What Hu and Obama spoke about South Asia, and a round-up of reactions to that sentence.

Buried in the lengthy joint statement the U.S. and China issued on Tuesday was one sentence on India and Pakistan. Understandably, it was the focus of all the coverage in India on the Obama-Hu meeting (which I thought was a little unfortunate since it over-shadowed subtle but important progress on climate).

If you couldn't locate that sentence in the statement (yes, it was that important), here is the offending paragraph: "[The two sides] support the efforts of Afghanistan and Pakistan to fight terrorism, maintain domestic stability and achieve sustainable economic and social development, and support the improvement and growth of relations between India and Pakistan. The two sides are ready to strengthen communication, dialogue and cooperation on issues related to South Asia and work together to promote peace, stability and development in that region."

Read it as you like, but it prompted a range of responses. But first things first. So what exactly did Obama and Hu talk about on South Asia? The two leaders of course didn't take questions after their so-called press conference at the Great Hall on Tuesday. But He Yafei, the vice foreign minister, gave some clues about what went on. He said in context of the whole meeting, they spent hardly a few minutes on this area because they "had no time." The focus was on Afghanistan, Pakistan and terror. They decided to leave it at saying they would co-operate, but "did not discuss any specifics" whatsoever.

An official who was at the talks said the India-Pakistan line was more a general, vague re-articulation of what they both have - often - separately voiced on "supporting" progress in improving relations. He said they neither discussed this, nor specific roles they would play. (Fyi, China has used a similarly-worded statement in the past when asked at regular press briefings on Ind-Pak issues. Most recently on Chinese projects in PoK, the spokesman said the same thing, that China "supported" improving relations.) But of course, it becomes a much more loaded statement in the context of a China-US joint statment, and logically looks like the US opening a door for China to stick its nose in South Asia. It was also, no doubt, an error on the part of U.S. officials for ignoring well-founded Indian sensitivities, especially right before Manmohan Singh's DC visit.

Chidanand Rajghatta has an interesting round-up of reactions from DC. Ashley Tellis says its "counterproductive", while others seemed to concur with the official I spoke to in viewing it as more a general, "ritual" rearticulation of supporting stability in the region, and not a specific change in policy that we should read too much into.

The MEA strongly asserted there was no role for a third-party in a bilateral dispute.

The Pakistani media unsurprisingly welcomed the statement, reading it as U.S. acceptance that China had a "vital" role to play in Indo-Pak relations.

On a related note, take a look at Brzezinski's Op-ed in the FT yesterday, where he calls for an informal "G2" and US-China involvement on a range of issues - many where it would certainly be unwelcome and counterproductive - including "regarding India and Pakistan", where he says it could "perhaps lead to more effective even if informal mediation."

Also take a look at The Acorn's response to it, which I rather liked.

But most importantly, what did you think?

China's angry artist

Sheng Qi is most well-known as the artist who cut off a finger in a fit of rage after the events of 1989. Two decades on, he revels in taking on subjects his colleagues don’t touch.

They took away three paintings: a nude posing with an AK-47 in front a portrait of Mao Zedong, a Chinese policeman displaying a 100 Yuan bill (which features Mao’s face) and a young Mao showing the middle-finger. But they left on display a dozen other paintings, some invoking the Tiananmen Square protests of 1989, still very much a taboo topic in China today.

China’s censors can be hard to read. On occasion, they find the most harmless paintings objectionable, and on others, leave on public display such strong criticisms of the Chinese government that stun foreign visitors who expect to see bland, safe art here. Behind the seeming arbitrariness of China’s censors is a growing confusion of where boundaries lie. And, behind this confusion are an increasing number of Chinese artists, filmmakers and journalists who are pushing the limits of expression in China, cleverly working in the grey areas between what is acceptable and what is not. For once, the censors are being asked the hard questions.

* * *

“Sheng Qi”, in Mandarin Chinese, means “getting angry.” Sheng Qi, the artist, has always been angry. On June 5, 1989, the day after the violence on Tiananmen Square, Sheng, in a fit of rage and frustration, grabbed a knife and severed the little finger off his left hand and buried it in a flower pot. The next day, still angry, Sheng left China for Europe, promising to never come back. He did. Ten years after working tables in Rome, and eventually, getting to London to study art, Sheng returned, an accomplished artist, determined to change the way his Chinese colleagues did art. But the anger hasn’t subsided.


Sheng, now regarded as one of China’s most daring contemporary artists, revels in taking on subjects his colleagues don’t touch, from the country’s growing HIV problem and the rising hyper-nationalism he sees in his countrymen to the sensitive legacy of 1989. These themes were evident in his latest project — perhaps his most daring coming a month before China marked its politically sensitive sixtieth anniversary on October 1 — which went on public display last month. “The Power of the People” explores an engaging but complex question: What does China mean to its people today?

* * *

I meet Sheng at a Starbucks a five-minute drive away from his studio, which is located in Beijing’s expansive 798 art district, where much of China’s most progressive art can be found. For an artist known for the anger of his work — all his paintings drip eerily with paint. Or is it blood? — he is surprisingly soft-spoken and calm. Dressed in a brown t-shirt and jeans, with his left hand firmly in his pocket, Sheng jumps into the seat of a silver Mercedes convertible. He drives only with his right hand. His studio, like others in 798, is an old military factory warehouse, with blue walls, a tin roof and a vast interior space filled with paintings and statues — he sculpts too.

Sheng’s work is driven by two simple objectives: to change the direction of where he sees Chinese contemporary art heading, and simply, to ask questions. “The way I look at art, and others disagree, I see no point if you don’t have a message,” Sheng says. “And when I look around me, so many artists here simply don’t have anything to say with their work. I look at Chinese contemporary art and no one asks questions, criticises social issues, looks at our environmental problems or human rights. It is too separate from the day to day lives of people.”

“The Power of the People”, his latest series, features provocative themes. They were partly inspired by the events of 1989, and also by what Sheng sees as a worrying spurt in what he calls “narrow-minded nationalism”, most evident during the Olympics of last year and again in recent weeks as the country celebrated its 60th anniversary. He sees a society, and its art, growing too intolerant of ideas, rejecting debate and discussion. “It bothers me a lot that China is becoming extremely nationalistic,” he says. “Every nation is proud of itself, yes, but when it becomes too much, it’s dangerous. You then have a society with no debate, no discussion.”

* * *

China is far more open today than it was a decade ago — artists can take on provocative issues, journalists can expose local officials for corruption. But many subjects still remain off-limits — usually, anything that directly questions Beijing’s authority. The challenge, for journalists and artists, is that there is seemingly no well-defined line between what is acceptable and what isn’t.

Artists and journalists seemingly face three choices: operating well within this line and playing it safe; moving abroad and becoming a critic from outside; or, operating in the always-changing grey area along the official line of acceptability. For those that choose the third option, the risk is obviously great, but so is the reward.

Successfully walking this line means they are in the forefront of shaping public opinion in China today, as unlike voices from outside, they are in touch with and have direct access to mainstream Chinese society. But doing so involves at least two aspects: having good ‘guanxi’, or relationships with the government that you can rely on to bail you out, and more importantly, having the intrinsic ability to read where this hazy dividing line runs. The few that have succeeded in doing so have emerged as China’s most influential voices. Like Hu Shuli, the brave editor of the excellent Caijing magazine, one of Chinese journalism’s most influential independent voices. Caijing breaks stories and raises issues other papers don’t go near. Or Fu Jianfeng, the editor of the Southern Weekend newspaper, another intrepid journalist who has, through his sensitive stories, incurred the wrath of Chinese authorities on a dozen occasions, yet managed to keep his paper going while dozens of others have been shut down. Sheng too has seemingly discovered the secret to walking this line.

* * *

Sheng describes his art as “ugly”. He says most artists in China focus on high technique, which appeals to refined Chinese tastes that value form over content. “Their’s is high cuisine,” he says. “I serve rice and water.” One painting shows a nude woman brandishing a gun, posing in front of Chairman Mao, China’s revered founding leader. Another shows a sea of troops massed in front of Beijing’s Olympic stadium, critiquing the Olympics hysteria. Another shows dozens of young people camped out on Tiananmen Square, subtly invoking the days of ’89.
Sheng says he wanted “to get people to think, to push their boundaries and get them to ask questions.” The dozen or so paintings attracted a lot of attention in Beijing, coming at a sensitive time for the country. The exhibition opened bang in the middle of two important anniversaries — the 20th anniversary of the June 4 Tiananmen Square incident, and the People’s Republic of China’s 60th anniversary celebrated on October 1. On the second day, censors removed three of the paintings. But they let the rest of the exhibition go on. The officials made their point; they were watching. But then, Sheng made his.
Pictures courtesy Sheng Qi and F2 Gallery, Beijing
The Hindu Sunday Magazine

Decades of turbulence

On October 1, China remembers six decades of turbulence, and prosperity.

The roads have been emptied. Massive security is in place. Around 8,00,000 security volunteers are trawling Beijing’s streets. Even the skies have been cleared — of airplanes, pigeons and rain clouds.

The People’s Republic of China is all set to mark its 60th anniversary. On Thursday, a military parade of thousands of soldiers will make its way through Beijing’s Changan Avenue, “the Avenue of Heavenly Peace”, and President Hu Jintao will address a carefully screened crowd of 30,000 in the city’s Tiananmen Square.

China’s National Day celebrations will, however, take place away from the gaze of the Beijing public. Citing security concerns, authorities have closed off the entire route of the parade, and Beijing vice-mayor Ji Lin said the city’s residents will have to settle for “watching it on television”. Among those watching will be Lu Dayei (86) who has been a firsthand witness to the PRC’s history.

For older Chinese, Thursday will mark six turbulent decades, from the tough 1950s when famines devastated the country and the violent Cultural Revolution (1966-76) to the unprecedented economic progress following the country’s “opening up” in 1978.

Mr. Lu stood on Tiananmen Square on October 1, 1949 when Mao Zedong addressed the nation, proclaiming the founding of the PRC. He suffered through the hard first decade, when food was scarce and the country still reeled from the devastations wrought by the civil war between the Kuomintang and the Communists. “Those were hard days, which are difficult to imagine now,” Mr. Lu recalls. “We would see bodies lying everywhere on the street, hunger everywhere. We couldn’t get vegetables in Beijing.”

The decade after, when Mao launched his Cultural Revolution, was possibly China’s most turbulent time. In the violence and chaos unleashed by Mao’s “Red Guards” ostensibly to “overthrow the elite”, tens of thousands lost their lives, lost their homes and saw their families torn apart. For a decade, the country came to a standstill as schools closed, homes burned and mobs ran riot, all in the name of a “political revolution”.

Zhou Youfei (88) remembers being taken away from his wife, who he did not see for most of that turbulent decade. “Because I spoke English, they thought I was an American spy and locked me up,” he says. He spent the decade in prison, suffering beatings and torture.

Li Tian (62) said Thursday would bring mixed emotions for her. Unlike her children or grandchildren, she did not have the opportunity to go to school. She spent her twenties working in the fields and villages of rural China, where millions of Chinese were sent by Mao during the Cultural Revolution “to learn from the farmers” and their colleges were closed down. In those strange times, education was considered an elite luxury and frowned upon. Her mother, who came from an elite, old Beijing family, lost her family estate and was “humiliated” by the purges of the revolution, she recalls. She would later take her own life.

But the troubles of the first three turbulent decades of the PRC have been wiped clear from the memories — and textbooks — of today’s young Chinese. On Thursday, it is in some sense the last three decades, and the unprecedented progress brought by Deng Xiaoping’s economic reforms, that is being celebrated. The reforms turned around the lives of those like Mr. Zhou, who says he “went from being a tortured prisoner to heading an electronics factory”.

Ms. Li, now a practising Christian, heads a small family church in north Beijing, where a few dozen worshippers quietly gather every Sunday, in a country which still tightly restricts religious freedoms. “The biggest difference now,” she says, “is we don’t have to worry about basic things, like food, or my family’s safety. Now, my worries are different, my problems are spiritual. And, I guess, that is progress.”
The Hindu

Sixty years on, a growing divide

Addressing a widening gap between the cities and the countryside is China's most pressing challenge.

Much of Beijing has come to a standstill in the lead-up to China’s 60th anniversary celebrations on October 1.

But its construction sites have not, and the hammering and drilling has not stopped for a second. Chen Liu, a wheat farmer from remote Shandong province, takes a break from a morning spent lifting bricks, lights up a cigarette and stares at National Day shoppers with their glitzy shoes and designer bags. “It’s a different world here,” he says. “Even the cigarettes cost too much.”
Mr. Chen (23) is one of 225 million migrant workers who have left China’s interiors in search of work in cities. In the three decades since the country’s “opening up”, prosperity has come to urban China, but so has a widening income gap between urban and rural areas.

The per capita income of an urban resident is now 3.3 times that of a rural one, the biggest gap in the country’s history. Rural Chinese make up 55 per cent of the country’s 1.3 billion population. Addressing this widening gap is the People’s Republic of China’s most pressing challenge as it marks its 60th anniversary, scholars say.

In recent years, the Chinese government has passed a number of measures aimed at addressing the inequality between the rich coastal areas and the interiors, including investment in health, reducing agricultural taxes and massive investment in infrastructure through a “Go West” industrialisation drive.

But laws that continue restricting migration from rural areas to cities have worsened disparities, experts say. China’s “Hukou” (literally, family population) system, a legacy from the days when the country had a centralised, planned economy, regulates migration by determining access to social services. For instance, people with rural Hukou identities like Mr. Chen do not enjoy the access to the same social services that other Beijing residents do.

“There is a growing consensus that encouraging migration, and not restricting it, is the only way to effectively address interregional disparities,” says Lu Ming, a professor at Fudan University. Mr. Lu is part of a group of scholars who have proposed a joint reform of both land laws and Hukou rules to ease restrictions on migration. Signs are the government is listening. Last year, China passed a landmark land reform law to boost rural incomes. The law for the first time allow farmers to sell their land use rights. Land is leased to farmers from the government on 30-year contracts. The move will also significantly raise productivity in rural areas by increasing the size of land holdings.

Mr. Lu and his colleagues are calling for a “package reform” which will allow coastal cities to take up more farm land for non-agricultural use; provided they provide migrant workers with Hukou status. The buying of farmland is currently tightly regulated, given increasing incidents of unrest in rural areas tied to farmers losing their land. The new land reform law allowed Liu Tie Chuang (52), a peanut farmer from Henan, to sell his land rights and move to Beijing to find work.
He earns around 1,000 Yuan ($147) every month on a construction site, twice his income as a farmer. But others are more reluctant to move, as they lose their social security benefits, from education to healthcare, and often work in tough conditions.

Changing one’s Hukou identity is arduous. Usually, a migrant worker has to work for 15 years in a city before he gains access to services. Earlier this year, Shanghai passed a law aimed at making this process easier, reducing the time to seven years. But only 3,000 workers out of more than a million qualified as the regulations also required mid-level education qualifications.
“The rules are simply too restrictive,” Mr. Lu says, “and continue to deny millions access to basic social services.”

The Hindu

How real is China's revival?

The long-term impact of the pattern of China's post-stimulus growth is worrying economists.

Economists in China are growing worried about the country’s current pattern of growth and debating a very fundamental question: how real has China’s revival been? When China announced in July the country had recorded close to eight per cent growth for the second quarter of this year in the middle of the worst downturn the country has faced in decades, the news was widely read by the media as China conquering the recession. In a year when many of the world’s major economies will contract, China is on course to meet its target of 8 per cent growth, a fact that has led many to suggest the country’s revival may lead the rest of the world out of the economic gloom.

But here in China, contrastingly, the reaction to the country’s recent growth figures has been far less celebratory. Economists are pointing out with increasing anxiety that the 7.9 per cent growth was only made possible by record Government lending and massive investment in infrastructure which compressed three years’ worth of projects into nine months. Now, nine months after China’s $586-billion stimulus plan went into action, many economists here say this success may have come at worrying long-term costs. It is becoming increasingly evident that the massive pumping in of money, which fuelled the revival, is now creating ominous bubbles in China’s stock and property markets. The first half of this year saw lending on a scale never before seen in history: in six months, bank lending reached a huge 7.4 trillion Yuan (about $1.1 trillion).

“If you pump in that much money, and it has been pretty indiscriminate, two or three years down there is potential for massive hidden bad debt in the system,” says Mr Tom Miller, an economist with the Beijing-based Dragonomics research firm. “This is clearly not sustainable in the mid term and long term.” Fears of many of those loans going bad are growing, as evinced by the wild fluctuations seen in the Shanghai stock market in recent weeks. There is confusion among investors on a very fundamental question: how real has China’s revival been?

Analysts say as much as 20 per cent of the new lending sanctioned by the Government this year went straight to the stock market, fuelling a speculation bubble of the kind China has never seen before. The Shanghai stock market showed a remarkable 70 per cent rise in 2009, but growing concerns have seen it plummet this month by 20 per cent. The property market too has been soaring with new lending, and transactions are already back at pre-downturn 2007 levels. “There is just so much liquidity in the system,” Mr Miller says. “There are signs of a bubble, but we just don’t know if we’ve reached there yet.”

China’s policymakers faced a clear choice in crafting the country’s response to the downturn: addressing short-term employment concerns or tackling the long-term question of moving towards an alternative pattern of growth that is less export-reliant. The last year has seen the closing down of more than 100,000 factories whose life-blood was the export demand from the US and Europe. Exports are now down by more than 20 per cent from last year, and the collapse of export-driven industries has seen an estimated 20 million migrant workers lose their jobs and head home.

Beijing’s focus so far has been to address this employment crisis and prevent the spread of unrest, with the People’s Republic of China preparing to mark its 60th anniversary in October. The Government responded to the crisis by pumping in money into the economy to create jobs, but its response, some say, has made an already growing over-capacity problem worse. “The problem is that loose monetary policy is exacerbating the imbalance that China needs to work through, since most of the expansion is being directed at investment in expanding current and future capacity,” argues Beijing-based economist Mr Michael Pettis.

“But this comes at the cost… of constraining the future growth in domestic consumption. Without rapid future consumption growth … I just don’t see how China can support rapid GDP growth once the huge fiscal push becomes unsustainable and runs out of steam.” Economists say it is too early to say what the long-term impact of the country’s current growth focus will be, but the general consensus is the current revival more reflects a short-term papering-over-the-cracks rather than a sustainable solution to the fundamental problems facing China’s economy. The response so far, if anything, has taken the country in the opposite direction of solving its problems.

As a recent report by the McKinsey Global Institute on China’s growth patterns argues, the government’s response, while “highly successful in restoring short-term growth,” has risked “aggravating structural distortions” that made China’s export-reliant economy so vulnerable to external shocks in the first place. These concerns have led economists to call on the government to slow things down, but there are no signs that Beijing has any intention of doing so with the National Day celebrations looming. Premier Wen Jiabao has frequently declared in recent weeks China will “unswervingly” stick with its current loose monetary policy and emphasis on addressing the employment problem.

Government economists have defended the policy by saying they expect exports from the West to revive sometime next year – an expectation many economists doubt, saying a return to pre-downturn export levels would take at least three to four years. A drop in lending in July to 356 billion Yuan, down from 1.5 trillion in June, has led some economists to suggest Beijing was heeding their advice and beginning to become concerned over the pattern of growth. But others say the fall in lending was purely cyclical with most loans usually issued in the first half of the year and there will likely be no change in the government’s focus for the time being.
“For a moment, if the government were to choose between managing the asset bubble and consolidating the economic recovery, the government would definitely choose the latter one while making compromises with the bubbles,” Mr Jerry Lou, a Hong Kong-based strategist at Morgan Stanley said recently. Mr Lou said the government would likely carry on with its loose monetary policy, despite the fears of bubbles, at least until the middle of next year.

Echoing what most economists have argued, the McKinsey report says China, in the long-term, will have to drive the economy more from domestic consumption rather than its current export-led growth. Doing so, however, would require substantial structural changes that will require painful short-term costs. To begin with, China would require massive investment in healthcare reform, given that healthcare costs are the biggest drain on private spending. The report forecast that China could realistically hope to increase private consumption’s share of the GDP only “if policy makers depart from the current development paradigm and embrace new policies.”

But in the last 12 months, there have been no signs to suggest such a shift is imminent. Much of the money released by the stimulus plan has, in fact, found its way to state-owned industrial enterprises, which are, for the first time since China’s opening up, now growing at the expense of private companies. Employment in China’s famously inefficient state-owned companies has increased in the past year by 250,000. Between 1992 and 2007, employment in the public sector fell from 45 million to 17.5 million.

The motivation for Beijing’s short-term focus is clearly political. With the 60th anniversary celebration looming, Beijing “does not want to spoil the party,” as Mr Miller puts it. The last thing Beijing wants, on the eve of its grand celebration, is tens of thousands of angry laid-off migrant workers landing up at the city’s doorsteps. But what happens once the celebrations are over is anybody’s guess.

The Hindu Business Line

Pushing the boundaries

Deng Yujiao's case shows how online activism is pushing the boundaries in China.

As far as symbols of judicial reform go, Deng Yujiao is as unlikely as they come. A 21 year-old waitress at a seedy massage parlour in a remote corner of China, Ms Deng has in recent weeks become the subject of a high-profile national debate on China’s judicial system. Last month, Ms. Deng was sentenced to death for fatally stabbing a government official at a parlour in Hubei province. But shortly after her sentence was announced, the details of her case found their way to the Internet. It emerged that two local government officials had attempted to force themselves on Ms Deng, who, defending herself with a fruit-knife, had stabbed both of them, one fatally.

When the facts of Ms. Deng’s case emerged, her sentence caused huge public outrage, particularly among China’s 298 million “netizens” who strongly came out in her defence. For China’s increasingly active online community, battling corruption in officialdom has become a favourite pastime. This case, which strikingly framed their struggle –pitting a young girl fighting to protect her modesty against two officials abusing their positions of influence — strongly resonated with them. Ms Deng was dubbed their “Lie Nu” — the woman who dies to save her chastity — and became a symbol for their cause.

Tens of thousands of Internet users signed petitions pleading for clemency, and some bloggers set up a “Netizen Investigation Team” to publicise the facts of the case. Following the wave of public sympathy for Ms Deng, her charge was reduced from voluntary manslaughter to intentional assault. Her case went to trial last week, and Ms Deng was allowed to walk free on the grounds that a “mood disorder” had cleared her of any criminal responsibility.

It is widely believed that the wave of public support for Ms Deng decided the outcome of her case. Pu Zhiqiang, an influential civil rights lawyer, said “popular participation had improved both the investigation and the process” and public support had enabled her to fight for rights she would have otherwise been denied by the local court in Hubei’s Badong County. The outcome has however started a legal debate on the independence of China’s judicial system and to what extent — if at all — public opinion should sway such decisions.

Ms Deng’s is only one of several recent high-profile cases whose outcome has been significantly influenced by public anger, chiefly channelled and mobilised through the Internet. This trend began in 2003, when public outrage following the decision of a local court in Liaoning province to hand a reprieve to an influential gang leader caused the Chinese Supreme Court to step in and overturn the verdict in a rare move.

As the number of China’s Internet users has rapidly grown, these cases are becoming more frequent. In November, a security video of a government official in Shenzhen confronting a man whose 11 year-old daughter he had tried to assault found its way to YouTube, the video-sharing website. When the girl’s father approached the official, he flaunted his Communist Party credentials, boasting he was “the same level with the city’s mayor.” The official was reportedly first allowed to walk free by local authorities, but when the video went online — and received more than one million hits on YouTube — the local government moved quickly to fire him from his position with the government and issued a public statement.

Mr. Pu said Ms Deng’s case, and others like hers, highlight the real challenge facing China’s legal system: improving public confidence in the courts. China’s courts are widely regarded as being feeble when the cases involve ordinary citizens going up against government officials, which is why stories like Ms Deng’s resonate so strongly with the public.

He Weifang, an influential professor of law at Peking University who has campaigned for judicial reform in China, wrote in the aftermath of the Liaoning case that such public trials reflected serious flaws in China’s judicial system. He went as far as saying “traditional governance in China is not based on the separation of power [and] there has never been a judicial apparatus independent of the executive branch.” Mr. He has called for developing judicial independence and improving monitoring of judicial power to ensure judges rule strictly in accordance with law to prevent such “trials by mass media.”

The Internet has made such trials increasingly frequent. It is now harder for local courts — courts usually most susceptible to the influence of local government officials — to pass quick judgments or fix outcomes outside the glare of a highly suspicious public. In Ms Deng’s case, when public opinion strongly aligned with what was perceived to be the “right” verdict, the outcome suited all parties — the angry public, courts suffering from poor credibility and a government wary of public unrest. But on occasions where these interests clash, China’s judicial system will face a trickier test.

A day with the Dalai Lama.

I’d been trying since January to get a meeting with the Dalai Lama. I wanted to interview him for The Hindu on the 50^th anniversary of his journey from Lhasa to India. I got a call out of the blue on a Friday evening and his adviser asked if I could come to Delhi on that Monday (March 3oth) – the DL was spending two days there to mark the anniversary.

I got to Delhi Sunday and had an interesting dinner that evening with Samdong Rimpoche. He’s the exiled government’s leader (and also a philosopher and historian). We spoke extensively about the problem, mainly looking at the future and what it would take to go forward. I met the DL on Monday in the hotel he was staying at in New Delhi. The lobby was crowded with many young exiled Tibetans, who had travelled from all over north India and had waited for hours to see him. Many were moved to tears, and wept uncontrollably when they finally met him.

I was surprised by how easy-going and laid back he was, in both mannerisms and conversation. He was surprised by my age (and started laughing out loudly when I was introduced to him, guess he expected someone a lot older). He asked me a lot about my experiences in China and my travels through Xinjiang, and the Tibetan areas of Yunnan and Sichuan, and what I thought in general of China's minority policies.

He invited me to sit with him through his meetings with some of India’s well-known spiritual leaders, and then we had a one hour conversation in his room, first off-the-record. He became markedly more stiff and wary when I turned the recordeer on. I asked him about the last (eighth) round of talks with the Chinese, and what went wrong, and the simple question of what he thinks needs to be done to move forward. He was unequivocal about two things: Firstly, going forward would require an international, objective settlement of the question of history. Secondly, he still believes a mutually beneficial solution is possible.

He was less clear – as expected – about more nuanced questions. The biggest obstacle is figuring out a system that would ensure his view of genuine autonomy. The Chinese government rejected the suggestion made in the Memorandum submitted after the last talks. This proposal involved a Central Tibetan Administration that would be responsible for educational and cultural matters, but would accept the Chinese Communist Party’s political authority. The Chinese government says the CTA is unconstitutional and is disguised independence. That, in a nutshell, is the problem.

But the positive thing is there is some solid common ground the two sides can work on, if there is resolve from Beijing to take talks forward (yes, a big if). While the DL said the Tibetans were not prepared to give any more ground on their proposal, he did leave a lot of wiggle-room for himself when he said he’d reconsider it “if the opinions of the Tibetan people changed” and that it wasn’t his decision.

Here’s a link to the interview which appeared in The Hindu.

A week after my interview, the Chinese Ambassador to India Zhang Yan wrote a lengthy Op-ed in The Hindu. In it he expressed the Chinese government’s often-repeated position that “they watch the DL’s deeds, not words,” implying that they didn’t seriously believe the DL’s position that he accepted Chinese rule and only sought autonomy, not independence.

My two cents: Honestly, it is difficult to buy the Chinese government's views and its vague and often blindly-repeated assertion that the DL is not showing "sincerity". It is unreasonable for them to link every violent act in Lhasa to Dharamshala (they still have not publicised their "evidence" showing his planning of the March riots). I think it is in China’s interests to come forward as soon as possible with a concrete proposal that suits both parties. It makes most sense for China to try and achieve some sort of settlement while the DL is alive, if they want a settlement that is stable and sustainable in the long-term, which is of course in Beijing's own interests, both from the point of view of internal stability and its increasing sensitivity to international criticism. We don’t know how fragmented the Tibetan movement might become in the future, and talks will be easier while the Tibetans have one clear leader with a strong voice. Of course, all this is assuming we're taking for granted Beijing's words - and not its deeds - on how sincere it is on achieving a sustainable solution.

Shanghai's old neighbourhoods.

Shanghai, with its tacky modernity, can quite easily get you down. I live a block away from Nanjing Road, home to everything kitsch. A great way to get away from it all is to lose yourself in the city's (few remaining) old lilong neighbourhoods. To any visitors to Shanghai, especially tourists from India, I urge you to not get taken in by the neon lights, skyscrapers and shopping malls. That's the Shanghai you will most probably be shown by your tour guide. Avoid it.

My favourite thing about this city has to be its old lilong neighbourhoods. Many of them were torn down during the Cultural Revolution and the city's rapid growth through the '90s, but there are still quite a few still standing. The mazy networks of old lanes in Putuo, some of the most beautiful lilongs I came across, will most definitely get you lost. The neighbourhood around the 16th century Yu gardens, photographed below, is also worth a visit.

The preservation movement in Shanghai is complicated. In the last few years, the government is waking up - albeit painfully slowly - to the sorry state of the city's old neighbourhoods, and has marked several conservation areas that developers can't get their paws on. The challenge right now is to find a way to make preservation viable. Unlike in England or Europe, there is no great premium for heritage architecture among real estate developers. Developers are, at least, now looking at creative solutions - though they often do more bad than good, as in the case of Xintiandi.

Here's a link to my piece in The Hindu's Sunday Magazine about Shanghai's lilongs and the preservation movement http://www.hindu.com/mag/2008/12/21/stories/2008122150280700.htm

One of the last remaining old lilong neighbourhoods in downtown Shanghai, lying in the shadow of Nanjing Road's shopping malls.

The lilong near Yu gardens, a great place to spend a Sunday afternoon.

A 21st century Shanghai lilong, at Xintiandi.