Pinning down the relevant Chinese character: 02 (Taiwan; mainland China)

 

When I was doing my first degree at SOAS (School of Oriental and African Studies) in the late 70s, a Canadian chap there, John, told me the story below about him trying to pin down the relevant Chinese character for a particular sound.

    In those days (the 70s), John couldn’t go to China (maybe because it was still the Cultural Revolution, or Canada didn’t have diplomatic relations with mainland China).  John, therefore, went to Taiwan.

    Here’s my summary of the situation there at the time, from my own experience of working there 1975–6 for Conoco Taiwan.

    Taiwan was where Chiang Kai-shek had fled to when he lost to Mao Zedong, making it his base.  He was, of course, determined to get the mainland back.  Mao Zedong was never referred to by his name, only as 毛匪 / Máo fěi / Bandit Máo.  Ditto all the others on the other side of the Taiwan Strait, so Zhou Enlai was called 周匪 Zhōu fěi / Bandit Zhou, etc.  The oft-repeated slogans talked about “rescuing” their compatriots from the hands of the 共匪 gòng fěi / communist bandits.

    It was in this kind of linguistic environment that John the Canadian learned his Chinese in Taiwan — in the classroom, and outside by (among other means) watching as many TV programmes as he could for total immersion.

    John was later able to go to Beijing for further studies.  He mixed with people of his own age (late teens or early 20s).  

    One day, as his Chinese friends were talking, John heard a sound he couldn’t quite peg to a character, so he tried to get clarification by asking, in Chinese, “你们刚才说的 fei 是不是共匪的匪? / Is the fei [sound] that you have just said the same fěi [bandit] as in gòng fěi [communist bandit]?”

    The whole group went quiet and looked at him.

    John suddenly realised where he was, “Sorry, sorry, wrong country, wrong country!”

    They all burst into laughter, and said, “It’s all right.  We know that’s what they call us over on the other side.”

(Taiwan / mainland China, 1970s)

In memory of Sir Leonard Appleyard (London)

I have just been sharing fun anecdotes with someone about my FCO (Foreign and Commonwealth Office) student Sir Leonard Appleyard, British Ambassador to Beijing 1994–97.  

Went online to check the date he started his ambassadorship in Beijing, as I’d thought it was 1993, when I discovered he’s just passed away: on 7 February 2020.

I’ve written a couple of blogs about him (only a couple out of many stories):  see blog entries I’m the imperialist, and A Chinese teacher’s status.

Here’s one I never got round to writing, so this is a good moment, as a tribute to his sense of humour which made our one-to-one lessons such a laugh.

I like to play the Devil’s Advocate and challenge students, asking why to everything they say, getting them to explain themselves, justify their comments, just to make them talk and use the language.  

So, one day, for conversation, I said to him, in Chinese of course: “You’ll never be able to understand the Chinese people, will you?  For a start, you’re a Westerner, so they’ll never show their true side to you.  What’s more, you're a diplomat, which makes it even more unlikely for them to establish a real relationship with you.  Now that you’re going to be the big boss, the ambassador, they’ll definitely keep you at arm’s length.”

He said, in Chinese, “You’re right.  When I was working at the British Embassy in the 60s, during the Cultural Revolution, I used to sneak out at night to read the 大字报 dà zì bào / big character posters.  所以我跟中国人的关系就是他们打我 / Therefore, my relationship with the Chinese people is with them beating me up!”

R.I.P., 苹果院.  Your sense of humour will bring much laughter to the community up there.  Lucky them!  (For his sense of humour, see blog entry I’m the imperialist.)

*大字报 dà zì bào / big character posters were a form of political writing, hand-written on paper in large characters (hence 大字) and posted up on some wall in a public place for everyone to go and read.  Appleyard was beaten up because the Chinese didn’t like a Westerner reading their (usually critical) comments about their own system and ways of doing things.

*苹果院 píngguǒyuàn / “apple yard”: my code name for him when he said his ambassadorship had not been confirmed, so I was to keep it quiet (see blog entry A Chinese teacher’s status).  

(China, 1960s; London, 1993–94, 2020)