Wish You Happy Forever
Page 23
It was an extraordinary statement from China’s top leader. We didn’t know where it had come from or where it would lead.
Then, just an hour after we heard news of the speech, our Mr. Hu called! He was jubilant about the message from Hu Jintao.
“He feels all things are possible now!” said ZZ.
“But ZZ, is he okay?”
“It seems he is well,” she said. “He gave his report to the government. The Civil Affairs director says he thinks it will be all right, but they wait for party secretary. Since someone has questioned Hu’s activities, they need to find a way to make U-turn before further approval to say yes.”
“Yes to what?”
“To whether our Henan AIDS program will go on or stop.”
“But—we don’t have board approval for an AIDS program yet. Or money.”
“If party secretary says yes, it is better to have the program. If not, the situation is quite difficult.”
“Oh. Of course. We’ll just . . . figure it out.”
IN DECEMBER, JUST six months after the president’s speech, the Ministry of Civil Affairs announced China’s Blue Sky Plan, a five-year initiative dedicating two billion yuan (then about 245 million dollars) to creating new children’s welfare institutions that would deliver improved care, education, and rehabilitation for orphaned children across China.
In the New Year, ZZ and I were summoned to the Ministry of Civil Affairs. A rare invitation from a ministry that seldom deals with guoji youren—foreign friends. Despite the recent auspicious turn of events, this couldn’t bode well.
Bundled against icy wind, ZZ and I crossed through the middle of a broad Beijing street swarming with traffic, dodging cabs that I could swear were aiming for us. I never dared this trick on my own. ZZ darted across with the resolute calm of a longtime Beijinger. I had no choice but to follow.
On the other side, at the gates of the Ministry of Civil Affairs of the People’s Republic of China, two gloved and overcoated military guards stood at attention.
I stood there too, wondering what was waiting for us beyond those gates. ZZ tugged me toward them. One of the guards shouted. I froze.
“Give me your ID,” said ZZ.
The young guard studied my passport for a full minute. He made a phone call. Finally he pointed, stiff-armed, at the reception building.
A government drone sat embalmed behind dirty glass. ZZ handed her my passport and her ID card. The drone began painstakingly writing an essay, presumably on the background she found in my passport. ZZ sat me down.
“Foreigners don’t usually come here,” she said.
“Do you think this is about the investigation, ZZ?”
“They didn’t say.”
Her poker face made me nervous. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine a movie in which a well-intentioned woman from China goes to Washington and offers to help the government overhaul the American foster care system.
They’d just ignore her, assume she was a nutcase. They certainly wouldn’t arrest her, would they? What if Mr. Hu wasn’t really okay? Maybe someone told him to say he was? . . . I struggled to remember the sound of the Living Buddha chanting and the hum of his little singing-bowl.
“DO YOU REMEMBER me?” asked the man inside the ministry. He had a broad smile and round eyeglasses.
“Sure . . .”
“This is Section Chief Ma,” ZZ said. “You met him when you first came to Beijing!”
“Oh yes, in 1999!”
Of course! He was my first government official. My first China Smile.
“1999,” ZZ translated.
“1999,” Section Chief Ma concurred.
That settled, tea was poured, and I was introduced to two women. Division Chief Gan was a faded beauty with a white-toothed grin and a girlish ponytail. Once upon a time, she must have been gorgeous.
“I was sent to the Film Academy,” Mrs. Gan told me on another day. “I would have been selected to be a movie star, but I failed the acting test.”
Her sidekick, Mrs. Gao, was plump and balding, with frizzy bits—too many cheap China perms.
Now everyone was smiling. I began to relax just a bit. I’d feel better when I knew why I was there.
After a suitable amount of chitchat, the three got down to business. Section Chief Ma explained that China had made great progress in the past few years toward two important goals: economic development and President Hu’s plan for establishing a harmonious society, which would encourage social development. Certainly, concern for orphans was part of that plan.
“Certainly,” I said.
“You have heard of the Blue Sky Plan?” Mrs. Gan asked.
“Yes, you plan to build new welfare institutions, right?”
“More than three hundred!” Mrs. Gan shouted.
“The children need facilities, but they also need service inside,” said the more sedate Mrs. Gao.
The three then launched into a discussion of their plans. Soon ZZ joined in. I was forgotten. Things heated up—voices rose, soon everyone was shouting—all in a perfectly friendly way.
“There is one problem,” said Section Chief Ma. He looked at me through his round eyeglasses. His smile was gone.
The chatter stopped. Everyone looked at me. Still clueless, I attempted the China Smile.
Section Chief Ma picked up a sheet of paper. He adjusted his glasses and read aloud: “On the afternoon of March 5, 2001, at the botanical gardens in Kunming, Jenny Bowen photographed young minority girls begging.”
Everyone looked at me and waited. My smile may have wilted a bit.
“The Public Security Bureau wishes to know the purpose,” said Section Chief Ma.
“2001?” I asked.
This was it? This was what would send me to the gulag? I remembered the policeman’s hand on my camera lens. Did I still have that photo?
Whoosh! In a tornado of female fury, all three ladies leaped to my defense, all shouting at once.
“She was just a tourist!” “She liked the colors of the minority clothes!” “She is an ignorant foreigner!” “Certainly she would not think to publish such photographs!”
Then, as abruptly as it had begun, the storm subsided. No matter that two of the three women didn’t even know me in 2001. Section Chief Ma wrote something and stamped it. ZZ patted my hand. It seemed that I was exonerated.
Mrs. Gao, the sedate one, turned to me. “We like Half the Sky,” she said. “Your method comes from experience inside, not like other NGOs coming from a foreign place. Unsuitable for China.”
“It should be like a joint venture,” barked Mrs. Gan, the failed actress. “We do hardware; you do software. Not just new facilities, but service inside.”
“With the Ministry of Civil Affairs in charge, of course,” said Section Chief Ma. “And we will submit a joint annual report to the State Council and hold seminars on-site for high-level government officials.”
“So . . . you mean Half the Sky could set up programs inside the new institutions?” I ventured.
“You decide how you want to proceed,” said Section Chief Ma with a wave of his hand and his biggest smile yet.
“And maybe a national training center?” I asked.
“Make a proposal!”
“Does this mean that Half the Sky will now be registered?”
They ignored me without missing a beat.
“We can have a huge media event!” shouted Mrs. Gan. “And our own logo!”
Now the discussion turned to TV specials and the PR plan and which movie stars might be recruited, and in the excitement of it all, I was once again forgotten.
How did I get here? Where was this movie going? Had I completely lost control of the script?
TWO HOURS LATER, we exited the gates of the Ministry of Civil Affairs.
“ZZ, what just happened? Did I just dream that meeting up?”
“I don’t think so. The ministry wants to be our partner. They say they need Half the Sky!”
Her smile was t
riumphant. That was all I needed to see. Before the pinch could come and wake me from the dream, I went home and spread the news.
Dear Half the Sky Family,
I have something extraordinary to share: In what will be its first-ever national partnership with a foreign NGO, the Ministry of Civil Affairs has invited Half the Sky to introduce its model and its four programs to orphaned children across China through a new government initiative called Blue Sky—a plan to build or renovate three hundred purpose-built children’s homes offering a family-like environment along with education, rehabilitation, and nurturing care.
The government’s idea is not to build more orphanages or to promote institutionalization over foster care or adoption. At the ministry I was told that every child belongs in a family and that will always be the priority.
We know, and we believe that the ministry understands, that the beautiful bright new buildings of Blue Sky don’t really matter to the children. The children don’t care if the walls are faded and the furniture is worn. What matters is that someone cares about them. That they are held and spoken to and feel safe. That they know they are loved. And Half the Sky has been entrusted with that tremendous task. What an amazing moment for all of us!
One orphanage director told me this: “Things are changing in China. The old idea that one must have a son to work the land and take care of you in your old age is slowly going away. Young people are leaving the land and going to the cities to work. Now it is rare in these smaller-city institutions that we receive healthy abandoned infants. But there are thousands of orphans living in small county-level institutions or living on the streets in our jurisdiction. Blue Sky will mean we can give those children loving care too.”
So, in partnership with the Chinese government, I’m thrilled to tell you that our fall build in Wuhan will be the first of thirty-one Blue Sky / Half the Sky model children’s centers—one in every province in China.
Nine years ago a small group of adoptive parents had a simple vision to make life better for the children they couldn’t bring home. Look how far we’ve come! Who could have imagined?! I do believe we may well accomplish everything we’ve ever set out to do!
Thank you, all of you, for bringing us to this place.
OF COURSE, WE still had to figure out how we were going to pull it off. The ministry had assigned a grand total of two people to oversee the effort, Mrs. Gan and Mrs. Gao.
The two women did their best to show us everything there was to show about child welfare in China. The whole picture. We traveled the country together, from the southern tip of Guangdong to the North Korean border. The trust began to grow.
We developed our own Blue Sky plan to complete our written curriculum and to establish four or five model centers, offering provincial trainings in different provinces each year. World Childhood, the Swedish queen’s charity, agreed to support our new plans with a multiyear capacity-building grant. JPMorgan Chase would support our first Blue Sky Center, in Wuhan, Mrs. Gan’s hometown.
And sponsored by the Ford Foundation, in Shaodian Township, Henan, we quietly opened the first Family Village for children orphaned by AIDS. It was so successful that Premier Wen Jiabao led a delegation to visit it on World AIDS Day 2007.
Wuhan, Hubei Province
Autumn 2007
It is fair to say that the walls were rocking at the Wuhan orphanage as 160 children, 42 new nannies and teachers and foster parents, the orphanage staff, assorted Half the Sky staff and volunteers, Mrs. Gan, Mrs. Gao, and (it seemed) half the city and provincial governments celebrated China’s brand-new, first-ever Blue Sky Center. Mrs. Gan gave interview upon interview, shouting over the music, flashing her gorgeous smile—our tireless media darling. I felt, for the first time, that the partnership was real. China was serious about helping its kids.
My cell phone rang. It was a reporter from the China Daily, the government’s English-language newspaper. He said he was e-mailing me some questions about being the sole American elected to carry the Olympic torch on Chinese soil.
“Are you sure?”
In the run-up to the Olympics, China Daily and Lenovo had sponsored a contest for expats. The competitors had to explain why they would like to carry the torch inside China. Eight would win by popular vote. Of course, the fine print said that the government would make the final selection.
I am not a runner. But ZZ convinced me to enter. “What a great way to tell China about all of our forgotten orphans!”
That was all I needed to hear. I entered the contest:
I want to run for the children of China.
Mother to two girls adopted from Chinese welfare institutions, in 1998 I founded Half the Sky Foundation in order to enrich the lives and enhance the prospects of orphaned children in China. 2008 is our tenth anniversary!
My family moved to Beijing in 2004 to be closer to the work that has become the passion of our lives. Half the Sky offers its nurture and enrichment programs to children living in thirty-six orphanages across China.
This year, as part of China’s Blue Sky Plan, Half the Sky was invited by the Ministry of Civil Affairs to introduce its life-changing programs to welfare institutions in every province in China. We are so honored!
If I were selected to carry the torch, I would run with the children—eight lovely children from our programs in eight different provinces. What an amazing experience that would be for them!
Now the reporter told me that I had been the top vote-getter and would definitely carry the torch.
Stunned, I hung up the phone and told the ladies. ZZ was ecstatic. Mrs. Gan and Mrs. Gao were beside themselves.
And the good fortune kept on coming. Just a short while later, I got yet another extraordinary phone call.
Ten years earlier, right around the time I was turning my life around to start Half the Sky, Jeff Skoll, first president of eBay and a soft-spoken billionaire with a vision, decided to turn his good fortune into something really big. He would use it to build a better world. He would solve “the world’s most pressing problems” by betting on good people doing good things.
That second phone call was the Skoll Foundation telling me that we’d won the Skoll Award. Half the Sky would receive one million dollars. Along with a handful of other social entrepreneurs, I would accept the honor at the Skoll World Forum in Oxford, England. The award would be presented by former president Jimmy Carter.
There was no doubt in my mind that, at least for the moment, both Guanyin and the Living Buddha were playing on our team.
But China is the birthplace of yin and yang. Where there is light, there is sure to be dark.
Chapter 18
Every Day Cannot Be a Feast of Lanterns
Chinese New Year 2008
BEIJING (GUARDIAN)—Blizzards in China stranded hundreds of thousands of travelers today as forecasters warned more severe snowstorms were on their way. The harsh weather—said to be the worst for half a century in parts of the country—has destroyed homes and crops, shut major roads and rail lines, grounded flights and caused power blackouts. The China Meteorological Administration issued a red alert, the highest of its five ratings, warning central and eastern regions to expect more severe snow and ice storms. It has already wreaked havoc on a transport system facing its busiest time of year, with millions of workers preparing to return home for the Spring Festival (Chinese New Year). For many people, it is their only chance of the year to see their families. According to state news agency, Xinhua, the premier, Wen Jiabao, warned yesterday that lives were still at risk, adding, “The most difficult phase has not passed.”
Even Guangzhou, usually balmy in winter, was caught in the bitter freeze. ZZ and I were trying to get out of town. On our taxi ride to the airport, we passed dozens, then hundreds of would-be travelers trudging along with cheap little suitcases and twine-wrapped plastic zipper bags stuffed with holiday gifts, headed for the train station. Our taxi edged around the station where, behind a police barricade, a mob of more than four hund
red thousand migrant workers were already massed, pressing forward, elbowing one another, shouting, crying, some fainting in the desperate rush to push their way onto trains . . . most of which could go nowhere because power grids had collapsed.
WHEN WE FINALLY got to the Guangzhou airport, the scene there was chaotic too, but nothing like the train station. Our flight, along with most others, had been canceled.
An irate college student began shouting, demanding that the planes fly. The girl’s pals hoisted her onto the ticket counter; she was red-faced with self-righteous fury. In seconds, that rowdy girl was joined by others, all screaming. The ticket clerks ignored them. A small contingent of soldiers in formation appeared from nowhere to quell the troublemakers. The kids didn’t back down. They yelled at the soldiers and took pictures with their cell phones. The soldiers gently and relentlessly pushed forward. It seemed to go on and on, and then it fizzled into nothing.
Whether it was this unruly bunch (the privileged young beneficiaries of China’s new economic miracle) or the frantic mob of migrants at the train station (the ones who’d made the miracle possible), maintaining China’s “harmonious society” seemed to require constant vigilance. More and more all the time.
Eating bitterness did not come so easily anymore.
Unfazed by the commotion, ZZ pushed her way to the ticket counter. I found the quietest corner I could, called our Beijing office, and asked if they had any news about how our orphanages were faring in all this.
“It is snowing heavily in all central China,” said Winnie, one of the office team. “We heard there are more than thirty railway stations shut down without electricity. There are power cuts in Hunan, Guizhou, and Jiangxi Provinces. Some institutions’ power supply is not working. Our nannies and teachers are helping how they can.”
“Okay. We’re waiting for a plane in Guangzhou; it’s probably four to five hours before we can fly. While I’m here, Winnie, will you and whoever hasn’t gone home for the holiday try calling every institution we work with? If phones are down, try the local Civil Affairs office. Get a report on the weather situation. How are they keeping the children warm and dry? Do they have enough quilts, food, water? Is there anything Half the Sky can do? What is the plan for the holiday? Please send each of them our warmest wishes for the New Year and tell them that everyone is thinking about them and hoping for the best.”