Politics and Religion
Another Sunday afternoon, another dinner (Oreos and Nescafe) and radio-show-planning session with Sunny at her comfy apartment in Changsha. It was my show to plan, and so I chose to play U2 after suffering through the previous two shows of Backstreet Boys/Westlife and then John Denver. I was pumped.
I made a list of eight classic U2 tunes to play, and gave the list to Sunny. She was startled. "But, Daniel, what about 'Sunday, Bloody Sunday!'"
"Of course we can't play that song," I replied. "It's about politics and religion in Northern Ireland."
Sunny giggled. "It doesn't matter. That's the one song all Chinese know by U2." Perfect, I replied. We'll play it first.
I again weaved Sunny's motorcycle through Changsha traffic and, miraculously, delivered us alive to the studio. We led into the show with "Beautiful Day," a great choice since it's familiar and popular and upbeat.
Then, we started discussing our vacation. The previous week was May Break, and all three of the hosts -- Sunny, Elaine (the station manager) and I -- had taken trips. We passed the usual banter, giggled, no big whup.
Just before we were to play "Sunday, Bloody Sunday," however, Elaine broke the mood. "So, Daniel, have you seen the news about the American getting tortured in Iraq?" Yes, I replied. "Daniel, isn't it just terrible what they did to that poor man?" Yes, of course it's terrible. "What could possess people to be such monsters?"
And on and on the prodding went. We were on the air live, and all the sudden this political hot potato was passed to me, on a show whose first rule is, no politics, no religion. Gorgeous!
Adrenaline raced through me, but I didn't know quite how to respond. On one hand, maybe Elaine -- and the many others who've mentioned this incident to me -- are genuinely sympathetic and want to console me. But, given the other major news of the past weeks -- the torture of Iraqi prisoners by American and British soldiers -- I can't help but wonder their real motives. It seems, in the roundabout way that Chinese sometimes communicate, that they're really digging for some comment on the
other big news of last week. And how to respond? It seems only honest to acknowledge the other news, but they don't ask about it and it obviously reflects very poorly on America.
I explained, on air, that there's tragedy every day in Iraq, on both sides, and there's progress every day, too, a lot of which we don't hear about. We can only hope that better news will be ahead soon.
"Okay, Daniel," Sunny said, "now, please introduce us to Sunday, Bloody Sunday. It's about the problems in Northern Ireland, right?"
"Yes," I replied, "maybe you know that there's been a conflict there. Some people want to remain a part of Great Britain, while others prefer to be a part of Ireland, their own nation. This disagreement has led to some hard feelings, and even violence."
"But what side is U2 on?" Sunny asked.
"Neither side," I said. "They wrote this song to talk about the costs of the conflict and to express hope for a more peaceful future." And Sunny talked about how Bono used to wave a white flag at concerts when they played this song. She asked me why, and I explained about the Irish tricolor flag -- Protestant orange, Catholic green, neutral white in the middle. "It's their way to support unity and peace," I said.
As the song played and we were off-air, Sunny told Elaine, in Chinese, about how I had been afraid of playing the song because it was about religion and politics. Elaine laughed hard, and then said, "Daniel, you know, politics and religion is okay. Just nothing about politics and religion in China!"
Still off-air, Sunny started talking about coming wars. She said her friends are talking about how there will be a war between China and the U.S. within the next twenty years. But why, I asked. Over Taiwan, she said. And I said I thought that was a strange idea, given that the American government, for years, has supported the One China policy, with Taiwan a part of it. Plus, I said, it hardly seems wise for the U.S. to jeopardize its friendship with China, the world's biggest market with the world's biggest military, over a relatively small nation such as Taiwan. Maybe I'm naive.
"Well, if not the U.S., then we'll probably fight with the Japanese," she said. "You know, all Chinese hate Japanese." Yes, I know, I said. I told them, off-air, that it's handy living in China, where people are so busy hating the Japanese, they hardly have time to hate Americans. They laughed hard.
As "Sunday, Bloody Sunday" wound down, and it was about time to go back on-air, I said, "okay, I'll start a discussion about the coming war between China and the U.S. over Taiwan's independence, okay?" Elaine glared. "Daniel, remember, you just can't discuss China's politics and religion," she said. "But it's about Taiwan, not China," I said. Her face tightened more. Finally, she understood that I was giving her chain a big yank, and wasn't truly serious, and she had a hearty giggle. On to the air we went, and on to next song, "Desire."
From then on, the mood lightened considerably as we weaved through more of U2's classics. We played "Angel of Harlem," which gave me an opportunity to talk about the civil rights movement and introduce Harlem and tell of my fondness for New York City. We played "Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For." I asked Sunny if she's found what she's looking for. Nope. Neither has Elaine. Neither have I. We played "Even Better Than the Real Thing," and "Pride (in the name of love)," and "Where the Streets Have no Name."
I loved every second of it, because I finally felt like I was discussing music with an actual meaning, and, even better, I could talk about its meaning, albeit in very watered-down tones. Usually, I endure our drivel about how many U.K. chart-toppers Westlife has pumped out. I feel like the Chinese Kasey Kasem. This week, we were discussing the world, and America, and problems near and far, and hope and possibility and the future, all through the soulful sounds of U2. I, for once, was tuned in. Which probably means that most of our audience tuned out.
Each week, we read a few riddles for the audience to answer. This week, they were:
"What happens to a tire when it gets too old?" (it's re-tired)
"What never asks questions but always gets answered?" (a telephone)
Usually, we get 50 to 60 responses, via email. This week, we got two. Maybe it's because the riddles were more difficult than usual. I finally offered a hint about the first riddle: "the same thing happens to a tire as happens to people when they get old enough not to work anymore. For example, my dad. He recently stopped working. What do you call this?"
Instantly, we got a message: "Exhausted!"
About halfway through the show, as advertisements were playing on-air, I asked Sunny and Elaine about an incident on-air in Changsha last year. I knew it involved China-bashing by a Japanese person. I know that it caused a nation-wide uproar in China. I know the DJ got canned because of it.
They explained: last year, on the air live, a student called in to a very popular live show, on a different radio station. He said, in Chinese, that he is Japanese, and that his mother has always told him that Chinese are pigs. He came to China, he said, to see if it was true. And, after being here for a year, he knows it's true: all Chinese are pigs. And on and on he went, for 10 minutes, bashing China and glorifying Japan.
And, they said, there was an uproar. Students called in to the show by the hundreds, wanting a piece of the caller. The DJ, apparently the most famous DJ in Changsha, got canned because he allowed the caller to keep going. And the caller, it turned out, is Chinese, not Japanese. He was taken away by the police. "No one knows what happened to him," Sunny said.
And so I asked if that incident is the reason for the injunction against foreigners going on air live. Elaine said that rule has been in place for decades, and has nothing to do with the incident last year. "Plus," she said, "we have the equipment to delay the broadcast by 7 seconds." Do we use it on this show? "Of course," Elaine said. "We have to."
I chose "The Hands That Built America" for our last song. This has become my favorite song in China. It's about the immigrants that flooded into the U.S. during the late 19th and early 20th century and, without complaint, went to work constructing the country and to war defending it. The song mentions the Chinese, among many other nationalities of immigrants, so I thought it was a great fit for our show.
On air, I explained the immigrant experience in America, and how Chinese, mainly from southern China, came to America by the thousands and were largely responsible for building the railways in the American West. I explained how America is a nation of immigrants, and how it's been successful both because we as a nation have always embraced new immigrants and, equally important, new immigrants have embraced America. This song, I said, is a tribute to that heritage. It felt great to talk with pride about my country. We said goodbye to our listeners, and Sunny rolled the song.
About twenty seconds into the song, it got cut. Cheesy advertisements rolled, in Chinese. I had gotten too carried away introducing it, and it was time to move into the next hour of programming, Hong Kong boy bands with their U.K. chart-toppers.
Next week, we'll play the Beatles. On the first day of my adult English class this semester, I played "Yellow Submarine," and my students sang along after a few times. Before playing it, I asked if anyone knew the Beatles. A woman, about 35, shot up her hand. I called on her. "The Beatles are the four boys from Britain who like to do the drugs," she said.
