2008年5月15日 星期四

Historical Tremors 中國

作者最近著作的主角是英國之中國科學史巨擘"李約瑟"
所以評論的角度不同

Op-Ed Contributor

Historical Tremors

Emiliano Ponzi

Published: May 15, 2008

San Francisco

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IT is a cruel and poignant certainty that the children who died in the wreckage of their school during the earthquake this week in Dujiangyan, China, knew all too well that their country once led the world in the knowledge of the planet’s seismicity.

They would have been taught, and proudly, that almost 2,000 years ago an astronomer named Chang Heng invented the world’s first seismoscope. It was a bizarrely imagined creation, with its centerpiece a large bronze vessel surrounded by eight dragons, each holding a sphere in its mouth.

A complex system of internal levers ensured that if an earthquake ever disturbed the vessel, a ball would drop from a dragon’s care into the mouth of a bronze frog positioned underneath. By observing which dragon had dropped its ball, Chang Heng could ascertain the location of the quake. And always, as the emperor for whom Chang Heng fashioned the device noted, the earthquakes came from the mountains in the west, where Dujiangyan lies.

As we watch with mounting melancholy the devastation from Sichuan, a question lingers, and troublingly. Why, if the Chinese had come to know so much about earthquakes so early on in their immensely long history, were they never able to minimize the effects of the world’s contortions — to at least the degree that America has? Why did they leave the West to become leaders in the field, and leave themselves to become mired, time and again, in the kind of tragic events that we are witnessing this week?

The question applies to very much more than the science of earthquakes. In almost every area of technology the Chinese were once supreme, without competition. The stirrup, so hugely important in peace and war, was invented by the Chinese. Printing, gunpowder, the use of the compass — the three inventions that Francis Bacon once said defined the modern world — are all thought to have been first made in China. So too, many think, were vaccination, toilet paper, segmental arch bridges, iron chains and perhaps chess — the list seems endless.

And yet, in the 16th century China’s innovative energies inexplicably withered away, and modern science became the virtual monopoly of the West. There had been any number of Chinese Euclids and Archimedes but there was never to be a Chinese Newton or Galileo. The realm fell steadily behind, century by century; it became impoverished, backward and prey to the caprices of nature.

There is a peculiar paradox in the Sichuan disaster. Dujiangyan is known across the nation as the site of one of China’s greatest ancient wonders. In 256 B.C. an engineer named Li Bing, concerned about the catastrophic annual flooding of the Min River, completed a huge water diversion and irrigation scheme. It involved cutting a long trench through a granite mountainside — achieved by the patient process of burning grass bonfires on top of the rocks and pouring cold water until the granite cracked. It took decades, but Li Bing’s 2,300-year-old project still stands less than a mile from the town’s ruined school, and it still works.

And yet, did the Chinese continue with their early expertise in flood prevention? Just as with Chang Heng’s seismic mastery, Li Bing’s expertise counted for nothing; year upon year, thousands of Chinese die in immense inundations in the great rivers that course across the country; some 400 dams sustained damage in this week’s quake.

Historians have long debated why the Chinese so signally failed to exploit their early promise. Lack of internal competition, some suggest. Others blame the long-held central ambition of every young Chinese man to become a Confucian mandarin, a bureaucrat, rather than an engineer or scientist.

Not a few others, however — admirers of China and optimists in the main — say that in the long sweep of Chinese history, a mere 400 or 500 dark, non-scientific years are a mere blip, a hiccup, and that China’s innovative energies are now roaring back, with the universities and scientific institutions brimming as they did back in the golden ages of the great dynasties.

That had better be the case. China, in its headlong attempts to modernize, has often demonstrated a dismayingly cavalier attitude toward the well-being of its people: skyscrapers are built with little attention to safety standards and are invariably far from earthquake-resistant; huge dams — not least the monstrosity that has so ruined the Three Gorges of the Yangtze — are erected in a slapdash fashion; subways, like the system burrowing through the waterlogged alluvium beneath Shanghai, are built with incautious haste; freeway tunnels are bored through earthquake fault zones.

If the country does not occasionally stand back and pause for breath, then its future — at least so far as nature’s occasional moments of seismic madness are concerned — will continue to be marked by calamity. Until this week Dujiangyan was a place of which China could be proud; today its wreckage stands as a tragic monument to a culture that turned its back on its remarkable and glittering history.

Simon Winchester is the author of “The Man Who Loved China.”

In a Kyrgyz Garden, Unburied Soviet Memories

Razansai Journal

In a Kyrgyz Garden, Unburied Soviet Memories


Published: May 15, 2008

RAZANSAI, Kyrgyzstan — In this remote corner of the former Soviet Union, life has shrunk to the size of the basics: tomatoes; corn; apricot trees; baby goats.

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Carolyn Drake for The New York Times

Toktokan Tileberdaeva, a mother of six, who has lived almost 40 years in Razansai, a small village in Kyrgyzstan. More Photos »

Carolyn Drake for The New York Times

Some of the children and grandchildren of Ms. Tileberdaeva gather near the door of an animal shed. Their roof burned in winter, so the family crams into a donated trailer, a single dark room coated in quilts. More Photos >

The New York Times

Razansai was hit by an economic collapse after 1991. More Photos >

That is what grows in the garden of Toktokan Tileberdaeva, a mother of six who has lived almost 40 years in this small village in Kyrgyzstan, a claw-shaped country covered in mountains that once formed part of the Soviet Union’s long border with China.

Like a settler on the frontier, she lives off the land, hauling water from a turquoise-colored river and washing her clothes in the same bucket she washes her grandchildren. Her pension, $33 a month, is enough to buy one giant sack of flour — bread for the month.

Life was not always like this. Before Communism fell and Kyrgyzstan became its own country, Ms. Tileberdaeva had a job in a toothbrush factory. Her husband, now deceased, worked building giant hydroelectric plants, and a bus came to take their children to school.

But after 1991 the factory closed, all public services stopped and an economic collapse tore painful holes in the lives of families here, turning them into immigrants in their own country. Their skills were no longer needed. Their past was a mistake.

“I really miss the Soviet Union,” she said, standing in a small blue trailer where she and her children sleep on soft rugs. “We lived well. I worked. I earned a salary.”

The Soviet Union collapsed almost 17 years ago, but for many on the outer edges of the empire it feels like yesterday. They enjoy reminiscing about the time when they were young and their factories were working full steam. Now the toothbrush factory stands empty with blank windows, a painful reminder of their lost past.

Change is coming. Engineers from China, Turkey and Iran, though not from Russia, have rebuilt the long ribbon of road that cuts through the mountains to connect the south of the country to the north. Ms. Tileberdaeva’s younger children are taught in Kyrgyz, not Russian. Goods and trade have begun to flow from China in the east, instead of from Russia in the west.

But none of that is any consolation to Ms. Tileberdaeva, who spends every waking hour scratching a living out of her land.

Sometimes her oldest daughter, a cafeteria worker in Bishkek, the country’s capital, sends her money. The rest comes from her goats and her garden.

Her life is solitary. She is content with the company of her children and grandchildren, and says she does not seek other adults for support or friendship.

Most people in this small town are drunks, she said. Chinese merchants, sullenly despised for their wealth and success, provide fleeting entertainment: Locals throw rocks at them when they drive by.

The past is not always something she wants to remember. Her husband stole her when she was 19, as she walked home from class at a technical college, a local custom that she feels is heartlessly unfair. She cried, kicking and screaming, as they reached his home. She tried — and failed — three times to escape.

“I wanted to die,” she said looking at the remains of the first house she was brought to, also on the property, but now a grassy playground with walls but no roof.

Family life improved, but only a little. Her husband was a drinker, and was mean when drunk, sometimes throwing her and the children out of the house in a rage.

He died in 2003 (the Soviet military sent him to clean up Chernobyl, and he was never quite the same when he returned), but she grimaced when asked if she had married again.

“If I had had a second one, he would have been the same,” she said.

Her current concern is a roof, not a man. On a snowy night in December, a pan on her small wood stove caught fire during dinner, setting the roof on fire. She fled through a window with the children, wading out into the snow in pajamas and running for help.

The winter was unusually snowy, but there was no money for a roof, so she and her family crammed into a donated trailer, a single dark room coated in quilts.

Things could be worse. Kyrgyzstan is relatively liberal compared with its authoritarian neighbors, Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan. A clean river flows through her backyard, and the soil is rich. Her goats recently had a litter. Their soft babies wobbled in spring grass.

She asked about America, as water for laundry heated on a hotplate. Did everyone live in a high-rise building? Was everyone rich? She watched as her small grandson, wearing a cast-off New York Yankees hat, teetered in, holding a tiny yellow flower.

“Our garden is free,” she said smiling. “The earth is good. That’s how I live.”

Then she invited visitors to tear pieces from a round, coarse loaf of bread.

2008年5月14日 星期三

A Rescue in China, Uncensored


《泰晤士報》分析指出,在四川大地震後,中國領導人迅速做出回應,反映了他們在過去幾年幾次嚴重危機中吸取了的教訓。

分析說,在2003年的薩斯Sars危機中,中國當局不願透露真相,導致謠傳和恐懼,但這一次大地震至今為止,政府似乎沒有任何隱瞞的意圖。

《泰晤士報》說,中國南部去年冬季受到暴風雪侵襲,當局的救災反應被批評緩慢和混亂,但這一次大地震後的反應非常迅速。

《泰晤士報》還說,舉辦北京奧運的壓力,使中國當局在處理危機時採取比較開放的態度。

地震與奧運

《衛報》引述北京奧運會組委會一名發言人說,奧運的場館建築均考慮到預防強烈地震的標準,所以很安全。

《衛報》還引述英格蘭利茲大學研究中國地震的豪斯曼教授說,防震的建築能夠在大地震時避免造成大量人死傷。

《國際先驅論壇報》的報道提及大地震對中國的通信網絡的影響。

報道說,中國移動(China Mobile)承認大地震對其通信基站造成嚴重破壞,但現在還不知道中國當局本身個別的獨立通信網絡的受損程度。

《國際先驅論壇報》說,中國當局跟很多西方國家一樣,有一個供天災和緊急情況時使用不同通信網絡。但報道說,中國西部的航空控制系統受到干擾,反映政府的通信基站可能在地震中受到破壞。

《金融時報》報道說,這次大地震影響的主要在山區和農村,經濟損失應該不大,四川成都和其他工業地區只受到輕微破壞。

News Analysis

A Rescue in China, Uncensored

Wang Jiaowen/ColorChina Photo, via Associated Press

Rescuers carried an injured quake victim from a collapsed building on Tuesday in Beichuan County, China. The country’s openness about the disaster is a departure from past practices.


Published: May 14, 2008

BEIJING — Mothers wailing over the bodies of their children. Emergency workers scrambling across pancaked buildings. And a grim-faced political leader comforting the stricken and reassuring an anguished nation.

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CCTV, via Agence France-Presse — Getty Images

Prime Minister Wen Jiabao consoled quake victims in Deyang County. Such images of Mr. Wen have dominated the airwaves.

While such scenes are a staple of catastrophes in much of the world, the rescue effort playing nonstop on Chinese television is remarkable for a country that has a history of concealing the scope of natural calamities and then bungling its response.

Since an earthquake flattened a swath of rural Sichuan Province on Monday, killing more than 13,000 people, the government in Beijing has mounted an aggressive rescue effort, dispatching tens of thousands of troops and promptly sending Prime Minister Wen Jiabao to the disaster zone, accompanied by reporters.

A hard hat on his head and a bullhorn in hand, he ducked into the wreckage of a hospital where scores of people were buried and shouted: “Hang on a bit longer. The troops are rescuing you.” Throughout the day, the images of Mr. Wen directing disaster relief officials and comforting the injured dominated the airwaves.

With scenes of the calamitous cyclone in Myanmar still fresh — and the military government’s languid, xenophobic response earning it international scorn — China’s Communist Party leaders are keenly aware that their approach to the earthquake will be closely watched at home and abroad. And after two bruising months of criticism from the West over its handling of Tibetan unrest, the government can ill afford another round of criticism as it prepares to host the Olympic Games in August.

In its zigzagging pursuit of a more nimble and effective form of authoritarian rule, China may be having a defining moment. Its harsh crackdown on discontented Tibetans bore the hallmarks of Beijing’s hard-line impulses. But its decision on Tuesday to scale back the elaborate domestic leg of the Olympic torch relay — after a flood of Internet protests calling it insensitive — is a sign that officials are not deaf to public sentiment.

Shi Anbin, a professor of media studies at Tsinghua University in Beijing, said he thought the international uproar after the crackdown in Tibet was having an impact on Communist Party leaders. “My judgment is that the government has drawn some lessons from negative feedback,” he said. “I think it reflects a trend of Chinese openness and reform.”

So far, that approach appears to be paying off. Commentary on Chinese Web sites and in chat rooms has been full of praise for the government’s emergency response. On Tianya, a popular forum where antigovernment postings sometimes find a home, users have been quick to shout down those who criticize Mr. Wen and the military’s delay in reaching some quake victims. “Those who can only do mouth work please shut up at this key moment,” says one posting.

Another writer praised the People’s Liberation Army, saying: “Whenever there’s a life-or-death crisis, they’re the ones on the front line. We certainly can overcome this catastrophe because we have them.”

Chinese Web sites remain heavily censored, and a brief flirtation with openness and responsiveness does not mean that China is headed toward Western-style democracy. On the contrary, if China manages to handle a big natural disaster better than the United States handled Hurricane Katrina, the achievement may underscore Beijing’s contention that its largely nonideological brand of authoritarianism can deliver good government as well as fast growth.

Dali Yang, the director of the East Asian Institute in Singapore, said the government might have come to the realization that openness and accountability could bolster its legitimacy and counter growing anger over corruption, rising inflation and the disparity between the urban rich and the rural poor.

“I think their response to this disaster shows they can act, and they can care,” he said. “They seem to be aware that a disaster like this can pull the country together and bring them support.”

The official response since Monday stands in stark contrast not only to neighboring Myanmar’s, but also to China’s abysmal performance during a major quake in 1976, when at least 240,000 people died in the eastern city of Tangshan. The lessons from that disaster have undoubtedly been imprinted on the minds of the men who govern from Beijing. In the days after the quake, the powerful Gang of Four played down the disaster and rebuffed offers of help from the outside world, leaving rescue efforts to poorly equipped soldiers.

Hua Guofeng, who was the chosen successor to Mao and was then out of favor, visited Tangshan a few days after the quake. This act of good will enhanced his power and, along with Mao’s death later that year, emboldened him to arrest the Gang of Four, effectively ending the decade-long Cultural Revolution and ushering in leaders who introduced the economic reforms that continue to transform China.

The Communist Party does not always remember the lessons of Tangshan. Repeated flooding on the Yangtze River — partly caused by government inaction — has killed thousands. The SARS epidemic of 2003, which officials initially sought to cover up, prompted accusations that the party was more concerned with promoting a false image of stability than with the commonweal.

Last winter Mr. Wen found himself facing thousands of angry travelers who were stranded by a snowstorm that crippled the nation’s rail system. And last month, the collision of two passenger trains in Shandong Province killed 72 people, injured more than 400 and laid bare the failure of transportation officials to communicate a go-slow order on a stretch of track that was under construction.

While information on that accident was tightly controlled and foreign reporters were kept at bay, coverage of the Sichuan earthquake seems more unfettered. Scores of Chinese reporters have been broadcasting live from places across the quake zone and so far, at least, foreign correspondents have been given unrestricted access.

The Xinhua News Agency, the government’s leading propaganda organ, has offered an unusually vigorous stream of updates about casualties and problems confronting rescue teams. Internet sites have been filled with cellphone videos of the quake and commentary, most of it laudatory, but some of it criticizing the military’s response. A few postings have given life to a rumor that officials in Sichuan knew the quake was imminent and failed to act.

Mr. Shi, the media studies professor, said he was surprised by the government’s candor and the vigor of the state-run Chinese press. He attributed some of the openness to a recent law that requires public officials to provide information to the news media during natural disasters. But like many experts, he said the Olympics were pushing China to experiment with a greater degree of openness.

“This is the first time the Chinese media has lived up to international standards,” he said, adding, “I think the government is learning some lessons from the past.”

Fan Wenxin contributed reporting from Shanghai.

2008年5月8日 星期四

China Journal

許多知名報紙都有中國專輯/blog等等
今天介紹的是 WSJ的 China Journal

earth-shaking or earth-shattering


How China is Changing – and Changing the World

WSJ.com now features 20 blogs – with daily, dynamic posts on Law, Real-Time Economics, Environmental Capital, Health, and the Wealth Report. Our newest blog is China Journal, which tracks the earth-shaking changes taking place in the world's most populous country. Drawing on the insights of the Journal's award-winning team of nearly 20 journalists covering China, the blog covers developments in the country's business world, economy, and culture.

2008年5月7日 星期三

中日之 怒

亞洲國家容易"動怒"
譬如說
China
Angry China
Current cover story: Angry China

現在澳大利亞總理碰到的是日本

Rudd soothes an angry Japan

Phillip Coorey Chief Political Correspondent
May 8, 2008

THE Japanese Government was more concerned about Australia's criticism of whaling than Kevin Rudd's failure to visit Tokyo last month during his first major overseas trip.

While Tokyo was concerned about Mr Rudd's perceived closeness to China and his decision to visit Beijing last month, it paled against the dispute over whaling.

The Herald has learnt no serious damage has been done to the relationship and both sides are keen to use Mr Rudd's Tokyo visit next month to put things back on track.

The Foreign Affairs Minister, Stephen Smith, will arrive in Japan today before Mr Rudd, who in turn will hold talks with the Prime Minister, Yasuo Fukuda, and may meet Emperor Akihito.

Mr Rudd is yet to speak to Mr Fukuda since winning the election in November. Japanese officials had tried to arrange a call between the two men for two days, but neither leader was available.

Many other world leaders, including those of China, the United States, Britain and Israel, phoned Mr Rudd in the aftermath of his victory.

Mr Rudd's visit to Japan was brought forward to the middle of next month following a flurry of speculation he had offended one of Australia's closest allies and biggest trading partners by not visiting Tokyo.

Mr Rudd is also scheduled to be in Japan in July at the Group of Eight Summit.

It has been learnt that his Government's approach to whaling caused the deepest offence. This included despatching the Australian Customs ship, Oceanic Viking, to pursue Japanese whalers to collect evidence.

The release of footage of whales being slaughtered and comments by the Environment Minister, Peter Garrett, that the activity was cruel and barbaric had angered Japan.

Also concerned about the rise of China, Japan is asking Australia for a guaranteed long-term supply of gas and coal.

The Opposition foreign affairs spokesman, Andrew Robb, said the Government needed to shed its perceived bias towards China.

"Since the election of the Rudd Government they have offended and confused the Japanese and damaged Australia's standing," he said.

2008年5月6日 星期二

不丹人Bhutanese 快樂指數的報導

JP問"不丹快樂指數的報導"
我找來這
起碼可知道不丹Bhutan

A New Measure of Well-Being From a Happy Little Kingdom

Harry Campbell

Published: October 4, 2005

What is happiness? In the United States and in many other industrialized countries, it is often equated with money.

Economists measure consumer confidence on the assumption that the resulting figure says something about progress and public welfare. The gross domestic product, or G.D.P., is routinely used as shorthand for the well-being of a nation.

Skip to next paragraph Multimedia
Andrew C. Revkin/The New York Times

Lyonpo Jigmi Thinley, in draped sweater, met with Bhutanese teachers.

But the small Himalayan kingdom of Bhutan has been trying out a different idea.

In 1972, concerned about the problems afflicting other developing countries that focused only on economic growth, Bhutan's newly crowned leader, King Jigme Singye Wangchuck, decided to make his nation's priority not its G.D.P. but its G.N.H., or gross national happiness.

Bhutan, the king said, needed to ensure that prosperity was shared across society and that it was balanced against preserving cultural traditions, protecting the environment and maintaining a responsive government. The king, now 49, has been instituting policies aimed at accomplishing these goals.

Now Bhutan's example, while still a work in progress, is serving as a catalyst for far broader discussions of national well-being.

Around the world, a growing number of economists, social scientists, corporate leaders and bureaucrats are trying to develop measurements that take into account not just the flow of money but also access to health care, free time with family, conservation of natural resources and other noneconomic factors.

The goal, according to many involved in this effort, is in part to return to a richer definition of the word happiness, more like what the signers of the Declaration of Independence had in mind when they included "the pursuit of happiness" as an inalienable right equal to liberty and life itself.

The founding fathers, said John Ralston Saul, a Canadian political philosopher, defined happiness as a balance of individual and community interests. "The Enlightenment theory of happiness was an expression of public good or the public welfare, of the contentment of the people," Mr. Saul said. And, he added, this could not be further from "the 20th-century idea that you should smile because you're at Disneyland."

Mr. Saul was one of about 400 people from more than a dozen countries who gathered recently to consider new ways to define and assess prosperity.

The meeting, held at St. Francis Xavier University in northern Nova Scotia, was a mix of soft ideals and hard-nosed number crunching. Many participants insisted that the focus on commerce and consumption that dominated the 20th century need not be the norm in the 21st century.

Among the attendees were three dozen representatives from Bhutan - teachers, monks, government officials and others - who came to promote what the Switzerland-size country has learned about building a fulfilled, contented society.

While household incomes in Bhutan remain among the world's lowest, life expectancy increased by 19 years from 1984 to 1998, jumping to 66 years. The country, which is preparing to shift to a constitution and an elected government, requires that at least 60 percent of its lands remain forested, welcomes a limited stream of wealthy tourists and exports hydropower to India.

"We have to think of human well-being in broader terms," said Lyonpo Jigmi Thinley, Bhutan's home minister and ex-prime minister. "Material well-being is only one component. That doesn't ensure that you're at peace with your environment and in harmony with each other."

It is a concept grounded in Buddhist doctrine, and even a decade ago it might have been dismissed by most economists and international policy experts as naïve idealism.

Indeed, America's brief flirtation with a similar concept, encapsulated in E. F. Schumacher's 1973 bestseller "Small Is Beautiful: Economics as if People Mattered," ended abruptly with the huge and continuing burst of consumer-driven economic growth that exploded first in industrialized countries and has been spreading in fast-growing developing countries like China.

Yet many experts say it was this very explosion of affluence that eventually led social scientists to realize that economic growth is not always synonymous with progress.

In the early stages of a climb out of poverty, for a household or a country, incomes and contentment grow in lockstep. But various studies show that beyond certain thresholds, roughly as annual per capita income passes $10,000 or $20,000, happiness does not keep up.

And some countries, studies found, were happier than they should be. In the World Values Survey, a project under way since 1995, Ronald Inglehart, a political scientist at the University of Michigan, found that Latin American countries, for example, registered far more subjective happiness than their economic status would suggest.

In contrast, countries that had experienced communist rule were unhappier than noncommunist countries with similar household incomes - even long after communism had collapsed.

"Some types of societies clearly do a much better job of enhancing their people's sense of happiness and well-being than other ones even apart from the somewhat obvious fact that it's better to be rich than to be poor," Dr. Inglehart said.

Even more striking, beyond a certain threshold of wealth people appear to redefine happiness, studies suggest, focusing on their relative position in society instead of their material status.

Nothing defines this shift better than a 1998 survey of 257 students, faculty and staff members at the Harvard School of Public Health.

In the study, the researchers, Sara J. Solnick and David Hemenway, gave the subjects a choice of earning $50,000 a year in a world where the average salary was $25,000 or $100,000 a year where the average was $200,000.

About 50 percent of the participants, the researchers found, chose the first option, preferring to be half as prosperous but richer than their neighbors.

Such findings have contributed to the new effort to broaden the way countries and individuals gauge the quality of life - the subject of the Nova Scotia conference.

But researchers have been hard pressed to develop measuring techniques that can capture this broader concept of well-being.

One approach is to study how individuals perceive the daily flow of their lives, having them keep diary-like charts reflecting how various activities, from paying bills to playing softball, make them feel.

A research team at Princeton is working with the Bureau of Labor Statistics to incorporate this kind of charting into its new "time use" survey, which began last year and is given to 4,000 Americans each month.

"The idea is to start with life as we experience it and then try to understand what helps people feel fulfilled and create conditions that generate that," said Dr. Alan B. Krueger, a Princeton economist working on the survey.

For example, he said, subjecting students to more testing in order to make them more competitive may equip them to succeed in the American quest for ever more income. But that benefit would have to be balanced against the problems that come with the increased stress imposed by additional testing.

"We should not be hoping to construct a utopia," Professor Krueger said. "What we should be talking about is piecemeal movement in the direction of things that make for a better life."

Another strategy is to track trends that can affect a community's well-being by mining existing statistics from censuses, surveys and government agencies that track health, the environment, the economy and other societal barometers.

The resulting scores can be charted in parallel to see how various indicators either complement or impede each other.

In March, Britain said it would begin developing such an "index of well-being," taking into account not only income but mental illness, civility, access to parks and crime rates.

In June, British officials released their first effort along those lines, a summary of "sustainable development indicators" intended to be a snapshot of social and environmental indicators like crime, traffic, pollution and recycling levels.

"What we do in one area of our lives can have an impact on many others, so joined-up thinking and action across central and local government is crucial," said Elliot Morley, Britain's environment minister.

In Canada, Hans Messinger, the director of industry measures and analysis for Statistics Canada, has been working informally with about 20 other economists and social scientists to develop that country's first national index of well-being.

Mr. Messinger is the person who, every month, takes the pulse of his country's economy, sifting streams of data about cash flow to generate the figure called gross domestic product. But for nearly a decade, he has been searching for a better way of measuring the quality of life.

"A sound economy is not an end to itself, but should serve a purpose, to improve society," Mr. Messinger said.

The new well-being index, Mr. Messinger said, will never replace the G.D.P. For one thing, economic activity, affected by weather, labor strikes and other factors, changes far more rapidly than other indicators of happiness.

But understanding what fosters well-being, he said, can help policy makers decide how to shape legislation or regulations.

Later this year, the Canadian group plans to release a first attempt at an index - an assessment of community health, living standards and people's division of time among work, family, voluntarism and other activities. Over the next several years, the team plans to integrate those findings with measurements of education, environmental quality, "community vitality" and the responsiveness of government. Similar initiatives are under way in Australia and New Zealand.

Ronald Colman, a political scientist and the research director for Canada's well-being index, said one challenge was to decide how much weight to give different indicators.

For example, Dr. Colman said, the amount of time devoted to volunteer activities in Canada has dropped more than 12 percent in the last decade.

"That's a real decline in community well-being, but that loss counts for nothing in our current measure of progress," he said.

But shifts in volunteer activity also cannot be easily assessed against cash-based activities, he said.

"Money has nothing to do with why volunteers do what they do," Dr. Colman said. "So how, in a way that's transparent and methodologically decent, do you come up with composite numbers that are meaningful?"

In the end, Canada's index could eventually take the form of a report card rather than a single G.D.P.-like number.

In the United States there have been a few experiments, like the Princeton plan to add a happiness component to labor surveys. But the focus remains on economics. The Census Bureau, for instance, still concentrates on collecting information about people's financial circumstances and possessions, not their perceptions or feelings, said Kurt J. Bauman, a demographer there.

But he added that there was growing interest in moving away from simply tracking indicators of poverty, for example, to looking more comprehensively at social conditions.

"Measuring whether poverty is going up or down is different than measuring changes in the ability of a family to feed itself," he said. "There definitely is a growing perception out there that if you focus too narrowly, you're missing a lot of the picture."

That shift was evident at the conference on Bhutan, organized by Dr. Colman, who is from Nova Scotia. Participants focused on an array of approaches to the happiness puzzle, from practical to radical.

John de Graaf, a Seattle filmmaker and campaigner trying to cut the amount of time people devote to work, wore a T-shirt that said, "Medieval peasants worked less than you do."

In an open discussion, Marc van Bogaert from Belgium described his path to happiness: "I want to live in a world without money."

Al Chaddock, a painter from Nova Scotia, immediately offered a suggestion: "Become an artist."

Other attendees insisted that old-fashioned capitalism could persist even with a shift to goals broader than just making money.

Ray C. Anderson, the founder of Interface Inc., an Atlanta-based carpet company with nearly $1 billion in annual sales, described his company's 11-year-old program to cut pollution and switch to renewable materials.

Mr. Anderson said he was "a radical industrialist, but as competitive as anyone you know and as profit-minded."

Some experts who attended the weeklong conference questioned whether national well-being could really be defined. Just the act of trying to quantify happiness could threaten it, said Frank Bracho, a Venezuelan economist and former ambassador to India. After all, he said, "The most important things in life are not prone to measurement - like love."

But Mr. Messinger argued that the weaknesses of the established model, dominated by economics, demanded the effort.

Other economists pointed out that happiness itself can be illusory.

"Even in a very miserable condition you can be very happy if you are grateful for small mercies," said Siddiqur Osmani, a professor of applied economics from the University of Ulster in Ireland. "If someone is starving and hungry and given two scraps of food a day, he can be very happy."

Bhutanese officials at the meeting described a variety of initiatives aimed at creating the conditions that are most likely to improve the quality of life in the most equitable way.

Bhutan, which had no public education system in 1960, now has schools at all levels around the country and rotates teachers from urban to rural regions to be sure there is equal access to the best teachers, officials said.

Another goal, they said, is to sustain traditions while advancing. People entering hospitals with nonacute health problems can choose Western or traditional medicine.

The more that various effects of a policy are considered, and not simply the economic return, the more likely a country is to achieve a good balance, said Sangay Wangchuk, the head of Bhutan's national parks agency, citing agricultural policies as an example.

Bhutan's effort, in part, is aimed at avoiding the pattern seen in the study at Harvard, in which relative wealth becomes more important than the quality of life.

"The goal of life should not be limited to production, consumption, more production and more consumption," said Thakur S. Powdyel, a senior official in the Bhutanese Ministry of Education. "There is no necessary relationship between the level of possession and the level of well-being."

Mr. Saul, the Canadian political philosopher, said that Bhutan's shift in language from "product" to "happiness" was a profound move in and of itself.

Mechanisms for achieving and tracking happiness can be devised, he said, but only if the goal is articulated clearly from the start.

"It's ideas which determine the directions in which civilizations go," Mr. Saul said. "If you don't get your ideas right, it doesn't matter what policies you try to put in place."

Still, Bhutan's model may not work for larger countries. And even in Bhutan, not everyone is happy. Members of the country's delegation admitted their experiment was very much a work in progress, and they acknowledged that poverty and alcoholism remained serious problems.

The pressures of modernization are also increasing. Bhutan linked itself to the global cultural pipelines of television and the Internet in 1999, and there have been increasing reports in its nascent media of violence and disaffection, particularly among young people.

Some attendees, while welcoming Bhutan's goal, gently criticized the Bhutanese officials for dealing with a Nepali-speaking minority mainly by driving tens of thousands of them out of the country in recent decades, saying that was not a way to foster happiness.

"Bhutan is not a pure Shangri-La, so idyllic and away from all those flaws and foibles," conceded Karma Pedey, a Bhutanese educator dressed in a short dragon-covered jacket and a floor-length rainbow-striped traditional skirt.

But, looking around a packed auditorium, she added: "At same time, I'm very, very happy we have made a global impact."

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中日之間會春暖花開嗎 A blossoming relationship?

China and Japan

A blossoming relationship?

May 6th 2008 | TOKYO
From Economist.com

Ties between China and Japan are still delicate


AP

FIRST came the “ice-breaking”, then the “ice-melting”. Now, comes the “cherry-blossom viewing”, admittedly late in the season. A succession of reciprocal visits by the two countries’ leaders have taken Sino-Japanese relations out of the cooler over the past 20 months. On Tuesday May 6th Hu Jintao began a state visit, the first trip to Japan by a Chinese president in a decade; at five days, it will also be the longest for Mr Hu. Before meeting his counterpart, Prime Minister Yasuo Fukuda, he predicted an “everlasting warm spring” between the two countries.

The temperature began to plunge in 1998, with the visit to Japan—the first ever by a Chinese head of state—of Mr Hu’s predecessor, Jiang Zemin. Mr Jiang had come demanding a fulsome written apology for Japan’s wartime past, yet as he delivered hectoring lectures on the subject, the apology never came. A growing number of Japanese had come to feel, rightly or wrongly, that their country had apologised enough for its wartime brutality. Besides, they resented the way a rising China played on war guilt to extract concessions, mainly financial, from its rich neighbour. The Communist Party, with its history of famine, purges and crackdowns, was one to talk.


Relations hit rock-bottom under Junichiro Koizumi, Japan’s prime minister from 2001-06. Top-level contacts between the two countries were suspended after Mr Koizumi began making devil-may-care visits to Yasukuni, the Tokyo shrine that honours not just Japan’s war dead but also executed war criminals.

To nearly everyone but Mr Koizumi, it was by now clear that Asia’s two biggest powers should be talking to each other. His successor, Shinzo Abe, a right-wing hawk with disturbingly unreconstructed views of Japan’s past, nevertheless broke with Mr Koizumi’s line by visiting Beijing as his first gesture in office and making clear that he would refrain from visiting Yasukuni. The Chinese were grateful. They were overjoyed when Mr Fukuda succeeded Mr Abe after a year. Mr Fukuda’s father, when he was also prime minister, had restored diplomatic relations between the two countries; Mr Fukuda fils was considered a “friend of China”, that double-edged honour. He had long criticised politicians’ visits to Yasukuni and believed that Japan’s good relations with its Asian neighbours were paramount.

Mr Hu and Mr Fukuda will have plenty to talk about. China has overtaken America as Japan’s biggest trading partner. China is hungry for know-how, and Japan thinks it can be of particular help in providing environmental technology. For Mr Fukuda, whose domestic standing is shaky, a big prize would be a Chinese commitment to tackle climate change, an important theme at the G8 summit which Japan will host in July. As for Mr Hu, he will be thankful if his visit passes without strong protests over Tibet. It came as a relief to China that the Olympic torch passed through Japan last month with relatively little kerfuffle. The news that China has reopened discussions with representatives of the Dalai Lama has eased Japanese diplomats’ worries that Mr Hu’s visit would be drowned out by protests.

As the two leaders play ping-pong and discuss a replacement panda for Ling Ling, who died at Tokyo’s Ueno Zoo last week, much will be made of improved relations. For instance, the two countries’ militaries have embarked on measures to improve confidence, including port visits by naval ships. Elsewhere, diplomats point to the way a food scare in Japan involving tainted Chinese dumplings was handled calmly by the authorities on both sides, even as hysteria was whipped up by Japan’s mass media.

Yet beneath the enforced bonhomie, abiding issues remain. One of the biggest is over gasfields in a disputed area of the East China Sea. Despite a dozen rounds of negotiations, the two countries have failed to reach agreement on joint development, thanks to touchiness about sovereignty. Originally, Mr Hu’s visit was to be the occasion for a deal.

Biggest of all, though, is the deep and angry nationalism of many Chinese, which the Communist Party bears much of the blame for fostering. For now, the nationalism is directed elsewhere, stung by European and American criticism of China’s treatment of Tibet. But it is at its most virulent when directed against Japan, as it last was three years ago in violent anti-Japanese protests in Shanghai and elsewhere. It will take a lot of ping-pong to erase the impression of many Japanese that they are loathed in China more than they are admired.