Eva, Alan, and Marty teaching in China 2006
Chengdu
First
impressions of Chengdu....more cars, the bike lanes quite narrowed from two
years ago. Heavy, heavy thick air, like a hand pressing against the chest,
going uphill on a level street. Numerous Starbuck’s with US prices, with bright
energetic Chinese smart young things making deals. The quick pulse of
capitalism; a fancy Japanese hotel and restaurant with a ‘personal chef
advisor’ (A Canadian married to a Chinese woman) to steer us through the menu.
Two large Buddhist temples with devoted worshipers, tourists, vegetarians, and
tea drinkers. I remember being surprised in 2004 to see that Buddhism was being
practiced: but then, many of the images I had of China don’t fit the current
reality. Soon, as we began teaching, we learned how radically family life is
changing.
Prof. Nima, Eva, and Martin
Alan and Prof Nima
Perhaps
you will recall that Marty and I had taught for Professor Nima at Sichuan University for an afternoon at the end of
our trip in 2004. We had our students sit in a circle and, after asking them to
pretend to be our ‘California’ students, we taught them to respond as our
students at home would, participating, interrupting, expressing feelings, a far
cry from the usual classroom scene in China, where the professor speaks and the
students are there to write down every word. When we asked for a scene from
their lives, they wanted to work on the problem of the wife and mother who also
has to work. They participated
freely—in two family sculptures’, one depicting a boy who avoided school
because he felt he had to protect his mother from her abusive husband, and one
evoking the plight of a modern working mother being pulled in all directions by
her baby, mother-in-law, boss, best girlfriend, and lastly, her husband.
Each roleplayer tied a rope around her waist and tugged as hard as
she/he could. The students volunteered eagerly and participated fully,
empathizing with her plight and making suggestions as to how she might lighten
her load.
Eva, Alan, and Marty
Despite
this success which led to our being asked to return, I must confess that I was
fretful in anticipating how the teaching would actually go. I had brought
the DVD of ‘Yi Yi’ a Chinese film in Mandarin that I thought could be the
springboard for discussion if all else failed....Oh foolish Alan! No need, no
need, no need. Eva has attained a level of confidence and skill that guaranteed
from the start that the work would be deep, engrossing and heartfelt. The
story of the boy who wasn’t sure about his “flowering” proved to be a leitmotif
throughout the week. Further, the
students all had enough stories of their own families’ life for a year’s
teaching.
So,
imagine a large room, emptied of tables with chairs around the periphery.
Twenty to forty graduate students in a circle. Average age 24, many from rural
villages on scholarships, Most with 7 years of English writing and reading (
and little or no practice in speaking), a gifted translator, Tracy, and the
three of us.
Our
class was populated by graduate students from the psychology and education
departments. Just as at home, the ratio
of men to women was highly skewed.
After
a few group warm-ups which were enthusiastically embraced by the group, we
began by enacting the story I had liked
so much about the boy in Lhasa: One of
the professors had told us a story of an 8 year old boy he had met in Llasa
where he and his family had arrived that day after climbing and kow-towing all
the way for hundreds of miles. The boy told him that his father said that the
merit from this walk was his own flowering. "You can become the very
flower you were meant to be," he said, and the boy added, with a worried
look, "but I don't know what kind of flower I will be!"
To
our delight, Professor Shao Lin volunteered to play the boy, and, to much
laughter, decided to call him “little Nima.” He told the visiting professor (as
we enacted the scene) that he hated kow-towing, that he was tired, and didn’t
even want to become a flower.
Prof. Shaolin
He
wanted to be an eagle, it turned out. It was a sweet scene, with his
role-played mother giving him encouragement and praising him for his
achievement and the father speaking about the importance of buddhist practices
and family tradition—two themes fast disappearing from Chinese culture. As the
students shared their reactions after the scene, it seemed clear that only one
or two empathized with the father. They wanted to be eagles, all of them, and
fly to an American life style with plenty of American freedoms and goods.
First:
a word about family sculptures , because they were to form the basis of our
work for the week. Invented in England, this exercise was used and developed by
Virginia Satir, one of the first and most influential family therapists on the
West Coast. The directions are simple. “I would like you to take the members of
your family (or group) and sculpt them in such a way so that, looking at the
sculpture as I might be if I were passing it in a park, I’d understand
something important about this family.” The sculptor is instructed to use as
few words as possible, and the group or family members are asked to be as pliable
as they can be—like clay, or playdough.The technique is generous: it can be
extended in many ways: sculpt the ideal family, sculpt the family in the worst
of times, sculpt the part of the group that annoys you, etc.
In
our first class we asked students to
form groups of four or five and select a situation from their family lives or
from that of close friends or neighbors that they could sculpt and show to the
rest of the class. The stories varied tremendously—beginning with amusing,
somewhat superficial conflicts---such as the one titled, “How to become a bad
boy,” about one who refused to go to school and stole money from his
grandmother to treat his friends, or the one about the mother who saved her
money so she could send her daughter to Japan to get facialplastic surgery in
order to attract a rich man.
As
time went on, more upsetting themes appeared. A common one was the loneliness
of growing up in the care of a resentful grandmother under the one-child rule.
So often, there was not another child of the same age near enough to play with.
The stories of a four-year old girl who was lured to a neighbor’s house with
the promise of a pear was most upsetting—she was raped—and while justice was
served with the arrest of the man, the story followed her and marked her as a
bad girl even in Kindergarten. We all responded to the story’s pathos, but the
outcome was that she was enraged against men, whom she kicked around joyfully
as the scene unfolded. (Better in a psychodrama
than in real life!) All of the stories were sculpted, titled, and viewed by the
whole class. Then, one by one, we sculpted them again and developed the scenes
into psychodramas, of which I will describe one in detail next time so you have an idea of what went
on.
Sue's Story
I changed her name, but it's worth noting that many of the
studens had both Chinese and English names.
Sue surprised us all by saying she wanted to sculpt her family herself, with no
help from the professors. I (Eva) pretended to leave the room in an exaggerated
show of not being needed any more--but it turned out I was, after all. Her
story was about her mother and herself. Widowed a few years ago, her mother had
remarried a man who was blatantly unfaithful to her. Sue was made the
go-between, sent by her mother to bring him home from his mistress' house. He
refused, saying that if his wife found the situation so difficult, he'd just
head south with his mistress. Sue's compassion for her mother moved all of us;
her sorrow at being able only to deliver bad news was touching. While these
scenes were unfolding, Alan saw that there was another character in this scene,
one who hadn't been sculpted. Using a red velvet drape that had hidden some
equipment in the classroom, he placed it in the scene, saying, "This is
your dead father --he needs to be addressed." As he did this, Sue started
to weep and I went to put an arm around her shoulder, letting her collapse on
me. "Let's go talk to him, " I said, and we both knelt at his feet.
here Sue is looking at Alan who had asked her to pick someone to represent her
father, and explains to her that she may have some feelings to share with him.
Sue has just recovered from her deep sobs, and we go to address her father.
There are no photos of Sue's grief, either
sobbing in the beginning, or quietly weeping at my side as we sat at her
father's feet. My guess is that the photographer was either personally to moved
to shoot, or felt that the moment was too intimate. Sue later told us that she
had felt sad before, but never expressed her grief as fully.
She sat with me --squatted, really
--and told her father how much she missed him, how much her mother needed him,
and how shocked they all were by his sudden death. After this conversation had
gone on a while --I had her role-reversing with her father, of course, and he
told her how sorry he was to have caused her so much pain, how he hadn't known
he was going to die, either--I was wondering how long I could still squat there
with her and, hoping for some lessening of her grief, asked her to tell her
father what she would remember about him, to describe how he was still with
her, in her memory, her imagination, mind and dreams. Speaking as her father
through role reversal, Sue had him say the words she longed to hear, "You
have done the best you could for your mother and your family. You couldn't fix
that all by yourself. I love you and I know you were loyal to me, even though
you were helping mother with her second husband. You seem to think you have done
something wrong, but you haven't. The shame that came to the family is not your
fault.”
As she exchanged stories with him
(role-reversing again) about some of the happy times they had had as a family,
going on picnics, playing behind their house, she began to recover her
composure, allowing her to say another good-bye, and to leave the scene (which
allowed her ancient director to stand up again, much relieved but for less
lofty reasons). Because the theme of losing parents --mostly to go to work and leave
them with their grandmothers--was so common in this group, there was a
unanimous empathy during this scene and Sue, who had been rather peripheral to
the group so far, took a central place as people shared their own deep
reactions after the enactment was over. The next day, we were all delighted and
surprised. She looked so different: transformed, from a serious,somewhat
remote, rather dour person to an open, joyful one. She had isolated herself
with her pain. Having shared it, taken a long step in the journey of grieving,
she was clearly relieved and able to join the class in a new and much more
lively way.
Next: we left the campus to tour the Danba region (part of the 'autonomous'
Tibetan area) with Professors Nima, Shaolin, our videographer, Professor
Buqiong (another Tibetan), Yishi, a Tibetan friend of Nima's, Anthropology
Professor David Burnett and his wife Anne who is teaching English in Chengdu,
Mr.Zhao Xingmin (A Chinese official of some sort whose role never became clear)
and a few students: Mary and Lily, our honorary granddaughters, Summer, the
glamor girl of our trip, Jimmy, a budding businessman pretending to want to be
a teacher, and Carrick, another excellent English speaker and Tom, a psychology
student.
Trip to Luding and
Danba
For two years I (Alan) had wanted
to show Eva some of the Tibetan world that Marty and I had explored in 2004.
The chance to teach together in Chengdu put us within 8 hours of Kham, the
eastern realm of Tibet. Marty had hired a car and guide and was to go with
another couple deep into Kham for three weeks. On the last trip I was
struggling with oxygen deprivation much of the time: the long days of bad roads
and high altitude of Marty’s trip were out of reach.
Professor Nima offered the perfect solution. He planned to
visit a number of Tibetan farming villages at lower elevations to check up on a
number of projects he had started whose purpose was the preservation of local
culture. Would we like to go with him on a week of travel with Danba as home
base? We would go with an anthropologist and his wife,David and Anne
Burnett, Professor Shaolin, several of our Chinese students and two
Tibetan graduate students. YES! Here are Eva's photos and descriptions of that
trip.
Dr.
Nima's intent, in bringing the Chinese students on this trip was to aquaint
them with the Tibetan way of life before it disappears, to encourage them to
help in the effort to preserve this culture. There were many stories of his own
upbringing in the area. Coming from a noble family now scattered and imprisoned
by the communists, he started out in a village in the Danba area,and
worked his way up. First he worked as a messenger for the road crews, than he
worked on the road crew--long, hard days with pay that was almost nonexistent.
He loved to read and showed us the mountain paths he used to travel and the
rocks, in the middle of the river, that held him as he lay there, reading in the sun. In the
villages, he and our hosts and
his informants lectured the students on village festivals, dances,songs, school
life, agriculture and the changes being brought
about by the Chinese government which is mining the entire area, building roads
and hotels and getting ready for tourism. The climax --not attended by us for
obvious reasons--was a hike during which they had to cross a wild river on a
rope bridge, The students were still shaking with remembered fear and
excitement when they told us about it.
Our trusty jeep that took us up
into the Kham Tibetan area-- as we waited to board our vehicle, huge televised
messages appeared on one of the gigantic screens seen here and there on the
campus. "it is 8:45, classes begin in l5 minutes. Hard work means good
jobs. Work hard and achieve!"
The Luding bridge, sometimes
called the Red Army bridge because the 8th Red Army men with machine guns
crossed it and destroyed parts of the town and some of its citizens as they
marched against Chiang Kai Chek I
believe this is the Yamuna Cher river which we followed up into the mountains.
Leaving Cheng Du meant driving on a good road (oh, the illusion that this would
last!) past factory after smog producing factory, small rice and vegetable
farms, and finally, misty mountains and forests.
Some of
the people of Luding and Danba wear modern clothes.
A
typical Danba alley way -- our restaurant was midway up these stairs.
Some of you have asked what we ate --so here it goes: In
Cheng Du, we were well fed in the Foreign Experts Center--sweet and sour pork,
eggs scrambled with tomatoes and onions, chicken and mushrooms, speaking of
which we ate a lot of tree fungi, quite delicious, like black mushrooms but
more delicate--lots of noodles and rice. In the Tibetan area, food
was less familiar. First of all, at every meal and in between is Chai,
the Tibetan tea fortified with tsampa flour and yak butter, the latter usually
rancid. Having got quite ill after tasting some in a Bhutan monastery, I
quickly learned to ask for Chinese tea, which is always available. Breakfast is
a thin gruel, tea, yoghurt, and various noodle, pork and rice dishes made with
hot peppers. Luckily, Alan had foreseen my inability to eat any of this and
brought instant oatmeal which served us very nicely. In the evening, a similiar
meal would be served with many more dishes—momos (noodles filled with meat),
yoghurt, rice, noodles with pork, peanuts,
intestine meat with peppers and other greens. Our hosts were kind enough to
make a small amount of food without the stinging peppers for me.
We
always had enough to eat and the fare was very hearty. Since the Tibetans
seldom eat lunch, I learned to stock up with yoghurt, crackers, and apples for
the mid day. Two customs that surprised me were the lack of ceremony at Chinese
meals. It startling to see people throwing leftovers on the floor, for instance,
and that one is expected to leave the table as soon as the last bite is
swallowed, with almost no comment. Presented with farewell presents, our
students accepted them silently. Even the more formal ceremonies seemed to be
on their way out. A visiting official is met at the border.He is presented with
the usual white scarves, which he puts on, takes off, and gives to his
assistant who wads them up and throwns them into the car. It seems to me the
Chinese are practical --they see to their own and others' needs with great
efficiency--but in our group some of the finer points of social intercouse
seemed often to be missing.
Driving up this river which is
lined with mountains , we were surprised to learn that these hills are
completely undermined—literally -- by tunnels
made to mine the metal ore. We entered one of them--our driver, Dr.
Nima, looking for a short cut-- quickly got lost in the vast, electrically lit
cave that had pathways and exits going in several directions so that we had to
retrace our steps to get out again! "First time I ever got lost in a
cave," said Anne Burnett.
Alan climbing up to our bedroom at our host’s house. .
Children of Danba
Our Last Trip with Dr. Nima
These photos of the high Tibetan mountains and the
Tibetan plateau illustrate the last of our trips with Dr. Nima and our
students.
Still in our three cars, we went back to Danba and then started for the highest
mountain passes --12,500 feet-- and the grasslands above them. Going up the
Chao Jin River Valley (it means following the sheep's path), we drove along the
wild, white river flanked by forests in autumnal reds and yellows. The golden
Aspen, the red grape vines and then--the first look at Gunga Mountain, the
highest peak in the area! Ir can't be described. The intense blue reveals a sky
never seen before and the mountain, surrounded by the whitest of cumulous
clouds...The phrase,"the roof of the world'" makes sense to us now.
Alan surprised us all on this part of the trek, where he had needed oxygen 2
years before and felt quite uncomfortable. This year, Nima and the students
were ready with more oxygen and Alan, who had had 2 carotid stents placed
barely a month before, didn't need any! He felt just fine! So, hats off to
modern medical engineering!
Alan at 12500 ft!
Eva and Alan
triumphant at the top of the pass
These mountains are stark, high, and very cold. The peaks are above 20,000
ft.No one lives at the upper altitudes, but nomads pass there with their herds
of sheep, horses, and yaks.
Every mountain is a testimonial to the spiritual life of the people who string white and colored silk scarves up to the highest peaks, build monasteries, and create chortens and small shrines with mani stones in special places. The people were friendly and stopped us to converse in sign language and (translated) Tibetan. There was no begging.
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A Holy woman or warrior?
Sadly enough, with the impact of the train from Cheng Du to
Llasa, and many more routes planned to make access easier, the remoteness of
this area is lessening, and yet another dignified, spiritual way of life
threatened by tourism, seen as the main attraction of this area by the Chinese
occupiers.
On the other side of the passes: a whole new world.
The grasslands --wide expanses of green hills dotted with
hundreds of yaks and ponies--ringed by more snowy peaks, where Eva rode one of
the Tagung ponies decked out in the brightest colors: saddle blankets and
bridles glowing with bright colored wools. The ponies give you a smooth, easy
ride with a single-foot gait.
If I hadn't run
out of breath at 10,000 feet I could have stayed on this pony all day.
Two Khampa ladies on
horses. They almost ran me over.
Our last days took us to the trading town of Song Du Chao, a mountain trading town
where incredibly handsome, bejeweled Khampas haggled over produce, played
billiards, bought huge sides of yak, yak fur & skins and materials to make
their clothes.
A Khampa Beauty
Much toing and froing and lots of laughter, a solid, cheerful
group Coming down was a real comedown.
Buying-out a yoghurt seller
One of the worst roads I've ever been on, rivaling
Dharamsala in India, over washboard roads filled with mad drivers who insisted
on passing on the zig-zag curves that lead us to the Kanding peaks.
Our trip ended in the town of Kanding. First, a farewell lunch in a
traditional restaurant (built for the
tourist trade which is Chinese at this point) watched over by Mao and Co. --
Kanding is a lovely town, at about seven thousand feet -- lots of Chinese
tourists, shops, restaurants, a lovely river -- but our group was still
experiencing some chest pains from the passes -- so we left happily.
Back
in ChengDu
Eva and her “Granddaughters” looking over pictures from Kham.
Our farewells were sad. Our 'granddaughters' Lilly and Mary had taken such good
care of us. Now they wanted to take us out for a last hot-pot dinner and,
though we knew they couldn't afford it, insisted on paying. They declared this
quite dramatically and then managed to slip the bill to Alan who, of course,
paid it happily thanking them loudly. Always carrying their English
dictionaries, they helped us eat, do laundry, shop, going out in the rain to
get us water--very dear. We thanked them by inviting them for a last meal at
"Grandma's Kitchen" the Western restaurant in Cheng Du. They shyly
asked us to teach them how to use a soup spoon and a fork. They live in the
university and had actually never been to the city --the university is on the outskirts,
I don't know whether it's their natural conservatism, lack of cash, or why they
wouldn't chance the bus ride to a new adventure. We had all got to know each
other on this excursion, learned a lot, enjoyed ourselves immensely, and
apparently introduced them to some new ways of teaching and learning.