Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for June 27th, 2010

On the right, Mitch ‘Three-Finger’ Moxley in Beijing: Writing up or working up another fraud?

Decades in a relentless onslaught from the Western media – newspapers, magazines, fictions, academia, Hollywood, television – that promoted the myth of the Savage Native and then the Stupid Native inflicts a certain toll. And it’s always paid for by the natives.

In China, that media blitz has reached the point at which the White man is the Messiah, the Knower of all things, the Deliverer of miracles as illustrated in this article in The Atlantic, a White supremacist magazine. Reading it, there are just three conclusions to be drawn.

  • Whoring: Mitch Moxley, the article’s author, wasn’t just renting his White appearance to fake a business, as he has put it self-servingly. He worked as the prostitute, selling his appearance, an invented superior whiteness, to defraud an entire nation and which he fully knew and was told in advance. In the article: “Basically, you put on a suit, shake some hands, and make some money.” When he exploited his White skin to join the scam – and it wasn’t to parade Armani shirts – it cheated the public, including the regulatory authorities and the product buyers. Moxley saying he was merely renting his services in “quality control” was being more than disingenuous. He was lying. In the end, Moxley got paid two ways: from the scam and with the article.

Then the American women readers, throwing up comments after his article, asked how they could join the scam so long as they “don’t have to sleep” with Chinese men. Which is to suggest, therefore, cheating Chinese product buyers and their regulatory authorities is morally acceptable, maybe even lofty, but sleeping with men isn’t. You really got to hand it to these White people, their men and women, and their culture.

  • White racism: Moxley has no scruples about cheating the Chinese public precisely because the fraud was perpetuated on Chinese. In the article: “I’d be paid $1,000 for a week, put up in a fancy hotel, and wined and dined in Dongying, an industrial city in Shandong province I’d also never heard of. The only requirements were a fair complexion and a suit.” The suit is redundant – Moxley’s way of veiling his racism – because any of the Chinese businessmen could easily pick one up from a clothing store shelf. It was the “complexion” which alone counted. American readers echoed Moxley’s racial sentiments. Here is a comment, everybody praises with the “thumbs-up” sign in the comment box (from America’s NPR, a White racist organisation):

“A sad example of the Chinese inferiority complex. You don’t see American companies doing the same for Chinese people.”

Yet, in the article Moxley confesses of White “expatriates” in Beijing (White people in another country are always expatriates not loafers) doing similar scams all the time, one was in making film he said, and his recruiter was a Canadian named Jake. Clearly the intent of the comment was to lie, to hide Moxley’s racism because, and pertinently, American companies won’t do the same to American people. Americans scaming Chinese is okay – the same racist worldview held by the women readers so long as it doesn’t include sleeping with Chinese men. (Why are White women, so rough, so crude, the very anti-thesis of Asian feminity, so presumptuous? Answer: their vaginas are made of holy stuff designed by their Christian God hankered after by all mankind therefore?) Out of the same condescending attitude, The Atlantic will produce reams of articles railing against the ethics of Chinese for faking medicine, baby milk, and for selling excessive amounts of goods to America.

  • White narcissism: Moxley’s prostituting his White appearance was, to him, only secondary throughout the fraud. He was more concerned with the treatment he’d get. From Moxley:
  1. I was to be “put up in a fancy hotel, and wined and dined in Dongying”. Then, when it was not up to his  expectations, he whined: “the lobby at our hotel was dimly lit and smelled like bad seafood.”
  2. Comparing his appearance – “we stood in the front row wearing suits, safety vests, and hard hats” – to that of a “young Canadian of Taiwanese extraction with a brush cut and leather jacket“.
  3. Moxley knew in advance he was faking work in “quality control”  – “no experience necessary” – but after he, along with his friends, had “toured” the factory, he complained of sitting for endless, empty hours in “small rooms with cement floors and metal walls arranged around a courtyard“. Obviously in the duration, they hadn’t given him a Chinese women to fuck in a “fancy” bed. Moxley didn’t mind defrauding not only on products but on other people’s lives. When it came to his own life, the idling was too much to bear and he wrote: “we sat in the office swatting flies and reading magazines.” Then in the penultimate paragraph, he indicated he should have brought along his computer to watch movies while he had nothing to do. So why hadn’t he at that time? Very probably he had thought of idle hours purely in terms of a naked Chinese woman attending to him throughout – not swatting flies.

For money, Moxley couldn’t care less for actual work, actual economic contribution, but even his self-love was more important. It was incredulous. For a week that got for him USD1,000, holed up in a dusty place and a smelly hotel he would complain, thus:

“Dongying, home to Sun Tzu, the author of The Art of War, and that’s just about all it has going for it. The landscape is dry and bleak…”

Poor Moxley, White man in Dongying without women in attendance, trying to copy Hemingway to sell his stories.

And in all that tale-telling, with his narcissism to the fore, it was inevitable he couldn’t see this: in the scam Moxley was the prostitute not the client.

In his own words, below, there is more than enough evidence to indict, convict and put Moxley away in a Chinese jail for ten years, after which to be deported and declared persona non grata. But then his employers, his Canadian government and Hilary Clinton would threaten sanctions, shouting Press freedom and human rights in between issuing threats. Moxley as well as his hirers know that you – the Chinaman – can’t touch White people, and so explains why The Atlantic followed by NPR would publish Moxley’s fraud and whoring with dare and impunity.

What to do? Wait; this one is for the file….

The Mitch Moxley whoring-and-fraud expose in full:

My Whoring Days:

Confessions of a White Guy in China

(Atlantic’s Rent A White Guy retitled)

Not long ago I was offered work as a quality-control expert with an American company in China I’d never heard of. No experience necessary—which was good, because I had none. I’d be paid $1,000 for a week, put up in a fancy hotel, and wined and dined in Dongying, an industrial city in Shandong province I’d also never heard of. The only requirements were a fair complexion and a suit.

“I call these things ‘White Guy in a Tie’ events,” a Canadian friend of a friend named Jake told me during the recruitment pitch he gave me in Beijing, where I live. “Basically, you put on a suit, shake some hands, and make some money. We’ll be in ‘quality control,’ but nobody’s gonna be doing any quality control. You in?”

I was.

And so I became a fake businessman in China, an often lucrative gig for underworked expatriates here. One friend, an American who works in film, was paid to represent a Canadian company and give a speech espousing a low-carbon future. Another was flown to Shanghai to act as a seasonal-gifts buyer. Recruiting fake businessmen is one way to create the image—particularly, the image of connection—that Chinese companies crave. My Chinese-language tutor, at first aghast about how much we were getting paid, put it this way: “Having foreigners in nice suits gives the company face.”

Six of us met at the Beijing airport, where Jake briefed us on the details. We were supposedly representing a California-based company that was building a facility in Dongying. Our responsibilities would include making daily trips to the construction site, attending a ribbon-cutting ceremony, and hobnobbing. During the ceremony, one of us would have to give a speech as the company’s director. That duty fell to my friend Ernie, who, in his late 30s, was the oldest of our group. His business cards had already been made.

Dongying was home to Sun Tzu, the author of The Art of War, and that’s just about all it has going for it. The landscape is dry and bleak, with factories in all directions. We were met at the airport by Ken, a young Canadian of Taiwanese extraction with a brush cut and leather jacket, whose company, we were told, had been subcontracted to manage the project.

The lobby at our hotel was dimly lit and smelled like bad seafood. “At least we have a nice view,” Ernie deadpanned as he opened the drapes in our room to reveal a scrap yard. A truck had been stripped for parts, and old tires were heaped into a pile. A dog yelped.

Ken drove us to the company’s temporary offices: small rooms with cement floors and metal walls arranged around a courtyard. We toured the facility, which built high-tech manufacturing equipment, then returned to the office and sat for hours. Across the courtyard, we could hear Ernie rehearsing his speech.

The next morning was the official ribbon-cutting ceremony. A stage and red carpet had been set up near the construction site. Pretty girls in red dragon-patterned dresses greeted visitors, and Chinese pop blared from loudspeakers. Down the street, police in yellow vests directed traffic. The mayor was there with other local dignitaries, and so were TV cameras and reporters. We stood in the front row wearing suits, safety vests, and hard hats. As we waited for the ceremony to begin, a foreman standing beside me barked at workers still visible on the construction site. They scurried behind the scaffolding.

“Are you the boss?” I asked him.

He looked at me quizzically. “You’re the boss.”

Actually, Ernie was the boss. After a brief introduction, “Director” Ernie delivered his speech before the hundred or so people in attendance. He boasted about the company’s long list of international clients and emphasized how happy we were to be working on such an important project. When the speech was over, confetti blasted over the stage, fireworks popped above the dusty field beside us, and Ernie posed for a photo with the mayor.

For the next few days, we sat in the office swatting flies and reading magazines, purportedly high-level employees of a U.S. company that, I later discovered, didn’t really exist. We were so important, in fact, that two of the guys were hired to stay for eight months (to be fair, they actually then received quality-control training).

“Lots happening,” Ken told me. “We need people for a week every month. It’ll be better next time, too. We’ll have new offices.” He paused before adding: “Bring a computer. You can watch movies all day.”

Other Mitch Moxley “journalism”:

Advertisements

Read Full Post »