Magistad: What better way to get through a backlog of work than grab a cappuccino, settle at your favorite coffee joint, and pull out your laptop? That's what Liu Pei is doing.
Liu Pei
Magistad: He's using a regular keyboard to type in Pinyin - that's a phonetic way of writing the Chinese language. For each word typed in, up pops a choice of Chinese characters. Liu picks the one he wants. This is how tens of millions of computer-using Chinese write their language every day. Liu Pei says he's starting to forget how to write some characters. But he doesn't seem bothered:
Liu: "When I forget the strokes of a character, I just check the computer. So if you forget how to write a few characters, it's not a big deal. It doesn't have much impact on your daily life."
Magistad: But some Chinese fear there will be an impact on the continuity of Chinese culture, as more and more computer-using Chinese adopt Liu Pei's attitude. Already, university professors are reporting high levels of student mistakes in writing Chinese characters - and this is in a generation that had a few years of writing by hand before they got onto computers. The next generation now entering primary school might be even worse
Magistad: The thought pains Wang Tong Xin. He's a retired appliance repairman who comes to this Beijing park every morning to practice calligraphy. He dips a shovel-sized paintbrush into a bucket of water, and paints the pavement:
Wang: “These people who always use computers, their handwriting is sloppy, and they even forget which strokes go where. But this is art. This is something to be enjoyed, and appreciated, and passed along."
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Magistad: Wang's father, a professor, passed the love of characters on to him. But Wang grew up under Mao, when workers were glorified and scholars were considered bourgeois - so Wang spent his life as a repairman. Now, he's back to his first love. He gives free calligraphy lessons to any passer-by who's interested. He points to a middle-aged man and says, "that's my student." Then he points to a much older man who's standing nearby and says, "that's my teacher."
Wang Tong Xin
These old friends are clearly proud they're doing their part to keep the long history of the written Chinese language alive. Each character is a pictograph - containing a full idea. For instance, the character for "peace" is of a woman under a roof. These pictures and meanings remained constant for thousands of years - until Mao Zedong simplified many of them in the 1950s. It was a controversial move because it made it harder for Chinese to read anything written before the 1950s. But literacy did improve - until recently. Now people are starting to forget how to write even simplified characters. China's Ministry of Education has taken notice.
Magistad: Yu Hong directs a Ministry of Education department on written language usage. She says too many sloppy mistakes have been appearing in newspapers, magazines, even in government publications. Yu says it's especially egregious when the people making the mistakes have an impact on how others use language - people like journalists, teachers and civil servants. So the Ministry of Education has just introduced a new literacy test for such professionals.
Yu says she hopes that passing the test will become a requirement for getting hired or promoted. She believes this -- plus increased stress on proper writing in schools -- will help reverse the creeping deterioration of Chinese written language skills.
Of course, that's assuming that others believe that increased reliance on computers is fueling a cultural crisis. Liu Pei, the guy typing in the coffeeshop, doesn't.
Liu: "Computers can also help us understand our culture. For instance, we can read traditional Chinese literature online, and get whatever information we want about Chinese history. I don't think handwriting Chinese characters is the only way to value our culture."
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Magistad: Back in the park, every morning brings myriad displays of Chinese culture kept alive. There are groups doing Tai Qi, and others, flowing through graceful sword dances. And there are the old men with their giant calligraphy brushes, painting elegant strokes that will soon dry and fade - but which they hope will help ensure the written Chinese language they love so much does not.
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For The World, I'm Mary Kay Magistad in Beijing.