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</NOBR> </TD><TD class=msgDate width="30%" noWrap align=right>8:20 am </TD></TR><TR class=msghead><TD class=msgT height=20 width="1%" noWrap align=right>To: </TD><TD class=msgTname width="68%" noWrap>ALL <NOBR></NOBR></TD><TD class=msgNum noWrap align=right> (1 of 7) </TD></TR></TBODY></TABLE></TD></TR><TR><TD class=msgleft rowSpan=4 width="1%"> </TD><TD class=wintiny noWrap align=right>25086.1 </TD></TR><TR><TD height=8></TD></TR><TR><TD class=msgtxt>Nov 28, 2009
A dose of diversity, a sip of sincerity
<!-- by line -->By Ling Chang Hong, Assistant Foreign Editor
THIS must be my 800th glass of wine in two months, I told myself as I emptied that final glass. Actually, I had lost count of how much I had drunk since I arrived in China nine weeks earlier.
That evening was our farewell dinner and I drank with relish, though slightly wistful about how much I would miss China. I was in China to attend a two-month course at Peking University. Five other Singaporeans and senior Chinese government officials made up my class of 60.
Despite being a product of Singapore's education system and working for an English-language paper, I tell people I'm 'Chinese-educated'. My parents are Chinese-educated and I grew up in a Mandarin-speaking environment. I did not speak a word of English when I began school. I went to a Special Assistance Plan school and majored in Chinese studies at university.
All that immersion made me very 'Chinese' - or so I thought. My China stint made me aware that it takes more than a love of the Chinese language, history and culture to know China.
My first culture shock occurred in the first few social gatherings with my Chinese coursemates. Although I had been warned of China's drinking culture, it turned out to be a lot tougher than I had expected. Ritualised drinking is so deeply ingrained in Chinese political and business circles that being able to drink is considered a key part of their jobs.
One Chinese coursemate confided in me that he never enjoyed the ganbei, or toasting, but 'this is a Chinese way of communication and it is part of our culture'.
Initially, some of the Singaporeans and I tried to turn down the drinks - usually bai jiu, a Chinese rice wine with a high alcohol content. But we soon learnt that refusing a drink is deemed disrespectful of the hosts and the other guests. It is all about mian zi, or face.
Before I knew it, the teetotaller in me dissolved into the ether and I began drinking like a fish and toasting like a seasoned bureaucrat.
The reward was that my Chinese associates and I bonded. Once the ice is broken and the drink flows, everything else follows naturally. You're now a good friend - and the Chinese will break an arm and leg for a friend, as I discovered.
My Chinese coursemates came from all over the country and some returned to their own provinces or cities on some weekends. Upon learning of our interest in Inner Mongolia, a coursemate from the capital Hohhot invited the Singaporeans to join him one weekend. He had just had a nasal operation and was planning to rest at home and catch up on work. We jumped at the idea and thought he would arrange for someone to show us around.
But no, he accompanied us throughout our stay, spending hours on the road and even going on a camel ride in the desert, braving the sandstorm. That weekend, he neither made it home nor to his workplace. But he was still smiling. 'How can I abandon my international friends from afar?' he said.
Thanks to him and a fellow coursemate from the same city, we were able to take in some of the most bewitching sights of Inner Mongolia. Neither was in charge of tourism in their government jobs and need not have pulled out the stops to host us, but they did. They taught me the meaning of sincerity.
Another coursemate later invited us to the most northern part of Inner Mongolia, bordering Russia. The city's vice-mayor received us. She apologised for her 'tardiness' as she was told about our visit only the night before and had to rush from another event.
Togged out in a tracksuit, the spunky woman spent that Sunday with us, travelling hours to a national park. As I marvelled at the breathtaking scenery and remarked how this corner of China is barely known to Singaporeans, she said: 'Yes, we hope to attract tourists from Southeast Asia. There is so much to see here.'
As a journalist, I've come across many requests for publicity. But what struck me was how she and many other Chinese officials sold their home towns with finesse and humility. Officials from these underdeveloped areas of the country were eager to promote their regions. Yet, they maintained a sense of respect for their guests.
A few weeks after this trip, I mentioned to our coursemates the tasty organic vegetables we had eaten during our visit. A few days later, our host handed me four boxes of dried fungus and mushrooms. He had asked for them to be dispatched from his city, a good 13 hours away by car. He put in the effort in all earnestness so I could sample a slice of his home town. But he never asked me if I was going to write or speak about his province in Singapore.
My close interaction with my Chinese coursemates - we spent eight hours a day together in class, five days a week - set me wondering about my 'Chineseness'.
My Chinese coursemates could remember the designations and ranks of all 60 people in our class, a feat I floundered at often. They would address each other by their titles - secretary-general Zhang, director Wu, and so on - even in informal settings. They were careful not to overshadow someone of a higher standing. Some were aghast when I told them that I addressed my bosses by their first names.
More than being hierarchy-conscious, this has to do with the Chinese virtue of showing respect for elders and superiors. In an e-mail to one of the Singaporeans, a young official from Liaoning province we had met addressed the recipient as 'Elder Brother'. 'I'm surprised and touched,' said the Singaporean, who was older than the official by only 10 years.
It set me thinking: Isn't this part of the Confucius ethics we were taught in school and at home? Have we become too accustomed to Western ways in Singapore that we have tossed out these Chinese virtues?
The nine weeks zipped by quickly. While the coursework helped me understand a little more about China, it was the people I met who made me realise the vastness and diversity of this country. We have so much yet to learn about this emerging giant. I left Beijing carrying luggage filled not just with dried vegetables, but also lots of warm feelings.
[email protected]
The writer attended a course on global public policy at Peking University organised by the Singapore-China Foundation.
[email protected]
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A dose of diversity, a sip of sincerity
<!-- by line -->By Ling Chang Hong, Assistant Foreign Editor
THIS must be my 800th glass of wine in two months, I told myself as I emptied that final glass. Actually, I had lost count of how much I had drunk since I arrived in China nine weeks earlier.
That evening was our farewell dinner and I drank with relish, though slightly wistful about how much I would miss China. I was in China to attend a two-month course at Peking University. Five other Singaporeans and senior Chinese government officials made up my class of 60.
Despite being a product of Singapore's education system and working for an English-language paper, I tell people I'm 'Chinese-educated'. My parents are Chinese-educated and I grew up in a Mandarin-speaking environment. I did not speak a word of English when I began school. I went to a Special Assistance Plan school and majored in Chinese studies at university.
All that immersion made me very 'Chinese' - or so I thought. My China stint made me aware that it takes more than a love of the Chinese language, history and culture to know China.
My first culture shock occurred in the first few social gatherings with my Chinese coursemates. Although I had been warned of China's drinking culture, it turned out to be a lot tougher than I had expected. Ritualised drinking is so deeply ingrained in Chinese political and business circles that being able to drink is considered a key part of their jobs.
One Chinese coursemate confided in me that he never enjoyed the ganbei, or toasting, but 'this is a Chinese way of communication and it is part of our culture'.
Initially, some of the Singaporeans and I tried to turn down the drinks - usually bai jiu, a Chinese rice wine with a high alcohol content. But we soon learnt that refusing a drink is deemed disrespectful of the hosts and the other guests. It is all about mian zi, or face.
Before I knew it, the teetotaller in me dissolved into the ether and I began drinking like a fish and toasting like a seasoned bureaucrat.
The reward was that my Chinese associates and I bonded. Once the ice is broken and the drink flows, everything else follows naturally. You're now a good friend - and the Chinese will break an arm and leg for a friend, as I discovered.
My Chinese coursemates came from all over the country and some returned to their own provinces or cities on some weekends. Upon learning of our interest in Inner Mongolia, a coursemate from the capital Hohhot invited the Singaporeans to join him one weekend. He had just had a nasal operation and was planning to rest at home and catch up on work. We jumped at the idea and thought he would arrange for someone to show us around.
But no, he accompanied us throughout our stay, spending hours on the road and even going on a camel ride in the desert, braving the sandstorm. That weekend, he neither made it home nor to his workplace. But he was still smiling. 'How can I abandon my international friends from afar?' he said.
Thanks to him and a fellow coursemate from the same city, we were able to take in some of the most bewitching sights of Inner Mongolia. Neither was in charge of tourism in their government jobs and need not have pulled out the stops to host us, but they did. They taught me the meaning of sincerity.
Another coursemate later invited us to the most northern part of Inner Mongolia, bordering Russia. The city's vice-mayor received us. She apologised for her 'tardiness' as she was told about our visit only the night before and had to rush from another event.
Togged out in a tracksuit, the spunky woman spent that Sunday with us, travelling hours to a national park. As I marvelled at the breathtaking scenery and remarked how this corner of China is barely known to Singaporeans, she said: 'Yes, we hope to attract tourists from Southeast Asia. There is so much to see here.'
As a journalist, I've come across many requests for publicity. But what struck me was how she and many other Chinese officials sold their home towns with finesse and humility. Officials from these underdeveloped areas of the country were eager to promote their regions. Yet, they maintained a sense of respect for their guests.
A few weeks after this trip, I mentioned to our coursemates the tasty organic vegetables we had eaten during our visit. A few days later, our host handed me four boxes of dried fungus and mushrooms. He had asked for them to be dispatched from his city, a good 13 hours away by car. He put in the effort in all earnestness so I could sample a slice of his home town. But he never asked me if I was going to write or speak about his province in Singapore.
My close interaction with my Chinese coursemates - we spent eight hours a day together in class, five days a week - set me wondering about my 'Chineseness'.
My Chinese coursemates could remember the designations and ranks of all 60 people in our class, a feat I floundered at often. They would address each other by their titles - secretary-general Zhang, director Wu, and so on - even in informal settings. They were careful not to overshadow someone of a higher standing. Some were aghast when I told them that I addressed my bosses by their first names.
More than being hierarchy-conscious, this has to do with the Chinese virtue of showing respect for elders and superiors. In an e-mail to one of the Singaporeans, a young official from Liaoning province we had met addressed the recipient as 'Elder Brother'. 'I'm surprised and touched,' said the Singaporean, who was older than the official by only 10 years.
It set me thinking: Isn't this part of the Confucius ethics we were taught in school and at home? Have we become too accustomed to Western ways in Singapore that we have tossed out these Chinese virtues?
The nine weeks zipped by quickly. While the coursework helped me understand a little more about China, it was the people I met who made me realise the vastness and diversity of this country. We have so much yet to learn about this emerging giant. I left Beijing carrying luggage filled not just with dried vegetables, but also lots of warm feelings.
[email protected]
The writer attended a course on global public policy at Peking University organised by the Singapore-China Foundation.
[email protected]
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