Yanwen’s blog

I recently read about an unsettling incident in Kunming, Yunnan Province. A “spoiled meat scandal” at Changfeng Middle School—a well-regarded and expensive private institution—has drawn significant public outrage. It's so disturbing that I have to write about it.

The issue first came to light when students began experiencing stomach pain and other symptoms, which parents initially dismissed as a seasonal bug. But things took a darker turn when one concerned parent discovered the source: foul-smelling, spoiled pork in the school’s kitchen, ready to be cooked and served to the students.

When this parent shared the discovery with other families, a wave of anger surged through the community. Yet, instead of addressing the legitimate concerns, school officials tried to silence the complaints. 

As the outrage grew, the administration deflected responsibility onto a minor kitchen worker, requiring them to apologize in an attempt to quell the anger. This attempt to dodge accountability only intensified parents' frustrations and caused more up-roaring.

In response to the uproar, local authorities eventually launched an investigation, but their initial statements only fueled suspicion. Describing the rotten meat as having an "abnormal sensory odor" seemed like an attempt to downplay the issue. 

Further investigation uncovered severe negligence: not only was the meat mishandled without proper refrigeration, but the company contracted to provide meals was unlicensed, charging high fees despite being unqualified. Following these findings, the principal was dismissed, the director of the Education and Sports Bureau suspended, and the involved company fined over 6 million yuan.

This story sheds light on serious issues in food safety, transparency, and accountability in school environments. Events like these resonate because they reveal troubling patterns in institutions meant to protect children’s welfare, exposing how the pursuit of profit can overshadow public safety.

However, some positive outcomes have emerged from this crisis. First, parents are now more vigilant about food safety, recognizing the need to hold schools accountable. Second, school authority may attempt to cover up by silencing the complaints or shifting blame, parents can keep pressure on until school authorities to take real responsibility. 

Lastly, it serves as a stark reminder never to underestimate the dangers of unchecked greed, aptly captured by one parent's words, “What stinks is not just the rotten meat, but the rotten hearts blinded by greed.”

In the wake of this scandal, Changfeng Middle School parents have shown the impact of collective action, media attention, and vigilance, demanding accountability from those in power. Their efforts remind us that safeguarding children’s well-being is a shared responsibility and that transparency, not silence, must be the foundation of trust in our schools.

Yesterday, while we were walking down a Brooklyn street with the children, my son asked me about my father, his grandfather. At that moment, I had a thought in mind, but I didn't dwell on it, fearing the topic might be too complicated for our light stroll.

My father had always had a passion for military history, both Chinese and the world. He particularly enjoyed discussing the Spring and Autumn (771–256 BCE) and Warring States (475–221 BCE) periods of ancient China, believing they offer rich lessons about human nature, politics, power dynamics, and even social and economic reform—insights that remain relevant today.

I didn't fully grasp this until recently when I read about the EU's decision regarding Chinese electric vehicles (EVs).

During the Warring States period, two major diplomatic strategies were employed: 合纵连横 (hé zòng lián héng), which means "vertical and horizontal alliances." The vertical alliance strategy involved smaller or weaker states uniting against a dominant power, while the horizontal alliance as a counter strategy enabled the dominant power to forge individual alliances with neighboring states to prevent their unity.

In the EU’s recent decision to impose heavy tariffs on Chinese electric vehicles, the bloc seemed to be adopting a vertical alliance strategy by collectively resisting Chinese imports. Meanwhile, China employed a horizontal alliance approach, reaching out to individual EU countries—particularly those with significant trade ties, like Germany—to prevent a unified EU response.

These strategies culminated in a pivotal vote, where ten EU members supported the tariffs, five voted against, and twelve abstained.

Ultimately, the vote on the EU tariffs on Chinese electric vehicles highlights the complexities of Europe's relationship with China, especially regarding economic and industrial strategy. It underscores the EU's fragmentation, where national interests, trade dependencies, and economic alliances can often override a cohesive unifying approach. This fragmentation makes it easier for China to navigate challenges than it would be against a united Western front.

When my father was still with us, he expressed a deep wish that all his children would build their careers in China. He passed away while I was in the U.S. in 1987, and since then, so much has changed—things he could never have imagined. He once fought in North Korea in the early 1950s, yet now, here I am teaching students from South Korea, something that would likely astonish him.

Even back then, he understood that life held injustices we couldn’t control. He felt the sting of unfairness alongside me and understood my anger when I was denied an opportunity to go abroad for further career training, despite ranking first in the qualifying exam. He knew that my path would have been much smoother if I’d been treated justly.

My father was deeply saddened by the struggles my younger sister faced after a mistake in her early twenties led to her confinement. Despite graduating from nursing school, she was rejected by every hospital due to her past. She was still young, with so much potential ahead of her. My father believed that young people deserve second chances, and he felt strongly that one misstep shouldn’t determine her future. These grievances weighed heavily on his heart until his final moments.

Thanks to China’s economic reforms, my sister eventually found work outside the traditional system and went on to become the boss of her own company—a success my father, sadly, didn’t live to see.

A Chinese saying, 一棒子打死 (yī bàngzi dǎ sǐ), literally means "to beat someone to death with one stick." Metaphorically, it describes the harshness of condemning someone too severely for a single mistake, leaving no room for growth or redemption. This approach is especially punitive for someone still young and with a life ahead.

My father’s hope was that his children would contribute to our homeland. Yet, despite my career unfolding in the U.S., I believe he would have understood my choice if he were here today. So much has changed since he left, and though life has taken me far from what he once envisioned, his values and strength remain with me, guiding my path forward.

There has been much discussion about Han Kang, the 2024 Nobel Prize in Literature laureate, and her works. Known for addressing historical trauma and social norms, Han’s writing explores the fragility of human life, the connection between body and soul, and the boundary between the living and the dead. Her experimental style has made her an innovator in contemporary prose.

Two terms are crucial to understanding Han Kang’s The Vegetarian: Korean culture and women’s status. The protagonist, Yeong-hye, embodies the silent violence endured by women within South Korean society. Her transformation begins when she decides to become a vegetarian after a disturbing dream, seriously challenging her family and societal expectations.

The first part of the novel depicts the unraveling of Yeong-hye’s marriage. Her husband, initially dismissive of her choice, becomes furious when she refuses to eat meat at a corporate banquet, a critical event for his career. Humiliated, he calls her family, which leads to a violent confrontation with her father who slaps her in the face. Her father’s attempt to force-feed her meat triggers a dramatic outburst — Yeong-hye cuts her wrist in an act of defiance, shaking her family’s core.

The second part shifts focus to Yeong-hye’s brother-in-law, an artist struggling with creative block. After learning about her birthmark, he becomes obsessed with Yeong-hye, seeing her as his artistic muse. He convinces her to participate in a body-painting project, which revitalizes her spirit. However, this act crosses ethical and moral boundaries, and when Yeong-hye’s sister discovers them, their family begins to disintegrate.

In the final part, Flaming Trees, the narrative centers on Yeong-hye’s sister. After the scandal, her husband disappears, and Yeong-hye is institutionalized. The sister, resilient under the weight of family shame, juggles the responsibilities of raising her child and running a business while financially supporting Yeong-hye’s care. She reflects on the roles imposed on women—daughter, sister, wife, and mother.

Through the lens of three men—Yeong-hye’s husband, father, and brother-in-law—Han Kang explores how male authority in Yeong-hye’s life manifests in violence and control, ultimately driving her into rebellion, isolation and institution.

A Chinese saying captures Yeong-hye’s spirit, “压迫越深，反抗越烈” (yā pò yuè shēn, fǎn kàng yuè liè), meaning “the deeper the oppression, the fiercer the resistance,” also captures the essence of The Vegetarian. This saying emphasizes how intense repression or control can ignite an equally intense pushback, which is reflected in Yeong-hye’s journey. Her quiet rebellion grows more defiant as she faces increasing pressure from her family and society.

In The Vegetarian, Han Kang masterfully explores the intersection of culture, tradition, societal expectations, violence, and individuality through Yeong-hye’s quiet rebellion. The novel's layered narrative reveals how deeply entrenched cultural norms affect women's autonomy. Yeong-hye’s journey as a vegetarian ultimately underscores the heavy toll of non-conformity in a society suffocated by rigid social expectations.

On October 17, I wrote about how, in 1973, Chinese staff at the China Liaison Office in the U.S. transformed the Windsor Park Hotel into a fully functional office—without hiring outside help. Everyone contributed to the manual labor, from diplomats to staff.

At that time, China was one of the poorest countries in the world. Now, over four decades later, it’s on the path to becoming a 小康社会(xiǎokāng shèhuì) "moderately prosperous society."

China's transformation—from extreme poverty to becoming a serious global competitor in less than half a century—is nothing short of a miracle, especially considering such progress typically takes a century.

I recall a 2020 Wall Street Journal article by James Areddy, where he discussed China’s claim of eradicating extreme poverty, part of their goal to build a moderately prosperous society. While he raised questions about the definitions and thresholds used, it’s undeniable that if China were still as poor as it was in 1973, it wouldn’t be regarded as a major global player by the U.S.

For decades, China’s top priority has been to lift itself out of poverty—a goal shared by many countries in Asia, Africa, and Latin America. The difference is that China succeeded in doing so to the extent that it now competes economically with many world tops. From an economic standpoint, China has achieved this goal with remarkable success.

While many attribute China's rapid development to policies, foreign investment, and opening up, I believe there's a valuable lesson: China’s unwavering focus on eliminating poverty through economic development. As individuals, if we could adopt this same focus, there’s little we couldn’t achieve.

China’s journey from extreme poverty to global economic power is a testament to the power of focused determination and resources. Among other factors, China’s single-minded dedication to eradicating poverty through economic development is a lesson we can all learn from. With the right focus and commitment, even the most ambitious goals can be achieved—whether for a nation or an individual.