In this blog post, I will continue where I left off in my previous blog post in comparing the cultural and social differences between Taiwan and China.

            One of the most salient social and cultural differences between Taiwan and China is the role of religion and spirituality in everyday life. In Taiwan, Daoist and Buddhist temples are ubiquitous and many Taiwanese go to these temples to pray to deities and burn incense several times throughout the week. While China does have its share of Daoist, Buddhist, and Confucian temples, it seems to me that these religious sites are more geared for tourists than for devotees. Most people in China are non-religious, which can largely be attributed to the attack on traditional Chinese religion and culture before and during the Cultural Revolution (1966-1976). With Taiwan not having experienced a Cultural Revolution or rule by an avowedly atheistic government, traditional Chinese religion has flourished in Taiwan and is an intergral part of Taiwanese people’s everyday life.

            Another interesting social difference between Taiwan and China is their differing attitudes towards Japan and Japanese people.  While most people in China seem to have a hostile attitude towards Japan for historical and many other reasons, Taiwanese people seem to admire Japanese people and Japanese culture. Although Taiwan was a Japanese colony for fifty years, Japanese imperial rule was not all that bad for Taiwan: Japan did not commit atrocities like it did in China during World War II; rather, it built up Taiwan’s infrastructure and improved the life of many Taiwanese by building schools and hospitals. Taiwanese youth in particular seem to admire Japanese culture and customs. My Chinese teacher in Taiwan said that young Taiwanese get their sense of fashion from Japan, and it was not uncommon for me to find a Taiwanese teenager reading a Japanese novel on the metro after school. Japanese students also seem to prefer to come to Taiwan to study Chinese than Mainland China (probably because they will not be discriminated against). Half of the students in National Taiwan Normal University’s Mandarin Training Center—the Chinese program I studied at this summer—came from Japan. I do not ever remember encountering a Japanese student when I was in China.

            A last difference between Taiwan and China is their differences in architecture. To be honest, most buildings in Taiwan are not very attractive. Because Taiwan is hit with so many typhoons throughout the year, Taiwanese people do not bother to clean the outside walls of their buildings, which are mostly covered with tiles instead of paint. Many of the buildings in Taipei also appear to be very old and have air conditioning units hanging from outside the windows instead of having central heating and air conditioning. In terms of architecture, I would say that Beijing and many other Chinese cities have more attractive buildings than Taipei. China has been building many new beautiful buildings in its major cites every year and can easily demolish old buildings (there is no notion of private property like in Taiwan).

            As always, thanks for reading!

During my last week in Taiwan, I took a trip south with some of my relatives. Although I was born in Taiwan (I moved to the US when I was 5 years old), I rarely go out of the Taipei metropolitan area, so this was a nice opportunity to explore the rest of the island. My family and I first went to Kenting, the southernmost tip of the island, and Kaohsiung, the second largest city in Taiwan.

If you come to Taiwan, you have to visit Kenting! There are numerous hotels and resorts that are right by the beach--many of which are filled by foreign visitors and tourists. Right when you arrive in Kenting, you immediately get a relaxed feeling being near the ocean and the beach. It has a laid-back environment that reminds me of Laguna Beach (I live in Southern California). After relaxing and playing in the beach for the day, you can shop around the vibrant night market at night. 

A scene of a beach in Kenting at night.

I didn't get to spend much time sight-seeing in Kaohsiung. What I did notice immediately when I arrived in Kaohsiung is the stark political divide between Taipei and Kaohsiung (I know, I'm a nerd!) You can notice the political differences simply in the naming of places. In Kaohsiung, which is generally pro-DPP, many of the names are associated with "Formosa" or "Taiwan"--names that disassociate Taiwan with China. For example, the Formosa Boulevard Station--the central station in the Kaohsiung Metro--has many political references. Inside the metro station, they also have a human rights center. I rarely see any political insinuations of this kind when I'm in Taipei. Regardless of your political affiliation, you should definitely visit the Formosa Boulevard Station and Central Park Station in Kaohsiung Metro. These two stations are regarded as some of the most beautiful metro stations in the world. The Formosa Boulevard Station has colorful bright lights with mosaic designs that are all made of class. Central Park Station has a beautiful garden that surrounds the escalators going up and down.

Formosa Boulevard Station in Kaohsiung Metro

Central Park Station in Kaohsiung Metro

I hope that reading these blog posts have encouraged you to come to Taiwan and visit. When the Portuguese arrived to the island, they called it "Formosa", meaning beautiful island. Taiwan truly is a beautiful, beautiful island. And if you are a student of East Asian international affairs, I believe that it's essential that you come and visit the island.

Chris Wang

B.A. International Affairs, Minor in Sociology 2014
Sigur Center 2012 Chinese Language Fellow
National Taiwan University, Taiwan

During the last week of my trip to Beijing, I had the chance to conduct a few actual interviews on the subject of my research: Chinese public opinion and its influence on the country's foreign policy. These were the first formal interviews I arranged in China and an invaluable experience as I progress with my dissertation research.

I wrote earlier about visiting Nankai University in Tianjin and meeting with Prof. Liu Feng. While there I also talked at some length with his colleague, Prof. Huang Haitao, and I got the name of another professor at Tsinghua University back in Beijing, Dr. Sun Xuefeng. So, I arranged a meeting with Prof. Sun and made my way up to Tsinghua for a conversation two days before my flight back to the US.

It was nice to return to Tsinghua, a place where I'd studied at the IUP program in 2008-2009. The campus is very pretty in the summer, with a mix of modern glass structures, older Communist-era construction, and a core of early 20th-century buildings done by an American architect in the style of US state universities, including the University of Illinois. There are also canals and gardens running through the campus that were part of the Qing-dynasty palace complex in northwest Beijing which bequethed some of its natural beauty to both Tsinghua and to Peking University across the street. I made my way up to a building that I had walked past many times but never been inside, where the international relations department is located.

Prof. Sun was very welcoming, and we had a good discussion on recent events in US-China relations and Chinese foreign policy. He reiterated what I had heard from some other experts regarding the internet in China: that Chinese leaders are attaching a lot of importance to this form of expression and making sure that it doesn't get out of hand. In fact, he thought this was an important enough factor that I might consider it as a major angle for my dissertation project. Prof. Sun also emphasized two main factors in the tensions between China and its neighbors between 2009-2011. First, he felt that the Chinese government hasn't done enough to match its economic cooperation with military or security reassurance. Second, we spoke about the fear of abandonment by the US that other countries in the region are currently feeling given US domestic difficulties and China's rapid rise. Finally, Prof. Sun offered a couple interesting views on the role of nationalism and public opinion in Chinese foreign policy. He downplayed the possibility or influence of a foreign policy "trap," in which the government is said to stoke nationalism for domestic benefit but then be constrained by it in international affairs. Simultaneously, he thinks the CCP is paying more attention to nationalism than in previous decades. All of these topics were right up my alley and made for a very productive conversation.

After finishing that meeting, Prof. Sun took me across the hall to meet one of his colleagues: Professor Zheng Chuanjie, also of the IR department. As it turned out, Prof. Zheng's specialty is public opinion and foreign affairs, so the hour I spent talking with his was also very well spent. We talked at length about nationalist demonstrations, how well the Chinese government is able to understand and measure public opinion, and a variety of other issues. Prof. Zheng also introduced me to some new methodologies that I hadn't considered before for my own research, which was much appreciated. At the end, I even had an offer to come back to the Tsinghua IR department for my field research in 2013!

All in all, this short visit to Tsinghua was easily the most productive of my discussions during my research trip though by no means my only chance to talk with Chinese experts. During this trip, I learned a great deal and received quite a bit of good advice regarding my eventual dissertation, as well as enjoying my time in Beijing connecting with other students and faculty from GWU or past visits. I also gained some really valuable experience in conducting interviews that I know will serve me well in the future. The most fascinating part to me is simply meeting people with radically different perspectives on the world...and China has no shortage of such people!

As always, many thanks to the Sigur Center for this opportunity. And for any other students hoping to do research in Asia next summert, take advantage of the resources our school has to offer! I'm very glad that I did.

Thanks for reading and zaijian!

Jackson Woods
Summer Field Research Fellow 2012
Ph.D. Candidate, Political Science

           In late July I said goodbye to Taiwan and visited Beijing for a week before returning home to the United States. Having lived in Beijing during my senior year of high school (2008-2009), I was very excited to return to China’s capital city to visit my host family and Chinese friends—both of whom I have not seen since I left China more than three years ago.  With Taiwan still fresh in my mind, I was also eager to compare what life is like on the Mainland with that of Taiwan. While Taiwan and Mainland China both share Chinese social and cultural characteristics, sixty plus years of political separation between the two has caused them to socially and culturally evolve in a very different fashion. In this blog post and the next, I will discuss what I think are the most salient social and cultural differences between Taiwan and Mainland China.

            Before I arrived in Taiwan, I was very much aware of the fact that Taiwan uses traditional or “complex” Chinese characters, whereas the Mainland uses simplified Chinese characters. I also knew that Taiwanese people have a distinctive Mandarin accent different from most places in Mainland China. What I was completely unaware of, though, was the vast difference in everyday words and expressions in China and Taiwan. For example, off the top of my head, I can recall that the English words for taxi, potato, peanut, “and”, metro, pineapple, and garbage all employ different Chinese words in Taiwan than in Mainland China. One of my Taiwanese interlocutors said that the differences in diction between Taiwanese Mandarin and Mainland Chinese Mandarin are greater than the diction differences between British English and American English. I agree with his assessment.

            In addition to language, I noticed several differences in the way Taiwanese and Chinese people interact with their fellow countrymen in public spaces. It seems that Taiwanese people have a sense of personal space, whereas in China personal space (especially when one takes public transportation) is virtually non-existent. This social difference is most likely due to the extremely crowded nature of many of China’s cities—many of which are almost equal in size to Taiwan’s entire population. While most people in Taiwan stand in line to wait for a bus or the metro, it seems that most people in China either do not stand in line or cut in front of the line if there is even a line formed. Taiwanese drivers are also apt to yield to drivers wanting to merge into their lanes, whereas my recent Beijing taxi driver lamented to me about Beijing drivers’ increasing unwillingness to yield to other drivers. I learned an idiom over the summer that I have grown fond of, mainly because it is so effective in describing Chinese people’s behavior in public spaces: 争先恐后, “striving to be first, and hating to be last.” In China, everyone seems to be in a rush and consequently cannot afford to stand in line or yield to other drivers. In Taiwan, people seem to be more laid back.

            Being six foot eight, I naturally receive a lot of attention in Asia, particularly in China. I remember Chinese people staring at me all the time when I was in China during my senior year of high school. When I was in Taiwan this summer, though, relatively few Taiwanese people stared at me, and, even if they did, they did it in a subtle way. Receiving a lot of attention as I did in China is, in my view, both good and bad—it is good in the way that many people are interested in you and reach out to you in conversation, but is bad in the way that one can quickly feel less than human when everyone is staring at you. In Taiwan it is the reverse: I felt that it was harder to reach out to young Taiwanese people and make friends because I was just another  “foreigner,” but did enjoy less people staring at me overall.

         Well, I think I will end here and pick up making more social and cultural differences between Taiwan and China in my next blog post. Thanks for reading!

As I begin the new semester at GW, I feel very grateful for the opportunity to do research this past summer and also excited to share my experiences with friends, family, and classmates. I returned last week after spending approximately six weeks in Karnataka, India, studying non-formal education and its impacts on girls, as well as one week in Sri Lanka working with Professor James Williams on a research project on the higher education system.

Truthfully, it’s difficult to summarize what took place this summer and how it has impacted me. This was my first time collecting data in an international setting, and it was definitely a learning experience. While many of these may seem obvious, I wanted to share some of my ‘lessons learned’, in the hope that they may help future students new to the international research world.

1. Arrange a homestay

The majority of my time in India was spent in the home of my husband’s cousin and her family. Although we had never met prior to my arrival in India, they graciously welcomed me into their lives, and without their assistance and hospitality, my experience in India would have been completely different. Beyond the introduction to the culture and the language, my homestay also provided me with the unexpected opportunity to further my knowledge on the Indian higher education system. The father of the family is a French professor at the University of Mysore, and he helped arrange several meetings with his colleagues working in my subject area, who shared a wealth of information on gender issues and the Indian education system. In addition, the family’s two sons, aged 18 and 20, are currently pursuing medical studies, and I was able to witness the university admissions process for the younger son, which differs greatly from the US. While a homestay with extended family may not be possible for every project, the benefits of living with a local family are immense, and I will definitely do my best to arrange this in the future, whenever possible.

2. Be flexible

This was perhaps the greatest lesson gained from this experience. I am accustomed to conducting research in relatively controlled environments within the US but quickly realized that I must be open to unexpected events during data collection in India. Despite my best efforts to conduct interviews in private locations away from distractions, several of the participants had to simultaneously entertain their children during the interviews, and, due to the multi-generational living arrangements, family members would interrupt the interviews to offer snacks or to just generally see what was happening. Similarly, there were numerous power outages, water shortages, and incidents of peeping toms complete with the arrival of the police, all during my data collection. This is normal life for the participants, and I had to adjust to these circumstances while simultaneously taking steps to preserve the validity and reliability of the study.

3. Connections are vital

My study relied heavily on building trust with school administrators, teachers, and former students. By contacting many of the non-formal education providers in Karnataka, Andhra Pradesh, and Tamil Nadu states, I gained access to a network of individuals who helped me identify the best programs for my study. The programs that are included in my study agreed to allow me to conduct my research primarily because I had been in contact with their colleagues who could speak to my credibility. As a lone researcher out in the field, this was essential, as my study involved a relatively large time commitment on the part of the program, as well as interacting with the students which opened the program up to possible liability. Similarly, snowball sampling proved to be the most effective way of recruiting former students, as participants could contact their former classmates and create connections that would have been impossible on my own.

4. Be prepared to have tea, lots of tea

Relationships are built over tea in India. The custom of taking tea and discussing seemingly off-topic subjects is a way of building rapport with participants and their families, so it is important to account for this additional time when planning the research schedule. After all, as the IRB education coordinator joked, “How would you feel if someone from India came to your door, wanting to hear all about your life and your experiences in the Jackson High School class of 2002?”A cup of tea with my family is the least that I would expect in that circumstance.

5. Understand that professional services may come at Western prices, but it may be worth it

Somewhat foolishly, I assumed that I would be able to secure an interpreter and translator for lower rates than one would find in the US, given the cost of living in India. However, these professional services come at a premium. For example, in Bangalore, seven hours of interpretation services will cost approximately $100USD. I would recommend going this route, however, as it will save a large amount of time and energy in the end. Unfortunately, I learned this the hard way.

In addition, rickshaws seemed to be the best mode of transportation when I arrived. Of course, my ride through the Indian countryside in a rickshaw (made for a driver and 2-3 passengers) with 17 other people and a baby goat IS one of my favorite memories of my trip, despite getting stuck in a sewage puddle and having to push our way out. However, locating a new driver each day contributed to numerous language issues, as well as a lot of time spent arguing over the exorbitant fees the drivers charge foreigners. There are very limited street names in rural Karnataka, so finding the participants’ homes was quite an adventure and, at times, possibly a bit unsafe for a female traveling alone. In retrospect, hiring one rickshaw driver or a car and driver for the duration of my stay would probably have been a better option.

These lessons and many other gained from this experience are invaluable and have definitely helped me become a better researcher. Thank you again to the Sigur Center for your support of my trip to India and Sri Lanka, and I look forward to sharing my results with the wider GW and Asian studies community in the coming months!

Nora Shetty

M.A. International Education, 2013
Sigur Center 2012 Field Research Fellow
Karnataka, India

From the aftermath of the Arab Spring across the Middle East and presidential elections in the United States to the effects of economic crisis on democracies in Europe, no one can claim that 2012 has been an uninteresting year for students of democratic politics. India’s story has been equally interesting, albeit in a rather ominous way. Earlier this year, parts of a northeastern state in India called Assam erupted in violence, with Muslim villagers clashing with Bodo tribes, who happen to be Hindu, Christian and animist. The Bodo tribes argue that too many of the Muslim villagers are illegal Bangladeshi immigrants taking away local jobs and resources, while Muslim villagers blame the Bodo for discriminating against Muslims, and for seeking to marginalize them. What started as isolated violence quickly ballooned into large-scale mayhem.

One of the many disturbing images of violence in Assam making the internet rounds

While the Indian government has sought to clamp down on the violence, ethnic tensions have flared up elsewhere in the country. More disturbingly, a variety of political actors around the country have sought to capitalize on fear for various strategic reasons – such as recruitment, political power, and monetary support. In a preliminary report, India’s cyber-security agency blamed a group called the Popular Front of India (PFI) of fomenting mass panic in the city of Bangalore in South India. The PFI is a Muslim organization that purports to speak for oppressed minorities (they officially advocate for the rights of all minorities and not just Muslims) in India. The cybersecurity agency claims that the PFI sent bulk SMSs to Indians of Northeastern descent living in Bangalore, warning them that Muslims would seek revenge on them for the ethnic violence in Assam if they did not leave Bangalore. The result was mass panic, as approximately 30,000 northeasterners in Bangalore tried to leave the city at the same time.

The city of Mumbai has been another epicenter of unrest, as a rally protesting the unrest in Assam organized by local Muslim leaders also turned violent, resulting in two deaths and almost 60 injured, the majority of whom were policemen trying to contain the crowd.

Azad Maidan Riots in Mumbai, August 2012; Source: Indian Express

Since the violence, powerful Hindu groups in Mumbai have been organizing their own rallies and used it to criticize the government, Bangladeshi illegal immigrants, immigrants from other parts of the country, and anyone else that rouses the crowd. Implicit amongst the criticisms is the idea that Muslims are to blame for the violence. 

Ethnic politics is not a new phenomenon, both here and elsewhere. But what is especially interesting to me is the role ethnic politics plays in India. On the one hand, eminent scholars like Christophe Jaffrelot see a silver lining – that the rise of ethnic parties in India has made India’s democracy more inclusive by enfranchising lower class and caste voters in India. On the other hand, many have lamented the fact that the use of this kind of politics to gain votes and power will lead to greater societal fragmentation in the future. The argument is that as people become used to supporting only the group they identify with, India's politics will become increasingly antagonistic.

One might argue all aforementioned groups have benefited from the current bout of unrest. The PFI gets to say to Muslims everywhere (especially to their potential recruits and donors) that the PFI has been right all along – Muslims are indeed at risk in India. The Shiv Sena and MNS (the powerful Hindu groups in Mumbai, Maharashtra) get to say the same thing to Hindus – that they have a legitimate reason to be afraid, especially from immigrants and Muslims. Even the ruling government in Delhi has someone to blame – as usual, they blame Pakistan for fomenting unrest in India. Indeed, ethnic unrest is quite lucrative.

Perhaps one could argue that ethnic politics follows the law of diminishing marginal returns. That is to say, that a small amount of ethnic politics is beneficial - it allows for previously oppressed groups to have a say and reap the benefits of democracy. However, there comes a critical point, beyond which further ethnic politicization has in fact a detrimental effect on society. Watching social unrest unfold in India, I am certainly intrigued by the potential accuracy of such an argument.

One of the first things that struck me when I first came back to Delhi this year was the sheer magnitude of construction that seemed to be taking place in and around Delhi. It wasn't that I hadn’t noticed construction before when I visited first in 2009, or last year. When I first came in 2009, Delhi was constructing the Delhi Metro, which was a massive undertaking. The Government of Delhi has been busy digging to make room for the metro underneath this vast city.

But the kind of construction I am talking about here is not infrastructure development – like roads and mass transit. Rather, the construction I am talking about is commercial and residential – namely, condos, high-rise office buildings, and of course, malls. Economists and policymakers alike agree that this kind of construction is great – it brings jobs, construction and people with disposable incomes to any neighborhood where it occurs. And this euphoria of development, and the celebration of consumption, seems to be in full swing in India’s urban landscape today. Friends and family here are quick to point out fancy cars, fancy homes and fancy clothes wherever they go. The spotting of Bentleys and Rolls Royce’s on Delhi’s streets has been the topic of many a conversation I have had.

Connaught Place, New Delhi is one of the richest shopping districts in the capital

But what distresses me, among many others, is that this awesome growth that India has witnessed, which many have deemed as India’s rise, has actually masked a much more insidious development in India today. Of course, I am speaking here of the fact that India is witnessing an unprecedented rise in income inequality today. In a new report in 2011, the OECD estimated that inequality in wage earnings had doubled in the last two decades in India. They found that the top 10% in India earned 12 times more than the bottom 10%. It is possible that this number may not sound very shocking. Consider then, the fact that a recent government report found that the bottom 10% of the country lived on between 16 – 24 rupees a day. This is less than 50 cents a day, lower even than the World Bank measure of absolutepoverty. By contrast, the top 81,000 households in India are worth $1.2 trillion. India’s GDP is $1.8 trillion. India’s population is a little over 1.2 billion. In other words, about 0.03% of households in India own about 67% of its wealth.

Taj Hotel, Mumbai is one of the grandest and most expensive hotels in India. It was also the site of the infamous 2008 terrorist attacks in Mumbai

All these numbers aren’t meant just for the purpose of shock and awe. I present them here to give the readers (and myself, really) a clearer sense of the sharp socioeconomic distinctions widely evident in India’s cities today, especially metropolises like Delhi and Mumbai. After work, I have had occasions to go out for drinks or dinner, or perhaps catch a live show with family members, or friends that I have made in the course of my time here. The average bill for two people ranges from 1000 rupees for casual drinks to around 5000 when going out for dinner, which is about $20-100. And this is in regular, middle-of-the-pack restaurants in a country with the largest population of poor people in the world. Going any higher here is far beyond my capacity, and I count my earnings and debts in dollars.

People here have often pointed out with great pleasure the newest malls cropping up or the newest retail brands opening chains of stores all around town. They insist that whatever comforts one can buy in developed countries like the United States or EU countries are readily available in India today. I certainly do not doubt the accuracy of the claim. I do wonder, however, if they are aware how insulated India’s rich are becoming from the everyday realities of poverty and the need for frugality that characterize the lives of the vast majority of people living in this country. The flaunting of wealth and its various trappings in television, print media and Bollywood have had a distinct impact on the various sections of society that do not count themselves amongst the rich elite. Their kids demand things – from iPhones to lavish weddings, which are far beyond the reach of the average Indian. Having aspirations and hopes of a better future is certainly a good thing. It is,in fact, a cornerstone of capitalism. But having dreams which are unattainable for the vast majority that are openly celebrated by a small, elite minority can be a recipe for disaster.

The chief purpose of this trip to India was to study Hindi at the Landour Language School in Mussoorie, Uttarakhand. However, having finished an eight-week intensive course, I decided to occupy the remaining time in India with preliminary research for my future dissertation. As a soon-to-be third year student of the PhD program in Political Science – currently transitioning between the curricular and the investigative phase of the degree – this visit to India seemed an ideal opportunity to gather first-hand information about my topic and areas of interest as well as to build contact with academics working in the same subfields. For this reason, before departure, I met and discussed ideas with some of my professors at the Department of Political Science, namely Prof. Emmanuel Teitelbaum, Prof. Henry Hale and Prof. Ingrid Creppell. Finally, being outside of school for the first time since the beginning of the language course, provided me with a set of new and varied ‘real-world’ situations in which to practice my newly acquired Hindi skills. 

My destiny was obviously the northwestern state of Gujarat. The word ‘obviously’ is employed here not for a dose of excessive assertiveness but for the simple reason that, since the beginning of the doctoral program, I have focused on the political evolution of Gujarat. There are three reasons for this interest: (1) ever since the early twentieth century, Gujarat has played a prominent role in subcontinental politics, being the home state of both Gandhi and Jinnah, as well as other significant figures such as Sardar Patel and Lal Advani; (2) in the last twenty years, Gujarat has underwent massive transformations from a rural and traditional society into the poster child for the industrial might of modern India, becoming one of the fastest growing states in the country. This success has been closely associated with the political rise of Narendra Modi (BJP), the longest serving Chief Minister in the state and, as mentioned in an previous post, a putative candidate to the Prime Ministerial position in 2014. Finally, (3) in February-June 2002, Gujarat witnessed the largest and most violent Hindu-Muslim riots in India since partition in 1947. This tragic event, which took place during the first months of Modi’s tenure, left deep scars in both India and Gujarat, inspiring a voluminous literature. Although I had briefly stayed in the state in 2005, I now had an opportunity to delve deeper into the occurrences of 2002, the evolution of Gujarati politics since then and the current condition of Hindu-Muslim relations in the state. Most importantly, I now had a chance to meet and contact with some of the authors whose work I have been reading and citing in my own writings.

The seat of the State Government in Gandhinagar, with a statue of Gandhi in the front. 

In Vadodara (also known as Baroda) I met with Professor Lancy Lobo, whose 2006 volume ‘Communal Violence and Minorities: Gujarat Society in Ferment’ (co-authored with Professor Biswaroop Das) presents one of the most complete and vivid accounts of the events of 2002. During our conversation, we exchanged views about the origins and incidence of communal tensions in Gujarat as well as the complex relationship between religion, caste and class. Professor Lobo framed Hindu-Muslim relations in terms of social transformations in the state since independence: the retreat of untouchability led to the social rise of a Hindu lower strata, who has sought social acceptance by the higher castes by stressing their similarities (namely, religion); while the Muslim communities were increasingly pushed towards the bottom of society. The appeal of Hindu nationalism was thus indirectly related with the downfall of the caste system. Later, I met with Dr. J.S. Bandukwala, a retired professor from the Baroda University and a prominent member of the Muslim community in the city, who provided me with a historical perspective of Hindu-Muslim relations.

Lord Shiva's statue in Baroda. 

In Ahmedabad, the largest and most important urban centre in the state, with a long and profound attachment to the Muslim presence in the subcontinent (as testified by its very name), I visited the areas most affected by the 2002 riots, such as Naroda and Gomtipur. One of the most astonishing aspects about this city was the size and visibility of the Muslim population (especially in the town centre). On the one hand, I expected most Muslims to have moved out after the tragedy of 2002 (although the riots were not limited to Ahmedabad, the city registered the highest number of incidents and fatalities); on the other hand, this discovery goes against the popular argument that there is no relation between the size of the Muslim community and the occurrence of communal violence. The solution to this puzzle might be that while the correlation has no expression in total figures (i.e., total size of Muslims vs. total population of a city), it might reveal itself if one takes into consideration two qualitative criteria: population distribution by neighborhoods rather than by urban agglomerate as a whole; and to concentrate on relevant areas of the city, such as the center, where the visibility of a community is higher than in a distant suburb. I had an opportunity to discuss this and other issues with Professor Mona Mehta, co-author of ‘Gujarat Beyond Gandhi: Identity, Society and Conflict’ (2011, co-authored with M. Mehta). As a recent graduate from the University of Chicago and now a part-time Professor at the University of Gandhinagar, Prof. Mehta helped me think about these topics in the terms of the dominant theories of ethnicity and research design.

The candidature of Narendra Modi to Prime Ministerial post in 2014 is a hot topic in the Indian press.

All in all, this was a most fruitful journey that enabled me to test as well as to clarify ideas about my future dissertation project. I now begin my third year with a more informed opinion about the environment in which I will conduct field research, what can and cannot be accomplished in my dissertation. Once again, I would like to finish this post by thanking the Sigur Center for providing me with this excellent opportunity to advance and improve my knowledge and skills.



In the months leading to my departure for India, I was frequently asked about my research plans and my motivation for pursuing my topic. In most instances, these discussions provided interesting insight into how the Indian education system is perceived by those who work outside of the international education field. Most people fell into two groups:

1. Those who view the American education system as superior, for no reason other than a strong sense of patriotism.

2. Those who understand India’s emerging economic status and imagine, based on the stereotypes projected in the media, that India’s education system prepares every child for a successful career in science, technology, and business.

            Of course, neither of these perceptions is accurate. The deficiencies within the American education system are widely reported, particularly during the release of scores from international standardized tests like PISA and TIMSS where the U.S. routinely ranks far below the top 5 countries. 

             In India, while there have been significant improvements to health and welfare indicators of the population, the education system continues to suffer from deep problems in quality, equity, and access. The literacy rate hovers around 74%, with significantly lower rates for women, Muslims, and members of the Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes. In addition, India’s Tamil Nadu and Himatchal-Pradesh states participated in the country’s first PISA examination in 2010 and ranked as numbers 72 and 73 out of 74 economies. Clearly, every Indian child is not given equal opportunity for quality education and employment in professional careers.

This reality may soon be altered, however, by India’s Right of Children to Free and Compulsory Education Act, which guarantees basic education for children ages 6-14. This act was passed in 2009, but various elements of the act provoked opposition from the general public and educational bodies, and implementation was delayed until the start of the 2012-2013 school year. In Karnataka state, this meant that the changes were implemented in May, just before my arrival. As you can imagine, this is a hot topic in the Indian education community, as it introduces several new regulations and drastically alters the provision of private education.

I studied this act as part of a research project last semester but did not fully grasp its implications on the non-formal sector until I arrived. Most of the non-formal education centers that I visited are managed by NGO’s and are unaided and unrecognized by the government. According to my discussions with school directors, recognition requires large amounts of paperwork, years spent wading through the bureaucracy, and more than Rs. 100,000 in fees and bribes. Students can still obtain the credentials necessary to move to higher education, so for many school administrators, recognition doesn’t seem worth the trouble. However, with the Right to Education Act, these unaided, unrecognized schools are considered illegal, and the threat of enforcement is pervasive. Indeed, several institutions have already closed in the past few years within Karnataka state due to legal and financial issues, but thus far, the government has not formally enforced the act with any of the schools I have visited.

I cannot help but wonder whether these institutions will still exist when I return to India in the future, and if so, what alterations will be made to the programs to accommodate government desires for national cohesion within the education system. My strong belief in the benefits of non-formal education leads me to hope that the government will find a way for these institutions to continue to offer alternatives for children who need them the most.  In the meantime, however, my visits to the schools are somewhat bittersweet, knowing that I am perhaps witnessing a dying element of education in India.

Nora Shetty
M.A. International Education, 2013
Sigur Center 2012 Field Research Fellow
Karnataka, India

The most important lesson gained from my recent Qualitative Research Methods course is that all researchers must own their subjectivity. Regardless of qualitative, quantitative, or mixed method designs, your motivations, beliefs, and opinions will color your study to some degree. Our professor encouraged us to reflect on these issues throughout the semester, and it was a very worthwhile exercise. However, it is something that I continue to struggle with during my research here in India, particularly with regard to cultural differences.

I am navigating an ambiguous boundary between cultural outsider and insider. My heritage is not Indian, but I have gained insight into the country’s culture and traditions through interactions with my Indian-born husband and his family. My mother-in-law’s strong desire for me to learn her native language, Tulu, has resulted in hours of study with flashcards and audio-recordings and the acquisition of key phrases. In addition, I’ve been taught to respectfully address all Indian people older than myself as “Auntie”, “Uncle”, “Anna” (brother), and “Akka” (sister), regardless of our actual familial connection, and am cognizant of using my right hand to handle money, hold books, and touch food.

While I am certainly no expert, in the United States, I am often engaged in discussions about India, whether with a stranger discussing my ungila wedding ring (the traditional ring of my husband’s community) or explaining my marriage to South Asians who inquire about my Indian last name. These conversations inevitably lead to questions about my travels to India, of which there have been none. Until now.

And the first thing I realized when I stepped off the plane is that I truly know very little about this country which has a mind-boggling diversity of religions, customs, languages, and food. It was also immediately obvious that I will be viewed by everyone here as an outsider, a ‘foreigner’. Whatever confidence I had in my ability to blend in disappears as I struggle to roll my r’s when announcing my desired destination to the bus conductor or fumble awkwardly when dancing to Bollywood songs with girls at the schools that I’ve been researching. There have also been numerous embarrassing moments as I attempt to eat rice and sambar using only my right hand, often watched by an audience of people curious to see how Americans eat and whether I can handle the spices.

All efforts to explain my connection are met with confusion or hilarity, as in the case of a school administrator who literally fell off her chair in fits of laughter when my husband’s cousin called me his auntie-in-law, or disapproval, like the man at the flour shop yesterday who tsk-tsked as our other cousin explained why she was with an American. Strangers approach me at every tourist attraction, and even local government offices, to request photos with me. It will be a long time before the memory of my time at the Mysore Palace fades, as I spent 15 minutes in a photo-shoot with a family of 20 people who expressed such excitement that I could not deny them a few minutes of my time.

While I have travelled internationally in the past, this is my first time spending an extended period in areas where few foreigners have ventured, and my first experience collecting data in such a context. Of course, I have taken measures to ensure that my data collection and analysis is overseen by individuals who are intimately familiar with these locations and their cultural practices, but I cannot erase the feeling that perhaps it is inappropriate to do research out of one’s own culture. The thought of “Othering” my research sites and participants concerns me to a great extent.

Beyond the language barrier (many of my participants speak Kannada, and I do not), this doubt has been most apparent during classroom observations. The Indian education system differs in several significant ways from the U.S. system. Numerous journal articles and books illustrate this clearly. However, it is challenging to witness these differences firsthand, while reserving judgment based on comparisons to the U.S. and other western nations. My first observation of corporal punishment in the classroom, for example, shocked me, and I intensively recorded the interaction in my observation notes. The same event was recorded by my local guide/interpreter as, simply, “typical behavior correction- teacher lightly tapped student on her back.”

I’m not convinced that I will be able to represent my participants as fairly or objectively as I wish, but perhaps this is the case with every study. Even my local guides have struggled during observations of non-formal education programs, as they have been raised in the formal education system. In the end, I think it is a Catch-22-like situation: one must have understanding to do the research, but one can only truly understand by doing the research. It is a seemingly never-ending balancing act.

Nora Shetty

M.A. International Education, 2013
Sigur Center 2012 Field Research Fellow
Karnataka, India

Hi all,

First off, I want to apologize for not posting in a while. I've been dealing with anxiety issues the past couple of weeks. It's something that I've dealt with in the past. Perhaps it's the different environment, perhaps it's waking up too early in the morning to go to classes, but my anxiety has been a continual issue since I've been in Taiwan. I've still kept up with my studies, but I've also been on many trips to the doctor's. Regardless, my goal is to have at least one blog post each week for the rest of my time here.

I titled this post "Something Happens Here" because I wanted to use the GW motto to describe what happens at National Taiwan University. Corny, I know. But besides learning Chinese and studying, what exactly happens in the Chinese Language Division of NTU?

I guess I should start off by introducing the people in my class. Including me, there are a total of five students in my class--two students from Japan, one from Korea, one from Sweden, I'm the only one from the US. My teacher's name is 駱老師 (Luo Laoshi).

Luo Laoshi's birthday was a few weeks ago, so our class decided to throw a mini-surprise party. During the middle of class, one of my classmates went outside to bring in a birthday cake, and all of the students in class popped party-poppers as the cake was brought in. Our teacher was thoroughly surprised and emotional.

The Chinese Language Center at NTU also hosts different cultural events for its foreign students. One of the events taught us how to make Aiyu Jelly.

Aiyu Jelly

Aiyu jelly is a common desert in Taiwan. It's a soft jelly--a little like jello. The jelly itself has no taste whatsoever, but Taiwanese people like to eat the jelly with lemon and other fruits to give it special flavor.

The discovery of aiyu jelly derives from a story of a man who was travelling along a river in Taiwan. He was thirsty, so he took a drink from the river. Upon taking a sip from the river, he realized that there was jelly in the water that he was drinking from. He looked above the river and realized that the seeds from the fruits above--when mixed with water--turns into jelly. He began selling making and selling the jelly on his own, and named it 愛玉(aiyu) after his daughter.

So how exactly is aiyu made? The fruit above is known as "Aiyu" in Taiwan. I don't think there is a name for this type of fruit in English. In order to make aiyu jelly, the seeds from the fruit have to be taken out and dried out. When the seeds are dried, they look like fur-like particles.

The seeds are then put into a bag--sort of like a tea bag--so that the seeds are won't be separated and rubbed into cold water. Here's me rubbing the aiyu seeds into cold water.

The seeds have to be rubbed for about 15-20 minutes until the water turns into a yellowish-gold color. The technique for rubbing is like handwashing clothing--you have to use your fingers and really press the seeds together in the water. Stickiness on the hands is part of the process. 

After rubbing the seeds, you have to wait about another 10-15 minutes. The water starts turning into a soft jelly by itself. Then, you can use an utensil to dig out the jelly and eat it!

As mentioned before, aiyu jelly has no flavor by itself, so it's wise to add sugar or fruits to make it more appetizing.

It was fun learning and having hands-on experience with food. I'm not a very good cook--whether it's a extravagant meal or a simple dessert. I can safely say that the aiyu jelly I made was not nearly as good as the ones I've tasted in stores and street vendors. It's probably a better deal to spend a little money if you are looking to have a decent dessert. The food in Taiwan is extremely cheap anyway.

As you can see, many things happen at the Chinese Language Division at National Taiwan University. If you are interested in studying Chinese, look no further, this is the place to be!

Peace,

Chris Wang
B.A. International Affairs, Minor in Sociology 2014
Sigur Center 2012 Chinese Language Fellow
National Taiwan University, Taiwan

First, a little background before getting started. Each of the past three summers, I've had the privilege of helping Professor Bruce Dickson with his ongoing research project, which has been designed and implemented in collaboration with the Research Center for Contemporary China at Peking University. Prof. Dickson and the center's director, Dr. Shen Mingming, were classmates at the University of Michigan during graduate school and have subsequently worked together on various projects, researching Chinese government and modern Chinese society. The center's specialty is survey work, gathering data on public opinion and conditions around the country, and Prof. Dickson has drawn upon this expertise in carrying out his own recent investigations.

           

As I mentioned in an earlier post, my visit to Beijing had something of a dual purpose - both to carry out my own preliminary research and inquiries in preparation for my dissertation work, but also to spend a bit of that time continuing my work as research assistant to Prof. Dickson. This overlap has been extremely helpful, since I’ve been able to draw on my experiences at the RCCC to develop my own work. Dr. Shen and the other staff at the Center, especially Dr. Yan Jie, have given Bruce and I guidance and have pointed us in many useful directions, so it was natural for me to turn to the RCCC on this trip as I began to ask some of my own questions.

In practice, this meant that while other activities at Nankai University and Tsinghua University were more useful in terms for ascertaining Chinese experts’ opinion on my specific questions about popular nationalism and PRC foreign policy, the RCCC was able to provide me with the logistical background necessary for this research. Who has carried out surveys on these questions, and where? What kinds of public opinion research is it feasible for me to carry out as a graduate student in the near future? Will the questions I’m interested in make sense to ordinary Chinese, or am I at risk of a cultural disconnect?

So, I was happy to have a chance to talk shop with our friends in Beijing. But I’d be neglecting half of the story if I only described our academic work. As in most fields, social interactions and connections are an important facet of one’s work, all the more so when it comes to research designs that require the collaboration of multiple individuals and research centers across national boundaries. For that reason, the dinner of roast lamb that we had with Dr. Shen and some of his Chinese friends early in the trip was at least as important as the meetings we had in the RCCC’s conference rooms.

My last post made a point of the “odd” banquet food that one often gets served as a guest in China, and this is just one more instance of why it’s better to visit a long-time friend (or one’s boss’s long-time friend) than it is to be the honored newcomer: old friends can take you to their favorite neighborhood haunts without shame. Dr. Shen can seem a bit idiosyncratic in his culinary tastes by Chinese standards – e.g. he enjoys rare steak, something few Chinese I’ve met have ever even tried, much less enjoyed – but it’s a joy to have someone treat you like a native, especially in a country with as much good food to offer as China. Our final evening at the RCCC before Prof. Dickson left the country, we got in Prof. Shen’s car (he had a new driver this year) and headed out into the far northwest of Beijing, somewhere beyond the 5^thring road. After passing countless low-slung restaurants and local shops, we ended up at an ordinary-looking establishment with a delicious specialty: entire legs of lamb, skewered raw on a spit, and placed over a bin of red-hot coals set into the middle of each table to cook over the course of the evening as each person carved off pieces for him or herself. Along with the most pungent stinky tofu I’ve ever experienced (spread on fried wafers like a cheese) and a batch of baijiu so strong that it’d probably give a Russian pause, it made for a memorable night. By the end of the evening, I’d even been officially “adopted” as a student of the RCCC.

Prof. Shen (center) and friends before dinner

All of this is just to say that it’s important to connect with people on a personal level, especially in China. Not only has doing so smoothed the road for my research, but it’s also shown me some parts of China that I never would have found on my own. My thanks to Prof. Dickson and the Sigur Center for making these experiences possible!

Jackson Woods
Ph.D. Political Science 2015
Sigur Center 2012 Field Research Fellow
Beijing, China

In the last weeks of the Hindi course at the Landour Language School, I progressed at a slower pace than previously. Having ‘conquered’ the basic rules of the alphabet and grammar, I swiftly moved onto the farther regions of the Hindi syntax. This chiefly consisted of mastering four verb tenses: (1) the past; (2) the future; (3) their respective continuous forms; (4) and the imperfect. Initially, this looked simple as all these tenses depart from the root of the verb (e.g., the root of the verb ‘to eat’, ‘ka’, becomes ‘kaya’ in the first person of the past, ‘kaunga’ in the future, ‘ka raha hum’ in the present continuous, and ‘kata’ in the present imperfect). Thus, the formation of verb tenses in Hindi seemed to solely involve the addition of suffixes or auxiliary verbs to the original root. However, this was only one step towards the usage of verb tenses in Hindi.

In addition to the existence of irregular verbs (which change according to the particular verb tense being used) and different suffixes for each personal pronoun, there is also variation in the subject itself (e.g., ‘I’ can take four distinct forms) as well as in the structure of the sentence (e.g., the verb can either agree with the subject or the object). This, along with other linguistic features (such as the degree of formality and certain idiomatic usages), makes up for rather complex and meticulous sentence construction. During this period, I found that while learning and understanding the rules can be quite straightforward, employing them correctly in oral conversation is a completely different matter. This requires repeated and persistent practice.  

I was finally able to catch a glimpse of the Himalayas. Unfortunately, the pic (taken from my Iphone) is not as clear as real life.

Fortunately, the teachers at the Landour Language School had the patience and experience to guide me through this difficult stage of Hindi language learning. Hence, in the last weeks at the school, we focused on developing my oral skills, mainly through relentless hours of reading and conversation. While improving my speaking skills, this also broadened the scope of my vocabulary. One facilitating factor for the English speaker consists of the shared vocabulary between the two languages. Thus, when in doubt, one may employ the English word. Yet, as I later found out in my ‘real world’ interactions, this commonality can be misleading. In particular, the ‘street’ pronunciation of English words here tends to be rather different from the standard one used in the UK and the US. For that reason, using English words in Hindi sentences can lead to further confusion (e.g., when I asked a rickshaw driver to take me to the city/shaher ‘museum,’ he took me instead to the city ‘mill’); instead, the best approach seems to use as much Hindi vocabulary as possible.

 Monsoon clouds gather atop the foothills of the Himalayas in the afternoon. Quite a spectacle! 

While I am still far from becoming fluent in Hindi, during these weeks I was able to overcome significant hurdles and break away from basic conversations around my name, origin and age. I now feel confidently enough to find my way in common day-to-day situations, such as visiting a market or giving directions to a rickshaw driver. I have also learnt important vocabulary about politics and society, which will hopefully be useful for my future dissertation research in India. As a teacher told me in one of my last lessons, I now possess a solid basis to speak, read and write Hindi. I could not have accomplished this without the kind help and support of the Sigur Center for Asian Studies. For that reason, I think it is only appropriate to finish this post by expressing my deepest gratitude to the center for providing me this excellent opportunity to learn Hindi language in India.

Diogo Lemos

PhD student in Political Science 

2012 Sigur Center Grant for Asian Language Study in Asia

Hindi in India

Greetings from India! My name is Nora Shetty, and I am a M.A. student in the International Education program at GW’s Graduate School of Education and Human Development. Due to the generosity of the Sigur Center for Asian Studies, I am spending five weeks in Karnataka state, studying non-formal education and its impacts on female students. In order to better understand the language and culture, I arranged to stay with a host family for the duration of my visit (more on this in a future blog!) and am currently residing in Mysore city.

Mysore is the second largest city in Karnataka state and is known as the “City of Palaces.” The largest attraction is the Maharaja’s Palace, which was home to the Wodeyar maharajas. The majority of the original wooden palace was destroyed by fire in 1897 and was replaced in 1912 by English architect Henry Irwin. The palace is open for visitors during the day where one can peruse the intricately tiled rooms, examine military weaponry, and view the metal howdas, which sat on the backs of elephants and carried the royal family during processions.  The best time to visit is Saturday and Sunday evenings when the exterior of the palace is lit with nearly 100,000 bulbs, and visitors can wander the gardens, eating chat, a traditional South Indian snack.

My host family was eager to introduce me to this site, of course, but this did not prove to be easy. While my visit to the see the interior went smoothly, I had to make three journeys to view the lights. The first attempt entailed standing at the gate with other visitors wondering why the lights were not turned on at the scheduled time, and my second visit, the following night, had us dodging scooters, horse-drawn carriages, and massive crowds of people in order to reach the gates before 8:00pm, when the bulbs are turned off. Just as we approached the gate to purchase our tickets, the lights turned off without warning. It was 7:34pm.

The following weekend, after visiting the beautiful Bindavan Gardens outside of Mysore, we made one last effort at viewing the bulbs. Unbeknownst to us, the palace was holding a special program on the history of the palace and Mysore city. Green and red lights were projected on the palace and alternated along with the storyline and musical soundtrack. The spectacular event culminated in the illumination of the bulbs and was well-worth the minor frustrations experienced the week before.

In addition to the palace, my host family suggested visiting the Mysore Zoo, which opened in 1892. The zoo houses a wide range of animals, including rhinos, elephants, primates, snakes, and birds. Based on visits to U.S. zoos, I anticipated seeing the lions and tigers from behind bullet-proof glass but was quite surprised by their accommodations. A simple fence separated visitors from the enclosures, consisting of large ‘islands’ of grass and trees surrounded by an 8-foot wide pit. While I’m sure the distance was carefully calculated to avoid escape, the signs posted around the zoo did little to ease my worry.

 

After a walk through the zoo, we piled into the car and headed for Coorg, where my host mother lived as a young girl. Coorg is best known for its lush landscape of tobacco fields and coffee plantations and is covered in a cool mist, making it an excellent escape from the dust, heat, and crowds of Mysore.

On the way home, we stopped at a Tibetan colony named Bylakuppe. The main tourist attraction in this area is a temple complex with an active monastery. During my visit, several of the smaller temples were being utilized for prayers, and the young monks’ chants echoed throughout the complex.

After depositing our shoes by the door, we entered the largest and most ornate temple of the complex, the Golden Temple. The walls are adorned with colorful paintings depicting gods and demons, and three beautiful golden Buddha statues, Padmasambhava, Buddha and Amitayus, look down at visitors. This place is surrounded by landscaped gardens and provides a wonderful contrast to the traditional Hindu attractions in the area.

With several ‘to-do’ items checked off my list, it was time to start research! I was off to rural Bangalore the next morning to visit schools and begin to better understand the issues facing girls in India.

Nora Shetty

M.A. International Education, 2013

Sigur Center 2012 Field Research Fellow

Karnataka, India