November 7, 1979
Page 31289
BATES COLLEGE STUDENTS IN CHINA
Mr. MUSKIE. Mr. President, Prof. George C. Fetter, chairman of the department of sociology at Bates College in Lewiston, Maine, saw a lifetime dream come true last April when he and his wife, Joyce, led 22 Bates students on a tour of the People's Republic of China.
The trip was the product of 4 years' negotiations with the Chinese, undertaken well before the recent move toward normalization. Thus it is a tribute to Professor Fetter's persistence and skill, as well as his commitment to educating American students about a culture so distant but so important in today's world. As a trustee of the college, and an alumnus, I am doubly proud of his achievement.
Mr. President, George Fetter recently described the trip in an article in the August 1979 issue of the Bates College Bulletin. To share it with my colleagues, I ask that the article, “Welcome to American friends” be printed in the RECORD.
The article follows:
WELCOME TO AMERICAN FRIENDS
(By George C. Fetter)
Four years of negotiations and a lifetime of yearning came to fruition when Japan Air Lines flight 005 gently lifted into the air against an easterly wind at 11:45 AM., Wednesday, April 23, heading for Beijing (Peking) China, via Anchorage and Tokyo. On that plane were 22 excited Bates students, and Joyce and I — elated but a little apprehensive. The trip to the People's Republic of China, with visits for comparative purposes to Hong Kong and Japan, represented the culmination of a short term unit whose academic requirements included considerable background reading and a major paper on a facet of Chinese society of particular interest to the individual student.
Upon arrival in Japan 17 hours later we learned that a crippling bus strike had paralyzed the Tokyo area and decimated the work force at Narita Airport. The only other hitch of the entire journey occurred when we heard the ominous announcement that China Airlines 2:20 flight into Beijing would be delayed due to mechanical difficulties. Correctly sensing cancellation, as airport sitters do, we somehow got ourselves on a late Iran National Airlines flight into Beijing.
Our excitement was more than commensurate with expectation when the lights of the great city, diffused by a heavy mist, began to appear far below us. We settled in Beijing's once-elegant Friendship Hotel, which consists of seven separate Oriental style buildings with two- and three-room suites. high ceilings, and which offers hot tea in each room around the clock.
There were chopsticks at our breakfast tables, and after some initial self-conscious fumbling we learned to handle them with increasing ease, if not grace, throughout our stay in the People's Republic. We had two very bright, talented, and personable young interpreters with us for the entire trip, as well as several others at each place we visited. One of our permanent interpreters,
Mr. Tsao, seemed able to do almost anything, and his sense of humor was priceless. His full name in Chinese means "Victory" and you can guess how long it took for us to pin that label on him. Mr. Liu was more reserved, but also a delight as we came to know him. Six hours after our arrival in China we emerged from our bus at Tien An Men Square and the gate to the Forbidden City. Given the perverse nature of human beings to become intrigued with things forbidden, we had all been curious about that whispered marvel since childhood. This feeling undoubtedly symbolized the intensity of our curiosity about the entire country since the closing of its doors in 1949, aided and abetted by American political conservatives.
It seemed as though all of Beijing's several million bicycles, with their owners astride hem, were at that moment swarming past. We left their gaily ringing bells behind and passed through the gate to the Forbidden city, into another world, another century, another time. One could now understand the frustration of travelers who for hundreds of years have been unable to put into words this fabled and haunting place. Our busy cameras would have to do the talking. It is safe to say that from here on we viewed China (and each other) through two different but simultaneous perspectives: one naked eye and one single lens reflex. Whatever one's final impressions of this city within a city, the presence of such profusion of gold and jade accoutrements to Imperial China helps one to understand revolutions against the privileged.
We had originally asked the Chinese government to allow us to see as much of the educational process as time permitted. Gracious acquiescence to this request began with a delightful afternoon at the University of Beijing. After a lengthy question-and-answer period with the chairman of the Department of Social Science, and a staff member from the Chancellor's office, we were turned loose with a group of English majors to walk about the very beautiful campus and engage in informal give-and-take. Some very pointed and direct questions were asked during the earlier more formal session, such as: is not freedom of thought clearly sacrificed when all institutions of learning are controlled by the State? At the University of Beijing we began to encounter the party-line responses one tends to find in the Soviet Union, as well as the recurring theme of blaming the notorious Gang of Four for everything from industrial shortcomings, to the removal of psychology from university curricula, to stoppage in the plumbing — with what justification it is difficult to assess.
The University has 3.2 million volumes in its library and many of them are in Russian or English, although a large portion are quite dated. We learned here and at subsequent visits that Chinese universities have a far better faculty-student ratio than we do — three or four students to one teaching instructor. By Communist admission, even pride, educational goals are directed toward the achievement of state-formulated socialist objectives, and we found heavy emphasis on science, engineering, language, and fairly strong but pragmatic programs in the social sciences.
A night at the Beijing Opera (where the audience had to await the tardy arrival of Henry Kissinger) topped off a wildly busy day. China was already coming out of our ears and we hadn't been in the country 24 hours!
The last evening in Beijing Mr. Chang Yiao-ming, vice director of the American section of China's International Travel Department. sponsored a 10-course duck dinner. He chuckled with benign amusement upon being informed that we had arrived in blue jeans and sneakers. There was no time to stop at the hotel and change, after a day of climbing all over the Great Wall and exploring one of the Ming Tombs. The duck, delicately seasoned and sliced to chopstick manageability, would reduce French cuisine to second billing. Course after delicious course was punctuated with increasingly convivial toasts of wine, Pijou beer, and the deadly mao tais (not to be confused in any way, shape, or manner with the popular and milder Hawaiian mai-tais) to anyone and everyone, real or imaginary, who could be perceived as having any sway over Chinese-American friendship. (Surely, it occurred to us, those people out there on their bicycles don't eat like this.)
The ancient city of Xian, which we had also made a special request to see because of its far inland location and renowned archeological discoveries, was both the cornerstone and highlight of our visit to the People's Republic. It is also of considerable historical importance, at one time constituting the world's largest city and crossroads between East and West. At Hua Qing Hot Springs, 35 miles from the city, the Kuomintang's Chiang Kai-shek was arrested by Manchurian Chinese Nationalists and forced to make common cause with the Communists against the invaders from Japan. Xian is one of the world's few cities continuously inhabited since Neolithic times, over 6,000 years B.C. Beautifully preserved Stone Age dwellings, artifacts, and skeletons are preserved in situ at the Ban Po Museum near the city's outskirts.
One of the stunning sights of the trip was the excavation in the Ch'in Tomb area, begun in 1974 and called by the National Geographic magazine, "China's Incredible Find.” Here archeologists are unearthing what is thought to be the remains of a 2,200 year-old terra cotta army of 8,400 life-sized foot soldiers, cavalry, horses, and chariots in formation and full battle array. We had not realized what a privilege it was to see this until reading upon return Georgia Hesse's piece in the May 22 San Francisco Examiner-Chronicle: ". . . today a few fortunate visitors are conducted around the digs .. . that someday may surpass Egypt in interest." Qin Shi Huang Di, the unifier and first Emperor of China who built the Great Wall, and this vast pottery army to guard his burial grounds, is reported to have used over three quarters of a million men on each project.
Wonders beyond imagination are thought to lie under a huge burial hill in the area, and it was like pulling teeth to get archeology students Steve Mandell, '79, and Steve White, "79, out of there and back to attend an evening musical in Xian.
Perhaps Xian's greatest appeal lay in its "human accessibility." We encountered thousands of Chinese who had seldom seen a Western face, and to pause for a moment on the sidewalk was to draw immediately a curious and friendly crowd. We caused some fine traffic jams, mostly bicycles, don't forget. This sense of contact was enhanced by a most informative afternoon at Shaanxi Teacher's University, with over 100 English majors and their instructors who took us to their classes, asked and answered countless and excellent questions on subjects from extended families to politics. It was hard to leave Xian, very hard.
Nanjing (Nanking) with its ancient earth wall, river front, trees, grass, parks, and lakes present a different and greener face. In terms of the educational purpose of our trip the highlight here was a half day spent in a large chemical factory commune with its own residences, schools, and hospitals. After classes, little children would tug at our hands and sleeves to try to prevent us from leaving. We noted again here that in Chinese schools physical activity in the form of games, dances, and in-place calisthenics was regularly interspersed with the "three Rs." The factory leaders responded with thoughtfulness and equanimity to very pointed questions relative to pollution, high noise levels with no ear protection, eye protection, accident rates on the slippery floors, and many more. These men and women are very much aware that, though they have made much progress, they have a long way to go and they are determined, through intensive education and hard work, to get there.
Acupuncture, which had seemed like an esoteric and obscure medical practice, had become a commonplace sight by this time and we were readily permitted close-up photographs of it in operation. At a clinic in Nanjing, Jack Barnett, '79, who had a head cold, was permitted to try it. As an aside, we had no serious illness, the nemesis of tour leaders, throughout our stay in the Orient. We also had the opportunity to visit the collection of Chian Song Yian's beautiful and delicate watercolors. As an indulgence on a busy day it was also pleasant to visit Five Islands Park and see our first giant pandas.
The double decker rail, automobile, and pedestrian bridge over the mighty Yangtze River at Nanjing cannot match Dr. Sun Yat-sen's mausoleum for sheer architectural beauty. It is, however, every inch an engineering marvel, over 22,000 feet long and requiring over an hour to walk across. Russian, Swedish, Japanese, and American engineers agreed that it could not be built. and the Chinese are understandably proud of it.
The five-hour train ride from Nanjing to Shanghai — China's largest city — takes the traveler through two hundred miles of rural, rice-growing countryside. Here the phrase "labor-intensive" agriculture takes on real meaning as one watches numerous large clusters of peasants wearing wide-brimmed hats working the paddies. We were to see more of Chinese farming while spending the better part of each of two days on communes in the Shanghai and Kwangchou areas.
The first of these, the Shen-Tong People's Commune, was collectivized in 1958 and is one of what the Chinese classify as a suburban commune. "Suburban" is an unfortunate translation because to the American mind it conjures up images of the bland middle-class life of country clubs, poolside daiquiris, backyard cookouts, and streets with names like Partridge Run Road.
Actually, the Chinese use of the term is literal and accurate for it simply means near, or even in conjunction with the urban. While these communes may have a rural agriculture base, they also have brigades which specialize, for example, in machine repair, textiles, aquaculture, and many other things. We enjoyed the best meal in the Orient on the Shen-Tong Commune. Each of the many dishes of chicken, pork, fruit, and vegetables was fresh that day, according to the soft-spoken commune director.
Shanghai, with its taller and more massive buildings, cacophonic waterfront, and subtle differences in attire and attitude comes closest to what Westerners generally think of as a metropolis. It is not possible to describe it in this article. But a "must" is a visit to one of the city's 11 Children's Palaces, many of which are former homes of wealthy British and Chinese merchants who made their fortunes in the classic Marxian sense from the sweat of Chinese labor.
In the children's palaces thousands upon thousands of youngsters can learn: dance, ballet, woodwork, painting, needlepoint, singing, and the playing of musical instruments. It eases the mind and warms the heart to hear the piping voices of these children who are finally being given a chance. Yet the other and darker side of the picture obtrudes itself upon the visitor who wanders into a bookstore to see the political indoctrination in the cleverly written and illustrated children's books. At every turn and at every passing minute this duality continuously assails the intellect and expands the horizons of thought for any individual willing to bring to the experience of China an open mind.
We were far more free in China than we had thought we'd be. There was no problem of shifting the next day's activities if enough of us agreed, and there was no objection whatever if any of us wished to pass up a planned activity to walk or take public transportation wherever we wanted. It was also a relief to be in a country where theft is uncommon and most hotels don't even have keys to their doors. One could stroll the narrow waterfront alleys of a city like Shanghai, with its historical reputation for knavery, without the slightest fear or apprehension even late at night. It was startling in a wry sort of way that only when we entered the so-called "free world" in Hong Kong from the "non-free" world of Communism were we specifically admonished to look out for pickpockets, purse-snatchers, and dishonest money-changers. Skeptics will say that any country can prevent crime with police-state tactics and a cop on every corner. But there are not cops on every street corner or every hotel floor in China, and it is only fair to say, and we think expert Sinologists would agree, that there is something in contemporary Chinese culture and concepts of interpersonal obligation which is responsible for a basic honesty. We were instructed in literature received before leaving home not to take pictures from airplanes or at border crossings — and I am sure we could have got no closer to nuclear test sites than Chinese travelers could get to ours.
A most interesting afternoon was spent in what the Chinese term a "middle school,"spanning grades 9 through 12. We attended classes in chemistry, physics, biology, mathematics, and English and thoroughly enjoyed theatrical productions put on by the students in an underground auditorium which they themselves had constructed. School principal, Mr. Chao, anticipating that a little recreation would be in order, had arranged for ping pong games and a basketball game between the Bates worthies and a team of Chinese students, wiry gym instructors and, for all we knew, a few ringers from downtown. Final score: Bates College Bobcats 18, Shanghai All Stars 12. We suspect traditional Chinese hospitality played a part in the final outcome, because the Bates heroes were either not in the best of shape or had neglected to read the small print warning on their mao-tai bottles.
The attentiveness of Chinese students would be the envy of American teachers. College entrance is a hope of every student and parent, but entrance exams are difficult and highly competitive, with the result that a small percentage goes on to college. No bright student is prevented from going to college or university because of financial need. This is not to say that in a country of almost a billion people that the son or daughter of a high level official never slips through. After all, the same sort of thing is even reputed to happen at Harvard.
We inquired prior to departure about the possibility of actually getting inside a Chinese classroom. Not only did we visit and attend many classes at all levels but we were actually privileged to participate in the educational process of the People's Republic. Miss Ching, English teacher, shanghaied John Beaman, 19, to front and center to read several passages in authentic "American English." The middle-schoolers thought this was great stuff, but must have been slightly puzzled in that many Chinese teachers are taught their English with British accents. I wonder what they'll think when their next American visitor is from Texas or South Carolina.
The Tali People's Commune, about an hour's ride through the countryside from Kwangchou, was also established in the 1950s and revealed considerable diversification. Located far to the South in sub-tropical China, Tali is able to grow crops such as peanuts, watermelon, and oranges. We saw at Tali a huge above-ground aqueduct used for irrigation of terraced orange groves. We also saw livestock on these communes such as pigs, chickens, ducks, geese, cows, and even mink. At Tali, too, we were welcomed into the modest homes of the workers, who were appreciative of the chance to move into decent housing from squalid hovels — but who were also quite candid in stating that they had "put in" for better housing and hoped to make a move. While not presuming to make ringing statements concerning theoretical socialism, all workers agreed that their lives had been sharply upgraded under the Communists in terms of such tangible items as income, diet, medical care, and level of schooling. Even the most skeptical China-watchers agree that China's literacy rate, perhaps 10 per cent before World War II now stands at 70 per cent, even given a rigorous definition of the term.
The Kwangchou Trade Fair is a famous event in the world of international commerce and we spent a leisurely morning observing it. Ironically, its very atypicality can give as much insight into the state of Chinese technology as an average factory, because here one can view what China herself displays as her best. It is neither fair nor possible for one individual to make sweeping judgments about an event as diverse as a trade fair. I can personally only make an assessment that at least in marine engineering both their high octane gasoline and diesel engines are roughly comparable to those we had in the Navy in World War II. If one judges according to actual horsepower delivered to propellor shafts relative to engine weight and fuel costs the Chinese have a long way to go. Indeed they readily concede this and are genuinely eager for our assistance.
It is traditional for groups traveling in China to honor their hosts by giving a return banquet, and we gave a dandy. Bates College responded to our request for funds to help with the occasion, and, to make sure the Chinese would not forget us we each contributed ten yuans of our own.
Kwangchou's elegant Chinese Bei Yan Restaurant actually put on an 11-course dinner, and, to appreciate this, Henry Kissinger gets only 10! Mr. Liu, Victory, local interpreter Miss Kuo, and the Luxingshe Director for the Kwangchou area were among the guests. But there was an undertone of sadness amidst the gaiety and laughter on our last night in the People's Republic. Not to sound maudlin, but there was hardly a dry Chinese or American eye as we said goodbye to Victory, Mr. Liu, and Miss Kuo and boarded the train, now on our own, for the border and Hong Kong.
It is now, possible to make this trip both by boat and by train without changing trains at Shumshun, but we had the somewhat romantic desire to cross the famous border bridge on foot as so many thousands had done, legally and illegally, before us. And there was no sense of relief or joy at leaving the still visible, mist-shrouded mountains of China and our many new, acquaintances behind us. Indeed, back here in the States several friends have asked us whether it is not a relief to be out of Communist China and back home in the good old USA, almost as if the deep and natural joy of returning to one's beloved hearth and homeland is somehow a final corroboration of the evils of communism. Unfortunately it is not that simple and we are finding this experience difficult to talk about, let alone write about. It will take a long time to sort it out, but of this we are sure: s27 was Bates College short term at its best and a perfect blend of background academic study and first-hand observation. It was a wrenching intellectual and emotional experience and whatever the ultimate conclusions of each of us individually, none of us will ever be the same again.
All of you, GO! And the more skeptical you are of the PRC the sooner you should get there: before normalization between the United States and China runs its inevitable course and there is a Kentucky Fried Chicken on the Great Wall, a Coca-Cola billboard at the Ming Tombs, a McDonald's in the Forbidden City, and before the muggers and pickpockets are once again free to roam the storied waterfront of Shanghai.
Mao-tai Toast
(This is what I would term a "raw poem," appearing exactly as I wrote it late one night in my Peking hotel room. I remain, at this writing, too awed by the head-wrenching experience of China to revise this poem, and so can only hope the forgiveness of the reader will overlook the occasional poetic roughness. J.B.)
It's easy to get carried away
with the enthusiastic energy
of being in China, of
sitting down to eat with Chinese hosts as friends;
And it's easy to get very enthusiastic
with mao-tai burning in your belly
and toasts ringing thru the room, good-naturedly competing to be drunk.
It's just easy to be caught up by all that.
And when you get caught up by all that,
when it turns into a game, or a contest,
in turns into something not real,
without heart, without soul.
So I just want to take a minute
to get past the protocol and the diplomacy and get to what matters
between our two great peoples,
let us remember what that means.
For me, it comes to this:
I now have friends in China.
There are people in this country
that I care about,
who are important to me.
I now know the Chinese people to be
a warm, friendly, honorable people.
I now have a personal interest in
the continued good will of our nations.
For this reason, that I care deeply for
and respect the Chinese people,
not that our governments may have
parallel interests,
or for any other reason,
I will remember my friends here
and not let my government deny me
they who are important to me.
For all of our sakes,
for the sake of all of our beautiful children who are our only real hope,
let us remember the friendship
we have found here;
let us remember that in time of peace
things go well.
Cooperation and good will get the work done,
and the children can grow up happy,
rather than fearful and hungry and cold.
So let us drink, my new friends,
let us drink to friendship and peace,
let us drink to the happy laughter
of children.
Peace will come.
Let it begin
with We.
JACK BARNETT, 79.