About a dozen years ago I took a trip to South Africa. One of the tours offered was a visit to the homes of the poor in Soweto.
It struck me as the height of bad taste. The brochure showed white tourists crammed into a tin roof shack with bewildered residents.
That feeling came welling back when I was informed we were going to visit a hutong (the old neighborhoods of Beijing), dine with a local family in their home, and, to top it off, ride in a rickshaw to look at a family courtyard home. It had the sad scent of British imperialism slathered with white liberal guilt.
But I was wrong. Very wrong. This portion of the tour turned out to be one of my best memories in Beijing. With the exception of the rickshaw ride.
Everything about the dinner was good. A Chinese family has turned their parlor and kitchen into a tourist restaurant.
Over twenty of us shoehorned ourselves around two large tables and had a delicious home-cooked meal. Nothing fancy. The usual stir fry choices. But it was tasty and filling. The entire family pitched in to serve us.
Not too far in the past, most of Beijing looked similar to their neighborhood. Narrow alleyways surrounded by low small homes and shops.
But most of the old neighborhoods are gone. Having been seized and leveled for high-rise apartment buildings. These were the type of homes the seniors we saw at the Temple of Heaven once lived in before they were expelled to the outer edges of Beijing.
Then came the moment I dreaded. Our pedicabs showed up to pedal us several blocks to a courtyard home. I tried to opt out, but the distance was too far.
I should explain. Nothing smacks of the imperial era as much as the rickshaw. Human feet toting white people about.
It is an honest living. But, as Thomas Jefferson aptly noted: "[T]he mass of mankind has not been born with saddles on their backs, nor a favored few booted and spurred, ready to ride them legitimately, by the grace of God."
I did my best to enjoy the ride. The neighborhood was fascinating. But I could not help but feel sorry for the driver lugging two heavy white guys in his rickshaw.
The highlight was the courtyard home. At first sight, it did not seem very special. Just a cluster of older buildings around a courtyard.
The place became very special when the owner told us about the history of his family.
His father, who still lives on the property in his 90s, purchased the home in the 1930s.
The current owner and his sister grew up in the house -- until the Cultural Revolution of the 1960s. Because the family appeared to be bourgeois, ten additional families were moved on to their property.
His sister was taken away to a rural reeducation camp to plant rice -- far from Beijing. He was sent away closer to the city.
He soon returned. But his sister was not allowed to return until the 1990s. And the last of the ten families left the property less than a decade ago.
He told this tragic tale with no emotion. It was what it was.
One of our group asked how much the property was worth. We should have been ready for the answer. After all, our guide had told us that an average priced condominium in Beijing of about 1000 square feet would cost about $600,000 (US). Stand alone homes are reserved for the very wealthy with starting prices in excess of $1,000,000 (US).
Based on the property's location, its status in a protected district, and its historic significance, he estimated its value at $15,000,000 (US). But it is not for sale. And no one in our group offered to buy it.
Outside the main home is an altar to the family's ancestors. But the altar on the home's coffee table is just as telling. A bull. A replica of the bull on Wall Street. Symbolizing a prospering market.
We visited many impressive sights in China. But I will remember that brave man standing against the tide of history and quietly saying: "Stop."
It is through such man that China will have a better future.
It is through such man that China will have a better future.
