Christmas: Made in China

“Fotang is a small ancient water town south of the Yangtze River. It is my father’s hometown.” So begins “Made in China,” a deftly written short essay and an unlikely Christmas story published in Pipa, a magazine for young learners of Chinese as a second language. The theme of the issue, dated November 2017, was Christmas.

Cover of the Pipa magazine, Vol. 5, no. 6, November 2017, a special issue on Christmas.

Launched in 2013, Pipa is a bi-monthly magazine designed for children who are learning the Chinese language outside China. The magazine title, “Pipa” (枇杷), refers to the loquat, a yellow-skinned fruit that resembles an apricot. “Loquat” is a playful rebellion against the slur “banana” for ethnic Chinese living in a Western country. Regarded as having lost touch with their Chinese cultural heritage, identity, and values, they are disparagingly compared to a banana, which is “yellow on the outside, white on the inside.” The flesh of a loquat is as yellow as its skin, implying the magazine’s ambition to connect Chinese American children with the culture of their ancestral land. (In the Chinese language, “yellow skin” is not a derogatory description: true insults come from not embracing the color, rather than using the term.)

Loquats (Image source: Pxhere.com)

Each Pipa issue is neatly organized around a theme and presented in columns featuring illustrated stories, interviews, informational text, poetry, rhymes, craft, games, and children’s writing and art. All contents, except for works submitted by children, are contributed by native Chinese writers but tailored for the limited language competency of children who are learning the language in an English-dominant environment. Pipa stands apart from most Chinese-language reading materials, which are either intended for native Chinese children or translated from popular works originally in English and other languages, or both. Chinese culture, history, and literature, as well as Chinese American life, are its main subject matter.

“Made in China,” written by Caomao and illustrated by Xiaoweiqun. In Pipa, Vol. 5, no. 6, November 2017. (Cotsen 153521)

In “Made in China,” Caomao continues: “As I remember, there the roof tiles were black, the walls were whitewashed, the trees were lush, and the aged stone pavement had a bluish gray sheen. On clear days, you could hear roosters cock-a-doodle-doo; on rainy days, you would listen to rain drops splatter. In winter, the smell of ham and brown sugar was everywhere.” (13) Farmers made a living by selling bok choy and rice and trading live hens and ducks at the market. Nobody knew how long life had been like this.

“Made in China,” in Pipa (Cotsen 153521)

Change started two decades ago when people opened factories in town, making small merchandise like toys, towels, and buttons. “Since then there were always the rumbling of machines, the honking of vehicles, and the raised voices of people speaking into phones. The odor of car exhaust hung in the air.” (14) Then, a decade ago, the locals learned a novel word—sheng dan jie (Christmas). Factories big and small began producing Christmas goods. Streams of trucks drove into town and carried away loads and loads of Christmas products. Where did they go? Someone said they would be shipped to Europe or America, because people in those places needed lots and lots of Christmas trinkets. (14)

“Made in China,” in Pipa (Cotsen 153521)

Migrant workers came from faraway places to earn a living here. They had no idea what Christmas looked like in America and Europe, but they always wore Santa hats in the factory–not for fun or to look good, but to block glitter. Once the colorful powder crept into hair, it clung fast no matter how hard you wash. Still at the end of the day, glitter covered their faces and bodies, and found its way into their ears and nostrils. (14)

“Made in China,” in Pipa (Cotsen 153521)

Townsfolks did not celebrate Christmas. From this day on, workers took their well-earned break, because no one would expect new orders after the start of the next holiday season. Migrant workers would not return until after the Chinese New Year to get ready for the coming Christmas. The town became much quieter: “On clear days you could hear cock-a-doodle-doo, and, on wet days, the pitter-patter of rain drops. Between black tiles and white walls wafted once again the delicious smell of ham and brown sugar.” (15)

“Made in China” is an exquisitely composed essay-story, contrasting two carefully edited images of life in an old-fashioned town before and after it became China’s so-called “Christmas Village.” As the manufacturing center for Christmas merchandise, Fotang (佛堂) has an uncanny name, the literal meaning of which is “Buddha’s hall.” The town is administratively part of the city of Yiwu, the seat of the world’s largest small commodities market. Though on a minor scale, the essay recalls Mardi Gras: Made in China (2005), a documentary that traces the life cycle of glittering festival beads from New Orleans back to a factory compound in rural China, where the cheap disposables were made by workers as young as teenage girls fresh out of middle school.

The Christmas story of Fotang, written at the reading level of second and third graders without compromising the beauty of the language and illustrated in warm rosy watercolors, recapitulates the massive and complex history of globalization as it intersected with a tiny old Chinese town from the turn of the twenty-first century. Caomao’s economical use of language is remarkably effective, immersing us in the sights, sounds, and smells of the water town. (The ham mentioned twice in the essay is not any average processed meat, but the prized dry-cured Jinhua ham, a millennium-old product unique to the region.) The old-town life sounds charmingly peaceful, although poverty, elided in the text, must have played a big part in transforming “Buddha’s hall” into the “Christmas Village.” Environmental costs and health risks are suggested between the lines.

It must be pointed out that the changing reality of Fotang and Chinese society is more than can be summed up by the facile dichotomy between an idyllic agrarian community then and a booming manufacturing base now. For one thing, as Fotang has been exporting Christmas products to Europe, America, and an expanding global market, along with Hollywood movies, English-language learning, and Starbucks, “Christmas” has been woven into the fabric of a largely secular Chinese society. Merchants love Christmas for introducing yet another festive excuse to encourage shopping and spending. Young families even try to celebrate the holiday with children the “proper” Western way, one involving tabletop Christmas trees and stockings. The impact of globalization has worked in both directions. The culture of Chinese-Americans’ ancestral land that Pipa hopes to channel is not fossilized in five-character quatrains of the Tang dynasty, but is an evolving organism, continually exchanging elements with the larger world, modifying and being modified by the latter.

My childhood friend complained that she couldn’t find a good stocking for her toddler son. She lives in a big city only two hours away from Fotang, but for reasons beyond the knowledge of average consumers like myself, made-for-export products are not necessarily readily available in Chinese stores. As children we used to each have a stocking from my aunt, who worked in a Shanghai tapestry factory that made and exported embroidered stockings. I put my foot into it and found it a poor “sock.” Bemused by what a sock so huge was for (Aunt never mentioned it, and now that I think back I am not sure if she knew), I still loved the bright and merry pattern of jingle bells on it and would pull it out of the wardrobe to admire every so often. My friend said she was looking for a stocking as pretty as the one I gave her in the third grade. After the phone call I placed an order for a few with felt Santas and reindeer on them from a major online store owned by a certain Princeton alumnus, planning to take them to China on my next trip. The soft stockings came in a rustling plastic bag with a sticker on it: Made in China. It’s going to be a round trip home for the big sock.

(Edited by Jessica Terekhov, PhD Candidate in English, Princeton University)

Source:

Caomao and Xiaoweiqun (illustrator). “Made in China.” Pipa: The Magazine for Chinese Speaking Kids in North America, vol. 5, no. 6, November 2017, pp. 13-15.

Acknowledgment:

Thanks go to author Caomao, illustrator Xiaoweiqun, and Jing Cheng, editor of the Pipa magazine for granting us the permission to reproduce the text (in English translation) and images from the essay.

Welcome to the “Land of Children” (Kodomo no kuni): Courtesy of a Gift from the Friends of Princeton University Library

By Dr. Tara M. McGowan

Illus. by Honda Shōtarō 本田庄太郎[1], Kodomo no kuni, Nov. 1922 (Cotsen 30591)

Illus. by Nakahara Jun’ichi 中原淳一, Kodomo no Kuni, March, 1937

In recent decades, Japan has achieved worldwide recognition for its own brand of kawaii, or “cute” aesthetic, epitomized by the wide-eyed, youthful characters of manga and animé. What is not so well known is that this aesthetic can be traced back to a profusion of artistic activity that began during a brief period of almost unprecedented freedom of expression known as “Taishō Democracy.” During the Taishō period (1912-1926) progressive ideas flourished, and Japanese artists and writers who had been studying in Europe began returning home in greater numbers, freshly inspired by modernist artistic movements there—late impressionism, expressionism, cubism, fauvism, and Art Deco (Horie and Taniguchi 6). Artists, illustrators, and designers seamlessly integrated Western and Japanese influences into a fusion of styles that continues to feel fresh and innovative today.

Illus. by Hatsuyama Shigeru 初山滋, “Swings,” Kodomo no kuni, May 1930

Illus. by Fukazawa Shōzō 深沢省三, “Bears making mochi,” Kodomo no kuni, Dec. 1929

The Meiji period (1868-1912), when Japan first opened its doors to the west after more than 200 years of relative seclusion, had seen the creation of museums, theme parks, zoos and aquariums, especially in the major metropolitan centers of Tokyo and Osaka, but it was not until the Taishō period (1912-1926) that these spaces began to be viewed as entertaining and educational for children. In Europe, this was roughly the same period in the wake of WWI (1914-1918) that Swedish designer and social reformer, Ellen Key dubbed “The Century of the Child,” where the creation of spaces that would allow children to thrive, both emotionally and physically, and also to develop as artists in their own right became a matter of world-wide concern. In Japan, too, artistic activity increasingly focused on creating an imaginative world, almost exclusively for children. One of the most significant children’s magazines from this period was in fact called “The Land of Children” (Kodomo no kuni). Started in 1922, toward the end of the Taishō period, Kodomo no kuni ran until 1944—a total of 287 volumes—visually chronicling the development of Japanese modernism and rapidly changing definitions of childhood in the lead up to World War II (Nakamura and Iwasaki 5). Thanks to a generous gift from the Friends of the Princeton University Library, the Cotsen Children’s Library recently acquired 72 volumes of this legendary magazine, greatly adding to the completeness of its holdings (a total of 225 volumes).

Author/illus. Takei Takeo 武井武雄, “In the ‘Land of Children’ a children’s tree grows. What a joy it is to see the little birds at play!”

Kodomo no kuni stood out in what is often called the “golden age” of Japanese children’s magazines because of its high artistic standards and the long duration of its publication. Child psychologist and prominent educator Kurahashi Sōzo (倉橋惣三, 1882-1955) was brought on as the chief consultant for the magazine, which reflected his progressive ideas about the importance of comprehensive engagement in the arts to develop children’s self-expression and quality of life (International Library of Children’s Literature). Illustrator Okamoto Kiichi (岡本帰一, 1888-1930), poets Kitahara Hakushū (北原白秋, 1885-1942) and Noguchi Ujō (野口雨情, 1882-1945), and lyricist Nakayama Shinpei (中山晋平, 1887-1952)—all artists at the pinnacles of their respective fields—were brought on as editors and contributors. Iwaya Sazanami (巌谷小波, 1870-1933)—the “father of children’s literature” in Japan—also contributed frequently. Combining pictures, stories, songs, dance, drama, and crafts, the magazine offered artists opportunities to collaborate with one another and even with their young readers. In line with its child-centered philosophy, the serial was published on large (26 x 18.5 cm), thick paper that withstood rough treatment from little hands and allowed for the high-quality, color printing, which still remains vibrant today (International Library of Children’s Literature).

Illus. by Okamoto Kiichi, Kodomo no kuni, December 1929

Just as authors and lyricists were intent upon creating a literature of poetry and songs (dōyo 童謡) and stories (dōwa 童話) for children, illustrators set to work developing a new kind of children’s imagery (dōga 童画). Kodomo no kuni was at the forefront of these efforts because it was the first magazine to commission multiple illustrators, instead of just hiring one in-house artist. In the process of collaborating and exhibiting their work collectively, these illustrators formed Japan’s first Association of Children’s Illustrators (日本童画家協会) in 1927 (Horie and Taniguchi 100). Between 1922 and 1932, Kodomo no kuni boasted over 100 contributing artists, about a quarter of whom were women (International Library of Children’s Literature).

The primary audience for the magazine was the children of a new and growing urban middle-class, who had access to the best that both Western and Japanese cultures had to offer. Artists imagined for these children a fashionable world that consciously combined Japanese and Western styles and motifs (和洋折衷) (Horie and Taniguchi 6). In this illustration, Shimizu Yoshio 清水良雄 depicts a girl, who voices the accompanying lyrics by Kuzuhara Shigeru 葛原滋 (set to music by Motoori Nagayo 本居長世). With her white chapeau, shawl, and mantle—given to her by a favorite uncle—she compares herself to that most often cited symbol of Japan—Mt. Fuji—and says she no longer needs to fear going out in the cold and the elements.

Illus. by Shimizu Yoshio, “White Mantle,” Kodomo no kuni, Feb.1922

Western styles of clothing freed both girls and boys from former constraints on physical movement, and in Kodomo no kuni they can be seen engaging in all manner of outdoor sports together.

Illus. by Takehisa Yumeji, (Cover) Kodomo no kuni, Feb. 1923

The importance of exercise was emphasized in schools through the institution of a yearly sports field day (運動会), which began at the end of the Meiji period (1868-1912) and continues in Japanese public schools today.

Illus. by Okamoto Kiichi, “Sports Field Day,” Kodomo no kuni, Nov. 1929

Artists like Okamoto Kiichi and Takehisa Yumeji (竹久夢二, 1884-1934) did not just depict the children they saw around them, they reimagined and redefined a fashionable and active lifestyle for educated children of the urban middle-class. In Kodomo no kuni, children are often shown in charge of themselves and empowered to take control of their modern, urban surroundings.

Illus. by Okamoto Kiichi, Kodomo no kuni, May 1930

In “Moving Picture Show,” Iwaya Sazanami writes about a boy named Gorō, who just received a movie projector as a gift for his birthday, yet again from “an uncle,” as in the Mantle song above. In silhouette, Gorō is showing movies to his friends on a rainy day when they can’t go outside.

Written by Iwaya Sazanami, “Moving Picture Show,” Kodomo no kuni, June 1922

Along with physical freedom and agency in their modern setting, the magazine encouraged children’s freedom of expression through various arts competitions. Winning entries would often be published at the end of the volumes. In the examples below, we see a sampling of children’s artwork. On the left page below, six-year-old Okumura Fukuko 奥村富久子 has drawn a girl playing with a mari (bouncing ball) and, on the right, is seven-year-old Hagihara Kunio’s 萩原邦夫 drawing of okagura, a sacred shrine dance performance.

Kodomo no kuni, Sept. 1922

Entries by winning contestants between the ages of seven and nine. Kodomo no kuni, Sept. 1927

Although vetted by judges, who were also contributing artists of the magazine, these peeks into actual children’s lives both complement and contrast in intriguing ways with the world depicted in the illustrations by prominent artists of the period.

The interactive aspects of the magazine also included collaborations between the magazine’s artists and child contributors. In the poem titled “My Mother” below, six-year-old Toda Tamae 富田玉江 writes about seeing her dead mother, who came back to her in a dream. The wistful scene in this prize-winning poem is romantically portrayed by female artist Tōyama Yūko 遠山陽子.

Toda Tamae, “My mother,” illus. by Tōyama Yūko, Kodomo no kuni, June 1924

As this poem demonstrates, the editors of Kodomo no kuni were not entirely indifferent to the harsher realities of children’s lives, but the fact remains that the brightly-lit modern and fashionable world often depicted in its pages represented the lives of only a very small proportion of children in Japan at the time. Even for families who could afford the magazine, the “Land of Children” was a realm they could only dream about. During the Taishō and early Shōwa periods (1926-1989), the rift between rich and poor widened, and many Japanese children, especially in rural areas, lived in extreme poverty. In the shadows, children of the very poor were being sold into servitude or slavery and a high proportion of children suffered from endemic diseases, such as tuberculosis (Horie and Taniguchi 82). This shadow side of the history of childhood only darkened as Japan continued its military aggression in the Pacific, greatly depleting its resources at home. Quality paper became scarce by the 1940s, and this decline can be traced in the gradual deterioration of materials and printing standards of the magazine by 1944 when it was discontinued after only 3 volumes. Having a nearly full run of this important children’s magazine allows historians to trace this tumultuous transitional period in Japan between wars, and, as such, it is an invaluable resource for scholars of all aspects of Japanese social, cultural, and visual history. The innovative artists who brought Kodomo no kuni to life continue to inspire and inform the work of artists and illustrators, designers and animators, working in Japan today. Thanks to the generosity of the Friends of Princeton University Library, this rich and delightful resource is now available for the Princeton community and Japan scholars and enthusiasts everywhere.

Note:

[1] All Japanese names are presented in Japanese order with last name first.

References:

Horie, Akiko, and Tomoko Taniguchi. Kodomo paradaisu: 1920-30 nendai ezasshi ni miru modan kizzu raifu [A paradise for children: Modern kids’ lives, as depicted in picture magazines from the 1920s to 30s]. Tokyo: Kawade shobō shinsha, 2005.

International Library of Children’s Literature, National Diet Library. “Kodomo no kuni: Artists and Children’s Books in 1920s Japan.” http://www.kodomo.go.jp/gallery/KODOMO_WEB/index_e.html. Accessed January 29, 2019.

Nakamura, Etsuko, and Mariko Iwasaki. ‘Kodomo no kuni’ sōmokuji [The complete index for the Kodomo no kuni magazine]. Tokyo: Kyūzansha, 1996-1998.