Emptying the Haunted Air

An exemplar of Intelligent Design

One of the best things about coming to China is the extent to which I’ve been able to keep up with Australian politics, as well as the international issues that interest me. I was expecting it to be much more difficult – the firewall, my (mis)conceptions about the reliability of internet connections in Shanghai, as well as some vague idea that geographical separation would, somehow, disengage me from public debate in Australia.

In fact, it’s turned out quite the opposite. Being away from Australia has made me more determined to remain in touch which, in turn, has resulted in me spending more time on the internet. More time watching streaming video, reading articles, blogs and forums. (Of course, it helps that every media organisation in Australia is allowed through the firewall over here.) For some reason, the habit of tuning into politics via television made me complacent, for I always had the option of not watching my nightly dose of news and current affairs. If I missed Joe Hockey making a dick of himself on Lateline (now celebrating its 20th year with a series of fascinating archival videos on the website), it wouldn’t worry me. I’d be sure to see something equally interesting on tomorrow’s news.

Now, I’ve entered into an almost-unhealthy ritual of consuming each day’s current affairs in the early hours of the morning. And, because I am far less likely to watch news reports (preferring meatier analysis and commentary), I don’t get my little snacks from Australian Parliament. So, instead, I just go to its website and watch the whole gorram’ thing. Or, at the very least, much more than I used to watch. In Australia, I tended to miss the ABC’s Q&A, because the format is tiring a little and the panellists are frequently dull. Last Monday’s episode looked intriguing and, considering I was already on the internet watching old Lateline videos, I decided to watch it. So, when Steve Fielding made an absolute dick of himself, I was able to savour every moment.

Zhabei at night. Not pictured: My nonexistent photos of Nanjing Road

I’m eating at a little KFC on Fuzhou Road, mainly because I felt nervous about drawing too much attention to myself at the busier one on Nanjing Road. There are a few Westerners here, possibly for similar reasons. Walking down Nanjing Road, you get waylaid frequently by street-peddlers. They swoop in, making a respectable attempt to match my brisk walking pace, and all seem to offer the same thing: watches and iPhones. Presumably these are stored inside their coats, but I will never find out for certain, because of all the things I could buy off a chap in the street, watches and phones are the least appealing. Perhaps if one of them was offering old Super Nintendo games, I might be inclined to peruse their coat pockets. Instead, I simply mutter something that means “Don’t want”, and walk on.

I walked all the way down Nanjing Road tonight. I’m not terribly interested in shopping; I derive little pleasure from the indecision. In any case, my apartment is too small to fit anything else at the moment. So I just walked and looked at the enormous advertisements, the crowds of happy shoppers, and the distant buildings fading into the smog. A skyscraper that is invisible in the night if not for the neon-blue lines that join each of its vertices. All the while keeping track of the astonishing Tomorrow Square as a geographic marker. I walked all the way to the riverbank, found that it was inaccessible for some reason, then walked down to Fuzhou Road and headed back towards People’s Square.

And I found myself in a KFC. One of the first things I notice, aside from the fact that the burgers taste the same as in Australia, is one of those employee propoganda posters on the window to the street. ‘一起工作， 一起快乐!’ Work together, happy together. It’s not at all some Communist credo. I’ve been taking note of these posters in fast food chains in Australia for a few years. They’re clearly not for the staff who, consciously or not, regard the pairing of the words team and work as nothing more than corporate speak. The posters are just marketing, and are unremarkable in this sense.

The thing that strikes me is how the face of consumerism is so similar between these two, vastly different countries, right down to the smallest details. All this advertising, the brands and the familiar images are possibly the main reason I have felt at home in Shanghai. I can decode the semiotics of commercialism on Nanjing Road as easily as in Sydney.

At the same time, this familiarity worries me, for it exposes my profound ignorance and gullibility. Everyone knows KFC, McDonalds and Apple are global empires; they, as corporate entities, can’t escape it. I didn’t know that LJ Hooker, Century 21, Boost Juice, and dozens of others were all the same. But there they are, feeding off the crowds at Nanjing Road. And I realise that, however much I have regarded my cynicism as a Palladium against the effects of advertising, it’s clearly had a lasting impact on me.

All the ads (whose early 90s iterations I seem to remember best) must have resonated in a personal way. However, for me to assume that their products are uniquely Australian, when all commercial sense should indicate the opposite, implies something else entirely. Successful advertising doesn’t just appeal to one’s personal tastes or moods. It resonates in a part of us that sympathises with that elusive thing called national identity. It’s the part of myself that I find most irrational and cumbersome. The reason, perhaps, that I have found myself in Shanghai, of all places. But it is also a part of us that is impossible to resist or escape.

So I just finish my Zinger Burger, and return home.

TV is no less entertaining here than in Sydney.

So, today I arrived in Shanghai, after about two months of planning, and five years of dreaming on it. First impressions are that it’s an astonishing city, teeming with life and contradictions. Chinese militarism against the kitsch, neon Japanese katakana that illuminates some of the trendy downtown shops. Grey apartment buildings that look as deserted as something one might find in Pripyat, clashing with shiny hotels topped with jittering, animated signs. Shanghai seems more cinematic than picturesque – it’s all angles, foreground and background, shadows and light. The way colourful shadows get thrown about everywhere as cars drive past. The shadows of pedestrians getting swollen and mutated to epic proportions in the headlights of the bus that took me through the city. There’s light everywhere, reflecting and refracting in glass until you’re not sure that you can locate the source in the illusion.

There’s more trees that you’d expect, too.