Free Travels with Herodotus by Ryszard Kapuściński

reckons with hundreds upon hundreds of millions of hours spent building walls, hours which in this poor country could have been spent learning to read, acquiring a profession, cultivating new fields, and breeding robust cattle.
    That is how the world’s energy is wasted. In complete irrationality! Complete futility! For the Great Wall—and it is gigantic, a wall-fortress, stretching for thousands of kilometers through uninhabited mountains and wilderness, an object of pride and, as I have mentioned, one of the wonders of the world—is also proof of a kind of human weakness, of an aberration, of a horrifying mistake; it is evidence of a historical inability of people in this part of the planet to communicate, to confer and jointly determinehow best to deploy enormous reserves of human energy and intellect.
    In these parts, the idea of coming together was but a chimera: The very first reflex in the face of potential trouble was to build a wall. To shut oneself in, fence oneself off. Because whatever comes from without, from over there, can only be a threat, an omen of misfortune, a harbinger of evil—perhaps the most genuine evil there is.
    And the wall is not merely motivated by exterior considerations. Protecting against foreign menaces, it also allows one to control what is happening internally. There are passages in the wall, doors and gates, and guarding them, of course, one could control who entered and exited. One could question, one could check for valid papers, one could take down names, look at faces, observe, commit to memory. And thus such a wall is simultaneously a shield and a trap, a veil and a cage.
    The worst aspect of the wall is to turn so many people into its defenders and produce a mental attitude that sees a wall running through everything, imagines the world as being divided into an evil and inferior part, on the outside, and a good and superior part, on the inside. A keeper of the wall need not be in physical proximity to it; he can be far away and it is enough that he carry within himself its image and pledge allegiance to the logical principles that the wall dictates.
    The Great Wall is one hour’s drive north of Peking. At first, we pass through parts of the city. An ice-cold wind is blowing. Pedestrians and bicyclists lean forward, struggling with the gale. There are rivers of bicyclists everywhere. Each of these rivers halts when the lights turn red, as if a lock had suddenly been closed, then resumes its flow until the next set of lights. Only the wind disruptsthis otherwise monotonous, laborious rhythm: If it picks up too violently, the river begins to surge and billow, spinning some bicyclists around and forcing others to stop and dismount. Confusion and chaos erupt in the ranks. But as soon as the wind subsides, everything continues once again in its proper place and dutiful movement forward.
    The sidewalks in the center of the city are full of people and one frequently sees columns of schoolchildren clad in school uniforms. They walk in pairs waving little red flags, and the one at the head of the procession carries either a red banner or a portrait of the Good Uncle—Chairman Mao. The children enthusiastically call, sing, or cry out in unison. What are they saying? I ask Comrade Li. “They want to study the thoughts of Chairman Mao,” he replies. The policemen, whom one sees on every corner, always give these processions the right-of-way.
    The city is all yellow and navy blue. The buildings fronting the streets are yellow and the clothes everyone wears are navy. “These uniforms are an achievement of the Revolution,” explains Comrade Li. “Before, people had nothing to wear and died of cold.” Men have their hair cut like military recruits, and women, be they girls or old ladies, wear theirs in a short pageboy style with bangs. One has to look closely to distinguish one individual from another—an awkwardness, since it is considered impolite to stare.
    If someone is carrying a