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Chitchat Who is Xi Jinping?

Pinkieslut

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Xi Jinping in Wikileaks


It is surprising that the US cables published by Wikileaks do not mention the 'Tibetan' past of Xi Zhongxun, Xi Jinping's father.

Elder Xi was very close to the late Panchen Lama.
On February 20, 1989 he wrote an article in The People’s Daily
The title of the article was "Deeply Cherish the Memory of the Panchen Lama, a Loyal and Faithful Friend of the Chinese Communist Party" (习仲勋:深切怀念中国共产党的忠诚朋友班禅大师)
His proximity to the Panchen Lama was probably one of the causes of his 'purge' in 1964. Xi Zhongxun was rehabilitated by Deng Xiaoping in 1978.
Xi Jr. 'ate bitterness' during these difficult .


The Spiegel
December 20, 2010
It is thought that Xi Jinping will become China's next president. But who is he? A source close to Xi has provided US diplomats with a detailed portrait of the up-and-coming functionary -- and says he is neither corrupt nor a fan of democracy.
He isn't corrupt, and money seems unimportant to him. He apparently has enough. He likes the United States, and was at one time fascinated by the mysteries of Buddhism and Asian martial arts.
On October 18, the Central Committee of the Chinese Communist Party appointed 57-year-old Xi Jinping vice-president of the powerful Central Military Commission. This makes it all but certain that he has been chosen to succeed Hu Jintao as Communist Party leader and Chinese president in 2012 and thus become one of the most powerful men in the world, if not the most powerful.
But who is Xi Jinping?
Even the Chinese people are more familiar with his wife. 47-year-old Peng Liyuan is a famous folk singer who tours the country boosting morale by trumpeting her love of China, the Party, spring and pretty peasant girls as a two-star general in the People's Liberation Army. For many years she was a firm fixture on CCTV's New Year's Gala, the most important event on Chinese television.

Parents' Protective Umbrella
Now, however, considerably more is emerging about her husband. The US Embassy in Beijing has remarkably precise information about China's future leader. Xi is "extremely ambitious," and a good man, according to the US source. He also comes from a good home. Xi is the son of former guerilla fighter and later Deputy Prime Minister Xi Zhongxun -- a "princeling," one of an influential class of sons and daughters of loyal functionaries that steadily rise up the Communist Party hierarchy under their parents' protective umbrella.
Xi grew up in the sheltered environment of the nomenklatura. He spent his childhood in the Beijing district reserved for high-ranking officials. Although China officially doesn't have any classes, the neighborhood is strictly divided by rank: Members of the Politburo get a better apartment, a larger official car and are permitted to shop in nicer stores than mere ministers or deputy ministers. The scions of these families know from an early age that they have been chosen to one day "take their rightful place in the Chinese leadership," as one of the embassy dispatches notes.
In 1966 Chairman Mao launched the Cultural Revolution to remove opponents from the ranks of the Chinese Communist Party. Encouraged by the motto "bombard the headquarters", the loyal Maoist elite pulled the rug out from under their own feet. Red Guards ran through the streets looking for supposed "Soviet spies" and "counter-revolutionaries." Xi's father landed in prison, and the younger Xi was sent into the countryside to work in the fields.
In the early 1970s Xi and many princelings were permitted to return to Beijing. But while many of his young contemporaries set about enjoying their newfound freedom, Xi chose a different path. "He chose to survive by becoming redder than red," the US embassy's source says.

Unlucky in Love
In 1974, despite the fact that his father was still in prison, Xi joined the Communist Party, a decision which lost him the trust of fellow princelings, who felt betrayed by the move. Whereas his friends gorged themselves on Western literature, Xi read the works of Karl Marx and even joined a "workers', farmers' and soldiers' revolutionary committee." It was an open secret among the princelings that Xi's first degree in Marxism was not authentic. Xi then went on to study at the prestigious Qinghua University in Beijing. He first enrolled in chemistry and Marxism before going on to earn a PhD in law in 1979.
Upon leaving university, Xi joined the army, working as a secretary in the offices of the central military commission in Beijing, although his precise rank remains unknown. Connections and old-boy networks are important within the Communist Party, and Xi's army job was clearly the result of a quid-pro-quo. It appears he was hired by General Geng Biao, one of his father's former comrades-in-arms. In return, Xi senior -- who had since risen to Party leader in the southern province of Guangdong -- appointed Geng's daughter to an attractive position.
Xi had less luck in his private life. His first marriage, to the elegant and educated diplomat's daughter Ke Xiaoming, quickly fell apart. According to the US source, the couple lived in his parents' apartment in the exclusive Nanshagou district of western Beijing, where they "argued almost every day," according to a US dispatch. Eventually, Ke returned to England, while Xi remained in China.

Too Many Enemies
There he took a wise decision: He realized he could only become a career politician if he temporarily removed himself from Beijing's power clique and gathered experience in rural areas. He apparently believed that his father's and General Geng's connections weren't enough -- and that the risk of making too many enemies in the capital was too great.
He slowly worked his way up the ladder in Heibei, Fujian and Zhejiang provinces. Because Fujian faces the breakaway island of Taiwan, US dispatches say, Xi has had an understanding for the plight of the Taiwanese people ever since.
During his time in eastern China, Xi developed a fascination with the mysticism of Buddhism, the Qigong breathing technique and martial arts. It appears he also believed in supernatural forces.
In 2007 the leadership made him the Party leader in Shanghai. At the time, the Communist Party was embroiled in a corruption scandal and desperately needed a clean pair of hands that could polish up its reputation. The so-called 'Shanghai Clique' under the then still influential former Party Chairman Jiang Zemin wanted to bring Xi in. He was seen as incorruptible and as having sufficient authority to clean up the Party's ranks.
Xi spent just seven months in China's financial center before the leadership brought him to Beijing and anointed him vice-president. Xi's career strategy had paid off. "Xi had promotion to the Center in mind from day one," a US Embassy dispatch says. He is said to be a realist and a pragmatist, one who keeps his cards close to his chest before coldly playing his ace when the time is right.

Stern Superior
Xi appears uninterested in drinking and extramarital affairs, the leisure pursuits preferred by many high-ranking officials. Women consider him boring, a trait he shares with his stern superior, Hu Jintao.
Xi knows about the world beyond China's borders. His older sister lives in Canada, and his younger brother is in Hong Kong. Nevertheless the US believes Xi thinks he can only play a prominent role in his home country. Xi visited the United States in 1987, and spent time in Washington. But he was apparently not particularly impressed.

By contrast, he knows his own country extremely well. He is well aware how corrupt many of his comrades are. He abhors the pursuit of money, much as he does China's nouveau-riche. His greatest fear is that the new, free-market era will rob people of their dignity and respect. But he refrains from showing political initiative or promoting his own ideas, realizing that such things are not good for a career within the Chinese Communist Party.
In spite of Xi's background and current position, the current Party chairman and president, Hu Jintao, does not consider him his successor. Hu's favorite for the post is Li Keqiang, whose career began in the Communist youth organization. But a group of older comrades, including former Party Chairman Jiang Zemin, reject their president's preferred successor. They say Li "lacks sufficient experience." Hu relented, and now it is thought that Li will soon replace Wen Jiabao as prime minister instead.

Xi, the winner of this power struggle, does not appear to be a Chinese Gorbachev. Indeed he thinks little of democratic reform. Quite the contrary. He is convinced that only a small elite can maintain China's social stability and lead the country to new heights. The princelings, he says, are the "legitimate heirs" of the Chinese revolution.
 

scroobal

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Loyal
In one of his later Official visits to Beijing, Old Man asked to meet their chosen successor to Hu Jintao before the World came to be aware. The Chinese in turn suggested that Singapore bring's in their own designated successor to LHL for the meeting. Teo Chee Head who was then the Minister of Defence and hosting an Asean Defence Chiefs meeting in Singapore for 3 days was asked to fly immediately to Beijing. He excused himself took the redeye, met Xi Jinping, the old man and selected members of the leadership and flew back to Singapore to carry on with the last day of the meeting with the Asean Chiefs.
 

Pinkieslut

Alfrescian
Loyal
In one of his later Official visits to Beijing, Old Man asked to meet their chosen successor to Hu Jintao before the World came to be aware. The Chinese in turn suggested that Singapore bring's in their own designated successor to LHL for the meeting. Teo Chee Head who was then the Minister of Defence and hosting an Asean Defence Chiefs meeting in Singapore for 3 days was asked to fly immediately to Beijing. He excused himself took the redeye, met Xi Jinping, the old man and selected members of the leadership and flew back to Singapore to carry on with the last day of the meeting with the Asean Chiefs.

So was Teo the designated successor to LHL at that time? But what has happened since?
 

zzuper

Alfrescian
Loyal
In one of his later Official visits to Beijing, Old Man asked to meet their chosen successor to Hu Jintao before the World came to be aware. The Chinese in turn suggested that Singapore bring's in their own designated successor to LHL for the meeting. Teo Chee Head who was then the Minister of Defence and hosting an Asean Defence Chiefs meeting in Singapore for 3 days was asked to fly immediately to Beijing. He excused himself took the redeye, met Xi Jinping, the old man and selected members of the leadership and flew back to Singapore to carry on with the last day of the meeting with the Asean Chiefs.

Hi scroobal,

I'm formerly from MFA. Oversaw our relations with PRC. The ADMM took place on 13-15 Nov, which is why Teo Chee Hean only joined the visit on 16 Nov.

http://www.channelnewsasia.com/news/singapore/lessons-from-lee-kuan-yew/2628222.html
http://www.nas.gov.sg/archivesonline/speeches/view-html?filename=20071114996.htm

I think Teo might have misremembered things. As noted in the press release (on 14 Nov), it was already stated that Teo would join the visit later on 16 Nov. It was not as last-minute as Teo remembered.

And no, the PRC side did not ask to meet LHL's designated successor. The issue was not even mentioned at all.
 

congo9

Alfrescian
Loyal
In one of his later Official visits to Beijing, Old Man asked to meet their chosen successor to Hu Jintao before the World came to be aware. The Chinese in turn suggested that Singapore bring's in their own designated successor to LHL for the meeting. Teo Chee Head who was then the Minister of Defence and hosting an Asean Defence Chiefs meeting in Singapore for 3 days was asked to fly immediately to Beijing. He excused himself took the redeye, met Xi Jinping, the old man and selected members of the leadership and flew back to Singapore to carry on with the last day of the meeting with the Asean Chiefs.

President Xi is acting like an old time Emporer. He is always scheming, no smile and expressionless. He mind is always working.
 

Pinkieslut

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Loyal
President Xi is acting like an old time Emporer. He is always scheming, no smile and expressionless. He mind is always working.

Unlike Ah Loong keep wearing pink shirt, faint on stage, smile like a joker while addressing serious issues, update Facebook, go jiak hong while economy is in the shit and his own town council got problem. EVERYTHING IS GOOD!

No wonder Sinkieland kenna squeezed balls by Ah Tiongs.
 

scroobal

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Loyal
He is a interesting chap. Does not say anything material or significant in public unlike Deng or Hu but seems to be in control across the board. Still water runs deep.

President Xi is acting like an old time Emporer. He is always scheming, no smile and expressionless. He mind is always working.
 

syed putra

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Loyal
President Xi is acting like an old time Emporer. He is always scheming, no smile and expressionless. He mind is always working.

Xi has two china submarine at Malaysia's sepangar bay submarine base on a visit. ONLY umno knows how to handle the chinese.
 

scroobal

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Loyal
Thanks Bro for this. Interesting times then and now with China.

Where do you we will be vis a vis China in the long term.


Hi scroobal,

I'm formerly from MFA. Oversaw our relations with PRC. The ADMM took place on 13-15 Nov, which is why Teo Chee Hean only joined the visit on 16 Nov.

http://www.channelnewsasia.com/news/singapore/lessons-from-lee-kuan-yew/2628222.html
http://www.nas.gov.sg/archivesonline/speeches/view-html?filename=20071114996.htm

I think Teo might have misremembered things. As noted in the press release (on 14 Nov), it was already stated that Teo would join the visit later on 16 Nov. It was not as last-minute as Teo remembered.

And no, the PRC side did not ask to meet LHL's designated successor. The issue was not even mentioned at all.
 

Pinkieslut

Alfrescian
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Xi has two china submarine at Malaysia's sepangar bay submarine base on a visit. ONLY umno knows how to handle the chinese.

Back to the Ming Dynasty era. Pay tributes to China!

Those who had watched Chinese history programs, actually the "pay tributing" is more like poh lampa. Most of the countries around Chinese Empire have much less wealth. Often the tributes are some cheapo stuff (the kind of things you buy back as souvenirs for your family like pineapple tart, $2 keychains, postcards, etc). The main purpose to show the superiority of Chinese Empire with these emissaries kowtowing to the emperor, his eunuchs and government officials.

In return, the emperor will present gfits like embroidered silk jackets, carvings (jade or ivory), gold seals, and other luxuries. Machiam like you buy LV Prada Gucci bags for your ATBs. The silk jackets are very highly sought after because only the factories in Jiangnan area has the skills and technology to manufacture them. For example all the Siam and Korean kings' embroidered jackets won during ceremony are gifts from Chinese Dynasties.

Other useful stuff given are technology (medicine, agriculture, military) and philosophical books. Of course it will depend on how much trust between the empire and those kingdoms.

For example the Thais was sent a team of Chinese experts during Mongol Yuan dynasties to teach them how to make porcelain, the green coloured type you see now in Northern Thailand.

The first Japanese tribute to Han Dynasty are a dozen human slaves (Japan historically a poor overpopulated country). The Emperor gave the emissary a gold seal which today is kept as national treasure in Japan.

Apparently the Koreans (Joseon Dynasty) are the most yao-gui. During Ming Dynasty, they sent so many missions to present tributes until the Chinese ask them not to come so often. Korean tributes are mainly ginseng and chiobu (can go up to 100 girls each time, resulting in large number of Korean concubines in the Ming Dynasty harems). Josen Dynasty is very poor and shitty, nothing like those bullshit Korean ancient dramas on TV. The country is bloody poor and weak. The Japanese captured the whole country within a few weeks. It was the Ming army that push them totally off the peninsula (but modern Koreans kept talking about their General Yi who won a battle which by the time the Japs have been severely weakened). Korea is so poor that its population stagnated at around 15million people for 200 years until Qing Dynasty lost control to Japanese.
 
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wikiphile

Alfrescian (InfP)
Generous Asset
Xi has two china submarine at Malaysia's sepangar bay submarine base on a visit. ONLY umno knows how to handle the chinese.

be wary of Greeks bearing gifts. I've noticed a lot of property and likely industrial developments spearheaded by the PRCs lately up north. The Chinese do not come to your country and hand out money without asking for the following that easily:

1. profits
2. something else other than profits
 

scroobal

Alfrescian
Loyal
The enormous 1MDB debt that is sitting in their Ministry of Finance books after they brought it in to remove it from public eye needs to be cleared. The Malaysian Govt has been selling state land at commercial sites around KL at ridiculously high price over and above valuation to the PRC Govt linked companies. They also been given the rail corridors and associated rail build North and South. The HSR terminal site and development together with the shopping mall has already been sold to them. Only HSR actual rail build has not been awarded. The Chinese are prepared to pay the premium to gain valuable access and they have also literally captured the Cabinet and the Government. Najib has become their bitch.

Who would have thought the UMNO would end up with the PRC Govt. No expert would have predicted that.

No other country would touch these things due to the on-going investigations by a number of countries. The Russians have their own budget issues. That leaves China.

It will go the way of Zambia, one of the first African countries to allow the PRC govt in. The Chinese re-built their railways to get access to their rich copper deposits. Having gained control of the mines, the railways have gone to the Dogs.



be wary of Greeks bearing gifts. I've noticed a lot of property and likely industrial developments spearheaded by the PRCs lately up north. The Chinese do not come to your country and hand out money without asking for the following that easily:

1. profits
2. something else other than profits
 

Narong Wongwan

Alfrescian (Inf)
Asset
Back to the Ming Dynasty era. Pay tributes to China!

Those who had watched Chinese history programs, actually the "pay tributing" is more like poh lampa. Most of the countries around Chinese Empire have much less wealth. Often the tributes are some cheapo stuff (the kind of things you buy back as souvenirs for your family like pineapple tart, $2 keychains, postcards, etc). The main purpose to show the superiority of Chinese Empire with these emissaries kowtowing to the emperor, his eunuchs and government officials.

In return, the emperor will present gfits like embroidered silk jackets, carvings (jade or ivory), gold seals, and other luxuries. Machiam like you buy LV Prada Gucci bags for your ATBs. The silk jackets are very highly sought after because only the factories in Jiangnan area has the skills and technology to manufacture them. For example all the Siam and Korean kings' embroidered jackets won during ceremony are gifts from Chinese Dynasties.

Other useful stuff given are technology (medicine, agriculture, military) and philosophical books. Of course it will depend on how much trust between the empire and those kingdoms.

For example the Thais was sent a team of Chinese experts during Mongol Yuan dynasties to teach them how to make porcelain, the green coloured type you see now in Northern Thailand.

The first Japanese tribute to Han Dynasty are a dozen human slaves (Japan historically a poor overpopulated country). The Emperor gave the emissary a gold seal which today is kept as national treasure in Japan.

Apparently the Koreans (Joseon Dynasty) are the most yao-gui. During Ming Dynasty, they sent so many missions to present tributes until the Chinese ask them not to come so often. Korean tributes are mainly ginseng and chiobu (can go up to 100 girls each time, resulting in large number of Korean concubines in the Ming Dynasty harems). Josen Dynasty is very poor and shitty, nothing like those bullshit Korean ancient dramas on TV. The country is bloody poor and weak. The Japanese captured the whole country within a few weeks. It was the Ming army that push them totally off the peninsula (but modern Koreans kept talking about their General Yi who won a battle which by the time the Japs have been severely weakened). Korea is so poor that its population stagnated at around 15million people for 200 years until Qing Dynasty lost control to Japanese.

Hahaha bro thanks for such a funny insightful history lesson
 

Pinkieslut

Alfrescian
Loyal
Hahaha bro thanks for such a funny insightful history lesson

Its funny but true. That is why the Ah Tiongs always insult the Kimchi for faking their history.

In fact I visit the newly built imperial palace in Seoul (the Josen era buildings were totally destroyed by the Japanese to wipe out Korean hisory) and saw photo archives (you can see one here: https://c1.staticflickr.com/4/3386/4646073584_fc2e8f1c3f.jpg).

You can see from the picture that unlike Qing era Beijing or Guangzhou (where the Chinese urbanites are iiving in multistorey brick housing), the Koreans in Seoul are living in single storey attap houses (similar to the Malays).

Josen kings have less wealth than the top JiangNan merchants (after visiting the preserved Suchow and Hangchow gardens owned by Ming/Qing business tycoons).

The design, detailing, the size, everything pale in comparison (even compared to the Kyoto gardens owned by the old Shoguns). Even our Amoy Street temple's carving and detailing look more glorious than their palace.

But it is due to these extreme poverty that created the uncouth, competitive and aggressive behaviour of the Korean race. Even the Dutch ambassadors to Kangxi (height of Qing Dynasty) noted that Korean emissaries (during a foreign dignitaries' gathering) lack courtesy and respect to other representatives.
 

scroobal

Alfrescian
Loyal
Thanks for the article ( first time reading it and its great) and your comment - succinct and insightful.

They indeed have the numbers, the accumulation of much recent wealth and the means to do good to mankind but it does not seem to be the case.

I was very disappointed when I learnt about the Melamine Milk affair and what they did to thousands of their own babies. Despite being told to recall the milk for weeks they refused, If Helen Clarke, then PM of NZ did not intervene by going to Beijing directly I am not sure how long it would have continued. Mind you their very own urologist had traced the stones in the kidneys of babies to the Sanlu Plant and notified the officials before the Kiwis became aware of it and the officials did nothing. I lost all faith after this incident. I am also not ruling out the fact that Beijing would have covered up if Helen Clarke had not intervened and the media had already started querying it.



I've left the service for quite some time.
This piece resonates with my experience of dealing with the Chinese.

https://aeon.co/essays/what-chinese-corner-cutting-reveals-about-modernity

My concern is that with their population mass, such attitudes will spread to the detriment of mankind.
 
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scroobal

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Loyal
Courtesy of new forummer.

https://aeon.co/essays/what-chinese-corner-cutting-reveals-about-modernity

James Palmer
is a British writer and editor. He is the author of The Death of Mao: The Tangshan Earthquake and the Birth of the New China (2012) and The Bloody White Baron: The Extraordinary Story of the Russian Nobleman Who Became the Last Khan of Mongolia (2008). He lives in Beijing

In our apartment in central Beijing, we fight a daily rearguard action against entropy. The mirror on my wardrobe came off its hinges six months ago and is now propped up against the wall, one of many furnishing casualties. Each of our light fittings takes a different bulb, and a quarter of them are permanently broken. In the bedroom, the ceiling-high air-conditioning unit runs its moisture through a hole knocked in the wall, stuffed with an old cloth to avoid leakage, while the balcony door, its sealant rotted, has a towel handy to block the rain when it pours through. On the steps outside our door, I duck my head every day to avoid the thick tangle of hanging wires that brings power and the internet; when the wind is up, connections slow as cables swing.

The apartment is five years old. By Chinese standards, it’s far better than the average. Our toilet works, while in many of my friends’ houses, flushing the loo is a hydraulic operation akin to controlling the Nile floods. The sockets do not flash blue sparks when plugged in, and all but two work. None of the lightbulbs have ever exploded; and the mirror merely broke away, rather than falling spontaneously from the frame. The shower is not placed next to the apartment’s central wiring and protected by nothing more than rotting drywall.

I am a believer in Hilaire Belloc’s 1911 epigram:

It is the business of the wealthy man
To give employment to the artisan.

I barely qualify as wealthy, even in China, and artisans are few and preciously guarded. Most of the time, when I’ve called in help, I’ve been left standing in a flooded bathroom with a panicked 20-year-old assuring me that he thinks he can get the pipe back on.

My time in China has taught me the pleasure and value of craftsmanship, simply because it’s so rare. To see somebody doing a job well, not just for its own reward, but for the satisfaction of good work, thrills my heart; it doesn’t matter whether it’s cooking or candle-making or fixing a bike. When I moved house some years ago, I watched with genuine delight as three wiry men stripped my old apartment to the bone in 10 minutes, casually balancing sofas and desks on their backs and packing the van as tightly as a master Tetris player.

But such scenes are an unusual treat. (And, after losing the card for my master movers, the next time I shifted house, the moving team did a fine imitation of the Three Stooges.) Instead, the prevailing attitude is chabuduo, or ‘close enough’. It’s a phrase you’ll hear with grating regularity, one that speaks to a job 70 per cent done, a plan sketched out but never completed, a gauge unchecked or a socket put in the wrong size. Chabuduo is the corrosive opposite of the impulse towards craftmanship, the desire, as the sociologist Richard Sennett writes in The Craftsman (2008), ‘to reject muddling through, to reject the job just good enough’. Chabuduo implies that to put any more time or effort into a piece of work would be the act of a fool. China is the land of the cut corner, of ‘good enough for government work’.


Yet sometimes there’s a brilliance to chabuduo. One of the daily necessities of life under Maoism was improvisation; finding ways to keep irreplaceable luxuries such as tractors or machine tools going, despite missing parts or broken supply chains. On occasion, it was applauded as ‘peasant’ science or Stakhanovite virtue, but more often it meant trouble if noticed by a superior, since Maoism often matched the call for revolution with a pedantic insistence on the correct routine, especially in the factory or the farm. Improvisation could get you accused of ‘sabotage’ – why were you fixing a problem you hadn’t caused? Besides, why would there be a problem in the first place, when things were so well-planned from the top?

But improvisation was a vitally needed talent, and a particular genius developed among some of the senior generation, now in their 60s and older: an ability to go beyond make-do-and-mend to the kind of skills displayed by the A-Team when they’re locked in a barn by villains and they construct an armoured vehicle out of nothing but gardening tools and old tyres. More usually, chabuduo is the domain of a village uncle who grew up with nothing and can whip up a solution to anything out of two bits of wire and some tape. Gate broken? Don’t worry about getting a new lock, we’ll fix it up with some wire, it’ll be chabuduo.

Today, the countryside is full of isolated inventors who build their own juddering planes or pond-going submarines from scratch, or craft full-scale catapults to resist demolition teams. Their mechanical genius has nowhere to go; they’re stuck in a world of farm repairs and lunatic projects. But on a small scale, it’s visible all over even the big cities, from the sidewalk salons assembled out of castaway furniture where layabouts and grandfathers play cards in the afternoon, to the numerous home-built roof shelters made by doting locals for Beijing’s stray cats.

Yet chabuduo is also the casual dismissal of problems. Oh, your door doesn’t fit the frame? Chabuduo, you’ll get used to kicking it open. We sent you a shirt two sizes too big? Chabuduo, what are you complaining about?

At my old compound, the entrance to the underground parking lot was covered by a 20-metre-long half-cylinder of heavy blue plastic. Nobody had noticed that this made a highly effective wind trap, and it had been only crudely nailed to the brick foundations. Chabuduo, what’s it going to matter? When a storm hit, the nails burst from the pressure and it was sent hurtling across the compound, smashing stone tables and trees; I came down in the morning to find it lying across the grass like a fallen jumbo jet’s wing.

We were lucky, nobody was killed. But behind China’s disasters, ‘good enough’ squats more often than actual malice: compromises that are mere annoyances in daily life become fatal when undertaken on an industrial scale. Problems that a keen eye or a daily routine can circumvent transform into deadly rifts when reproduced millions of times nationwide.

The deaths pile up: on construction sites where men dangle from tied-together lengths of old rope; from meat carried in unrefrigerated vans; from fires in badly wired apartments

Take the last year alone. You don’t have a proper cold-storage chain to send vaccines? Well, stick some ice in the parcels and put them in the post. Chabuduo, and children cough to death. Why take the sludge to a disposal site? Just pile it up here, where everyone else has been putting it. Chabuduo, and 91 people are crushed by a landslide in Guangdong. Separate out the dangerous materials? What does it matter, just stick that nitrate over there. Chabuduo, and a fireball goes up in Tianjin, north China’s chief port, incinerating 173 people.

‘There’s a Tianjin-level explosion every month,’ a staff member at a national-level work-safety programme told me, asking for anonymity. ‘But mostly they happen in places that nobody cares about.’ Careless disasters are buried all the time; when a chemical plant exploded in Tangshan in March 2014, a friend there told me of the management’s relief after the Malaysia Airlines flight 370 went missing the next day, swallowing up all other news and making sure nobody but them noticed, save for 13 widows.

But the small deaths pile up: on construction sites where men wield blowtorches without safety goggles, or dangle from tied-together lengths of old rope; from food poisoning from meat carried in unrefrigerated vans; from fires in badly wired apartments. The toll grows every day, especially among the poor, unnoticed and unrecorded by the institutions supposedly guarding them.

Many Chinese cities are half building site; I’ve gone on walks through back alleys that resembled Super Mario levels, full of grinding wheels shooting out flurries of super-heated sparks, bricks dropped from scaffolding above without warning and cords strung across the pavement. ‘Why don’t you put tape around that?’ I asked at one spot, pointing to a guttering pit next to the road, deep enough to break a neck. The migrant workers shrugged. ‘Nobody told us to.’

In a 1924 article, the critic Hu Shih turned chabuduo into an eponymous parable. ‘Mr Cha Buduo’, his protagonist, lives his life by the principle of ‘Close enough’. ‘Certainly you’ve heard people talk about him,’ wrote Hu. ‘So many people say his name every day.’

Mr Cha Buduo doesn’t understand why he misses trains by arriving at 8:32 instead of 8:30, or why his boss gets angry when he writes 1,000 instead of 10, or why Iceland is different from Ireland. He falls ill and sends for Dr Wāng, but ends up getting Mr Wáng, the veterinarian, by mistake. Yet as he slips away, he is consoled by the thought that life and death, after all, are close enough.

For Hu, the cure for this hazy malaise was modernity; the tick of the railway station’s clock, the carefully kept account book, the doctor’s prescribed remedy. He wanted an end to the veneration of fuzziness, mysticism and incompetence that, in his parable, eventually cause the public to pronounce Mr Cha Buduo a Buddhist saint and ‘Great Master of Flexibility’. Hu’s contemporaries, educated in Japan or the United States, longed to embrace the modernity of a new nation, and ditch the past and all its accumulated dust. But the flood of modernity, already lapping around China’s cities even before Hu Shih’s time, didn’t bring care and precision; it destroyed it.

Even before Hu’s day, overpopulation and globalisation were hitting China hard, driving huge migrations in the late 19th century. Chinese people were struggling with new technological and governmental norms with which they had no experience. The disasters of war and revolution cracked what traditions were left. Today, since China’s head-first dive into the modern world began in 1979, mass urbanisation, internal migration and the constant flux of change have eroded most traces of the skills for which the country was once renowned.

Earlier this year, in the Topkapi Palace in Istanbul, I feasted – visually – on the Ming-dynasty plates that 16th-century Ottoman sultans favoured, the glaze still preserved and each marked proudly with its makers’ stamp. Our sense of the material past might be biased toward the beautiful and the fine, purely because it’s more likely to be valued and thus to survive. But ample evidence speaks to pre-modern China’s skills, developed most particularly with the thriving commercial environment and rich merchant patrons of the Song (960-1279) and Ming (1368-1644) dynasties. The craftsmanship of China overwhelmed Europeans and Ottomans alike, sparking waves of awe and imitation.

Some arts, of course, have survived. Close to my home, a Manchu family still makes beautiful and funny scenes of Beijing life from tiny doll’s furniture, the posed bodies of cockroaches standing in for human beings. But there is so little left. Wood-workers, lute-makers, coopers, weavers of rare cloth: they remain only in pockets.

To some extent, this is a normal historical process. In 19th-century Paris, Hamburg and New York, writers complained of builders who didn’t know one end of a trowel from another, of plumbers more likely to smash your pipes than mend them, of glaziers whose frames would fall and shatter the next day. Rural migrants flooded the cities, looking for any day labour they could find, their own local skills useless in a new environment. In a generation or less, the rush of modernity invalidated talents developed over centuries.

But in much of the developed world, the sense of craftsmanship soon returned. There was the pleasure of invention, of the cutting edge, of developing new standards for a new trade. In late 18th-century England, brickmakers crafted their own rich metaphors, where, as Sennett notes, the invention of ‘honest’ brick (without any artificial colour added) reflected the manufacturers’ own pride. Ford workers in the 1930s envisioned a gleaming automated future made with their own tools. In contrast, Chinese workers have been stranded for four decades in a dead zone, where the old skills have been lost, but a new professionalism hasn’t evolved. And the era of quick-and-dirty shows no signs of disappearing any time soon.

If what you’re making represents a world utterly out of reach to you, why bother to do it well?

Why is China caught in this trap? In most industries here, vital feedback loops are severed. To understand how to make things, you have to use them. Ford’s workers in the US drove their own cars, and Western builders dwelt, or hoped to dwell, in homes like the ones they made. But the migrants lining factory belts in Guangdong make knick-knacks for US households thousands of miles away. The men and women who build China’s houses will never live in them.

The average price of a one-bedroom apartment in a Chinese second-tier city – a provincial town of a few million people, straining at its own geographical and environmental limits – is around $100,000; the average yearly salary for a migrant construction worker is around $3,500. Their future is shabby pre-fabricated workers’ dorms and old country shacks, not air conditioning and modern bathrooms. If what you’re making represents a world utterly out of reach to you, why bother to do it well?

The opacity of Chinese companies means it’s often hard to pin down the blame for even cataclysmic failure; the maker’s marks once inscribed on every brick in a city’s walls have been replaced with the mirages of holding companies and shell enterprises. Local governments fearful of higher unemployment and lower GDP work assiduously to shield their favoured businesses from any consequences for their actions.

The greatest gulf of all is between the planners in Beijing and the workers on the ground who implement their policies. Huge swathes of the country still operate under the logic of the planned economy, reacting to government quotas and guaranteed bailouts. Yet craft requires the feedback of users and the marketplace. The quota, set for everything from wordcounts for journalists to arrests for policemen, is a powerful spur to value nothing about the product except the speed of its production. Chabuduo: good enough for government work.

There is one glowing exception to the culture of chabuduo: China’s tech sector, perhaps because it developed near-simultaneously with the rest of the world’s. In other areas, Chinese factories and workshops weren’t developing new trades, but taking over ones the West needed done cheap. There was none of the pride or knowledge earned by problem-solving or invention. By contrast, the e-commerce giant Alibaba has honed the art of getting goods from buyer to seller in a vast country to levels still unknown in the West – albeit possibly through the use of the Hobbit-like founder Jack Ma’s network of magical fairy roads – while mobile payment, fierce and relatively open competition and the money that flowed from it have produced their own set of brilliant skills.

Yet tech can’t escape the curse altogether. Sloppy coding, broken apps and massive privacy failures are common, especially when China’s state industries are forced to develop internal programs rather than use commercial ones for ‘security’ reasons. China’s search engines are abysmal, simultaneously crippled by government censorship and protected from real competition. Baidu, the biggest, was struck by scandal earlier this year, after repeatedly promoting quack medical treatments in exchange for payment.

After the scandal, the authorities announced that they would take hard measures to ensure that Baidu performed better. And where reputation can’t push responsibility, regulation can step in. But in practice, China’s regulatory authorities are a void. Although each disaster is ritually castigated in the press, any follow-up is rapidly killed; the average lifespan of coverage of even a massive disaster such as Tianjin is less than a week, before the mandates of the propaganda bureau go out and the story disappears from the papers.

Everyday regulation is even less efficient, bound by a set of perverse incentives that have persisted for decades. Regulators, under-funded and under-staffed, aren’t expected to cover every possible enterprise. Yet if they inspect a site or company, they’re deemed to be responsible for any future disasters there, which can cost them their jobs, Party membership or even potential jail time. The obvious solution is for regulators to cover few sites and concentrate on the least risky areas, thus minimising their personal risk. This failure is compounded by the absence of a functioning civil legal system, especially for collective action; mistakes that could mean massive lawsuits in the West can be papered over in China. Even the death of migrant workers can be paid off with as little as $5,000.

The Party no more wants hod-carriers or rail workers across the nation to come together than it does Christians, democrats or feminists

All these factors work against the Chinese developing pride in their own work. And if they do, they better keep it to themselves. In the West, unions (for manual labourers) and professional associations (for groups such as doctors and lawyers) played a critical role in setting national standards. They gave people an identity that depended, in part, on both mastery and morality, a group of peers to compete against, and to be held to account by.

But, as Adam Smith argued in The Wealth of Nations (1776), every profession ‘ends in a conspiracy against the public’ and the Chinese Communist Party tolerates no conspiracies except its own. Especially since Xi Jinping came to power in 2012, any group that might represent a cross-national basis of resistance to the Party has been cut down. Unionisation, outside of the toothless and corrupt All-China Trade Union Federation, is a threat to the Party, which no more wants hod-carriers or rail workers across the nation to come together than it does Christians, democrats or feminists.

Under the Party umbrella, there is room for professional associations – but only at the top end of the scale. There’s a Chinese Medical Association, but no China Plumber’s Association. Even within those bodies, though, far more value is put on sticking to the official line than in creating a peer group. As the medical journalist Michael Woodhead has pointed out, in the West doctors have clear professional guidelines, and review bodies to keep them on the straight-and-narrow; in China they have only the flickering lamp of their own conscience.

In the end, what perpetuates China’s carelessness most might be sheer ubiquity. Craft inspires. A writer can be stirred to the page by hearing a song or watching a car being repaired, a carpenter revved up by a poem or a motorbike. But the opposite also holds true; when you’re surrounded by the cheaply done, the half-assed and the ugly, when failure is unpunished and dedication unrewarded all around, it’s hard not to think that close enough is good enough. Chabuduo
 
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