When a villa just isn’t enough – Emperor Zillah.

Seriously.

Truth is stranger than fiction, even stranger than the infamous science fiction of Godzilla vs. Whoever, which, in a bizarre, déjà vu sort of way is exactly what I’m about to describe.

This, a dream of a viral “punk’d-op” skipped YouTube and rocketed to hyper-reality, Emperor Zillah is a real place.

Awash in ignorance as I question the appropriate meaning of “Zillah” to assign here, my fingers deftly head to Wikipedia. I look it up again with a strict aversion to sci-fi entries. It seems the British coined the term (of Hindi and Arabic derivation) around 1790 as they attempted to colonize India, it means: an administrative district in India. There’s literally nothing admin about this place although one could extrapolate it to mean the center of power. On to the next def, in a biblical context Zillah was one of two wives of Lamech. Gen. 4:19 – strike two, something more Babylonian might have worked. The USS Zillah, a patrol boat, probably not – this is the freakin' mothership. Sigh, Definitely not Zillah from Wuthering Heights. Zillah the vampire, perhaps in economic terms as this place could suck the life out of any mere millionaire.

Zillah for these purposes might best be applied in the context of a character of minimal significance in Flora Thompson’s Lark Rise to Candleford.  A novel describing the journey from a tiny village to a new, worldly town where the affects of the “new” impact an entire community as it moves from rural culture into the future.

Even though I’ve taken great liberties with the entire context, Lark Rise fits better than my initial inclination to settle for the "biggest, baddest, monster" def.

Allow me if I may, to transport you to epicenter of excess, slightly southeast of the Shanghai World Financial Center in the People’s Republic of China, of all places.

Emperor Zillah, the gated community introduced to Shanghai in 2008, is comprised of twenty-two, 9,000+ sq ft Zillahs (think châteaux) complete with swimming pools and your very own ½+ acre slab of prime real estate. This new Emperor will no doubt provide all of the bells and whistles to make the acute, affluently ordained olfactory nerves sturnutate at the scent of a “vanilla” villa.

The real world metaphors are Bel Air, West Chester County, and Lake Forest heavily influenced by Provence. You get the picture. The places where the so-called “American Dream” resides in Dolby® surround sound and dreamy white Technicolor®. These are the sort of places, where as newly anointed drivers, we loved to travel to from our mind-numbing, lower, middle class existence, just to do lawn jobs, steal real estate signs and ultimately live up to Frank Zappa’s exhortations of knocking the jockeys off the rich people’s lawns.

Those were days of American capitalism at its shiny best and we of limited means needed a piece of it. Hell, it was that hunger that empowered Risky Business to become the road map of a lost generation in search of a short cut to fiscal irresponsibility. 

We actually believed we were the center of the universe because our government acted like it.

$750 billion dollars not once, but twice later, and after leaving the land of super-sized getting downsized, and a government relegated to self-inflicted grid-lock, I have inadvertently found that delta at the end of the Great River of Money.

China.

The diamond encrusted Lambo-bling.

It is a place where a late boomer such as myself can become easily confused between capitalism and materialism. A place where the excesses of consumption relegate the bling of Jay-Z and Liberace to mere nomenclature on the Lamborghini. The Chinese super rich are as mesmerised as barracudas when it comes to “shiny new objects”. And while the audacity of out doing the western world on its own materialistic terms seems hilarious at first in the form of Emperor Zillah – it is the potent, hi-octane fueling the fires in the bellies that keep this juggernaut a churn.

They are buying the dream as we once did with wholehearted government endorsement. And unlike what we had, a fiercely protective government and society, that while friendly to outsiders, rarely if ever allows them into the inner sanctum. And it seems rightly so at this point, to this casual observer.

The Chinese people are getting a taste of limited freedom promised by a series of five-year plans that has put them nearly a generation ahead of the economic reformers' (primarily Zhoa Enlai and Deng Xiaoping) projections of the seventies, eighties and nineties. (A different story that lends credence to Jesse Ventura’s concept of a no-party political system where officials work for, imagine that, the people!) They are pushing it to the limits both literally and figuratively. They work hard (any less would be a personal embarrassment by subscribing to the morays of the welfare states of the west [How dare everyone expect a trophy!]) and they play hard.

Two weekends past, 34 Ferraris were caught (well almost, it seems 26 eluded capture) racing from Shanghai to Zhejiang hitting top speeds of 213 kph or 134 mph on the public interstate on their way to, jeah – a racetrack.

This is the wide-eyed, irrepressible howl of change.

The initial gust of a jeweled, pavé encrusted typhoon, these are the early symptoms of an urban existence left behind as the glimmering yellow brick road transports the Chinese dream at warp speed (or minimum at the speed of a 458 Spider). The Chinese people have a vision and it is surpassing the western version of materialism as it drags the populist into an era of consumption amidst dimming Confucian virtues.

In August of 2011, after a five month housing slump, the Zillah roared to the rescue leading a resurgence, when one 850-square-meter (9150 sq ft) unit fetched 135 million Yuan, or $21.3 million US. They build more.

When I was a kid there was a crazy American who once had a dream ( ... no not that one – he was sane by comparison) inspired by an awe of the immense potential of an alien nation comprised of 800 million people (which he new would quickly grow to over 1.2 billion within a generation). 800 million people he marveled to his henchman "What might they someday accomplish?" Perhaps more significantly, there seemed to be a sentiment of "We may not beat them so let's preemptively plan to join them".

So, he asked Hank to open the door. 

Unfortunately, that crazy man went completely, and then fell, of the wall.
A generation passed before we actually decided to step through that door. 

Ironically, Zhou and Deng exhibited the testicular fortitude and then some, of Richard Nixon as they introduced ideas contradictory to the Chinese Communist hardline of the time that could have killed them. These ideas embodied elements of free market economies. (Zhou worked with Kissinger to open China to the US visits in the early seventies. Deng is generally credited with developing China into one of the fastest growing economies in the world, improving the standard of living for hundreds of millions of Chinese.)

So, as Chinese tastes rewrite the menu of the material world we once consumed, the much anticipated Zillah of an ideological show down seems to have quietly passed with barely a struggle under the auspices of materialism. The aging, lone world superpower wallows in an uninspired political, anti-dream time, while a new, aspiring one dreams in 24 karat, hallucinicolor. One society seems to be looking to drive Bentleys, Bugattis and Ferraris, as the other seems to be resigning itself to pulling richshaws.

What happens next might be one of the few good things to come of the Nixonian era, an outlandish dream of an ambitious (and hopefully purehearted) individual asking "What if?", becoming the kick in the ass that America needs to again empower her people. 

In the interim, I, being a recent political agnostic since "sleeping with Hope and awakening with a corpse", am looking forward to again returning to my middle class roots via the road to a new Chinese driver's license.

Shanghainese lawn jockeys prepare for battle.

© 2012 Karl Shaffer

We have an SUV vs. Sherpa on a motor scooter.

1 – 90 seconds after impact            2 – Eight minutes after impact        3 – 40 minutes after impact      

At about 9:00p or so, on a recent Thursday evening we were about to sit down and catch-up on ER. Yeah, the show now relegated to syndication that helped launched that talented thespian, George Clooney (who happens to be bigger than ever here in Shanghai). It is one of the few shows Kris has ever watched. I rarely, if ever watched it, because I was usually preoccupied by work or some such psychotic endeavor.

Here in Shanghai ER is easy to watch, simply because the television programming is pretty bad. (If we watched more than an hour or so a day things would be pretty dire.) Luckily we do get the major tennis tournament and seasonally, in the fall, my favorite spectacle, bull fighting! (More on this later.)

We get to see The Voice, Hawaii 5-0 and the ubiquitous CSIs if we choose. Frankly, my interests begin and end narrowly with Mad Men, which I have to score on iTunes.

Thanks to the wonder of CDs we can relive the glory years of ER.

So, as I was saying we were about to sit down to another episode featuring Doug’s indiscretions, when I hear a loud crash. Initially it sounds like a sound F/X of a gurney busting through the ICU doors on the show.

Within seconds it becomes clear that it was actually a mishap on the street near our building.

I hurry to the balcony to see what’s up. It’s a collision at the intersection below. It looks pretty serious as I scan the scene. There’s a small SUV stopped just past the apex point of a left hand turn and a person lying on the pavement ten feet or so away. There is also a scooter about 20 feet away. It seems the person on the ground was a deliveryman from a local service called Sherpa’s (even in the dim light of the intersection I see the trademark orange and black logo).

Two or three passersby surround the person on the ground, bending to briefly inspect him/her. Immediately they were on their cell phones calling for help. I see the Sherpa move albeit very, very slowly.

After five minutes there is no sign of police or ambulance in the vicinity. I'm expecting Carter and Malucci to come running to the scene with the stolen EMR tool kits in hand.

Our doctor’s advice rings gravely accurate, “in the case of emergency take a taxi to the western hospital across the river” it’s your best bet for urgent care.

Soon the passersby grew to a small crowd of about ten, all of which were concerned though not assisting. I was surprised to see the SUV driver still in attendance, or seemingly so, because the vehicle was still there. In China the law is pretty clear (as I understand it) that if a driver injures or disables a person in an accident and it is determined to be the driver’s fault, the injured person is entitled to be supported for life by the driver at fault. It is a quick process relative to courtroom processes and litigation in the US.

It is also emphatically advised that if you do see such a mishap that you do not by any means assist the victim, as you could be held accountable for any injuries incurred – even in an effort to help.

However, this system has recently had its setbacks. It seems that the fine for a driver at fault for killing a person can be less, much less, than the cost of life-long support for the maimed.  This has given rise to the Chinese urban legend (and harsh reality) of guilty drivers killing their victims at the scene. In a horrific case a couple of years ago, a driver repeatedly backed-up and ran over a four year-old boy who happened to have been right behind the car. The initial incident was definitely an accident the subsequent actions were intentional and the boy died as a result.

http://www.chinasmack.com/2010/pictures/bmw-driver-hits-small-boy-runs-him-over-4x-then-walks-away-.html

The incident caused an outrage but not enough of one to prevent the well to do guilty party from paying a fine and walking.

There was an even more deliberate killing at the hands of an affluent young driver in 2010. When after he struck a peasant woman, he got out of his vehicle to evaluate the situation whereupon he found the woman (not fatally injured) writing down his license number. He acted deliberately and decisively, stabbing her eight times – killing her. http://www.ministryoftofu.com/2011/04/chinese-public-opinion-demands-execution-of-a-student-accuses-state-tv-for-siding-murderers/

His reasoning was “not to be pestered by peasants.” In this case the driver was executed after a short trial.

Bordering on 8 minutes since impact (cognoscente of time with an eye on my cell phone clock) and finally I hear a siren. It seems to be an opportunistic proprietor of a wrecker/tow truck. Now, I'm convinced as the television subtext is exclaiming, "the patient is bleeding out!" The crowd was growing still larger as some of the concerned seemed to now form a barrier around the Sherpa (much like water buffaloes protecting their young) while others directed traffic in a chaotic manner.

Finally, a police cruiser and two motorcycle officers arrive at the scene.

One officer begins to clear pedestrians and the other walks up to inspect the Sherpa. The officer was careful not to move the victim as he walked around the extremities. He did seem to be talking with the victim though.

It's now about 12-15 minutes or so later and the officers are now talking to witnesses. This process lasts for another 15-20 minutes. All while the poor Sherpa lies on the pavement virtually motionless. For over a half an hour, I expect an ambulance any second.

What happens next can only be described as  “Gilliam-ly” surreal (as in Brazil).

Incredulously, the officers begin their accident scene investigation. Apparently, they deduce that the Sherpa, while incapacitated, is not in need. The two officers pull out a tape measure and begin documenting the scene. The Sherpa is motionless on the pavement. They measure from the fender of the SUV to the point at which the Sherpa lies. Then the distance from the SUV to the point of the crunched motor scooter is recorded. Once the primary measurements are out of the way an intricate series of geometric measurements ensues. The distances from the SUV bumper to the light post at the right corner, then to a more acute traffic light post on the same side. These measurements take another 10 to 15 minutes.

At this point the Sherpa still isn’t moving. He seems resided to accept his fate.

After the measurements seem to be complete the officer again approaches the Sherpa in a more compassionate manner, he kneels to speak with him.  Simultaneously, a siren is wailing in the distance, soon the crowd clears enough to allow an ambulance to enter the vicinity.

Two medics attend to the Sherpa for about 10 minutes and finally with the help of the officer get him onto a stretcher and into the back of the ambulance. It takes another five minutes before the ambulance leaves the scene.

Once the ambulance is gone the wrecker is allowed to move the SUV and the motor scooter is hoisted to a small flatbed, both are ferried away.

Traffic is back to normal in a few minutes and the Sherpa (fate unknown to this observer) is a commemorated by a few chalk stripes on the pavement.

I am reminded of a very short and bizarre conversation I had with a young woman a few days earlier as we crossed an intersection a few blocks north of the accident site. Stepping of off a curb simultaneously we were “flown-bye” by a taxi. He was well in control of his cab and yet too close for comfort as he came within a foot of the two of us. This is common and generally happens two to three times at any intersection crossing as drivers make left hand turns not one at a time, but in loose formations of up to six vehicles at a time, depending on the window in oncoming traffic. Understand that while the crossing light may say cross, it in no way implies pedestrians have right of way.

All drivers commonly assume this game of rock, paper, scissors is succinctly understood by pedestrians – buses crush cars and taxis, cars and taxis take-out pedestrians and pedestrian can only stop tanks.

We both continued to cross and I sarcastically narrated aloud thinking no one was listening "they aren’t even that good in New York City." My amused comrade said, “This is Shanghai – they’re crazy.”

I wondered if that was really true, after all, even craziness values life.

They wouldn't depict so many crazy people in ER if that weren't true would they?

© 2012 Karl Shaffer