Alternative Dream - Big Time

I don’t always agree with NYT columnist Thomas Friedman, but something he said about dreams a few days ago resonated with me. He speculated that the “American Dream” would not make a smooth jump across the Pacific to China—the dream of a big house, two cars, and more. Friedman was sort of wagging his finger, warning China that its emerging materialism and rising consumption of valuable resources, including water, could be disastrous, not only for China, but also for the rest of the world. 

Now, I am a baby boomer who would be exceedingly hypocritical if I didn't admit that I have benefited from material well-being and many other aspects of "the American dream," and I have no ground to point fingers. Still, that doesn't stop me from warming to Friedman's argument.

Friedman cites Peggy Liu, who says that China recognizes the problems stemming from an unbridled pursuit of "the American dream" and has an alternative, sustainable dream, one that, as Friedman paraphrases Liu, "merges traditional Chinese values, like balance, respect and flow, with its modern urban reality."

If so, scale may be both the problem and solution. Obviously, China is not the only country with mounting consumption—of water, gas, other resources--but it may be the only country entertaining this consumption on such a grand scale. It’s hard for me to get a grip on the magnitude of just about everything in this huge and ancient country that is home to more than one in five people on the planet. So, again, the scale that characterizes China's problems may be the scale that characterizes its dreams and potential solutions.  

I find it exciting to contemplate that China's alternative dream might include some elements of a market economy without sacrificing all protections of the common good and without sacrificing such healthy habits as walking to work, buying vegetables from vendors on the street, eating slowly, putting on another sweater rather than turning up the heat, and carrying your own bags.

I find it exciting to contemplate that this sustainable alternative dream, one that balances the public good with a market economy, could come to fruition on a gigantic scale.

It's an alternative dream that not only has political and environmental consequences, but also has, to my way of thinking, sensory and aesthetic consequences. I, for one, simply enjoy the richness of what I see, hear, and smell when I live as lightly as I can upon the earth, wherever I am--here, home, wherever. 

Without as many cars per capita, we live more closely together, which, for me, means that I can hear the splat of diced vegetables hitting the oil in woks in several adjacent buildings. We can smell each other's onions and lajiao. The windows and balcony doors are open--we see each other's hand-washed laundry hanging well above our potted plants to dry. I hear the man on the fourth floor across the way vigorously chopping his ingredients. Someone is learning to play the trombone and isn't terribly good yet, but there are several exceptionally good pianists nearby. A woman with a basket on her back strolls the walkways, chinking together two pieces of metal to announce that she is there, should anyone need to recycle anything. Another peddler outfitted with a basket on his back calls out over and over, as if he is trying to find someone, but he is simply advertising his goods. Music drifts up from a small park below where the ladies are doing Tai Chi--and there are trees and benches there and everywhere because people need these small parks when they turn out of their apartments to play mahjong or dance or talk or wait to pick up little schoolchildren. The parks and public squares are used, all the time by people of all ages. Without as many cars per capita, people must share the common spaces and do--there is community.

Without as many cars per capita, we walk more places, which, for me, means that I can see the moss covering the high stone wall along the path, I can see the azalea blooming in a neighbor's porcelain pot, I can see the gray trousers being pushed through the tailor's sewing machine and I can see the red high heeled shoe that the curbside cobbler is mending. I can see floating leaves interrupting the reflection of the willows around the little pond by the physics building. 

Sleeping is good, usually, because of all this. I've typically walked many, many miles by the end of the day, and nights are now quite cool. Most people's windows are still open, although I have closed my little balcony doors now that it is dropping down to almost 50 degrees F at night. And, because so many of us live so close together, there is only so much space. With only so much space, I don't have more material goods than I can use. I don't buy much, and I don't throw away much.

If there were even more cars, there would need to be more ugly parking spaces, and the buildings would be spread out. Instead of taking five minutes to get to scores of closely-packed shops and  noodle places, it'd take much longer. The umbrella covered vegetable stands on every corner would have to go. Nobody would stop me on the street to speak to me.

Again, this alternative dream of living lightly on the earth while enjoying some of the benefits of a market economy is not a new dream, not at all--and many have written more eloquently than I have here  about it. The thing that has come home to me, though, while reflecting on Friedman's piece is that China not only has a history rich with sustainable practices well worth keeping, but also has the potential to shape our planet's dreams. If China pursues this alternative dream, it will be big time.