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Library’s embrace of scavengers keeps faith with traditional Chinese concepts of tolerance
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A PUBLIC library in the eastern Chinese city of Hangzhou has recently received kudos for a benevolent decision. According to media reports, scavengers are allowed entry into the Hangzhou Public Library and can read books as they like.
The word scavenger often evokes the image of a disheveled man, or woman, carrying a burlap sack full of smelly recycled items to be redeemed for cash. People scurry past them and cover their noses to fend off the stench.
While their presence is often considered noisome, indeed, an eyesore, they do not fall on the receiving end of the usual disdain in the Hangzhou library, whose authorities have decided that the scavengers belong to this posh, modern building as much as everybody does.
Complaints are not nonexistent. Some readers have advised the library’s director, Zhu Shuqing, against letting in scavengers, who they think give off an annoyingly strong body odor. Zhu simply told the complainers to change seats or leave. “I have no right to refuse to let them in, but you have the right to choose to leave,” he was quoted as saying.
His remarkable reply has garnered favorable comments, with many dubbing the library “the most heartwarming library in history.” In fact, the library has gone beyond providing such simple comforts as freedom to read, to have included amenities like an air-conditioned room, free Internet, and recharging devices for the scavengers.
To repay the library’s tolerance and generosity, some scavengers have grown conscious of washing their hands before starting to read, lest they soil books.
For instance, scavenger Zhang Kai, 76, visits the library twice or three times a week, where he spends his time quietly reading newspapers or books on current affairs. He makes notes while reading, and never disturbs others. And although he is not obligated to do so, he washes hands on every visit.
Good behavior
The good behavior of these usually downtrodden men represents a stark contrast with the waywardness of many of us, who claim to be civilized and public-spirited but actually act in opposition to that word — we talk, exchange banters, gossip and sometimes eat in libraries, with little regard for others around us.
The news item offers many causes for celebration: the thirst for knowledge among the most unlikely readers, the magnanimity and respect of library staff toward the disenfranchised, the self-restraint and self-awareness to behave in a public venue.
But the biggest relief comes probably from knowing that at least some of our public institutions are capable of insulating themselves from the pervasive snobbishness with which we often treat and — to be less charitable to ourselves — snub and browbeat people of a supposedly lower social status.
Where the Hangzhou library staff were being most considerate was in the way they managed to soothe the dignity of these scavengers or vagrants without exciting their sensitivity as recipients of alms, which we sometimes provoke in subtle or not so subtle ways.
Of course, the library is funded with tax money, so it has no justifiable excuse to keep out whomever it deems undesirable. But still, its decision to open its door to an often-maligned group is commendable, and in keeping with the traditional Chinese humanistic concepts, with an emphasis on tolerance, equality, and love and responsibility for all beings, especially those weaker than us.
In contrast to the Hangzhou library, that love for all beings was brutally trampled when a stray dog was killed on the campus of Northwest A&F University in Shaanxi Province.
The dog, a homely looking mutt, had shot to fame because it always slipped into a class in session and sat still in a chair for hours, all ears to the teachers. This fluffy four-legged “student” never barked in class. Its favorite courses were calculus and English. It was affectionately nicknamed “the learned dog” and became an icon on campus.
Death of a ‘learned dog’
But this harmless creature was not spared in an indiscriminate campaign to trap and kill stray dogs in the university, in the name of eliminating the risk of rabies. To the shock and dismay of students, the carcass of the slain “learned dog” was found dumped in a bin, bloodied and bruised all over.
Concerns about rabies may be real, but the way the risk was dealt with is savage. Why cannot the university allow for the survival of a mere dog? Are those preaching the enlightening attributes of tertiary education worthy of the values they ostensibly champion, in view of the cruelty they inflicted on a helpless animal?
Universities and libraries are both bastions of human civilization. But judged by at least the recent two episodes, librarians in Hangzhou have a much better grasp of humanistic concerns than authorities of the particular Shaanxi university possibly care to know.
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