Strolling our hutong the other day I spied a twentysomething person wearing an iridescent pink T-shirt with the English word “ME” shouting out in silver spangles on the back. This old comrade was reminded again that things have changed since my last visit. That was back in the Orwellian year of 1984, and, take it from me, my fellow correspondents, Beijing was a city not of the flashy ME but of a big, gray collective WE.
