a history of violence

The other day I was inside a McDonalds, glorious symbol of America for better or worse. That or Coca Cola. It was crowded with people my age or younger and there was a dynamic atmosphere you'd be hard pressed to find in an equivalent back home. Suddenly the manager put his hand on the back of another man who had been talking to two girls. For a split second I thought it was a friendly gesture, but this was quickly dispelled when he violently jerked the man away from them and began shouting and pushing him. At the second shove, the man made a fist and screamed at the manager, his face contorted in rage but also what looked like pain. No sound came out. The man was mute, and my unaffected friend beside me told me that other Chinese mutes often select McDonalds as the place to peddle their vouchers. Apparently it happened all the time. I watched as the man was bullied out the door, and could not help but choose his side and pity him staring from the outside before finally walking slowly away. I did not think to remember the anger I have often felt here in Shanghai towards locals trying to sell me goods or beg money from me, an anger that sometimes bubbles into rage and a desire for violence.

I played basketball with a guy from Haerbin, the "Ice City", yesterday. I shook his hand and told him I had heard a rumor that the people from Haerbin were fighters. He smiled and said that it was true, that Shanghai people were "pussies" and that in Haerbin they "don't talk, they throw a punch." His English was easily among the best I had ever heard from a Chinese local; I was shocked that he had never left China, and as the day went on I joked with him that I didn't believe he had never studied in the States. Peace told me a couple stories about his fights, including one where he smashed a taxi cab door into the head of a drunken Shanghainese. This coupled with his virtual mastery of English, including some choice slang, gave me a strange sensation. I could not help but respect him more for both his language ability and apparent violent streak. Though most likely not a true indication, Asians who speak good English give the impression of a high degree of intelligence. Despite my increasing leaning towards calm, passive tranquility in my day to day life, there still lies in me that primal feeling of violence, brute strength and intimidation as synonymous with power, respect, and success. Anyways, his basketball style was a little physical, and he played well. An opponent in one of our games often joked around, talking trash in a Sam Cassel (I imagine), jovial kind of way. The smiling jester quickly got under Peace's skin, who after a point went forehead to head with him telling him in Mandarin not to tell people what to do, how to play, or what a foul was. After that, Peace's game declined into a somewhat physical war with whoever was guarding him, even if it was a double team. After the game, he confided in us the obvious: that the guy had gotten under his skin and made him lose his cool on the court. But it was his explanation of something that I hadn't noticed during the game that was strangely fascinating:
"That guy [the trash talker] was pretty good!"
"I didn't notice it, why do you say that?"
"Because he guarded me in the post, I couldn't hit him in the face with my elbow" Peace gave us a demonstration of a classic Shaq move. "Yea he backed away just enough to avoid it," he continued smiling.
"It's eerie how normal you talk about trying to elbow him."

And it was.