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Chinese 'Web Worm'
Fights Prejudice
By Matt Pottinger
SHANGHAI, China (Reuters) - When government organizers dreamed up the
idea of China's first "Miss Internet'' competition, they envisioned a winner
with the mind of a computer programmer and the body of a beauty queen. Smart
and shapely, she would be a television role model to encourage more Chinese
women to venture online. So when Chen Fanhong burst into contention, the
organizers determined she
must be stopped.
Chen had sailed through the qualifying rounds with an easy mastery of Web
design and a knack for surfing cyberspace. But she is disabled: a battle
against bone cancer has left her temporarily wheelchair-bound. In words that
hurt more than her excruciating cancer treatment, the official in charge
told her sternly: "You have lost your spring bloom.'' She could attend the
finals, but only as a "specially invited'' observer.
How this frail 24-year-old used a laptop and modem to fight prejudice and
ignorance, and eventually claim the winner's crown as the people's choice,
speaks volumes about the power of the Internet to change China.
Having breezed through the Zhejiang provincial round of the competition --
whose sponsors included Swedish telecommunications giant Ericsson -- Chen
could hardly believe her ears when the organizer told her she was spoiled
goods. "He didn't even try sugar-coating,'' she said.
The televised final in Shanghai would require contestants to fish out
obscure information from the Web, design and e-mail a greeting card and
answer trivia questions. But, the official told her, there would also be
aerobic exercises to "appraise the physiques of the contestants.'' "How
could you possibly try to compare yourself with normal people?'' he demanded
to know. There was no room for people like her, he said, using a stock
Chinese word for "disabled,'' which translates literally as "damaged and
diseased.'' Said Chen: "I cried for the first time since the operation.''
"Chinese people think it's unhealthy to be in a wheelchair. They feel
extremely uncomfortable, which is strange because I feel absolutely
normal.''
Chen was ready to call it quits, and so were her parents, nervous about a
recurrence of her cancer. In July, she had undergone surgery to fit a steel
replacement part into her pelvis, where doctors had discovered two large
tumors. Angry and humiliated, she wrote an impassioned essay and posted it
on her Web site. "How can not being healthy mean I have 'lost my spring
bloom'? Is our understanding of the meaning of health really this shallow?''
she wrote. "The Internet is the Internet. It's no substitute for the real
world. I thought I could walk into the real world through the Internet, but
found that the door to the real world was shut. I could only stand on this
side looking in.''
A newly-minted chemical engineer when she was struck down by cancer, Chen
soon came across medical uses for the Internet. On her back for six months
last year recovering from a prior operation, she set up a Web site packed
with information about bone disorders and persuaded doctors at a Shanghai
orthopedic hospital to dispense advice in her chat room.
Her other exploits as a "Web Worm,'' as surfers are popularly known in
China, included piecing together a digital mug shot from video clips of a
man in glasses and fake beard robbing a bank in her home town of Ningbo,
eastern China. Within days the culprit was picked up at a gas station by
police carrying a printout of her composite photo.
She has also begun writing a novel modeled after the literary kung fu
stories of Chinese author Jin Yong, to be first published -- where else? --
on the Internet.
So when she came across a Web announcement for a Miss Internet contest, she
naturally signed up, inspired by the competition's stated goal of getting
more Chinese women online. Of the 4.5 million Internet users in China, 85
percent are men. Men dominate science departments at colleges, and grab the
plum jobs on offer to technical graduates.
After she was ejected from the competition, a newspaper in the nearby city
of Hangzhou picked up Chen's essay and printed the story. Dozens of
newspaper and television stories followed. E-mails poured in to Chen's Web
site (http:/fchen.yeah.net), which registered more than 1,000 hits per day.
Within a week, the beleaguered organizing committee had issued an apology
and invited Chen back into the competition.
A disabled Beijing woman wrote to Chen saying she also had intended to
register but dropped out for fear of humiliation. ''You must go because
you're not afraid,'' she urged.
This month, as the other finalists left their Shanghai hotel and piled onto
a coach for the championship, Chen rolled her wheelchair past the idling
bus: she'd travel the few blocks to the television studio on her own. "Even
if I get last place, it doesn't matter,'' she said. "People will turn on
their TV sets, see me and say 'that's impossible'. "By the time they turn
their sets off I want them to say 'this is normal'."
At the studio, during a lull in rehearsals, an exhausted Chen draped a scarf
over her head to snatch a few moments of sleep. "The best result would have
been for her to pull out,'' whispered her father, worried about the strain
the competition had put on her health. "But there are more levels to this
now,'' he said, sitting close by to fend off reporters and well-wishers.
"One person has reflected so much about this society -- about attitudes
toward the disabled, about the news media, about how young people should
grow up, and about freedom of speech.''
Several hours later, a panel of 10 judges declared Chen ''Miss Internet.''
Journalists swarmed the stage, where she sat calmly, clutching a bouquet of
roses.
"An Internet friend had asked whether I'm able to stand up,'' she said.
"Just now I did, and it was my happiest moment.''
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