A Tale of Two Cities Supporting Xinjiang

In Chinese class, Jiang Hengli didn't open the textbook as usual, but instead drew two boxes on the blackboard.

On the left is written "Runtu," and on the right is written "Grassland Boy."

Jiang Hengli said, "Let's not rush to read the text today, let's chat first."

"Does anyone here have ever herded sheep or ridden horses on the grasslands?"

A dozen or so hands suddenly shot up from below.

"Okay, have you encountered wolves or other dangers on the grasslands?"

A dark-skinned boy stood up, somewhat shyly: "I...I've encountered that before. Last winter, my dad and I were at the ranch, and wolves really did come at night..."

"And then?" Jiang Hengli's eyes lit up.

"My father told me to guard the sheep while he rode his horse with a torch to chase away the wolves."

I was actually very scared at the time, but I thought I couldn't lose the sheep, so I stood in front of the sheepfold holding a stick...

The boy spoke more and more fluently: "A wolf's eyes are green at night, which is really scary. But my dad said that the more afraid you are, the fiercer the wolf becomes."

"Well said!"

Jiang Hengli turned around and wrote a few keywords on the blackboard: protecting the sheep, riding a horse to chase away wolves, facing fear.

"Then everyone think about it, why did Runtu in Lu Xun's story take a steel fork and stab a badger under the moonlight?"

"Protect the crops!" one student answered.

"Yes, it's also about protection."

Jiang Hengli connected Runtu and the grassland boy with a thread: "One is guarding the crops, and the other is guarding the sheep."

Although the places and methods differ, isn't that spirit of courage and responsibility the same?

The students nodded thoughtfully.

"So today, we will not only learn the story of Runtu, but also write your own stories in Chinese."

Jiang Hengli handed out the papers, "Write about the brave moments on the grassland. You can write about the experience of that classmate chasing away the wolf, or you can write about other things that happened to you."

You can use pinyin to represent words you don't know how to write. It doesn't matter if you don't write long sentences, just three or five.

This time, no student complained about not knowing how to write. Even the students who were usually most afraid of writing essays lowered their heads and wrote seriously.

In the pomegranate seed letter-writing activity, Jiang Hengli changed the original requirement of having to fill a whole page of letter paper to a combination of drawing and writing.

Students can draw a picture—a grassland, a cotton field, a grape trellis, a naan pit at home…

Then add a brief Chinese introduction or two next to it.

"Teacher, can I really draw?"

A girl asked timidly, "My handwriting isn't very good..."

"sure!"

Jiang Hengli affirmed, "Painting is also a form of expression."

You draw a grassland and write next to it, "This is my hometown, it's beautiful," and that's perfect!

The activity immediately became lively.

The students submitted a wide variety of works: some depicted a brightly colored sunset over the grassland, others meticulously detailed cotton paintings, and still others showed lively family gatherings...

The accompanying text, though simple, was full of genuine emotion.

These works were scanned and sent to students at the paired school in Dalian.

Jiang Hengli was looking forward to the exchange between the children from the two places, but he did not expect that the accident would come so suddenly.

Two weeks later, the reply from the student in Dalian arrived.

Most of the replies were very friendly; some praised the drawing, some asked what the grassland looked like, and some shared pictures of the sea in Dalian.

But one of the letters caused a huge uproar.

It was written by a boy from Dalian. One sentence in the letter read: "Do you live in the desert and ride camels to school every day? Is the desert very hot?"

That one sentence caused an uproar.

"What does he mean? Is he saying we live in the desert?"

"We have grasslands, rivers, and orchards here, so how come he only saw a desert?"

"Is this a sign of looking down on us?"

Several Xinjiang students, their faces flushed with anger, slammed the letter on Jiang Hengli's desk: "Teacher, we're not participating in this activity! They don't understand us at all!"

Even more seriously, the news spread like wildfire, and soon the whole class knew about it.

The students who were initially very enthusiastic are now hesitant: "Teacher, do they think we're lagging behind?"

Jiang Hengli suddenly realized that this was not a simple matter of inappropriate word choice, but a deep-seated cultural gap and a stereotype caused by long-term information asymmetry.

If not handled properly, not only will the activity fail, but the students' newly established confidence and willingness to engage in cross-cultural communication may also be destroyed.

Jiang Hengli steadied himself. "Everyone, calm down. We'll have a video conference during self-study tomorrow afternoon to talk directly with our classmates in Dalian, okay?"

The students were skeptical, but seeing Jiang Hengli's serious expression, they nodded.

That afternoon, the multimedia classroom was filled with students. On the other side of the screen, more than thirty students from the paired class in Dalian were also online.

After a brief opening, Jiang Hengli directly addressed the issue: "First of all, on behalf of our classmates, I would like to clarify one point to our classmates in Dalian: we do not live in the desert."

Xinjiang has deserts, but it also has grasslands, forests, lakes, rivers, and this fertile oasis beneath our feet.

He switched to the PowerPoint presentation, showing photos he had prepared beforehand: endless grasslands, grapevines laden with fruit, modern city streets, and a spacious school playground...

On the other side of the screen, the students in Dalian watched intently.

"Now, I would like to invite a classmate to introduce their hometown."

The first one to raise his hand was the dark-skinned boy, the one who recounted his experience of chasing away the wolves.

He walked in front of the camera, a little nervous, but his voice was firm:

"My name is Erken, and I live on the Narat Grassland."

Summer is especially beautiful where we live; the grass is green, the sky is blue, and cattle and sheep graze on the grasslands.

I ride a horse to school every day, not because there's no road, but because I enjoy riding horses.

Our school has teaching buildings, laboratories, and computer rooms, just like your school.

Next, a girl said, "My name is Guli. We have a grape valley where the grapes ripen in the summer, and they look like bunches of pearls."

We also have karez irrigation systems, which are ancient water conservancy projects and are incredibly impressive. Everyone is welcome to come and try our raisins!

One after another, the students from Xinjiang took turns stepping forward.

They talked about the grasslands, the cotton fields, the snow-capped mountains, the bustling bazaar, and the hand-pulled noodles and baked buns they made at home...

On the other side of the screen, the students in Dalian listened quietly. The boy who had written "desert" blushed deeply and finally couldn't help but speak:

"I'm sorry... I really didn't know before."

I thought Xinjiang was all desert; that was a very naive assumption.

Your hometown is so beautiful, I want to go and see it.

The students from Xinjiang's expressions softened.

One of the boys laughed and said, "It's okay. We didn't know Dalian had so many tall buildings and such a big sea. We want to see the sea too!"

The atmosphere immediately relaxed. Students from both locations began asking each other questions:

"Do you really ride horses to school every day?"

"Only students who live on the grasslands ride bicycles; those of us who live in the county town ride bicycles or take public transportation."

"Is the seafood in Dalian good?"

"It's delicious! But your Xinjiang lamb skewers are even better; I've seen them on TV!"

Laughter gradually increased.

After the video lesson ended, Jiang Hengli summarized: "Today's lesson was probably more useful than ten of our Chinese language classes."

It tells us that misunderstandings arise from a lack of understanding, and that a lack of communication deepens the barriers between us.

Chinese language is not just about recognizing characters and making sentences; it is also a bridge for communication. Through the Chinese language, you have shown students thousands of miles away the real Xinjiang; and they have also shown you what Dalian is like.

This is the meaning of learning—to see a bigger world, and to let the world see the real us.

After class, the students who wanted to withdraw from the activity approached Jiang Hengli.

"Teacher, we'll participate in the activity again."

"Yes, we must write and draw well so that they know what Xinjiang is really like."