It's massive. The gigantic triangular terminal
building looks like something from the future. White
steel girders align the roof while see through glass panes
decorate the sides. It's awe-inspiring, breathtaking, and
very empty. I tread carefully on the ground, and took my
first steps in the People's Republic.
Passengers alighting from the flight from Narita seemed to be
the only passengers in the terminal building, and it was only
a little after eight in the evening. I rode the people
mover from the international section to the domestic side to
the baggage claim area. It took over ten minutes to traverse
one of the largest (hu)man-made structures in the world.
Immigration was efficient, and the lady smiled at me as she
flipped through my passport, which bears various entry and
exit stamps from Taiwan. I was somewhat apprehensive,
for there was always the fear of being denied entry at the
border, particularly as I have always been a very outspoken
critic of the Chinese government. A month earlier, when I
applied for entry to the People's Republic, I wrote "Taipei"
as my place of birth. That was where I was born. But that was
not enough. The lady at the visa office sternly told me to
put "Taipei, China". To the Chinese government that makes all
the difference. To some, a word makes all the difference. In
the section asking if I held another passport, the lady
insisted that I declare myself as being Chinese. "Taiwan
is a part of China, you must say you hold a passport of
China."
In an Orwellian world where manipulation is information,
where an untruth repeated a hundred times becomes holier
than the truth itself, where Big Brother is your friend
in need and can be your worst nightmare, an individual
cannot object or argue. There is no individual to speak
of, no individual thought or dissent that can be
tolerated.
The question is do you disobey your conscience and
conform without protest? Is conforming forsaking your
beliefs and a betrayal of your very identity? Is not
protesting a sign of agreement? These are questions that
I wrestled with even before I stepped foot in the
countries I planned to visit.
The greatest irony of all is that my Chinese visa
was issued on the page opposite my previous visa for
Taiwan. A picture of the Great Wall of China face to face
with a Formosan Blue Pheasant.
At the time, I said nothing, but felt this rage inside.
This was a test of my personal pride, challenging the
fundamentals of me as a human being. Even before beginning
my journey to the People's Republic I wrestled with my
conscience and beliefs. Technically, my country of birth is
at war with China, and I staunchly refuse to buy products
that are Made in China (partly because of politics, but
partly they are simply substandard and often made under
terrible labour conditions). Are my beliefs being
compromised simply by entering a country whose politics and
policies leave a sour taste in my mouth?
If this were the case, then my travels to
Burma/Myanmar, Israel, the United States or even Singapore,
may have made me a hypocrite. If this were the case, then
certainly visiting China (and then north Korea) would
undermine the core values of individual freedom, democracy
and freedom from fear that I subscribe to. I am not trying
to justify my wanderlust or brush over the choice of
countries I travel to, but as I grow older I do feel one
should differentiate between endorsement of a particular
regime and the destination you wish to visit. You are after
all, visiting the country, the people (if you can even
speak to or approach them...), even though at times
traveling somewhere as a tourist means you are effectively
bankrolling a regime.
"China warmly welcomes you !" a massive sign said in
English, and the message was repeated in a variety of
languages. As I waited for the airport people mover, an
automatic train that spans the length of the massive
terminal building, I heard soft classical music
emitted from hidden speakers. Classical music? Is that not,
according to Mao and the Chinese Communist Party at one
point in time , western and bourgeois culture that
needs to be uprooted and eradicated? Little did I realise
that this would be the first of many contradictions and
surprises on my maiden voyage tot he People's Republic of
China.
The half an hour taxi ride to downtown Beijing went without
much conversation, except for the initial outbursts from
the driver in heavily accented Mandarin I was not used to.
I told the driver where I would like to go, and said a
friend recommended that it would most convenient to a taxi.
"Your friend is so bad! Very bad!" The driver kept on
shouting. "(S)he gave you bad information! Why is (s)
he so bad?!" He was outraged that I could have taken the
airport express and was somehow duped into taking a taxi.
The driver then went on a rant about how bad the traffic
would be, how it might take over an hour just stuck on the
road. I sat in the back and listened to the strange
outburst and tried in vain to find the seat belt fastener.
Luckily, the roads were relatively smooth, unlike the
dreaded jams that I have heard so much about. with the
growing middle class, large cities Iike Beijing has had to
contend with growing car ownership and ever worsening
traffic and smog. One measure was to institute an
alternative day driving scheme, whereby cars with certain
number plates are only allowed on the roads on certain days
(Sunday's all the cars can go on the
road...). Suddenly, the driver cranked down
his window and without asking just lit up a cigarette. It
had been a while since i last visited a place where people
smoke anywhere and everywhere, and where it is still common
(for men) for the newly acquainted to offer one another a
cigarette. Little was I prepared for the coming three
weeks, in which every day at the end of the day I and my
clothes would reek as if I had been smoking all day.
I admired the broad streets and avenues lit with neon
lights and colourful advertising billboards. The closer we
got to Beijing, the more highrises there were. Modern,
futuristic skyscrapers all vying to reach the heavens. And
if they were not enough, there were bushes of construction
cranes and scaffolding ready to unveil even more glitzy
highrise buildings. Cities like Beijing (and Shanghai) has
in the past decade constructed many more skyscrapers than
its counterparts in North America and Europe.
