Journal of the National Friendship Prize Ceremony
Beijing, 2008
Pat Randolph
September 24:
I’m in last minute preparation mode for an unusual September trip to China. This is normally
“prime time” in the U.S., when I speak at conferences and conventions around the country, but
the invitation to China could not be ignored.
“You are nominated for China’s Greatest Award given to foreigners, but you must be here to
receive it,” read the invitation. I couldn’t say no. I have rearranged all my classes, completed
my time-sensitive writing and even written checks in advance for the housekeeper. All that
remains is packing and getting up at 5 a.m. Thursday.
But, I’m a preener. Although dumpy and overweight and hardly possessed of movie star looks, I
like to wear nice clothes. My good suit still buttons, but there are a few hours left before
departure – so it’s off to the Plaza for a new shirt and tie. The Italian shirt I buy without trying
on will prove to be a “trim cut” with an impossible double button collar. Better for basketball
stars than basketball shapes. But for now, I think I’ve got the perfect new shirt and a dynamite
just-conservative-enough tie.
Next it’s off to Prairie Village to replace my balky, well-used roller bag, which has squeaked like
a train engine for two years. I go for a high end brand and discover that, even loaded, it glides
like an angel. (This is my great joy, and will more than offset my disappointment when the shirt
proves unwearable.)
About 9:30, I do one last email check. Horrors!! My Beijing University colleague reports that:
(1) they had forgotten that I lost a day flying to China, and (2) the talk I was expecting to give
after a good night’s sleep will happen immediately when I arrive. Jet-lagged, headachey and all,
I will be presented to an audience at Peking University to explain the subprime crisis.
September 25: From Plane to Podium
I’m up on my own before 5...
I’m going to Beijing through Dulles in D.C., where I search for a TV to see whether the
economy is tanking as predicted when our leaders couldn’t agree on how to save Wall Street
from itself (and save me and my 401K and everyone else’s in the bargain). From what I see,
things look OK. Barney Frank is making comforting noises. So I board the 777 to Beijing (over
the pole to the west) with a more secure feeling.
I watch an in-flight movie called “The Visitor,” about a college professor who befriends an
illegal immigrant couple. There are a few references to 9-11 and bombings, but the airline has
neatly sliced out the dialogue. Lots of silent mouthings.
Thirteen hours later, I sail out of Beijing’s gorgeous new airport on the wings of my new roller
bag and meet my student hosts. When we arrive at the International Exchange Hall, the speaking
venue, I am handed a new Norelco style shaver to tidy up. Then I am whisked into the hall
where the audience is waiting.
The place is packed – nearly 400 people, some real estate professionals and many students, all
wanting the wise professor from the West to analyze how America got into all this financial
trouble and to advise China on how to avoid it. This is a big audience for me, and there are
translators. Some guests don’t speak English, and the hosts want the audience to have some
notion of what I am saying. I would like to know myself.
I am half conscious for most of the talk; but the audience seems to like it, so the time flies by. I
promise my listeners that the wrangling in Congress is political posturing and we’ll have a
bailout package by Sunday. That sort of confident misjudgment explains why I’m not making
any money in the market. I’ve been awake now (with a little dozing) for 24 hours.
We go to the Ministry of Foreign Experts, which also is a hotel for luminary guests. It turns out
I am such a guest. Check-in is a dream - very efficient. I am handed a schedule that tells me I
need to be up at 5 AM again the next day. As I fade off, I reflect that – because of time
differences – this was a 30 hour day, and so much more eventful than my average one.
September 26: Award Day
Award day. I put on my red awardee tag, my black suit, fiddle with the buttons on the too tight
new shirt and then surrender, don my “back up” shirt, and head for breakfast. I sit at a table next
to a Canadian anthropologist who is analyzing social patterns in Chonqging, home to 13 million
urban residents and 20 million peasant farmers within the city limits. China’s philosophy is to
urbanize, and many rural peasants are being moved into cities.
I comment that this is likely to make farming more efficient in China, and I am challenged
immediately by a German agricultural economist who claims that the land may get more
productive as China moves to farming by machine. Then, he says that measuring efficiency
requires that we look at the value for the investment. Millions of farmers working the land by
hand may be better for China and better for the farmers. I listen attentively. After all, he’s the
expert.
The other guy at the table is an American piano engineer from New Jersey, who is showing the
Chinese how to build original high quality grand pianos instead of copying from other countries.
He claims that modern grand pianos, with their new materials and scientific analysis, are far
superior to the classic ones. He built an expensive custom piano for the Olympic opening
ceremony, but the Chinese artist selected to play was under contract to Steinway; so the custom
piano was never used.
After breakfast, we’re off. It’s 7 a.m. on a Saturday, but our roadway is clear of traffic. I
suddenly realize the government has closed off this major street to take us to the Great Hall for
the ceremony. Police cars with flashing lights attend us. I feel like I’m in the Popemobile
without anyone to wave to.
Next to me on the bus is a nice lady from San Diego who has been teaching nursing education in
China for the last thirty years. She comments on Chinese socialized medicine and confirms, as
I’ve heard before, that one works through an “arranger” to be admitted to a hospital. I
understand why some Chinese prefer traditional holistic medical practices that may not require
hospitalization.
Now to the presentation ceremony. It’s in the Great Hall of the People – the massive proportions
of this building are even more staggering without hordes of tourists. We are escorted through
giant hallways to a very ornate room set up classroom-style, with names at each place. I’m in
the back, number 45. I’m not troubled to be at the end of the line, I’m just delighted to have
made the cut. Later, I realize that we are arranged alphabetically by country. First to get their
prize are the folks from Australia. The back row is all U.S.
The Americans on both sides of me are Taiwanese-born. One runs an engineering company out
of San Francisco and is building bridges and monorails in mountainous Chongqing. The guy on
the other side has an IT company in San Jose and chairs an important Chinese/American
friendship group. I never find out exactly what else he has done to be of service for China.
Maybe it’s secret. Later, at a seminar with our Chinese hosts present, he states that he was “born
in China.” A very political statement.
In the row in front of us is the first American by alphabet - Dr. Chance, who sits in a wheelchair.
Dr. Chance is 95 years old, a biochemist and a retired fellow of Trinity College in Cambridge.
Because he is at my table later at lunch, I learn of his storied past, including winning a gold
medal for sailing at the Helsinki Olympics in 1952. He was the ship’s skipper, and in those days
you provided your own boat. He is bright, but very weak. He is just starting his annual sojourn
in China that lasts over a month; but the next day, while events are still underway, his health fails
and he leaves the hotel in an ambulance.
The nurse and piano engineer are further down my row. We all sit and chat, waiting for the
government officials. The ceremony is proper and sober, and the award is nice – a heavy gold
medal on a decorative ribbon. Also, we receive a plaque with an engraved plate describing the
award.
Back to the hotel by ten a.m., again through streets cleared by a phalanx of police cars and
motorcycles. Nap time. I am lucky to get the medal off my neck before falling into bed.
Lunch with Dr. Chance and a Bulgarian apple expert. There is also a Japanese gentleman who is
here because he is helping make Chinese rice taste better. Hmmm. Another guy, an Austrian, is
growing super wheat.
After lunch, I grab a couple of cat naps. I awake in plenty of time for the next event, shown on
the schedule as a 6 p.m. “reception.” I should have read between the lines.
When I arrive, I don’t see people standing around having a drink, which is my idea of a
reception. Instead, it’s a sit-down dinner, with everyone seated but me. I am ten minutes late,
which I assumed would be somewhat early for a “reception.” The hosts are kind, especially
since I didn’t bring my invitation with my table assignment. They place me at a table full of
agricultural experts and feed me a steady array of Chinese delicacies. I have no idea what any of
it is, but I eat. What a trouper!!
Then...you guessed in - back to bed. Of course, as is typical with jet lag, I awaken at 2 AM and
begin this journal before crawling back under the covers for a few more winks at around 4:30.
September 28: A Chinese Museum, Seminar and Concert
A more humane 8:30 a.m. departure for the new Capital Museum to see an exhibition of the 50
leading treasures in China, culled from museums throughout the country. Once again, the police
close off the freeways and we’re there in a breeze. However, when we enter the magnificent
museum building, we are surrounded by people. This is National Day Holiday and the museum
is free, so multitudes of Chinese visitors are filming each piece in the exhibit. The display hall is
absolutely choked. Our guide has an itinerary of sorts, but twice I lose our group in the crowds.
Later in the day, we have a “seminar” in which the experts gather for an open conversation.
Steered by our hosts, we end up talking about how China can make better use of foreign experts.
I suggest that they arrange short trips by foreign faculty to groups of Chinese schools. Important
schools, like Peking University – my home base – are flooded with foreign volunteers. But there
is a real need at the smaller, more remote institutions. For example, of the 600 Chinese law
schools, only about 20 are “elite” enough to attract foreign lecturers.
In the evening, we are treated to a concert by the Beijing Philharmonic - Dvorak’s New World
Symphony and a modern Chinese violin concerto. I keep drifting off to sleep and contributing a
few snores to the sound of the bassoons. I have warned my seat neighbor, who periodically
elbows me to shut me up. Coming and returning, the police again close off the streets for our
busses to pass through unobstructed. We’re getting used to this.
September 29: Time to Meet Premier Wen Jiabao
Getting closer to seeing the Premier at tonight’s banquet, but in the meantime we have a tour of
the Olympic facilities. It’s National Day Holiday and the police again clear the streets for us (a
courtesy we now regard as our due). At the Bird’s Nest and Water Cube, we follow guides
carrying bright red flags. On the field area of the Bird’s Nest, many props from the famous
Opening Ceremony remain, including costumes, drums and the printer’s blocks that were so
entertaining. The drums are impressive; and the printer’s blocks are exactly what we saw on TV,
replicas of Chinese characters.
The seats in the Bird’s Nest are hard plastic and all the same, built for maximum occupancy.
The Water Cube looks small next to the Bird’s Nest. We don’t visit the swimming area –
“Phelpsville” - because lights are being installed for a dancing waters display. We mill around
with some of the 500,000 Chinese expected to visit these two buildings today.
Lunch, then a 90 minute interview with journalists from two Chinese real estate magazines. I
tell them that China is far too prudent and regulated to experience something as crazy as the
subprime crisis, although rampant speculation in their housing market is creating a house of
cards. Why I’m still pontificating – after missing the prediction on the Congressional action –
would be a very good question to anyone with a smaller ego.
We leave at about 5:00 p.m. for the Great Hall, where we mingle in a large room. We get a kind
of warm-up talk from someone who tells us that there are almost half a million “foreign experts”
working in China today. This makes us 50 honorees quite special. Then our group, some with
spouses, is herded onto a set of wooden steps for a group picture. No shrinking violet, I
maneuver to a center position on the second step. But the others aren’t shrinking violets either,
so I’m pressed tightly by a Polish wife on one side and a Korean on the other. Everyone wants
to be in the center. Propped up and almost immobile, I stand with the others for more than half
an hour while my circulation breaks down.
Although I feel like I’m about to pass out, my attitude changes dramatically when Wen Jiabao
and other leaders appear. He is an absolute leader. Emanations of power surround him, sparked
by the reverence with which the Chinese treat him. Particularly because of his steady leadership
after the earthquake, this guy is the Pater Familias for 1.3 billion Chinese.
Wen is short and dapper, with a fatherly demeanor. He uses lots of gestures - finger pointing and
arm sweeping - that seem out of synch with his slow, deliberate speaking pace. The talk itself is
an expression of gratitude for all the foreigners like us who are helping China. He stays on topic,
noting the recent difficulties (the floods, the earthquake, and the milk adulteration mess) and the
triumphs (the Olympics and, just yesterday, the space walk) as he stresses how China needs our
help.
Then our picture is finally taken, along with a lot of video clips for the evening news. Many of
my Chinese students, aware that I’m getting the award, spot me on TV that evening and send me
emails and text messages of congratulations.
Next we enter the immense, highly decorated banquet hall. I doubt if there are similar spaces so
sumptuously carpeted, or intricately worked with plaster moldings and painted murals. It is a
palace, complete with a small army of waiters briskly serving a sumptuous meal to several
thousand attendees. Hu Jintao, another prominent leader, is present but does not speak. Wen
makes another small address, and then we chow down. In the back, lost in the vastness of the
place, is a large Army Band. They delight us with a gustatory selection of martial music while
we dine.
In a surprising lapse of flawless organization, our Chinese hosts have not told us where to meet
our busses; so after dinner we “Fabulous Fifty” find ourselves on the vast front steps of the Great
Hall, watching scores of sleek black cars arrive. Their drivers leap out and attach national flags
to the right front fenders (apparently the flag can only be flown while a diplomat is in the back
seat). Embassy types glide down the steps to their waiting limousines. Some, particularly the
Africans, wear colorful formal costumes from their home countries. There is a truly rich array of
fashion passing by - classier than the Oscars, and without the red carpet and the ga ga tourists.
Watchers are kept behind a police barricade at least two hundred yards away.
Finally, as things clear, we spot a group of busses off in the distance. I hurry ahead with the
Canadian anthropologist. When we get to what we think are our busses, we turn around and
realize that we are alone. Behind us, the rest of our party was diverted to the right busses and
have disappeared. A few minutes later, the busses around us also load and drive away and we’re
left standing in Tiananmen Square on a warm Beijing evening.
As we begin the hunt for a taxi, we see what appear to be our busses just exiting the area off in
the distance; and we do the usual frantic “run and wave” routine. Someone on the busses spots
us and they stop so we can rejoin the group. By now, I’m something of a legend to our hosts.
Last to arrive at the hotel, late for the reception, and now lost in the night.
Back at the hotel, troubled a bit by some existing medical symptoms, I call my doctor in Kansas
City. I’m told that there are no real concerns, but that I ought to take some Cipro and come in to
the office on my return. Terrific. Where do I find Cipro?
The next morning, I answer my own question. The nurse!! I see her breakfasting with a group of
Americans. It turns out to be her family, all of whom have flown from the States to be with her.
I ask her about Cipro, but she doesn’t have any. Luckily, everyone else at her table has packed
some for the trip. I get a bottle relatively quickly and spend a half hour collecting business cards
from the other awardees.
My moment in the sun is over. I pack up my gold medal, my business card collection and the
rest of my belongings and step outside to wait for a cab. We dive into the dense traffic of
National Day Beijing. No police escort. I’m just an ordinary “big nose” in a cab once again.