Henan Bites Back

Written by Kaiser Kuo (that's Beijing November 2006)

 

I read in the news a couple of weeks ago that a guy named Zhang Xinyan downed one pitcher of beer too many and jumped into the panda(熊猫) enclosure at the Beijing Zoo(北京動物園). Once inside, he was understandably overwhelmed by the creature's cuteness, and felt compelled to hug one. So he made for a panda named Gu Gu. Alas, his display of affection went unrequited: the startled Gu Gu bit him, ripping a good-sized chunk of flesh first out of one leg, then - this after Mr. Zhang tried kicking the ingrate - from the other. Mr. Zhang had no recourse but to bite the panda back, though with significantly less effect. You think I'm shitting you, but I'm not.

 

Zhang Xinyan is from Henan province(河南省) - something Beijingers(北京人) will doubtless read with an "I knew it" sort of relish. Well, goddamn it, so am I. That's right: I'm a son of the venerable zhongyuan(中原). Three of my four grandparents came from Henan, and not one of them, to the best of my knowledge, ever tried biting a panda. Neither did any of the famous Henanese(河南人) you may have heard of, like the Tang(唐) poet Du Fu(杜甫), the modern philosopher Feng Youlan(馮友蘭), or successful Beijing expat grocery store founder Jenny Lou (I'm only counting giant pandas, of course). I'd say "I'm Henanese and I'm proud," but that wouldn't be entirely honest: I admit that on occasion I've lied about my laojia(老家), pledging the more repectable Shandong(山東), where my maternal grandmother was from.

 

To my great shame, the Henanese have in the last several years become the butt of many jokes. Okay, some of them are actually pretty funny, but that's beside the point. In the popular mind, Henan is now associated with unscrupulous blood-sellers(買血人) who've infected whole villages with HIV, petty con artists and cheats, and producers of fake goods. We can now add panda-biters to that list too, I suppose. Nowadays, Henanese who come to Beijing suffer discrimination from employers who can't see pase outmoded stereotypes and worry that a Henanese worker will get tanked and express inappropriate affection for some endangered species. Just because Zhang Xinyan can't hold his liquor doesn't mean that's true for all us Henanese. Some of us are much more civilized drunks.

 

Let's not forget that Henan is the true heartland of the Han(漢) nationality and the wellspring of Chinese civilization. This great province, on the floodplain of the Yellow River(黃河), was home to the ancient capitals of Anyang(安陽), Luoyang(洛陽), Xuchang(許昌) and Kaifeng(開封). It's home to the famous Shaolin Temple(少林寺), the Longmen Grottos(龍門石窟), and the scenic bituminous slag-heaps of Pingdingshan(平頂山). The proud sons and daughters of Henan have lived atop one another - and their livestock - for five millenia, surviving in bold defiance of all that Malthusian claptrap. And some of the fake goods we've produced are extremely convincing, you have to admit - irrefutable testimony to the ingenuity of the people of Henan.

 

The said tale of panda-bitten Zhang Xinyan is a metaphor for the modern Henanese experience. We come here to do a little drinking, and to express our earnest love for the nation's mascot, and what do we get? Scorn, derision, and a big hunk bitten out of each leg, that's what. The Henanese who come to Beijing are no different from any other migrants: they just want to make a buck, maybe play a little Three-card Monte and hawk some quality ancient ceramics and bronze vessels. Okay, maybe not-so-ancient, but see? With the creative application of a little dirt, they sure look ancient enough. Almost got you there, didn't we!

 

It's not easy being Henanese. The place is poor, crowed, and you can't get a decent bagel despite the much-vaunted "Jewish community of Kaifeng."  Anyway, considering that you have 100 million people living cheek-by-bowl-by-someone-else's-buttocks in a place only half size of Germany, the Henanese have been a hell of a lot more peaceful than certain people in the last century living in a place, oh, exactly the size of Germany. We Henanese, if anyone, should be the ones thinking, "We be needing us some lebensraum, pronto," but we're not going blitzkrieg on your ass with dive-bombers and tanks and shit. You can get along just fine with your neighbors from Henan. Just remember, caveat emptor, and maybe avoid blood transfusions if you can.

 

I've been doing a little research on how my co-provincials earned the reputation, and as far as I can tell it all started six or seven years ago with the sudden popularity of a joke about Dong Cunrui(董存瑞), a hero of the War of Liberation(解放戰爭). In the joke, Dong is tricked into martyrdom by a wily Henanese soldier who leaves Dong holding up a bundle of explosives by a KMT(國民黨) machine gun nest while he himself alights for safety. Dong's last words, and the joke's punch line: "Comrades! Never trust a Henanese!" But see, this isn't fair. Dong lives on in immortality, enshrined in the pantheon of heroes, his name known to generations of Chinese schoolchildren.

 

And what of the Henanese soldier, who made his martyrdom possible? Does anyone remember his name? Sadly, no: the wining slam-dunk may have been Dong's, but no one sings of the nameless hero from Henan who made the assist.