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January 13, 2016

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Amid excitement over new year, it’s vital to learn from past humiliation as well as glory

The beginning of a new year always brings with it a chance to anticipate, to start anew, to compose a fresh list of resolutions.

A colleague recently shared with me some observations by Brazilian writer Paulo Coelho that he found moving: “Everyone is finishing chapters, turning over new leaves, getting on with life, and they [your friends and family] will all feel bad seeing you at a standstill. Things pass, and the best we can do is to let them really go away.”

Well said.

But the passing year should also provide us food for rumination and reflection.

We Chinese are a backward looking people who deem history as essential shaper of the present and future.

If anything, the high seriousness with which we view our history sets us apart not only from the Europeans, but probably also from many of our neighbors, for instance the Indians. During the Tang Dynasty (618-907) the monk Xuan Zang made a journey to India, and the book he later wrote about the journey in his Datang Xiyu Ji, or “A Record of a Journey to the West in the Time of the Great Tang Dynasty,” became a vital source for historians to reconstruct history of ancient India.

The late Chinese leader Mao Zedong is said to have read Sima Guang’s Zizhi Tongjian (“The Comprehensive Mirror for Aids in Administration”) 17 times. I don’t know how many history professors have committed as much energy in attacking this 3-million-character tome.

To the uninitiated it is little more than a year-by-year chronology of major events spanning 1362 years (403 BC-959).

A forward-looking approach to life gives us a chance to leave our troubles behind and be inspired by new possibilities. But an occasional backward glance can bring us back to earth — and perhaps show us that 2015 wasn’t much different from 2014.

Mao was one of the greatest shakers and movers in modern time.

In February 1972, when Nixon said to Mao in Beijing that Mao’s writings “moved a nation and have changed the world,” Mao replied that “I haven’t been able to change it. I’ve only been able to change a few places in the vicinity of Peking.” In hindsight we should probably be thankful for this lack of change.

There will be a time when we get tired of the constant erection of new landmarks, incessant renovations and continuing renewals. During such times, we’ll crave something familiar, something evocative of past joys and pains, or just memories.

Our officials and urban designers are mostly forward looking, preferring to deal in superlatives — the tallest buildings, the widest boulevards, or the most populous city. But it is important to realize that for millions, Shanghai is their native home. Hopefully, despite rapid and continued development, it is also a place that will continue to offer the consolations of the past.

I remember once a relative in Gaohang (an agricultural suburb now dominated by highrise apartment buildings) remarked that “it would be virtually impossible for any native to recognize this place after a few years of absence.”

In his tone, there was an unmistakable sense of pride.

In spite of our eagerness to modernize ourselves, lurking deep in our national psyche is also the desire to be seen as historically relevant.

Humiliating past

Someone commented in the Oriental Morning Post on December 10 that, while stressing the importance of education in local history, most young locals learn about Huang Xie only as a result of his dramatization in local TV dramas.

Huang, a figure from the Warring State period (475-221BC), is said to have been instrumental in opening the Huangpu River, a critical event in shaping Shanghai’s history.

An elderly reader responded by writing (January 6, Oriental Morning Post) that Huang was a legendary figure and the name Huangpu River was first used only after Shanghai was opened as a treaty port in 1842, in the wake of the First Opium War (1840-1842).

Shanghai was favored as an entry point for British colonization simply because the river was easily navigable, free of high waves, and its winding course was good for building ports.

Apparently this part of local history is no longer seen as a big deal.

Recently I attended an event at the International Convention Center, near the Oriental Pearl Tower, and was surprised to see someone at the front gate fully dressed as a Sikh police officer, complete with red turban. The city’s old Sikh police, or hongtou asan as they were locally known, would have been familiar to anyone living in Shanghai during its semi-colonial times. The Nanjing treaty provided that “British subjects, with their families and establishments, shall be allowed to reside, for the purpose of carrying on their mercantile pursuits, without molestation or restraint.” One of the tools to safeguard this were the Sikhs they brought with them. The conquest and subsequent “development” of India in 18th century provided a vital driver for British industrialization, and the enslaved Indians were then pressed into military service in helping sustain and expand British’s imperial sway.

Lu Xun wrote in one of his essays, ironically, that outsiders (to Shanghai), to get a taste of this “elite country within a country,” would be shown the “august power and grandeur of Sikh police.” Another writer Jiang Guangci wrote once that “The sight of the stick wielded by a Sikh police on the street reminded me of the misery of the Indians and the humiliation of the Chinese.”

Apparently, not all are familiar with this part of the history, and notwithstanding the often erroneously supposed antiquity of the city, there is certainly an urgency to brush up our history.




 

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