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I recently asked a friend what he thought was mainstream culture in China. “It’s car, money and house,” he said. “That’s it.”
He may be exaggerating, but such comments suggest an uncomfortable truth about the place of culture in today’s China—most people couldn’t care less about it. A Saturday evening spent at the theatre? Unthinkable for the average person. You certainly must be very well educated if that’s what you’re doing.
When Chinese people say that someone “has culture,” it doesn’t mean that he or she is cultured in films, books or the arts. It means they’ve had a good education, and are knowledgeable in history and Chinese Classics. To say of someone that they “have no culture,” is effectively to call them a peasant.
London and New York are associated with culture: the pop-up food markets, the concerts and film festivals. It’s hard to find a Chinese equivalent for much of this. While there is a growing appreciation, as well as offering of culture, very few Chinese participate in cultural happenings. The few that do will attend talks, exhibitions and music salons, held in venues that range from the Capital Library to independent bookshops. Many of these events are niche and small, much less visible than in London or New York.
Interest in classical Chinese culture comes predominantly from the emerging middle class of wenyi qingnian, or “cultured youths”—an exact translation is difficult, but the phrase also implies “arty” or “literary” interest. Wenyi qingnian dress the part—often in retro clothing, incorporating an element of prim and proper with women wearing long skirts and blouses. It’s a modern twist on the studious library look. They are spotted in literary cafes and art galleries as well as classical reading institutions. And the smaller the scale, the better. I recently attended a talk about Beijing food in a traditional courtyard bookstore. The room was tiny, there was a cat, and the event was jam-packed. Plays and traditional performing arts such as Beijing’s xiangsheng, the comic dialogue, are experiencing a renaissance. Not only is there a youth following, there is an emerging generation of young performers who appear in clubs dedicated to youth xiangsheng.
“Nowadays, the more old-school the better, that’s what they want to see,” Dr Yang Yuan, a Chinese historian from Beijing, told me. “Performers themselves know that the label of authenticity sells today, even if the performances have drastically changed from the original.”
This interest by young Chinese in culture and tradition is a new phenomenon. A few years ago, I remember humming the theme tune to a 1990s television show, and being told off by a friend. “Why are you singing old songs, don’t you know China is developing?” she said, delivering the last word in English.
Now, things are different. But the word “culture” in China is also very sensitive: tag on two more characters and it takes on a tragic meaning. Wenhua da gemin translates as “cultural big revolution,” the event known in the west as the Cultural Revolution, a period from 1966-1976 when intellectuals, artists and literary figures were denounced and many sent to the countryside. China attacked every manifestation of its own culture and history, eradicating its own cultural identity and leaving a void in its place. The country is still recovering from that trauma.
Rather than creating a new China, the Cultural Revolution left a vacuum. Throughout the 1980s, western thought flooded in. Young people became entranced by American film, ideology and music. Public debates about a future democratic China took place in parks, with no fear of arrest or censorship; students recited poetry and discussed the philosophy of freedom.
Today’s wenyi qingnian are a lot cooler, better dressed and edgier than their counterparts of the 1980s. Many have actually seen the western world too. But there isn’t the same streak of political idealism, or the pursuit of change. Today’s cultured middle-class youths consciously decouple themselves from ideology.
And what about the rest of China? Mainstream mass culture consists almost entirely of superficial entertainment: fast-produced, easily digestible and easily forgettable television and films. A friend of mine commented that: “In today’s political environment of controlled debate, it’s hard for culture to emerge unrestrained; this thing known as culture needs a big space to grow.”
Dr Yang is more optimistic: “People’s stories make culture, it’s an unspoken social contract that must exist. It may start from a place of unfamiliarity or even selfishness, a mere inkling that leads to deeper digging, to experience for oneself.”
China is slowly working its own way back towards a new balance. After all, where there are people, there must be culture.
Now read: How did China forget tis good manners?
I recently asked a friend what he thought was mainstream culture in China. “It’s car, money and house,” he said. “That’s it.”
He may be exaggerating, but such comments suggest an uncomfortable truth about the place of culture in today’s China—most people couldn’t care less about it. A Saturday evening spent at the theatre? Unthinkable for the average person. You certainly must be very well educated if that’s what you’re doing.
When Chinese people say that someone “has culture,” it doesn’t mean that he or she is cultured in films, books or the arts. It means they’ve had a good education, and are knowledgeable in history and Chinese Classics. To say of someone that they “have no culture,” is effectively to call them a peasant.
London and New York are associated with culture: the pop-up food markets, the concerts and film festivals. It’s hard to find a Chinese equivalent for much of this. While there is a growing appreciation, as well as offering of culture, very few Chinese participate in cultural happenings. The few that do will attend talks, exhibitions and music salons, held in venues that range from the Capital Library to independent bookshops. Many of these events are niche and small, much less visible than in London or New York.
Interest in classical Chinese culture comes predominantly from the emerging middle class of wenyi qingnian, or “cultured youths”—an exact translation is difficult, but the phrase also implies “arty” or “literary” interest. Wenyi qingnian dress the part—often in retro clothing, incorporating an element of prim and proper with women wearing long skirts and blouses. It’s a modern twist on the studious library look. They are spotted in literary cafes and art galleries as well as classical reading institutions. And the smaller the scale, the better. I recently attended a talk about Beijing food in a traditional courtyard bookstore. The room was tiny, there was a cat, and the event was jam-packed. Plays and traditional performing arts such as Beijing’s xiangsheng, the comic dialogue, are experiencing a renaissance. Not only is there a youth following, there is an emerging generation of young performers who appear in clubs dedicated to youth xiangsheng.
“Nowadays, the more old-school the better, that’s what they want to see,” Dr Yang Yuan, a Chinese historian from Beijing, told me. “Performers themselves know that the label of authenticity sells today, even if the performances have drastically changed from the original.”
This interest by young Chinese in culture and tradition is a new phenomenon. A few years ago, I remember humming the theme tune to a 1990s television show, and being told off by a friend. “Why are you singing old songs, don’t you know China is developing?” she said, delivering the last word in English.
Now, things are different. But the word “culture” in China is also very sensitive: tag on two more characters and it takes on a tragic meaning. Wenhua da gemin translates as “cultural big revolution,” the event known in the west as the Cultural Revolution, a period from 1966-1976 when intellectuals, artists and literary figures were denounced and many sent to the countryside. China attacked every manifestation of its own culture and history, eradicating its own cultural identity and leaving a void in its place. The country is still recovering from that trauma.
Rather than creating a new China, the Cultural Revolution left a vacuum. Throughout the 1980s, western thought flooded in. Young people became entranced by American film, ideology and music. Public debates about a future democratic China took place in parks, with no fear of arrest or censorship; students recited poetry and discussed the philosophy of freedom.
Today’s wenyi qingnian are a lot cooler, better dressed and edgier than their counterparts of the 1980s. Many have actually seen the western world too. But there isn’t the same streak of political idealism, or the pursuit of change. Today’s cultured middle-class youths consciously decouple themselves from ideology.
And what about the rest of China? Mainstream mass culture consists almost entirely of superficial entertainment: fast-produced, easily digestible and easily forgettable television and films. A friend of mine commented that: “In today’s political environment of controlled debate, it’s hard for culture to emerge unrestrained; this thing known as culture needs a big space to grow.”
Dr Yang is more optimistic: “People’s stories make culture, it’s an unspoken social contract that must exist. It may start from a place of unfamiliarity or even selfishness, a mere inkling that leads to deeper digging, to experience for oneself.”
China is slowly working its own way back towards a new balance. After all, where there are people, there must be culture.
Now read: How did China forget tis good manners?
