The New Movement of Moving down to the Countryside

Yesterday, I took my adopted French parents to visit my cottage by the Ming Tombs, Changping county and then a friend’s cottage by the Great Wall in Huairou. we were driven by an old friend of mine Old Bian, who is also looking for a country house to buy or rent.

I thought about an article I wrote back in 2001 for London based Daily Telegraph. see below.

After all these years, my girls have turned out to be tall slender teenagers, the husband became ex and old Zhang Tong who found the cottage for us passed away two years ago. And more of my Chinese have got themselves a cottage in the country or in the process of doing so, partly driven out by the noise and pollution. I suppose the trend will slowly continue.

Toujours Peking’

by Zhang Lijia

October 2001

The bourgeoisie of the PRC used to loathe the countryside. Millions of urban intellectuals as well as Mao’s Red Guards were forced to labour with and learn from the peasantry.

Thirty years on, millions of peasants flood the cities to find work, while the urban elite looks at country living in a new light. “I’d go crazy if I stayed in Beijing all the time,” says a friend who was banished to rural exile during the Cultural Revolution. Now the CEO of a start-up company, he is also the new owner of an old farmhouse hidden in a mountain valley. “Life is so polluted and fast paced in the city. I come here to relax and recover.”

Framed by hills and history, the outskirts of Beijing attract Chinese desperate to escape the urban grind. Holiday camps and rustic homestays spring up to cash in on trends born of growing affluence and Western-style lifestyle magazines. At the top of the heap is the ‘Commune by the Great Wall’, an avant-garde villa complex, selling at 300,000 pounds per unit.

But like increasing numbers of Beijingers, my British husband and I found that little place in the country need cost only a fraction of the price. Cramped inside a city center apartment, mobbed by construction clamour on all sides, we set our eyes on the Ming Tombs, the imperial cemetry of 13 Chinese rulers. Under one hour’s drive from downtown, this patchwork of field, forest and orchard has long been a favourite picnic spot.

Over the years, we had befriended Zhang Tong, 75-year-old caretaker of the ruined Siling tomb, the final resting-place of the last Ming emperor. Old Zhang, former head of the production team, gladly began house hunting for us. Described by him as “beautifully furnished, most suitable for you city folks”, his first choice was a hideous two-storey, white-tiled building with blue glass. These shiny blue erections have become the symbol of prosperity across rural China.

Several false alarms later, Old Zhang showed us the empty house of a neighbour who had moved on to better, bluer things. I quickly fell for its slate roof and wooden window frames, with forests and mountains beyond. In this typical north China house, white paper not glass covers most windows. There is a courtyard and large orchard, bursting with apple, apricot and chestnuts trees.

At the negotiation table, the owner Mr Yin demanded 50,000 yuan (3,850 pounds), 30,000 for the house and 20,000 for the orchard. We offered 20,000. After a few rounds of hard talks, Old Zhang, serving as middleman, brokered a 2,500 pounds deal.

The only question was how to transfer ownership in a land where all land belongs to the state, and legal issues are painted grey. The village chief refused to witness the deal, insisting that farmers are forbidden from selling houses to non-farmers – the apartheid-like divide is strictly upheld in official records. However, in China there is always a way. The chief also suggested the house could be rented.

Yin drafted a contract for ‘long term rental’ which I rephrased it as ‘permanent rental’. The simple contract, one battered sheet of paper long, was soon peppered with scribbles and corrections. “It doesn’t look very formal,” sighed Old Zhang after we signed. “We’ve got to have a fingerprint.” He dispatched his wife to borrow some red ink. “Yes, that’s more like it!” Old Zhang said with satisfaction, blowing the paper dry.

The main building was in reasonable condition, and required a lick of paint, but the west wing was barely fit for cows. After demolition, it would rise again as a small kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom. Old Zhang engaged his son as our contractor, and always referred to him as ‘the builder’, whose team of relatives would be paid by the day. Little wonder the renovation work dragged so long!

‘The builder’ estimated costs at “roughly 10,000 yuan”, and gave a timetable of one to two months. Ultimately, we paid triple that amount and waited four months before the place was habitable. With commitments keeping us in Beijing during the week, unwelcome surprises often lay in wait. Some walls disappeared – “you didn’t say you wanted it” was Young Zhang’s reasoning for knocking the bedroom and sitting room into one – and other walls arose, cutting off the orchard. A moon gate was the compromise, providing us with access, and soothing village fears we had invaded ‘collective’ land.

Yet the cottage proved our best ‘purchase’ ever, not only as a bargain (for the same amount, we could buy perhaps 6 square meters of the flat we rent in the city), but for the pleasure it provides. A paddling pool enthralls the children, and energetic visitors enjoy trekking to nearby tombs or peaks. The fresh air, blue sky, and songbirds are a rare treat for Beijing residents. Villagers begin to ask if our friends might be interested in their old homes. What have we started?!

a good article on the growing inequality between men and women by C. Larson

Why China Needs a ‘Lean In’ Movement

By Christina Larson

Top female entrepreneurs are a minority in China, as compared to male tycoons, but there are certainly examples of very successful Chinese businesswomen. Of the 20 richest individuals in China, three are self-made female billionaires. (Meanwhile, of the 20 richest Americans, none are self-made businesswomen.) Despite this strong female showing at the top, for most women navigating China’s business landscape, the obstacles to success and equality are steep—and growing steeper.

Consider the yawning gender pay gap. In 2012, American women earned 77¢ for every $1 men earned. China had a similar pay gap two decades ago: In 1990, urban Chinese women earned 78 percent of what their male peers earned, and rural women earned 79 percent. Disappointingly, the pay gap in China has grown much wider since then: In 2010, urban Chinese women earned 67 percent of what their male peers earned, and rural women earned 56 percent. These calculations were released Wednesday by the government-led All China Women’s Federation.

What explains China’s growing pay disparity? Wang Xiaolin, director of research at the International Poverty Reduction Center in China, told the People’s Daily that women more often chose to work in less lucrative industries. “Many female migrant workers stay at the low end of the service sector, such as working as waitresses in restaurants, while men take more positions in the manufacturing industry.” While this may be true, Wang’s explanation doesn’t sufficiently address the obstacles that college-educated professional women confront.

One hurdle may be the particular nature of China’s modern business landscape, which emphasizes guanxi—stoking a web of interlocking personal and professional connections. “Guanxi itself is such a male world,” explains Susan Brownell, an anthropologist specializing in China at the University of Missouri, St. Louis. “Businessmen go to KTV bars and often patronize prostitutes together. It’s hard for women to share the same bonding experiences.” That’s why at least one successful female business owner, bowing to the fact that male clients expect to be wined and dined at karaoke bars and massage parlors (where there is at least the possibility of paying for sex), has designated a young man on her staff to take out clients on her behalf. Her solution is crafty, but it’s a depressing form of accommodation. “Successful women in China must develop tactics to handle the male aspects of guanxi,” says Brownell.

According to the All China Federation of Trade Unions, the percentage of women on corporate boards is also declining. In 2005, women occupied 43 percent of board seats, compared to just 32 percent in 2011. Many Chinese women are also dropping out of the work force when they have children and then finding it hard to reenter. 63 percent of Chinese women work outside the home in their twenties, but only 56 percent do in their thirties. (Meanwhile, 93 percent of Chinese men participate in the labor force in their thirties.)

While many aspects of Chinese society have become more progressive over the past three decades, gender relations have not shown obvious advances. As Leta Hong Fincher, a doctoral candidate in sociology at Tsinghua University,wrote in a recent issue of Dissent magazine: “For all its failings, the Mao era (1949–1976) was a time when overcoming traditional forms of male-female inequality was proclaimed as an important revolutionary goal. Now, there are signs that women’s past gains are being eroded.” Just as with corporate boards, women’s representation in elite Chinese politics has been steadily declining. “The proportion of women in China’s Communist Party Central Committee has fallen over the years—[now] down to just 4.9 percent,” writes Fincher. There’s no sign yet of China’s Sheryl Sandberg or a citizen “Lean In” movement.

Larson is a Bloomberg Businessweek contributor.

Chinese tourists abroad and China’s spitting image

today I was interviewed by the BBC for the badly behaved Chinese abroad. my piece about spitting can explain why so many still do.

BBC News Story

China’s state media says a top official has called for Chinese tourists to behave more politely when travelling abroad. Wang Yang, one of the country’s four vice prime ministers, said the uncivilised behaviour of some Chinese tourists was harming the country’s image. Among the vices he singled out were talking loudly in public places and spitting. He said the quality and breeding of some Chinese tourists was not high. Foreign holidays have become ever more popular with China’s increasingly affluent consumers. (Mr Wang’s comments came as the government discussed implementing a new tourism law.)

Spitting Image

Zhang Lijia

Nowadays, I hear a lot more spitting around my new house. Not that China is getting worse with the ubiquitous habit but simply because we’ve recently moved from a fairly up-market compound in Beijing city center resided by affluent Chinese and expats to a pingfang – low rise houses area further out of the town where many migrant workers congregate. In our Wine God Village, the narrow streets are splattered with web blobs and dried yellowish phlegm decorated the wall of red brick houses, even though in the neighbourhood committee’s propaganda board, red slogans talks about “Building a civilized, hygienic and harmonious community.”

The Chinese themselves have repeatedly voted spitting as the most hateful habit and two thirds of adult admitted spitting regular, according to one survey. That means that there are 900 million habitual spitters in China.

It usually comes with a loud throat clearing “hhggaarrkh” as sort of foreplay before the actual spit flies out one’s mouth. For me, the worst part is when people, after shooting the spit to the ground, try to grind it with a foot as if it would make it disappear but they only make a sticky wet patch.

"Oh, Yak, look, mum, that man just spat again." “Why do Chinese have to speak so loudly?” Just about everyday, my two daughters, aged at 12 and 14, make such complaints. I have to remind them that they are actually half-Chinese and were born here. However, having lived in London for years and now going to the British school, they find certain Chinese habits, such as spitting, littering and loud speaking as well as nose-picking in public, disturbing.

I find myself trying hard to explain to them – not exactly defend – why the Chinese behave in this way. Loud talking, for example, is often the necessity. It’s so noisy here that no one can hear you if you hum like a mosquito. And of course, no one thinks it is rude if you speak on top of your lungs. My ex-husband, a soft-spoken British man, used to complain about my volume. "Sh, I am here, right in front of you. No need to shout," he used to say. But it was just the way I was brought up. If I shout, my father, an amateur opera singer, thunders whenever he opens his mouth, which startles my children.

Many Chinese claim that they spit due to health reasons, saying that they have phlegm in their throat as a result of suffering from chronic bronchitis, colds that never get better and other respiratory problems. Hacking and spitting is just a way to clear the lung and throat. One important reason that the Chinese spit more than anyone else is our deep belief that swallowing phlegm is bad for you; while in the west, people swallow it to avoid spitting in the public. And in China, the air is often polluted which generates more phlegm. And there are plenty of heavy smokers.

Lack of education is often blamed for some of the uncivilized behaviour. But it doesn’t explain everything. In late Qing Dynasty, Li Hongzhang, as a great learnt man, was given the important task of dealing with the outside world – the “barbarian handler” as he was known. Western diplomats were disgusted by his habit of spitting into a pocket spittoon while negotiating state affairs! After all, for too many years, spitting was socially acceptable.

And using a spittoon is a civilized behaviour to a Chinese mind. Until recently, our Chinese leaders had their ceramic spittoons by their chairs when they received visiting foreign dignitaries or royalties. Chairman Mao had one right by his feet when he granted an audience to President Nixon in 1972.

No campaigns actually want people to stop spitting but to spit into spittoons, rubbish bins or your own tissues. Just about in every Chinese city, you can see a poster which urges people “No spitting everywhere!” beneath the Chinese characters: 禁止随地吐痰。

There can be a sharp edge to the blobs of spittle. You can convey your dislike or disrespect of someone by spitting hard purposefully in front of the person. It was used by the boxers during the Boxers Rebellion. In 1990, a banner raised by them read: "Certainly foreign soldiers are a horde; but if each of our people spits once, they will drown."

It seems impossible to stamp out the dir-hard habit despite the authority’s repeated effort. In the run-up to the Olympics, Beijing government made fresh effort by imposing heavy fine of 50 yuan for anyone caught spewing out his product. Officials handed out paper bags and tissues and patriotic or civic-minded volunteers rushed out to train stations or squares, serving as “spit-spotters”, alert to any sound of hawking and spitting. In 2010, Guangzhou government went even further by issuing a regulation which can evict a tenant in a government-subsidized housing estate if he is caught spitting more than seven times in public.

Nevertheless, I believe that many of the uncivilized habits here come down to the lack of public concern. Speaking loud privately is one thing, but doing so at dawn in a hotel when everyone else is sleeping is another matter.

Of course, there’s the force of habit. I actually much prefer my new neighbourhood of Wine God Village. The streets are full of life and energy; people are friendly. And it is authentic. Some of my neighbours have indeed brought their habits from their village where the social norms are looser. Another reason for their uncaring behaviour, I suppose, is that they feel that they are not accepted or respected by the locals. Beijing is not their city. So why should they care?

Spitting is the most notorious among the uncivilized Chinese manners and has made its way into travel literature. In his Riding the Iron Rooster, travel writer Paul Theroux wrote about the Chinese: “Spat all the time. . . You expected them to propel it about five yards, like a Laramie stockman sitting over a fence. But no they never gave it any force. They seldom spat more than a few inches from where they stood. They did not spit out, they spit down."

Overall, spitting has become much less a problem. As a former champion of spitting competitions, I used to spit a great deal. When I was a worker at a rocket factory, we used to have spitting competitions when we were bored. We would line up and see who could shot the furthest or hit a certain spot with force and accuracy. Theroux would have changed his lines if he had seen us! In those days, most parts of China were pretty dirty. So it didn’t really matter if you added some dark yellow bits here and there. But the changed living environment and the realization of its unpleasantness – especially the foreplay – have transformed me. If I can change, anyone can.

Feeling Rich

In the past few days, I have been milking the same cow – being taken out for lunch and dinner in the name of my birthday.

The best part was my stay on Tuesday at Dong Fang Hotel, a historical hotel southwest of Jianmen, by my lovely friend Tara.

In the end of January this year, I have discovered, to my delight, this highly interesting hotel. Beijing boasts plenty of luxurious or modern hotels but hardly any old hotel with characters, my favorite type. Built in 1918, Dong Fang was China’s first luxurious hotel. At that time, the concept of urban planning was just being introduced. And the hotel was very much at the heart of the New Culture Movement and many front runners of the movement as well as China’s most famous literates, like Lu Xun, Cai Yuanpei, Lao She, Ba Jin, all stayed here at different times.

When I wrote a blog about this hotel, I mentioned that I’d like to spend one night here. My thoughtful friend Tara decided to fulfill my wish – as my birthday treat. Australian Tara is one of the most creative people I ever know. Though trained as a lawyer, she has produced and directed films and documentaries and written scripts. Her head, under her lovely blond curls, full of interesting and original ideas, she has been very helpful in providing suggestions to my troubled novel. I felt indebted to her, even before this hotel stay treat.

Tara also invited her writing partner, a dynamic English lady Juliet to come along. We check into the best room, a suite where general Bai Congxi once stayed. After that, we had a hearty meal at a down-to-earth restaurant just across the street, followed by drinks at the hotel’s bar. Though the bar is interesting enough with period features and pictures of famous people and events, we preferred to sit outside as the evening was gentle and temperature perfect. We have a saying in Chinese: “When three women get together, they stay a play.” We certainly did.

Returning to our suite, with child-like delight, we examined our antique furniture, the old style calendar decorated with cheongsam-clad beauties and the calligraphy set and such. Lying in the massive bed, we three enjoyed the leeches I brought as our middle night feast.

The next day, we walked around the old part of the wing and checked out the board outside many of the rooms which explained which celebrities stayed here and their brief life stories. I shared with the two ladies what I know about these influential people.

It was a very memorable stay.

It was a bit of luxury to get away like this in the middle of a week day. Sometimes I do feel slightly guilty that I have such a pleasurable life and I don’t work that hard. But I loved every minute of my night out with Tara and Juliet. In a long run, I think spending quality time with people much smarter than me is beneficial. Besides I’ve long made a point that to live an interesting and rich life is far more important than to achieve highly.

Feeling Rich

In the past few days, I have been milking the same cow – being taken out for lunch and dinner in the name of my birthday.

The best part was my stay on Tuesday at Dong Fang Hotel, a historical hotel southwest of Jianmen, by my lovely friend Tara.

In the end of January this year, I have discovered, to my delight, this highly interesting hotel. Beijing boasts plenty of luxurious or modern hotels but hardly any old hotel with characters, my favorite type. Built in 1918, Dong Fang was China’s first luxurious hotel. At that time, the concept of urban planning was just being introduced. And the hotel was very much at the heart of the New Culture Movement and many front runners of the movement as well as China’s most famous literates, like Lu Xun, Cai Yuanpei, Lao She, Ba Jin, all stayed here at different times.

When I wrote a blog about this hotel, I mentioned that I’d like to spend one night here. My thoughtful friend Tara decided to fulfill my wish – as my birthday treat. Australian Tara is one of the most creative people I ever know. Though trained as a lawyer, she has produced and directed films and documentaries and written scripts. Her head, under her lovely blond curls, full of interesting and original ideas, she has been very helpful in providing suggestions to my troubled novel. I felt indebted to her, even before this hotel stay treat.

Tara also invited her writing partner, a dynamic English lady Juliet to come along. We check into the best room, a suite where general Bai Congxi once stayed. After that, we had a hearty meal at a down-to-earth restaurant just across the street, followed by drinks at the hotel’s bar. Though the bar is interesting enough with period features and pictures of famous people and events, we preferred to sit outside as the evening was gentle and temperature perfect. We have a saying in Chinese: “When three women get together, they stay a play.” We certainly did.

Returning to our suite, with child-like delight, we examined our antique furniture, the old style calendar decorated with cheongsam-clad beauties and the calligraphy set and such. Lying in the massive bed, we three enjoyed the leeches I brought as our middle night feast.

The next day, we walked around the old part of the wing and checked out the board outside many of the rooms which explained which celebrities stayed here and their brief life stories. I shared with the two ladies what I know about these influential people.

It was a very memorable stay.

It was a bit of luxury to get away like this in the middle of a week day. Sometimes I do feel slightly guilty that I have such a pleasurable life and I don’t work that hard. But I loved every minute of my night out with Tara and Juliet. In a long run, I think spending quality time with people much smarter than me is beneficial. Besides I’ve long made a point that to live an interesting and rich life is far more important than to achieve highly.

The Party Girl

I am such a lucky person that I always celebrate my birthday in the finest weekend of the whole year. It was no exception this year: we had the most glorious sunny day and bluest sky I’ve seen in a long while. And the air was so fresh – such a treat to Beijiners. Every year, I throw my birthday party at my cottage in the Ming Tombs or in the past two years, at a very dear friend’s cottage set in a charming quiet village by a section of the wild Great Wall in Huairou, some 90 km north of Beijing. People always love to conquer the Wall, so stunning yet not infested with tourists.

I had the party yesterday even though today, Sunday May 12, is my actual birthday. (Not the big one yet, in case you wonder.)

Most of the two dozen party goers arrived in a convoy and others turned up fashionably late on their own in the afternoon.

Last year, I treated my guests to lunch at a restaurant with a commanding view of the mountain village. This, however, has upset my friend’s landlord who isn’t the best friend of the restaurant guy. So this year, I cooked a few dishes and friends kindly bought along all sorts of goodies.

After lunch, those felt energetic went out to explore and others just sunbathed in the yard, with the fabulous view in front. I was out in the village three weeks ago when the mountains were still a little naked. Now they are fully clad in free green vegetation. There are still plenty of pear and peach flowers in blossoms.

When Matt and his family and their dog snoopy arrived, with their guitars, we began to join him in the singing. I am no singer but always willing to sing along with enthusiasm. Pity that my older daughter May, the great singer, who is preparing for her big exams, was unable to attend. By then we already had the first cake and sang happy birthday in English, Chinese, Italian, French, Portuguese, Spanish and German.

As we were watching the sunset, my friend Donelle, who is the finest chef in Beijing, brought an apricot and pistachio cheesecake. Simply divine!

In the evening, a German diplomat friend and two close Chinese girlfriends, an art curator and an artist, stayed for the night and Matt and family stayed at their friend’s cottage a few doors down the road. After dinner, we continued our partying. When we started to attack Donelle’s cake again, they sang a ‘happy birthday’ in a creative version: Lijia is hard-working; Lijia is warm-hearted; Lijia is fun. . . And Catherine, one of my best Chinese friends, added with a typical hearty laugh of hers: Lijia is sometimes a bit too much, which made me burst out laughing. True, for a deeply flawed person, I have received more love than I ever deserve.

The most memorable part was when we came out to the yard to say goodbye to Matt and Co. and saw a velvet sky studded with the most incredible bright stars, something I have not seen for many years. You simply don’t see such starry sky in Beijing city.

Today I woke up shortly after 5 am. So I got up and gazed out in the yard. Not so much to watch sunrise but to see the Sun coat the mountains with a layer of gold, from the top, slowly reaching down and the golden colour slowly deepening.

As I sat there in the cool morning air and the world was still reined by tranquility, I recalled my year. Nothing major or dramatic happened; I didn’t feel I achieved greatly. I’ve made progress in my fairly new career as a public speaker; I’ve written a few stories that got noticed. My novel is troubled but I’ve just launched another round of re-write.

I am just soldiering on, doing what I love doing. I am a lucky person indeed.

The Vagina Monologue

The famous feminist play has been staged in 122 countries and translated into several dozen languages.

Finally I saw the Chinese version at China Media University on Monday evening in Beijing. I have laughed so much while watching a play. I never laughed so much when I watched some pretty funny stand-up comedies.

It wasn’t exactly the translation of Eve Ensler’s play but rather inspired by it. a couple of acts were faithful to the original, for example, a 74-year-old woman’s emotional discovering her clitoris. Most of the elements are based on the actor’s personal experiences, their first period, their first love and first nights and so on.

The funniest part was the traditional xiangsheng – comic dialogue in style about the different ways of moaning when reaching climax. You can only imagine how the more than hundred-strong audience all laughed their teeth out.

What made the show so entertaining and engaging was its interactive style. In the act about masturbation, the actress, dressed as a teacher, asked the audience to talk about their experiences. Some did speak frankly how they started it because of failed love, or driven by curiosity; other confessed they didn’t know.

Again, the play, the product of a feminist group called Bcome, shows the changing attitude towards sexuality in China. I also see it as the sign of the increasing feminist activism in China and perhaps the feminist movement is starting to happen in this most populous nation on earth.

Thanks to its sensitive nature, it has been shown in small theatres and universities.

The first The Vagina Monologue was launched by a feminist professor Ai Xiaoming from Sun Yat-sen University in Guangzhou back in 2003. There was a fairly successful show by another group in Shanghai in 2009. But it was called V Monologue – otherwise, it couldn’t get the venue.

I greatly enjoyed this show and felt encouraged by the increasing gender and rights awareness in China.

There’ll be two more shows on June 5 and 6. Don’t miss it.

Lijia

writer, journalist, social commentator and public speaker

Mobile: 18600535164
Website:www.lijiazhang.com
Blog: lijiazhang.wordpress.com

my Zen retreat in the mountains

To live slowly is not to live lazily,

Is not to make life dull,

But to live more gently and clearly,

Without the forcing of tension and stress.

Is to have an easy mind,

With more insight in the split second,

To go beyond the haste, fluster and ignorance,

In this panic world.

This is how the hand-out of my Zen retreat starts.

This weekend, I signed up the trip into Hongluo Mountain organized by China Cultural Club. I had seen similar trips the club organized but couldn’t make them. When I spotted this Zen retreat advertised in the newsletter, I immediately gave up all my activities – including a good friend’s farewell party – and snatched up the opportunity.

Zen is a school of Mahayana Buddhism. The word is the Japanese rendering of Chinese word chan, which came from Sanskrit dhyana, which means ‘meditative state’ or ‘a mind absorbed in meditation’. From what I understand, it is all about having clear, clean awareness, patient mind and finally achieving enlightenment.

I have started to practice yoga seven years ago and took it up more seriously in the past two years as I found it not only a good exercise but also a good way to increase self-awareness. I went for the retreat because I believe that a writer should always be open to new experiences. And hopefully I can learn something from the trip that help me to live a more mindful and conscious life. Unexamined life isn’t worth living.

We left Beijing at 7 pm on Friday evening, and less than 90 minutes later, we arrived at a hotel by Hongluo (Red Conch) Temple in Huairou county, some 50 km north of Beijing. Grandly called Lize Villa, it is a modern concrete building a stone’s throw from the gate of the Temple. It is one of many so-called getaway places that have sprung up in scenic spots in the outskirts of Beijing to cater the needs of affluent Beijingers who are keen to get out of the capital in the weekend. Nothing Zen about it. It is unfortunately the alternative to the usual option, a courtyard hotel on the foot of Hongluo Mountain. But for some reason it was closed this weekend. There is, however, a spacious yard where half several pear trees are blossoming.

As soon as we put down our luggage, we gathered in a room which our tour leader Paul called Zen Hall. Paul is gentle-mannered, highly cultivated Chinese man in his late 30’s, a master of Qi Gong, Tai Qi and calligraphy and he is very knowledgeable about Buddhism. Six participants, all middle-aged western women, apart from myself – sat down on the mattresses Paul had laid down for us, in two rows, facing each other. In the middle sat a burning candle – symbolizing the light that can light up the darkness/ignorance in one’s mind and a bowl of water – symbolizing calmness.

Before we started our fist meditation session, Paul, in his calm voice, asked us, in English, to introduce ourselves briefly and explain why we are here. Two women said they have been overwhelmed by work and needed to empty their minds; the third said she had to make an important decision in her life; the forth declared that she felt lost in life. The last one explained she was interested in Asian philosophy and the idea of Zen. And all agreed that it was a wonderful idea to get away from Beijing.

We were sent to bed early. At 10.30 sharp, he beat two bamboo sticks, symbolizing it was the time to turn off the light. Paul advised us not to watch TV or read any books. I obeyed even though I always read before bed time.

The next day at 6.30, we were woken up by the beating of the bamboo. It was a little struggle to get out of the bed but I was delighted to be in the fresh morning air, doing Tai Qi in the spacious balcony, with the view of the mountain in front of us. I didn’t find difficult to follow Paul’s movements as there’s a lot of similarities between Tai Qi and Yoga.

Then we walked to the dining hall for breakfast. Not just any walk, but Zen walk, meaning, no talking and mindful of your steps.

In the morning, we had two long meditation sessions with a break in the middle. We sat on the mattress, cross-legged and our eyes closed. Paul guided us with his gentle voice. I had a bit of trouble with breathing as I am more used to yoga’s ‘ocean breathing’, which gives me something to focus my attention. But when you meditate, the breath should be natural. In the beginning, I often found my mind wander off, thinking about the joy of seeing my article being published in New York Times and what dishes I would cook when my children return to me on Monday. With conscious effort, my concentration improved a little. For a restless person like me, sitting still for a long stretch of time was a challenge. After sometime, my lower back and legs began to ache.

Luckily, after each sitting down session, a on the mattress exercise was followed, similar Qi Gong movements to the morning exercise.

Then lunch. Meals were all vegetarian, which I didn’t mind. But they were a bit too bland for my liking. Paul said spices dishes might upset the mind.

Nap time after lunch. I enjoyed this little routine as I didn’t have to worry about anything.

The afternoon’s program was delightful. Apart from meditation sessions, we did Zen tea, Zen calligraphy and Zen walking.

The walking was one of the high-lights. It was a glorious balmy spring day. A gentle breeze was blowing, bringing about the fragrance of the pear, peach and apricot blossoms. We walked in circles on the balcony. In the middle, white bed sheets hanging on the washing line were turned into a wall of sails by the wind. We focused on the walking, mindful of each step. I was amazed by the difference it made. I was aware when my sole touched on the ground. And the world around me seemed more alive!

Paul began the evening session by playing Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata – using his mobile. I had heard the piece countless time but never felt it was this beautiful, right here, in the quiet of the night, in the Zen hall lit by the candles. Paul talked about how the Zen practice has sharpened his senses.

He then read aloud the essence of Zen and gave a lecture. I didn’t quite understand everything he said, even though I have read various books on Buddhism. “The great Bodhisattva, in the deep course of wisdom beyond wisdom, seeing that the five aggregates are al empty of inherent nature, overcame all suffering and distress.” Such language is hard for anyone to understand. But I got the main points Paul tried to make: be present. Here and now.

We ended the day with a party – gentle Zen style. One of the teachers in our group came up with a children’s game of following me, twitching our fingers and moving our legs, which surprisingly broke the ice and relaxed the atmosphere. We talked about the joy and sorrows we have encountered in our lives and asked Paul questions about Zen. Encouraged by him, one lively German lady recited a poem by Goethe about spring. Following the theme, I recited a Tang Dynasty poem ‘Waking Up in Spring Morning’ and I sang a love song. We ended up the evening by playing another children’s game of the ‘sun’ touching the ‘moon’. I bet Paul has never seen a livelier group than this one.

Blessed with this cheerful Zen mood, I enjoyed a good sleep.

On Sunday morning, Paul gave us a guided tour to the temple, an originally Zen temple but later turned into Pure Land Temple. Most enjoyable.

My Zen retreat turned out to be a very memorable experience. I’d recommend anyone who’d like to take a breath and think and reflect about his/her life, in this panic world.

my op-ed in today’s NYT/IHT on the relevance of the blind lawyer Chen

Op-Ed Contributor

Banished, but Not Gone

Shannon Freshwater

By LIJIA ZHANG

Published: April 29, 2013

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Beijing

MOST dissidents risk the fate of falling into obscurity and irrelevance after leaving China to live in exile.

It happened to Wei Jingsheng, one of the most prominent Chinese dissidents, who moved to the United States in 1997. His calls for democracy once inspired so many in and outside of China. Not anymore.

When my friend Chen Guangcheng, the blind lawyer activist, escaped house arrest a year ago and was finally allowed to leave for law studies in the United States, I worried that the curse of exile would befall him, too.

But on my recent trip to Chen Guangcheng’s hometown in rural Shandong, I saw that his spirit lives on — not only in the memories of people he has helped, many of whom have now become activists themselves, but also through Chen’s regular Internet contact with local activists. It’s a different world from when Wei Jingsheng went into exile.

Last month, I visited Chen Guangcheng’s brother Chen Guangfu, whom I had met in the summer of 2000 when he accompanied his brother to Beijing. At the time, Guangcheng was a medical student fighting for the closure of a polluting paper mill near his home and applying for a British grant to build a deep-well in his village for drinking water. Fascinated by the blind man, I became the first journalist to write about his single-minded quest for justice. I called him a “barefoot lawyer,” a term that caught on.

At the train station in Linyi, the nearest city to Chen’s village, I was met by Chen Guangfu’s friend Lu Qiumei, 34, a talkative woman who is a “chaiqianhu” (people whose houses have been demolished by the government). We set off in a van with two chaiqianhu friends.

During the one-hour drive, Lu told me that a scuffle during a demolition in 2005 caused her to have a miscarriage. Her family never received a penny for having their house destroyed, even though they were promised (insufficient) compensation. When she heard about the blind lawyer, she went to his village in search of help, but was prevented from entering by security personnel. After Chen Guangcheng’s dramatic escape and exile to the United States, she became friends with his brother. She eventually established contact with Chen Guangcheng through Web-based video calls and sought his advice.

“I’ll never forget what Guangcheng told me: When your rights are taken away from you, you must fight and get them back,” Lu said.

The driver chimed in: “We Linyi people are more aware of our rights because of Guangcheng.”

Lu said Chen advises her how to approach her case and which lawyers to consult. More and more people in the area have turned to Guangcheng for help, she said, even though he lives on the other side of the world.

At Chen’s village, which I had visited several times some dozen years ago, I spent the day talking to Chen Guangfu and his family. He is being watched, he said, but he was determined to carry on his brother’s work. (Since I saw him, there have been news reports of the family being harassed by local officials.)

During my recent video call with Chen Guangcheng himself, he told me that he keeps in touch with people from all over the country. Before our conversation, he had been talking to a blind man from Inner Mongolia who runs a grocery store but also devotes much of his energy to helping other disabled people with their rights issues. Chen was planning to video-chat with a group of activists in Sichuan and give them his pitch about the importance of protecting their rights.

“How do people find you?” I asked. He replied with a laugh. “In this Internet age, if you are willing to be available, people can find you easily.”

Part of Chen Guangcheng’s ongoing appeal here in China may have to do with his focus on practical matters that have an impact on the lives of ordinary people — like forced removals from homes — rather than on abstract principles that appeal more to a few high-brow intellectuals.

On the international stage, Chen is also far from fading away. In the past year, he has been honored with many awards, including the annual award of the New York-based organization Human Rights First. In January, he received the Lantos Human Rights Prize, presented by the Hollywood star Richard Gere. And the next day, he gave a keynote speech called “In Search of China’s Soul” at the Washington National Cathedral to a standing ovation.

His inspiring story — the rise of a poor blind boy to an internationally renowned lawyer and rights activist; his daring escape; his passion for his cause and his charisma — explains how he has caught the imagination of Western people.

Last summer, when I went to visit him at the New York University campus where he studies, I got slightly lost. A chess player in Washington Square Park, seeing my confusion, shouted to me: “Are you looking for the blind lawyer? He’s at the law school.” He asked me to pass on his regards.

“I stayed relevant when I was in jail and later under house arrest,” Chen said to me. “I’ll find ways to stay relevant in America, this free country.”

Lijia Zhang is a Beijing-based writer and the author of “Socialism Is Great! A Worker’s Memoir of the New China.”

an interesting article about China’s road to the rule of law

Maoist attitude to dissent is blocking China’s road to the rule of law

• Ira Belkin says that Xi Jinping’s pledges onrule of law will ring hollow as long as Mao Zedong’s definition of enemies of the party remains the basis of dealing with dissent

  Ira Belkin

Maoist attitude to dissent is blocking China’s road to the rule of law

Now that China’s leadership transition is complete, the world is asking: Where will China’s new leaders take the country? Will Xi Jinping and his colleagues live up to the goal of establishing a society under the rule of law?

So far, Xi has been sending mixed signals. He has spoken of tolerance for sharp criticism of the Communist Party, abolishing re-education through labour, and "putting power in an institutional cage" to prevent official corruption. However, he has also counselled party officials against "allow[ing] any subversive errors when it comes to the fundamental issues".

China has also made significant progress in legal reform, but there are stubborn impediments to the rule of law. Chinese courts are still subject to political interference. The Chinese party-state still punishes government critics, charging them with vague crimes like endangering state security, sending them to re-education through labour, or just forcibly confining them to their homes. Local officials detain petitioners in "black jails" to prevent them from voicing their complaints.

Under the Chinese constitution, courts should be independent and citizens are guaranteed the right to free speech and to file petitions. The black jails, soft detention, political interference with judicial decisions, punishment for the exercise of free speech; these all appear to be inconsistent with Chinese law. Are these actions a violation of Chinese law or is there something about the Chinese legal system that outsiders simply do not understand?

Chinese leaders often refer to a "socialist legal system with Chinese characteristics" but what do they mean by "socialist" and what characteristics are "Chinese"? There never seems to be an explanation and we are left to speculate on why China does not seem to follow its own rules, especially when it comes to cases deemed "sensitive". Why does the government impose such harsh punishment on critics who do no more than post critical essays on the internet? Why does the government detain citizens without any apparent legal basis and without due process?

Is it possible that, despite all of the enormous changes in Chinese society, the guiding principle of the party is still the Maoist ideology expressed in the Chairman Mao Zedong’s famous 1957 speech "on the correct handling of contradictions among the people"? According to Mao, there are two types of contradictions: those among the people and those "between ourselves and the enemy".

Contradictions among the people can be worked out through persuasion but when it comes to contradictions with enemies, they must either be reformed through forced labour or eliminated.

How did Mao distinguish between friends and enemies? The only guidance he gave was identification by class and a simple loyalty test: you are either with us or against us.

There was never a written standard of conduct and there was no process for reaching a determination of who was and who was not a counter-revolutionary. There was certainly no process to challenge the determination once it was made.

Mao’s way of "handling contradictions" is the very definition of arbitrariness and it led to brutal political campaigns culminating in the horrors of the Cultural Revolution. Does Maoist thinking from the 1950s have any place in Chinese society today? Mao’s guidance on how to handle contradictions is, in its essence, a repudiation of the rule of law.

At a minimum, a society under the rule of law demands clear standards of behaviour and due process to determine whether those standards have been violated. China has adopted a constitution that explicitly embraces the rule of law and has passed legislation that appears to set standards of behaviour. Yet the party-state seems to reserve to itself the right to disregard the constitution and the law when it interferes with the imperative to eliminate its perceived enemies.

Is there a moral or even a utilitarian justification for such apparent lawlessness? Does the party-state’s imperative to maintain social order explain why China’s leaders feel justified in ignoring constitutional principles and legislation? Do they still heed Mao’s exhortation to identify enemies of the state and deal with them without resort to any legal constraints?

Some party leaders believe that Chinese society can remain stable only if the party maintains its monopoly on political power. Carried to its logical extreme, all criticisms of the party can be deemed to be attempts to undermine the party’s authority and thus threaten social stability. This, apparently, is what justifies repression of dissent.

Yet isn’t it time to challenge this ideological assumption? The Communist Party’s grip on power is hardly in question. The only real risk to its authority is the potential for self-inflicted wounds that cause it to lose support among the masses. Using law to regulate citizens’ relationships with each other and the state, and resolving the "contradictions" that arise, is the most stable, civilised way of resolving disputes and dissipating social conflicts.

Critics of the administration alert the authorities to social problems in need of resolution. Mass incidents that sometimes become violent are not the result of outside agitators but are actions taken when citizens’ grievances are not addressed. Without the rule of law to resolve those grievances in a civilised and effective way, citizens can and do resort to actions that tend to undermine social stability.

A commitment to the rule of law does not undermine social stability; it strengthens it. The rule of law is fundamentally incompatible with the arbitrary exercise of power that Mao encouraged during a very different time in a very different kind of society.

Wouldn’t this be a good time for China’s leaders to abandon Mao’s method of handling contradictions and unequivocally adopt the rule of law instead?

Ira Belkin is executive director of New York University’s US-Asia Law Institute

This article first appeared in the South China Morning Post print edition on Apr 08, 2013 as Rule of flaws