Lijia Zhang's Blog, page 31
March 13, 2018
Moderating a session on women in honor of Swiss State Secretary
On the occassion of the visit by the Swiss Secretary of State Pascale Baeriswyl, the Swiss Embassy in Beijing organized a panel discussion on women. I had the pleasure and the honour to be the moderator of the panel. Apart from the Madam Secretary of State, the other panelists were Julie Brousard, the head of UN Wmen, Pauline Houl, a successful executive from the private sector, Wei Xiaogang, a man from a NGO in Beijing focusing on gender and sexuality and Lu Manman, who works for the Feminist Voice, a NGO in Beijing. Great discussion and enthusiastic audience. I am delighted that it went so well!
March 10, 2018
Bookworm event
Last night, our event at Bookworm entitled “Let’s Not Talk about Sex” went swimmingly. The panelists included young feminist rapper Zhang Jiugu, writer editor James Palmer, myself and moderatedly skillfully by journalist Robert F. Hunwich. It was filled with interesting and insightful annecodotes about sex, changing sexual attitude and dating practice, which made the audience laugh so hard that it threatened to lift up the roof! Before the session, I was worried that Jiugu might be shy and quiet. Withint one minute, we learnt about her sexual awakening at 11 and masturbation at 13! so refreshingly open!
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发自我的 iPhone
March 9, 2018
March 8, 2018
March 3, 2018
a well-educated bag lady
I just finished reading this powerful and tragic story about a bag lady in New York. It brought tears to my eyes.
It very much reminded me the Indian bag lady Savita whom I met in Pondicherry back in 2009.
One afternoon in Pondicherry, a charming French colonial settlement on the east coast, I saw a bag lady in her 50s sitting on the steps of an elegant building, not far from my hotel in the French quarter. There are always beggars/homeless people around in India. But what made this one stood out was her cleanness and her dignity and the fact that she was absorbed in reading a book – Floral Thompson’s Lark Rise to Candleford, a Penguin classic. so intrigued, I stopped to walk with her. And it turned out that she was well-spoken. I ended up taking her out for dinner, with her bags and cooking pots. Over a French dinner, I learnt her sad story. She was from a middle up class Indian family and had a good education. But her involvement with a married man, and later with a cult, and perhaps her stubbon personality led to a troubled life. After the death of her mother, her brothers kicked her out of the family home without sharing any of the parents wealth.
In the NYT piece, Kesha, the New York bag lady, was lucky in a way because she had a few people who cared for her.
I wonder where is Savita now. Hope she’s met people who care for her, too.
February 28, 2018
February 23, 2018
BBC News: Women shouldering ‘cost and burden’ Great tomorrow read your article dearest Lijia ! Hugs Gi llian
I was rather amazed that someone from the BBC wrote an article based on an interview I gave to another BBC radio program about China’s mistress dispellers.
In any case, I am pleased to see it. here is the piece.
Women shouldering ‘cost and burden’
Prominent social commentator and author Zhang Lijia analyses the impact for Chinese women of the nation becoming a market economy
Disclaimer: The BBC is not responsible for the content of this email, and anything written in this email does not necessarily reflect the BBC’s views or opinions. Please note that neither the email address nor name of the sender have been verified.
February 15, 2018
nostalgic for the Spring Festival in the poorer days
As a child, I lived for the Spring Festival, the most important festival in the whole year. We were so poor then. The Chinese New Year offered the rare occasions for us children to eat, without limits.
China has grown so much richer. My family has just enjoyed a seafood feast at a seaside restaurant in Xiamen, a pleasant city down on the coast. Yet, I missed the old days when my beloved grandma would spend days preparing for the food. below is a passage from my memoir, describing the occasion.
Happiness glistened on our front door. Printed in gold on red shiny paper, the large character ‘fu’, meaning happiness or good fortune, shows a person knelt before an altar, prying for happiness. The character was stuck upside down, fu dao, in word-playing tradition to ensure that fu would arrive – dao – at our home. Behind the door, our whole family, dressed in our best outfits, gathered for the annual reunion dinner. Mine was a new cover, made of floral patterned cotton, for my padded Chinese jacket, and a pair of leather shoes instead of padded cotton slippers.
In keeping with tradition, Nai first brought in a fish cooked in soy sauce and announced: “We have fish every year,” then put it aside for later consumption. In Chinese, yu, or fish, sounds like the character for surplus or abundance. In such wordplay lie hopes for a prosperous year ahead.
At Ma’s insistence, Nai sat opposite the door, in the seat reserved for the most honourable person. Ordinarily she didn’t even sit at the table but ate her tiny portion in the kitchen, like a servant. Ma then stood up, raising a little porcelain cup with teardrops engraved around the edge. “A lot has happened this year. I retired, Little Li took over my job and I am trying to get another one.”
“Yes, go for the Confucius Temple job,” cut in my father who had rushed back for the festival. “Deng Xiaoping said, ‘whether white or black, a cat is a good cat so long as it catches the rat.’ I say a job is a good job so long as it pays.” Pleased with his remarks, he voiced them loud enough for the whole building to hear.
Ignoring her husband, Ma continued her speech. “‘Sesame stalks put forth flowers notch by notch’. I wish our lives will get better and better. Cheers!”
Our cups and glasses clinked in the air. I drank tea since I was allergic to alcohol while everyone else downed a type of white liquor, the firewater that soon turned their faces red. Even my brother Xiaoshi was helping himself. He was tall for his age, but painfully skinny, as if forgetting to grow horizontally. Some of his naughty friends were already whistling for him outside our window. It was Nai who made him sit down and eat.
“Eat, eat, I have loads more,” Nai urged, with an ear-to-ear smile that revealed her deep dimples.
With plenty of materials to work with, Nai and Ma had cooked the best New Year banquet for years: chicken soup; sweet and sour fish shaped like a squirrel; a ‘lucky reunion’ stew in a clay pot; stir-fired green vegetables; and Nai’s specialty, the ‘lion’s head’ – a dish of minced meatballs. Food is always the thread that binds Chinese families close together. As our appetites rose with the steam, our chopsticks seized their targets with speed and precision. Spring Festival was the only time we could enjoy food without limit.
February 12, 2018
a young mother on the way home
This photo was taken in January 2010 at Nanchang train station, shortly before the Chinese New Year.
I was moved to tears by it. Look at her: she was carrying a home-made backpack, as high as a mountain, one hand holding a canvas bag that had seen better days and another hand her child. And she looked so determined, her eyes fixing at the station ahead of her,
with probably one thing in her mind – going home.
For me, she spoke volume of the hard-working and tenacious Chinese women.
I wish the young mother well, wherever she is.
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