Historical responsibility in game development: Age of Empires III

I had a professor in college who in one 160 minute class on the Chinese Ming Dynasty, lectured for 20 minutes about the nautical superiority of Admiral Zheng He's fleet, then spent the rest of the time showing a documentary discussing the possible truthfulness of Gavin Menzies' 1412 Hypothesis on Zheng's supposed discovery of the American continents decades before Christopher Columbus.

However controversial and 'hot-topic' Menzies' book was, I couldn't help but feel a little slighted at using precious class time to watch a documentary about a piece of writing that did not have the necessary scholarly calibre to be deemed worthy in my Ivy League mind. Inevitably, I dozed off in the big lecture theatre after a while, shaking my head incredulously about why Menzies' claims were such a big deal.

I didn't really think about Gavin Menzies too much for the next few years--after all, I had use my time to think about REAL historical problems. Then I picked up a copy of Age of Empires III with both expansion packs (Asian Dynasties and War Chiefs) for dirt cheap, and in my usual, compulsive way, began to complete all the campaign missions.

The campaign focuses on the Chinese civilisation is based on Menzies' hypothesis, and the player controls a fleet of Chinese explorers who land in the New World. The sailors battle East Asian pirates, the Zamorin in India and finally the Aztecs when they reach their destination, however the campaign ends with the Chinese sailors returning home after removing and hiding all the evidence of their presence on the American continent.

Diehard history empiricists would cringe at Ensemble Studios' choice of storyline for this campaign. After all, the Japanese and the Indan campaigns were built around events that, well, actually did happen (the establishment of the Tokugawa shogunate and the 1857 Sepoy Mutiny, respectively). So why go for the obscure, almost conspiracy theory-like subject of a controversial what-if story for the Chinese?

I also thought about the campaign from the other AoE III expansion pack, the WarChiefs--the plot follows a patriotic American family through the Revolution and their friendship with and support of native American societies.

We've got the Japanese, Indian and American campaigns, which all have quite a few things in common--national unity, independence, triumph against imperialism... These are good, solid, hearty themes that are brought out through the gameplay depiction of important, nation-defining moments in Japanese, Indian and American history.

Japanese campaign intro

Indian campaign intro

The Chinese campaign, on the other hand, sticks out like a bit of a sore thumb. Zheng He (or his AoE fictional counterpart, Jian Huang) was perhaps a nautical mastermind, a fantastic leader and a national hero, but never reached the nation-building significance that leaders in the Tokugawa unification or the 1857 Rebellion held. Zheng He's travels and exploration, while remarkable scientifically and culturally, ultimately did not add value to the Chinese empire, state or nation. Even if he did reach the New World in 1421, the expedition, frankly, did not accomplish very much.

The beautiful themes of nationhood, loyalty and strength in the other AoE III campaigns are conspicuously missing from the Chinese campaign. Instead, the story follows a lot more like fictional what-if ideas or even conspiracy theory, disappointing history buffs (who are most impressed by well-researched historical video games) like myself.

Of course, the next question is, why? Why does the Chinese campaign sem wishy washy in comparison with the others? Why is it about a period of supposed history might not be real, and that certainly very few people outside the United States care about? I would have liked to see a campaign based around the Taiping Rebellion, the biggest civil war our world has ever seen, the establishment of the Ming dynasty in the 14th century that ended the foreign Mongol rule, or the Qing Qianlong Emperor's expansion efforts that doubled the domestic borders of the Chinese empire. For China, a state, civilisation and empire that has had such a lengthy history, is the myth around 1412 really something worth making a high quality video game around? Are Americans just really that obsessed with the possibility that China could have taken over the continent first?

Then I realised one very major difference between the way I think and the way the dame developers think--that is, I'm willing to take sides. For the Tokugawa unification, the Indian Rebellion and the American Revolution, the good guys and the bad guys have since been clearly defined. No gamer is going to criticise Tokugawa's important contributions to the Japanese state, the Black family's attempts to stop the Battle of Little Bighorn or the Indian sepoys' fight against the injust British rule.

The Taiping Rebellion is too bloody, and has no real protagonist besides its power-crazed yet charismatic failed scholar leader who believed that he was the younger brother of Jesus Christ and angered both the Western world and the Qing dynasty. Hongwu, the first emperor of the Ming dynasty, was a poor peasant who conducted agrarian land reforms, and received a nod of approval by Mao Zedong. And the Qianlong Emperor's successful efforts to expand his territory during the golden age of the last dynasty included establishing suzerainty over controversial regions such as Tibet, Xinjiang and Vietnam, and were overtly colonial. None of these "real" historical figures are "good guys" comparable to their counterparts in the other campaigns, because the "real" history of China still remain so very debated.

1412, albeit probably fabricated, is entirely safe. It might be tame, its recreation in AoE III might draw too heavily on interactions with other civilisations (Indians, native Americans) to be considered a bona fide "Chinese" campaign, but it doesn't get Ensemble Studios into any hot water with possible accusations of supporting fanaticism, socialism or colonialism. In other words, making use of what-if non-history seems to be the only way to remain completely politically correct and not take any sides when conducting a discussion on Chinese history--at least according to one of the most popular historical real time strategy games of all time.

Perhaps it isn't fair to insist that game developers develop their own historical and political views, and create their games with historical purpose, significance and relevance in mind. Are video games are purely for the purposes of entertainment? Does it matter what the AoE campaigns are about, as long as there's plenty of fighting and awesome graphics?

A nagging feeling at the back of my mind makes me uneasy of this simple dismissal. If gaming is going to blatantly discuss 'history', then it needs to show some historical responsibility.

It's not "just food"

Okay. So I am not very happy.

I'm watching Masterchef Australia, season 3. Now, usually, this is a highlight of my day or week--there's something about the excitement of Masterchef Australia that makes me really happy when I'm watching the show. Please note that this does not apply to Masterchef US--the American version is arbitrarily exploitative, gratuitously mean and probably some of the guiltiest guilty reality TV watching that exists.

Today, however, Masterchef AU has got my blood boiling. The reason for this unhappiness? The contestants are cooking a fantastically gourmet meal for ("His Holiness") the Dalai Lama.

Now, I'm not a hardcore PRC loyalist, and I especially want to point out that I'm not against the Dalai Lama's reception by Western media figures, celebrities or even political figures. I think he can be a powerful and important symbol for peace and international cooperation, and should have the appropriate attention and support when his cause is worthy. I even thought it was cute and amusing that he had spent his last visit to Australia with Bindi Irwin.

But it's what Masterchef represents that is inherently incompatible with a Buddhist, spiritual leader. Masterchef is about fine dining, fancy ingredients, sparkly presentation and gourmet (read: expensive and small) food. On the other hand, what do we think of when we think about Buddhism? Humility, modesty, suffering... And what do we think of when we think of Tibet? It's a politically-uncertain territory, represented by a government-in-exile and controlled by a powerful military, a culture that is said to be 'feudalised' by its system built around landholding noblemen and monastries.

"It's just food", narrates Ellie when the Dalai Lama holds her hand and seems to be forgiving her for not getting her planned dish on the plate. But that's just the problem--it's not just food. It can't be, and it shouldn't be just food to someone who represents a poor, uneducated nation, who is supposed to embody frugality and subsistence. At least she managed to plate the gnocchi up, otherwise I would be expecting a well-deserved discussion about the waste of food.

Instead, the utmost importance of food is dismissed with a flowery sentence about the Dalai Lama's appreciation for the contestants' efforts, and the episode seeks to be emotive by being fluttery. Dani giggles like the ridiculous fangirl she is, as the Dalai Lama speaks a few phrases of what sounds like broken English (is that all he picked up during his many years in India?). Guest judge and 'the original ABC' Kylie Kwong, in her usual costume of all black, too many rings for the food safety department to approve of and dark-rimmed glasses, shows him around the pantry and speaks to him as if he's a little child ("That's cheese! You like cheese, right?").

In the end, even Ellie's rivals' generous help in helping her get her dish together doesn't save her from going into an Elimination Round--not exactly a triumph for compassion.

The judges and the Dalai Lama preparing themselves to eat through prayer. Photo credit The Daily Telegraph

In my last history class in college, we read memoirs on the Cultural Revolution and the crazy fanatic qualities that the Red Guards exhibited when they gathered in Tiananmen Square to greet their idol, Mao Zedong. We went around the small seminar room and each student thought about whether there is any celebrity, politician or public figure of any kind that could make us go crazy like that. Unsurprisingly, we couldn't come up with anyone whom we would idolise in that way.

Watching the star-struck faces of the Masterchef contestants, hearing their tears at small setbacks and out-of-breath, irrational claims ("The Dalai Lama just touched me!!!" - Billy) and Kylie Kwong's deep bow before the food is presented, I realised that the fanatic behaviour attributed to the Red Guards towards Mao can be replicated on 'reality' TV with clever writing and video editing, in a situation where the so-called 'fans' had never really been emotionally attached to the idol.

Isn't the media eerily powerful in an absurdly inappropriate way? Isn't it scary that the Western media can downplay the stark realities of the lack of food and resources, and instead focus on sugarcoating a political figure, in the same way that the CCP was able to during the Great Leap Forward and the Cultural Revolution?

A concise (LOLcat) history of modern China, 1911--1964

Sarah kitteh: hai!
Frend kitteh: hai! I haz story 4 u.
Sarah kitteh: wat story?
Frend kitteh: best story, lawts ov wars an mad kittehs.
Sarah kitteh: kthanx, I like. 


"UR DOIN IT RONG": A HISTORY OF MODERN CHINA
writteh bai awsum no name frend kitteh, 2010


Oh hai thar, furst we have teh feudalisms and imperialisms, but china was like “srsly, dude?” so then qing kittehs was like "oh noes" and fell. 
Then there wuz like teh warlord kittehs and more foreign kittehs in our bases, impinging our dignityz. 
And then chiang kai-shekitteh and his kmt crew be like we can haz china. but they haded problemz with teh corruptionz, mobilizing teh peasants, and teh japan kittehs. And many kittehs still haz no nomz. 
So mao kitteh is like “modernity in china, ur doin it rong. btw marx/lenin kittehs, you da man.” Then teh kmt kittehs fighted the japan kittehs and the mao kittehs, but then they got pwned, so they fleded to taiwan like noobz. fail, lol. 
Ya, so civil warz ended like dis: kmt kittehs maded a republic, but ccp kittehs ated it. And then maokitteh was like "I can haz china!" And that's how PRC was borned. 
After PRC was borned, mao kitteh was like "rich kittehs no can has landses" so peasant kittehs gaves rich kittehs hats and took their landses.  Rich kittehs made sadfaces.  
Then mao kitteh said "ur plantin it rong" and peasant kittehs dugses big holez 4 plantin nomz.  Mao-friend kittehs melted peasant kittehs bowlzes 4 bomz-makinz, but no can has bomz.  Also plants all diedsez so kittehs no can has nomz.  All kittehs made sadfaces.  Lots of kittehs no can has livings.  And PRC kittehs said "no more talkings about this." bai.

Learn from Shakespeare, learn from China

If you've ever been a public relations minion at a rather large company, you'll develop a sense of cynicism for things that important people have supposedly written, because you yourself will probably have ghostwritten some important things for important people.

If you've ever been a newspaper opinions columnist, you'll realise that a good number of columnists spend absurd amounts of time attempting to bury their would-be scathing and controversial ideas under a blanket of allusions and soft language, in an effort to draw their more intelligent readers into a fast-paced guessing game of their real intentions.

If you've ever been a humanities student in a liberal arts university, you'll start to understand that a piece of writing that does not reflect or address current issues in one's immediate society will never receive a top grade or be worthy of being published.

(Un?)fortunately for me, I have been all of these three things and when I read Mayor of London Boris Johnson's column on how Wen Jiabao and China appreciate Shakespeare, I inevitably began to speculate about

a) whether he wrote this himself

b) why does he care so much

and c) what is he REALLY trying to say?

The premise of the article consists of Mayor Johnson's appreciation of Wen's appreciation of Shakespeare, and Johnson's justification of the political and social compatibility of Shakespeare's dramatical themes with China's particular political climate and leadership. Johnson concluded that plotlines and characters in Shakespeare's plays are China-friendly. I concluded, so what?

One thing that bothered me right at the beginning was Johnson's surprise that Wen is able to read, think about and interpret Shakespeare so well. What, are we not supposed to expect some degree of internationally-aware education from a political leader of the most populous country in the world?

But while Johnson's tendency towards Orientalism irked me, my main puzzlement arose out of questioning the mere existence of the article at all. Why did Johnson write, or commission a PPE student intern from Cambridge to write, this seemingly random opinion? 

Here's the part of my own article where I begin to express my own opinion. Please allow me to make the following conjecture, using a simple listmaking method. 

1. The social/political context of the writer and his piece of writing. 
In about one year's time, London (Johnson's domain) will play host to the next summer Olympic Games. Such a ridiculously large-scale showcase of international cooperation (ironically, through competition) inevitably causes some disagreements and unrest in those who have a stake in the events, as well as those who want to take advantage of the huge numbers of people to make some noise. 

2. China's universally-criticised social, political and economic policies during the 2008 Beijing Olympics.
Starting from the controversial and highly-contested gentrification movements in the old Beijing city areas to make room for fancy, modern buildings, to firing missiles into rainclouds to ensure good weather, to boycotts and protests during the Olympic Torch Relay, the 2008 Olympics were pulled off without potholes in the racecourse, but accompanied by a lot of booing from the sidelines.


3. The significance of Shakespeare as a non-controversial icon.
So the English have always loved Shakespeare. And now, it seems, so have the Chinese! Not only that, there were times throughout Chinese history that China favoured Shakespeare above their native classics. Well, if the Chinese and the English had something so important in common all this time, maybe the Chinese aren't so bad after all and the English are more like them than they'd originally thought, and there could be a few things that the English could learn from them.


I conclude warily that Johnson's underlying argument is that in light of the upcoming London OIympics, it shouldn't be too disastrous if London behaved a little more like Beijing if it needed to resolve issues of public unrest, do a little bit of media censorship and fix up the city a little bit more. I read this article as a chilling admission by the Mayor of London giving the go-ahead for his government to become a little more like China's.


Does this seem plausible, or is it too far-fetched? Maybe too many years of the humanities and public relations has made me a bit of a conspiracy theorist after all...

Red Tourism, Bloody Tourism

There is something about Red Tourism that bothers me. Actually, let's expand that too all kinds of historical tourist pilgrimages, especially as they are related to wars--Civil War reenactments, touring Gallipoli to sit where a near-massacre took place, crawling through the Cu Chi tunnels on the Mekong River Delta south of Ho Chi Minh City...

Take a look at this article from the Sydney Morning Herald. Red Tourism, as it concerns China, refers to the visitation of historically important sites, monuments and the one corpse that played a role in the Communist history of China--which has now, apparently, expanded to the visiting of historically important, living people.

Red Tourism, as this article states, is not new in China. It's not even a product of the new, economy-fuelled China--in my semi-amateur opinion, I would say that Red Tourism began during the early times of the Cultural Revolution in the summer of 1966. Red Guards were given free transport on China's railway system to all over the country, to bring the continuing revolution wherever they went. Naturally, many of these teenagers flocked to places like Jinggangshan in Jiangxi and Yan'an in Shaanxi, as well as Mao's birthplace in Shaoshan, Hunan. Red Guards wanted to experience being present in the places that had nurtured their Red leaders, and they wanted to learn about their past

Mrs Pan, a former Red Army soldier and member of the famed Red Women's Detatchment sits in her home on Hainan Island and talks to tourists about her experiences, with the aid of her two sons.

I'm going to stay off my expected rant about the emotional insensitivity behind making an old, possibly senile woman who has gone through so much in life a tourist attraction. Instead, I want to talk a little about how Red Tourism is creepy and potentially dangerous.

It shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone that I am somewhat obsessed with the CCP's reeducation campaigns, and in particular, the movements where soldiers, cadres and youth were sent to learn the values of being good revolutionaries from peasants in the countryside. It also shouldn't come as a surprise that the comment made by the university student in this article alarmed me greatly.

The naive tone of "you have to go experience it yourself" is worrying. While it is admirable and profitable that young people in China want to learn more about their history that the books (or rather, their history textbooks) never talk about, would it actually be a good idea to send a large group high school and university students on a recreation of, let's say, the Long March?

Let's try to picture it: Chinese students from all over the country gather in Jiangxi at the attraction of education and learning about the glorious nature of the past, dressed in army khakis and carrying a week's worth of supplies to recreate a route taken by the Red Army in the 1930s that infamously led to the death of around one third of the participants. Would the goal be to recreate the harsh conditions of the trek, the urgency caused by the Guomindang chase, or the Communist propaganda that ultimately turned Mao Zedong into the undisputed leader of the CCP? Along the way, would the tourists have to deal with a shortage of food, the disappearance of their colleagues and constant snow storms in inadequate clothing?

Or would that be taking the idea of Red Tourism too far?

Travel agents attempting to capitalise on bringing naive college students to Hainan would disagree with me by arguing that it would never be their intention to put tourists in any kind of danger. But how could people living in the present possibly go about 'experiencing' their 'revolutionary' history--and in particular, the glorious, battle-driven moments--without having to face similar conditions and circumstances as their historical counterparts?

Mao and his CCP faced the same problem in early years of the PRC. In order for the urban masses, especially the inquisitive and privileged city youth, to understand the plight, the lifestyle and the mentality of the 'real' revolutionaries (the poor peasants), China's leaders developed a mechanism in which hundreds of thousands of urban youth headed to the countryside to live in small, poor villages. Teaching them about rural life in their sheltered classrooms was not adequate, nor was instructing students to read books on the subject. The only was was to make them learn through experience.

Regardless of any typical criticism of this Up to the Mountains, Down to the Countryside Rustification Movement about its lack of real results and leading to years of wasted time for the youth involved, two very important factors need to be taken into consideration: firstly, that many of these participants were volunteers, eager to prove themselves worthy of a revolutionary cause, and secondly, that the youth were not coddled or protected in any way during these experiences. Rustification during the 1960s and 70s became the longest, most realistic and most widely participated even in Red Tourism history--yet its tourists returned to their homes overwhelmingly critical and regretful.

It is ignorant to believe that Red Tourism can help China's citizens learn about their history without oversimplifying important stories, avoiding political interference or glorifying violence. For a country that is suddenly dedicated to remembered a bloody past, 'reliving the experience' is a terrible way to carry through the necessary education.

Let's keep the past in the past, and at the same time, improve literacy rates by reading books.

Real Red Sorrow

Anyone who has:

1. gone through my previous posts
2. walked through the Boston Chinatown gates with me
3. been with me at the Bookstore ATM when I've picked up a copy of the Epoch Times
4. talked about human rights in China with me
5. debated the concept of freedom of religion with me
(and/or been through a long series of other related activities)

knows that I hold onto an intense dislike for pro-Falun Gong activism. I dislike the irrationality, the opportunism, and the serious disregard with the comfort levels of the general public.

Anyone who has really spoken to me frankly about how I  get through all the massive amounts of reading that I seem to get through for school also knows that my favourite technique in tackling a new and thick reading assignment is to read the first chapter, the last chapter, and then figure out whether or not I need to read the rest.

When I picked up Nanchu's Red Sorrow, my reaction to the last chapter consisted of a shake of the head in disbelief, a roll of the eyes, topped off with an exaggerated sigh. The epilogue describes the contemporary day protagonist, after emigrating to the United States for more than a decade, observing the tranquility and harmoniousness of the Falun Gong practitioners. Nanchu compares their desire to be included in a group and movement that searches for meaning with her own meaningful educational experiences after being a part of the "lost generation" of the Cultural Revolution.

Unfortunately for Nanchu's new friends, shortly after she returned to the United States after observing the benevolence of the Falun Gong movement the Chinese government banned the practice and proliferation of Falun Gong. Nanchu's book thus became a work of activism, advocating for the legality of Falun Gong.

Naturally, the significant political nature of Nanchu's memoir deeply annoyed me, but I had to wade my way through the narrative for the purposes of being a good student and coming up with something substantial to write for my last Chinese history research paper (ever?). I had planned to scoff a little at the probability of encountering 'broken' English, passages written awkwardly on purposes to showcase the writer's inherent inability to feel comfortable and fit in in liberal Western society (as a result of living through a decade of authoritarian turmoil, of course).

I did not start reading Red Sorrow with an open mind--how could I have, when it was likely to read like another Wild Swans, made worse by possible endorsement by Falun Gong?

However, while there is a lot (of bad things) to be said about faux-spiritual activism, Nanchu pens her memoir with unexpected dexterity and leaves out the unnecessary Amy Tan-esque allusions to Chinese mythology, ghosts and monsters. She doesn't recreate traumatic events through illogical foreshadowing, as if from a premature Western consciousness. Her recounting of being the reluctant hero of a house fire is much more sincere than Jung Chang's supposed emotional stability while her friends are all caught up in an ideological hype.

Before Nanchu published Red Sorrow in 2001, the pressure on and appeal for Westernised Chinese autobiographers to make their past (pre-freedom) experiences sound completely, irrevocably inhumane was present. Maybe Nanchu started to break out of this stereotype. If this is the direction that Cultural Revolution and Red China memoirs are headed, then I approve.

From Emperor to CCP Success Story

I do not wish to make fun of the dead, the unfortunate, the confused or the misguided, but "Henry" Puyi Aisin-Gioro was all of the above and reading his autobiography gave me some very memorable and very well-appreciated laugh out loud moments.

From Emperor to Citizen was penned by the Last Qing Emperor himself during the 1960s, under the thoughtful guidance of the the CCP Politburo in the wake of his release from imprisonment at a re-education detention centre. Puyi lived the last decade of his life as a protected and respected citizen of the People's Republic of China--he definitely came a long way from his original emperor days, his reinstated emperor days and his puppet emperor days.

This autobiography is absolutely genius. Now, after that grand exclamation of approval, let me explain my use of the word 'genius'. I do not wish to suggest that the former emperor had more than an average IQ, but rather, that the existence of this book in the first place is a genius ploy on the part of the Chinese Communist Party. Puyi would be forever known not as that poor kid who had been thrown onto the throne (win for my language skills) aged three, but the best success story in the CCP's re-education movements for counterrevolutionaries.

Puyi's story reads a little like Forrest Gump, but with none of the casual charm and marvel that the latter provides the bemused audience. Instead, Puyi is a figure shadowed with tones of political overbearing and an obvious communist spin on the book's tone.

The most significant factor of Puyi's autobiography can be summed up in its title, From Emperor to Citizen. That is, the significance lies in that the book isn't called From Emperor to Outcast or From Emperor to Exile--at the end of his life, Puyi is no more than the regular, communised Chinese subject.

Check out this picture of the poor man sewing something for himself:


No throne, no servants, no colourful clothing -- but despite all this, he is fulfilled with this real sense of purpose as a citizen of the People's Republic.

Professor, Doctor and Empress

Okay. So I've been absent, I've been lazy and I've been trying to get my future on track. It is, after all, the last half year in which I'd be a student out of necessity--and not out of choice (or a lack of better things to do).

Building up my academic credence has definitely been a large part of my last 4 months. This means, above all, churning out pages upon pages of academic writing, both based on original research and just plain regurgitation.

I've also been trying to get my name out there as someone who can potentially write with plenty of style, so that I can be proud of calling myself a 'columnist' and not cringe with embarrassment when a particularly arrogant peer asks me what I generally write about and I'd have to reply "once I wrote about how students should mop up their own mustard puddles".

Let's cue for a shameless self-promotion plug here: this is the link for my recent column on Amy Chua and her new parenting book http://www.browndailyherald.com/yu-11-tiger-mother-dragon-lady-1.2459388

In this column, I alluded Chua's commercial success to Dowager Empress Cixi, who remains tied in first place as the most hated woman in Chinese history (her contender is, of course, Jiang Qing, also known as Madame Mao).

I had a lot of trouble deciding whether or not to include this comparison. There's no doubt a lot of sensitivity involved in bringing up an infamous figure from one of modern China's more difficult times, and evoking the term "Dragon Lady" is sure to set a few f-word-ists into a loud frenzy. By nature, I'm a pretty iffy columnist--I always have this nagging tendency to be paranoid about potential hate mail. However, when the chance came up to associate current affairs with Chinese history, of course I was going to take it.

What bothers me most about the Chua phenomenon is the astounding commercial success possible from presupposing a clash of civilisations. It just doesn't seem to me that we've progressed very far from the mistakenly bygone days of this guy:

I also chose to embed this Fu Manchu video so as not to seem sexist by just picking on the female villains. For those of you who are unfamiliar, Dr Fu Manchu was the earliest archetype of the evil villian... with an 'Asian' face. A series of movies and books were made in the early 20th century about this very infamous character who is, at best, evilly ingenious, and at worst, overtly racist.

What do Amy Chua, Fu Manchu and Cixi all have in common? They are all characterised as anti-Western, all in positions of considerable power, and all provide means for the perceived and manufactured gap and conflict between East and West to remain grounded in society and culture.

Amy Chua could do better than to follow in the footsteps of a woman who had no defined cheekbones and a fictional character with an impossibly inconvenient moustache.