Research and Other Investigations from China

“Building the American Dream in China” for The New York Times Magazine

Matthew Niederhauser's opening spread for "Building the American Dream, In China" in The New York Times Magazine

I finally got an opportunity to shoot for The New York Times Magazine. They sent me to Harbin with Daniel Gillen, a young American architect who transplanted to Beijing to ride the wave of audacious infrastructure projects being built across China. He currently works for MAD, founded by Ma Yansong and one of the leading domestic firms in China. Over the past few years MAD was tapped to build a number of cultural centers and museums in their consistently curvilinear style, including the recently completed Ordos Museum and the China Wood Sculpture Museum that I photographed in Harbin. Unfortunately these grand architectural flourishes are usually just showpieces in much larger megablock developments – a small nod to innovation amongst a greater sea of mundane urbanity. Whether or not they actually see any use is still in question. In an ideal world they will become centers of creativity, but in the meantime, Daniel Gillen is only there to build them.

MAD architect Daniel Gillen poses outside the Harbin Wood Sculpture Museum.

MAD architect Daniel Gillen poses underneath the Harbin Cultural Island.
MAD architect Daniel Gillen poses with the Harbin Cultural Island.

MAD architect Daniel Gillen poses with the Harbin Cultural Island.

MAD architect Daniel Gillen poses outside the Harbin Wood Sculpture Museum.
MAD architect Daniel Gillen poses outside the Harbin Wood Sculpture Museum.

MAD architect Daniel Gillen poses inside the Harbin Wood Sculpture Museum.

Red China Rising: Bourgeoisie Tourism in the Communist Heartland

A Mao Zedong effigy sits in front of a backdrop of his former home for tourist photos in Shaoshan, the birthplace of Mao Zedong and CCP pilgrimage site

This is the second of a series of posts detailing the bourgeois practices of nouveau-riche, communist-heritage pilgrims who possess expectations and consumer desires that seem at odd with the core ideologies of the founding fathers of the Chinese Revolution. Armed with cash and a new sense of leisure, most of these fledgling tourists first make their way to Shaoshan/韶山, the birthplace of Mao Zedong. A slew of “red” products and trinkets are available around every corner even in the face of sincere reverence for founding Chinese Communist Party leaders that borderlines on idolization. Elderly tourists kowtow to statues of Mao Zedong while company retreats sing “red” songs and pledge oaths. These blind followers make easy prey for egregious tourist traps such as the Shao Yue Palace Maoist Family History Show, where attendants usher punters into Mao Zedong veneration halls, hand out lucky ornaments, ask them to bow to a Mao Zedong statue three times and then try to charge them for the “blessed” ornaments. Some estimate the value of the entire “red” industry at $1.5 billion dollars and Mao Zedong’s hometown is at the epicenter. Also check out the last post in the series on “The Defense of Yan’an” reenactment.

A company tourist group pays reverence to Mao Zedong by bowing before his large statue near his former home in Shaoshan, the birthplace of Mao Zedong and CCP pilgrimage site

Busts of Mao Zedong stand outside a "red" product store in Shaoshan, the birthplace of Mao Zedong and CCP pilgrimage siteTourists line up to enter Mao Zedong's former home while others take photos outside in Shaoshan, the birthplace of Mao Zedong and CCP pilgrimage siteStatues of Mao Zedong sit inside a "red" product store in Shaoshan, the birthplace of Mao Zedong and CCP pilgrimage site

Attendants at the "Shao Yue Palace Maoist Family History Show" tout "red" products to tourists before ushering them into Mao Zedong veneration halls in Shaoshan, the birthplace of Mao Zedong and CCP pilgrimage siteTourists have been coming to Shaoshan, the birthplace of Mao Zedong and CCP pilgrimage site, for almost fifty yearsA "red" product vendor sits at her stall near Mao Zedong's former home in Shaoshan, the birthplace of Mao Zedong and CCP pilgrimage site

An advertisement to have your photo taken in traditional CCP soldier garb in Shaoshan, the birthplace of Mao Zedong and CCP pilgrimage siteA Mao Zedong effigy for tourist photos in Shaoshan, the birthplace of Mao Zedong and CCP pilgrimage siteRecreations of Mao Zedong's calligraphy for sale in Shaoshan, the birthplace of Mao Zedong and CCP pilgrimage site

Tourists wait in a long line outside of Mao Zedong's former home while a tour guide in a pink jumpsuit talks on her cellphone in Shaoshan, the birthplace of Mao Zedong and CCP pilgrimage siteMao Zedong literature line the stalls near his former home in Shaoshan, the birthplace of Mao Zedong and CCP pilgrimage siteA child poses in front of Mao Zedong's former home in Shaoshan, the birthplace of Mao Zedong and CCP pilgrimage site

“Red State” – Red China Rising in Time Magazine

Red State clipping from Time Magazine featuring Red China Rising photographs

I am definitely late in publicizing this, but Time Magazine used a bunch of photographs from my Red China Rising series in a recent article on red culture and Maoist thought promotion in China for the 90th anniversary of the Chinese Communist Party. The foreign and domestic media frenzy surrounding the promotion of red songs and Mao quotes seems to have subsided now, but it certainly doesn’t mean old people won’t keep gathering in public parks to belt out “The East is Red” and other Cultural Revolution favorites. The whole campaign sort of turned into a joke by the end, and certainly never really caught on amongst the youth. The only real impact I could see is that couples dressing up for cheesy romantic portait sessions now like to don People’s Liberation Army garb covered in red stars. Intentional irony or not, march on!

Red State clipping from Time Magazine featuring Red China Rising photographs

Red State clipping from Time Magazine featuring Red China Rising photographs

Besotted Couples Flock to Beijing Wedding Expo

Excited brides-to-be try on various dresses at the annual Beijing wedding expo

The annual wedding expo went down this past weekend at the Beijing Exhibition Centre much to the delight of hopeful young couples all over Beijing. Booths offering complete wedding packages were packed with small tables and agents showing off their look books and other materials guaranteed to fulfill matrimonial fantasies. In other sections of the expo, young potential brides tried on a wedding gowns of all shapes, sizes, and colors. Quite frankly, the bustle and intensity of the engaged couples was overwhelming – everything was imbued with desire and hope. Right now, western-style weddings are all the hype in China, and people are willing to go to great lengths to guarantee their own vision of modern and cultured wedding ceremony.

A stretched Hummer sits in front of the annual Beijing wedding expoMany wedding services offer complete packages including a DVD of the ceremonies

Wedding agents at small tables pack into booths to shop their matrimonial waresHundreds of photos of idolized, western-style weddings line the walls in one booth

Kyrgyzstan: Love and Yogurt on the Pamir Plateau

My transport across the Kyrgyzstan border

Over the past year I have attentively bent my cartographic obsessions upon Central Asia. It represented a gaping hole in my world geography – a nebulous patch on the map boxed within more prominent regions. The puzzling jigsaw of borders, deserts, and inland seas nonetheless eluded any fixation in my mind. Even a month before my departure I could barely pronounce the names of areas I was to visit. I conjoined various syllables of neighboring countries and fed them to inquiring parties, “Yes, I will be visiting Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, and Tushkazilstan throughout August.” The amusing game made me feel better about my own ignorance, especially when people didn’t pick up on it. Newfangled post-Soviet republics convincingly sprang into existence on a nightly basis. It lent an air of mystery to the whole enterprise.

Despite such buildup the alluring bubble of Central Asia viciously popped while crossing from China into Kyrgyzstan. After struggling through initial immigration hurdles with a gaggle of rotund Uzbek ladies breathing heavily down my neck, two friends and I faced a five-kilometer stretch of hot tarmac before the first Kyrgyz outpost – a most unwelcoming no-man’s-land. Desperation soon set in after the same Uzbek ladies quickly snapped up the only empty seats in cargo trucks also waiting to clear Chinese customs and the ensuing barren expanse. All attempts to acquire spots of our own proved futile as passing drivers waved off our imploring gestures to board their vehicles. Nobody seemed interested in our plight.

Finally, after serious contemplation of crossing the inhospitable terrain on foot, a driver with a toothless grin beckoned us into his cab. We immediately crammed into the dingy compartment. Unfortunately, my initial joy upon scoring a ride blinded me to the predicament of his transport. Two trailers precariously balanced and strapped with cheap Chinese goods swung behind the ramshackle rig. The prohibitive weight of his haul limited our speed to about 5mph, thereby ruining any hope of a glorious entrance into Central Asia. Even the most stubborn mule would have easily left us behind in a wake of ruddy dust.

After an additional seven passport checks, two more hitched rides, and an officious interrogation regarding the intentions of my stay in Kyrgyzstan, I was finally in Central Asia. That fleeting moment of exultation was soon followed by more despair however. Border towns do not always lend the best impressions of a country, and the massive junkyard that comprised the frontier village offered no signs of enticement for the month of travel that lay ahead. Luckily an enterprising young girl selling meat pies took the edge of the whole escapade. Dusty and downtrodden, I nibbled on the tasty treat and peered about for a car to take our group to Osh.

Three hours later I was passing in and out of consciousness in the back of a small Russian jeep – every bump and rut on the haphazard road unfailingly slammed my head into the passenger window. My restless slumber finally came to an end when our driver stopped to assist another vehicle suffering massive engine failure. I stumbled out of the car only to be met with a vision more bizarre than the dream-fueled haze fading from my sensibility. A pastoral spread of yurts, farm animals, frolicking youth, and glossy Soviet trailers backdropped by the mighty Pamir Alay range spread out before us.

Kyrgyzstan Welcoming Committee

The proprietors of the peculiar estancia immediately offered us teeming bowls of yogurt and ushered us behind a trailer where we sat observing a young woman intently weaving thick bands of rope used to bind the slender frames of their yurts. The deft movement of her hands captivated me until a contumacious young burro disturbed my meditation, forcing me to chase him around the yard a few times. I had to cut my caper short though when the Uzbek ladies who so brusquely purloined our rides at the border that morning pulled up in their own jeep to rest and investigate the scene. I prepared myself for a mortal showdown.

Standing in the front yard with my bowl of yogurt and a clenched fist, I put on my most imposing visage. Like any hardened Asiatic traveler, I held longstanding grudges for anyone who broke queues and these particular offenders snagged our rides across the border without a hint of remorse. The Uzbek ladies, bedecked in gaudy robes and sporting flashy gold crowns on their teeth, took no notice of me however and quickly entered the trailer for a mid-morning snack. Noting their apparent disinterest, I continued my own exploration of the nearby area while our driver continued to slam the engine block of his friend’s car with a large mallet.

After playing with the rest of the farm animals including a gregarious brood of chicks that would expectantly clamor about your feet in search of food, loud accordion music started blasting from the front yard of the homely trailer. The Uzbek ladies had thrown open the doors of their jeep and instigated a dance party using a surprisingly loud stereo system. In spite of earlier resolutions, my ill will began to melt as the energetic pack of bodies bounced about the yard, wrists twisting into various exotic poses at every beat. They soon engendered a raucous wresting match amongst the children living in the yurt and attracted the expectant attention of neighbors on the surrounding hills. I could no longer harbor any discontent in the face of such impromptu revelry. Even lazy dogs enjoying afternoon naps emerged from their shady corners to bask in the energy of the boisterous crowd.

Thus, bowl of yogurt firmly in hand, my love affair with Central Asia firmly took root. The sentiment could not be resisted. I surrendered to the upbeat accordion music sweeping across the high plateau and threw my lot in with the spontaneous frivolities taking place around me. Such absurdities must always be embraced and I was in no position to refuse such a gift.