Academic literature on the topic 'Qing hua gong si'

LANGUAGE NOTE | Document text in Chinese; abstract also in English. 據史實所可考知，中國古代自殷商時代已傳衍一種存祀的國際關係思想。可以命之為存祀主義。相傳殷商高宗武丁時代已有這種思想。 惟在後世聖賢學者與君后諸侯普遍信持的歷史記載，則多以周武王克商故事為根據。成為歷代傳承的丈事典範。故事內容十分具體而顯明。就是在武王克商之後除了殺掉妲己，並把纣王懸首在白旗上。同時散發鹿台（地名）之財，分發鉅橋（地名）之粟，分给黎民百姓。並派人釋放被囚的箕子（人名）和眾百姓，派人封比干（人名）之墓，表彰商容（人名）的門閭。更封紂的兒子武庚旅父（人名）保存原有的殷商政權。此外更分神農、黃帝、唐堯、虞舜、夏禹等帝王的後人立為封國。因是古代聖賢俱頌稱為王道。 在古代的學術思想名家，先後普遍頌揚武王的存祀主義的王道。有孔子、子思、荀子、以及儒家後學，一致宏揚孔子所説：「興滅國，繼絕世，舉逸民，天下之民歸心焉。」而法家的管子，更是幫助齊桓公實質履行存祀主義，儒家經典盛讚齊桓公的三存亡國，一繼絕世。因是使春秋時代的霸業，有一個存祀主義 王道思想。我人尚可以在《左傳》、《國語》書中發現此一實殘的例子。 存祀主義進入秦漢大一統之世，已在政治運行上消褪。然至明清兩代，更成為封貢體制(Tributary System)中一個政治信念。明清帝君對於朝貢國多有履踐。仍不廢王道。中國最後一次履行存祀主義，是在光緒五年(1879)在日本呑併琉球的交涉中，主張為琉球保存其所據大島，以延績琉球宗廟血祀。此為帝國主義者暗笑中國的迂闊愚昧。然而今世爭殺是尚，弱小民族如何避免征服，逃脱被奴役命運。此是世界人 類共同思考之大問題。According to historical records, since the Shang era, a nationally related ideology regarding the worship of royal ancestors had existed in ancient China. It was believed that such kind of thoughts existed in as early as the Gao-zhong Wu Ding period in the ancient Shang Dynasty. However scholars, kings, queens and the noblemen in later years generally tended to believe in records about inheritance that were based on the story of King Zhou Wu who conquered Shang. This had become the paradigm of historical inheritance. The story was very concrete and its message obvious. After King Wu conquered Shang, apart from killing the Shang King’s concubine Tan Ji and hanging up the head of the infamous King Zhou on a white flag, he also distributed the wealth in Lu-tai and the food in Ju Qiao to civilians; moreover he sent people to release the imprisoned Qi Zi and other civilians; he sent someone to honor the tomb of Bi Gan and decorate the door of Shang Rong; King Zhou s son Wu Gang Lu Fu was allowed to maintain Shang’s political power. In addition, the descendants of Shen Nong, Huang Di, Tang Yao, Yu Shun and Xia Yu were awarded territories. Many ancient scholars lauded such generosity as regal benevolence. Renowned thinkers and philosophers in ancient China had been praising King Wu's regal benevolence ideology. Confucius, Zi Si, Xun Zi and other confucius followers unanimously upheld what Confucius proclaimed, “Assist defeated states to recover, let political regimes of the ousted rulers continue, give glory to hermits of the previous dynasty, then all the people would whole-heartedly render support to the ruling power.” Guan Zi of the Legalistic School helped Qi Wun Gong (Duke of Qi) implement ancestral inheritance. In the Confucius classics, Qi Wun Gong was much acclaimed for rendering help to defeated states three times, and helping to perpetuate ancestral worship of ousted states. Thus we can tell that during the hegemony of the war-tom Spring-autumn era, such royal inheritance thoughts existed. Concrete examples can be found in classics such as “Zou Zhuan" and "Guoyu". The regal benevolence tenet faded out politically in the unified Qin and Han era. Nevertheless, in the Ming and Qing dynasty, it had evolved into a political ideology in the Tributary System The kings of Ming and Qing Dynasty upheld regal benevolence through pledging to protect their protege states. The last ancestral worship tenet was seen in the fifth year of Guang Xu's rule (1879) when Japan had taken Ryukyu Island. The Emperor of the Qing Dynasty insisted that Ryukyu Island should keep Da Dao (Big Island) so as to allow it to maintain its ancestral worship practice and blood-line. The imperialists sneered at China as ignorant and stupid. However, in contemporary time, amidst fighting and killings, how vulnerable tribes could avoid being conquered and enslaved is actually an important issue for all people to ruminate.

Le tribut peut être défini comme le prélèvement d’un surplus par une entité, le plus souvent étatique, détentrice du pouvoir. Il en est le socle, puisque son prélèvement finance les infrastructures (routes, canaux, ou encore systèmes d’irrigation), mais aussi l’appareil administratif et militaire. La forme la plus générale du tribut est celle de la taxation, mais le prélèvement peut aussi en prendre d’autres : corvées, monopoles étatiques sur certains biens, nationalisations, et même cadeau offert par un citoyen à un fonctionnaire d’État (Yan 1996), ou encore par un État tributaire à une puissance hégémonique. Par ces prélèvements, des richesses privées sont généralement transformées (ou sont censées l’être) en biens et services procurés par la puissance extractrice. L’attention réduite versée par l’anthropologie économique au tribut tient probablement à ce qu’il échappe aux grandes dichotomies que celle-ci a échafaudées, et qui continuent à la préoccuper, même si c’est dans le but de les dépasser. Sa singularité le place hors du radar du sous-champ de l’anthropologie en raison de la focalisation de celle-ci sur deux statuts des choses et des transactions, présentés comme étant plus ou moins étanches : le don et la marchandise. Il ne relève pas du domaine des marchandises, puisque les mécanismes d’extraction du tribut ne s’inscrivent pas dans les rapports de production capitalistes. Il n’appartient pas non plus à la sphère du don contre-don maussien, caractérisée par la réciprocité. Parce qu’il échappe aux logiques du marché et qu’il permet l’existence d’une économie redistributive (l’État-providence), le tribut s’apparente pourtant à l’économie du don plutôt qu’à l’économie marchande. La distinction proposée par Alain Testart (2007) entre don et échange (marchand et non marchand) permet d’affiner la définition du tribut. Selon Testart, le don est un transfert non exigible impliquant la renonciation à tout droit sur le bien transféré et sans attente de contrepartie autre que morale, alors que l’échange est un transfert dont la contrepartie est juridiquement exigible. Or les corvées, amendes et taxes de toutes sortes sont dépourvues de la contrainte de contrepartie, mais elles sont exigibles. Alain Testart nomme ce type de prestation « transfert du troisième type, t3t »; il se distingue du don en ce qu’il est exigible, et de l’échange en ce qu’il est dépourvu de contrepartie juridiquement exigible. Le tribut en est un, et probablement le principal (la plupart des t3t correspondent au tribut, à l’exception de certains transferts spécifiques tels que le versement d’une pension alimentaire). On pourrait donc, en amendant l’appellation de Testart, avancer que le tribut est un « t3t » c’est-à-dire un transfert du troisième type en direction ascendante dans la hiérarchie. La clarification conceptuelle opérée par Testart et son prolongement par François Athané (2011) sont importantes et nécessaires. Il paraît toutefois judicieux d’intégrer le brouillage habituel des catégories à l’analyse de la notion, puisqu’il est en lui-même significatif. En effet, si le tribut n’est pas un don selon la définition de Testart, il peut en prendre l’apparence, être présenté comme un abandon librement consenti. Et s’il ne donne pas lieu à une contrepartie exigible, il est néanmoins souvent justifié au nom d’une contrepartie rendue sous forme de services. Les manipulations et justifications morales et idéologiques dont il fait l’objet doivent donc être intégrées à sa définition. On y reviendra après avoir examiné la place qu’a tenu le tribut dans les écrits des anthropologues. Outre son statut particulier au regard des autres formes de prestation qui ont davantage été au cœur de leurs préoccupations, le don ainsi que les échanges non marchands, la centralité de la notion de réciprocité a relégué à l’arrière-plan les « dons » hiérarchiques ainsi que toutes les formes de transferts unilatéraux obligatoires. C’est sans doute de la part des anthropologues travaillant avec le concept marxiste de mode de production que le tribut a reçu le plus de considération. Samir Amin a résumé dans une formule efficace ce qui distingue le mode tributaire du mode capitaliste : dans le second, le pouvoir est mis au service de l’accumulation de richesses, tandis que dans le premier, ce sont les richesses qui sont mises au service de l’accumulation de pouvoir (Amin 2011). Eric Wolf (1982) a déployé ce distinguo pour examiner comment le mode de production capitaliste s’est étendu sur la surface du globe avec l’expansion impériale européenne, entrant en contact avec des modes de production « basés sur la parenté » ou « tributaires » qui prévalaient chez les populations non européennes. Les anthropologues ont abandonné les approches en termes de mode de production pour deux ensembles de raisons. La première est l’économicisme sous-jacent à la caractérisation typologique de sociétés selon leur mode de production dominant, qui réduit ainsi « des sociétés entières à de simples réserves de main d’œuvre » et ignorant leurs « formes de vie » (Friedman 1987, 84). Wolf entendait pourtant précisément éviter une telle dérive typologisante, entendant en faire un outil pour « révéler les relations politico-économiques qui sous-tendent, orientent et contraignent l’interaction » (1982, 76). L’emploi qu’en fait Emmanuel Terray (1995) dans son étude de la genèse du royaume abron met d’ailleurs en relief l’articulation entre modes de production tributaire, esclavagiste, capitalistique et domestique d’une manière qui n’a rien d’évolutionniste. La seconde raison est l’eurocentrisme qui conduit à faire du mode de production capitaliste un facteur déterminant de la trajectoire singulière de l’Europe et explicatif de sa domination sur le reste du monde. Ce dernier n’aurait su résister à l’agression européenne parce que son mode d’organisation économique, qu’il soit basé sur la parenté ou sur le tribut, aurait provoqué un retard et une faiblesse qui l’auraient rendu vulnérable aux incursions de l’impérialisme capitaliste européen. Cette thèse s’applique tout particulièrement à la Chine. C’est dans un sens à la fois non évolutionniste et non eurocentrique que Hill Gates (1996) a proposé une lecture de l’histoire de la Chine sur une durée d’un millénaire basée sur l’idée d’une articulation entre modes de production tributaire (MPT) et « capitalistique ». Le MPT est le mode de production de l’État impérial chinois, dont la classe des fonctionnaires lettrés prélève un surplus sur les classes productives (paysans, petits capitalistes, travailleurs) à travers des taxes et des corvées. Contrairement à ce qu’avait pu écrire Marx à propos du « mode de production asiatique », l’État chinois n’était pas inerte ni immobile mais animé par la tension entre des tendances, plus ou moins affirmées selon les époques, à l’accumulation capitalistique, ainsi que les réponses en provenance de la classe dirigeante qui cherchait à les contenir à l’intérieur du cadre de la puissance tributaire (Gates1996 : 273). Les lignages des propriétaires terriens qui produisaient en partie pour le marché, ou les marchands, tout particulièrement ceux qui participaient au commerce étranger, agissaient en tant que capitalistes; « toutefois, leur influence n’a jamais été suffisante pour désarçonner le pouvoir tributaire et permettre à une véritable classe capitaliste d’émerger (Gates1996 : 112). Dans le dernier chapitre de son ouvrage, Gates suggère que la Chine contemporaine demeure caractérisée par un mode tributaire, maintenu par les révolutionnaires communistes et qui continue à modeler les relations entre citoyens ordinaires et officiels chinois (1996 : 269). Ellen Hertz (1998) s’appuie sur les propositions de Gates pour interpréter la fièvre qui s’est emparée de la première bourse ouverte à Shanghai au début des années 1990, signe de la transition chinoise vers le capitalisme initiée dix ans plus tôt, et qui a vu s’opposer le pouvoir « des masses » au pouvoir étatique. Cette opposition peut être expliquée par la tension entre un mode de production capitalistique (les petits porteurs) et le mode de production tributaire (l’État). Ce dernier, agissant à la manière d’un seigneur tributaire, a cherché à canaliser l’épargne de ses citoyens de façon à soutenir son économie en transition. Gates concilie le sens élargi de la notion de tribut tel que présenté en introduction et le sens restreint que lui confèrent les historiens mais aussi ceux d’entre les anthropologues qui se sont intéressés à sa dimension cosmologique et civilisationnelle. En effet, le système tributaire a été constitutif de l’empire chinois, qui était conçu sur le plan cosmologique comme un « royaume territorial bordé de suzerains tributaires » (Feuchtwang 1992 :26, cf. également Sahlins 1994). Les origines des fengshan, désignation officielle des cérémonies au cours desquelles le tribut était versé, sont incertaines. Ils seraient apparus sous les Zhou orientaux (771-256 av. J-C.), c’est-à-dire durant la période des Printemps et Automnes, suivie par celle des Royaumes combattants. C’est à partir de la dynastie Tang (618-907) que le système tributaire s’est renforcé, et il s’est maintenu jusqu’au Qing. En échange du tribut (gong), les tributaires recevaient les faveurs (enci) de l’empereur au même titre que les vassaux internes. Wang Mingming souligne que la relation à l’État engagée dans le « mode de production » selon Gates est la même que celle qui relie la cour impériale au monde extérieur (2012 : 345). Réciproquement, Gates indique que le mode tributaire est inséparable de la totalité de la cosmologie civilisationnelle chinoise (1996 : 21). Ce sont précisément ces dimensions idéologiques et cosmologiques du tribut qui rendent compte de l’ambiguïté relative à son caractère volontaire ou contraint. De fait, c’est précisément l’existence d’un ordre hiérarchique dicté par les impératifs catégoriques de la cosmologie impériale, qui permet de comprendre non seulement le consentement au paiement du tribut mais même son caractère désirable, et qu’il fait qu’il peut prendre l’apparence d’un don, ou être présenté comme tel par le contributeur (cf Trémon 2019 pour un cas contemporain chinois). C’est aussi cette dimension cosmologique qui explique sa grande proximité avec le sacrifice. Tribut et sacrifice se distinguent par le fait que l’un constitue un transfert direct et le second un transfert indirect (Werbner 1990 : 272) à une entité supérieure. Robertson Smith, dont les écrits ont inspiré ceux de Durkheim et Mauss sur le sacrifice, avait suggéré que le sacrifice aux divinités ou aux ancêtres serait apparu chez les tribus nomadiques du désert du Sinaï sous la forme de la consommation sacrificielle de l’animal totémique, mais que ce sacrifice primitif aurait ensuite, avec la sédentarisation et sous l’action de l’État, suivi le modèle du tribut versé au chef ou au roi dans les sociétés hiérarchisées (Robertson Smith 1889 : 266-267 cité in Scubla 2005 : 147). Si cette proposition relève de la pure spéculation, normative qui plus est puisqu’elle est avancée par Robertson Smith dans un souci de démonstration de la supériorité du sacrifice chrétien, la distinction ainsi esquissée offre matière à penser : le sacrifice originel n’aurait rien d’un don, n’ayant pris cette forme que dans les sociétés à pouvoir centralisé, et le tribut le serait bien davantage, mais il serait dépourvu de l’idée de violence expiatoire associée au sacrifice. C’est pourquoi l’on ne saurait entièrement suivre la définition par David Graeber du tribut, placé dans la troisième catégorie d’une tripartition entre « communisme », « échange » et « hiérarchie » (dans une discussion précédente des modes de production (2006), il avait ignoré le mode tributaire). Celle-ci correspond d’assez près à celle proposée par Alain Testart (don, échange et t3t). Cependant, la façon dont il caractérise le tribut comme relevant de la pure contrainte violente exercée par l’État (2014 : 74) paraît insatisfaisante. Ceci tient en partie à ce que, à la différence de Testart, il établit les distinctions sur les bases de « modes de moralité », qu’il entend substituer aux « modes de production ». S’en tenant uniquement à une acception historiquement lointaine du « tribut » (il n’aborde pas l’impôt moderne), la définition morale qu’il en donne ne rend paradoxalement pas compte du consentement à l’impôt (elle n’explique que la résistance). Le tribut obéit selon lui à la logique du précédent, puisqu’un don offert à une puissance pour la première fois devient ensuite exigible d’année en année. Le tribut est donc un échange devenu transfert en raison des (fausses) promesses de contrepartie qui ont conduit à l’institutionnalisation du système. Cependant, ce qui fait toute la complexité du tribut est qu’il s’agit en effet d’un transfert exigible sans contrepartie exigible, mais qu’une contrepartie n’en est pas moins attendue. Nous pensons à la contrepartie de ce que nous versons à l’État. François Athané déconsidère cette façon de penser, qu’il juge inévitable et légitime, mais qui n’est qu’une « façon de penser et de parler » (2011 : 190) dont il conviendrait de ne pas tenir compte parce qu’elle viendrait polluer l’analyse. La contrepartie n’est jamais exigible dans le double sens où elle ne saurait pas toujours être appuyée par le droit, et où elle ne serait de toute manière pas mesurable (comment calculer la part de ce que je reçois en retour pour mes impôts?). Il n’en demeure pas moins que sans cette attente de réciprocité, les révoltes fiscales seraient bien plus nombreuses. C’est pourtant une façon de penser et de parler qui est chargée de sens et lourde de conséquences. C’est bien parce que des services et biens publics sont produits au moyen des prélèvements que la relation tributaire est rarement remise en cause, et réciproquement, que des révoltes fiscales apparaissent lorsque les services et biens publics ne paraissent pas remplir l’attente de contrepartie. Ces services et biens étant généralement essentiels à la reproduction sociale (au sens des anthropologues, cf. entre autres Weiner 1980), on pourrait réactualiser la notion en substituant à « modes de production » la notion de « modes de reproduction » (marchande, tributaire, etc.) (Trémon 2019 : chap. V). De même, la notion de « relation tributaire » à l’État inclut à la fois le tribut en tant que type de transfert (par contraste avec le don et l’échange) et la relation morale et idéologique qu’elle engage avec le destinataire du tribut. La notion de tribut est ainsi élargie au-delà des contextes historiques spécifiques des systèmes tributaires interétatiques centrés sur un hégémon, et dépouillée de ses relents eurocentriques et évolutionnistes – comme l’a souligné Jack Goody (2006 : 121), qui invitait dans son dernier livre à réactualiser le programme de recherche lancé par Eric Wolf, les États tributaires se trouvant « à l’ouest comme à l’est », et peut-on ajouter, au nord comme au sud

IntroductionIn this article, I set out to accomplish two tasks. The first is to map coffee and cafés in Mainland China in different historical periods. The second is to focus on coffee and cafés in the socio-cultural milieu of contemporary China in order to understand the symbolic value of the emerging coffee/café-scape. Cafés, rather than coffee, are at the centre of this current trend in contemporary Chinese cities. With instant coffee dominating as a drink, the Chinese have developed a cultural and social demand for cafés, but have not yet developed coffee palates. Historical Coffee Map In 1901, coffee was served in a restaurant in the city of Tianjin. This restaurant, named Kiessling, was run by a German chef, a former solider who came to China with the eight-nation alliance. At that time, coffee was reserved mostly for foreign politicians and military officials as well as wealthy businessmen—very few ordinary Chinese drank it. (For more history of Kiessling, including pictures and videos, see Kiessling). Another group of coffee consumers were from the cultural elites—the young revolutionary intellectuals and writers with overseas experience. It was almost a fashion among the literary elite to spend time in cafés. However, this was negatively judged as “Western” and “bourgeois.” For example, in 1932, Lu Xun, one of the most important twentieth century Chinese writers, commented on the café fashion during 1920s (133-36), and listed the reasons why he would not visit one. He did not drink coffee because it was “foreigners’ food”, and he was too busy writing for the kind of leisure enjoyed in cafés. Moreover, he did not, he wrote, have the nerve to go to a café, and particularly not the Revolutionary Café that was popular among cultural celebrities at that time. He claimed that the “paradise” of the café was for genius, and for handsome revolutionary writers (who he described as having red lips and white teeth, whereas his teeth were yellow). His final complaint was that even if he went to the Revolutionary Café, he would hesitate going in (Lu Xun 133-36). From Lu Xun’s list, we can recognise his nationalism and resistance to what were identified as Western foods and lifestyles. It is easy to also feel his dissatisfaction with those dilettante revolutionary intellectuals who spent time in cafés, talking and enjoying Western food, rather than working. In contrast to Lu Xun’s resistance to coffee and café culture, another well-known writer, Zhang Ailing, frequented cafés when she lived in Shanghai from the 1920s to 1950s. She wrote about the smell of cakes and bread sold in Kiessling’s branch store located right next to her parents’ house (Yuyue). Born into a wealthy family, exposed to Western culture and food at a very young age, Zhang Ailing liked to spend her social and writing time in cafés, ordering her favourite cakes, hot chocolate, and coffee. When she left Shanghai and immigrated to the USA, coffee was an important part of her writing life: the smell and taste reminding her of old friends and Shanghai (Chunzi). However, during Zhang’s time, it was still a privileged and elite practice to patronise a café when these were located in foreign settlements with foreign chefs, and served mainly foreigners, wealthy businessmen, and cultural celebrities. After 1949, when the Chinese Communist Party established the People’s Republic of China, until the late 1970s, there were no coffee shops in Mainland China. It was only when Deng Xiaoping suggested neo-liberalism as a so-called “reform-and-open-up” economic policy that foreign commerce and products were again seen in China. In 1988, ten years after the implementation of Deng Xiaoping’s policy, the Nestlé coffee company made the first inroads into the mainland market, featuring homegrown coffee beans in Yunnan province (China Beverage News; Dong; ITC). Nestlé’s bottled instant coffee found its way into the Chinese market, avoiding a direct challenge to the tea culture. Nestlé packaged its coffee to resemble health food products and marketed it as a holiday gift suitable for friends and relatives. As a symbol of modernity and “the West”, coffee-as-gift meshed with the traditional Chinese cultural custom that values gift giving. It also satisfied a collective desire for foreign products (and contact with foreign cultures) during the economic reform era. Even today, with its competitively low price, instant coffee dominates coffee consumption at home, in the workplace, and on Chinese airlines. While Nestlé aimed their product at native Chinese consumers, the multinational companies who later entered China’s coffee market, such as Sara Lee, mainly targeted international hotels such as IHG, Marriott, and Hyatt. The multinationals also favoured coffee shops like Kommune in Shanghai that offered more sophisticated kinds of coffee to foreign consumers and China’s upper class (Byers). If Nestlé introduced coffee to ordinary Chinese families, it was Starbucks who introduced the coffee-based “third space” to urban life in contemporary China on a signficant scale. Differing from the cafés before 1949, Starbucks stores are accessible to ordinary Chinese citizens. The first in Mainland China opened in Beijing’s China World Trade Center in January 1999, targeting mainly white-collar workers and foreigners. Starbucks coffee shops provide a space for informal business meetings, chatting with friends, and relaxing and, with its 500th store opened in 2011, dominate the field in China. Starbucks are located mainly in the central business districts and airports, and the company plans to have 1,500 sites by 2015 (Starbucks). Despite this massive presence, Starbucks constitutes only part of the café-scape in contemporary Chinese cities. There are two other kinds of cafés. One type is usually located in universities or residential areas and is frequented mainly by students or locals working in cultural professions. A representative of this kind is Sculpting in Time Café. In November 1997, two years before the opening of the first Starbucks in Beijing, two newlywed college graduates opened the first small Sculpting in Time Café near Beijing University’s East Gate. This has been expanded into a chain, and boasts 18 branches on the Mainland. (For more about its history, see Sculpting in Time Café). Interestingly, both Starbucks and Sculpting in Time Café acquired their names from literature, Starbucks from Moby Dick, and Sculpting in Time from the Russian filmmaker Andrei Tarkovsky’s film diary of the same name. For Chinese students of literature and the arts, drinking coffee is less about acquiring more energy to accomplish their work, and more about entering a sensual world, where the aroma of coffee mixes with the sounds from the coffee machine and music, as well as the lighting of the space. More importantly, cafés with this ambience become, in themselves, cultural sites associated with literature, films, and music. Owners of this kind of café are often lovers of foreign literatures, films, and cultures, and their cafés host various cultural events, including forums, book clubs, movie screenings, and music clubs. Generally speaking, coffee served in this kind of café is simpler than in the kind discussed below. This third type of café includes those located in tourist and entertainment sites such as art districts, bar areas, and historical sites, and which are frequented by foreign and native tourists, artists and other cultural workers. If Starbucks cultivates a fast-paced business/professional atmosphere, and Sculpting in Time Cafés an artsy and literary atmosphere, this third kind of café is more like an upscale “bar” with trained baristas serving complicated coffees and emphasising their flavour. These coffee shops are more expensive than the other kinds, with an average price three times that of Starbucks. Currently, cafés of this type are found only in “first-tier” cities and usually located in art districts and tourist areas—such as Beijing’s 798 Art District and Nanluo Guxiang, Shanghai’s Tai Kang Road (a.k.a. “the art street”), and Hangzhou’s Westlake area. While Nestlé and Starbucks use coffee beans grown in Yunnan provinces, these “art cafés” are more inclined to use imported coffee beans from suppliers like Sara Lee. Coffee and Cafés in Contemporary China After just ten years, there are hundreds of cafés in Chinese cities. Why has there been such a demand for coffee or, more accurately, cafés, in such a short period of time? The first reason is the lack of “third space” environments in Mainland China. Before cafés appeared in the late 1990s, stores like KFC (which opened its first store in 1987) and McDonald’s (with its first store opened in 1990) filled this role for urban residents, providing locations where customers could experience Western food, meet friends, work, or read. In fact, KFC and McDonald’s were once very popular with college students looking for a place to study. Both stores had relatively clean food environments and good lighting. They also had air conditioning in the summer and heating in the winter, which are not provided in most Chinese university dormitories. However, since neither chain was set up to be a café and customers occupying seats for long periods while ordering minimal amounts of food or drink affected profits, staff members began to indirectly ask customers to leave after dining. At the same time, as more people were able to afford to eat at KFC and McDonald’s, their fast foods were also becoming more and more popular, especially among young people. As a consequence, both types of chain restaurant were becoming noisy and crowded and, thus, no longer ideal for reading, studying, or meeting with friends. Although tea has been a traditional drink in Chinese culture, traditional teahouses were expensive places more suitable for business meetings or for the cultural or intellectual elite. Since almost every family owns a tea set and can readily purchase tea, friends and family would usually make and consume tea at home. In recent years, however, new kinds of teahouses have emerged, similar in style to cafés, targeting the younger generation with more affordable prices and a wider range of choices, so the lack of a “third space” does not fully explain the café boom. Another factor affecting the popularity of cafés has been the development and uptake of Internet technology, including the increasing use of laptops and wireless Internet in recent years. The Internet has been available in China since the late 1990s, while computers and then laptops entered ordinary Chinese homes in the early twenty-first century. The IT industry has created not only a new field of research and production, but has also fostered new professions and demands. Particularly, in recent years in Mainland China, a new socially acceptable profession—freelancing in such areas as graphic design, photography, writing, film, music, and the fashion industry—has emerged. Most freelancers’ work is computer- and Internet-based. Cafés provide suitable working space, with wireless service, and the bonus of coffee that is, first of all, somatically stimulating. In addition, the emergence of the creative and cultural industries (which are supported by the Chinese government) has created work for these freelancers and, arguably, an increasing demand for café-based third spaces where such people can meet, talk and work. Furthermore, the flourishing of cafés in first-tier cities is part of the “aesthetic economy” (Lloyd 24) that caters to the making and selling of lifestyle experience. Alongside foreign restaurants, bars, galleries, and design firms, cafés contribute to city branding, and link a city to the global urban network. Cafés, like restaurants, galleries and bars, provide a space for the flow of global commodities, as well as for the human flow of tourists, travelling artists, freelancers, and cultural specialists. Finally, cafés provide a type of service that contributes to friendly owner/waiter-customer relations. During the planned-economy era, most stores and hotels in China were State-owned, staff salaries were not related to individual performance, and indifferent (and even unfriendly) service was common. During the economic reform era, privately owned stores and shops began to replace State-owned ones. At the same time, a large number of people from the countryside flowed into the cities seeking opportunities. Most had little if any professional training and so could only find work in factories or in the service industry. However, most café employees are urban, with better educational backgrounds, and many were already familiar with coffee culture. In addition, café owners, particularly those of places like Sculpting in Time Cafe, often invest in creating a positive, community atmosphere, learning about their customers and sharing personal experiences with their regular clients. This leads to my next point—the generation of the 1980s’ need for a social community. Cafés’ Symbolic Value—Community A demand for a sense of community among the generation of the 1980s is a unique socio-cultural phenomenon in China, which paradoxically co-exists with their desire for individualism. Mao Zedong started the “One Child Policy” in 1979 to slow the rapid population growth in China, and the generations born under this policy are often called “the lonely generations,” with both parents working full-time. At the same time, they are “the generation of me,” labelled as spoiled, self-centred, and obsessed with consumption (de Kloet; Liu; Rofel; Wang). The individuals of this generation, now aged in their 20s and 30s, constitute the primary consumers of coffee in China. Whereas individualism is an important value to them, a sense of community is also desirable in order to compensate for their lack of siblings. Furthermore, the 1980s’ generation has also benefitted from the university expansion policy implemented in 1999. Since then, China has witnessed a surge of university students and graduates who not only received scientific and other course-based knowledge, but also had a better chance to be exposed to foreign cultures through their books, music, and movies. With this interesting tension between individualism and collectivism, the atmosphere provided by cafés has fostered a series of curious temporary communities built on cultural and culinary taste. Interestingly, it has become an aspiration of many young college students and graduates to open a community-space style café in a city. One of the best examples is the new Henduoren’s (Many People’s) Café. This was a project initiated by Wen Erniu, a recent college graduate who wanted to open a café in Beijing but did not have sufficient funds to do so. She posted a message on the Internet, asking people to invest a minimum of US$316 to open a café with her. With 78 investors, the café opened in September 2011 in Beijing (see pictures of Henduoren’s Café). In an interview with the China Daily, Wen Erniu stated that, “To open a cafe was a dream of mine, but I could not afford it […] We thought opening a cafe might be many people’s dream […] and we could get together via the Internet to make it come true” (quoted in Liu 2011). Conclusion: Café Culture and (Instant) Coffee in China There is a Chinese saying that, if you hate someone—just persuade him or her to open a coffee shop. Since cafés provide spaces where one can spend a relatively long time for little financial outlay, owners have to increase prices to cover their expenses. This can result in fewer customers. In retaliation, cafés—particularly those with cultural and literary ambience—host cultural events to attract people, and/or they offer food and wine along with coffee. The high prices, however, remain. In fact, the average price of coffee in China is often higher than in Europe and North America. For example, a medium Starbucks’ caffè latte in China averaged around US$4.40 in 2010, according to the price list of a Starbucks outlet in Shanghai—and the prices has recently increased again (Xinhua 2012). This partially explains why instant coffee is still so popular in China. A bag of instant Nestlé coffee cost only some US$0.25 in a Beijing supermarket in 2010, and requires only hot water, which is accessible free almost everywhere in China, in any restaurant, office building, or household. As an habitual, addictive treat, however, coffee has not yet become a customary, let alone necessary, drink for most Chinese. Moreover, while many, especially those of the older generations, could discern the quality and varieties of tea, very few can judge the quality of the coffee served in cafés. As a result, few Mainland Chinese coffee consumers have a purely somatic demand for coffee—craving its smell or taste—and the highly sweetened and creamed instant coffee offered by companies like Nestlé or Maxwell has largely shaped the current Chinese palate for coffee. Ben Highmore has proposed that “food spaces (shops, restaurants and so on) can be seen, for some social agents, as a potential space where new ‘not-me’ worlds are encountered” (396) He continues to expand that “how these potential spaces are negotiated—the various affective registers of experience (joy, aggression, fear)—reflect the multicultural shapes of a culture (its racism, its openness, its acceptance of difference)” (396). Cafés in contemporary China provide spaces where one encounters and constructs new “not-me” worlds, and more importantly, new “with-me” worlds. While café-going communicates an appreciation and desire for new lifestyles and new selves, it can be hoped that in the near future, coffee will also be appreciated for its smell, taste, and other benefits. Of course, it is also necessary that future Chinese coffee consumers also recognise the rich and complex cultural, political, and social issues behind the coffee economy in the era of globalisation. 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