Tag: J

Chapter Eight – Passage Five

Jack feels like someone who might be able to give some insight on our predicament in Xinjiang so during lunch, I ask him about his opinion on the region.  You might think that Jack, someone who the CCP has taken so much from, would be incredibly hostile towards the communist party and it’s treated the Uyghurs in the region.  But Jack’s response surprises me.

We’re sitting in a noodle shop and just about the only ones there.  It’s hot and there’s a fan blowing.  Jack swirls his tumbler of gin around pauses a moment; a crease appears between his eyebrows and then disappears.

“So what this reminds me of,” he says slowly, “is the story of my first two marriages.”

Kristen cups her chin with hers hands and leans forward.  “Oh, this sounds like it’s going to be good.”

Even Li’s appeared to have perked up a bit.

“So honestly, one of the many mistakes that I made at least in my first marriage was that eventually –and if you’ve ever been married long enough, you’ll totally understand this– but eventually, you’ll get into fights that actually have nothing whatsoever to do with what you’re fighting about.  Every fight is simply a proxy for a deeper issue.  In my first marriage that went off the rails, it was all about control.  She resented that I expected her to maintain a certain image and pretense.  And I resented that she didn’t understand how business worked.”

“Where was Wife #1 falling short?” Deepak asks delicately.  For whatever reason, Deepak’s apparently taken a sudden interest in the subject.

Jack waves his hand dismissively, “Ah, the details don’t really matter.  I don’t even remember them much now anyways.  But it eventually became a battle for territory.  Every bickering and conflict stemmed from a fundamental difference in values.  I was a high-ranking executive at Weibook then and we’d attend ceremonies and such.  I expected her to be there.  And so she was always deliberately absent.  I expected her to stay at home to raise our children.  And so she was always gallivanting around to pursue her own career or interests.”

I manage to keep my face neutral but I do feel like that there’s more to the story that we’re not getting.  But I don’t press.

“Being married,” Jack says contemplatively, “is not like running a company.  When you run a company, especially one your family has founded, you possess the authority to simply fire people.  Terminated, executed, goodbye.  And then you can always hire someone new for the role.  But in a marriage, you really can’t do that.  Well, not without getting divorced–“

“–which you did,” Li contributes.

“Yeah.  But that took forfeiting a third of my net worth at the time,” Jack says.  “Among other things.  Look, it’s different.  The dynamics and stakes are wholly different.  You’re talking about family– the threat and incentive model needs to be entirely different.  You can’t bully or threaten your spouse into a position.  This isn’t corporate warfare. It’s a million times harder played on a different field altogether.”

“So you’re saying no amount of hard or soft power that the Xi regime uses will persuade Urumqi?” I ask. Inside, I feel like a deflating balloon.

Jack scoffs.  “I’m saying the greater the force that Beijing exerts, the harder that Urumqi will resist.  At this point, no one cares about additional crops, new schools and libraries, renovated infrastructure, or any of the carrots that you guys have been trying to dangle in from of the Uyghurs so far.  At this point, it’s solely about pride.  The Uyghurs will die, to every last man, woman, and child, before they submit to Chinese rule.  You’re wanting to destroy their culture, after all. Their entire history as an autonomous people.”

“We’re trying to help them,” Shu says, annoyed.  I don’t often see her worked up but it’s clear that she’s grown angry.  Her normally soft features have hardened in frustration.  “They’re starving in poverty and entirely deficient in education.  Is that the world that they wish for their children?  Destitute?  Ignorant?“

Jack looks at Alan and speaks something in rapid fire Chinese.  I’m clearly lost but Alan replies.  This goes on for a bit.  Throughout the entire exchange, Li’s face hardens and Shu also looks increasingly distraught.  This is one of the parts about working in a foreign country that no one ever bothers to tell you about.  That as an outsider, there are just going to be giant swathes of critical conversation you simply miss wholesale.  But you’re still expected, somehow, to deliver results.

Finally, Alan deigns to fill the rest of us in.

“Jack’s wondering if we have current fatality and mortality rates in Xinjiang– from disease, starvation, crime, accidents, etc.”

“Of course we do,” Coleman says.  “That’s all part of the standard corpus.”

“So here’s Jack’s thinking on the matter,” Alan says.  “What are the current KPIs of this project?”

Chapter Five – Passage Three

“Jesus, calm down,” says Deepak, “no one here’s even remotely considering anything like that.  Besides, like Van said earlier, that sort of ‘hard-power’ move only works initially.  It only gets you so far.  Eventually, the poor slaves in the galleys will all kinda look at each other and realize that they’re being trampled upon by artificially-imposed scarcity.  And once that happens, you’re gonna get Spartacus on your hands, which ends exactly how you’d imagine.”

“What we need to watch out for,” says Katherine, “is the ten percent.”  She says this while staring intently at a donut which she’s speared with a fork off the breakfast spread.  The intensity of her gaze seems to suggest that she’s about the untangle some grand mystery of the universe.

“The ten percent?”  Coleman looks perplexed.  “Ten percent of what exactly?”

“In any given population,” Kat continues, “ninety percent of your people will be followers.  Maybe not always happy.  But they’ll be obedient.  As long as they’re ensured safety, food, and shelter, they’ll fall in line and do as they’re told.  The mass of men are not leaders.  Leading is difficult.  And annoying.  It’s a burdensome and thankless job.”

Van nods.  It’s the nod of a kindred soul whose been in the trenches.  Beside her, Coleman swivels around in his office chair, looking clueless.

“Ah.  And the other ten percent?” I ask.

“The other ten is the potential for trouble.  These are your aspiring revolutionaries, your dreamers, the wide-eyed and the eager.  People who’ll harp on about the grandeur of democracy and equality.  Young folk who grew up having never worked a single day of their lives and instead read James Baldwin and Malcolm X on Mommy and Daddy’s dime.”

Deepak nods.  “Your Gandhis and your Kings.  The Jeffersons and Adams of the world.”

“Exactly,” Van agrees.  “Without leaders, people degenerate to their native and primordial form– the common sheep.”

“Alright,” I say, “some gross and sweepingly broad generalizations notwithstanding, let’s say we run with Kat’s idea.  So what exactly?  You’re not thinking of more starvation and disappearance campaigns, I hope.”

“Tsk, tsk,” Van shakes her head.  “Honestly, you think such awful things about my nature.  On the contrary, it’s in fact the exact opposite.  We devise a system to reward the outliers and would-be changemakers.  Scholarships and job opportunities abroad.  We export them out of China.”

The moment Van describes her idea, I immediately realize there is merit in her thinking.  By appealing to the self-interest of the excellent and ambitious, it’s possible to use a carrot and simply lure them away.  No sticks necessary. It’s promising and the idea I like best so far, as it doesn’t require forced starvation or genocide.

“But how do we do that, exactly?” asks Katherine.  “Academic decathlons?  National competitions?”

“No, rewarding scholastic aptitude won’t work,” says Alan.  “In fact, many of the best test-takers and highest scorers, our data has repeatedly shown, are in fact the least capable of independent thought.  They are beneficiaries of China’s rigorous standardized testing system and destined for government sinecures and riches.  Many are from wealthy families as well who obviously possess a healthy interest in maintaining the status quo.  Almost entirely across the board, they’re the least likely to shake the boat.”

“So basically,” Coleman summarizes, “the valedictorians are sheeple and non-threats.  It’s the rebels and dropouts that we need to watch out for.”

“In a nutshell, yes.”

Jinshui Technology Park’s cafeteria is a buffet-style feast for the eyes and stomach.  But first– here’s one interesting sidenote observation that I found fascinating:  When I arrived at Jinshui, I didn’t receive a visitor’s pass.  I half-expected one to be zapped to my phone just like everything else has been electronically delivered.  But nope.  Instead, I was required to swipe into the cafeteria with my American passport (which was also on my phone).  Apparently, there are only two ways to swipe into all CCP properties (universities, laboratories, government offices, hospitals, etc):  If you’re a foreigner– with your passport that’s on your phone.  If you’re a Chinese citizen:  With either your Chinese passport or Chinese National Identification Card– both of course, on your phone.  The entire system is apparently unified that way– it’s like Single Sign-On, but for real-life.  I’m probably the only person who finds this nerdy detail amazing but it genuinely impresses me.  The Chinese had finally, at long last, done it:  Achieve the dream of unified identity across all platforms and properties, both virtual and material.  Hallelujah.

Anyway, the cafeteria is an eccentric bazaar of food offerings.  While the bus ride over had been predominately dominated by a monolithically Chinese ridership, the folks in the cafeteria are considerably more diverse.  I spy white people, black people, middle eastern folk, and even a sprinkling of Japanese which surprises me.  Historically, Japan and China have had their fair share of, uh, differences.  I guess I can’t generalize when it comes to populations of entire nation states but it honestly just surprises me a bit.

After some indecision I decide to try the station that serves South Korean hotpot and eventually make my way back to Erin who waves at me from the seating area.  By the time I get to her table, I see that she’s settled on a Philly cheesesteak sub that’s oozing with melted provolone over pastrami and salami.  It’s a monster sub but she’s already halfway through it.

“If there’s one thing you Americans get right,” she says through a mouthful of submarine sandwich, “it’s sandwiches.  Bless your little American hearts and stomachs.”

“Uh huh,” I say.  “They don’t have American cheesesteaks back across the pond?”

“Oh please.  Of course we do.  But this is such an American food.  I wouldn’t be caught dead eating it back home.”

“But you seem to be enjoying it so much.”

Erin licks her fingers, finishing her sub.  “Appearances, dear, appearances.  Gotta look the part of prim and proper; can’t be eating like a barbarian from the land of the Americas.”

As I watched Erin stuff her face with Philly cheesesteak sandwich, a simple but undeniable truth finally clicks in my brain.