china

When I moved to China nearly two years ago, one of the first things I bought was a bicycle. I live on a university campus, where everyone rides, and the bike was cheap: $17 for an ancient Five Rams cruiser, with a lively color scheme of teal and rust. I used to cycle to work when I lived in New York, dodging tourists and threading in between delivery trucks. But the moment I pulled out onto a street in China, it became clear that this was going to be a different experience.

Officially, the Chinese government bans the importation of electronic waste. The country has even signed the Basel Convention, an international treaty aimed at preventing the developed world from dumping hazardous materials in poorer nations. The trouble is that computers, televisions, DVD players, cell phones, smart phones, and tablet devices are seen as a resource in an economy starved for raw materials. The discarded electronics come by the container-load and are transported in hulking trucks to be dumped in places like Guiyu—a cluster of four coastal villages on the South China Sea.

The warriors of Xi'an stood in darkness for 2,000 years, watching over their dead emperor. He was Qin, pronounced Chin, whose successors built the Great Wall and gave a name to China. The warriors are ranked in battalions, archers, cavalry with their horses, charioteers, and infantry wielding lances and swords. Though unmistakably Chinese, each has different features. Their hair styles are different, close cropped or luxuriating like their mustaches and beards. The baked earth they are made of is easily broken, and thousands have gone back to dust. But thousands remain, lifesize and still at the ready.