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Alumna 2004 Scripps College To the people behind the Avery Adventure Program, I give heartfelt thanks. As part of the application, there was a place for me to describe an experience during which I overcame a physical, emotion, or logistical obstacle. After visiting China, I feel that I have a wealth of stories of overcoming my fears and conquering situations I would have thought were impossible if I was in the U.S. Thank you for funding my project to China so I feel inspired my next travel to stay in one place for a long amount of time, rather than do a whirlwind trip of many countries. First I want to define some of the words I
am going to use in my report as I experienced them in China: Kung fu – corruption of the Chinese
words kung fu and relates to the martial arts that come from a
Taoist tradition including taiji and bagua, the style I began
practicing at Scripps College Qigong – Qigong is a type of exercise you see in the park that is supposed to activate acupuncture points and meridians by movement. Informal qigong is easy to find in China. At night you can probably find a person in the neighborhood out walking and swinging his arms in a form of qigong. I went to China intending to study what are the links between kung fu, calligraphy, and taiji in Chinese culture? Most of the answers I found were in the Parks. I was surprised because the reasons I thought I was going to China did not turn out to exist as I had imagined. For example, knowing the Claremont acupuncturist, Jing Chen, who was also highly accredited in calligraphy and taiji, gave me the expectation that it would be easy to find people in China who had the same level of mastery as Dr. Chen. However, I found early on that Dr. Chen was the exception and not the rule. I had originally set out to interview female teachers of TCM, calligraphy and kung fu about their role in these arts that men have traditionally dominated. Once I arrived in China and got a feel for the contemporary attitudes which do not apparently value the traditional arts, I became interested in seeing how the study of them is changing in modern times and what will the future hold for them. I am going to use parks as the setting for my report and describe the activities there, and what I learned from the people there because I felt I learned the most about the China by spending time in those places. At parks in China, you can find people practicing taiji next to people drawing calligraphy. Sometimes the calligraphers will stop to do the natural movements of qigong. In these ways, the practices overlapped. Although these things are stereotypical of China, it is a part of the older generation’s culture. There were more young men in the internet cafés I frequented than in any park or kung fu class. China is a modernizing country and if a young person has leisure time, there are much more hip endeavors than calligraphy or kung fu. In this paradigm, it is no wonder so many Chinese people laughed in the face of a young American girl when I told them the reasons I came to Asia. Part of my original Avery proposal was to learn why people in China study calligraphy, kung fu, and traditional medicine together in China, whereas in the U.S., I thought people tended to isolate one of the three, and focus exclusively on it. After meeting many Chinese people, especially the ones studying or teaching kung fu, I believe it is the nature of Chinese culture. For centuries, those who had many talents were revered. One example is that scholars were the most famous painters and calligraphers. Even today, my friend had a taiji teacher who was a lawyer during the week. However, Chinese culture is modernizing quickly and younger people are not taking a great interest in preserving these arts, at least not in the big cities of China: Beijing, Shanghai, and Xi’an where I was. A quick explanation could be that younger people cannot read the classical Chinese characters used in calligraphy, that Western medicine is available and affordable meaning that people have more choices when it comes to healthcare, and during the cultural revolution from 1966-1976, forms of kung fu were suppressed and the Chinese government encouraged young people to do wushu, which literally means martial arts, but is criticized for being an artificial and dance-like art without the same combat, nor Taoist implications. The older people described growing up part of the traditions. The younger people who I met in the park studying kung fu told me they became interested in kung fu because of movies. The Parks of China are centers of community. They are where older people go to meet with friends, or to meditate quietly. There is diversity in activities going on at once. If you go to the park particularly on a weekend morning and sit in one open area, you can see a qigong class, tap dancing class, and taiji class simultaneously. From the same perspective, single people, or pairs will be singing opera, practicing musical instruments, flying kites, playing badminton, or paddle ball. Also in the urban areas you can find playgrounds designed for adults. There are spaces filled with brightly colored equipment, some for children, but mainly for adults to exercise. There are chin up bars, places to stretch, elliptical machines, strength training using their own body weight. People will walk by carrying plants they have picked from the park that they will go home and brew into medicine, or eat as food. Perhaps because of their small living quarters, people take advantage of nearby parks for the open space and clean environment. I spoke to many foreigners who were backpacking around china and they consistently marveled at the liveliness of the parks. One American named Dennis said he arrived in Xi’an at 4:30 one morning and wandered into a park. He was surprised to see so many people outside, exercising, and could not help but make comparisons in his mind to his home city. “In Chicago, a person would look funny doing taiji in the park no matter what time of day it is. Also, people in Chicago belong to sports clubs; in China though, it seems that the parks allow many people from many different sections of society to mingle with each other.” The location of a park does not necessarily determine the socio-economic status of the visitors to the park because of rents in the surrounding area. Urban planning in China is such that fancy high-rise apartment buildings are built next to Hutongs [the traditional one-story neighborhoods] meaning that the economic status of the people cannot be fixed.” The freedom of movement in the park engendered a space where people could be outgoing. Frequently people would wander up and join in the movements and exercises without shyness. If there were foreign tourists walking around the park, sometimes they would stop and take a photo of something they found of interest. Their awkwardness was palpable. On the other hand, I never saw the Chinese give any mind to the camera or photographer. The Chinese did not feel reservations about wandering up and starting a conversation with the teacher. In my observation of kung fu classes, if a man walked by with a group with friends, or his family, it was not uncommon for him to stop and demonstrate for his companions what he learned in his martial arts classes in previous years. The man’s companions were usually amused by his pantomime in front of a kung fu class, and they would continue on with their day. I enjoyed the relaxed attitude about space that the Chinese propagated. Maybe because of their close living quarters they get used to having little, or no privacy, and this was the feeling they brought with them into public spaces. The Chinese have a bad reputation among some of the foreigners I met because the Chinese stare to the point of rudeness from an outsider’s perspective. Granted, people stared at me constantly, but it rarely bothered me the way it did other people. Most experiences I had in the park showed me how friendly and open the Chinese people are. Walking past a badminton court one morning, a gentleman handed me his racquet so he could take a short break. Whenever I went where there was a group of calligraphers, at least one of them would offer me a brush in case I wanted to participate. They extended their brushes and friendly manner regardless of my inability to speak Chinese. One of the best experiences while conducting my Avery project was seeing the amount of pride people carried with them in the park, especially the older people. I enjoyed the stereotypical moment when after communicating to a man that I was interested in kung fu; he grabbed my wrist and twisted it into various joint locks. After tossing me around for a few minutes, he stopped and said very slowly so I would understand, “Ba-Shi-Wu,” his age at 85. Observing another class in Tiantan Park, there was an old gentleman in his eighties as well who attended the class everyday to do his qigong exercises; the rest of the time he would sit back in the folding chair he brought with him and enjoy watching the rest of the students. I asked the translator about him, and she said that he had been coming every day for eight years. The spirit of this old man is what I would hope to share with people in the U.S. Sure, practicing kung fu may help keep you healthy, and scientists are studying what specific health benefits taiji may have. However, I believe this old gentleman came consistently to practice qigong and watch others do kung fu out of a love for the art. I hope to be motivated by the same love to dedicate years to the same pastime. I should note that not all Chinese enjoy the parks. I asked one girl studying kung fu if her parents ever visited the park. She said, “No, my parents like to watch TV.” Next I want to speak to you about the homogeneity
of attitudes I encountered regarding the traditional arts. The same sentiments echoed when I asked people about traditional Chinese medicine. Dozens of people told me that TCM is “superstitious and old-fashioned.” They prefer Western Medicine. One explanation of this is that I spoke to people in large cities: Beijing, Xi’an, and Shanghai. I imagine that if I visited more rural area finding skeptics would be more difficult. When I prodded the same people for further detail about their inclination to seek western medical treatments, they explained, “Taking Chinese herbs are difficult. You have to prepare them, cook them up to an hour, use specific types of water and containers, and they taste awful. Western medicine you can just swallow with no preparation.” As an aside from my project and as a cultural thought, the homogeneity of thought that I found extended beyond my Avery Project, as well. When I met new friends, they immediately concerned themselves with taking care of me. This aspect of the homogeneity of thought did not disappoint me - it constantly surprised me. The typical interaction I had with the Chinese was that they asked me the same questions about where I was from, had the same reaction when I told them California, “oh, there are many Chinese there,” pushed me for details about what I was doing in China, and all acted surprised when I said I was traveling alone. They went to extremes to make sure I was comfortable; frequently, at restaurants they would ask for cutlery for me to use because they could not believe that I used chopsticks. Eating with the Chinese was a ridiculous affair as well. They would not touch a dish until I had tasted it first. Even though I do not drink, I frequently ordered beer for my Chinese friends because they would not order it for themselves. Likewise, I added spice to my food because that is the way the Chinese seemed to prefer it and they would not add spice unless I took the initiative. If those were the attitudes of the native Chinese, it is no wonder it was easy for me to find teachers who enjoyed speaking with foreigners. One teacher told me that neither the Chinese people nor the Chinese government is concerned with preserving traditional martial arts. Since he is afraid that china will not preserve these arts, he will teach them to foreigners because foreigners are very interested in them. Which is true - I stayed primarily in youth hostels over my 11 weeks in china and I met more young people in their 20s traveling in China who were more interested in studying taiji and other traditional Chinese arts than most of the young Chinese university students and others who I met over a regular day in Beijing or Shanghai, who, if they were interested in martial arts, usually did wushu. I had many encounters with wushu over my time
in China. For three weeks in Beijing, I lived in the foreign students’
dorm of the Capitol College Sport University in Beijing, where
a friend from Pomona College in Claremont was studying wushu.
In order to be an instructor in the Sport University of Beijing,
a person had to win a world championship. Thus, I can assume that
the teachers there are of the highest caliber. Nevertheless, when
speaking to older (over sixty) kung fu teachers, they relentlessly
mocked the Sport University. One taiji teacher in a park mimed
a ridiculous dance and said, "That's wushu.” Early
on, I came to recognize that there were significant differences
in the attitudes of each generation, including on gender issues.
The older generation told, “Women don’t like to fight.”
The younger and middle-aged people told me, “Women are good
students and enjoy fighting.” Maybe the older people did
not receive the same Marxist-equality education that the Communists
have in schools. Nevertheless, wushu receives praises because
it is a sport that has equalized martial arts for men and women.
Instead of focusing on strength in combat, wushu requires flexibility,
quickness, and agility; these are qualities that men and women
are competitive in. Thus, the suppression of kung fu during the
Cultural Revolution and the creation of wushu can be viewed as
a gender-leveling movement. |
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