Archive for the 'language' Category

I Am A Total Racist

Published
by
cecilie
on August 28, 2010
in Cantonese, China, Government, Injustice, Uncategorized, language and religion
. 5 Comments

I have a vice. Yes, people, a guilty, stinking VICE! After I stopped shooting up mary-hooana as well as crossing the street on red light after I got fined $300 for “jaywalking” (sounds like “joyful walking” doesn’t it) in Central in 2003 - there were so many policemen there telling me not to walk that I just had to do it for the sake of it because nobody can tell me what to do (yes I have father issues) - I have only one tiny little vice left: I spend HK$100 every week on the Sunday Times.

I know, I know. The SCMP is only 7 dollars so why pay an extra $93 for just another English language paper, right? It’s just that I need to read some well written articles that don’t praise Donald Tsang occasionally. Anyway, a couple of weeks ago there was a six page article in that paper’s magazine that really caught my eye.

The headline was: England’s Green and Prejudiced Land, and it was about racism.

Naturally, that touched a nerve with me as I had just been called a “racist cunt” in this forum for saying - oh, something about how I don’t want the world to become islamic. Anyway, the article was written by one David James Smith who is obviously a writer for said newspaper; if he wasn’t (weren’t, I always forget which) I doubt if he’d ever got such a badly written and deeply boring piece through the hallowed doors of the Sunday Times.

It was all about him (a white guy) being married to a black woman and moving to Lewes, a small town in England, after having fled London where they had felt “a vague unease at the potential for urban crime.”

Well, unfortunately Lewes was even worse, for guess what happened? Their neighbour turned out to be a member of the BNP!!!! After this lead-up, I naturally expected a harrowing story of how this fascist nazi had racially harassed them, but no, he “never gave us any trouble. He ignored us.” He also seemed “strange, withdrawn,” but that could have been down to his wife having “died sometime earlier.” After this non-event, the BNP neighbour eventually moved away.

Riveting stuff indeed, but the real drama had been how this BNP member had been sitting not two feet away from Smith, separated only by a “wafer thin wall,” spewing out racial hatred on his computer. Smith assumed.

But then things started to happen. Smith’s wife had gone for a drink with some local women and been assured that there was no racism in Lewes! What can be more racist, Smith asks.

Worse: People would sometimes mistake Petal (his wife) for the other black woman in the village.

Yes, yes, I impatiently thought, reading through page after page looking for the good racist tidbits. Mistaking black people for each other, deeply insulting to be sure, but where is the good stuff?

It was this: His daughter had been told by a teacher that she had “frizzy hair.” In another incident, when the students at his daughter’s school wanted to give each other nicknames and someone suggested “chocolate-brown bear” for his daughter, that girl had said NO, that’s racist. Way to go, girl, stand up for yourself. But not really a cause for daddy rushing to the school to complain?

In another incident “Mackenzie (Smith’s son) was under a desk while he and another boy cleared up some paper at the teacher’s instruction. Mackenzie has a male teacher, part time, that year and the teacher asked him to come out. Mackenzie didn’t hear him, the teacher became exasperated and grabbed Mackenzie’s leg and yanked him out.”

Smith feels this is also racism and immediately goes to the school to sort things out with the teacher, concluding that “it seemed certain that [the teacher's] perception of who or what Mackenzie was had got in the way of normal teacherly conduct. ” Yes. A teacher yanks your son’s leg - racist!

In fact, according to the article, Smith spends most of the time when he’s not writing badly, running around between his children’s schools and various local community centres, complaining about people saying words like “frizzy” and “coloured” and teachers’ “preconceived idea that [black or mixed race children] fare worse than their white counterparts in secondary school.”

The next week there was a storm of letters to the Sunday Times, mostly from black British people telling Smith to get a grip, so all is not lost.

Yes, I laughed many times when I read that article.

I thought about how many times Hong Kong people have told me Cantonese is “too difficult for me” (but not for Indonesian helpers) how people call me a devil every day, ( yeah, I know HK people prefer to translate 鬼 (gwai) as “ghost” but really, is it any better?) how I’m always served jasmine tea without anyone asking me what tea I would like because all whitey drink jasmine and jasmine only, how people don’t want to sit next to male whitey (of course not me - that would be too much) on the MTR, how people treat me like a dog that can ride a bicycle every time I say “hello” in the local language, how Hong Kong people rejoice in telling me that all westerners are sluts and how, if I for example ask them to pick up their dog poo I keep stepping in everywhere I go, that I should “fuck off back to England.”

I wonder what Smith would make of that? But then of course, anything directed at whitey isn’t racism. Everyone knows that. We just have to suck it up and laugh about it. And you know what? I think we should. Racism is something that only the people who are hysterically over-aware of the colour of other people’s skin keep blathering on about. I don’t think it’s in any way helping Smith’s daughters - whose hair definitely isn’t straight - that he keeps running to the school every other day to complain about people saying they have frizzy hair.

I know, I know, a parent wants to keep his children away from harm, and it is indeed awful to be called names at school. We all know that. But - according to the article it seems this guy is on the hyper-alert 24 hours a day. “You said black? You said frizzy? That’s not how we did it in London, multi-cultural capital of the world! I demand that this little village in Sussex becomes like London but without the vague unease about potential for urban crime!”

Racism is awful and we should all fight against it. But as “they” say: The best revenge is to live well. I’m sure we all, as this Smith geezer’s children, will be much better off if we just forget about the racism and start to genuinely live as if we’re “colour blind.”

That means that you can criticise somebody for what they do and how they do it without being called racist. It means that you can criticise Obama without being called racist. It means you can say Donald Tsang looks ridiculous “mourning” the victims of the hostage tragedy in the Philippines wearing what seems to be a dinner jacket, without being called racist.

And it means I can say that I disagree with the ludicrous notion that the whole world will be better off if we would only wear tents with only one to two eyes showing, stone people to death if they’ve committed adultery, hang homosexuals and rape nine-year olds, without being accused of being racist. If being against any totalitarianism is racist, then I’m definitely a total RACIST. And proud of it.

Big Brother Knows Best

Published
by
cecilie
on August 21, 2010
in Cantonese, China, Media, Movies, communism and language
. 0 Comments

See what really happens when government tries to interfere with people’s language.

Happy Ramadan

Published
by
cecilie
on August 12, 2010
in Injustice, language, politics and religion
. 6 Comments

Here’s an interesting five part video from Germany, the country that feels so bad about what it did to the Jews that it’s letting itself be swamped with people whose views of Jews make the SS look like an embroidery party. A bit into the film, (please watch it if you want to have any inclination about the future) some New Young Germans, born and bred in the country, going to school there and speaking the language perfectly, are asked, when they express that they want to “shoot” people who break their “honour” code - what is honour? (As in “honour”-killing your sister because she somehow makes you look not like a desert warrior by wearing a skirt or whatever.)

Guess what: These people, for whom “honour” is everything and certainly more important than the laws in the country in which they’ve “settled,” are completely stumped! Although apparently really trying, they can’t tell you what honour means.

This film found me in the middle of reading the excellent Wafa Sultan’s book A God Who Hates. Wafa Sultan is known as the bravest woman to ever leave Islam - she appeared on Al-Jeezera shouting down an imam (in her book she mentions how muslims can ever only shout): Be quiet! It’s my turn!

And that became her claim to fame ( a muslim WOMAN telling a MAN to be quiet!!!!), which is a shame, because her book contains so many interesting snippets from islamic life, such as how the sex-starved muslims in her native land, Syria, always rub themselves against any woman they happen to come across in public, hoping to get a quick ejaculation in their pants. So that’s why they wear tents …

A trained doctor, Sultan also shares the following insight into the great Ramadan starve oneself-fest:

“The month of Ramadan, during which muslims neither eat nor drink from sunrise to sunset, was one of the hardest months of the year for me. Many more patients flocked for treatment at the medical center where I worked than the number we usually saw. The number who collapsed from exhaustion and dehydration soared startingly during the day, as did the number of those who suffered from indigestion and vomiting at night, as they stuffed themselves with food in an attempt to compensate for their daytime fast. Both men and women worked in the fields from early morning, performing arduous and exhausting agricultural labor, which, especially when the weather was hot, necessitated large quantities of water that the fast did not allow them to drink. Spurred by my pity for them, I tried to persuade them - the women, especially - not to fast, then withdrew my suggestion when it was met with disdainful glances.”

I wonder if there are any statistics going about how many devout muslims, especially in the rather toasty middle east, die or are damaged from dehydration during ramadan? Probably none. After all, Allah, through his “ideal man” Mohammed, said they should torture themselves in such a way, so that’s okay then. As if living up to his other insane edicts weren’t enough.

I had a muslim student once. Also from Syria. He spent a lot of our time together, instead of learning Cantonese, trying to convince me that not drinking even water the whole day, followed by gorging yourself on everything in sight just because the sun had set, was a good thing. I thought it was a bit rude, because I never tried to make him drink alcohol or eat pork.

No. You know what? I think we westerners have seen enough of this islam thing. We don’t need to be “explained” what it’s “really” about. We know what they do and how they think. We saw what it was really about on September 11th, 2001. We don’t need any other “explanations.”

Now they’re trying to make other people who have nothing to do with islam, to also not eat, drink, be near pork, Jews, miniskirts, female faces and all the other things they find so distasteful, just because some desert warrior puked up some of his awful views on human life and put them in a book, 1400 years ago.

I can’t understand why apparently intelligent western people find the muslims’ world view so attractive, to the point where they want to give up all their freedoms to prove these throwbacks from the middle ages right.

I implore you: Watch the video from a normal German school - which could well be now or very soon, the very school that YOUR children attend - and then see if you think this multi-cultural idea is so great after all. Happy Ramadan!

Poo and Literature

Published
by
cecilie
on August 10, 2010
in Cantonese, Environment, Eyesore, Home, Piles, Pollution, Travel, food and language
. 13 Comments

You know I’m not squeamish (because I’ve said so many times) but when the woman in the photo started stirring a cauldron full of intestines, holding them up and letting them drop back down, while the unmistakable smell of POO started wafting through the restaurant - well, I couldn’t bring myself to turn around and take a photo, but sort of quick-snapped it backwards over my shoulder.

I think I’ve only really seen nice, orderly fish intestines up close before, because these (pigs’?) intestines, brown, snarly, irregular and with lots of stuff sticking out, weren’t my idea of good intestine action. I’m glad the only contact I have with food is all broken after I’ve swallowed it.

Talking of poo, this morning there was a bit of a to-doggie-do in sleepy backwater Pui O. In my village there’s a dog rescue centre/vet, and at all times they have about 20 dogs living there, with more coming in every week.

The dog walker is a middle-aged Chinese woman who doesn’t seem to like dogs, but then neither would I if I had to take six or seven of them for walks at a time. She lets the dogs poo everywhere; on the footpath and on the beach, without even sometimes carrying newspapers around for show, unlike many domestic helpers in the village.

The first time I saw her let three dogs shit right in the middle of the beach, I asked her in a nice way and in her own language if she wouldn’t mind picking it up, as children play there. (they do.) All I got was a torrent of “English”: “Where is your plastic bag! Where is your plastic bag!” When I showed her the not inconsiderable amount of plastic bags I carry with me every day for the very purpose of being my dogs’ lavatory assistant, she sniffed and walked away, muttering loudly to “herself” about how dirty I was.

The second time I saw her, the same thing happened. This time it was me asking her where her plastic bag was, knowing well she didn’t have any. Oh yes, I can be cunning and evil! I got some vicious stares and mumbles but not much abuse - and of course she didn’t pick up the rather large and steaming mounds. You can say what you want about the dog shelter in Pui O, but they don’t let their dogs starve.

This morning she had seven dogs, four of which, upon hitting the beach, immediately set about defecating like they had been promised a nice side of beef for producing the largest mound. There are only so many ways to say “pick up your dog poo” in a diplomatic manner, I find. “Pick up your fucking dog poo” is one of them. This time she took action - by shoving a few grains of sand on top of the quivering heaps.

Nice! Now people who might have spotted them out in the open before, wouldn’t know they were there before they lay down in the fragrant knolls. When I pointed this out, not declining to mention that this sort of behaviour carries a $1,500 fine, (yes! I’m truly sick of stepping in crap and will resort to anything!) the true nature of her dog poo picking resistance manifested itself. In Cantonese this time. She let loose a stream of invective which I, not a mean invective-ist, couldn’t have done better myself.

It was all about me fucking off back to Central, it was after 1997 so i should shut up, who did I think I was, go home, dirty whore who not only lets her dogs shit everywhere but probably does it herself and, most importantly: I didn’t know how to teach Cantonese. This went on for about ten minutes, for she made many of the points again and again in case I missed them. There was no mention of the Opium Wars but then she may not have heard about those. And here I was, really only interested in discussing dog poo and the removal thereof!

I’m ashamed to say I couldn’t control myself but had a right giggle and some spurts of heartfelt laughter. This didn’t make things any better but - did I give a shit?

So! Scratch the surface and the whole stinking history of … the British? comes out. Oh those British. So much to answer for. How was she to know I’ve never lived in Central? After all, those fastidious notions of mine about not enjoying wading around in dog shit and about the beach not being a gigantic dustbin - that kind of thing just reeks of stuck-up Central-dom, doesn’t it.

So now you’re probably asking: Where does literature come into this? Mark Twain, innit! East is east and west is west, and you’ll never meet the Twain.

But the intestine photo, taken blind - not bad, eh?

The Tibetan Plateau

Published
by
cecilie
on August 2, 2010
in Beauty, Environment, Travel, language, politics and religion
. 0 Comments

Tibet!!!!! For make no mistake; the little town of Xiahe in Qinghai province isn’t Xiahe in Qingdai province at all, but Sangchu in Amdo, Tibet. The beauty of the place elicited constant “waaaah”s from us, even while doing mundane things like being overcharged for inedible grapes. This was the view from my window, for example:

This was probably 5.45 in the morning, but the Tibetans were already at it, walking around the Labrang Monastery while turning the prayer wheels. My friend P and I also walked around the whole monastery

and although we did stop to take a couple of photographs, it took us a good two hours to get around the wondrous thing. So imagine the grannies, 80 something years old and walking with sticks, dragging themselves around the monastery, each day, every day. It must take them all day, only to get up the next morning (probably around 4) and start all over again. One must admire their devotion. And no doubt the Chinese must have banned monastery-circling at some stage, losing valuable walking years for the buddhists there.

But guess what: Black pigs wag their tails when they poo! I bet you didn’t know that.

On the bus to Xiahe I sat next to a monk in full maroon get-up and with one arm sticking out. We got talking (in Mandarin, unfortunately, as my abilities in Tibetan are, so far: Hello, goodbye, and thank you.) and he expressed a keen interest in the outside world. Well he would, having gone into the monastery when he was four! What a waste. Young, beautiful man looking really great in red, locked up like that. Unfortunately he couldn’t read and write Chinese, so it was difficult to have a conversation about the riots in Lhasa and stuff, with the Chinese guy in the seat behind obviously listening eagerly.

They didn’t have internet connection in the monastery which I thought was strange; those monks are so teched-up these days. But maybe someone who’s not them, has decided that the monks in the second biggest monastery in “China” aren’t allowed to have too much contact with the outside world. Whatever it was, every monk we met seemed very eager to talk.

Yes, Xiahe was wonderful in every way except one: The main street, think Nathan Road from Tsim Sha Tsui to well past Jordan, had been dug up completely. There was so much dust that we couldn’t be even in the side streets near it and walking along or across it was completely unbearable. Give them two months I say.

To accommodate tourism the whole town had in fact been torn down and rebuilt, in a style probably known as “tourist Tibetan with varying degrees of Chinese characteristics.” But I had to admire the restraint: There were very few tiles, no blue windows and only a small open, shadeless square with the normal green lights shaped like palm trees and a huge granite statue of an elephant. So all in all, when the dust settles, Xiahe may very well turn into one of the most beautiful new old towns in the country. But then, it is really Tibet …

The next day a taxi driver said: I’ll take you to three beautiful places for 200 kuai! This turned out to be an excellent idea. 200 kuai for five hours of more or less constant driving: Oh yeah. And the scenery outside Xiahe is just …

These are yaks, a cousin of whom we had eaten the night before. No it doesn’t taste like chicken and it’s excellent. Half reindeer, half horse?

This is the fourth or fifth year in a row that I spend the summer in the north of China. Why? Because I need a dose of big landscape every so often. It’s so soothing.

Here is a Han dynasty village that people still live in. It seems they have no TV. Is it possible? Yes we saw many villages on this trip without a single tv antenna. Nor satellite dish. They probably used the satellite dishes to boil water by solar power

while watching hard core porn online inside their gaffs…

On a grassy knoll in the distance we saw some motorbikes and some Tibetans. Then we saw a tripod. Oh no, another tour group taking photos of the colourful, dancing and devout locals.

Was it hell? It was four Tibetans having a party with biscuits, soft drinks and some singing and playing of eight string guitar. They called us over

and a good cultural exchange time was had by all. The three guys hardly spoke any Chinese, which was pretty cool I thought, as well as not very practical when it came to communication. But the girl did, altough the mobile seldom left her ear. All that Mando I suppose.

Yes, would you know? It was they who wanted to film and take photos of us! Not the other way around. Well, I snapped a few, but they?

They were veritable Tibetan anthropologists. And thus endeth another day in beautiful Amdo. The next morning we left at 06.10 very much against our will, only to be told that the water supply for the whole town had been shut down for three days just after we left. That dust and no shower? A lucky escape.

Chanting For Canto

Published
by
cecilie
on July 25, 2010
in Beauty, Cantonese, Cantonese, China, Government, Hong Kong, Injustice, Media, Newspaper, Travel, language and politics
. 7 Comments

If I told you I’d been to a demonstration in the mainland with thousands of people but all the police did was put up some barriers and stand around holding hands, would you believe me?

No? I wouldn’t have believed it either. but that’s what happened today in Guangzhou, in a joyous, raucous salute to Cantonese language and culture, screamed out by thousands and thousands of young, (I’d say average age 23, and would have been 20 if I and my two friends hadn’t been there) iPhone waving groovers sick and tired of being dictated to by Beijing.

If I’d been two or three meters tall, I would have been able to capture this scene, unheard of since June 4th, 1989, of young people in peaceful protest against, or rather peaceful fight for, that wondrous entity that is Cantonese. As it was, and despite standing on tiptoe and holding the camera high over my head, I only got other people doing the same. But downtown Guangzhou outside Gong Lam Sai metro station, was just a sea of people. And more and more came pouring in every minute.

The police just didn’t know what to do, but in the end resorted to just saying “This way, please” and stuff. Some of them smiled and laughed. Is this the beginning of something new? But as I said to the journalist: Cantonese makes people more lively. It’s its nature.

Being Canto speakers, we of course joined in the chorus of: Support Cantonese! and: Guangzhou people should speak Guangzhou language! Being the only foreigners there, we were immediately mobbed

swamped, photographed and filmed. And interviewed.

A historic moment and a triumph. I’m telling you now: You haven’t heard the last from the youthful Cantonese movement! It will spread to Hong Kong. Fast.

Revenge of the Cantomentalists

Published
by
cecilie
on July 17, 2010
in Beauty, Cantonese, China, Eyesore, Government, Hong Kong, Media, Movies, My Website, TV, communism, language and patriotism
. 2 Comments

The debate about Canto rages on. Now mainland officials are weighing in, in an about-turn saying the government would “release a policy outline and new regulations to boost Cantonese cultural heritage.”

So it’s all over then. When the mainland government start boosting heritage, it means lots and lots of concrete, razing to the ground and building fake old, and lots of four-lane motorways leading to it.

Just stay away from Cantonese, okay? It’s a big boy and can look after itself. Just let it be. And whatever you officials are itching to do to further aggrandise yourselves and line your pockets with stolen cash, don’t do it.

But funnily enough, this whole debacle has been beneficial for me, because after some interviews in Chinese language papers, my YouTube channel has been swamped with views. The latest one, The Dudes, The Sad and The Envy, has had 5000 more views now than it did yesterday morning. So, excellent! All the viewers are young Chinese people who picked up the link in a popular internet forum, and they leave comments like: “A foreigner cares more about our language than local people do! Embarrassing!”

It was yesterday’s interviewer from Apple Daily who told me about next Sunday’s demonstration in Guangzhou

July 25th, 5pm, Jiang Nan Xi metro station exit A, wear something white. I think we should go! I think we should all go! Well, I’m definitely going.

Down with linguistic imperialism!

What do we want? CANTO! When do we want it? NOW!

CCP, CCP, how many languages did you kill this wee …k?

That’ll definitely be my first demonstration on mainland soil (although I have written self-criticism on two occasions) and I’m really looking forward to it. If you care about Canto, come along!

Another Nail in the Canto Coffin

Published
by
cecilie
on July 8, 2010
in Cantonese, China, Government, Hong Kong, Media, Newspaper, Travel, communism, corruption, language and politics
. 12 Comments

Ahhrghhhh … When I set out to make Cantonese a world language, I was mostly concerned with Hong Kong and its people - the way they look down on Cantonese (their own language!!!) calling it a “street language” a “dialect” and advising foreigners to “learn Mandarin instead.”

After the handover in 1997 though, I’ve noticed that the written Cantonese has been gaining ground, being increasingly used in adverts, as captions and headlines in newspaper and magazine articles, and when quoting interview objects.

What I didn’t realise - or rather, not didn’t realise but didn’t see as quite so urgent, was that the central government has been working steadily, openly as well as behind the scene, to eradicate Cantonese completely.

I got my first inkling of this a few years ago when I walked into my local branch of HSBC and was greeted by a bint whose job it was to stand at the entrance going “Ni hao ma!” to everyone who entered and sporting a big badge saying “Promote the usage of Putonghua!” Here I was in Hong Kong, whose official language is Cantonese, being talked to in a different language by a local person with whom I had been communicating in Cantonese for years, just because an edict had come from on high that everyone in the bank should be quacking in awful Mando for the whole month.

That’s when I opened an online HSBC account.

A month or so ago I mentioned here how the authorities have been destroying the older areas of Guangzhou to “celebrate” (or whatever) yet another grandiose sports event on the mainland: The Guangzhou Asian Games. That’s only to be expected; after all there’s nothing like a sports event to spur the mainland government on to undertake city destruction on an enormous scale.

But now it gets worse. Much worse. Last week I was interviewed on the phone by Ming Pao, a Chinese language newspaper in Hong Kong, about my views on the eradication of the Cantonese language. For behold: To “enhance” “national” “harmony” etc. (I’m running out of inverted commas) - the government has decided to close down Cantonese language TV and radio stations. I was too shocked to speak coherently to the poor journalist; I think the gist of what I managed to gurgle forth was “Kill them all!!!”

Yesterday this monumental piece of news finally found its way into English language stalwart the South China Morning Post.

I quote the article in its entirety:

“Cantonese is in trouble in its birthplace.

Already threatened by the influx of migrant workers to Guangdong and unfavourable government policies, the ancient dialect is the target of a recent proposal to switch the language of prime-time TV programmes in Guangzhou to Putonghua as November’s Asian Games approach.

This has triggered a new round of the debate in the province about “cultural strife”: just how much must local ways of life be given up in the name of national unity?

Guangzhou’s People’s Political Consultative Conference submitted a proposal to the local government on Monday urging the city’s main television station, Guangzhou Television (GZTV), to stop broadcasting in Cantonese and switch to Putonghua in prime time on its main channels, the Nanfang Daily reported yesterday.

GZTV has nine channels, and most of its programmes are broadcast in Cantonese - spoken primarily by people in Guangdong, Hong Kong, Macau and some parts of the Guangxi Zhuang Autonomous Region . It is also widely spoken by overseas Chinese around the world.

The proposal says GZTV should use only Putonghua on its two main channels, to cater for Putonghua-speaking visitors and athletes at the Asian Games. (My italics, as are those below) The idea met with strong opposition from Guangzhou residents. But GZTV has decided to go ahead.

Mainland media quoted an unidentified GZTV executive as saying that although some concessions would be made to Putonghua on the two main channels, not much would change overall, as the idea was not popular in the areas to which GZTV broadcasts most.

The Guangzhou PPCC’s own survey last month shows more than 80 per cent of the 30,000 respondents - two-thirds Cantonese-speaking and one-third Putonghua-speaking - opposed the official plan to switch to Putonghua in TV programmes.

When GZTV previously switched some programmes to Putonghua, ratings dropped and it was forced to switch back to Cantonese.

Still, the proposal called for more Putonghua programmes.

With 110 million people, Guangdong has rapidly become the most populous province. But most of the recent increase has been migrant job-seekers, and now half its residents do not speak Cantonese.

Guangzhou, the provincial capital, once spearheaded the mainland’s economic reform. But rivals such as Shanghai and Beijing have caught up and even surpassed it. The dialect seems strange to outsiders.

So local authorities see the Asian Games as a chance to remake Guangzhou’s image and reaffirm its status as one of the mainland’s key cities.

But the cultural preservationists have a voice - a loud one. Some have called for the protection of the dialect, in thousands of online posts against the proposal. They say regional dialects are being swamped by the relentless tide of Putonghua.

There is a two-pronged attack on Cantonese - internal migration on the one hand, and the government policy of a “common language for a unified country and harmonious society” on the other, says Jiang Wenxian , a Chinese-language specialist at Sun Yat-sen University.

The 1982 constitution enshrined Putonghua as the official language. Beijing’s resolve to ensure all Chinese speak it has led to bans on dialects at many radio and television stations. Television stations in Guangdong are allowed to broadcast in Cantonese only because of the proximity of the province to Hong Kong.

“It is national policy to promote Putonghua,” Jiang said. “The government will not stop us from promoting local culture, but it is not going to support us. Guangzhou now boasts 14 million residents, and half of them are new settlers and do not speak any Cantonese.”

But the city’s residents who do, such as clerk Luo Bihua , advocate peaceful coexistence.

“All young people in Guangzhou can speak Putonghua. But the dialect presents the Canton culture. We have to support and use it in daily life,” she said. “There are already dozens of television stations broadcasting in Putonghua on the mainland.

“Please let us enjoy our culture in our hometown.” “

Bastards! But this is not unexpected. While hiding under a cloak of “openness” (reporting outbreaks of deadly diseases only a few months after it became clear they couldn’t be hidden) and a new-found kindness (premier Wen Jiabao patting children on the head and shedding tears during the Sichuan earthquake in 2008) the communist party has never stopped consolidating its grip on power. Many say it has never been more powerful and had more deep-reaching control of what’s going on in the mainland than now.

So it must irk them no end that there are millions of people who, right under their noses, keep speaking a language unintelligible for the dyed-hair, black-suited brigade in Zhongnanhai. Yes of course, many Cantonese speakers are communist party members. But Guangdong has always been a rebellious province going its own way. And that’s dangerous in China.

Now, if everyone were to speak Mandarin and only that, think how much easier it would be to keep them in check?

And so, armed with the excuse of “national harmony” the government has continued its relentless drive to bring everybody to heel. Inner Mongolia, Xinjiang and Tibet, wherever there are Han Chinese, the local people have been forced to learn Mandarin or else.

Now the dreary power-mongers  have cast their hungry eyes on the last outpost of non-conformity: Guangdong.

Only a naive person will believe that this shutting down of the Cantonese-speaking media is for the “benefit” of outsiders during the Asian Games. When the games are over, of course the Mandarin prime time broadcasts will stay firmly in place; then eating their way into the non- prime time slots as well, until there is no Cantonese language broadcasts in the province.

And when that is done, guess what: Hong Kong will be next.

With our dear un-elected useful idiots at the helm, don’t you think we’ll see ever more “Speak Mandarin, you know you want to” campaigns, cloaked in “useful” “good for the economy” “compete with Shanghai” “win-win” meaningless drivel.

Soon we will also, like the mainland, have trains called “Harmony” and Hong Kong government officials singing the praises of dull, un-inventive, communist speech-making, imperialist Mandarin.

Many Hong Kong people have been actively trying to get rid of Cantonese for years, without really being able to speak Mandarin. It used to be English that was top of these self-hating weaklings’ list, now it’s Putong Bloody Hua.

This kind of linguistic and cultural imperialism used to work well in the 18th and 19th centuries.
Nowadays, people know well that just because you can learn to speak one language doesn’t mean you have to ban/look down on/belittle your own.

I’m Norwegian. I learnt English, German and French at school. When I came to China, I learnt Mandarin first, and then Cantonese. Does that mean I should get rid of Norwegian???

What are these people ON?? Oh, I know what. A total power trip.

But it won’t work. Cantonese people in Guangdong will, if anything, crank up the Canto. The more stations that get shut down, the more they will speak their wonderful, ancient but always fresh, vibrant and totally cool language.

For that’s what those fuckers up north have against Cantonese, apart from the fact that it irks them so that they can’t understand it and therefore won’t know if someone is plotting against them, isn’t it.

Cantonese is cool and happening; something Mandarin hasn’t been since 1949.

Traitor

Published
by
cecilie
on June 12, 2010
in Beauty, Cantonese, Injustice, Movies, language and patriotism
. 3 Comments

Oh! NOW I’m disappointed.
Chow Seng Chi (周星馳）was my big Canto love for years and years. Because:
1. Extremely handsome
2. Funny

I used his films as teaching and learning tools of Canto, and when people asked me which Cantonese films I could recommend, I always said “Anything by Chow Seng Chi.” He single-handedly changed the face of Cantonese comedy by using his own Mou lei tau (冇理頭）－ a play on 冇理由 （mou lei yao - “meaningless”) - humour. I used to have a photo of him on my pager in the days of pagers - my husband made me burn it on our wedding day. Yes, the photo.

A big part of his appeal is of course that he speaks Cantonese, a good fighting language perfect for the delivery of a terse put-down, and the Chow Seng Chi-films dubbed into Mandarin I’ve been forced to watch, have of course been not very good at all.

So what does he go and do?

Produce his new films in Mandarin, saying in a recent interview: “Cantonese? Do people still speak that?” and “Everyone in Hong Kong understands Putonghua now.”

What - so he thinks the two languages are interchangeable? That fun, vibrant, expression-laden, infinitely rich Cantonese can be replaced by dry, stick-in-the mud, slang-less Mando?

Chow Seng Chi: TRAITOR! Cantonese made you, and you know it! What are you going to do in your Mandarin films, make Party speeches?

At Bloody Last! Relativism

Published
by
cecilie
on June 10, 2010
in Cantonese, Media, Movies and language
. 0 Comments

We expatriates living in Hong Kong normally don’t have the privilege of having our families near - we normally have to hook up with someone and make our own people.

Ah-Mok is a local Hong Kong guy but, unusually for a Chinese, doesn’t seem to have many relatives. This is vexing and embarrassing for him. One day: