Muninn

As historians, we often engage in the liberal use of quotations to sanitize and quarantine distasteful terms or phrases that lend legitimacy to a category or a way of referring to an institution or other body. The use of these quotes, which I confess to frequently using, presumably robs such terms of their nomenclatural power and further serves to establish distance between us and the ideas and terms we enlist to talk about the past.

Finally, use of these quotation marks excuses us from having to spend time analyzing the terms themselves, putting them aside as if to say, “Yes, yes, this is a very inappropriate term that needs careful and sensitive discussion, but since I’ve a lot to do in this essay, I just can’t be bothered at the moment to deal with it.”

Some people seem to feel that the aesthetic impact on one’s work is such that the frequent use of quotations is just not worth it, or perhaps feel that we simply aren’t accomplishing anything useful by using them for direct translations or referrals to terms as they were used decades or centuries ago. However, not using quotations or confronting problematic terms can earn the ire of book reviewers, as I discussed in a response to a review of the book Collaboration by Timothy Brooks. Brooks was criticized for used the term “pacification teams” to refer to the units the Japanese called “pacification teams” in occupied China during the war even if he is anything but sympathetic to the Japanese in his book.

One strategy is to use quotations once, and then announce that you won’t be using them anymore. I came across this tactic today when reading a Chinese translation of an essay by Matsuda Toshihiko, called 日本帝國在殖民地的憲兵警察制度：從朝鮮，關東州致滿洲國的統治樣式遷移 (English title was listed as “The ‘Gendarme-oriented’ Police System in the Japanese Colonial Empire: The Transfer of Models of Rule Used in Colonial Korea to Kwantung Province and Manchukuo”) After putting Japan’s 內地 (the interior of Japan = Japan proper excluding its colonies) and terms like 滿洲 (Manchuria, 滿洲國 Manchukuo, the largely Japanese controlled Manchurian state from 1932-1945, often called 僞滿州 or the “puppet Manchukuo”) in quotations, he follows each with “一下省略括號” (”Brackets left out below”).

Another strategy that can sometimes be used, which is one I follow for some words like “traitors,” is to embrace a word and use it quite shamelessly in order to deliberately provoke the reader. In English, the word traitor has lost much of its punch of late - a good thing in my opinion - but still holds great power in many other places and languages. The discomfort generated by the word and the way it forces readers to think about what it really means is part of what I aim to achieve when I use the term. Far from wanting to contribute to the term’s legitimacy, my deliberate use of it is partly out of a kind of mockery, but more importantly out of a desire to help set the scene of the politically charged context in which it was used.

Though I can’t speak for them, I suspect something similar is being done in some other famous cases of this. Some scholars of Korean history have been strongly criticized for using words like “terrorist” to describe Korea’s national tragic hero Kim Koo. I suspect these same critics would have much less opposition to him be referred to by his popular nickname, “the assassin.” I really don’t have strong feelings on this issue and I don’t think it is as straightforward as my own case, but it raises some interesting questions. What if these scholars are also engaging in a dual process of linguistic mockery and deliberate attempt at reviving a historical scene? Should the word be off limits entirely, should it necessarily be accompanied with quotations, or are there alternatives? What I think escapes some critics of such scholars is that I believe at least some of them are using the word terrorist not as a way to conjure images of Kim Koo as a suicide bomber in a crowded market but, on the contrary, to show how the word terrorist has itself a history and potentially embraces a wide range of figures we might be less willing to unconditionally condemn. In doing so, they potentially open a space in which to critique the way the word has come to be used and what it now narrowly represents, as well as the wide range of activities and contexts it covered both in the past and now. Can we only engage in such a rhetorical technique through the use of quotations?

I’d be interested in hearing from other students and scholars about this. What strategies do others take when they are faced with the need or potential need to establish quotational quarantines? What conventions do you follow?

The Problem: Let us say you have a list of Chinese words or single Chinese characters in a file. There are a lot of them. You want some easy and fast way of getting the pinyin and English definitions of that list of words or single characters and you want this in a format that can be easily imported into a flashcard program so you can practice these words.

Today I faced this kind of problem. There are lots of “annotator” websites online that make use of the free CEDICT Chinese dictionary but I have yet to find one which outputs a simple, and nicely formated (with all [...], and /…/ stuff removed) tab delimited vocab lists.

I have recently been frustrated by the fact that I often come across Chinese characters that I haven’t learn, or, more often, characters that I only know how to pronounce in Japanese or Korean. I also am frustrated at the fact that I have forgotten the tones for a lot of characters I knew well many years ago when I studied Chinese formally.

Over the summer I want to review or learn the 3500 most frequently used Chinese characters, particularly their pronunciation, so that I can improve my tones and more quickly lookup compounds I don’t know.¹

I found a few frequency lists online (see here and here for example) and I stripped out the data I didn’t need to create a list with nothing but one character on each line.² Although it is an older list based on a huge set of Usenet postings from ‘93-’94 you can download an already converted list of 3500 characters here.³

Since I’m not in the mood to look up 3500 characters one by one, I spent a few hours this evening using this problem as an excuse to write my second script in the Ruby programming language.

In the remote possibility that others find it useful who are using Mac OS X, you can download the result of my tinkering here:

Cedict Vocabulary List Generator 1.1

This download includes the 2007.8 version of CEDICT, the latest I could find here.⁴

How this script works:

1. After unzipping the download, boot up the “Convert.app” applescript application. It will ask you to identify the file you want to annotate. It is looking for a text file (not a word or rich text file) in Unicode (UTF-8) format with either simplified or traditional Chinese characters or word compounds, one on each line.

2. This application will then send this information to the convert.rb ruby script which will search for the words in the CEDICT dictionary in the same folder, format the information it finds (the hanzi, pinyin, and English definition), including the putting of multiple hits for the same character/word within the same entry with the definitions numbered. It does not currently add the alternate form of the hanzi (it won’t add simplified version to traditional or vice versa).

3. It will then produce a new file with the word “converted” added to its name. It will create tab-delimited files by default but you can change this by changing this option at the top of the convert.rb file in a text editor.

4. Though this version of the script doesn’t do this yet, you may want to run the resulting text through the Pinyin Tone dashboard widget or a similar online tool such as the one here or here. That will get rid of the syllable final tone numbers and add the appropriate tone marks. I am having a bit of trouble converting the JavaScript that my widget and this site uses into Ruby so if anyone is interested in working on this let me know!

If the script doesn’t work: make sure you are saving your text file as UTF-8 before you convert. I am also having trouble when my script is placed somewhere on a hard disk where the path has lots of spaces. Try putting the script folder on your Desktop.

Note: If you don’t have Mac OS X but can run Ruby scripts on your operating system, you may be able to run my script convert.rb from the command line. It takes this format:

convert.rb /path/to/file.txt /path/to/cedict.u8

UPDATE 1.1: The script now replaces “u:” with “ü” (CEDICT uses u:).

1. The top 3000 make up some 98-99% when their cumulative frequency is considered. [↩]
2. A few of the frequency lists I have seen have Cedict dictionary data included but not in a very clean format [↩]
3. I notice that there is a high frequency of phonetic hanzi for expression emotion in the postings and some other characters one doesn’t come across as often in more formal texts, I actually don’t mind [↩]
4. If you find a newer version (in UTF-8) put it in the same directory as my script and name it cedict.u8 [↩]

I’m happy to announce the results of a few hours of tinkering: The Pinyin Tone Widget. This OS X dashboard widget will take a series of Chinese pinyin words with tone numbers appended at the end of each syllable and will add the tone marks where appropriate (e.g. zhong1guo2 becomes zhōngguó).

Many years ago, before Unicode became dominant, I used a Microsoft Word macro written by a Chinese language scholar, James Dew, as the basis for making an old Mac OS 9 application that translated texts between various pinyin fonts that were floating around online. Later, I made an online script that could convert tone numbers into unicode tone marks. I was surprised to hear from various Chinese language instructors at a conference I presented at a few years later (2003) that many of them used the script regularly when preparing texts for their Chinese language classes.

The online script still works but there is a much more elegantly written online script which does the same thing written by a more skilled programmer in Taiwan named Mark Wilbur hosted on his site Doubting to Shuō. You can find his tool here: Pinyin Tone Tool.

My old PHP script is ugly by comparison to Mark’s compact javascript so I have essentially installed his script to work in an OS X dashboard widget. You can download the widget here:

Pinyin Tone Widget v. 1.02
(more…)

I am usually not too picky about my sleeping quarters when I travel. On my recent trip to China however, I met a really friendly university student on the bus who offered to help me scout out a relatively clean and conveniently located hotel near Shandong University. The place turned out to be more than adequate and I enjoyed numerous conversations with the half dozen or so staff there during the five days I was there.

One morning, however, I woke up to what seemed to be the sound of a jack hammer drilling into my hotel room wall. I managed to ignore it but when as I walked out of my room, I found the source of the noise as soon as I opened the door:

I’m not sure what the Chinese name is for it, but there is a kind of huge bread often found sold on the streets of China that I have to admit is pretty tasty. It is not the kind of hearty whole grain material that I usually like but there is something satisfying about the approximately 3cm thick, chewy composite layers of this bread covered by a crispy and salted exterior.

The bread is often sold in large square slabs the size of a small coffee table, but you can also ask to buy only a quarter chunk, the size of which you can see in the picture above.

When I bought some in Jinan on my trip to Shandong recently I was reminded, however, of the fact that food hygiene is still not quite up to the standards one might want, especially for street venders. When I asked to buy a chunk of the bread, my vender took the slab of bread to the back of his pick-up truck and used the rusting metal back ramp of the vehicle as the fulcrum upon which he broke off the piece I requested.

I mentioned in an earlier posting written while visiting Taiwan in 2005 that, in addition to media products such as Korean movies and dramas, there is another “Korean wave” out there.

As I mentioned in that posting, “Korean-style plastic surgery” (韓風整形) can be found advertised on the streets of Taipei. In this advertising we see a “before” and “after” shot indicating how a customer might be transformed into Bae Yong-jun:

On my recent trip to Shandong, I discovered that this was not limited to Taiwan but can also been seen in mainland China. In fact, the main shopping street of Jinan (which includes a Walmart and various famous brand clothing stores) was lined on both sides for several hundred meters with an illuminated advertisement for “Korean-style plastic surgery” (韓氏整形). This time, instead of Bae Yong-jun, they chose the image of a woman in a hanbok to give it an authentic look.

With minor modifications, I think this has to be my favorite new slogan:

This sign can be found in the bathrooms of Jinan airport in China.¹ A loose translation of the Chinese might go something like this, “Support the protection of the environment, use only what [toilet] paper you need.” (or “be economical in your use of paper”) I had never heard the word bumf before so I thought it might be a misspelling but the closest word I could think of that made sense was “Bambi.”

Bumf is, in fact, a real word. I must have missed it during my GRE preparations. From the OED:

[Short for bum-fodder (see BUM n.1 4).]

Toilet-paper; hence, paper (esp. with contemptuous implication), documents collectively. Also attrib.

1889 BARRÈRE & LELAND Dict. Slang, Bumf (schoolboys), paper… A bumf-hunt is a paper-chase. 1912 V. WOOLF Let. 16 Nov. in Woolf & Strachey Lett. (1956) 46 Is this letter written upon Bumf? It looks like it. 1930 WYNDHAM LEWIS Apes of God (1932) v. 161 Low-lid fodder or high-brow bumph! 1930 E. RAYMOND Jesting Army I. vi. 90 The Brigadier pushed back the mess accounts to me and said, ‘You’ll keep all that bumf till next time, won’t you, padre?’ 1938 E. WAUGH Scoop II. iv. 211, I shall get a daily pile of bumf from the Ministry of Mines. 1957 M. K. JOSEPH I’ll soldier no More (1958) 21 Matthews is bringing the bumf… He says be sure and type it on Army Form A2.

bum-fodder, L. anitergium, hence, worthless literature.

The more I think about it, this slogan has many possible uses that go beyond bathroom walls. You know that US law which is designed to reduce paperwork? You can find reference to it at the bottom of many government documents in the small print. They could rename the law, “Protect the environment, reduce bumf!”

You know the kind of academic scholarship with a gargantuan theoretical superstructure which ultimately has absolutely nothing interesting to say? We could start a movement under the slogan, “Protect the environment, reduce bumf!”

The possibilities are nearly inexhaustible. The word bumf clearly deserves a period of renewal.

1. Apparently, I am not the only one on the internet who has noticed this sign. Another Konrad has posted a picture of the sign on flickr. Other references can be found here and there. [↩]

I spent an hour or two on Shandong Normal University campus in Jinan and noticed an interesting addition to the services available at their university library.

The sign on the left reads:

Library Glasses Department (in red)
Accurate Eye Examination, Fast Delivery of Glasses (in blue)

Similar info on the vertical sign.

That the library would have its own optical department may be attributed to the fact that lights are often not bright enough (In Jinan metropolitan museum the day before I could barely see the paintings hung inside the exhibition room it was so dark) but it could be that the heavy reading loads the young students of Beijing Normal University must face make this a conveniently accessible service. Come to think of it, perhaps every large university library should consider this strategic addition?

I was walking through the back streets of a neighborhood in northeastern Jinan the other day and, among the restaurants one can usually find on the street side, I found myself curiously watching a dentist perform his work while another patient (?) waited by the door.

I caught a taxi today to visit the Baotuquan（趵突泉）springs here in Jinan. I asked the driver what my chances were of catching a cab to the airport around 5:30 in the morning on Monday to get to Jinan airport to return to Korea and how long it would take from my hotel. After he answered, the driver went silent for a bit and then asked,

你是韩国人吗？ Are you Korean?

The question came across quite sincere. On the one hand it seems reasonable to ask someone who is “returning” to Korea if they are Korean. On the other hand, one might also say it is reflective of a kind of ignorance of the fact that the vast majority of Korean citizens are anything but blond caucasians. It is possible that this driver may not, like other Chinese I have met here, have been watching Korean dramas and may not know much at all about the people of that peninsula other than, perhaps, that China fought a war there to “resist America” (抗美战争）and its “aggression” against North Korea in the 1950s. Or perhaps the driver assumed, quite reasonably, that, like China with its dozens of recognized ethnic groups, Korea too had an ethnic minority of caucasian-looking people living somewhere up in the hills where we preserve our language and traditional costumes. However, this is the second time that a Chinese person I met (the other time was a student of around high school age I met in Beijing years ago who asked me, in the presence of some Japanese friends, if I was Japanese) who only used my race to put me into the category of “foreigner” when seeing me and not immediately assuming that I could not be a citizen of some other Asian country.

Another example of this kind of relatively rare experience suggests that this doesn’t have to be due to any kind of ignorance about the relative racial homogeneity that still prevails in places like Japan and Korea, despite recent immigration. Once when I was at Taipei airport in Taiwan returning to Japan, where I was living at the time, I met a Korean citizen who was born and raised in Japan (在日), spoke only Japanese and no Korean or much English. We met at the bus stop at the then “Chiang Kai-shek airport” and soon discovered we were both heading to Tokyo. Although she was traveling as a Korean, she told me she was actually right now in the process of getting Japanese citizenship, over the strong opposition of her grandparents in Japan. After a few sentences exchanged in Japanese, she asked me, “Are you Japanese?”

As someone who lived her entire life in Japan and who spoke no language but Japanese, her question, again completely serious, can’t be blamed on any ignorance of the racial makeup of Japan. Instead, perhaps because of her own situation, she didn’t immediately associate being Japanese, as many others who grew up in that country would, with belonging to any particular ethnic group or race. She asked the question as we might reasonably ask someone of any race, who spoke with an American accent, if they were American (though even in this case, racial minorities like Asian-Americans will often get the, “Where are you from from,” question to get them to answer where their non-caucasian immigrant ancestors came from).

Given the reality of immigration in places like Korea and Japan, the time may come, in a decade or two, when this question becomes more common and natural.