Chindia Alert: You’ll be Living in their World Very Soon
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Image copyright JEN SMITHImage caption Jen Smith lives in Shenzhen, where it’s compulsory to wear a mask outside at all times
My Money is a series looking at how people spend their money – and the sometimes tough decisions they have to make. Here, Jen Smith, a children’s TV presenter from Shenzhen in southern China, takes us through a week in her life, as the country slowly emerges from the coronavirus pandemic.
Over to Jen…
Since being in lockdown I’ve been bingeing on Keeping Up With the Kardashians. It starts with one episode after dinner, blink, and suddenly it’s 3am. YouTube, Facebook, Google and Instagram are all banned here, so you’d think I’d be a binge-free socialite after a year and a half living in China. Well, those sites are banned unless you have a VPN – I pay $120 (£97) a year for mine, so Sunday was a late night, with a lie-in until 10.30 this morning.
I go for a run – mask and all, as it’s currently illegal to be outside without one. I make my coffee (bought in the UK), fruit smoothie (about 20 yuan, $2.82, £2.27) and cereal (80 yuan a packet) before cycling to work.
Today is a bit of a crazy day in the studio. I work as a children’s TV presenter. My company has profited from the lockdown as more children are watching the shows non-stop – meaning a rapid turnaround for us.
We shoot two shows from 2-6pm then “break” for a meeting. We discuss tomorrow’s shoot while I eat dinner – homemade aubergine curry. It is normal for the Chinese to eat breakfast, lunch and dinner at work. Normally the company gives all staff 25 yuan through a food-ordering app, and the whole company would eat together. However, because of the current social distancing, that social time is in the far distant past!
I make it home for 8pm, order some deep-fried cauliflower as a snack (45 yuan) and start the inevitable Kardashian binge.
Total spend: 65 yuan ($9.10, £7.37)
Image copyright JEN SMITHImage caption Workers often have a midday nap in the office
It’s a much earlier start (7.30am), but the same morning routine. On my cycle to work I notice that the traffic is almost back to normal – Shenzhen is inhabited by well over 12 million people, so as you can imagine rush hour is intense. This doesn’t change the fact that everywhere you go you have to scan a QR code – leaving my apartment, using the walkway by the river, and getting into the building I work in.
After a morning of shooting I eat homemade potato curry and settle down for a nap. Naptime is such a commonality in China that people store camp beds at the office. I order a coffee and banana chips (20 yuan) for a pick-me-up before the afternoon’s shooting.
It’s St Paddy’s Day so I head to the local pubs area, catch dinner at a French restaurant (222 yuan), then a few drinks (25 yuan – mainly bought by men at the bar for us) before a very tipsy cycle home.
Total spend: 242 yuan ($34, £25)
Image copyright JEN SMITHImage caption A disposable cover reduces the risk of transmitting the virus by touching lift buttons
The morning’s shoot (thankfully) was cancelled, so I nursed a hangover in bed until around 11am, at which point I had a phone meeting for a company that I do “plus-size” modelling for (for context I’m a UK size 12). I eat a bowl of cereal and order more cauliflower (45 yuan) while I watch a film.
At 2.30pm an intern picks me up, and we head to the government building to apply for a new work visa. Ironically, the image taken for my visa is Photoshopped to remove wrinkles, freckles and my frizzy hair. When I ask why this is being done for an identification document, the intern replies that the government wants it to be neat, and “the Chinese way” is to have altered photos.
I don’t argue, and have an interview before I hand in my passport. The whole process takes around two hours, so I order food to my house while on the way home (150 yuan for burger, salad and cake!) I take a taxi across town which ends up being 39.05 yuan.
The day starts at 8.30am with coffee and reading, before I get a manicure (280 yuan). My nail lady has been very worried about the state of my hands during the virus, so she spends a whopping two and a half hours treating them while I watch a film (0.99 yuan – bought by her). Because the manicure was so long I don’t have time to eat lunch before our fitness shoot, which runs from 2-5.30pm. I then have an appointment to sign into a building which I’ll shoot in tomorrow.
The building is near a supermarket called Ole (one of the only western supermarkets), and I pick up groceries for 183 yuan before heading home to cook, listen to podcasts and prep for the big day of shooting on Friday.
Total spend: 463 yuan ($64, £52.5)
Image copyright JEN SMITHImage caption Jen filming in front of a green screen – a more colourful digital background will be added later in post-production
Fridays are generally my busiest day. The way the Chinese seem to function, is a boss will say “I want this done now” and then employees rush to finish it. Generally, they will write scripts on Monday and Tuesday, discuss Wednesday, then we shoot later in the week. The poor editors, despite mandatory office hours during the week, then have to work tirelessly through the weekend to achieve a Sunday evening deadline.
I start with mashed avocado and a hard-boiled egg before work. The morning shoot runs from 9.30-11.40am, and I have an early lunch – homemade curry again, before my regular nap time. The afternoon shoot is three hours, so I have time to pop home and shower before a live stream at 6pm. I take a taxi to and from the live stream which ends up being 28 yuan.
Total spend: 28 yuan ($3.92, £3.18)
Image copyright JEN SMITHImage caption A taxi driver has improvised a screen to reduce the risk of picking up Covid-19 from a passenger
Finally the weekend! Although things are slowly getting better in China after the coronavirus outbreak, there’s still not too much to do. So I use this time to write, play my piano and generally chill inside. Around 3pm, I venture outside to the shops to pick up some snacks (159.60 yuan) before settling in to ring my family back in the UK with a homemade cocktail – a friend of mine in Canada is doing a daily live stream, “quarantinis” where he teaches you how to make cocktails!
What’s interesting is that a lot of people have started leaving their houses again, but it is still illegal to go outside without a mask on, and temperature checks are taken everywhere. I was even refused entry to a building due to being foreign. I imagine this is because recently the only new cases are being brought in by non-Chinese travelling back to China.
Total spend: 159.60 yuan ($22, £18)
Image copyright JEN SMITHImage caption Shenzhen’s Metro system is still very quiet
It’s another slow day for me as many foreigners have not yet returned to China, so most of my friends are out of the country. I start the day by reviewing potential scripts.
This takes me to 1.30pm without realising I haven’t eaten. I decide to go for a quick run and I return to eat mashed avocado and a hard-boiled egg.
I home-bleach my hair with products bought in the UK, then head back to editing again. About half way through the afternoon I take a little break to practice Chinese. I use an app which is fantastic and free! Definitely worth everyone downloading this during social distancing so you can learn new skills!
For dinner I order online again, a three-dish meal for 160 yuan.
Image copyright TIKTOK/SINA WEIBOImage caption A video and associated posters went viral showing a girl making an OK signal as a subtle way of asking for help
A video showing a Chinese girl using a clever technique to signal she needs help has been widely shared on popular social network TikTok – and is making the authorities nervous.
She is shown being escorted away by a stranger in an airport. Unable to make a cry for help, she makes a subtle hand gesture that looks like the signal for “OK”.
This alerts a passerby, who immediately begins to argue with the man, and helps others recognise that the girl is being held against her will. She is then reunited with her parents.
So why has the video created such a big reaction on Chinese social media, and made the authorities so upset?
The hand gesture
Image caption The “OK” hand gesture reversed looks like the number sequence “110”
While the “OK” gesture is pretty widely understood around the world as a positive gesture, simply turning your hand so that you are facing your palm conveys a subtle message in China.
If two fingers are pressed together, your hand can look like the numbers “110” – which in China is the emergency contact number for the police.
Consequently, the video, which features actors, shows a subtle way that a child can get a message out if they are in trouble.
To push this message home, at the end of the video, a man tells viewers to “spread this gesture” so that people can signal if they are in need of help “in the event of coercion, kidnapping, or fear of your life”.
The authorities don’t like it
Image copyright PIYAOImage caption China’s top disinformation bureau said the ‘OK’ signal as a sign of distress was absolutely not OK
The video has the appearance of a public service announcement, so many social media users assumed it had the backing of the police.
The Chengdu Economic Daily says that videos being shared on TikTok predominantly attributed the footage to the police. However, the actual origins of the video are unknown.
Today, official media are spreading the message of China’s official disinformation platform Piyao, which criticises the video for being misleading, and says the police had no involvement with it.
“Such a gesture is meaningless as an alarm,” it says, and argues that it might actually be counter-productive in allowing an individual to find help if they need it.
It says that it has “never publicised or promoted such an alarm method in public”, and urges readers to follow the traditional method of calling the police if they need assistance or suspect someone else needs help.
Social media users think it’s a good idea
Despite the authorities distancing themselves from the footage and associated advertising campaigns that have suddenly sprung up on TikTok, a huge debate has broken out online about whether the simple signal might actually be effective in helping Chinese people understand if somebody is under duress.
Some on the popular Sina Weibo microblog say that “shouting for help is more practical than gestures”, and others note that the simple signal might “mislead people” and could lead to accidental interventions where none are necessary.
But in a country where tight authoritarian controls are in place and people are unable to freely speak openly, some are praising this seemingly small action to attract attention if someone’s under duress.
“In fact, this kind of gesture could really be promoted for help in the country”, one user says.
“As long as everyone is in agreement, we can still use it, it is still possible,” another says. “As long as we’re united in our understanding.”
Numbers as a symbol of rebellion
Image copyright TAOBAOImage caption Taylor Swift’s 1989 album caused problems for Chinese censors as the singer is popular, but the number “1989” is sensitive
Number sequences have long proven an effective way for social media users to criticise the authorities, without immediately alerting government censors, who regularly screen platforms for sensitive words.
People have found ways to talk about the Tiananmen Square massacre of 1989 – which the government has heavily censored for three decades – by using number sequences such as “46” (4 June), “64” (June 4) or “1989”.
The authorities have wised up to number sequences being used and are known for censoring many of these. But such strict censorship does mean that sometimes innocuous posts are removed by mistake.
Image copyright AFPImage caption During the 2014 Hong Kong protests, demonstrators showed their anger for then-leader CY Leung by calling him “689”
Cryptic number sequences and hand gestures have proven particularly effective in helping protesters in Hong Kong unite on a shared message.
Online users have been able to voice criticism of their leadership in recent years by referring to them based on the number of votes that elected them into office.
Consequently, “777” has become a nickname for Hong Kong’s chief executive Carrie Lam. Her predecessor, CY Leung, was known as “689”.
Graphic on hand signals used by protesters in Hong Kong to communicate and to keep their supply-lines stocked with vital equipment http://u.afp.com/Jsjm
As protests have dominated Hong Kong in recent months, it has also become apparent that demonstrators have been able to organise themselves by communicating subtle hand signals across crowds.
Graphics showing DIY hand signals that they can use if they need supplies such as eye masks, helmets or face masks, have circulated widely on platforms like Twitter.
Which is why a small, seemingly innocuous hand gesture, going viral in mainland China and getting huge public support, would undoubtedly unsettle the authorities.
Image copyright JEN SMITH
Image copyright JEN SMITH
Image copyright JEN SMITH
Image copyright JEN SMITH
Image copyright JEN SMITH
Image copyright JEN SMITH
CHINDIA ALERT: You'll be living in their world, very soon 