“Time Discrepancy” Covered

As is expected, the mural,   “Time Discrepancy,”  was covered not long after I left Shenzhen.  This photo was taken by Jiamin Hu, who painted “Time Discrepancy.”

Copyright©Jiamin Hu

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Hats off Jiamin Hu, and Liu

A little boy scampered past a mural titled  “Time Discrepancy.” His blue school uniform is the same color as that of the empty chair in the mural. The coincidence is ironic, as what his school uniform stands for contradicts what the empty chair stands for.  I felt a bit shocked.

In fact, it is quite shocking that this mural passed the censorship and is still available on the wall of Guandi Temple in Nantou, Nanshan District, Shenzhen. Many people have noticed it, some take selfies with it, but few really know what it means, or what the empty chair stands for.

Are you thinking that the control in the biggest country (in terms of population) is loosening? Nope. It is actually getting tighter. The materialization of “Time Discrepancy”in Shenzhen is probably a result of ignorance. Information was so controlled in this country that even government officials know little about the Chinese Nobel Peace Prize Winner, Mr. Liu, who passed away this year.

I have no doubt that someone is going to be in big trouble once the reports about this mural comes out in Hong Kong. I hope the artist can travel back to his home in France by then. Hats off to him, as well as to Liu and his wife.

  

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What? You never heard of him?

What? You never heard of him?

Nope. I never heard of him. Not till I got the assignment to shoot him. Shoot with my camera, of course.

There are many names I didn’t know till I got the assignments to shoot their owners.  Ben Foster, G.E.M., the Vidal twin sisters, Michael Wong, Francis Ng Chun-yu, Joseph Chang Hsiao-chuan… Forgive my ignorance. But nowadays there are simply way too many famous people for me to notice and remember.

One name I did know before I photographed its owner is Lang Lang, the pianist. A friend of mine is a big fan of him, telling me many times that he is a rare genius human kind produces only once every three hundred years. I have other friends who think Lang Lang is too flashy for classical music, though. After the photo shoot, many people, reporters, PRs, and students went crazy about having a selfie with the famous pianist. A PR, who was  very friendly and kind to me, kept motioning me for a selfie, too. “Come! Come!” She waved her hand and whispered excitedly. I smiled and shook my head, then proceeded to pack up my gear. It was quite late by the time we finished covering his talk at HKU, then a small group interview, then the shoot. Cold and hungry, I was eager to go home and eat and rest.

Yesterday, a PR and a few fellow journalists seemed shocked when I said I never heard of Jeremy Renner before. They kindly educated me about this Hollywood star and his  works till I felt like I should watch at least one movie by him.

We were granted  a 20-minute interview with Mr. Renner at Macau Culture Center. While a journalist was having a selfie with Mr. Renner after her interview with him, I took out my lighting gear for the photo shoot, when a woman, probably an American, said, “the photo shoot was not approved!” She sounded upset and vexed. I looked at her, surprised. Did I come all the way from Hong Kong only to be told that the planned photo shoot was not allowed?  I turned to look at the kind PR who accompanied me from from HK to Macau. He frowned, shook his head and smiled apologetically. I turned back to the upset and vexed woman, who repeated, “the photo shoot was not approved! Ok, fifteen minutes interview, then two minutes for photo shoot.”

I quickly put together my light stand, flash, and umbrella, set it next to Mr. Renner, hoping to snap a few shots during the interview, in case something went wrong during the two minutes I was granted.

The woman gave me an ugly look. I decided not to upset her further and didn’t take any photos during the interview without her permission. When she sat down on a chair behind me, I turned to her and whispered, “is it ok I snap a few shots during the interview?”

“No!” She frowned. (So that now all I remember about her is her vexed voice and her wrinkles from  frowning.)

She kept her eyes on her watch when I photographed Mr. Renner.  And she kept her promise of two minutes.

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Mannequins

I am always fascinated by mannequins. When I walk past shops, either in the high-end shopping malls or the dim street corners, I slow down when I see mannequins. Not to check out the latest fashion, to stare at the mannequins. I look into their blank eyes and I get a chill sense of surrealism. Blank, yet surreal. A huge space for imagination.  I’ve always wanted to do an art project with mannequins.

Today, I happen to see some mannequins at DesignInspire  expo in Hong Kong, which is to be open tomorrow (Dec. 07,2017). I looked at them for a long time, as fascinated as when I first saw a mannequin when a kid. They reminded me of a line by Edgar Allan Poe: Out of space, out of time.

Some day, I will do an art project with mannequins.

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That Glass Ceiling, Break it

I was commissioned by The Guardian to write a 700-to-800-word article about Chinese women working in technology. After interviewing six people, each of whom with a distinct personality and an impressive story,  I wrote over 2000 words. The published version (https://www.theguardian.com/careers/2017/oct/05/meet-the-women-in-tech-fighting-to-shatter-chinas-glass-ceiling#comments) had be to cut down to under 1000 words.  I decide to publish the longer version at my own blog.

  • – –

“I hope my son would become someone like Elon Musk.  I hope my  daughter would choose her career in liberal arts or social sciences, so she won’t repeat my struggles. And she can go to work dressed up and made up, like a lady,” said Lanxuan (not her real name), a chemical engineer in Dongguan.

She would not have imagined herself saying this sixteen years ago, when she graduated from high school, with a score of 147 (out of 150) in chemistry at Gaokao (China’s college entrance exams),  believing she was  as bright, as intelligent, and as promising as the boys in her class.

She joined an electronic materials company in Dongguan, Guangdong Province in 2007, working in a lab providing tech support services. She has worked hard and seized every opportunity to prove her ability.  In 2011, she even sent her baby daughter away to her parents in Jiangxi Province, so she could concentrate on her career. Now she regrets it,  because she finds she barely understands her daughter, whom she brought back to Dongguan recently, and because there has been no promotion, nor pay raise.

Lanxuan would not give up easily, though.  In 2014, when her company launched a national speech contest, she saw hope: If winning the contest, she might be seen, recognized,  even promoted.  She won the first prize in 2015.

This prize turned out be the beginning of her final struggle before giving up. Instead of congratulations, she was bombarded with jibes: “she was wasting time on something not directly related to her profession, she was taking a shortcut, she was too ambitious for a woman.”

Sexism didn’t quench her desire for success. In 2016, she convinced her company to let her try on-site tech support for customers. However, with the opportunity, came more work and more struggles. She still had to do her old job in the lab besides on-site tech support – with no extra pay. The customers, usually men, hesitated to cooperate because she was a woman.  “If I asked for a chemical for an experiment, I had to wait for a long time. If my male colleague asked for it, they brought it immediately,” she said.  Meanwhile,  her colleagues at the lab complained of extra work due to her field trips for on-site tech support. They were extremely unhappy if her trip lasted more than one day.

Her superior, also a woman, had a chat with her, trying to persuade her to give up the field trips. “She assumed a caring tone,  ‘ it is too dangerous for women. You are a woman, why bother?’” Lanxuan  said,  “It was suppression in the name of caring.”

Lanxuan didn’t give up.

So came the second talk.

Still  she wouldn’t give up.

Then came the last straw: her superior went to her husband, “Why let your wife do this?”

Lanxuan was fed up, “For years, I have felt an invisible ceiling above me. Invisible but stifling. All those obstacles in the name of caring. The suppression in the name of protection.” She would have resigned if she had not found herself pregnant with her son last year.   

Now on maternity leave, she is preparing for her next career – selling insurance.  She will be able to dress up as a saleswoman, “As an engineer, I dress like a man. I almost lost my femininity!”

The glass ceiling Luanxuan experiences  is not uncommon in China.  Zhaopin Ltd., an online recruiter surveyed nearly 130,000 people in 2017 and found that about 22% of women have experienced severe or very severe discrimination when seeking employment. That percentage rose to about 43% for women with graduate degrees.  Women were paid 30% less than men in China’s internet industry last year, according to Boss Zhipin, which surveyed over 365,000 pay samples nationwide.

It is under such glass ceiling that Tian Xiaole (Not her real name), a software engineer in Shenzhen, seems eager to shake off her  femininity. In her team, all the women engineers dress like a man. T-shirts and jeans. Never skirts. “We are wo-men, instead of women,” She chuckled. Wo-men is a translation for 女汉子,  adult tomboys. Dressing like a man has become an announcement – we wo-men work like men. “If you dress up prettily, some men see you only a woman, not an engineer.”

For some, dressing like a man is a way to boost confidence at a workplace dominated by men. “Somehow, men seem to be born self-assured, but some women tend to have a lower self-esteem,” Tian Xiaole said, then described to me a typical example of men’s self-assurance versus women’s lack of confidence at her work place:

“A software tester (a woman) finds a mistake in a test. She goes to the coder (a man), ‘I think there is a mistake in the coding.’ The coder, ‘can’t be. You must have made a mistake while testing.’  So the tester goes back and  tests again and again until she is sure the mistake is in the coding. She goes back to the coder. The coder grumbles as he checks the coding. And there it is, he finds a mistake in the coding. But he says, ‘I tell you. The coder before me wrote this line. Not my fault!’”

We  both laughed.  She said, “sometimes I wish I were a man.”

If she were a man, she wouldn’t  be pestered about her marital status when seeking employment, as happened in August, 2017, at an interview for a position with one of China’s biggest internet companies:

“Are you married?”

“No.”

“Do you plan to marry soon?”

“I haven’t met my Mr. right yet. ”

“What if you meet your Mr. right soon?”

“I won’t marry in the next few years.”

“How are you going to guarantee you won’t marry in the next few years?”

In Chinese culture, it is common for women to put their roles as a wife and mother before their careers. After marriage, women are expected to juggle their careers with having children and looking after the family, including the older generation. While While maternity leave is available, it is seen by companies as a hindrance and as a result some explicitly state that they don’t hire women for certain positions.

In September, 2017, Xu Xin, an MA candidate studying AI engineering at Sun Yat-sen University in Guangzhou was rejected by Huya Broadcasting, a live game streaming platform.  “They say they don’t want women,” Xu Xin lamented, “for the first time in my life, I realize that sexism does exist!”

Tang Guoyong, founder of HRoot,  an HR media company based in Guangzhou, confirmed that sexism is common among Chinese technology companies, “they filter out female candidates when going through resumes. The situations is worse now that China’s second-child policy is in effect.” That’s because companies fear a second child will mean more maternity leave and further time off to fulfill family responsibilities.  Mr. Tang thinks sexism in technology  is understandable, “because technology work is too intense for women, who are physically less strong, and not as good at logical thinking as men. ”

Li Bo, a software development manager with one of China’s biggest technology companies, disagrees with Mr. Tang. She works as hard as her male colleagues. She works out every day and is physically strong. She leads a team of twelve software engineers, ten of whom are men.

She also disagrees with Lanxuan and Tian Xiaole, who hide their femininity at work.  She highlights her femininity.

“I dress up and I wear makeup,” Li Bo laughed, “This is my statement: I AM a woman, but I am NOT inferior. ”

Indeed, she is not. In ten years, she has successfully developed her career from Product Instruction Writer to Customer Solution Manager, then Scrum Master, then Project Manager, now Software Development Manager.

Her career path is not always as smooth as it sounds, though. Some jibe at her and attribute her success to  “being close to the boss.”

“I don’t forget  jibes,” she said, “I revenge.”

She revenges by working harder, by acquiring new knowledge and skills,  by proving and improving her excellence.

The results?

She often receives invitations  from other  teams or companies to join them.

Her friends often joke that she is the Chinese version of Sheryl Sandberg. It happens Li Bo highly appreciates Sandberg’s book, “Lean In: Women, Work and the Will to Lead.” She thinks Sandberg has set an example for women working in technology.

Li Bo, too, wants to set an example. While recognizing the glass ceiling for women working in technology, she does think that some women tend to victimize themselves as a minority, subconsciously associating femininity with weakness and inferiority. “I have a mission to shatter this mindset,” she said.  Maybe, with Li Bo and her likes’ leadership, when Lanxuan’s daughter enters the labour market, it would be common to see Chinese women working as engineers, managers, even CEOs in technology, with equal opportunities and equal pays,  prettily dressed up and made up.

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Feel like Frida


 
Today, 
no, it’s been days, 
I feel like Frida. 
Not Frida, the artist, 
but Frida, the woman. 
Maybe I need a Tequila.
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Legs, faces, and gaze

He comes and goes.
She comes and goes.
They come and go.
Those legs, those faces, and that gaze.
That gaze stays.
But I tell you, it is actually fake, that gaze.

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portraits reviewed

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photos reviewed

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First School Day

A boy hurried toward the school gate, dragging a school bag one third of his body size and possibly too heavy for his size, panting and sweating. He was late for school. The very first day of the semester. He was probably panicking. But things were even worse than he could have dreamed. Instead of being scolded by his teachers for being late, he found himself captured, besieged and attacked by a gang of news wolves. (Yes, we news people in Hk are as cruel as wolves, if not tigers.) Intimidating grown-ups with their recorders, cameras, and poisonous mouths. One reporter kept asking him with an amused smile, “Why are you late on your first school day? Did you sleep in? Are you ashamed of being late?” He looked at the man and his smile, dumbfounded. He probably hated this man’s smile, and others’ smiles. Amused and gloating smiles. He was enclosed by them. How intimidating! I wondered if a nightmare had started awaiting him.

I wish I could punch the reporter who kept asking the boy those cruel questions. Doesn’t he understand the pain of growing up? Doesn’t he know the difficulties at school in Asia? Well, he is probably one of those people who yearn to go back in time and be a kid again because they want to escape the struggles as grownups.

While I sometimes yearn to be a happy and innocent child, I never want to relive my childhood. I particularly don’t want to go back to school in China. I will never forget the summer before my first elementary school year. I was so eager to go to school. I was looking forward to it every day, every hour, every minute. I kept asking my father, “when does school begin?” After a wait as long as for ever, finally came my first school day. My heart was pounding when my father took me to school, the best one in town, with his old 28-inch bike. Sitting at the front of my father’s bike, bathing in the morning sunlight, riding in the wind, touching my school bag, I was full of dreams. But by the end of the day, when I got home from school, I asked my father, “can I not go to school any more?”I was never a teacher’s favorite in China. Among so many teachers and professors I had in China, none, except one professor during grad school years at Jinan University, genuinely appreciated me.

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