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Delicate Touch: Flight Operations Begin on China’s First Aircraft Carrier
By Andrew Erickson and Gabe Collins


Reuters

Less than a month after China officially commissioned the Liaoning, its first aircraft carrier, photos appearing to show aircraft operating over the carrier have raised a host of questions, including how long it might take for China to make the carrier fully operational.

The photo spread – published earlier this week by the Global Times, a tabloid under the aegis of the official Communist Party mouthpiece People’s Daily – includes several images of a J-15 fighter aircraft flying just above the deck of the Liaoning, as well as images of a Z-8 search-and-rescue helicopter taking off from the carrier.

The first question is what the photos actually show.

Based on the images themselves and circumstances of their publication, it’s most likely that the J-15 was performing a “touch-and-go” flight pattern when it was photographed. Because a successful aircraft launch from the Liaoning would be a major point of pride, worthy of official media confirmation barring mishaps, it seems clear that the J-15 flew in from a shore base. In addition, if the PLAN is allowing photos of any type of carrier flight operations to be published, there would be little strategic reason to only show the touch-and-goes if there had actually been a successful takeoff from the ship.

Moreover, photos meant to publicize an actual takeoff from the ship would most likely include a J-15 sitting in the launch position and an aircraft actually moving up the ramp under power (with afterburners) on its way to becoming airborne. The J-15’s orientation with respect to the deck strongly suggests touch-and-go flight, rather than a launch from the Liaoning’s “ski jump” takeoff ramp. In the photos, the aircraft has all of its wheels off the ground when it is aligned with the ramp. In contrast, Russian video of Sukhoi’s SU-33 Sea Flanker (upon which the J-15 is based) taking off from a ski-jump carrier like Liaoning reveals that the plane’s wheels do not leave the ground until it literally flies off the end of the ramp.


Global Times; Chinese Military Review; China Signpost

A major gap remains between recent touch-and-go flights and actual combat launches and recoveries. In a real operating environment at significant distance from Chinese air bases, aircraft laden with fuel and weapons will have to take off from a carrier and then later land on it. This is a complex process fraught with risks.

There are three photos that, when they emerge, will reflect how China’s carrier aviation proficiency is really progressing: Images of a J-15 landing on the carrier and coming to a complete stop by catching deck-based arresting wires; images of the fighter sitting in the launch position with engines at full afterburner; and images of the fighter actually going off the end of the flight deck.

In other words, the apparent touch-and-go operations on Liaoning are small steps toward a much bigger leap forward in achieving a fully operational carrier with a capable air wing – an objective that is unlikely to be realized for several years.

On the positive side for the People’s Liberation Army Navy (PLAN), the fact that the ship is out at sea working with fixed wing aircraft and helicopters suggests the PLAN leadership seeks to spend significant time underway and train up carrier crews. Pilots are part of a highly diverse set of personnel who must choreograph their actions very tightly for a carrier to function and be combat-effective. As such, it will be important for the PLAN to give its carrier personnel such as deck crew, air controllers, ordnance handlers, and mechanics opportunities to log significant time at sea to gain experience and improve their skills.

When a navy has only one carrier, it becomes a training carrier simply as a matter of necessity. Yet Liaoning’s outfitting with capable air defenses suggests that even if it is primarily a training ship, it might someday be capable of operational service. Precedence for this can be found in the U.S. Navy with the USS Lexington, which served to qualify student aviators and train active duty and reserve aviators from 1962-1991—and served as a sea-based filmmaking set in later years—and which briefly returned to operational status during the Cuban Missile Crisis.

Indeed, over the past few years, Chinese deck aviation development has evolved in both nature and rhetoric as Beijing gradually voiced carrier ambitions, revealed Liaoning’s refitting, commissioned this first hull, and now is beginning initial flight exercises with it. Beijing has taken pains to maintain a light touch, but is making progress that will add up over time.
Vietnam's leadership
We forgive us

Oct 16th 2012, 11:29 by L.H. | HO CHI MINH CITY

AT THE weekend a court in Ho Chi Minh City fined a mischievous drunk for causing public disorder while under the influence of alcohol. Pham Van Binh, a 43-year-old cycle-rickshaw puller, had climbed the bronze statue of General Tran Nguyen Han, a 15th-century warrior who fought Chinese occupation (pictured to the right).

He had waved at the crowd and sat on the General’s hand, stretching his criminal performance to a good 15 minutes, while as police tried their best to coax him down. They even laid out an air-mattress, in case he fell. He jumped, eventually.

Whether it was a protest or simply the antics of a wayward drunk, no one among the crowd of hundreds who watched from the nearby Banh Thanh market could be entirely sure.

The way that his arrest was reported in the official press was perhaps even more unusual, given that his shenanigans had occurred at a sensitive time. Vietnamese officials tend to abhor the slightest hint of any protest or social disorder, and particularly around prominent sites. Such incidents normally go unreported by the state-run press, even when staged in front of a vast audience.

Up north in the capital, the prime minister, Nguyen Tan Dung, was fighting to save his job. He stood in judgment before an all-important Central Committee meeting which had been dragging on for two weeks, twice as long as usual.

Twenty years ago, after the inaugural Ho Chi Minh City marathon, a drunken reveller climbed the statue of Supreme Commander Tran Hung Dao—regarded by some of his countrymen as Mongolians tend to regard Genghis Khan—with a South Vietnamese flag draped around his neck.

That merrymaker, or vandal, was beaten down by police with truncheons and taken away. Statues like these make popular rallying points for protesters who hope to remind the authorities that their grievances should not be interpreted as unpatriotic.

More recently, retired Viet Cong soldiers marched from the countryside into town to protest the prevalence of land-grabs. They carried with them a bust of Ho Chi Minh. Hundreds more protested last week on the outskirts of Hanoi, where land had been confiscated to build a satellite city.

Land-grabbing, corruption, ridiculously high rates of inflation, bank runs, the collapse of state-owned enterprises and the loss of jobs and religious freedoms have recently provided the grounds for increased protests. They take many different shapes and forms, and taken together they raised doubts about the quality of Mr Dung’s leadership.

Among his critics is General Nguyen Phu Trong, Secretary-General of the Communist Party. He emerged ahead of the meeting as a potential alternative to Mr Dung, who had been re-elected by the party for a second five-year term in July last year.

A major concern has been the personal power that Mr Dung has amassed during his time in office. This became apparent through his personal connections with senior figures from the scandal-plagued Asia Commercial Bank (ACB), the country’s biggest private-owned bank, and at the Vietnam Shipbuilding Industry (Vinashin), which lost $4.5 billion. Executives from both companies are under investigation or have been jailed for corruption.

When the 14-member Politburo at last finished their meeting, they issued a statement saying they “seriously criticised themselves and honestly admitted their mistakes”, in the words of the Party leader, Nguyen Phu Trong, who made a speech broadcast by state media. He said the central committee had decided not to impose disciplinary measures “for the whole Politburo and a member of the Politburo”.

For the time being, at least, Mr Dung has held onto his job. The chorus of discontent is growing louder and bolder, a sign in itself of dissatisfaction from within his own party. Mr Dung is on notice. The statue of Tran Nguyen Han was unharmed, by the way, and Mr Binh made off with a fine of just $36.
Chùa Diên Hựu - Một Cột: Lịch sử và biểu tượng
Chủ nhật, 08 Tháng 4 2012

Được biết di tích lịch sử văn hóa chùa Diên Hựu - Một Cột sắp được tu bổ, tôn tạo, thế nhưng trước nay những tư liệu cổ về ngôi chùa hầu như chưa được khai thác toàn diện, dẫn đến nhiều kiến giải khiên cưỡng về biểu tượng này.

Vốn là người yêu quý lịch sử Thăng Long – Hà Nội, tôi xin đưa ra một số ý kiến về nguồn gốc, phong cách kiến trúc cũng như ý nghĩa văn hóa của chùa Diên Hựu - Một Cột với hy vọng sẽ được những người có trách nhiệm trong việc trùng tu lưu ý, hầu mong tránh được những sai lầm đáng tiếc.



Theo dấu thư tịch cổ

Tư liệu đầu tiên và cổ nhất hiện biết về chùa Diên Hựu là văn bia Đại Việt quốc Lý gia đệ tứ đế Sùng Thiện Diên Linh tháp bi (năm 1121) đời vua Lý Nhân tông. Văn bia mô tả rất kỹ kiến trúc chùa trong lần trùng tu lớn trước đó 16 năm như sau: “Mở rộng chùa Diên Hựu ở viên lâm phía tây cấm thành, noi theo quy chế cũ trước đây, nhưng thực hiện những mưu tính mới theo ý vua, đó là đào ao sen Linh Chiểu, giữa ao vọt lên một cột đá. Trên đỉnh cột đặt hoa sen ngàn cánh, trên hoa đặt vững một tòa điện tía. Trong điện đặt tượng Quan Âm dát vàng. Bên ngoài ao có hành lang vẽ vây quanh, bên ngoài vòng hành lang là ngòi nước biếc, mỗi mặt đều bắc cầu vồng đi thông vào. Nơi cây cầu ở sân phía trước, hai bên đầu cầu có hai ngọn bảo tháp lợp ngói lưu ly”. (Thác bản hiện lưu trữ tại Viện Nghiên cứu Hán Nôm, ký hiệu 32724 – 32725)

Tư liệu thứ hai là bài thơ viết về chùa Diên Hựu của Thiền sư Huyền Quang (1254 -1343), trong bài có hai câu tả thực:

Xi vẫn đảo miên phương kính lãnh
Tháp quang song trĩ ngọc tiêm hàn


(Hình xi vẫn ngủ ngược trên gương nước lạnh
Đôi bóng tháp thon vút như ngón tay ngọc giá băng)

Tư liệu thứ ba là Đại Việt sử ký toàn thư (từ đây gọi tắt là Toàn thư) nói về thời điểm làm chùa và giải thích tên chữ Hán của chùa: “Năm Kỷ Sửu, niên hiệu Thiên Cảm Thánh Vũ năm thứ 6 (1049). Mùa đông tháng 10, dựng chùa Diên Hựu (mãi mãi tốt lành). Trước đây vua (Lý Thái Tông) nằm mơ thấy Phật Quan Âm ngồi trên đài sen dẫn vua lên đài. Đến khi tỉnh dậy nói lại với quần thần, có kẻ cho là điềm bất tường. Có vị thiền sư là bậc mẫn tuệ khuyên vua làm chùa, dựng cột đá giữa mặt đất, làm đài sen và tượng Quan Âm ở đỉnh cột như đã thấy trong mộng, cho các sư đi vòng quanh tụng kinh cầu cho vua được trường thọ. Cho nên đặt tên như vậy”. Toàn thư cũng ghi nhận các lần trùng tu chùa Diên Hựu vào các năm 1101, 1106, 1249.

Một tư liệu nữa do Phạm Đình Hổ cung cấp qua Vũ Trung tùy bút (bản R.1609 Thư viện Quốc gia). Ông cho biết: “Chùa Diên Hựu ở thời Lý tục gọi là chùa Một Cột, nằm ở bên ngoài cửa Bạch Hổ của hoàng thành, về phía Đông Nam trường Thái Hòa.”

Trạng nguyên nhà Mạc là Trần Tất Văn trong bài ký ứng chế Diên Hựu tự ký có tả đại lược như sau: “Một cây cột đá sừng sững giữa ao sen, trên dựng chênh vênh một ngôi lầu, bốn mặt có hành lang vòng quanh.” Xem những lời đó có thế biết quy chế to lớn diễm lệ của nó. Từ trung hưng đến nay, ao sen hoang tàn, hành lang đổ nát, chỉ còn cây cột, trên đỉnh cột có tòa lầu nhỏ, trong thờ tượng Phật Quan Âm Thiên Thủ Thiên Nhãn, phía trước có bắc cây cầu vồng lợp mái cong. Ngôi tiền điện phía nam ao lợp bằng tranh tre. Năm Ất Sửu niên hiệu Gia Long (1805), đắp thành Thăng Long, cây cầu vồng bị triệt bỏ, cảnh chùa càng thêm hoang phế. Dân cư tương truyền, bùn đất trong ao lẫn vô số kể kim sắt…, người ta cho là nơi Cao Biền trấn yểm.



Ngoài ra, tại thư viện Viện nghiên cứu Hán Nôm còn lưu giữ một văn bản chép nguyên văn một văn bia mang tên Nhất trụ tự bi, mang số hiệu 20917, có niên đại Cảnh Trị năm thứ 3 (1665), do Hòa thượng Tỳ khưu Lê Tất Đạt ghi. Nội dung như sau: “Nước Việt ta trước đây trong phủ Long Biên có một cái hồ vuông. Niên hiệu Hàm Thông (nguyên bản chép là Phong) nguyên niên nhà Đường (860) dựng một cột đá giữa hồ, làm lầu ngọc ở trên cột, đặt tượng Phật Quan Âm để phụng thờ. Địa khí chung đúc linh thiêng, điều cầu xin bao giờ cũng được. Đến triều Lý dựng đô ở đây, cũng nhân theo đó càng thêm tôn kính, rất là linh dị. Khi vua Lý Thánh Tông chưa có hoàng tử, thường hương khói cầu tự ở đây. Một hôm ngài mộng thấy Phật Quan Âm dắt lên trên lầu, bế một đứa trẻ đặt vào lòng ngài. Tháng đó Hoàng thái hậu liền có mang hoàng tử. Vua bèn làm thêm ngôi chùa Diên Hựu ở bên hữu chùa Một Cột, để mở mang việc thờ phụng, để tỏ rõ sự tôn sùng. Trải bốn triều đại tu sửa đều nhân theo đó, cùng hưởng phúc hà sa”.

Tuy nhiên văn bản này không đủ độ tin cậy nên chúng tôi không sử dụng. Từ các tư liệu trên chúng tôi xin được đưa ra một số ý kiến về chùa Diên Hựu – Một Cột như sau:

Phải chăng chùa Diên Hựu mô phỏng kiến trúc chùa Một Cột ở Hoa Lư?

Ban sơ, khi xây dựng chùa Diên Hựu, trước chùa, người ta cho dựng một cột đá lớn trên mặt đất với đỉnh cột là tượng Phật Quan Âm ngồi trên tòa sen. Lối kiến trúc này cho phép liên tưởng đến cấu tạo của các Phật tràng, kinh tràng– một loại kiến trúc Phật giáo, thường được dựng lên để kiến tạo công đức. Loại kiến trúc này bắt đầu thịnh hành vào thời Đường, lan truyền đến Triều Tiên, Nhật Bản và Việt Nam. Thời Đinh - Lê ở nước ta, kinh tràng được tạo dựng khá nhiều, Nam Việt vương Đinh Liễn từng dựng 100 tòa kinh tràng vào năm Quý Dậu (973).

Phật tràng, kinh tràng, đa số là hình bát giác, gồm ba phần đỉnh thân và đế. Trên các mặt của thân chàng thường có khắc kinh phật; chân đế chạm khắc hoa lá, vân mây, sóng nước; đỉnh chạm khắc tượng phật, bồ tát… Hiện đã phát hiện 14 kinh tràng loại nhỏ ở kinh đô Hoa Lư Ninh Bình, ngoài ra còn một kinh tràng lớn cao hơn 3 m, do Đại Hành Hoàng đế Lê Hoàn dựng tại chùa Một Cột ở Hoa Lư, trên các mặt của kinh tràng này khắc bài chú trong Kinh Lăng Nghiêm và một số bài kệ. Chùa Một Cột ở Hoa Lư vốn là ngôi chùa cổ thời Tiền Lê, được xây dựng theo kiểu chữ “Đinh”, hướng chính Tây, kiến trúc bao gồm cột kinh, chính điện, nhà tổ, phòng khách, nhà ăn, tháp…

Sách Ninh Bình toàn tỉnh địa chí khảo biện do Vân Bồng Đỗ Tử Mân soạn vào năm 1862 cho biết, đến bấy giờ (1826), “tại hai xã Trường Yên Thượng và Trường Yên Hạ ở phía tây bắc huyện Gia Viễn vẫn còn thấy rõ cấu trúc nội thành ngoại thành cùng dấu tích và tên gọi của Cáp Môn, Cầu Đông, Cầu Dền, Cầu Mống, Đình Ngang, Trường Tiền, Chùa Tháp, Chùa Một Cột.” Đặc biệt sách cho biết, “còn một cái cột đá vừa cao vừa to, khắc kinh phật, rêu phủ không thể đọc hết, có lẽ là di tích của chùa Một Cột”. Vậy phải chăng, khi kinh đô được dời ra La thành, ban đầu nhà Lý đã mô phỏng kiến trúc kinh đô Hoa Lư? Và mẫu chùa Diên Hựu ban đầu, với kinh tràng đặt trước chùa - chính là được mô phỏng theo chùa Một Cột ở kinh đô Hoa Lư?


Chùa Một Cột ngày nay chỉ là một phần trong quần thể kiến trúc chùa Diên Hựu

Chùa Diên Hựu – Một Cột là một kiến trúc Phật giáo được xây dựng trong viên lâm phía tây Hoàng thành, thuộc khu vực vườn Bách Thảo và Bảo tàng Hồ Chí Minh hiện nay. Dựa vào cảnh quan tự nhiên nơi đây, người ta đào hồ đắp núi, trồng cây cối hoa lá, thả chim muông làm thành một khu vườn lớn riêng cho vua quan hoàng tộc nhà Lý. Dấu tích núi Sưa, các hồ nước ở khu vực Bách thảo, sông Ngọc Hà… ngày nay rất có thể là dấu vết còn lại của viên lâm Hoàng thành. Được biết viên lâm tồn tại qua thời Lê sơ, bởi vua Lê thánh tông từng có câu thơ tả khu vườn cảnh này sau mưa: Viên lâm vũ quá lục thành ác [Viên lâm sau mưa, lá xanh thành bức rèm]. Đến thời Lê - Trịnh, vua Lê thất thế, khu viên lâm không người coi sóc, bị bỏ hoang phế, dân cư lấn chiếm dần. Thời kỳ này chúa Trịnh cho kiến trúc khu viên lâm khác rất nổi tiếng gọi là Kỳ viên, gắn liền với kiến trúc phủ chúa, từng được Phạm Đình Hổ nhắc đến trong Vũ trung tùy bút.

Như trên đã nói thì chùa Một Cột ngày nay chỉ là một phần trong quần thể kiến trúc chùa Diên Hựu, đó nguyên là một Phật tràng được kiến tạo phía trước chùa, với cấu tạo là một cột đá bát giác dựng trên mặt đất (sân trước chùa), đỉnh cột là đài sen và tượng Quan âm (chưa có điện thờ).

Năm 1106, chùa Diên Hựu được vua Lý Nhân tông cho trùng tu mở rộng, trở thành quần thể kiến trúc lớn. Riêng Phật tràng trước sân chùa được thêm vào những nét mới. Phật tràng được đặt giữa một hồ vuông thả sen gọi là hồ Linh Chiểu, trên đỉnh cột là tòa sen mạ vàng. Giữa tòa sen là ngôi điện sơn màu tía, sườn nóc điện có gắn hình tượng xi vẫn để trang trí và tỵ tà. Trong điện đặt tượng Phật mạ vàng. Vây quanh hồ sen là hành lang sơn vẽ, vòng ngoài hành lang là hào nước xanh biếc, mỗi mặt đều bắc cầu vồng để đi vào, ở sân phía trước, hai bên đầu cầu dựng hai ngọn tháp lợp ngói lưu ly.

Đến đầu thời Trần, chùa được trùng tu vào năm 1249, vẫn giữ nguyên kiến trúc của lần trùng tu năm 1106.

Đến thời Mạc, có lẽ tòa sen trên Phật tràng đã hư hỏng nên không thấy tư liệu nhắc đến tòa sen nữa, chỉ còn “Một cây cột đá sừng sững giữa ao sen, trên dựng chênh vênh một ngôi lầu, bốn mặt có hành lang vòng quanh”.

Sau thời kỳ Trung hưng của nhà Lê, cùng với sự suy tàn của viên lâm, chùa Diên Hựu hư hỏng dần. Theo ghi chép của Phạm Đình Hổ thì chùa Diên Hựu lợp bằng tranh tre, chùa Một Cột thì ao sen hoang tàn, hành lang đổ nát, chỉ còn cây cột, trên đỉnh cột có tòa lầu nhỏ, trong thờ tượng Phật Quan Âm Thiên Thủ Thiên Nhãn và một cây cầu vồng lợp mái cong phía trước.

Đến năm Ất Sửu niên hiệu Gia Long (1805), đắp thành Thăng Long, cây cầu vồng bị triệt bỏ, dấu tích kiến trúc của chùa Một Cột – Phật tràng thời Lý gần như không còn.

Theo sách Lịch sử thủ đô Hà Nội (Trần Huy Liệu chủ biên – Nxb Sử Học. 1960) thì chùa Một Cột được trùng tu vào khoảng những năm 1840-1850 dưới thời Nguyễn, không rõ lần trùng tu này ra sao. Năm 1922 chùa lại được trùng tu. Ngày 11/9/1954, chùa bị đặt mìn phá hủy, chỉ còn cây cột với mấy cái xà gỗ. Sau khi tiếp quản Hà Nội, Chính phủ Việt Nam DCCH cho phục dựng chùa như hiện nay.



Có khả năng chùa Diên Hựu nằm trên huyệt mạch quan trọng của Long thành?

Như trích dẫn từ Toàn thư ở phần đầu bài viết, chùa Diên Hựu được xây vào năm 1049 để giảm nhẹ sự bất tường và tạ ơn đức Phật. Điều này cho phép hiểu rằng sự tồn tại của chùa Diên Hựu mang lại sự may mắn và an lành cho Quốc chủ và Long thành.

Từ xa xưa, người Thăng Long vẫn truyền tụng, khu vực phía tây hoàng thành Thăng Long từng bị Cao Biển trấn yểm. Mạch núi đất kéo từ núi Nùng (khu vực điện Kính Thiên) đến khu vực công viên Thủ Lệ ngày nay bị cắt đoạn đứt nối chính là dấu tích của sự kiện này.

Phải chăng sau khi định đô ở Thăng Long, khi dò tìm được huyệt mạch bị trấn yểm, nhà Lý đã cho xây chùa và đặt một Phật tràng lớn ở đây để giúp hóa giải và điện an kinh đô? Tên chùa được đặt là Diên Hựu mang ý nghĩa kéo dài mãi mãi sự tốt lành cho kinh đô. Trong lần trùng tu năm 1106, để khai thông huyệt mạch, người ta đã đào ao Linh Chiểu để Phật tràng ở vào vị trí chính giữa ao. Ao được đặt là Linh Chiểu (Ao Thiêng) có lẽ để nói về sự linh thiêng của nơi này (điều này cũng lý giải vì sao bùn đất trong ao có lẫn rất nhiều kim sắt). Đồng thời, cùng với việc mở rộng chùa, vua Nhân tông cũng bắt đầu thực hiện nghi tiết tắm Phật rất long trọng để cầu an cho kinh đô và đất nước vào mồng một hàng tháng tại đây, nghi tiết này sau trở thành lệ thường.

Chùa Một Cột trong thời Lê Sơ, thời Mạc và sau khi nhà Lê trung hưng tuy không còn vị trí như ở thời Lý - Trần, song vẫn được giữ gìn coi trọng, những lời lẽ ca ngợi sự thiêng liêng của chùa của văn thần nhà Lê và nhà Mạc chứng tỏ đây vẫn thực sự là chốn thiêng. Thời Lê mạt, chùa bị bỏ hoang tàn. Không bao lâu nhà Lê mất, Thăng Long mất vị trí là kinh đô.

Năm 1955, sau khi được phục dựng, chùa Một Cột được coi như biểu tượng của Hà Nội trong nhiều thập kỷ. Chỉ từ khi Đổi mới đến nay, ý nghĩa đó mới phai nhạt dần.

Kết luận

Qua những gì đã trình bày ở trên, theo chúng tôi, chùa Diên Hựu - Một Cột không chỉ là một di tích lịch sử văn hóa quan trọng của Thăng Long – Hà Nội mà còn là một biểu tượng tâm linh. Do đó, việc trùng tu chùa Diên Hựu – Một Cột là vô cùng cấp thiết, và phải là một cuộc đại trùng tu để đưa chùa Diên Hựu – Một Cột trở lại nguyên diện mạo ban đầu của nó. Tuy nhiên cuộc đại trùng tu này không thể được tiến hành một cách vội vàng như đã làm ở các di tích khác. Do trùng tu sửa chữa tùy tiện, chúng ta đã mất đi hàng loạt ngôi chùa quý giá quanh Hồ Tây như Trấn Quốc, Kim Liên, Tây Hồ, Tảo Sách, Trích Sài, Võng Thị… cùng rất nhiều di tích quý giá khác trên khắp đất nước từng góp phần tạo nên bộ mặt văn hóa tinh thần của người Việt Nam. Để chùa Diên Hựu – Một Cột trở lại đúng với tầm vóc của nó, hãy thận trọng trong đợt trùng tu này, cần tham khảo ý kiến đóng góp của những nhà chuyên môn thực thụ và sử dụng kinh phí thật thích đáng. Nếu chưa thể làm lớn, chúng ta chỉ nên sửa chữa nhỏ và chờ cho đến khi hội dủ điều kiện, chứ đừng vội vã kẻo di họa cho hậu thế.

Trần Thị Kim Anh
Norodom Sihanouk, Cambodian Leader Through Shifting Allegiances, Dies at 89
By ELIZABETH BECKER and SETH MYDANS
Published: October 14, 2012



Stephen Shaver/Agence France-Presse
Norodom Sihanouk was crowned king in 1941 and held on to some form of power for 60 years. During the Vietnam War he tried to keep his country neutral, but was invaded by Communists.


Norodom Sihanouk, the charismatic Cambodian leader whose remarkable skills of political adaptation personified for the world the tiny, troubled kingdom where he was a towering figure through six decades, died early Monday in Beijing. He was 89.

The death was announced by Deputy Prime Minister Nhiek Bunchhay, quoted by news services. The former king had been dogged by ill health for years and regularly traveled to China for treatment.

King Sihanouk was crowned in 1941, when Franklin D. Roosevelt was president, and held on to some form of power for the next60-plus years. He served as monarch, prime minister, figurehead of the Communist revolution, leader in exile, and once again as monarch until he abdicated in 2004. He handed the crown to one of his sons, Norodom Sihamoni, after which he was known as the retired king, or the king-father.

He survived colonial wars, the Khmer Rouge and the intrigues of the cold war, but his last years were marked by expressions of melancholy, and he complained often about the poverty and abuses of what he called “my poor nation.”

Alternately charming and ruthless, he dazzled world leaders with his political wit and, in the process, raised the stature of his small Southeast Asian nation. He won independence for Cambodia from the French colonial rulers in 1953, using diplomacy and repression to outmaneuver his domestic rivals but without resorting to war, as his neighbors in Vietnam had done.

He put his nation on a modern footing in the 1960s, especially bolstering the education system, but his Buddhist socialist agenda did poorly and produced economic stagnation.

When the Vietnam War threatened to engulf the region, he tried to carve out a neutral role for Cambodia, siding neither with the Communists nor the United States. But when the Vietnamese Communists began using the port of Sihanoukville and Cambodia’s eastern border to ship military supplies on what was known as the Ho Chi Minh Trail, he took steps to repair relations with the United States. He turned a blind eye when the Nixon administration undertook a secret bombing campaign in 1969 against the border area of Cambodia. But this only furthered unsettled his country and led to a coup that ousted him the next year.

Convinced that the United States had been behind the overthrow, King Sihanouk allied himself with the Khmer Rouge at the urging of his Chinese patrons, giving the Cambodian Communists his prestige and enormous popularity. Their victory in 1975 brought the ruthless Pol Pot to power, with King Sihanouk serving, for the first year, as the figurehead president until he was placed under house arrest and fell into a deep depression. Over the next four years, the Khmer Rouge regime led to the death of 1.7 million people and nearly destroyed the country.

Criticized throughout his life for these dramatic shifts in allegiances, King Sihanouk said he followed only one course in politics: “the defense of the independence, the territorial integrity and the dignity of my country and my people.”

In fact, he skillfully manipulated the great powers, usually with the support of China, to ensure his survival as well as his country’s independence. His worst nightmare, he said in an interview, was to be pushed out of his country’s political life into a quiet retirement, like Vietnam’s last empower, Bao Dai, who died in obscurity in Paris in 1997.

Instead, King Sihanouk returned in 1993 as monarch and head of state after an accord brokered by the United Nations ended nearly 14 years of war in Cambodia.

Even in his darkest moments, the king never lost his flair for flamboyance or his taste for the finer things. As a young ruler and the scion of one of Asia’s oldest royal houses, he gained a well-deserved reputation as a playboy, a gourmand and an amateur filmmaker.

In his years in exile with his wife, Queen Monique, he kept his Cambodian movement alive by lavishly entertaining diplomats and foreign officials with Champagne breakfasts and elaborate French meals.

Denied any active role in government, he contented himself with the ceremonial position of king, still revered by many peasants.

Occasionally he interfered in politics. He undermined Prince Norodom Ranariddh, another son, by forcing him to accept a position as co-prime minister after winning the first postwar democratic election in 1993. Prince Ranariddh was ousted from that position in a coup by the other co-prime minister, Hun Sen, who became the country’s dominant power during King Sihanouk’s final years.

Norodom Sihanouk was born in Phnom Penh, the Cambodian capital, on Oct. 31, 1922. A prince of the Norodom branch of the royal family, he was never considered a serious candidate to gain the throne. Instead, he was seen as a sensitive, if lonely, prince with a serious gift for music and, later, a passion for film.

He received a first-rate French education, initially at a primary school in Phnom Penh and then at the Lycee Chasseloup-Laubat in Saigon, the best in colonial Indochina. He was only 18 when King Monivong died in 1941 and the French colonial powers tapped him as the unlikely successor.

France had surrendered to Nazi Germany and was under Vichy control, worried that it would also lose its Indochinese colonies to Japan. The prince seemed the most malleable candidate, the one who would obey the dictates of French colonial officials.

For the first three years, King Sihanouk, a true francophile, met all their expectations. As World War II engulfed Asia, he was a loyal partner of the French colonial administrators, who collaborated with Japan and hoped to fend off a nascent Cambodian independence movement.

In those early years, King Sihanouk seemed uninterested in government. He filled his days pursuing women and, in the tradition of his forebears, had several consorts who eventually bore him at least 13 children.

But in March 1945, as they were losing the war, the Japanese sought to oust the French in Cambodia. King Sihanouk stepped forward on the side of Japan and declared Cambodia the new independent state of Kampuchea. With Japan’s defeat, King Sihanouk welcomed back the French, largely ignoring the growing number of Cambodians who thought their country should remain independent.

By his own account, the king did not pick up the banner of independence again until 1951, using it to fend off challenges from democratic and Communist movements demanding an end to French colonialism.

Taking advantage of the increasing French weakness from Communist victories in neighboring Vietnam, King Sihanouk persuaded the French to make Cambodia independent in November 1953 in advance of the 1954 Geneva peace conference that led to a divided Vietnam.

Then in a cunning move, King Sihanouk announced he would give up the throne to run in his country’s first independent elections. Through a combination of repression, rigging and reliance on the votes of peasants who still considered him a god-king, his party swept the elections, and he set about creating Cambodia anew.

His brand of politics evolved into a one-party rule with some dissidents and rival parties pulled into his umbrella political party, the People’s Socialist Community. The towers of Angkor decorated the country’s new flag, one of the many ways that King Sihanouk used the massive temple complex at Angkor as a visible reminder that Cambodia was once the premier state and culture of the region.

He maintained strong ties to France, hiring French experts to help run his government and French teachers for his schools. In Phnom Penh, he nurtured a cafe society of intellectuals while he left the countryside in what he considered a more or less bucolic state but that was, in fact, a backward region of grinding poverty.

In contrast to its neighbors — Vietnam to the east, with its war, and Thailand to the west, with its disfiguring modern development and militarisn — Cambodia appeared to be a welcome oasis throughout the 1960s, with now Prince Sihanouk presiding as charming, benevolent despot, treating his citizens like devoted children.


Associated Press
Mr. Sihanouk, left, marking the 15th anniversary of National Independence, in Phnom Penh on Nov. 9, 1968.


At the same time, he was imprisoning and sometimes executing opponents or driving others — notably the Communist leader Solath Sar, who would become Pol Pot — into exile and fueling discontent that fed growing political opposition and eventually armed insurrection.

Stories about King Sihanouk’s extravagance became a staple of the diplomatic circuit, especially as he turned his hand to his first loves — music and film. He entertained guests at his exclusive parties on his saxophone and embarked on a film career, eventually producing 19 movies for which he was director, producer, scriptwriter, composer and often leading man.

All the while he was head of state of a country increasingly squeezed by the Vietnam War. He took his place as one of the leaders of the nonaligned movement of newly independent nations — Egypt and India among them — hoping to emerge from poverty and avoid taking sides in the cold war. Yet he also accepted the outstretched hand of China, which was convinced that the United States posed a military threat to its borders.

Crystallizing Cambodia’s hopes for avoiding entanglement was a speech in 1966 by the French president, Charles de Gaulle, in Phnom Penh calling for the end of the Vietnam War and the neutrality of Indochina. He paid King Sihanouk the ultimate compliment by saying Cambodia and France were alike, with “a history laden with glory and sorrow, an exemplary culture and art, and a fertile land with vulnerable frontiers.” But the war would spill across Cambodia’s border.

With King Sihanouk’s acquiescence, the Vietnamese Communists used Cambodia for its logistics. When the Vietnamese sanctuaries expanded, he only mildly objected to the United States’s secret bombing of them. That bombing campaign was later cited in the articles of impeachment drawn up but never used against President Richard M. Nixon.

Despite the growing unrest in Cambodia, King Sihanouk was unprepared for his overthrow in 1970 by Prince Sirik Matak, a cousin, and Gen. Lon Nol. Supported by the United States, the new government immediately allowed American troops to invade Cambodia from Vietnam.

The invasion ignited protests around the world, including those at Kent State University in Ohio, where national guardsmen killed four students. After his ouster, King Sihanouk fled to Beijing, where Chinese leaders persuaded him to join forces with Pol Pot’s Khmer Rouge, the group of Cambodian Communists that had been seeking to overthrow him since the ’60s.

Although King Sihanouk had aggressively pursued the Khmer Rouge, arresting and often torturing them, he was so stung by the betrayal of the coup plotters that he agreed to head their resistance. His name and appearance in propaganda films and booklets helped the Communists recruit peasants in Cambodia and gave respectability to their cause in diplomatic circles. In the end, King Sihanouk helped bring Pol Pot to power.

The Khmer Rouge won in 1975 and immediately began a reign of terror. Cambodians were ordered out of the towns and cities and sent to grueling work camps and farms in the countryside. Cambodia was cut off from the rest of the world. Society was destroyed, with all religion and professions outlawed.

Intellectuals, monks and anyone deemed a political enemy were murdered. Tens of thousands of people died of treatable diseases, overwork or starvation.

King Sihanouk was the titular president during the first year of the Khmer Rouge rule. He said he had resigned a year later and was put under house arrest with his consort, Princess Monique, in one of the palaces. There he listened to world news on a radio and, he said, at times wanted to commit suicide.

IHe was rescued when the Vietnamese invaded Cambodia and overthrew the Khmer Rouge in 1979. But rather than turn against Pol Pot, King Sihanouk went to the United Nations and defended him, saying the country’s enemy was Vietnam.

For the next 12 years, King Sihanouk provided a fig leaf of respectability for the Khmer Rouge as they and several nonCommunist groups tried to evict Vietnam from Cambodia in the name of national liberation. The United States, China and the Association of Southeast Asian Nations supported King Sihanouk, who maneuvered himself into a pivotal role in the final negotiations. Lined up against him, the Khmer Rouge and the rest of the resistance were Vietnam, the Soviet Union and Hun Sen, who was then the head of the Cambodian government established under the Vietnamese occupation.

With the end of the cold war, Cambodia was no longer hostage to great power politics. The United Nations negotiated a settlement to the war in 1991, and national elections were held two years later. King Sihanouk returned to Phnom Penh to a thunderous welcome, encouraging him to believe he could become a powerful chief of state once again. But other Cambodian politicians, including his own children, did not want him back in control.

A party led by Prince Norodom Ranariddh won the elections. Hun Sen’s party came in second; the Khmer Rouge boycotted the elections. Furious that he had lost, Hun Sen and his surrogates threatened to reignite the war. King Sihanouk stepped in and persuaded the United Nations to create the position of co-prime minister for Hun Sen, effectively nullifying his son’s victory. However, King Sihanouk was returned to the throne and became king-father for the rest of his life.

Chastened, he maintained that he had been above the fray throughout, attempting to duplicate the role of national unifier played by King Bhumibol Adulyadej in neighboring Thailand.

But for the most part, King Sihanouk sided with Hun Sen, his political son. Toward the end of his life, the king reduced his once hectic travel schedule and rarely ventured outside Asia. Beijing, where the Chinese government maintained a villa for him, was his most frequent destination.

Michael Leifer, a professor at the London School of Economics, wrote that “the powerful myth of Sihanouk contributed to the people of Cambodia and the international community” repeatedly turning to him “as the font of national unity.”

He added: “The record of the man, however, would suggest a greater facility for reigning than for ruling. He has been more at home with the pomp and circumstance of government than with its good practice.”
Nguyen Chi Thien


Nguyen Chi Thien, a Vietnamese poet, died on October 2nd, aged 73

Oct 13th 2012 | from the print edition

THE poems were under his shirt, 400 of them. The date was July 16th 1979, just two days—he noted it—after the anniversary of the fall of the Bastille. Freedom day. He ran through the gate of the British embassy in Hanoi, past the guard, demanding to see the ambassador. The guard couldn’t stop him. In the reception area, a few Vietnamese were sitting at a table. He fought them off, and crashed the table over. In a cloakroom nearby, an English girl was doing her hair; she dropped her comb in terror. The noise brought three Englishmen out, and he thrust his sheaf of poems at one of them. Then, calm again, he let himself be arrested.

Thus Nguyen Chi Thien sent his poems out of Communist Vietnam. They were published as “Flowers of Hell”, translated into half a dozen languages, and won the International Poetry Award in 1985. He heard of this, vaguely, in his various jails. In Hoa Lo, the “Hanoi Hilton”, one of his captors furiously waved a book in his face. To his delight, he saw it was his own.

He was not strong physically. He contracted TB as a boy; his parents had to sell their house to pay for his antibiotics. Then since 1960, on various pretexts—contesting the regime’s view of history, writing “irreverent” poetry—he had done several long spells in prison and labour camp. Hard rice and salt water had made him scrawny and thin-haired by his 40s. Internally, though, he was like steel: mind, heart, soul. Sheer determination had forced him through the British embassy that day. In fact, the more the regime hurt him, the more he thrived:

They exiled me to the heart of the jungle
Wishing to fertilise the manioc with my remains.
I turned into an expert hunter
And came out full of snake wisdom and rhino fierceness.

They sank me into the ocean
Wishing me to remain in the depths.
I became a deep sea diver
And came up covered with scintillating pearls.


The pearls were his poems. He kept his early efforts in a table-drawer where he found them later, the paper gnawed by cockroaches. The mind’s treasury was a safer place for them. It was also, for almost half his life, the only place he had. In prison he was allowed no pen, paper or books. He therefore memorised in the night quiet each one of his hundreds of poems, carefully revised it for several days, and mentally filed it away. If it didn’t work, he mentally deleted it. If it started to smell bad—like the one about Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam’s first Communist leader—he turned it into a stinging dart instead:

Let the hacks with their prostituted pens
Comb his beard, pat his head, caress his arse!
To hell with him!


Walking out to till the fields with his fellow prisoners, many of them poets too, he would recite his poems to them and they would respond with theirs. Some of them counted the beats on their fingers to remember. He never did; memory alone served him. It saved him, too. After 1979 he spent the best part of eight years in solitary, in stocks or shackles in the dark. His poems became sobs, wheezes, bloody tubercular coughs. But in his mind he still set out fishing, and watched dawn overtake the stars. He sniffed the jasmine and hot noodle soup on a night street in Hanoi. He remembered his sister Hao teaching him French at six—what a paradise the French occupation seemed, in retrospect!—and went swashbuckling again with d’Artagnan and his crew. That way, he kept alive.

Drinking with Li Bai

A favourite prison companion was Li Bai, the great poet of eighth-century China. He would sup wine with him from amber cups, loll on chaises longues, watch pretty maidens weaving silk under the willow trees and the peach blossoms falling. He would talk to the moon with him and get wildly, romantically drunk. There was a flavour here of his own careless youth, his teahouse years of girls and smoking. Both he and Li Bai had offended the emperor, mocked the education system, and been punished. But somehow the oppressions of the distant past seemed bearable. Not so the acts of Vietnam’s red demons, with their nauseating loudspeaker jingles about Happiness and Light.

Out of prison, Li Bai-like, he dealt in rice brandy for a while, and tried to sell bicycle spokes. He could not make a go of it. From 1995 he managed to get shelter in America. He lived humbly in Little Saigon in Orange County, California, lodging with fellow countrymen. Green tea and smoking remained his chief comforts. A flat cap or a fedora were his trademarks. He had nothing to share but his poems and his memories of fellow poets, whose cattle-trodden graves now dotted the hills around the labour camps. That, and his roaring hatred of the regime in his country, where his writings remained banned.

If people could see his heart, he had written back in 1964, during his first spell in prison, they would see it was an ancient pen and inkstand, gathering dust; or a poor roadside inn, offering only the comfort of an oil lamp. But it was also a paddy field waiting for the flood-rains of August,

So that it can overflow into a thousand waves,
White-crested ones that will sweep everything away!

I can still remember vividly the day - when I was seven - my relatives gathered at my house after my mother's funeral . One of them held me tightly and whispered in my ears " tôi nghiệp cháu tôi ..."


When Words Do Not Suffice
By DIANA BLETTER
Published: October 12, 2012


MY best friend never made it to his favorite beach this past summer — but his 20-year-old daughter, Jessica, did. She’s an orphan now, having lost her mother to multiple sclerosis when she was 11 and her father, Dave, to non-Hodgkins lymphoma this past June.

Dave’s mother was taking care of Sam, Jessica’s autistic brother, in their apartment in New York City so that Jessica, at college in Wisconsin, could go with me to Montauk. It was the beach she went to every summer with her family when her parents were still alive.

It was a glittering day. The beach was already dotted with sunbathers and as we spread out our towels, I thought how I’d known Jessica since she was born and I’d met Dave years before that. He was the brother I wished I had: smart, athletic and outrageous. One time, in our 20s, we rode the crowded, hushed elevator in Tiffany’s on Fifth Avenue — Dave and I were both exchanging gifts — and I blurted out, “Dave, how could you even think I’d marry you when the ring you gave me was so small?”

I could feel the other passengers hanging onto every word. Without missing a beat, he said, “If I hadn’t spent all that money on your bail I could have bought you a bigger ring.”

“Tell me everything you remember about my Dad,” Jessica said now as I smeared sunscreen on her back.

I told Jessica some of the stories that I was sure she already knew. I’d grown up on Long Island and met Dave, who grew up in New York City, at a college preparatory program the summer we were 16.

We both returned to the same college the following year and though he majored in engineering and I was a literature major, we sometimes studied together, drinking bad coffee and pulling all-nighters, watching the sun rise in the morning. Our friendship lasted through my tall arrogant first boyfriend and his short sweet first girlfriend. It lasted through my marriage, his marriage, my kids, his kids, and the death of his wife, Laura.

And then I remembered the morning two years ago when Dave sat with me on this Montauk beach, saying he had non-Hodgkins lymphoma. He told me he was scared to die. That, I didn’t tell Jessica. Instead, I told her about the time Dave caught her singing in the bathtub when she was about four. He was happy to hear her until he realized she was singing, “My mother can’t walk and my brother can’t talk.”

Jessica was quiet, face down into the sand.

“You can cry,” I whispered.

“I can’t,” she said, her head buried in the crook of her arm.

After a time, we got up, walked along the shore, then jumped into the Atlantic.

“The worst thing will be when I’m back at college and I meet new people and they’ll ask me what my parents do,” Jessica said as we walked back to our towels. “I hate having to explain.”

“Maybe you can say, ‘I don’t even know,’ and laugh it off,” I said. “You’re from New York City. People in the Midwest probably think you’re weird, anyway.” She tried that a few times but she sounded like an actress awkwardly rehearsing strange lines.

We lay in the sand until late afternoon. I remembered my last conversation with Dave, when he told me he was ready to die. “Think of me,” he had said and I thought of him now as Jessica told me she wanted to scatter his ashes, alone. She had promised Dave she’d do that: it was the same thing he had done with her mother’s ashes, right there.

I left Jessica and called Dave’s mother, back home with Sam, who asked, “Did you take care of Dave?”

“Jessica’s taking care of him now,” I said. But what did that mean? How can the living ever take care of the dead? And how can we ever repay them for everything they gave us? I imagined Dave’s ashes falling on the sand, scattering like stars, poked here and there with stubborn pieces of bone.

Then I remembered how, when I’d lost my father when I was 27, an aunt hugged me and whispered, “You poor, poor child.” More than 30 years later, I could still hear the discomforting thud of those words. I’d been searching for the right thing to say to Jessica and it occurred to me now that words were useless: they were never wide enough or consoling enough to wrap around an orphan’s grief.

So when Jessica joined me, I said nothing. All I could offer her was this heartbreakingly perfect day at the beach, with the white ribbon of waves arriving on shore and then departing. Coming and going. It was everything Dave loved and he was not here with us now to see it. But he was here now forever.

Diana Bletter is author of the forthcoming memoir, “The Mom Who Took Off On Her Motorcycle.”
October 11, 2012,
The Dangers of Allowing an Adversary Access to a Network
By JOHN MARKOFF


The Trojan Horse, as depicted on Greek pottery. The Trojan Horse in modern cyberspace is still something to be feared.G. Dagli Orti/De Agostini, via Getty Images The Trojan Horse, as depicted on Greek pottery. The Trojan Horse in modern cyberspace is still something to be feared.

Schoolchildren learn the tale of the Trojan Horse, the giant gift in which Odysseus and a platoon of 30 Greek soldiers hid to gain access to the heavily defended city.

Thousands of years later, it remains a thoroughly modern concept that is increasingly found at the heart of cyberwarfare strategies. Modern Trojan horses are computer code or vulnerabilities hidden in software or hardware that would allow a spy or an attacker to gain access to an adversary’s computers and networks. Find a way to be invited into the computers of your enemy’s weapons and military systems and you can render them useless in the face of an attack.

For more than a decade, Pentagon officials have been anxious about the growing reliance by the United States electronics industry on Chinese manufacturers. As the Internet has become the nation’s critical infrastructure weaving together commerce and power systems and even military command and control, it has become increasingly unthinkable to have a foreign presence in the network. Their fear is that those building and maintaining the network could build in a Trojan horse.

Thus it was striking that the word “Trojan” was not mentioned in a 52-page report issued Monday by the House Permanent Select Committee on Intelligence focusing on the activities of two giant Chinese telecommunications firms, Huawei and ZTE, which have long been suspected of having links to the Chinese government. Beijing has been suspected of trying to steal American corporate and government secrets through computer espionage.

Stuxnet, a surreptitious program that was reportedly designed by United States and Israeli intelligence agencies to afflict the Iranian nuclear enrichment program, had many of the properties of a highly sophisticated Trojan horse. The program was at the heart of a concerted effort to delay or destroy the Iranian Natanz nuclear fuel facility. The attack damaged centrifuges and might have provided a surveillance window into Iranian activities by giving Western intelligence agencies unfettered access to the desktop computers of Iranian project managers.

The program acted as a Trojan horse, perhaps delivered first on a USB memory stick, that then spread through computer networks inside the secret facility before reaching the outside world. A striking map of the paths followed by Stuxnet infection created by researchers at Symantec, the Silicon Valley computer security firm, indicates that Stuxnet actually broke out of Natanz, rather than breaking in, just as the Greek soldiers climbed out of the horse at night.

Possibly because the United States is making Trojan horses, that term — if it exists in the House report on Huawei and ZTE — is said to be found only in a classified annex to the report that has not been made available.

The published report consists of a series of allegations about the activities of the companies, including bribery and surveillance, but little hard evidence. Reports of “suspicious” incidents, including an ostensible case of “beaconing” from Cricket, a Texas wireless operator that uses Huawei equipment, have been heatedly denied by Huawei.

If this issue is important enough, said Richard A. Clarke, who served as the nation’s counterterrorism overseer in both the Clinton and George W. Bush administrations, there should be ways of declassifying the information. “They’re making important accusations,” he said. “Important accusations require important proof.”

According to several former government officials, the real issue is not what has happened in the past but rather what might happen if Huawei gear were widely used in American telecommunications networks. Such use would mean that the company would have to serve and fix the network, requiring extensive access for its technical personnel to telecommunications networks in the United States.

The danger in letting your potential adversary maintain your network has already been demonstrated, according to Mr. Clarke, who wrote in “Cyber War: The Next Threat to National Security and What to Do About It.” In 2007, a remarkably sophisticated computer attack by Israel rendered Syrian antiaircraft radar useless. Israeli aircraft were able to destroy a Syrian nuclear reactor without any response from the country’s military. He says it was vulnerable because the Syrians had relied on outsiders to maintain the network.

Mr. Clarke disputes a recent New Yorker article that asserted that the bombing attack was supported by conventional electronic warfare, which involves jamming or deceiving an enemies’ radar with high-powered radio waves. “Regular electronic warfare fills the frequencies with static and overpowers the frequencies,” he said. “That wakes people up. That didn’t happen. The Syrians didn’t notice the jamming of their radars.”

In 2009, The New York Times reported that an American semiconductor industry executive who claimed to have direct knowledge of the operation said that technology for disabling the radars had been supplied by Americans to the Israeli electronic intelligence agency, Unit 8200.

If his account is true, it may be the real reason that the government has worked so hard to make sure that American computer networks are not made in China.
Why Wi-Fi In The Sky Just Got Ridiculously Expensive

Think it's crazy now? It's going to get much worse before it gets better.

Allison McCann BuzzFeed Staff


If you're flying between New York and San Francisco on Virgin America, getting online coast-to-coast using in-flight Wi-Fi could now cost you as much as $60. You can actually fly to another place from San Francisco for that much money.

Before you get all everything is amazing and nobody is happy, inflight Wi-Fi is awesome — but spending $60 on a cross country flight for internet speeds that can't stream Netflix (or post to BuzzFeed — I tried) is not so awesome. A PandoDaily journalist was the first to notice that Gogo's standard fare of $15 for the day (or $12.70 if you buy ahead of time) wasn't available on his Virgin America flight from San Francisco to New York, and instead cost $10 per hour.

"We've been experimenting with different pricing on the flights we've seen with heavier use, to make sure pricing keeps up with demand," a spokesperson for Gogo explained to me. "There's a limited amount of bandwidth on the plane, so we want to make sure the pricing reflects the demand on any given flight."

In other words, people are actually using in-flight Wi-Fi now — and there's enough demand, on certain flights, that Gogo can charge more. Low supply + high demand = higher prices. Gogo has seen a 25 percent increase in inflight usage this year, up from 4.3 percent of flyers in the first six months of 2011 to 5.4 percent in the first six months of 2012. Five percent of all flyers doesn't really make it seem like inflight Wi-Fi is in high demand, but this number is for every flight with Gogo. Shorter flights might have usage rates of 1 percent, but the Virgin flights from SF to NY are up to 26 percent of passengers. A lot of people chomping on tiny bit of bandwidth is the reason Gogo either has to hike its rate or change its system altogether.

The problem with Gogo's prices stems from the fact each flight has a limited amount of bandwidth — about 3 megabits per second, or slower than what any smartphone made post-2008 is capable of — which it can't change. Back in 2006, Gogo (formerly Aircell) purchased the exclusive rights to the air-to-ground (ATG) spectrum from the FCC and FAA for $31.3 million. They were the first to get into the inflight Wi-Fi game, and because of this, no other service can touch the 150 skyward facing towers that Gogo has scattered across the country. In ATG transmissions, radio waves from the ground send a signal up to a small antenna on the plane as you travel from tower to tower, which explains why internet speeds can vary throughout the course of a flight. But because Gogo is working with a fixed spectrum, there's only so much bandwidth to go around — which explains why it's experimenting with prices on Wi-Fi-heavy flights. Pointedly, Gogo remained mum about exactly which routes and carriers will be affected. "You will start to see more time-based pricing, rather than purely segment-based products from us," said the Gogo spokesperson.

"It's another clever tactic to ensure quality bandwidth," IMS Research analyst Rose Yin told me. "But it's really testing the market to see how far you can push." In a survey of 1,000 passengers traveling domestically, IMS found that people thought $4 to $5 for inflight Wi-Fi was the average value for their money, though they'd still be willing to pay $7 to $10. Anything above $12 is getting too expensive — and these amounts didn't vary much between longer and shorter flights. These amounts weren't necessarily what people paid, but what they thought about paying those prices for inflight Wi-Fi.

The reaction to Gogo's $10 per hour rate is pretty spot on, then, because it's about as much as people are willing to pay (for an hour). And since alternative options are limited — Gogo currently services 1600 aircrafts across nine different airlines including Virgin America, Delta, and US Airways — there's a good chance you're flying with Gogo. While other airlines are starting to journey into the complicated world of streaming internet onto a metal beast speeding 500 miles per hour 35,000 feet in the air, it's going to be awhile before passengers can fly around Gogo's monopoly (pun intended).


Source: gogoair.com

The advantage of the ATG spectrum is in reaching the masses — the towers are already in place and there's very little installation downtime for the airline — which means it's easy for Gogo to get in-flight service installed in a lot of planes, fast. And Gogo's monopoly on ATG means that everyone else has to use a satellite system — which entails leasing bandwidth from a satellite server, building a system on each individual aircraft and heavy FAA regulations — an endeavor that is "not for the faint of heart," says JetBlue's director of product development, Jamie Perry, which recently announced that it will be offering free Wi-Fi on select flights in 2013.

JetBlue and Southwest are among the few airlines that have opted for something other than Gogo. Southwest has consistently offered $5 inflight Wi-Fi per device on select flights, regardless of duration, in part thanks to its novel Row 44 system. Row 44, like any other satellite-based system, sends a signal from a ground station up to one of the hundreds of satellites orbiting the Earth, which then broadcasts that signal as a series of beams across the U.S. The aircraft picks the signal up like someone running through sprinklers. A bigger, heavier antenna on the plane (than Gogo's ATG) catches that signal, moves it to a modem and turns this into an internet connection. BAM, Wi-Fi in the sky.

Because there are so many satellites — each with dozens of transponders — airlines operating outside of Gogo's spectrum service don't have to manage the number of people who can access inflight Wi-Fi. And once an airline is set up, they're in a much better position to offer faster Wi-Fi to customers. "We are not trapped inside a bandwidth box, we can release as much as we need in a given region at given time," Row 44's chief technology officer, John Guidon, told me.

Where things differ between Southwest and JetBlue, or Row 44 and ViaSat (JetBlue's new partner) is which network the satellite operates on — the Ku band or the Ka band. Row 44 uses the Ku band, a more established satellite infrastructure that's been around for decades. ViaSat, on the other hand, hopes to take advantage of a newer, cheaper-per-bit system on the Ka band. ViaSat claims that one satellite on the Ka band is equivalent to 100 on the Ku band, which is why JetBlue will be able to offer free Wi-fi. "The ViaSat 1 offers the most capacity in the sky," Don Buchman, ViaSat's director of mobile broadband, said. How fast? "Greater than 12Mbps, which is on par with Wi-Fi speeds on the ground."

IMG=http://s3-ec.buzzfed.com/static/enhanced/web05/2012/10/3/11/enhanced-buzz-24208-1349278724-11.jpg]
As good as the Ka band sounds (and more important, the free Wi-Fi), this type of system is so new there really isn't much infrastructure to support everyone on the Ka spectrum yet. (Even Gogo has plans to implement satellites on the Ka band in the future.) In addition to Ka's unseen advantages, JetBlue will only start offering in-flight testing this January and hopes to see its first aircraft with Wi-Fi in the months following. A full fleet? Maybe two years.

"When there's a more established base of Ka in orbit and when the antenna manufacturers and terminal have produced a good and readily usable system, there will be opportunities for Ka in aviation," said Row44's Guidon.

What this all means for you is that it's going to be awhile before Wi-Fi is treated "like Coke and peanuts," which is what ViaSat's Buchman envisions for JetBlue. And now that we expect to surf in the sky, Gogo can keep pushing up the price of inflight Wi-Fi until the competition catches up.

"About a third of respondents already indicated they have chosen to fly with one airline because it offered inflight Wi-Fi," said IMS's Yin about their survey. "And over a third who did not, would consider doing so in the future." Added to all the other arbitrary fees the airlines tack on, it's almost enough to start to make travelers want to stay on.
Why Wi-Fi In The Sky Just Got Ridiculously Expensive

Think it's crazy now? It's going to get much worse before it gets better.

Allison McCann BuzzFeed Staff


If you're flying between New York and San Francisco on Virgin America, getting online coast-to-coast using in-flight Wi-Fi could now cost you as much as $60. You can actually fly to another place from San Francisco for that much money.

Before you get all everything is amazing and nobody is happy, inflight Wi-Fi is awesome — but spending $60 on a cross country flight for internet speeds that can't stream Netflix (or post to BuzzFeed — I tried) is not so awesome. A PandoDaily journalist was the first to notice that Gogo's standard fare of $15 for the day (or $12.70 if you buy ahead of time) wasn't available on his Virgin America flight from San Francisco to New York, and instead cost $10 per hour.

"We've been experimenting with different pricing on the flights we've seen with heavier use, to make sure pricing keeps up with demand," a spokesperson for Gogo explained to me. "There's a limited amount of bandwidth on the plane, so we want to make sure the pricing reflects the demand on any given flight."

In other words, people are actually using in-flight Wi-Fi now — and there's enough demand, on certain flights, that Gogo can charge more. Low supply + high demand = higher prices. Gogo has seen a 25 percent increase in inflight usage this year, up from 4.3 percent of flyers in the first six months of 2011 to 5.4 percent in the first six months of 2012. Five percent of all flyers doesn't really make it seem like inflight Wi-Fi is in high demand, but this number is for every flight with Gogo. Shorter flights might have usage rates of 1 percent, but the Virgin flights from SF to NY are up to 26 percent of passengers. A lot of people chomping on tiny bit of bandwidth is the reason Gogo either has to hike its rate or change its system altogether.

The problem with Gogo's prices stems from the fact each flight has a limited amount of bandwidth — about 3 megabits per second, or slower than what any smartphone made post-2008 is capable of — which it can't change. Back in 2006, Gogo (formerly Aircell) purchased the exclusive rights to the air-to-ground (ATG) spectrum from the FCC and FAA for $31.3 million. They were the first to get into the inflight Wi-Fi game, and because of this, no other service can touch the 150 skyward facing towers that Gogo has scattered across the country. In ATG transmissions, radio waves from the ground send a signal up to a small antenna on the plane as you travel from tower to tower, which explains why internet speeds can vary throughout the course of a flight. But because Gogo is working with a fixed spectrum, there's only so much bandwidth to go around — which explains why it's experimenting with prices on Wi-Fi-heavy flights. Pointedly, Gogo remained mum about exactly which routes and carriers will be affected. "You will start to see more time-based pricing, rather than purely segment-based products from us," said the Gogo spokesperson.

"It's another clever tactic to ensure quality bandwidth," IMS Research analyst Rose Yin told me. "But it's really testing the market to see how far you can push." In a survey of 1,000 passengers traveling domestically, IMS found that people thought $4 to $5 for inflight Wi-Fi was the average value for their money, though they'd still be willing to pay $7 to $10. Anything above $12 is getting too expensive — and these amounts didn't vary much between longer and shorter flights. These amounts weren't necessarily what people paid, but what they thought about paying those prices for inflight Wi-Fi.

The reaction to Gogo's $10 per hour rate is pretty spot on, then, because it's about as much as people are willing to pay (for an hour). And since alternative options are limited — Gogo currently services 1600 aircrafts across nine different airlines including Virgin America, Delta, and US Airways — there's a good chance you're flying with Gogo. While other airlines are starting to journey into the complicated world of streaming internet onto a metal beast speeding 500 miles per hour 35,000 feet in the air, it's going to be awhile before passengers can fly around Gogo's monopoly (pun intended).


Source: gogoair.com

The advantage of the ATG spectrum is in reaching the masses — the towers are already in place and there's very little installation downtime for the airline — which means it's easy for Gogo to get in-flight service installed in a lot of planes, fast. And Gogo's monopoly on ATG means that everyone else has to use a satellite system — which entails leasing bandwidth from a satellite server, building a system on each individual aircraft and heavy FAA regulations — an endeavor that is "not for the faint of heart," says JetBlue's director of product development, Jamie Perry, which recently announced that it will be offering free Wi-Fi on select flights in 2013.

JetBlue and Southwest are among the few airlines that have opted for something other than Gogo. Southwest has consistently offered $5 inflight Wi-Fi per device on select flights, regardless of duration, in part thanks to its novel Row 44 system. Row 44, like any other satellite-based system, sends a signal from a ground station up to one of the hundreds of satellites orbiting the Earth, which then broadcasts that signal as a series of beams across the U.S. The aircraft picks the signal up like someone running through sprinklers. A bigger, heavier antenna on the plane (than Gogo's ATG) catches that signal, moves it to a modem and turns this into an internet connection. BAM, Wi-Fi in the sky.

Because there are so many satellites — each with dozens of transponders — airlines operating outside of Gogo's spectrum service don't have to manage the number of people who can access inflight Wi-Fi. And once an airline is set up, they're in a much better position to offer faster Wi-Fi to customers. "We are not trapped inside a bandwidth box, we can release as much as we need in a given region at given time," Row 44's chief technology officer, John Guidon, told me.

Where things differ between Southwest and JetBlue, or Row 44 and ViaSat (JetBlue's new partner) is which network the satellite operates on — the Ku band or the Ka band. Row 44 uses the Ku band, a more established satellite infrastructure that's been around for decades. ViaSat, on the other hand, hopes to take advantage of a newer, cheaper-per-bit system on the Ka band. ViaSat claims that one satellite on the Ka band is equivalent to 100 on the Ku band, which is why JetBlue will be able to offer free Wi-fi. "The ViaSat 1 offers the most capacity in the sky," Don Buchman, ViaSat's director of mobile broadband, said. How fast? "Greater than 12Mbps, which is on par with Wi-Fi speeds on the ground."

IMG=http://s3-ec.buzzfed.com/static/enhanced/web05/2012/10/3/11/enhanced-buzz-24208-1349278724-11.jpg]
As good as the Ka band sounds (and more important, the free Wi-Fi), this type of system is so new there really isn't much infrastructure to support everyone on the Ka spectrum yet. (Even Gogo has plans to implement satellites on the Ka band in the future.) In addition to Ka's unseen advantages, JetBlue will only start offering in-flight testing this January and hopes to see its first aircraft with Wi-Fi in the months following. A full fleet? Maybe two years.

"When there's a more established base of Ka in orbit and when the antenna manufacturers and terminal have produced a good and readily usable system, there will be opportunities for Ka in aviation," said Row44's Guidon.

What this all means for you is that it's going to be awhile before Wi-Fi is treated "like Coke and peanuts," which is what ViaSat's Buchman envisions for JetBlue. And now that we expect to surf in the sky, Gogo can keep pushing up the price of inflight Wi-Fi until the competition catches up.

"About a third of respondents already indicated they have chosen to fly with one airline because it offered inflight Wi-Fi," said IMS's Yin about their survey. "And over a third who did not, would consider doing so in the future." Added to all the other arbitrary fees the airlines tack on, it's almost enough to start to make travelers want to stay on.
Photographer An-My Lê: 2012 MacArthur Fellow

Photographer An-My Lê was named a MacArthur Fellow in 2012. The Fellowship is a $500,000, no-strings-attached grant for individuals who have shown exceptional creativity in their work and the promise to do more.

An-My Lê received B.A.S. (1981) and M.S. (1985) degrees from Stanford University and an M.F.A. (1993) from Yale University. Since 1998, she has been affiliated with Bard College, where she is currently a professor in the Department of Photography. Her work has been exhibited at such venues as the Museum of Modern Art, MoMA PS1, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Museum of Contemporary Photography, Chicago, and the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, among others.

http://www.macfound.org/press/press-releases/23-macarthur-fellows-announced/


Hong Kong's $500 million marriage proposal

By Kent Ewing

HONG KONG - As Hong Kong's increasingly assertive gay community last week launched Pink Season - a two-month-long festival intended to celebrate LGBT (lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender) lifestyles in the city - organizers received a huge if inadvertent boost from an aging tycoon who is also a noted playboy and homophobe.

Cecil Chao Sze-tsung, the 77-year-old owner of property developer Cheuk Nang (Holdings), also chose last week to make his public offer of HK$500 million (US$64.5 million) to any man who could win the hand of his openly lesbian daughter, Gigi.

The tycoon, who boasts that he has slept with 10,000 different women, announced his extravagant marriage bounty after reports from Beijing a week earlier quoted Gigi, 33, as saying she had "wed" her same-sex partner of the past seven years, Sean Eav, five months ago during a holiday in France.

Her revelation created some confusion, as the laws of France do not allow same-sex marriage, although civil unions are sanctioned. But such fine distinctions appeared to matter little to the elder Chao, who dismissed "false reports" of his daughter's union with Eav and said of his HK$500 million manhunt: "It just offers her one more choice in life. She is in charge to make the final decision. People have been mistaken in thinking that I would pick the man for her. How is it possible? It's not Romeo and Juliet, and I won't stop her from seeing anyone."

As for Gigi, executive director of Cheuk Nang and a well-known socialite in her own right, she is taking Daddy's eccentric behavior in stride. Saying she was "touched" by his offer, she would neither confirm nor deny a civil union with Eav. Instead, she asked the Hong Kong media to pass along birthday greetings to her father, who turned 77 last Saturday.

"Please wish him a very happy birthday," she said. "His baby girl will always find him the most handsome man in the known universe and irreplaceable as a father and love him very much."

Those words of affection notwithstanding, Chao's daughter was clearly annoyed by the 1,500-plus proposals she has received on social-networking sites and called on her father to shut down his campaign to find her a husband, adding: "I'm sure Daddy is enjoying being the king, seeing all these handsome men from distant lands beg for his daughter's hand. I hate to be the one bursting his daydream bubble but, hello, it's 2012."

So far, dad and daughter have not talked directly to each other about their differences over Gigi's future love life but have chosen instead to communicate through the gossip-hungry media in this city of 7.1 million people. That shouldn't surprise anyone who has followed the shamelessly flamboyant life of one of Hong Kong's most notorious Lotharios.

Chao's boast of bedding 10,000 women may be nothing more than macho bravado - and, whatever the count, surely it has diminished considerably as he enters his late 70s. In his younger years and well into middle age, however, Chao did his utmost to establish a reputation as Hong Kong's Casanova.

Although he never married, Chao has three children by three different women. Gigi, his only daughter, is the product of a liaison with former actress Yiu Wai.

The woman many regard as Chao's most impressive catch - the beautiful Vietnamese-American model Terri Holladay, who bore him a son - believed she had wed the property magnate in 1993 in Singapore but, when the couple fell out two years later, the Singapore ceremony was found to have no legal validity.

Chao's prolonged fling with Holladay, 30 years his junior, made him the darling of Hong Kong's racy tabloids, a role he obviously relished. Even as a septuagenarian, he is loath to see the tabloid spotlight cast on other geriatric epicures among Hong Kong's multimillionaires.

Last year, after another aging tycoon - Lam Kin-ming, chief executive of Crocodile Garments Ltd - posed for a Hong Kong magazine in the company of a bevy of adoring floozies, Chao answered back on the pages of a rival magazine that ran photos of him cavorting with bikini-clad models.

If all this seems a bit silly, embarrassing and immature for a man who is supposed to be gaining wisdom in his golden years - well, it is.

Ironically, however, Chao's latest publicity stunt may serve to benefit the very LGBT group it is meant to slight. For years, Hong Kong's gay community has lived in the shadows of a city that, despite its long history of interaction with the West, regarded homosexuality as a perversion. Now, thanks to Chao, gay-rights activists have a new and much-improved poster girl: his daughter, who has politely, lovingly but firmly refused his HK$500 million bribe.

Meanwhile, however, Hong Kong continues to offer virtually no legal protection against discrimination to Gigi Chao or anyone else like her. The city did not decriminalize consensual sex between men until 1991 - and, even then, set the age of consent at 21 (as compared with 16 for heterosexuals) and ignored lesbianism altogether.

In 2006, after Hong Kong's High Court ruled the higher age of consent for homosexual men unconstitutional, the government - then led by chief executive Donald Tsang Yam-kuen, a devout Catholic - launched an appeal of that judgment, which failed.

At the time, gay-rights advocates celebrated this decision as the beginning of the end of discrimination against the city's LGBT community. But progress has been slow coming.

Hong Kong's Legislative Council, the city's mini-parliament, recently enacted anti-discrimination legislation, but it covers only racial minorities and ignores sexual orientation. Employers can - and still do - fire employees who do not fit the heterosexual mold, and homosexuality remains mostly a taboo subject among Hong Kong families.

But there are signs of change. Beyond events like Pink Season - regarded by most people as a strange sideshow - there is increasing evidence of a shift in attitudes. For example, Hong Kong now has its first openly homosexual legislator - Raymond Chan Chi-chuen of the radical People Power coalition, although it should be noted that Chan waited until after his election last month to come out of the closet.

Skittish and belated though it may have been, Chan's announcement nevertheless represents another crack in the wall of traditional prejudices against homosexuality, and the cracks are getting wider. A recent University of Hong Kong survey shows that, contrary to popular perception, a majority of people in the city are either "accepting" or "somewhat accepting" of homosexual or transgender colleagues in the workplace and that a much larger majority, 85%, want to see greater acceptance of LGBT lifestyles in general.

Clearly, Cecil Chao is not part of that majority - but his daughter is, and Hong Kong supports her.

Hello, this is 2012.

Kent Ewing is a Hong Kong-based teacher and writer. He can be reached at kewing56@gmail.com Follow him on Twitter: @KentEwing1.
(South China) Sea of Problems: A Question of Energy Security
Why China Should Devote Energy Into Regional Security
by Hemant Sreeraman
August 22, 2012

Apart from the overlapping lines drawn on the map, contours of confrontation are beginning to appear in the territorial disputes in the South China Sea (“SCS”). The dispute, careening towards a military flashpoint that potentially threatens to destabilize the region, revolves around considerations of energy security overlapped on China’s longer-term aspirations of playing a larger role in regional geopolitics.

The Energy Angle, SCS Hydrocarbons in Context


To appreciate the importance of the issue of energy security, it would be useful to briefly direct attention at the region through the lens of energy considerations. According to BP’s Statistical Energy Review, the Asia-Pacific region accounted for a meager 2.5% of global proved reserves of oil in 2011, but accounted for a little over a third of global consumption. On the natural gas front, Asia-Pacific made up 8% of global proved reserves and accounted for c.18% of global consumption. The Asia-Pacific region is the world’s largest energy consumer, accounting for nearly 40% of global consumption. Since 2001, Asia-Pacific’s oil and natural gas consumption has grown at over twice the growth rate for total world consumption. BP forecasts Asia-Pacific’s consumption to continue to grow at over twice the world consumption growth rate, through 2030. China is a far bigger player and a massive guzzler of oil and natural gas (charts, below).





The economic stakes are high. As Asia guzzles ever-increasing amounts of oil and natural gas, securing steady sources of energy supplies will assume critical importance. Energy security would reduce dependence on sources from distant geographies, often muddled in strife of their own, and confer significant geopolitical leverage upon the endowed.

Believed to be lying below the waters are deposits of natural gas and oil. Reserve estimates vary widely from a low of 28 billion barrels to a high of 213 billion barrels; the latter, if true, would catapult the SCS to third in the global league tables of proved oil reserves, behind Saudi Arabia. There is a 50% chance that the waters hold 3.8 trillion cubic meters of natural gas, which is a shade under a quarter of Asia-Pacific’s present proved natural gas reserves. The SCS serves as an important transit pathway for natural gas and oil movements in the region. The value of the ship borne trade is estimated at US$5 trillion annually.

China: Dialogue Over Arsenal

For China, the SCS is a matter of sovereignty. Overlapped on economic considerations, China’s keenness in exercising influence is comprehensible. The SCS could provide succor to the energy parched economic behemoth, which is a net importer of oil and natural gas, and afford it an opportunity to project its authority on the region. The hydrocarbon angle also holds interest to two other net importers of oil claiming overlapping interests in the region, Vietnam and the Philippines. Brunei and Malaysia, the other players in the fray, are net exporters of oil and natural gas.

This is China’s opportunity to project strategic leadership and raise its influence to a higher plane, within the region and more broadly, among the world. A slovenly attitude bordering on belligerence at this critical juncture would severely undermine credibility, not only among regional peers but also global geopolitical rivals. In order to emerge as a responsible participant in the global sphere, it is imperative for China to choose dialogue over arsenal.

Prospects of a collective resolution to the problem, possibly moderated by the ASEAN, appear dim, given the historical deadlock among regional stakeholders. The failure of the July 2012 ASEAN Foreign Ministers’ Meeting in putting out a Joint Communiqué, for the first time in forty-five years, should have come as no surprise, as the realistic probability of eking out a consensus on the South China Sea issue was slim. The only statement released, the Six-Point Principles on the South China Sea, made two explicit references to the United Nation Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS). A point that China contends does not apply to the present situation, which it claims revolves around historical sovereignty.

China’s preference for bilateral talks over multilateral consensus building is understandable, as it proffers greater negotiating leverage over individual smaller nations, thanks to its superior economic positioning. Whether bilateral talks would be aimed at achieving multilateral accord, remains draped in speculation. China is likely to continue to use bilateral diplomacy to win support among smaller non-claimant nations, combined with covert displays of understated aggression, to guide its policy posture in the situation.

China’s sense of timing in escalating the issue, amid the backdrop of upcoming elections in the USA, bears traces of opportunism. It would, however, have to balance this with the high-level leadership transition at home, which carries with it its own interest-group idiosyncrasies. It is in China’s interest to keep USA from intervening in the situation. A belligerent posture towards the ASEAN bloc is likely to exacerbate the situation, by driving smaller nations into USA’s arms. Consequently, China will deem it appropriate to adopt, or at least convey, a temperate stance. There is much at stake, should skirmishes lead to all-out confrontation; which, while low probability, could potentially be a high-impact event with severe repercussions for China and the region. It is difficult to see China pushing this to the region’s pain point. The military and strategic costs would be too high.

USA: The Vigilant Observer

The USA’s National Security Strategy explicitly recognized China’s emergence as a geopolitical influence to be reckoned with, in addition to its emergence as an economic power. USA’s “pivot” to Asia signals its concerns in managing China’s rapid emergence in the global power rivalry. Washington faces pressing multiple escalation/de-escalation questions heading into election period. The FDR era isolationism/interventionism debate may re-emerge on the ‘East Questions’ – Israel-Iran, Syria in the Middle East and the South China Sea in the Far East. It seems likely that the USA may feel obliged to intervene on the premise of protecting its interests, ostensibly commercial but also geopolitical, in the region.

Having played a pivotal role on the international sphere for nearly a century, the USA would be wary of instigating actions that cede control to rivals, particularly China. USA intervention could potentially imperil the bilateral relationship between the USA and China, where a degree of nervousness lurks below a layer of harmony, threatening to lead to a cataclysmic rift. Areas of disagreement abound on both sides, with China being suspicious of USA’s attempts at stymieing its military and economic ascendancy. Beijing’s recent rejoinder in response to Washington’s statement on the issue, where the latter took umbrage to the establishment of a military garrison in the city of Sansha, is indicative of China’s rather dismissive posture towards covert USA participation.

Consequently, continued military brinkmanship by China would play into USA’s hands. This would give the latter an excuse to project itself on the situation, on the side of the smaller nations in the ASEAN bloc. As long as China projects a conciliatory stance towards its neighbors, the USA would be hard pressed to clothe its participation in diplomatically palatable terms, whether internationally or at home. Domestic electoral politics notwithstanding, the USA would do well to assume the role of a vigilant observer in the conflict, and let regional stakeholders eke out a peaceful solution.

Vietnam & the Philippines: Few Alternatives

Vietnam and the Philippines have few alternatives. In its strong condemnation over the non-issuance of the Joint Communiqué, Philippines referred to China as the ‘northern neighbor’ and plainly spelt out the need for multilateral resolution over bilateral discussions, a route which China prefers strongly. The troika’s tit-for-tat actions, which witnessed them extending invitations to oil companies in June/July 2012 to explore in contested overlapping waters in the SCS, further added fuel to simmering differences. The smaller nations are justifiably worried about shifting balance of powers in the region. Their attempt at internationalizing the problem is at loggerheads with China’s efforts at regionalizing the issue. This impasse could swiftly escalate in the absence of proactive dialogue.

Vietnam and the Philippines’ trade dependence on China confer upon these nations weaker negotiating leverage relative to China, on the economic sphere. Moreover, they lack the individual military might to take China head-on in an armed confrontation. They have little to gain and much to lose by adopting this course of action. Given the power differential, the optimal path ahead for the smaller neighbors would be to pursue a course of constructive multilateral dialogue. In several ways, the smaller nations have a hedge in the USA, should China opt to escalate confrontational rhetoric. Given the potential of this development, China ought to reconsider overplaying its hand.

Leadership At A Critical Juncture: China Should Devote Energy Into Regional Security


Troubles, meanwhile, are brewing between China and Japan over the Senkaku Islands (Diaoyu Islands) in the East China Sea. The intensity of statements, from China, risks another territorial dispute between the two historically edgy neighbors spiraling out of control. Chinese activists made their way to the Islands and the Chinese media promptly seized the situation to fan nationalist sentiments. When Japan activists reciprocated, anti-Japan protests erupted in China. Territorial questions tend to easily stoke nationalistic feelings among citizens, which becomes a cagey issue for governments to handle beyond a tipping point.

On one hand China claims this is a question of sovereignty, and thus outside the purview of UNCLOS; on the other hand it demonstrates an earnestness to assert its territorial claims in the region, so it has a hedge under the aegis of the UNCLOS. China should resist the urge to escalate military maritime forcefulness and devote energy into regional security. Its assertiveness would be welcome, if directed at achieving a multilateral solution to the issue and within the purview of the basic tenets of international law.

Some form of equitable distribution and joint development of hydrocarbon resources appears the best mode of action available to regional participants, who must mutually work towards peaceable resolution of festering discord. This, in turn, is somewhat predicated on resolution of the claimants’ territorial disputes, a prospect that appears mired in deadlock. There are no easy solutions. Dithering increases the risk of armed conflict, accidental or otherwise. International arbitration, presided over by the USA, would dent China’s image as an emerging responsible leader on the global scale.

At a broader level, the issue could signal a subtle, albeit gradual, shift of influence; from the West to the East. The South China Sea could potentially be a key moment of transition in the relations between USA and China. The geopolitical epicenter shift from the West to the East, already underway in the economic sphere, might further gain traction. Battle lines might be drawn but the probability of a full-scale armed conflict appears slim, so far, at least. This is one opportunity of leadership that China should be loath to squander away
Bachelor Padding
How lonely single men created China's dangerous real estate bubble.

BY ROSEANN LAKE | SEPTEMBER 28, 2012


BEIJING — When Xiaobo Zhang got married in the early 1990s, he and his bride, like millions of other couples across China, were given a small room to live in by his danwei, or work unit. At the time a lecturer at Nankai University in Tianjin, Zhang's room was utilitarian and unremarkable, virtually indistinguishable from the ones inhabited by his colleagues. In a word: average.

In the China of the 1990s, which was characterized by a pubescent limbo between the economic reforms of the 1980s and the last decade's explosive growth, Zhang recalls that mostly everyone was average. People were neatly packed into work units, generally laboring under the same conditions, eating in the same canteens, and sleeping in the same blocks of industrial-looking housing provided by their employers. There was little disparity in salaries, and few cars and luxury handbags to spend those salaries on.

During these times, Zhang explained, occupants paid minimal rent for their work-unit housing -- which was issued based on seniority, family size, and rank -- and could essentially stay in it forever. There was no legal market for buying and selling property in China, even in rural areas without employer-provided housing, where families built their own homes. Then, in 1998, the Chinese real estate market was born. It began with a decision by the Chinese State Council to monetize housing in an attempt to develop a commercial private market for real estate. In other words, instead of just providing apartments for lifetime occupancy, companies, nonprofit organizations, and government agencies began to give their employees the option to purchase the housing they lived in. Fourteen years and a serious housing construction boom later, China's property market has allowed for one of the world's largest accumulations of real estate wealth in history, valued at $17 trillion in mid-2010 by HSBC Global Research and worth some 3.27 times China's GDP. (To better understand the scope of the construction boom that precipitated this massive accumulation of wealth, it's worth noting that between 1998 and 2008 alone, 14.4 billion square meters of residential housing space were constructed in China, according to China Statistical Yearbook figures. That's equivalent to 160 times all the residential space on the entire island of Manhattan.)

This is where the definition of "average" in China starts to go a little wonky.

As a result of the real estate boom, reports in Chinese media indicate that the average property in a top-tier Chinese city now costs between 15 and 20 times the average annual salary, though J.P. Morgan reports indicate something closer to 13. (For purposes of comparison, in most of the world's cities, the housing-cost-to-income ratio hovers between 3-to-1 and 6-to-1, rounding out at about 3-to-1 in the United States.) This is especially problematic in China, where thanks to still-prevalent Confucian ideals of the male as the "provider," home ownership has become an unspoken prerequisite to marriage.

It's a tough, competitive life for men in China these days, in part due to the aftershocks of the one-child policy, which has left the country with a gaping gender imbalance of 120 boys for every 100 girls. Author Mara Hvistendahl reports in her book, Unnatural Selection: Choosing Boys Over Girls, and the Consequences of a World Full of Men, that by late 2020, 15 percent (or roughly one in six) Chinese men of marriageable age will be unable to find a bride. She predicts that China will see an increase in what's already happening in Taiwan and South Korea, where men doomed to bachelorhood as a result of gender imbalance are boarding planes to Vietnam. Roughly $10,000 covers their flight, room and board, and the price of a Vietnamese wife, according to Hvistendahl, and this practice has become so common that the imported wives "get a booklet translated into Vietnamese explaining their rights when they get married at the Taiwanese Consulate."

Although instances of bride-buying and bride-napping are often reported in China, men are also turning to the web in the face of increasingly heavy competition to attract a mate. On China's mega microblogging website, Sina Weibo, a page called "Save a Single Police Officer" was created by the deputy director of a police station in Sichuan province to help his employees find a spouse. He feared that given the gender imbalance and the grueling work hours of his men, they would become guang gun, or "bare branches," a term usually used to describe men in China who cannot find a wife.

The page launched this February with the profiles of five police officers, including a strapping young man with a gun who goes by the name of "Cola427." Offering a mix of local news, weather reports, and the profiles of single officers (including some female ones) who have been added to the mix, the page now has more than 55,000 followers. This July, a post encouraged all citizens to rejoice because Cola427 (with over 6,000 followers of his own), age 29, measuring in at 1.78 meters and 70 kilos, had found the love of his life through the site.

Millions of other Chinese men are not so lucky. While the most disadvantaged are the country's poor male farmers, who now live at society's rock bottom in rural villages devoid of women their age (as females tend to leave in search of better jobs and marriage prospects), the marriage challenge is rippling its way up through the classes. It is manifested most clearly in China's real estate market, where -- given the highly desirable nature of property -- men are pouring all their savings as a means of improving their chances of finding Mrs. Right, or any Mrs. for that matter.

"Mathematically, they can't get married," says Zhang, referring to younger Chinese men and their double burden of financial demands and the shortage of available women to marry. In 1994, he moved out of his danwei to study for a Ph.D. at Cornell University in the United States. Today, he works as a senior research fellow at the International Food Policy Research Institute in Washington and as a professor at Peking University. Along with Columbia University economist Shang-Jin Wei, he has published several studies on China's economic growth, including one that shows how 30 to 48 percent (or $8 trillion worth) of the real estate appreciation in 35 major Chinese cities is directly correlated with China's sex-ratio imbalance and a man's need to acquire wealth (property) in order to attract a wife.

"Mother-in-law syndrome" -- the idea that Chinese mothers-in-law are driving up the price of real estate by refusing to allow their daughters to marry men who are not homeowners -- has been widely reported in China, but Zhang and Wei take things a step further. They show how Chinese cities with the highest ratio of men to women are also consistently the ones with the highest percentages of real estate appreciation, which follows the logic that fewer women means more competition among men and a greater need for a flashy house. At the same time, rental prices in these cities have increased minimally by comparison, lending credence to the theory that the rise in real estate prices is not driven by an actual demand for housing, but by the demand to own a house.

This demand has no doubt contributed to fears over China's housing bubble, which has been the source of concerned speculation now that China's economic growth has slowed to 7.6 percent, the lowest since 2009. A recent IMF publication shows how a decline in the Chinese real estate market could do everything from affect the price of zinc and nickel to trigger a trade slowdown with South Korea, Japan, and other G-20 partners. Yet from the marriage-market perspective, the demand for property appears unrelenting.

* * *

Berlin Fang, a columnist, literary translator, and associate director at the North Institute for Teaching and Learning at Oklahoma Christian University, argues that the demands of the marriage market and China's relatively new market economy are so heavy that "Chinese men have lost the ability to be average." Like Zhang, he recalls the days of the danwei with bittersweet nostalgia, as a time when people weren't so quick to size each other up in terms of their market value. There was a certain comfort and ease to being average, one that has become extinct, given the extreme competition to be one of the "haves." In such a densely populated country, Fang insists that "average is the new mediocre."

The distinction between "average" and "mediocre" is one that has been ticking on the Chinese national psyche, as indicated by one of the questions on last year's gaokao, China's notorious college entrance exam:

Please write on the theme of refusing to be mediocre and accepting to be average. People cannot be mediocre. Mediocrity means no creation, no development, no progress. Living in this world, we should not be mediocre. We should have principles, insights, and persistence. Write 800 words in any genre except poetry.


Fang notes that the question was a source of heated debate, as there were concerns that today's students might not be able to distinguish between "mediocre" and "average." In a country where the social pressure to excel is so acute and mediocrity is rarely an option, Fang agrees that the question is knotty. He suspects it was designed to make students understand that it's acceptable to be average, so long as it's an aspirational average, not a feckless one.

Examples of responses that earned perfect scores can be found on Chinese news portal Sina.com, including one that tells the story of Wang Xiaobo. Following a subpar performance at the office, Wang does not receive the bonus he was expecting. When, over a meal of freshly prepared fish, he reveals to his wife that he was denied his bonus, she, "putting down her chopsticks and losing color in her face," laments that she is destined to live a lowly life, having such a good-for-nothing husband. After nursing his woes with a bit of alcohol, Wang hands his life savings over to a shady investment banker and eventually loses everything. Naturally, he heads to a lake to commit suicide, but instead ends up saving a nearby drowning woman. This good deed restores his honor, and he eventually becomes the hardworking, well-earning man whom his wife wants him to be.

While Wang's story certainly reflects a triumph over mediocrity, the fact that his wife's well-being is so dependent on his financial performance, and that Wang is so clearly depicted as her provider, reflects how ingrained these ideas remain in modern Chinese society.

Yet because it's nearly economically impossible for most Chinese men -- average or otherwise -- to be the providers they aspire to be, they frequently have to rely on their parents for financial support. This is a slippery slope, as it often gives progenitors more control than warranted over their son's choice of a partner, but Chinese parents -- keen to have their sons dutifully snuggled into wedlock -- gladly chip in. Zhang and Wei's study shows how this plays into China's household savings rate, which at 30 percent is among the world's highest. They argue that this fact is of particular economic concern, as the high marriage-related savings rate contributes to China's current account surplus, which in turn drives down China's exchange rate and perpetuates the global trade imbalance.

"It's completely unsustainable," says Zhang, arguing that the exact opposite -- less saving, more spending -- is what China's economy needs to keep afloat. But because men need to buy homes, they save. And because their demand for homes drives up real estate property, everyone else must save too, in order to keep up.

Seventy-one percent of single women prefer that their future husbands be homeowners, according to the 2010 Marriage Market Survey in China. It is culturally approved -- even expected -- for a woman to "free-ride" and move into her husband's house without making any contributions to it, but given the astronomical cost of housing, more women are helping to cover costs too. Doctoral research by Leta Hong Fincher of Tsinghua University focuses on Chinese women who are pitching in, if not shouldering, the joint purchase of a home with their husbands. She points out that this may work to their disadvantage down the road. Due to traditional, yet increasingly improbable, ideals of the man as the sole provider, homes are generally registered under a man's name. According to Chinese law, property belongs only to the person whose name it is registered under, so in the event of a divorce, women who are not listed as co-owners will lose out on financial contributions to their former marital home. Fincher also cites instances in which young women are hassled by parents into transferring their life's savings to a bachelor relative, so he can use the money to buy a house and increase his chances of finding a wife. Because it is assumed that a woman will marry into a house, the logic goes that she has a less pressing need for savings of her own.

On the other hand, women who are homeowners before marriage are considered better off, and this can actually improve their chances of "marrying up" into the echelons of moneyed men who have bigger houses than they do. Jeannie Wang, 29, of Beijing, is one of those women. Well-employed at a major auditing firm, she purchased an apartment as an investment and plans to live at home with her parents until marriage. "Ideally, I would like a man to also have a house of his own, or at least the earning potential so that we can buy one together," she says, slightly concerned that having a man move into her house would humiliate him. "I wouldn't mind so much if I really cared for him, but it's something I think few Chinese men would go for."

Her case illustrates the double-edged nature of female property ownership in China. Own something, and it might allow you to marry someone with something bigger. Own something too big, and it could intimidate potential suitors.

For men, however, bigger is always better. Zhang recalls visiting villages in China that were bedizened with a "phantom third story." This type of construction refers to a two-story house with an unfurnished, unfinished third story built to make the house appear more grandiose from the outside. The trend has taken off in neighborhoods where the competition for a wife is particularly fierce; in some areas, it has become mainstream to the extent that matchmakers won't schedule an appointment with a man's family unless his house has the requisite phantom floor.

On a more recent trip to China, Zhang landed in the southwestern city of Guizhou with a colleague from an Ohio university who was puzzled to find himself in what appeared to be an entire village full of churches. As it turns out, in addition to phantom third stories, owners are competing to add height to their homes by upping the size of the lightning rods on their rooftops. And the bigger they get, the more they look like crosses.

The most alarming thing about these budding basilicas may be that the majority of them remain empty. After they are used to bait prospective wives, the newlyweds often migrate to larger cities. Zhang says this is known as the "two-rat" phenomenon, as it refers to the migrant couples who live in urban, underground rented rooms like rats -- and, yes, sometimes also with rats -- while their large, rural houses are left vacant. This phenomenon begins to explain why there are some 64.5 million empty houses in China, according to economist Yi Xianrong of the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences.

Wei and Zhang estimate that the pressure to accumulate wealth for marriage is responsible for 20 percent of the growth of the Chinese economy, as men scramble to start businesses and secure high-paying jobs in order to keep up with expenses. The word fangnu is an example of their struggle. Literally translated, it means "a slave to the home" and refers not to a woman who is a slave to housework, but in most cases, to a man who must slave at his job in order to afford a house and, by extension, a wife.

* * *

Sensing the challenges faced by Chinese men in the dating and marriage departments, 29-year-old Vincent Qi is trying to make a difference. Born in China, he went to college in Britain and speaks English like an over-caffeinated grad student. Now in Beijing, he calls himself "The Lady Whisperer" and markets himself as an online guru on how to get women. Qi also teaches online classes on confidence-building, self-improvement, and how to be an all-around better man. He has over 4,000 followers on China's Weibo, and just three months since the online launch of his tuition-based school, he has attracted over 100 students -- all male, and all rather average. They include a motley mix of students, small-online-shop owners, and working professionals on various rungs of the career ladder.

"Socially, we [Chinese men] need to be average," says Qi, stressing that "China is not a culture that values individuality." He is quick to add, however, that from a monetary perspective, it's highly preferable to be well above average. This creates a paradox for China's "average Zhou": how to be far enough above average to be respected, without exceeding the culturally enforced limitations of what is considered respectably above average?

One of Qi's students, 28-year-old Rodman Xie, thinks he is close to finding the answer.

"I took the gaokao three times and still only managed to get into a very average university," he says. "By societal standards, I've failed at many things, but I've never stopped setting goals for myself, and that's what keeps me going." He admits that though things seemed easier in the days of the almighty work unit, he wouldn't trade that kind of stability for what he describes as "the diversity that contributes to a healthy society -- the sort of diversity that we're starting to have now."

A native of China's northeast, or Dongbei region, Xie works in marketing at an export company in Shanghai, a city that he admits wasn't his first choice, but where he moved for the opportunities. He describes the women there as "materialistic," but seems relatively unshaken by the doom and gloom of the gender imbalance.

He explains that in addition to a whole lot of stress, the last 30 years in China -- his lifetime -- have also brought a whole new realm of possibilities. "We can change cities, change careers, pursue our interests, meet people from all over the world, and sometimes even travel to foreign countries," says Xie. "And for now, that kind of average is good enough for me."

http://www.foreignpolicy.com/articles/2012/09/28/bachelor_padding?page=full

The Commute of the Future

To Get Riders, Buses Try to Be More Like Trains; Skip Red Lights
By KRIS HUDSON

U.S. cities are trying to replace images of gritty bus travel with ones of sleeker train-like buses to attract a different kind of traveller. Kris Hudson has details on Lunch Break. Photo: Andrew Spear for The Wall Street Journal.

Cleveland


City buses that carry people to and from work each day are attempting an identity change: They want to be trains.

To woo workday commuters, Cleveland and select cities across the U.S. are trying to replace the image of the gritty, pokey, crowded bus by sending sleeker, more spacious and trainlike buses onto certain commuter routes. They are packing these buses with amenities cribbed from the handbook of other cities' commuter rail and light-rail trains.



In part, they hope to attract passengers who don't have to ride the bus to work—people who can afford to own a car and pay for gas and parking, but who will willingly hop a bus. Getting more of these "choice riders," as the public transportation industry calls them, can help fund local transportation and reduce traffic.

The tricked-out buses promise to cut commute times by up to half from regular bus service by featuring routes with minimal stops and, in some cases, bus-only lanes to keep the vehicles from getting stuck in traffic. To further differentiate these buses from their regular brethren, many transit districts have added perks like Wi-Fi and off-bus ticketing for speedy boarding.

Cities even avoid calling the services "buses." Seattle calls its fleet "RapidRide." Kansas City's buses are emblazoned with "MAX" for "Metro Area Express." Cleveland goes by the shortened "BRT" for bus rapid transit. "It's not a bus, it's a rapid-transit vehicle," says Joseph Calabrese, chief executive and general manager of Cleveland's transportation district.


Steve Puppe
Kansas City's MAX buses have more legroom than the city's regular buses.


The National Bus Rapid Transit Institute at the University of South Florida estimates that 30 U.S. cities have adopted some form of the fast-bus service, including the Seattle area, which unveiled its first two rapid-transit lines in 2010 and 2011. The concept of rapid-transit bus service originated in crowded cities such as Bogota, Colombia, and Curitiba, Brazil, where bus systems carry millions of riders annually.

The buses' exterior designs were also inspired by trains. "The intent was to really make them look fast" and "different than the standard toaster on wheels," said David Swallow, director of engineering for Las Vegas' Regional Transportation Commission of Southern Nevada, which operates multiple rapid-transit bus routes.

Many of the buses have downward-sloping, aerodynamic fronts mimicking a train. The vehicles' chassis often are adorned with splashy colors to set them apart from regular, local-service buses. Some, such as Cleveland's HealthLine buses, have wheel covers that blend in with the chassis to contribute to the vehicle's streamlined appearance. The buses don't have first-class tickets or quiet sections, as some trains do.


Andrew Spear for The Wall Street Journal
Off-board ticketing lets riders enter and exit any of several bus doors.


To better speed through intersections, fast-service buses, including those from the Greater Cleveland Regional Transit Authority, use "signal priority": A transmitter signals ahead to traffic lights to keep green lights green until the bus passes through, or to turn red lights to green as the bus approaches. Cleveland officials also pared the stops on rapid-transit service's 9.2-mile route to 36 from the 108 stops that local buses made on that route. As a result of those and other changes, the average commute time from one end of the route to the other declined to 30 minutes from 45.

To make waiting for a bus less of a head-scratcher, the Los Angeles County Metropolitan Transportation Authority has a smartphone app that allows users to check bus schedules and determine when the next bus will arrive. The Regional Transportation Commission of Southern Nevada's "Ride Tracker" website offers a similar service.

To speed up boarding times, riders on Cleveland's HealthLine bus service, so named because the route passes the Cleveland Clinic and University Hospitals, buy their tickets before they get on the bus from vending machines in glass-walled enclosures at each bus stop. That way, when the bus arrives—every five minutes on average during rush hour—riders can board through any of five doors rather than slowly filing by the driver to pay. The bus' floor matches the height of the curb, so riders needn't scale steep stairs to board.


Andrew Spear for The Wall Street Journal
Marvin Washington rides a new-style bus in Cleveland that tries to mimic the convenience and amenities of rail lines.


On board, rapid-transit buses in Cleveland and Las Vegas include a few rows of seats facing inward to the center aisle rather than forward, allowing for more legroom and additional room to move through the bus. The Kansas City area's MAX buses, which serve both cities in Missouri and Kansas, offer two more inches of leg room than regular buses. Express buses in Santa Clara County, Calif., include Wi-Fi service, high-back chairs, footrests and overhead reading lights—essentials for attracting Silicon Valley's techie commuters.

"It speaks luxury when you look at it," said Brandi Childress, a spokeswoman for the Santa Clara Valley Transportation Authority in San Jose, of the bus service.

But is it enough to entice commuters to forsake their cars?

Kansas City's MAX rapid-transit service along its main route now handles about 6,000 trips daily, whereas regular, local-bus service on that route handled 3,100 trips a day.


Andrew Spear for The Wall Street Journal
Riders on Cleveland's HealthLine bus service can check displays at stops for delays and updates.


"The MAX bus appears to be newer and cleaner" than local buses, said Mick Goodman, a 56-year-old strategic buyer at Hallmark Cards Inc. in Kansas City, Mo., who often rides the MAX bus to work. "It definitely was faster," said Mr. Goodman. He uses the bus several times a week when his 20-year-old son and 17-year-old daughter need to use either of the family's two cars for the day.

Mr. Goodman's bus ride into work is roughly twice as long as driving—an hour as opposed to 30 minutes—because he must take a local bus most of the way before he can transfer to Kansas City's MAX rapid-transit bus. Even so, he says the bus saves him gas money, and Hallmark covers part of the cost of a monthly bus pass for employees.

Annual ridership tallies on Cleveland's HealthLine have increased by roughly 70% since the rapid-transit bus line's debut in 2008 to more than 4.4 million trips last year. In the first eight months of this year, the HealthLine had recorded more than 3 million trips.

On a recent weekday afternoon, many the riders on the HealthLine said they didn't have cars. A few, however, said they left their cars at home in favor of the bus. A one-way fare on the HealthLine costs $2.25, and an all-day pass $5, the same as regular-bus service.

"It's been convenient, and it comes often," Theresa Prince, a 43-year-old environmental services worker at University Hospital said as she rode a HealthLine bus from work one afternoon. "And parking is crazy at the hospital."


Andrew Spear for The Wall Street Journal
Cleveland and other cities hope to woo 'choice riders'—people with cars who hop a bus instead.


Still, bus advocates must overcome a significant stigma. About half—51%—of mass-transit trips in the U.S. are taken on buses, according to the American Public Transportation Association. Yet, buses often are regarded as transportation mostly for the poor.

Commuter rail lines tend to work well for moving suburban, white-collar workers to jobs concentrated in a central business district. Blue-collar jobs other than factory work tend to be more diffuse, requiring a wider network of routes more accessible than rail service.

"There's more of a cachet that goes with rail because those services tend to be in better neighborhoods," said Robert Cervero, a professor of city and regional planning at the University of California at Berkeley specializing in transportation planning.

Some cities see rapid transit as a less-expensive alternative to light rail, though bus systems can't transport as many people. The Kansas City area opened a rapid-transit bus line in 2005 and a second one last year for a combined cost of $50 million after numerous public votes to finance a light-rail system failed. Kansas City planners estimate that light-rail along the area's main, six-mile bus route would have cost at least $250 million. Funding these bus services comes from a mix of local taxes, federal money and fares.

In Cleveland, the cost of building the HealthLine amounted to $200 million. Transit planners estimate that installing light-rail service along the same stretch of Cleveland's Euclid Avenue corridor would cost $1 billion.
China's "U-shaped Line" in the South China Sea
For possible interpretations to China’s claims to islands in the South China Sea are analyzed, from simple claim to the islands to historical rights
Duong Danh Huy
Asia Sentinel, 24 September 2012

China’s claims to the disputed islands in the South China Sea and their inclusion on a map that depicts a U-shaped line that comes perilously close to the coastal waters of the countries that abut the sea, have given rise to concern and debate about the line’s meaning. At stake are billions of dollars in fishing and mineral rights that all of the parties to the debate each claim as their own.

Although the dispute over the Paracels started as long ago as 1909 between China and colonial Vietnam, then represented by France, and that over the Spratlys started in the 1930s between France and Japan, the arguments over the maritime space beyond 12 nautical miles from these islands are relatively recent.

In the 1960s Indonesia and Malaysia began to make claims to the continental shelf in the southern part of the South China Sea and in 1969 the two countries signed a demarcation agreement. In 1971 the then Republic of Vietnam, i.e., South Vietnam, declared a continental shelf claim that overlapped with those of Malaysia and Indonesia.

China -- that is, the pre-1949 Kuomintang government -- advanced a claim to the Spratlys from the end of the Second World War, and published a map in 1948 showing the now-well-known U-shaped line. Although the area inside that line overlaps the continental shelf claims of Indonesia, Malaysia and South Vietnam, neither the People's Republic of China in Beijing nor the Nationalists now camped in Taipei objected to these claims, nor to the 1969 Indonesia-Malaysia agreement, nor did they advance any claims of their own.

In the 1990s, however, the government in Beijing started to protest against Vietnam’s oil and gas activities in the Nam Con Son and Vanguard Bank areas, and in 1992 it awarded an area of 25,000 sq km in the Vanguard Bank area to a US company. Since then, China’s words and actions in claiming maritime space far beyond 12 nautical miles from the disputed islands have been increasingly assertive.

In this context, China’s inclusion of a map that depicts the U-shaped line in unsigned diplomatic notes sent to the Commission on The Limit of the Continental Shelf in 2009, without explanation of the line’s meaning, has given rise to much discussion. Experts and diplomats ponder what China intends to claim inside that line and how China might use that line to support its claims.

Four potential meanings of the U-shaped line have been advanced and will be considered here.

Interpretations:

China’s Foreign Ministry has stated that China claims the islands inside the U-shaped line. By international law, this would include the 12-nautical-mile territorial sea and any EXCLUSIVE ZONE and continental shelf that these islands generate. If this is all what China is claiming, with no implication that this line represents a claim to rights over maritime space right up to it, then this would be the most reasonable and legally valid interpretation of the U-shaped line. If the U-shaped line represents such claims, it is no more controversial than the claims to islands by other states. However, China has not stated that this is all what the U-shaped line represents.

The government of the Republic of China (i.e., the Taiwan authorities), which is not recognized as a sovereign state, has described the area inside the U-shaped line as historical waters. This view is shared by some mainland scholars. However, international law has never recognized claims of historical waters that extend so far out to sea and cover such a vast area. In any case, there is no evidence that China has historically exercised sovereignty over the area enclosed by the U-shaped line. Therefore the interpretation of the area inside the U-shaped line as historical waters is overwhelmingly rejected by international law and evidence. Furthermore, given that historical waters are normally enclosed by baselines rather than lie outside them, such interpretation would be inconsistent with baseline declarations made by the PRC.

China’s diplomatic note to the CLCS in 2009 in relation to Vietnam and Malaysia’s unilateral and joint CLCS submissions claim sovereignty over the “adjacent waters” of the islands in the South China Sea and sovereign rights and jurisdiction over “relevant waters as well as the seabed and subsoil thereof”, referring to a map on which the U-shaped line is depicted, but without declaring that this line demarcates any of these areas. In 2011, China submitted a further asserting that “China’s Nansha Islands is fully entitled to Territorial Sea, Exclusive Economic Zones and Continental Shelf”. These notes seem to support a third interpretation: that China intends to claim the area inside the U-shaped line as an exclusive zone and continental shelf generated by the disputed Paracels, Spratlys and Scarborough Reef. However, while this is a possible speculation, there has been no official statement from China to confirm it. Further, given that the U-shaped line for the most part lies closer to undisputed territories than to the disputed Paracels, Spratlys and Scarborough Reef, it would be impossible for China to justify it as a boundary for the exclusive zone and continental shelf generated by these features.

Since China is not ready to settle for the first interpretation, and since the second and third are clearly indefensible under international law, in recent years Chinese scholars have advanced a fourth interpretation. According to this interpretation, China’s claims in the South China Sea are composed of three layers. In the first, China claims the disputed islands. In the second, it claims the exclusive zone and continental shelf generated by those islands, which might not extend as far as the U-shaped line. In the third layer, China claims “historic rights” over maritime space beyond 12 nautical miles from the islands, with the U-shaped line being either the limit or both the basis and the limit for this claim.

Historic rights derived from the U-shaped line?
The second and fourth interpretations differ in this respect: in the latter interpretation, the proponents do not claim that the “historic rights” in the third layer mean historic sovereignty, or that the area enclosed by the U-shaped line is historic waters. Instead, the proponents of this interpretation suggest that these “historic rights” are not absolute or exclusive, but entail the right to a share, perhaps even a preferential one, of the resources right up to the U-shaped line, even where the exclusive zone and continental shelf of the disputed islands fall short of this line.

By taking a step back from claiming historical water status and absolute sovereignty for the entire area enclosed by the U-shaped line, the proponents of the fourth interpretation appear to hope to avoid the indefensibility of the second interpretation, while allowing China to claim a share to the resources right up to the U-shaped line, something that would not be possible with the first interpretation.

For this fourth interpretation, i.e., the “historic rights” argument, to be valid, two conditions must be satisfied. First, China must have legally acquired historic rights over the maritime space beyond 12 nautical miles from the disputed features prior to the existence of the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea. Second, these historic rights must be of the types that are preserved by that convention.

Although the U-shaped line first appeared on its official maps in 1948, China has never declared that that line represents a claim to rights over maritime space for the area enclosed. In recent years, Beijing has studiously ignored calls on it to “clarify its claim.”

To date, therefore, the U-shaped line remains a line on the map with unspecified meaning and has never been officially advanced as a claim to rights over maritime space for the area enclosed. No rights over maritime space for the area enclosed, whether pre-UNCLOS or not, can be derived from a line that has never become a claim to such rights.

Even if, hypothetically, in 1948 China had declared that the U-shaped line represented a claim to rights over maritime space, that line lies too far from the disputed islands to be a legitimate claim to rights over maritime space under the law of the sea at that time. That line, therefore, could never have become a legitimate claim over maritime space, and it has never been recognized as such by any country.

What about other sources of historic rights?
If not the U-shaped line, then, can traditional fishing activities by Chinese fishermen be the basis for claims to historic rights over maritime space? It should be note that Chinese fishermen were by no means the only fishermen who traditionally fished in the South China Sea. Therefore, even if some historic rights could be derived from traditional fishing activities, China would not have a monopoly of these rights.

Additionally, in a case concerning the continental shelf of Libya and Tunisia, the International Court of Justice ruled that historic rights derived from traditional fishing activities stemmed from a legal regime distinct from that of the continental shelf and were not relevant. Therefore, while traditional fishing activities by the peoples around the South China Sea might give rise to a common fishing area through a political settlement, they do not provide the basis for claims against the continental shelf.

Can any other declarations or actions by China be the legal basis for claims to historic rights over maritime space? In practice, when Indonesia and Malaysia made claims to the continental shelf in the southern part of the South China Sea in the 1960s, when they signed a demarcation agreement in 1969, and when South Vietnam made a claim in this area in 1971, China did not protest these actions. It was not until the 1990s that China made its own claim to the continental shelf in this area. Therefore, in the southern part of the South China Sea, if anything, Indonesia, Malaysia and Vietnam have pre-UNCLOS rights over the continental shelf beyond 12 nautical miles from the disputed islands, while China does not.

The most legally valid interpretation
Therefore, while it is true that some rights that a country acquired prior to UNCLOS over the maritime space between 12 and 200 nautical miles from its territory might affect the post-UNCLOS delimitation of areas of overlapping entitlements, this consideration is moot because it is highly questionable that China ever acquired such rights in the first place.

In conclusion, none of the three interpretations of the U-shape line as the basis or limit to claims to rights over the entire maritime space enclosed by it, namely, as a claim to historical waters, a claim to the exclusive zone and continental shelf, or a claim to historic rights over resources, has sufficient legal basis. The most legally valid and reasonable interpretation of the U-shaped line remains that of a claim only to the islands within that line.

The basis and extent of any subsequent claim to rights over maritime space should then be derived from the islands using UNCLOS and the international courts’ past rulings on maritime delimitation, and not from the U-shaped line.

Duong Danh Huy is a physicist and resident of the United Kingdom whose avocation is international maritime law.
June 2013
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