Health care and pharmaceuticals
Posted by Eric Mu on Friday, June 18, 2010 at 11:37 AM
This is the first in a pair of articles looking at medical rackets in China. Part two is about the sky high prices of private (Western) health care in Chinese cities.
Many people know Zhang Wuben (张悟本) as "Beijing's most expensive traditional Chinese medicine doctor". His lectures on "diet therapy" have been broadcast by several TV stations and sold on DVDs at 200 yuan apiece. His book, a verbatim transcript of the lectures, entitled Eat Away the Diseases You Get from Eating has topped the bestseller lists for weeks on end.
At his "clinic" at Wuben Hall, a faux-classical Chinese building with curved roof outside Beijing's International Olympic Center Stadium, a personal meeting with him was priced at between 300 and 1,800 yuan, and they were booked out until the year 2012, at least until Zhang ran into the troubles detailed below.
The concept of taking care of your heath runs deep in the Chinese psyche; evidence is everywhere of a national obsession with health and anxiety over losing it. Massage salons, even those offering sexual services, call their offerings "health massages" and sex toys are called "health preservation tools" (保健用品). In parks in Chinese cities, you see senior citizens diligently practicing their self-styled exercise forms: running backwards, slinging their arms like crazy, these exercises are all about staying healthy. Products ranging from electric fans to inner soles for shoes pitch themselves as health improvement tools.
There is little quality control.
A few years ago Midea (美的), a reputable domestic home appliance maker, released a "health" (保健) rice cooker featuring a "purple sand inner pot". Benefit to health? Multiple minerals that infuse into the rice, including iron which is vital to blood cell generation.
The rice cooker was so popular that other manufacturers began churning out similar products. Then the state media picked up on it and investigated. Turned out that contrary to popular faith, the precious purple sand was in fact just dyed ordinary clay; the dye, consisting of manganese and nickel oxides, may even be poisonous (see link at bottom of post).
It is in such an environment that health self-help gurus emerge, making their names by preaching secrets of health and longevity. Some successful gurus draw large followings and make handsome profits. Zhang Wuben is just one of them.
But when his name was entangled with this year's hyper-inflation of mung bean prices, his good luck seemed to come to an end.
Mung beans (绿豆) are a common ingredient in Chinese food. Many people put them in their rice porridge for a richer flavor, and mung bean soup is a popular summer concoction. When the price of mung beans tripled earlier this year, people complained loudly and the government was compelled to come up with an explanation. In a media conference, Ma Shuping, an official of the Ministry of Agriculture, attributed the price surge to Zhang's book. "Maybe you have heard that recently, there is a book called Eat Away the Diseases You Get from Eating, the cure of various disease is drinking mung bean soup. One prescription requires the patient to use up to 2.5 kilograms of mung beans a day. "
Aside from the generic "eating healthy" tips, one of the central claim in Zhang's theory is that mung beans are a panacea that works wonders if applied properly. According to Chinese traditional medicine dictionaries, mung beans are described as having the medical value of "dispelling heat and cleansing toxins", but Zhang pushed the claims to new heights: he claimed that eating half a kilo of mung beans every day can cure diabetes, short-sightedness, while 2.5 kilograms a day will greatly improve the chances of surviving various cancers. In one of his lectures, Zhang said that while most people eat mung beans regularly, they usually overcook and underdose.
As mung bean prices skyrocketed, rumors had it that Zhang Wuben was in fact the front man of a speculation scheme. Behind the veneer of a health guru, his real motive was to profiteer from hoarding large amount of mung beans. Zhang's supporters, on the other hand, defended him, arguing that Zhang's easy but effective prescription touches the interest of big corporations: pharmaceutical companies, hospitals and food supplement brands. "When you derive your profit from people's misery, you just don't want them to be healthy."
In response, Zhang quipped: "the price of the real estate in Beijing is also many times higher than it used to be, did I tell people to eat houses too?" The implication: Blame the inflation or whatever, but I refuse to be the scapegoat.
Other doubts are not as easy to joke off. To savvy eyes, Zhang's resumé is full of gaping holes: he claimed his family to be "aristocrats" of Chinese medicine (中医世家) and that he started to study Chinese medicine with his father from the age of six, — a ploy has been so overused that it has lost all its appeal. Chinese medicine has always had a reputation for secretiveness. Traditionally, practitioners would hold on to esoteric knowledge tightly and there are even some traditional codes stipulating that family prescriptions can only be passed on to male heirs. As a result, legendary Chinese medicine doctors are always depicted like wizards surrounded with shrouds of myth and mystery.
As if this Chinese medicine family background is not convincing enough, the bio page of Zhang's website claims that he graduated in 1981 from China's then most prestigious medical school, Beijing Medical University (北京医学院), the predecessor of Peking University Medical School.
Then Zhang's critics discovered that both he and his father were workers in Beijing Weaving Factory and his experience with Beijing Medical University was limited to a short-term night course. His purported possession of an "advanced level nutritionist" license was denounced by the Ministry of Health. On one occasion, Zhang's father claimed that he had no idea where his son learned his trade.
Ever since the controversy started, the once-friendly media which helped spread his reputation, probably in exchange for a slice of his proceeds, took on a new role as his interrogator.
Dong Lu, a media figure wrote an blog post about his impression of Zhang Wuben after they met during the filming of a TV program. The title: "Zhang Wuben, why are you so nervous? " Excerpt:
Trying his best to fend off Dong's questions, Zhang had to admit that there was a discrepancy between the statements on his website and reality. But he insisted that he should not take the blame. "I don't use the Internet, I don't even know how to. It might be just some clerical error."
Dong noticed that Zhang lost his usual eloquence during the program and appeared to be very nervous. Off camera, he was scolded by his "agent": "Your performance was terrible! Where the hell was your confidence?"
So much for the master of Chinese medicine.
An article in the newspaper Beijing News gave a different account of Zhang Wuben:
It seems that while everyone vouches for Zhang's verbal ability, there is a conspicuous lack of interest in the real effectiveness of his "different theories".
And it is clear that Zhang has never been a lone operator. He has always had a business-savvy team working with him from behind the scenes. From the very beginning, they were aware of the legal risks. In this sense, he is not just a regular con artist.
He calls himself a nutritionist, not a doctor, and he never claims supernatural powers. He says he is "an ordinary man who takes an interest in diet treatments and works to prevent disease from happening". To avoid possible controversies, he insists that he doesn't treat patients, he "consults" and give people "advice", which mostly consists of vegetarian diets.
Though he uses Chinese medicine as his banner, Zhang's methods in many ways correspond to the modern notions of healthy eating: more vegetables and fiber, less meat and animal fat; he never went so far as telling people to take arsenic or glauber's salt, as another fallen master Hu Wanlin (胡万林) did. (Hu was sentenced to 15 years in prison for "illegally practicing medicine" in 1998. )
Zhang's discretion has probably saved him from the fate of other health gurus who have ended their careers in disgrace. His Wuben Hall was torn down because it was an illegal construction, but Zhang himself was untouched. Even the prosecutors had to admit that there was no evidence that Zhang had broken any law.
It seems after all the negative publicity, Zhang continues to portray himself as a hero from the people and for the people: recently he announced that since mung beans are now so expensive, he will commit himself to finding a cheaper replacement.
It would be impossible to explain the popularity of Zhang and his likes without mentioning the fact that in our time, modern medical science has become intimidatingly complicated to the majority of ordinary people. When a grown-up goes to a hospital, his situation is not unlike a baby. He faces a whole system that he know little about; he is at the mercy of professionals. As mighty as modern medicine is, it has its limits: it cannot explain the mechanism of some of the most common conditions such as high blood pressure. And here in China where doctors have to deal with hundreds of patients a day, they have neither the time nor obligation to bring themselves down to a patient's level to explain everything.
What modern medicine and doctors can't do, Zhang Wuben can. At least in a way. Not only are his fable-like theories easy to understand, they also confirm many people's daily experiences: cooking egg plant takes more oil than other vegetables, so for the same reason, eating raw eggplants will reduce your body fat.
The methods derived from his simplistic theories are actionable: Zhang asserts that different body organs have their own color preferences: lungs like white food, the liver likes green food, kidneys like black food, the heart likes red food and the spleen likes yellow food. So mung beans, green in color, ate good for the liver, while yellow soy beans are good for the spleen. "Why has the rest of the world taken to our toufu? Because they also realized that toufu is good for the spleen," he says. Zhang shrewdly plays on people's mistrust of food quality: Chemical thickener is used in yogurt production, so it will have the same effect on your blood and clot your blood vessels.
Finally, there is the power of positive thinking: Zhang keeps telling people: you are your best doctor, your kitchen is your best hospital, food is the best medicine. It is not hard to imagine that people who have heard this enough times may generate a sense of empowerment: Yes, we can! We can be healthy, and do it without spending a fortune on medical bills.
Links and Sources
Jobs in China
Henry on The Eurasian Face
Caroline W on Big in China
Michael on Julia Lovell on translating Lu Xun's complete fiction: "His is an angry, searing vision of China"
Brandon K. on Clueless academic takes on popular fantasy novels
China Media Timeline
Major media events over the last three decades
Danwei Model Workers
The latest recommended blogs and new media
Books on China
The Eurasian Face : Blacksmith Books, a publishing house in Hong Kong, is behind The Eurasian Face, a collection of photographs by Kirsteen Zimmern. Below is an excerpt from the series:
Big in China: An adapted excerpt from Big In China: My Unlikely Adventures Raising A Family, Playing The Blues and Becoming A Star in China, just published this month. Author Alan Paul tells the story of arriving in Beijing as a trailing spouse, starting a blues band, raising kids and trying to make sense of China.
Pallavi Aiyar's Chinese Whiskers: Pallavi Aiyar's first novel, Chinese Whiskers, a modern fable set in contemporary Beijing, will be published in January 2011. Aiyar currently lives in Brussels where she writes about Europe for the Business Standard. Below she gives permissions for an excerpt.
Front Page of the Day
A different newspaper every weekday
From the Vault
Classic Danwei posts
+ Korean history doesn't fly on Chinese TV screens (2007.09): SARFT puts the kibbosh on Korean historical dramas.
+ Religion and government in an uneasy mix (2008.03): Phoenix Weekly (凤凰周刊) article from October, 2007, on government influence on religious practice in Tibet.
+ David Moser on Mao impersonators (2004.10): I first became aware of this phenomenon in 1992 when I turned on a Beijing TV variety show and was jolted by the sight of "Mao Zedong" and "Zhou Enlai" playing a game of ping pong. They both gave short, rousing speeches, and then were reverently interviewed by the emcee, who thanked them profusely for taking time off from their governmental duties to appear on the show.