Asian Ethnicities (1a)—Han 漢族

A year ago on Round and Square (6 July 2011)—Seinfeld Ethnography: Too Late for Coffee

Click here for the introduction to the Round and Square series "Asian Ethnicities" 

Click here for other posts dealing with East Asian ethnic majorities:  

China 1       China 2       China 3       Japan 1       Japan 2       Japan 3       Korea 1       Korea 2       Korea 3

[a] Centered RF

The first three entries (each in several segments) for the Round and Square series "Asian Ethnicities" deal with the majority ethnic groups in China, Japan, and Korea. We are starting with these groups precisely because they permeate all of the nooks and crannies of their respective histories. Indeed, the history of China is often taught (and this is especially true in Chinese schools) as the history of the Han ethnicity. As we shall see, this is particularly problematic in China, since the history of China can better—this is my opinion—be taught as a constant set of interactions with ethnic groups to the west, south, and especially north. It is no less important in Japan and Korea, however. The relative homgeneity of those populations exacerbate the problems, and engagement with various ethnic groups tends to be even further marginalized. I hope to give, in these introductory posts, a way of thinking about majority ethnicity in China, Japan, and Korea. These are by no means my last word on the subject(s). As you can see from the introduction to this series, these are works in process and are meant to be essays in every sense of the term.

Han 漢族 (汉族)

The Han ethnic group is by far the majority in today’s China, with over ninety-percent of the population identified under that category. This has been true for much of Chinese history, but with somewhat less dominant numbers. Indeed, one reading of Chinese history in the past 3,000 years shows a profound and sometimes highly divisive back-and-forth between Han Chinese and what today have come to be called “minority groups.” The first outright possession of China proper by non-Han rulers occurred during the Yuan dynasty (1368-1644), when Mongolian leaders ruled from Beijing. At no point was non-Han occupation more dramatically shown than in the Qing dynasty (1644-1911), when a Manchu domination of the imperial machinery penetrated into Han social life to the point that Han men were forced to wear the “queue” as a sign of submission that enveloped the vast majority of the Chinese population.

[b] Influenced RF

The more common case in Chinese history has been for the Han ethnic group to dominate, and to portray Chinese history as a history of the Han peoples. Courses on “China” throughout the world have been so heavily influenced by this pattern that it is sometimes difficult to see that the Han ethnicity, even though they form an enormous majority, are still one cog in the vast interplay of ethnic interchange that has made up Chinese history and culture for the past three thousand years. Han is Chinese, but Han is not “China.”

Han ethnicity is as diverse as it is overwhelming, and understanding that dynamic is key to understanding China throughout its long history. For example, the Han Chinese are not by any means an ethnic group united by spoken language. Numerous dialects span the vast territories where the Han ethnic group has found a place, including large swaths of southern and western China. The dialect groups have strong regional connections, but people of Han ethnicity have come to be the dominant population group in all of them. This dynamic can be seen today in China’s far west, where large numbers of Han have moved—often motivated by government incentives and employment strategies of their companies—to the major cities of Gansu, Qinghai, Xinjiang, and Xizang (Tibet) provinces.   

Geography and History  
In many ways, the history of China as taught in schools throughout the world is the history of the Han ethnic majority. This is a significant consequence of the dominance of Han culture over the past three millennia, and Han origins can be found much deeper in a series of Neolithic cultures flourishing along the Yellow River in northern China from approximately 7000 BCE. China’s early history—still very much the product of mythology, but with a growing archaeological record behind it—places key cultural changes in the late-third and second centuries BCE. The dynasties known as Xia (traditional: 2205-1766 BCE) and Shang (traditional: 1766-1122 BCE) saw the development of written characters and oracular divination extending from the growing center of a moderately centralized state.

[c] Dominance RF

Agricultural innovations during the Shang led to significant growth of the Han people’s ancestors, but it was during the Zhou period (traditional: 1122-221 BCE) that the full impact of Han cultural flourishing could be seen. During that time, the inexorable movement toward a truly centralized state influenced practically all elements of Chinese society and culture. The Spring and Autumn period is known for the ascendancy of a “feudal” state model and the first great texts of Chinese history and philosophy, including the works of Confucius, who was said to have authored or edited a major share of the Chinese classics.

In many ways, however, the last three centuries of the era did the most to cement the place and growth potential of the Han ethnicity. The Warring States period (traditional: 481-221 BCE) saw the often vicious final transition from a confederation of loosely-linked states to a centralized imperial model that would dominate Chinese history for two thousand years. The Qin (221-206 BCE) and Han (206 BCE-CE 220) helped cement the imperial model, and it would remain as reality or ideal for China from that time forward. Even during periods of disunion lasting up to three centuries, the model remained.

The Han ethnic majority played a sizable role in that history, and the growth of the Chinese state over the subsequent twenty centuries is a history of ethnic movement to and from the Yellow River drainage area, where most of China’s early history played out. From the Han dynasty forward, there is a continuous and never-ending engagement with territories and peoples of non-Han origin. It is one of the most dramatic themes of Chinese history, but it is underplayed in Chinese textbooks to such an extent that one might quite mistakenly assume Chinese history to be the history of the Han peoples. Beginning in the reign of Emperor Wu of Han (r. 141-87 BCE), however, major campaigns against the Xiongnu, to the north, as well as various territories to the southeast and southwest, spurred what would become a continuous mixing of ethnicities as territorial struggles gave way to alliances, linguistic modifications (on both sides), and, in many cases, cultural integration.

[d] Assimilation RF

This integration is often interpreted as a simplistic kind of assimilation, and textbooks not infrequently speak of the way that outsiders almost invariably adapted to Chinese (predominantly Han) culture. Far more rarely do they speak of significant changes that worked in the other direction—with “outsiders” (from the perspective of the narrative) deeply influencing Han culture. That this was so is indisputable, but it is often only tacitly acknowledged in history textbooks in the Chinese-speaking world. In fact, the cultural and linguistic blending was a constant in Chinese history, and it can be seen in two broad sets of movements.

The first came with pressures from the north, as peoples from northeastern and northwestern territories made incursions into China. Some of these, even as early as the Zhou period, were military incursions that forced Han Chinese out of their home territories. Others were part of the almost continual diplomatic give-and take between a centralized Chinese state and northern territorial groups. Intermarriage and various embassies played an enormous role in the cultural interactions between peoples.

The second major wave of interaction resulted from the combined results of territorial expansion, on the one hand, and northern territories being occupied by northerners, forcing Han peoples ever southward. This process, which can be seen even in Confucius’s Analects, accelerated in earnest in the first millennium of the Common Era. Large ethnic groups in the southeast were increasingly confronted by the growing commercial and governmental reach of the central state. Many dozens of ethnic groups in southwestern China also began a long process of acculturation at about this time.

Northern minority groups in fact, dominated the second millennium of China’s imperial era. The Mongols and the Manchus controlled two of the last three imperial dynasties—in every fashion, from military affairs to the imperial line itself—. The history of China is a history of ethnic adaptation and territorial expansion over 3,000 years in the regions between and beyond the Yellow and Yangzi Rivers.

[e] Beyond RF

Click here for other posts dealing with East Asian ethnic majorities:  

China 1       China 2       China 3       Japan 1       Japan 2       Japan 3       Korea 1       Korea 2       Korea 3

Asian Ethnicities—Introduction

A year ago on Round and Square (5 July 2011)—Settling in at the Committee on Social Thought

[a] Southwest RF

I'll be teaching a seminar this autumn by the name of "Asian Ethnicities." I have chosen these words carefully—mushy though they sound—and plan to stick with them despite the fact that every bit of software in my arsenal—from Microsoft Word to Blogspot—doesn't "like" the latter. The seminar, cross-listed for credit in history and anthropology, will deal with the manner in which ethnicity has played out, so to speak, over that vast and vague world we incoherently call "Asia" during, say, the last 3,000 years. That's a big topic, and I noticed the other day that I have a whole bunch of students who have enlisted for this dive into the inchoate mass of material we call ethnic studies. I speak of the confusion surrounding ethnic studies in a spirit of bubbling academic excitement, not frustration. Ethnic issues can create all sorts of rifts and confusions in the academic world, and it goes without saying that is because they intersect profound social, economic, and political issues that have everything to do with power, getting it, keeping it, and losing it.

It signals "relevance" and "contention" faster than you can say "SB 1070."

[b] Winding RF

I'm also writing a book right now on this very subject, and that is another reason why I have begun this series. My Beloit College colleague, András Boros-Kazai, and I are co-authoring an encyclopedic work that deals with  as many as 150 ethnic groups in central, northern, and eastern Asia. The final drafts are due next May, but we have been getting the background work done during the last few months. As with the series "Asian Miscellany," I hope to try out a few "long drafts" of my entries for that volume in these posts. They are not, of course, meant to be the same thing as the book. That would defeat the purpose, and on many levels. This is a place to work out some ideas, and the first three broad topics covered here will show exactly why this has appeal for me. Dealing with ethnic majorities in China, Japan, and Korea, they set the tone for the flurry of essays that will follow this autumn and winter.

That's a whole mouthful of stuff, so let's take a step to consider what it all means. Then we'll dive right into the heart(s) of the matter.

***  ***

[c] Complicated RF

To begin, let's think about those two words: "Asian" and "Ethnicities." Asia is a big ol' land mass, and has no obvious borders. It's not like Africa, North America, or South America that way. We can "picture" those, even despite the linkages and appendages that complicate our mental sketches. As any thirteenth century Mongol could tell you, Asia blends pretty seamlessly into Europe, and a conquering force can cover the territory a good deal more easily than it can by hopping into ships and crossing the Indian Ocean...or even trying to navigate the Sea of Japan during heavy storms.

Asia—it's a great big blob of turf, and not easy to define. Eurasia is a bigger blob of turf, and a portmanteau on top of it; it's even harder to define. The reason I am sticking with it has to do with the topic of the book, of course, but even more because I like the vagueness of it all. It suits both the project and these posts. I want to consider the Tajiks right along with the Miao, and the Ainu with the both the Uyghurs and the Mongols. I want it messy, right down to the question "what about "Uighurs?"

[d] Blending RF

O.k., maybe that namby-pamby mushiness will be all right with you when it comes to the territory we'll cover. But why on earth (and its various continents) do I insist on saying "ethnicities?" Wouldn't "Asian Ethnicity" sound better? Maybe even a little more objective?

Yes, it certainly would sound better. It just wouldn't be messy enough. Ethnicity? That sounds just a little bit too clean and segmented for my purposes. I am working with gummed-up machinery here. This isn't like knowing engine parts and being able to show how they function smoothly as separable items working together. That's sloppy structural-functionalism, and it won't cut it here. Ethnicity only seems to be clean and separable, and to the extent that we perpetuate the "parts" rhetoric we fail to underline just how much merging and assimilating and, frankly, fighting goes into every aspect of ethnic discussion.

Even delineating an ethnic group ("the Bai people live near Lake Er in Yunnan, wear colorful clothing, and make toys of bamboo") is ideological and pointed. There is nothing "objective" about it. The very idea of ethnic groupings creates a profoundly mixed-up concatenation of "subjectivities" that are not told well if they seem clear and clean—like the minority group (民族) dolls in native dress that can be purchased in department stores all over China.

Think of this series as a kind of paper doll exercise in which those clearly articulated ethnic groups start blending together, fighting, resolving, and intermarrying over 3,000 years of history. Asian Ethnicities. It's supposed to be complicated.

***  ***

We'll get underway with a series of posts dealing with ethnic majorities in East Asia. I struggled for a while with drafts of various entries for the book, and only in the last few days did it occur to me that these groups—the Han majority in China, the Japanese majority extending from the early Yamato state, and the Korean majority on the Korean peninsula—so dominate all discussion of ethnicity in their areas that they need to be considered from the start. It is not (let's be absolutely clear about this) because they are "more important." It is simply that the way people tend to talk about (and teach about) the history and culture of their regions is profoundly shaped by those ethnic groups. They will get us started, and we'll take it from there as summer turns to fall and the big seminar (and the book) get underway.

[e] Presentation RF

Endings (19)—Mayberry R.I.P.

One year ago on Round and Square (4 July 2011)—Meeting Bloom
Click here for the introduction to the Round and Square series "Endings."

[a] Rustic RF

Requiescat in pace, Mayberry, North Carolina. I read the news of Andy Griffith's passing today with a note of surprise. I do not want this to sound rude—I mean this sincerely—but I had been pretty sure that Andy Griffith had been gone for some time. What I realized as the day went on was that Andy's fictional world of Mayberry had been gone for some time. Everyone knew this in 1968, I am told, including Andy Griffith, who would go on to fame in another television series in the 1980s and 1990s. He had a kind of homespun savvy about these matters, and it served him well over the years.

New York Times Obituary

I grew up with Andy, and liked him. His fictional son, Opie, and I were close enough in age to make him seem like a kind of monochromatic brother figure to me. I admired Andy, laughed at Barney Fife, and struggled with the same familial issues—such as passing a baked potato to a guest at dinner with my bare hands—that occupied young Opie. Aunt Bee could have been one of my Norwegian great aunts, so closely did she resemble them, down to every detail except lefse rolling. Gomer Pyle, Floyd the Barber, and other characters rounded out this small town in mass society.

I was even born in a little town that had a similar name—Mayville, North Dakota. The shops, the gas stations, and even the tree-lined streets, with friendly neighbors calling out from their porches ("be careful at the pool!"), had a sort of black-and-white cultural resonance for me. Mayville...Mayberry. I sensed a few commonalities, at least beyond the weather. I watched it all.

[b] Fishing wholesome RF

In reruns.

You see, although it is possible that I caught a few episodes while it was actually on the air, I watched the show mostly in the cynical American afterglow of Vietnam War protests and Watergate hearings. The world had changed, but the show was everywhere. It was almost impossible not to notice the theme song every one (of a certain age) in America knows. On days when I was home sick from school, I watched way too much television, and the folksy reruns began almost as soon as the school day did. Although it is clear to me now that I would have been better off in school—even with a touch of strep—I got a peculiar education on those recuperative holidays, and it taught me a little bit about history, anthropology, memory, nostalgia...and irony. 

I became an ethnographer of Mayberry. I recognized bits and pieces of small town life in those episodes, and many of them rang true even though we had moved from the bucolic steppe right into the heart of American political and social conflict. Watching the Andy Griffith Show six blocks away from the University of Wisconsin—and during the height of the war protests—would give even a fourth-grader a few tremors of cognitive dissonance. In retrospect, I sort of like the way it played out. There I was, nine years old and more politically aware than most fourth-graders outside of university towns, watching Andy and Opie work through the ethical and moral issues of their day, with large doses of Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Parenting ideology. 

Opie's Allowance 2:26

[c] Avian RF

And then Opie killed the bird. This was a game changer in my young life. Opie, shootin' away at trees with his new slingshot, killed Mommy Bird. I had heard a story like that back when I was younger, and it had not gone well—for me. Bambi made me cry, back in the day, and I was not prepared for the image of three hungry little mouths to feed after Opie took out 媽媽 with a pebble to the gullet. That was a lesson that made Mayberry just as relevant to me as Madison, and I exercised greater care with implements that could become weapons of avian destruction.

Despite the key lessons that Opie and I were learning together, the show felt oddly out of place. Even a young northerner could recognize that all of the faces were white. I had learned enough American history and geography to wonder about the implausibility of such a scene. Something else struck me, although I certainly could not have articulated it back then. While there surely was some contention—a little bit of low-grade strife, not the least in Aunt Bee's ongoing string of suitors—this was mostly of the "narrative tension" sort common to thirty-minute dramas. What I would later come to know as conflict sociology seemed to skim right above the surface of this close-knit, homogeneous, homo sapiens community. I could see the roots of unresolved passive-aggressive behavior everywhere—all unresolved. Instead, the show had a peculiar monaural analog brand of structural-functionalism, and I wasn't buying it even back then.

That was then. Now I begin to wonder where Andy Griffith fits into all of this. 

Even Sheriff Andy Taylor can be read against the grain of the genre, and is by no means easy to peg (as the much less subtle spinoff, Mayberry R.F.D. was). Andy Griffith the person and actor, however, was a little more complicated. He was a firm Christian, loved hymns, and truly valued many of the show's lessons. He also understood his everlasting place in a kind of innocents-at-home nostalgia that is to this day a hallmark of Mayberry. It was good for business, and he learned the same lessons that pop musicians ignore at their peril—the audience wants you to be (and sing) the stuff they remember. Mr. Griffith understood this.

[d] Business RF

He took it a step further, though—one that many actors in all mediums are unable to accomplish. He recast himself as the unparalleled attorney Ben Matlock, and had another hit run for the better part of another decade. My grandpa loved that show. He was lukewarm about the old Andy Griffith Show, but he never missed an episode of Matlock. For grandpa, Andy Taylor and Ben Matlock were different, and in significant ways. As for me, I could not help but see a kinship between the folksy widower sheriff and the folksy widower lawyer, and said so to grandpa. He put down the popcorn bowl, furrowed his brow, and considered my statement. His response summed it up well, and it more-or-less said that I was mistaken. What grandpa actually said was "That Matlock...he's tough."

My opinion is that Griffith was complicated, but that he knew well how to avoid being so complicated that he would be merely a one-hit wonder in the television industry. 

Andy Griffith, as his New York Times obituary notes, understood his career and knew the world of television success well. We are also told that he "knew his way around a wine list." That's a little more complicated than I thought. Imagine Andy, Opie, and Aunt Bee sitting at the dinner table, eating the latter's renowned fried chicken and anticipating Opie's favorite, butterscotch pecan pie, for dessert. A bottle of Chateau Pétrus just doesn't quite fit on that checkerboard tablecloth, does it? The world of Mayberry was a fiction, and I learned early on to treat it as such.

So did Andy Griffith (1926-2012), and that might be the key to his longevity in a relentlessly typecasting business.

[e] Complicated RF

Fieldnotes From History (49)—Provincial Elections-j

Click here for the introduction to the Round and Square series "Fieldnotes From History."
One year ago today on Round and Square (3 July 2011)—Hurtin' Country: Elvis and Kentucky Rain

[a] Island RF

Click below for other fieldnotes dealing with Taiwan's 1985 provincial elections:
Election 1         Election 2          Election 3          Election 4          Election 5          Election 6
Election 7         Election 8          Election 9          Election 10        Election 11        Election 12

 Part of an occasional Round and Square series that follows the blog’s main theme (east meets west, round meets square, and past meets present), these snippets from my early fieldnotes are reproduced as they were written by hand—and then revised on an ancient desktop computer—during my first fieldwork stay in Taiwan (1985-1987).  All entries are the way that I left them when I returned to the United States in 1987—some nicely-stated and some embarrassing. Although the series began with my assumption that the entries can stand alone, I have found that separate comments and notes might help readers understand a world that is now, well, history. These are always separate from the original fieldnote.

The next several dozen entries in this series represent my memories—in the form of fieldnotes that were already well on their way to being letters—of Taiwan's provincial elections in November 1985. I had taken down what I call "jottings" at the time, and "now," two months later, I was ready to get a little bit more detail down in the form of fieldnotes. If you are somewhat unfamiliar with the five-stage process that framed my work habits even back then, it might be worth a quick look at the introduction to this series. Suffice to say here that in Taiwan in 1985 I was working from "jottings" to "fieldnotes" most of the time. Every month or so, I would write a letter that made it all into a more sustained narrative. Even early on, I realized how powerfully the knowledge that I would be writing letters influenced my fieldnotes. You may see it, too. It has remained my method to this day.

[b] Recall RF

Like many fieldnotes, these were "written up" (a term I dislike, but am occasionally willing to use) after the fact. I wonder if most students of anthropology know how common this is. The implications for research, eye-witness authenticity, and historiography are numerous. It is a reality that has never gone away for field researchers of all kinds, though, and I suspect that it never will.

Comment

The whole "live audiences" dynamic is a fascinating one. Remember (I think that I mention it every day) that martial law was still in effect during the 1985 provincial elections on Taiwan. In retrospect, the relative discipline of the Guomindang with respect to opposition attacks is surprising. I say that mostly within the context of martial law, and with the realization (which was not obvious in 1985) that the dangwai (meaning "outside the party") candidates would, indeed, be able to coalesce as a separate party. Not in 1985, though.

Notes

[1] The Election and Recall Law was the key election dynamic (from my perspective) in 1985. One could not, for example, hold a meeting in one of the burgeoning economic strongholds called "Beer Houses" on the outskirts of Taipei. This was not like discussions in a family's living room in Iowa...except for the size. The biggest thing that, in the testy waters of 1985, that Guomindang did not want was big, tumultuous events. A coffee klatsch (make appropriate cultural adaptations) was o.k. Barack Obama at Beloit College in 2008...was not.

[c] Obvious RF

[2] The monitoring was not obvious to the outside (anthropologist-historian) observer. This is the reason that the (anthropologist-historian) observer needs to be able to read. The newspapers and other outlets tell a story that the ethnographer will never "get" (in a hyper-literate world, at least) unless s/he reads. For all of you who think that learning to speak Chinese (Mandarin) will be "enough" to "get by," well, you're right. You'll get by. If you want to know what's going on, you need to learn to read, and that means 5,000(+) characters and several hours a week of reading. This is why the anthropology of literate societies is different in kind from everything that students read from the 1920s, 1930s, 1940s, and beyond.

[3] When is the field of anthropology going to wake up to the reality of highly- (or hyper-) literate societies?

16 February 1986

Taipei 
During the autumn elections candidate forums were restricted to “live” audiences and only provided seating for a few hundred people. No television or newspaper advertisements were allowed. The government approved a candidate list in advance of the election; unsuitable or dangerous (left-leaning) candidates were not allowed to run. Moreover, no unapproved speech settings were allowed. A candidate could not, for example, hold an impromptu rally on a street corner. The Election and Recall Law maintained that there be no privately sponsored election events whatsoever—no teas, seminars, or informal gatherings.

On the other hand, the opposition was allowed considerable latitude in its criticisms of the government. By all accounts, including my own, the elections were free and open. The Guomindang could be said, moreover, to be interested in good government, even at the expense of a seat or two. They did not, for example, nominate a candidate to run against Zhang Hua’s Dangwai magistrate Huang Shizhen because, it was reported, he performed his duties extremely well during his first term.

At one point, however, the Taipei Election Commission warned several Dangwai candidates against “violation of discipline.”  They had called upon the government to establish a new political party, and had called for a greater public role in government. Police spent the days during the election recording candidates’ speeches on videotape. This was meant as a deterrent for those who “harbor ill intentions against the government.”  

[d] Harbor RF

Click below for other fieldnotes dealing with Taiwan's 1985 provincial elections:
Election 1         Election 2          Election 3          Election 4          Election 5          Election 6
Election 7         Election 8          Election 9          Election 10        Election 11        Election 12

Fieldnotes from History (48)—Provincial Elections-i

Click here for the introduction to the Round and Square series "Fieldnotes From History."
One year ago today on Round and Square (2 July 2011)—Flowers Bloom: Prairie Enculturation

[a] Provincial RF

Click below for other fieldnotes dealing with Taiwan's 1985 provincial elections:
Election 1         Election 2          Election 3          Election 4          Election 5          Election 6
Election 7         Election 8          Election 9          Election 10        Election 11        Election 12
Part of an occasional Round and Square series that follows the blog’s main theme (east meets west, round meets square, and past meets present), these snippets from my early fieldnotes are reproduced as they were written by hand—and then revised on an ancient desktop computer—during my first fieldwork stay in Taiwan (1985-1987).  All entries are the way that I left them when I returned to the United States in 1987—some nicely-stated and some embarrassing. Although the series began with my assumption that the entries can stand alone, I have found that separate comments and notes might help readers understand a world that is now, well, history. These are always separate from the original fieldnote.

The next several dozen entries in this series represent my memories—in the form of fieldnotes that were already well on their way to being letters—of Taiwan's provincial elections in November 1985. I had taken down what I call "jottings" at the time, and "now," two months later, I was ready to get a little bit more detail down in the form of fieldnotes. If you are somewhat unfamiliar with the five-stage process that framed my work habits even back then, it might be worth a quick look at the introduction to this series. Suffice to say here that in Taiwan in 1985 I was working from "jottings" to "fieldnotes" most of the time. Every month or so, I would write a letter that made it all into a more sustained narrative. Even early on, I realized how powerfully the knowledge that I would be writing letters influenced my fieldnotes. You may see it, too. It has remained my method to this day.

Like many fieldnotes, these were "written up" (a term I dislike, but am occasionally willing to use) after the fact. I wonder if most students of anthropology know how common this is. The implications for research, eye-witness authenticity, and historiography are numerous. It is a reality that has never gone away for field researchers of all kinds, though, and I suspect that it never will.

[b] Flurry RF

Comment

I wrote a flurry of fieldnotes during the afternoon of February 15, 1986. As afternoon faded into evening, I had to tear myself away so that I could meet the pressing weekly demands of English tutoring. One of the realities of living in Taiwan in the mid-1980s is that people came out of the woodwork (and temples and alleys and byways) to find English tutors. I was (literally) accosted on thet street and propositioned. Although I struggled to keep my schedule free, some of the teaching offers were overwhelming, and I buckled. Well, that is how I came to shut down my work session on the afternoon of February fifteenth. I had to run off to teach an advanced high school student conversational English. This was something Bronislaw Malinowski never really envisioned.

I slept late on February sixteenth, had a nice brunch of spinach, rice, and tofu/doufu, and got back to work. The provincial elections of November 1985 had "story" behind them, and I had to get it down. Looking back, I just wish that I would have written a lot more. This is something that I hear a lot when I talk to anthropologists. Everyone wishes s/he wrote more in the field. I am just beginning to understand that writing anything at all is the key point in all fieldwork. Get it down...and then get to work on other projects. Those paltry little fieldnotes have hundreds of pages of hidden ideas stored within them—or, more accurately, "called to mind" when we reread them.

That is the point of all fieldnote writing. 

Notes 
[1] The various regulations that I mention in the fieldnote, below, are interesting in themselves. Oh, how I wish that I had taken them down in more detail. That is one of the challenges of fieldnote writing. We are not always sure what to document in detail. In this case, I assumed (accurately) that this information could be tracked down in detail later. Having said that...it would be much easier to have done it in the first place. If you have been reading these posts, you will have noticed the repetitive theme here.

[c] Twist RF

[2] The 1985 situation had a peculiar twist—dangwai candidates could not run under a party label. This would change quickly, and subsequent elections allowed a real engagement between parties, as we see today. In 1985, though (and don't forget that it was under martial law, at least in a technical sense), the ruling Guomindang party accepted opposition from only "individuals."

[3] Please note, again, that I was already making pinyin assumptions in my fieldnotes, even though everything was written on signs (and names and everything else) in Wade-Giles Romanization. If this doesn't make sense (you haven't been studying Chinese, for example), don't worry—it is just the difference between "Chang" and "Zhang" or "Kuomintang" and "Guomindang." 

16 February 1986 

Taipei

Local elections in Taiwan were held on 16 November 1985, and were preceded by ten days of electioneering. Five days of “candidate forums”—privately sponsored, but pre-approved, speeches at acceptable locations—were followed by five more days of public forums in which candidates had an opportunity to discuss, sometimes debate, issues face to face. Throughout the ten days of campaigning, the candidates were allowed two vehicles for advertising and broadcasting their platforms. Election spending limits varied, depending upon the county (Taipei highest, Penghu lowest) and the responsibility of the position (mayors were allowed slightly more than assemblymen).

All together, three hundred fifty-seven candidates sought one hundred ninety-one seats. Some seats were uncontested. Opposition (Dangwai) candidates were allowed to run, but only as individuals. They are forbidden by law from uniting into any form of alliance—they are not a party, merely individuals running in opposition to the government’s ruling Guomindang (Nationalist) party.

[d] Future RF

Click below for other fieldnotes dealing with Taiwan's 1985 provincial elections:
Election 1         Election 2          Election 3          Election 4          Election 5          Election 6
Election 7         Election 8          Election 9          Election 10        Election 11        Election 12

Bricolage Bibliothèque (1)—Bike Seat

One year ago on Round and Square (27 June 2011)—Flowers Bloom: The Introduction

Click here for the Bricolage Bibliothèque Resource Center
Click here for the introduction to Bricolage Bibliothèque 

[a] Seat bones RF

Even Americans who have not watched much television are probably vaguely familiar with a certain hefty figure—a UPS driver with formidable appetites—who came to be known as the King of Queens. You might think you know where this post is going, but, well, you don't. I am not much interested in the show, and was just zapping through channels aimlessly the other night (I am on the road and the hotel channel-changer was relentless) when I saw the following scene. Thank heavens and the Internet for YouTube. Here is an entire episode, but all that you need takes place in forty-five seconds between 17:45 and 18:30. Check it out.

Bike Seat Bricolage (at 18:05)

[b] Comfort RF

O.k., now we're talkin'. Have you ever tried to ride without a bike seat? "Unpleasant" doesn't even begin to express it. Even to approximate it, we would have to look for new terms such a "road proctology" and "Chevrolet Impal...in'." I do a great deal of cycling, and it feels good to sit back on the ol' polyurethane and pedal from a position of strength and comfort. I pretty much take it for granted these days.

In fact, bike seat technology has made enormous strides in the last few decades, and the best companies have created perfect, light, and anatomically resonant behind-receptacles that would make me blush if I thought about it too much. Like Japanese bathroom technology, so much advanced scientific work has gone into their creation that it feels mildly obscene to explain it all. Today's advanced bike seat is a thing of beauty, though. I find the best of them so extraordinary that I even have an elegant Selle Italia racing seat sitting on my bookshelf next to my writing desk like as a work of art.

O.k., that's just me.

[c] Fashioned RF

Kevin James's character has a problem, though. Someone stole his bike seat. The next scene is the very point of this new series on Round and Square called "Bricolage Bibliothèque," or, maybe, the jack-of-all-trades library. It deals with the way that people fashion solutions from nature and culture in the face of technical challenges. 

If you are unfamiliar with the concept of bricolage, please take a read through the full coverage of it in Round and Square's "Theory Corner" series. It will explain everything you need to know about an idea you never knew you needed (but you do).

Here is our challenge today, though, and it requires using the underused Round and Square "comment" section if you are to contribute. Don't be shy. Imagine the following challenge. It is not hard to do if you have looked at 18:05 of the King of Queens episode:

          You return to your bike and find the seat stolen. Let's say that you have 

          five or more miles until you are "home." You will pay like the devil in your

          nether regions if you do nothing. How will you "fashion" a bike seat from 

          the world of material around you?

[d] Hmmm RF

Go ahead and imagine your situation any way you want. You could be, like Kevin James, outside a store (perhaps with a Staples or Office Max nearby—don't begrudge this suggestion). On the other hand, you might be pedaling through the Mongolian countryside, with only rocks and yak horns (such as there are) in your midst. Get creative. Use your abilities with bricolage to create a bike seat comfortable enough to get you home. 

I have my own ideas, but it is your turn. I laughed out loud when I saw the sandwich going on the seat post in the King of Queens episode. That is one of the best moments in the history of television, from my perspective, and I just saw it a few minutes ago. Now it is your turn to run with it. How would you make a bike seat with enough je ne sais quoi to get you home in one "peace?"

I will be waiting by the comment section. Fashion yourself a bike seat, fasten it to the seat tube, and write a comment. I'll pick a winner on August 1st. The winner gets a copy of the new Penguin Classics version of Claude Lévi-Strauss's classic Tristes Tropiques—a muse...of sorts...from the most articulate voice of bricolage in history. It is a great read (one of the best books ever written). It could serve as a makeshift bike seat in a pinch, too.

[e] Elegance Rex Rectal RF