The Woman Who Loved China

Text and Selected Photos by Ino Manalo

A student at the Soong Chingl-ing Foundation's Children's Palace in Shanghai

There is a palace for children in Shanghai. It is managed by the Soong Ching-ling Foundation. The foundation - set up in the 1980s - is part of a network of similarly named organizations operating all over China with the common aim of promoting the well-being of children and women.  An active official of the Shanghai chapter is Filipino entrepreneur Carlos Chan. It was he who invited me to watch the daughter of a friend perform in a stage production.

The production was amazing: huge sparkling sets, colorful costumes. No amount was spared for the special effects and the lights. As part of a vigorous exchange program, children’s performing groups were brought in from all over the world. The Loboc Children’s Choir represented the Philippines. 

The Loboc Children's Choir and friends on stage in Shanghai

Mr Chan also arranged for a tour of the Shanghai Children’s Palace. What I saw was truly impressive. The Palace complex includes a skyscraper with many floors of facilities geared towards young people. The Foundation has a program for providing classes to children which complement their regular school work. Modules offered include a wide variety of short courses on the arts.

 Soong Ching-ling Foundation's Children's Palace in Shangha: view of the Marble House and the skyscraper where classes are held

There were classes in painting in both the European and the Chinese traditions. There were classes in dance which emphasized strict precision and rigorous physical exercises. Calligraphy and the making of pictures employing paper cutting techniques were also taught. During our tour, students gamely demonstrated their skills, whipping up exquisite art works very quickly. It was remarkable to see so many young people adept at centuries-old artistic methods even as they also mastered the latest computer technology.

Demonstration of Paper Cutting

A typical classroom

Another building in the Children’s Palace Complex is an old mansion, Marble House. We were told that this gracious structure used to be owned by the Kodoorie Family. The Kadoories originated from the Middle East, settling in China in the 19^th century. The family is currently among the wealthiest in Hongkong with investments in hotels and power generation.  Yet there were also setbacks. At one point during the Second World War, the Japanese took over the Kadoories’s plush Peninsula Hotel as their headquarters.  In the 1950s, the administration of Chairman Mao appropriated the clan’s holdings in China.

The Soong Foundation now uses Marble House’s large ballroom for special presentations. This ballroom was once the venue for elaborate social events.  Something of the space’s past splendor may be seen in the grand party scene in the movie, The Joy Luck Club. As the lovely Feihong Yu dances with her equally gorgeous partner, Russell Wong, one catches glimpses of the luxurious surroundings.

the magnificent Ball Room of the Marble House

 The movie’s banquet scene is set in the very same period when Marble House was at its most elegant. At that time, Shanghai was a haven for all that was sleek, rich, and glamorous. Dominating the social whirl were three siblings whose names would become synonymous with the era: The Soong Sisters.  

The eldest of the sisters was Soong Ai-ling, the wife of well-known banker, H.H. Kung.  Ai-ling and her husband were among the richest people in China. The youngest was Soong Mei-ling. She would become very active in politics as First Lady of the Chinese Republic. She was married to Chiang Kai-sek. It was the middle sister, Soong Ching-ling (after whom the Foundation in Shanghai is named) who would earn the title of “Mother of Modern China”. Her husband was the statesman, Sun Yat-sen. 

Soong Ching-ling

At a time when illiteracy was very high especially among females, these three represented the accomplished global Chinese woman.  Having been educated in the United States, the Soong sisters with their form-fitting cheongsams and flawless English, stood for the best of the East and West. They won over not just their fellow citizens but American audiences as well. They were media creations, invented for the consumption of a world that still wanted to believe that capitalist expansion was the panacea for all the planet’s ills. Even in the furthest reaches of such exotic and despotic realms as China, Western industry and enlightenment would save the hungry masses. The Soong Sisters were the living proof that it was possible to recast ancient Asia in a progressive American mold. 

the three Soong  Sisters visiting the Nationalist troops: Ching-ling, Mei-ling, and Ai-ling

The young Ching-ling reading

 

Madame Sun Yat-sen (Soong Ching-ling) teaching young students to read

The dreamworld could not last forever. The centuries of contradictions and exploitation would take their toll. China was in turmoil. The Nationalists and the Communists were clashing. The Japanese would contribute to the chaos by invading their vast neighbor even as the Second World War devoured any delusions about peace and prosperity.

Soong Ching-ling continued to support the Communists after their victory in Mainland China in 1949. Her siblings would back the Nationalists who had moved to Taiwan.

The middle sister would eventually be named President of the People’s Republic. One manifestation of the Communist Party’s esteem for Soong ching-ling is the fact that her former residence in Shanghai is still maintained as a shrine to her memory.

A plate with Soong Ching-ling's image in a village in Anhui

Soong Ching-ling's statue in Shanghai

 

I had the chance to visit the place. I actually found it quite appropriate that one is asked at the entrance to cover one’s shoes with plastic bags. This way, no dirt is brought in from outside to spoil the pristine carpets. Somehow this requirement enhanced the sense of respect for the building that once housed a woman who devoted herself to her people.

The rooms were of modest proportions. Everything was simple and low-key.  Perhaps the house’s greatest luxury was its splendid lawn.  Stretching for a considerable distance beyond the terrace, the garden reminded me of the tranquil backyards of the wonderful cottages in the old Wilson Compound on Park Avenue in Pasay.  

Watching as a breeze rippled through the leaves of the trees that lined the fence, I found myself thinking: What feverish discussions had taken place in this house? What negotiations were carried out ?

Soong Ching-ling's residence in Shanghai now a shrine

I supposed it is quite elitist to think that these three sisters had influenced the course of Chinese history so much. Such an inflection would practically ignore the work of millions of others who toiled and sacrificed to build the People’s Republic that we know today. Yet, one cannot deny the fact that the Soong Sisters and their relations were certainly key players in the drama that saw the birth of the new China.

The Soong sisters: Mei-ling, Ai-ling and Ching-ling

                                

Interestingly, I read of rumors that the sisters held a reunion each year in Hongkong. Actually, the three probably never met again after the Communist takeover.  Ai-ling died in 1973 and Ching-ling followed several years after. Mei-ling lived out the rest of her years on her 14 hectare estate on Long Island and in her apartment in New York City. She would die at the ripe old age of 105. She did not return to China to attend the state funeral of her older sister.

Likewise, the view that it was Ching-ling who was most selfless is probably a stereotype, lacking in nuance. After all, one cannot judge the motives of each of the women. Who really knows the truth? Mei-ling has been described as being concerned only with her ambitious schemes. The 1997 movie about the famous trio, however, will show that each sibling had her own contribution. In the film’s last scene, after Ching-ling has passed away, Mei-ling Soong is shown on a wheelchair contemplating a childhood book. 

Nevertheless, the public did have their opinions. A much quoted saying about the Soong women goes like this: There were once three sisters. The first one loved money, the second loved power. But the third loved...China.

The Soong sisters: Ai-ling, Ching-ling and Mei-ling

                                

 

In the end, after the media hype, after the sibling rivalry and intrigues, people have a way of knowing who it was whose heart was in the right place.

Perhaps we should ask ourselves: when our own life is over, can the same be said of us?

Soong Ching-ling

The writer thanks Mr Carlos Chan, Mr Carlson Chan and the Soong Ching-ling Foundation for making the Shanghai visit possible.

Anhui: Communities of Meaning

text and photos by Ino Manalo

Watching the movie Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon by Ang Li, I was entranced by a scene where a number of combatants leap across a pond, their feet barely grazing the surface. I vividly recall that the pond was surrounded by ancient houses whose dignified facades were reflected in the water. 

Later, when I saw an exhibition about the domestic architecture of Anhui and learned that the unforgettable movie sequence was shot in a small community in this province, my resolve to visit the place grew.

The opportunity finally came during a trip to Huangzhou with Liwayway/Oishi Corporation. Our hosts very graciously agreed to arrange a side expedition to the ancient hamlets of nearby Anhui. Finally I was going to see my pond. As it turned out , there was much more to discover than just this body of water.

Two of the Anhui villages, Xidi and Hongcun have preserved their traditional structures so beautifully that they were placed on the UNESCO World Heritage List in 2000. Now, being on the list actually has its pluses and minuses. On one hand, it brings glamour and recognition. On the other hand, the many visitors that show up may tax the carrying capacity of a site. Sometimes, there are even protests that tourists are displacing local residents.

I wondered what the situation was like in Xidi and Hongcun. Did the houses still retain their original stewards?  

Walking around the time-polished lanes, I couldn’t help thinking: what was it like to live here in the 19^th and early 20th centuries when these two villages were among the most prosperous in the land? What was it like to go in and out of these homes, visit one’s neighbors, buy a bucket from an itinerant salesman?

Though I was now a tourist examining what was essentially a heritage showcase, there was still so much to discover and discern. Round a corner and one spies a broom propped against a wall, push open a gate and there is a courtyard with a canopy formed by delicate vines from which fruit are impossibly suspended. 

Glancing through a doorway, I saw a violin lesson in progress. What amazed me was that the mother was actually holding up the music piece for her young protégé. I felt like I was sharing in a cherished album, or witnessing the unscrolling of a fragile painting. Little by little, fleeting insights were thrown in my path, perhaps in jest, perhaps as an earnest invitation to explore further.

I began to understand that the way traditional dwellings were designed and even the manner that they were distributed on the terrain could be read as virtual guides or maps. These helped instruct residents on the gentle art of living.  As one writer has pointed out:  the Chinese residence “is structured to shape family organization and to weave the web of social and ethical norms that linked the household to the world beyond. “

Likewise, these jumbles of alleys and walkways that I was negotiating followed patterns that were honored and repeated all across the realm. Hongcun and Xidi were both sited so that they were embraced by water and buttressed by solid mountains. This is a feng shui specification that one will see even at the Forbidden City in Beijing, countless leagues to the north. As above, so below – such it has been and always will be for the Celestial Empire.

The lay-out of Hongcun itself is said to resemble a cow. Forming the head at one end is a hill with its two tall trees representing horns. The four bridges are the legs while the canals that circulate throughout the town are likened to intestines and veins. At the very center is the Moon Pond of Crouching Tiger fame. This is considered the cow’s stomach.

The bovine metaphor, amusing as it may seem at first, can impart many lessons to the inhabitants. First there is the recognition of humans’ relation to the land. It is our environment – lakes, rivers, mountains, forests  - which gives us our context. Feng shui may seem like superstition to some but at its heart is the realization that we must all engage with the harmony of nature.

Then there is the primacy given to our fellow creatures. Farm animals, especially, are accorded their due respect since without them our own lives would be much reduced. Perceiving that one’s hometown is shaped like a cow (as opposed to an airplane in Brasilia!) is a reminder that we must recognize the roles of other species in our biosphere.

That canals are thought of as intestines and veins stresses the importance of water. We cannot live without water in the same way that we will expire without blood or digested food coursing through our bodies. The capillary comparison is, simultaneously, an admonition not to forget that we are all inter-related. A blockage or a breakdown in one part of the network could wreak havoc in another area. One cannot throw garbage into the canal system as this would affect one’s neighbors who may decide to be as cavalier with you.

Every building in these villages arises from and is enveloped by a fabric of symbols. Doors are flanked by a pair of ornaments in the shape of drums and other objects to announce the main occupation of the family. The number of steps corresponds to established codes of meaning. Vestibules in Southern Anhui always contain a table on which is set a clock and a vase as these are considered auspicious.  There are, as well, lattice screens carved with a design of randomly arranged triangles, a motif known as “cracked ice”. These are meant to help one contemplate the difficulties and complexities of life. A variation has flowers interspersed with the triangles. Perhaps these suggest a reprieve from all that hardship. 

A townscape is effectively a three-dimensional record, a palimpsest of a people’s history. Mud stains may reveal how high the waters had raged in a great flood. Blackened areas grimly commemorate a fire or even war. A battered fence may bring back one’s childhood.

Outside the village of Xidi there is a winding path that passes under several exquisite stone arches. These are memorials to the achievements of certain residents. Usually their accomplishments have to do with hurdling the Imperial Examinations paving the way to an illustrious career in the Civil Service. Sometimes, the arches are erected for filial sons and even for devoted widows.   In this way, individual diaries and family records merge with the archives of a community. Village history is  inscribed on rock so that all may see and in seeing, remember.

Though Xidi and Hongcun had been prosperous villages,  with the reduction of rural populations in the 20^th century, the vitality of these traditional communities began to wane. Fortunately the rediscovery of these heritage enclaves has brought new life as engendered by income from the tourist trade.  Many who come have apparently seen the same gracefully choreographed cinematic fight scene as I did. This is evidenced by the great increase in arrivals after the release of Ang Li’s film.

In a way, a formula is taking shape. Centuries ago, once wealthy towns were able to afford elaborate buildings. As the years roll by, a reversal in fortunes ironically ensures that there is no money to tear down these singular structures to set up others according to the tastes of the minute. Matchless edifices are then preserved for the time that they are stumbled upon by the historically inclined. Once these pockets of the past become well-known, hordes of travelers begin to descend. Everyone is hoping for an encounter with origins as couched in the comforts of the internet, fastfood and a spa or two. One notes this tale repeated all over: Anhui, Hoi An, Pingyao, Lijiang, and even our very own Vigan.

The danger is that heritage towns become parodies of themselves all in the name of tourism. As the sociologist John Urry has warned in his tome, The Tourist Gaze, travelers have a way of rendering all that they see as consumer products. Crafts become souvenirs, residents become quaint natives, sacred rituals become spectacles. One way to counter this homogenizing vision is to celebrate the uniqueness of every place as developed by the aspirations of the people who live there.

Certainly, many have complained about the commercialization of Hongcun and Xidi. At the other side of these complaints, however, is the question: if it were not for the travel industry, how else would the villagers survive?

I suppose that the challenge is finding a balance between creating livelihood opportunities and maintaining the integrity of traditional environments. It has to do with understanding that the real attraction of a place is the vibrancy of its own community life.  It has to do with realizing that what makes our dwelling places flourish is the rootedness in the fertile soil of meanings, symbols, and ways of knowing. These have always provided sustenance and consolation in a shifting and shifty world.

Perceiving the nuances in the vast wealth of messages provided by the fascinating albums, guiding maps, patchwork cloaks, and palimpsests that are the villages of Anhui may just be the beginning. But it is a good place to start.

The writer would like to thank Carlos and Carlson Chan of Liwayway/Oishi Corporation for their patience and hospitality.