(This column was originally published in three parts)
I PLANNED to write about my trip to Beijing as soon as I returned to Cebu, but life, as they say, had other plans.
Now it all seems like a distant memory, although it has only been a little over a month since I said goodbye to the Chinese capital, where I spent almost two weeks as a guest of Renmin University of China to learn about how Chinese media and social media work.
I was joined by journalists from Indonesia, Malaysia, Thailand, Vietnam, Myanmar, Cambodia, Laos, Timor-Leste, Sri Lanka, India, Bhutan, Nepal, Bangladesh, and Mongolia. All in all, participants of the program totaled 15, one each from the countries I mentioned, including the Philippines. It was the first of its kind, organized with the help of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.
I have to thank Madame Zhang Zhen, the Chinese consul general, who encouraged me to go even though I had already turned down two previous offers to go to the mainland. It was an opportunity I should not miss, she told me. And I am more than glad that I went.
I have been to Europe and other parts of Asia. I went to college in the US where I stayed for at least five years. I had been to 24 countries before I turned 21. Back then, I considered myself a globetrotter. But in the last 20 years, I have hardly left this neck of the woods. My last trip to Manila was in 2017, although I go home to Davao at least twice a year. Other than that, it’s my walk from Urgello to P. del Rosario every day. I mean, that’s literally my world.
So imagine how I felt when I stepped out of the jet bridge at the Beijing Capital International Airport. To say I was overblown by the immensity of everything would be an understatement. I was dumbstruck, not only because of the sight that greeted me — sky-high ceilings, what looked to be endless wide hallways — but also because the walk to immigration left me almost out of breath. Not because it drained me physically, but because I was anxious about meeting with Chinese immigration.
You see, I was grilled and held up for almost half an hour at the immigration in Mactan hours earlier because the officer could not find a record of me. He asked for my itinerary, my invitation and whatnot. I tried very hard to keep my composure while I explained to him that I was going on a sponsored trip. I guess he was just doing his job, but I thought he could have used some common sense that could have saved both of us some time. The visa was there. The emailed invite was there. I showed him my roundtrip ticket. I couldn’t tell him where I was staying in Beijing because I had no idea and that someone was going to meet me at the airport. Finally, it dawned on him that I was going on some sort of a media exchange program, so he asked if I was a member of the media and asked for my ID. I was tempted to say something glib, but I just wanted to be out of there, so I showed him my press ID. Even then he made an effort to scrutinize my press ID.
Compare that to my experience in Beijing. The immigration officer looked at my passport and asked for my invite, which I readily showed him. Before you know it, I was doing the fingerprint scanning and had my photo taken. The whole thing took less than five minutes. Tops. Then I was ushered in. I was officially in the People’s Republic of China after more than 12 hours on the plane, in transit in Hong Kong, and a delayed flight to Beijing.
The first order of the night — it was past 9 p.m., after all — was to buy a Chinese SIM so I could contact Ruby from the Ministry. The service desk was conveniently located next to the baggage carousel. By the time I collected my suitcase, I had already contacted Ruby and told her I had arrived. She said somebody was waiting for me outside and sent me the driver’s picture. Lo and behold, he was right there, waving a tiny Philippine flag when I emerged from customs.
We brisk-walked to the carpark. The ride was an electric car, my very first. I sat next to the driver, crunched up because I couldn’t figure out how to adjust the seat. I tried to tell him my problem, but he spoke no English and I spoke no Mandarin. It took him 10 minutes into the drive to notice my predicament. Before long, I was enjoying a nighttime view of Beijing.
First impression: Very wide highways. Lots of nice-looking cars. Towering streetlights. And what seemed to be tall apartment blocks wherever I looked. I thought I was back in Kuwait, where I graduated from high school at the Universal American School, heading for Salmiya from our house in Salwa.
To those who have been to Kuwait, or any of the Gulf countries, you know what I mean.
The ride took more than half an hour — and we were going more than 80 kilometers per hour, or so it would seem — before we finally arrived at my destination: the Renmin University of China campus. It’s in the Haidian District, although if you ask me to pinpoint it on the map I would draw a blank. Let me just say this: Beijing, the city, is humongous. I think the entire city, with its suburbs, is bigger than all of Central Cebu. And that includes both the eastern and western seaboards.
The driver dropped me off outside a tall building which would be my home for the next week or so. I later learned it housed many international students. After checking in, I found myself inside my very own “suite,” and it was so darn cold, around 10 degrees Centigrade (it was 29 when I left Cebu that morning), and I had no idea how to turn the heater on.
So on my very first night in Beijing, I lay wide awake. Tossing and turning, I kept checking the time on my cellphone. I was dead tired, but I guess the adrenaline that took me all the way to my campus suite from Cebu was still pumping. I ended up sleeping for only two hours, wrapped in all the blankets I could find and still wearing the pants, sweatshirt and socks I had worn that day.
When I woke up, the first thing I did was look outside the window. The sky was azure blue.
The first order of the day was to meet the program’s other participants downstairs. But before I could do that, I had to take care of my morning ablutions. A shower was out of the question because the water was too cold. I later found out that I had to turn the switch all the way to the right and wait a bit for the hot water to come out. I guess I was just too anxious.
When I finally managed to haul myself downstairs, I was glad to learn that two other participants had a similar problem with their heater and their shower, which, by the way, were quickly taken care of by the end of the day.
I looked at their faces and realized that I was probably the oldest person in the room. It turned out that I wasn’t. The participant from Nepal was months older. That made me the second oldest person in the room.
A journalism graduate student led us to a restaurant where they served a traditional Chinese breakfast buffet, where we ate in the mornings during our stay on campus. The food was, well, very healthy, and I mean that in a very good way.
Then it was off to a small library by the School of Journalism building, which was a few minutes’ walk from the restaurant, for our first lecture on “Navigating Changes: The Evolving Media Industry Landscape” with Professor Hang Min of Tsinghua University.
We had lunch in another venue. Again, very healthy and very scrumptious. I didn’t think I’d be eating much, but there were oh so many choices and all were very good. I ended up gaining weight during the trip.
By the way, forgive me if I don’t have the names of the places I have mentioned. It’s not that I never bothered to learn them; it’s just that it wasn’t a priority. There was too much information to absorb; I decided to focus on what was important.
For the first five days, our schedule was lectures in the morning, and then, after lunch, we would go on trips. Our first trip was to the office of the People’s Daily before we headed off to the China Media Group.
Again, I don’t want to sound like a stereotypical country bumpkin, but let’s face it, the area where I work in Cebu City is not exactly known for its sophisticated modernity. So my jaw literally dropped when we entered People’s Daily. It was like being on a movie set. I looked around at my colleagues, and most of them had a similar reaction. So I guess I know where the rest of Asia stands in comparison to China.
At the China Media Group, we were met by Chinese translators who spoke the language of each of the 15 participating countries. There was one who spoke Bahasa for Indonesia, Thai for Thailand, Lao for Laos and so on.
I stood there, craning my neck and trying to listen for my own language. But there was nothing. Then I thought I heard something familiar. It took me a while to register that there were two Chinese nationals in front of me speaking Tagalog. I don’t know how long they had been standing there, but suddenly I felt really silly.
Fortunately, they had someone from the Philippines working in their office, a Tagalog speaker. When I explained to them that I was from Cebu and spoke Cebuano, he immediately understood and asked if I wanted the interview to be conducted in English.
Oh, how colonial of me. I felt ashamed. I mustered up the courage to tell them that we could do the interview in Taglish. It was the best I could do. I only studied Pilipino until fifth grade; then we left the country. I understand it better than I speak it, having watched all those Tagalog movies in the ‘80s like Scorpio Nights, The Boatman, Sabik and whatnot.
Also, I studied in Brent for a year and a half, so I speak a decent Coño. It was uncomfortable at first — answering questions in a language I hardly speak and barely use — but I think the interview went well. They had nothing to worry about. I have been reading about China’s economic progress over the years. I have watched countless videos on YouTube regarding China’s recent advances. I wasn’t ignorant going into the country. I was also well aware of the delicate relationship the Philippines has with China.
I admit I was, or I am, biased. But how could I not admire a government that has lifted nearly 800 million people out of extreme poverty? Does that make me a Sinophile? Perhaps. I don’t see any reason why I shouldn’t learn more about the emerging hegemon, especially one that is so close to our shores.
Of course, I had to remind them that I was expressing my opinion, which is not very popular here in the country right now. But that’s politics. And I’ve always said to leave politics to the politicians. I was in Beijing to meet Chinese people, to learn about their media practices. And if I learned something else outside that subject, then I would consider it a bonus.
The trip back to campus was long. Dinner was waiting for us in the same restaurant where we had lunch when we arrived. It more than made up for the arduous travel time spent in Beijing’s rush-hour traffic. We were in a private room where two large, round tables were set up. We didn’t have assigned seats, but we may as well have had them, because we sat in the same chairs during our whole stay there.
I was flanked by Thailand to my left and Cambodia to my right. Myanmar was seated next to Cambodia, and Timor-Leste sat next to Myanmar. Nepal sat next to Thailand, while Bangladesh sat next to Nepal. We initially called each other by our country’s name because it was hard remembering names at first. Obviously, that changed after a day or two.
We all started to get to know each other. There were questions, some of them quite personal. But we were all journalists, so it was to be expected. When I told them I was single and didn’t have any children, I swear you could hear a pin drop. But I’ve gotten used to the reaction, so it didn’t bother me a bit. Then they got over it and we went on to talk about other things.
When I finally got back to my suite, I took a long, hot shower. After that, I changed and ventured outside. I was told there was a 7-Eleven down the street. When I found it, I went straight to the liquor section and got myself a nice bottle of vodka. Finally, I would get a good night’s sleep. I woke up with a hangover. It was understandable; I had likely had too much to drink the night before to fully process everything that had happened over the previous 48 hours.
A visit to mainland China, particularly its capital, Beijing, had always been on my bucket list. That I was actually there that morning, sprawled in bed nursing a massive headache, felt almost surreal. But I had to drag myself out and prepare for the morning’s activity: a lecture on “Digital Media and Public Opinion in China” by Professor Zhang Di of the Renmin University of China’s School of Journalism.
By then, I had no problem finding my way to the breakfast hall. I had bonded with participants from Indonesia and Laos the day before, and we had agreed to head there together.
The lecture introduced us to the country’s unique social media scene and the “Great Firewall,” a combination of legislative actions and sophisticated technologies designed to block access to specific foreign websites and filter content. To critics, the system may seem stifling or even restrictive; however, based on my firsthand experience, it still allows citizens to express themselves in various forms. The caveat is that they must not go beyond pre-agreed boundaries; otherwise, they face consequences.
There is no such thing as complete freedom, even when living in a liberal democracy like the US. Trust me, there are so many petty rules over there that border on the ridiculous, all in the name of respecting individual rights. In a country as massive in area and population as China, focusing on the individual is a recipe for disaster. Thousands of years of ethos and tradition, passed down through generations, cannot be easily dismantled or dismissed. These traditions prioritize shared values and emphasize the need for a united China.
Social media users in China have it easy in a sense: they know where they stand. As long as they don’t wander too far, the government basically leaves them alone. I’m talking about hundreds of millions of people who have accepted the system and actually thrive in it. You can’t ask 999 voices to be quiet just because one voice disagrees. Obviously, you can’t please everyone, but those outliers are the exception rather than the rule.
Before I get ahead of myself and come across as a sociopathic, maniacal dictator-in-the-making, which, given the right circumstances, I could actually see happening, I should clarify that I understood the Chinese government’s logic even before I was flown to the capital.
Those of us who live in the “Western sphere of influence” have been brought up to believe that liberal democracy is the only legitimate form of democracy, or government, for that matter. Countries that don’t toe the party line, so to speak, are automatically branded as “enemies” or “bad.” Never mind if Washington snuggles up to an authoritarian regime that still chops off the heads of criminals; the latter is a friend simply because Washington says so.
Now you see where I’m going with this. China has inadvertently become America’s existential enemy because it not only refused to adopt liberal democracy but succeeded in nurturing a homegrown alternative: “whole-process people’s democracy.” In doing so, it has shown the world that there is an alternative to the system the West has been forcing on other countries since the end of the Second World War.
Many of the problems that former colonies face today stem from the fact that they operate under systems of government that are foreign to them, systems that dismiss their culture and traditions and denigrate their beliefs.
I know this because of what I have read. I know this because of what I have seen in my travels. I know this because I have lived in countries as diverse as Saudi Arabia, Switzerland and the US. I know this because I have been to China.
Some might say that a two-week stay is not enough to get a feel for a regime. Perhaps. I personally would have liked to stay longer. But it is still possible to gain insight, especially if you have done your homework beforehand. That’s why, when you go to China, do so with an open mind. Learn about its history and its ancient civilizations. Learn about its “century of humiliation” under foreign powers. Learn about the suffering it endured during the Japanese occupation and the Second World War. Learn about the civil war that ensued. Learn about how the Communist Party managed to emerge victorious despite the odds. Learn about the failure of the Great Leap Forward and the Cultural Revolution. Learn about how Deng Xiaoping transformed China into a socialist market economy. Learn about the massive global infrastructure strategy called the Belt and Road Initiative, launched by Xi Jinping.
Then you understand why some countries feel threatened. That’s also how you transition from a personal anecdote about a hangover into a broader geopolitical argument. I knew what I was getting into when I accepted the invitation.
The lectures in the succeeding days served as a primer — an abridged introduction to where China is headed in the next few years. These included: “China-US Relations and Major-Power Strategic Rivalry” by Professor Wang Yong of Peking University’s School of International Studies; “Chinese Path to Modernization: Orientation, Connotation and Global Significance” by Professor Zhang Xiaomeng, Party Secretary of Renmin University of China’s Academy of Discipline Inspection and Supervision; and “Chinese Media: Past and Present” by Associate Professor Chen Jijing of the Renmin University of China’s School of Journalism.
And as I said earlier, I already had a bias for China because I admire how it has transformed within one generation. The official visits in Beijing to Huawei, the Zhongguancun International Robotics Industrial Park, the High-Level Autonomous Driving Demonstration Zone Innovation Center, the Museum of the Communist Party of China, and the JD.com headquarters, as well as the trip to Zhengzhou, Henan, via high-speed train, which included visits to the Henan Media Group, Yutong Bus Co. Ltd., and the Henan Museum, merely reinforced my bias. A side trip to the Great Wall and the vicinity of the Forbidden City during our free time was a bonus.
But what I valued most during the experience was the chance to mingle and share stories with colleagues from the 14 other participating countries. Perhaps it is because I work for a community paper outside of the National Capital Region that I, as a sole representative of the Philippines, felt so isolated from events in the region.
I envied how participants from Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, and Thailand talked about crossing their borders on a regular basis for coverage. Or how participants from Indonesia, Timor-Leste and Malaysia could converse with each other using Bahasa.
On our last night, drinking in the Sri Lankan participant’s hotel room, he shared how he had mixed feelings about leaving. I understood what he meant. We were hardly apart during those two weeks together. It was impossible not to feel sad about going our separate ways.
But I, as the second oldest in the group, told him bluntly that we would probably forget each other in a day or two as soon as we got back to our own countries. That is why I made sure the memory of our final night together is etched in my mind as I return to my humdrum routine. (PJB)