek (1887-1975) was kidnapped by one of his own generals, forced to stop fighting the Communists, and made to ally with them in a Second United Front against the Japanese. Someone told me that the Generalissimo was captured as he tried to escape up the hill in the background, wearing only his nightshirt and missing his false teeth. I suspect hyperbole.
The wretched tourist trade of Xian.
The magnificent Buddhist grottos near Datong.
A friend and I took a side trip to Confucius's hometown of Qufu. Here I am photographed at the family cemetery, disrespecting if not desecrating the Sage's actual grave (though perhaps a simple janitor or bus driver is really interred there). In an effort to go native, I am wearing a PLA summer shirt, that was subsequently badly stained in a mishap: while biting into a stuffed steamed-bread dumpling (baozi), it exploded in my face, spraying pork fat into my beard; I had to towel off, and my PLA shirt was the only thing handy.
On a solo adventure, I toured the village of Yanggao, in Shanxi province.
The residents of Yanggao seemed to live in earthen houses, like adobe.
A Yanggao alleyway.
If these are TV antennas, then prosperity was extending itself even to Yanggao, though it seemed very poor to me.
This would count as a very luxurious house.
The sign outside this watch repair shop is evidence of illiteracy...
...as is this sign, advertising a dentist's office.
Peering out from a photo studio (no sign necessary).
Yanggao villagers sizing up the gringo. I remember trying to eat at a restaurant in town, and the attention I received made the task nearly impossible. One gentleman was observing me so closely, he was practically standing on my foot. It was very uncomfortable.
I did manage to attract an entourage of young boys, for a brief tour of the fields. Communicating with them was interesting: they spoke clear Mandarin, but their tones were altered. The word for train, 'huoche,' I would say with a dipping-tone 'huo' and a level-tone 'che,' but they said it with a falling tone and a neutral tone. I didn't have very long to converse with them, for Yanggao was not yet officially opened to foreigners. After only a few hours in town, word reached the authorities that I was snooping around, and I was escorted to the train station. The old lady in charge of the squalid hotel where I'd planned to stay called after me, conventionally, 'Come again!' as they kicked me out.
A colleague, looking at these pictures, said, 'These boys have as much chance of leaving this village as they have of going to the moon;' but I suppose they might have joined the millions of migrant workers, who have drifted to the wealthier coastal cities to find work -- that is, if they were lucky. In 1989, there was a magnitude 6.1 earthquake in Yanggao. I wonder if all my little friends survived.
In the fall, we shifted to Nanjing, in the more verdant south. Nanjing is encircled by the longest surviving city wall.
On the top of the city wall.
The Zhonghua gate of the Nanjing city wall, showing the airlock-like defense system.
Nanjing was initially the capital of the Ming dynasty, and its first emperor, Zhu Yuanzhang (a.k.a. Ming Taizu or the Hongwu Emperor, r. 1368-98) is buried there. The 'spirit path,' or approach to his tomb, is flanked by these monolithic gentlemen, whose job description matches that of the temple guardians described earlier.
On the banks of the Qin Huai river in the south of the city is the old pleasure district, a veritable paradise of amusements for men of the Ming and Qing dynasties. The quarter has been restored for tourism and did much to kindle my interest in late imperial China. One interesting establishment added since 1986 is the reconstructed residence of Li Xiangjun, a famous courtesan of the Ming-Qing transition. Visitors today may enjoy tea and snacks, in lieu of Li Xiangjun.
Qingliang hill, in the western part of town, boasts this Qing-era private adademy (shuyuan) that is now used as a little art museum. In the Qing novel Rulinwaishi (translated as 'The Scholars'), Qingliang hill is where the hero, Du Jiaqing, creates a little stir by holding hands with his wife.
Nanjing was the capital of the utopian (ostensibly Christian) Taiping Heavenly Kingdom, from 1853 to 1864. There is a museum devoted to the Taipings in the city (I believe on the grounds of the garden that belonged to the early Ming general Xu Da), and this is a commemorative screen, placed opposite the entrance.
A closeup of the screen, which presents the Taiping soldiers as proletarian revolutionaries, as per the Communistic style of art.
A cannon on display at the museum, with an inscription showing Taiping manufacture.
Another cannon, similarly inscribed.
A ceremonial hat supposedly worn by the Taiping Heavenly King, Hong Xiuquan (1814-64), who believed he was the younger brother of Jesus Christ.
A Taiping uniform, reading 'Taiping,' or 'Great Peace,' on the front.
The same uniform, reading 'Holy Soldier,' on the back. It also identifies the wearer as belonging to the 'Front First Army.'
I believe this structure was a gate that survives from the original Taiping palace. It was subsequently incorporated into a complex of government buildings, so that photographing it was illegal. I remember being scolded and ordered to move on, after taking this picture.
The Taipings' implacable enemy, Zeng Guofan (1811-72), rested on this marble boat, adjacent to the Taiping palace grounds, after crushing the Heavenly Kingdom.
Nanjing was the first, temporary, capital of the Republic of China, for a few months after the fall of the Qing dynasty in October 1911. This building was used by the Republican government.
This office space was used by representatives of the Chinese Commmunist Party, during futile negotiations with the rival Nationalists, in 1946. War between the two factions had already broken out. The Nationalists spied on the Communists in this little cottage, from the much taller buildings surrounding it. In response, the Communists blasted the Nationalists with loudspeakers that blared reports of their victories in the countryside.
The Yangzi River Bridge near Nanjing was built during and after the Sino-Soviet split of 1959. The unused piles visible in the water were placed by the Soviets. After they left, the Chinese finished the bridge without using the piles, demonstrating that they didn't need anyone's help.
Nanjing was the Nationalist capital and was therefore designed as a beautiful city, with tree-lined streets. Here, an electric bus heads up the central thoroughfare.
Alongside the main thoroughfare are bicycle lanes. Since 1986, the trees on the median strips between the main and bike lanes have been removed.
Another view of the bike lane, showing a bus stop on the median strip.
Nanjing street scene in black and white.
The foreign students' dorms at Nanjing University. I lived in Building Eight, which is in the background. Soon after 1986, most of the foreign students were removed from the main campus and housed in a more remote location.
Where we ate in Nanjing. There were three restaurants in a row on this block. The one on the left sold boiled dumplings (jiaozi), steamed bread dumplings (baozi), and rice porridge (xifan). The one in the middle was a noodle joint. The one on the right, under the colored flags, was a one-wok stir-fry place, run by the Zhou family (pronounced 'Joe'), that we used to call Eat at Zhou's. None of these structures survives, having been replaced by an apartment building.
In the interior of Eat at Zhou's. It was actually a pretty classy restaurant. I once saw the proprietor cuss somebody out for spitting on the floor. Note that I am using reusable wooden chopsticks. Over time, wooden chopsticks would expand and crack, and the cracks collected dirt and germs that could cause hepatitis. Before leaving for China, on advice of a travel clinic, I was given gama globulin, a very viscous substance, administered via a painful injection to the tooshie, to protect myself from hepatitis. The Chinese have since adopted disposable wooden or reusable plastic chopsticks, as well as styrofoam dining trays, transforming a health problem into a pollution problem.
After dinner, we sometimes drank milkshakes at the 'malt shop,' in the building on the other side of the street. The refreshment was necessary, for no cool drinks, besides beer, were customarily served at dinner, owing to the lack of large refrigerators. Small refrigerators were available, but the beer got priority in the limited space.
There's a lot going on in this photo of a photo shop.
A small group of Dukies took an optional day trip to Yangzhou, on the northern side of the Yangzi, where we visited a wood-block book publisher. Here, a craftsman repairs worn characters.
One rainy autumn weekend, I traveled solo to Suzhou, another hot spot for Ming-Qing literati.
Chinese men of taste were fond of curious rocks or plants, especially if they resembled mountainous landscape scenes.
The entire group took a weekend trip to Hangzhou, where the major attraction is West Lake, China's premier scenic lake.
The shore of West Lake, as viewed from a tour boat.
Hangzhou was the capital of the Southern Song dynasty (1127-1279). The Southern Song sold out its most valiant general, Yue Fei (1103-1142) to the rival Jin or Jurchen dynasty, in exchange for peace. Yue Fei's name is synonymous with patriotism (alas, a tragically betrayed patriotism). Here is his tomb.
Facing Yue Fei's tomb are statues of his betrayers, including the prime minister, Qin Gui (1090-1155), made to kneel in eternal guilt and shame
The Duke group was housed at a sumptuous resort on the bank of West Lake. The surrounding gardens were exquisitely designed. No matter which direction you looked, the scene that greeted your eyes was perfectly composed.
Our West Lake retreat had supposedly been used by Mao Zedong (1893-1976) in the mid-1960s, and it is possible that he planned the first moves of the 1966-76 Cultural Revolution here. Our handlers whispered that Mao had used this carport, providing access to the dining villa.
Late in the fall, pro-democracy demonstrations broke out in several Chinese cities, including Nanjing. Several of us were swept up in the excitement and joined in the marches, taking some care to avoid getting Chinese friends into trouble with indiscreet photographs, etc. but quite heedless of our own safety. The banner reads, 'Nanjing Teachers University: Freedom, Democracy, Human Rights.'
Nanjing residents watch marchers pass by.
A student addresses his classmates from the top of a dormitory entranceway.
'All students, get active! Throw yourselves into the mighty torrent to achieve democracy! -- Nanjing University Graduate Students.' Right after I took this picture, my Chinese friend snuck up behind me, jabbed his finger in my back, and growled, 'What do you think you're doing!' causing me some distress.
Students gather to read 'big character posters' at Nanjing University during the movement. The poster in the foreground is headed, 'The Blood is Always Hot!'
'LONG LIVE FREEDOM OF SPEECH! In the past, I've often heard people say that the atmosphere in top-tier schools is relatively democratic. I think the statement is reasonable, insofar as top-tier schools are the province of scholars; but lately, I've found the expressed sentiment rather troubling. Of course it is true that many people adjust [the tenor of] their remarks according to the occasion or the audience. In fact it's quite obvious. During the May Fourth Movement of sixty-seven years ago [in 1919], China's great intellectuals held high the banners of "Mr. Democracy" and "Mr. Science," opening the prelude of China's democratic revolution. Democracy is a system of government and of law. What is the basis of democracy? I believe freedom of speech is its most important basis. It lets people speak their minds, speak the truth, speak in opposition. Does not our own Constitution provide for freedom of speech?' (continued)
'What Chinese or foreign society of any time would not count as a democratic one, if it only protected innocuous speech and melodious eulogies? In China, there's an old saying: "Loyal advice offends the ear." Emperor Taizong of the Tang dynasty [618-907] has been praised by posterity for his ability to accept remonstrance. Can it be true that our leaders today don't measure up to Emperor Taizong, that our society is not up to Tang dynasty standards? The tide of political history has already turned. The cry for democracy is louder and louder. It is an inevitable historical development, to which all hearts and all eyes are turned. Recently, many comrades and many leaders in the central government have been airing different views, voicing different opinions. This is an excellent beginning for freedom of speech. It is a sign of democratic government ahead.' (continued)
Freedom of speech must allow people to say what they want, not merely pleasing words. Most importantly, it must allow people, within the limits of the law, to voice dissent, to air different opinions. The responsibility of speaking about public affairs can't simply be squelched by government artifice or rendered meaningless by narrow limits. That's why I'm shouting, at the top of my lungs, "Long live freedom of speech!"'
This poster simply repeats, in ominously ever-shrinking characters, the phrase 'God has no clothes,' or as we would say, 'The Emperor has no clothes.' As it turned out three years later, of course, he did.
