A Walk on Wangfujing

Beijing, CHINA — Walking down any street on any given day, lessons find us. Perhaps that is why I spend so much time out on the streets of this city, my adopted city of so many years. True its streets are older than many in the West, and at the same time, newer — as is so oft commented upon by visitors from my country. So, perhaps lessons are just easier to find in the mix of venerable history and glaring modernity.

This last week I spent numerous hours walking up and down one of what seems to be one of Beijing’s mighty symbols of the late Deng Xiaoping’s over-quoted (by people in my country) utterance, “To get rich is glorious.” I am talking about Wangfujing Avenue, where huge shopping malls dominate and conspicuous consumption is the rule. Beijingers come here to shop at flagship boutiques of numerous Western brand name stores. I shudder to think what Mao and Deng, pragmatic as they so arguably were, would think of this aspect of the so-called “new” China. We of the West though, love to talk about materialism in Communist countries. It makes us feel good.

I suppose what concerns me most are the numerous specters that haunt that avenue, and the response of their fellow Chinese. For on this street I regularly talk to the homeless and whores who ply their trades of begging for money in one way or another. Like me, they wander the streets long into the night; unlike me, they have no choice, and they need something far more essential than the proverbial perfect picture.

These outcasts are ignored by their fellow Chinese and the foreign tourists alike. The old, the crippled and the insane are not included, not welcome at this great turning point in Chinese history. And it pains me.

Every night Wangfujing Avenue echos with a homeless woman chattering to herself, her hair unwashed and matted. Here wanders a homeless madwoman, schizophrenic and desperately in need of professional treatment. I know, I see her every time I walk that street. Where are the social services that could help her? To the best of my knowledge there are none.

Be patient, my Chinese friends tell me. China is still developing. Well, my friends, standing on Wangfujing, China looks pretty fucking developed to me. Don’t make excuses — I’ve heard all the cleverest ones. The truth is, and China has long known it, that wealth begets wealth — and no one stands to profit from helping the madwoman. Not even here, in the broken heart of Socialism.

What about a simpler case, one that needs no improved infrastructure. No expensive psychiatric medicines or capable physicians, though China certainly has these. What about the boy I met the other night? Just the other night, I encountered a boy, maybe 10 or 11 years old, who went round the tables in the MacDonald’s there, which is open 24 hours a day, begging for scraps. He sat across from one young woman for a moment and asked, “Auntie, do you have any food?” “None,” responded the woman. He went away with his face contorted in a look of agony. Why did no one buy the boy a cheeseburger at the very least? The state orphanages in most provinces would be no better place for the boy. I have it from a reliable source, who works with those institutions in a central province, that there are indeed “famines” in those facilities where the children go hungry. But, we are not talking about orphanages, we are talking about a street kid who is hungry and who sits before those who are arguably the most wealthy in this city — and no one moves to help him.

There are of course, like in all cities of the East, professional beggars. They constitute a whole pseudo-class of people here. Some of them train gangs of children to steal and pickpocket. Some of them have great and believable lies. But don’t make excuses. I am not talking about those folk. I am talking about those who can come by a meal no other way — those that are mentally ill, those that are crippled, those that too old to work the construction sites of this boom town. There is no socialist safety net for these disenfranchised people. No shelter…

And then there are the prostitutes, who come offering sex for money, and when all else fails, ask me to buy them something to eat. What, are pimps to poor to feed their workers? “Hey, hello?” The women come begging. They wear nice shoes. They are young and attractive, their pimps spare no expense when it comes to dressing them. They are wasted by trafficking, disease and all forms of abuse. They smile because, well, who wants to fuck a women wearing a frown?

I walk the streets of Beijing every night now, looking for these specters. And they are not difficult to find… I talk about learning lessons when in reality I am left only with questions.

Still, all is not lost — some among those I know are moved into action. They are not many, but then many are not needed. They call on the homes of the poorest of this city’s residents, to talk and learn what can be done. They donate money to their home villages, which are far, far poorer than we in the West can really fathom. They volunteer their time to teach computer skills and literacy. There is certainly hope. But so far as I am concerned, hope never fed a single hungry belly. That is why I see these things and I grieve. That is why I am drawn, and will continue to be drawn to those who are not invited to share in this country’s wealth and power.

I have many friends among the Chinese. However, I won’t be quiet though it makes my friends loose face in their country. I am haunted by these specters…