The empty city
During the Three Kingdoms period (220-280AD), master statesman and strategist Zhu Geliang, upon seeing his city-fortress surrounded by a large number of enemy troops, opened wide the besieged city's gates, revealing the empty streets within. Disarmed at seeing only people sweeping away the dust from the open gates and fearing a trick, the enemy retreated and gave up their plan to besiege the city.
Quirkily, this was my first thought on returning to Beijing on August 8 for the Olympic opening ceremony. The vast, immaculate new airport - a virtual monument to duty-free shopping - seemed deserted except for throngs of security and volunteer personnel prepared to escort and guide foreign visitors. There were no taxis. The new high-speed train did not appear.
For two months, foreign paranoia gripped the capital. Tourist visas were hard to obtain. Many work visas were cancelled. It seemed as if Beijing wanted to purge the capital of foreigners, leaving empty half a decade's worth of hotel infrastructure. The surreal overcame me as I walked through an empty airport, plastered with banners saying: 'welcome to Beijing.'
In many ways, hosting the Olympics represented the macrocosm of China today. It is all about overwhelming quantity over quality, hardware over software, form over substance, brand image over what is within. Massive infrastructure investment created a showcase city, but there were few visitors to show it to.
The events seemed orchestrated for diplomats and heads of state. Volunteers and security officials reported to different lines; there was no co-ordination and rules changed every minute, depending on who was on duty. Participants were confused and felt unwelcome. Volunteers memorised certain fixed lines, unable to respond to visitors' questions. A nation ordered its people to be creative, as if emotive artistry is something that can be drawn out of a state plan.
Many venues were empty, as if intended as television-only events. They were a microcosm of the greater China macrocosm - beautiful venues with no people, like China's new cities; very modern but soulless.
'Yes, the architecture is splendid,' one observer said. 'They have invited the best foreign architects to design their Olympic facilities and opera house. But there is nothing Chinese about it. So the message is loud and clear. China has the money to buy whatever it wants from overseas, including artistic and design work of the best and brightest. It is all screaming one message - we can pay for it!'
Topping the elite list was US President George W. Bush. The Olympic backdrop was a shadow show of China-US relations. Mr Bush made firm statements in Thailand on human rights, before arriving in Beijing obviously intent on enjoying the spectacle and the competitions, while avoiding offending his hosts. In turn, Mr Bush's presence gave critical 'face' to President Hu Jintao. China has an uneasy relationship with the US; it embraces capitalism and consumerism, while remaining paranoid about foreigners and their values. But, next to the Chinese team, no other received as many cheers as they entered the stadium as the American team - another Chinese macrocosm and microcosm.
Promises of more openness could all be broken in the interests of state security. The media was outraged, but so what? On this issue, Mr Bush must be envious of Mr Hu. Certainly, Mr Hu also has the gold medal for foreign exchange reserves, and China has now overtaken America as Japan's largest trading partner.
China's macrocosm and microcosm was underscored by the opening ceremony. It was impressive, with the budget exceeding US$10 million. It was like the best from a North Korean synchronised performance, with beautiful costumes from the most extravagant Zhang Yimou movie.
Meanwhile, broadcasts of the opening ceremony were restricted in Sichuan province , where 5 million remain homeless. What would they think? Maybe Zhang's next movie will be the story of Zhu Geliang and the empty city.
Laurence Brahm is a political economist, author, filmmaker and founder of Shambhala
