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The Sino connection, Part I

Access all areas: Tourism for all
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While A Huge effort was made to get Beijing accessible for the Paralympics, ancient paving stones and stairs kept wheelchairs out of some attractions. Whistler's Brad Lennea (above) had a hard time navigating the hutongs in old Beijing and the Forbidden City.

A Transpacific Harmony Trade

Liu Qing is an agent of style. Just look at her skirt, that fabric waterfall, colours and patterns pouring over her knees and between the red bars of her wheelchair, which happens to match her nail polish and the beaded bracelet bound subtly to her wrist. She’s an interior designer in Tianjin, a northern coastal metropolis in China, and you can almost see her wheeling through boring bedrooms, splendour in her wake.

Today, she’s in Beijing, some 120 km from home. It’s early September, still warm, and the skies are dense with haze, a coating the sun sometimes burns off with a little help from the rain. Liu has come to hear the Whistler Forum for Leadership and Dialogue as its delegates present the Harmony Project. With her are two friends, Shao Zezhang and Dai Xueyou, and, together, they make up an association of disabled entrepreneurs — just the kind of audience for which the Forum pines.

The Harmony Project is the product of one of the Forum’s leadership cohorts. Pinning itself to the lapels of the 2008 Beijing Paralympic Games, the project is best thought of as a feeler, a long and friendly one that aims to engage China’s disabled on notions of universal accessibility, the whole crux balanced on a mandate of inclusive tourism. There are a dozen or so presenters ready to mount the podium, speaking notes and slideshows at the ready. Subtopics range from the histories of accessibility apropos the mentally and physically disabled in China and Canada, to sound, universally-minded community planning. In less than two years, Whistler will host the winter version of these Paralympic Games, and that is enough commonality to germinate the seeds of partnership.

William Roberts is the Forum’s president. Working with the cohort, he secured two days in the B.C. Canada Pavilion, which is across from Tiananmen Square in downtown Beijing. Dressed in a tan sports blazer, his hair characteristically wavy, Roberts takes to the podium, stands before a backdrop of Canadian iconography as Liu and others don headsets through which English becomes Mandarin.

“How can we build a gateway to Asia, to China, from our community?” Roberts begins. “What is the kind of leadership required to have more communities accessible? And how can we celebrate, focus and foster that kind of leadership?

“We’re hoping, at the end of these two days, to have many more friends in China, to continue to come back here and learn from you and for you to come to Whistler and Sea to Sky in 2010 and in the future.”

And so harmony is the hill on this horizon. To get there, ideas with potentially global relevance will have to be communicated in universal terms, all the better to achieve a harmonious understanding. And then those ideas will have to roost locally, will have to transform slightly to the realities of place, all the while holding true to at least their barest of bones.

To Roberts, it’s all very Confucianist. And he’s right. Harmony, in the view of that long ago sage, is obtained when an individual fulfills his or her social role. The namesake of several Forbidden City temples, the concept figures large throughout Chinese history. And, as the Middle Kingdom continues along the post-Mao trajectory started by the late reformist Deng Xiaoping, the individual’s social role necessarily has global implications.

The questions are compelling: What is that role, and how does one go about fulfilling it? And what opportunities exist to bring the horizon to the front yards of people ready to climb its hill?

At The Gates

Like Liu, Shao’s disability levelled him in his youth, the blow dealt by the haggard hands of disease. The man gets around on crutches, and he’s something of a style guru himself, cuts a sharp figure with spiky hair and a loose, white suit, the shoulders embellished with blue designs — a fitting demeanour for a clothing dealer.

Also upright, but with a dramatic limp, is Dai, who, in his plain red shirt and simple dark slacks, seems the more reserved of the three. But Dai is no slouch: Crushed in a car crash at the age of three, he’s now the director of the Xueyou Culture and Exchange Company. These people are just three of China’s approximately 82 million disabled, a number that includes both physical and mental illnesses and injuries.

Money, eh? It’s that guy in the restaurant screaming into a cell phone after a few whiskeys — everyone listens, whether they want to or not. But sometimes money is more subtle, a gentle tap on the shoulder, insistent and incessant, the ultimate reminder of human presence. According to the U.N. Population Reference Bureau, there are between 750 million to 1 billion disabled people worldwide. The community’s spending power ranks at least in the tens of billions of dollars, a niche market no doubt of interest to an emerging capitalist powerhouse like China. And so, when Liu taps shoulders, people listen.

“Currently,” she says, her round cheeks dimpling slightly between bookends of straight, black hair, “disabled people in my city can make a living by themselves, and the government has done things to improve their status.”

All over Beijing, and elsewhere in China, the signs of conscientious urban planning are apparent, from the detectable warning systems used by the blind for sidewalk navigation to the wheelchair tracks built into the Great Wall. Like Canada, China is a signatory of the U.N. Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities, has been since 2006. Unlike Canada, they’ve ratified it. There’s also the China Disabled Person’s Federation (CDPF), which, chaired by Deng Xiaoping’s first son, is an organization that interfaces with government in matters of policy. Awareness is ever-increasing, not just as a result of the 2008 Paralympics, but also because of the 2007 Special Olympics in Shanghai.

And yet, there’s still considerable work to be done, still a long slog to the hill on the horizon. In Forbidden City, the historic seat of China’s dynastic governments, wheelchair access is adequate throughout the south and central phases, but vanishes in favour of steep stairs at the threshold of its northern reaches.

That was a problem for Brad Lennea, one of two Paralympic torchbearers recruited from Whistler. With no other option but to wheel all the way back to the entrance, he had to forego the lush gardens of the tour’s finale.

Many problems run deeper than accessibility, as disabled people are reportedly denied access to universities. In the run up to the Olympics, news surfaced detailing human trafficking of the disabled. And, in 2007, the CDPF fought 20,000 human rights cases, with violations occurring at local, provincial and national levels.

But Shao does not volunteer these concessions. Seated next to his companions, he is quietly insistent: Things, he says, are changing.

“When I was a kid, young kids would laugh at me. Nowadays, even a small kid, if he laughs at me, the people around talk to the kid and tell him it’s improper. So it’s a reflection of the change in society.”

For John Wayne, a Chinese delegate galvanized by a Pavilion presentation, a change in attitude isn’t enough. He concedes that work has been done, that, for example, there are now escalators in subways. But they’re scattered and staggered, installed willy-nilly with no mind for linearity. It’s a step forward, he says, but by no means a leap. The Convention, he continues, is great, but what has been implemented has come down unilaterally, just another twitch in the muscle system of a top-down government.

“They take it as an option rather than a must. If the disabled cannot get out, then their liberty or freedom is restricted.”

China is becoming more and more of a presence in the global household, coming home late and sometimes waking up her roommates with pranks and fireworks. But she pays the rent, is picking up more of the lease with every passing year. Still, the process has been slow, too much so for people like John Wayne. Marred by fits and starts, the country’s track record is still blemished by relations with Tibet, economic courtships with African dictators, outright callousness towards the locals it steamrolls in favour of Beijing’s architectural facelift, and a slew of other oppressive reflexes.

And yet, a shaved head sprouts not over night. While Wayne may be sick of combing his scalp, Liu seems transfixed by the comforting caress of fresh stubble.

“The government has created medical health insurance for people with disabilities, and that’s helpful” she says. “The humanity has been reflected in government policy.”

The logic, then, seems to be this: If you can take the good with the bad, then why can’t you take the bad with the good?

Towards Universal Access

Bruce Gilmour started taking the bad with the good 31 years ago, when his life as a Nicola Valley logger came crashing to a halt. There was an accident, and now he’s blind, which makes him one of the 300,000 working age disabled in British Columbia. Since then, with the help of a seeing-eye dog, the shaggy-haired Gilmour has remade himself as a consultant on disability resource networking. He came to Beijing to bear the Paralympic torch on behalf of Vancouver.

But it hasn’t been easy getting around, especially given that he left his dog at home and is relying instead on human assistance.

“I can get a taxi in Vancouver and get off at YVR and expedite my way through the system with very little stress and anxiety,” he says over breakfast. “I got in a taxi last night, and we said ‘Beijing Hotel.’ The driver either didn’t understand or didn’t know the city. I was like, ‘Where am I? I don’t know where I am.’ I couldn’t have done this by myself, I know.”

Lennea hasn’t had quite as hard a problem. He can’t get around so easily in old Beijing, where hutongs still meander and the buildings have yet to be preyed upon by construction cranes that impose upon Beijing’s skyline. But the new airport, which has a capacity for 50 million people, and, when landing, is designed to look like a dragon, was no problem for Lennea’s wheelchair. The sporting venues, too, speak to his needs. The B.C. Canada Pavilion was also accessible, and he went there to speak during the conference. And when he shops, makeshift ramps are laid across the stairs, showing awareness where construction has yet to hammer and form.

The two have also had conflicting experiences in the Resort Municipality of Whistler (RMOW), though Gilmour’s was years ago. Still, it was bad enough to keep him away, to make Sun Peaks his resort of choice.

But it’s Monday afternoon now, and the Harmony Project is unfolding without Gilmour in attendance. And so he doesn’t hear RMOW head planner Bill Brown’s presentation on accessible design.

“When we talk about design, we talk about universal design,” he says. “As planners we’re not only thinking about how to design the community for, for example, people in wheelchairs but also for myself when I’m 70 years old, have arthritis and can’t climb stairs. In a resort municipality like Whistler, the largest in North America, we’re also talking about people who regularly break their legs and have to walk around on crutches.”

Even though it’s better than Gilmour’s last visit, when a prominent member of the community couldn’t understand the business case of universal accessibility, there’s still a lot of work to do, and Brown freely admits it. Only half of the municipal bus fleet is wheelchair accessible, though that will change with the introduction of new vehicles. And bus stops built under a different planning paradigm exclude some types of disabled riders from shelters, mainly because they have high curbs. Perhaps the biggest affront is municipal hall, which has a wheelchair ramp fit for high speed luging, and, anyway, is off limits after regular office hours, which makes it hard to attend council sessions. Those deficiencies are being corrected as part of a massive upgrade project, but it’s been a slow process.

“We are trying to make, especially for the Paralympics, Whistler a more universally accessible community,” assures Brown.

Lennea doesn’t kid himself. He knows that the 2010 Paralympics are making the driving force behind those changes. But at least things are changing, and the dividends are already paying off.

“Thing is,” he says, “you need to know the tricks, the backdoors and the ramps out back. I don’t know if it’s an economic issue. It’s more awareness, a changing of attitude.”

But, for Gilmour, the damage has been done. That meeting years ago left a bad taste in his mouth.

“They didn’t understand why people with access issues would want to come to a resort,” he says, noting that his wife and daughter are also skiers. “I was really disappointed.”

Wang Honfeng Superstar

Wang Hongfeng is a sensation, the type of guy who simultaneously defies and inspires imitation. He comes off a clown, all chubby and mostly bald, wispy black hairs listing on the crown of his skull. It could be his eyebrows: They’re wildly expressive, like busy digits, long and thick, flicking up to his forehead before crashing down to his sockets, his eyes all the while gleeful. It could be his laughter, which spills out of his mouth in joyful eruptions. Or it could be his gait, a series of almost loping manoeuvres that lend the impression of a non-stop entertainer. Whatever the case, the man’s a performer and an artist, a showman of the highest calibre.

Also, Wang is mentally ill. He’s a trainee at the Beijing Huiling Community Services for People with Learning Disabilities. The community has six branches, and this particular one is located down a narrow hutong near the north end of Forbidden City. There are 23 others in this group, men and women both, all of them with a mental disability of some sort. Here, in this shady courtyard, they’re given an outlet, be it music or visual arts, athletics or lessons in life skills. Here, in this environment, these people are known as trainees.

Cassie Liu is a manager at this branch, and her love for the trainees is palpable. She was invited to the Pavilion for the Whistler Forum session, and she returned the favour by extending a welcome to her own unique approach to tourism. You see, Liu’s trainees are true performers, meaning they adore an audience.

And, today, an audience is exactly what they have. Along with the Canadians, there’s a clutch of Germans here, some of them mentally disabled. They’ve come to take in the show, a raucous routine that mixes music and theatre.

“For people like you and I,” Liu begins in slightly broken but angelic English, “it might be easy to memorize lyrics. But they work very hard, and they want to make you laugh. So perhaps you should give them applause.”

And the show begins. It’s all wood blocks and flutes, hoots and hollers. Wang steels the first part of the show. Dressed in a black shirt embroidered with golden dragons, he dances a smooth move, now and then throwing fans end over end into the air. Of course, there is much laughter, much applause.

The school is a non-governmental organization. It began in 1990, in Guangzhou by a woman named Meng Weina and a man called Fernando Cagnin. Ten years later, it arrived in Beijing, was transported by Meng and a British social worker named Jane Pierini. Over the next seven years, it spread like a smile, taking root in Xi’an, Xining, Tianjin, Chongqing, Hunan and Qingyuan. Three more branches are in the works.

The tourism component came about around five years ago. The school exists without government funding, and revenue in the form of tourist donations supplements trainee fees, many of which are made back through the sale of artwork.

It’s an ingenious strategy. While offering tourists entertainment and enlightenment, it also provides an invaluable social service, enriching the lives of all involved, whether spectator or performer.

At the end of the show, business cards are passed around and connectivity is assured. This, after all, is exactly the type of relationship the Forum’s delegates hoped to discover.

Confucius Take Note

That’s not the only connection blazed through barriers of language and distance, culture and history. Let’s not forget Liu Qing, Shao Zezhang and Dai Xueyou, the three-strong seeds of a disabled entrepreneurs association.

They’re impressed by the speakers and excited about Canada in general — but Whistler in particular. The presentations were respectful, Liu says, mindful of Beijing’s recent strides, but, at the same time, neither bashful nor boastful about Whistler’s ongoing efforts. And they plan to come, first in 2010, and maybe again afterwards.

“We’ll go to Canada,” Liu says, nodding emphatically. “We’re going to promote a show in Canada on the houses we design, the clothes we design, and we would like to use the internet to connect Canadians and Chinese.”

And so Confucius take note: Roles have been defined. Fulfillment is underway. Opportunities have been identified. That old horizon is now just a part of the front lawn, and, from atop the hill, the sun is burning through the last of the haze.



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