A friend of mine was asking for help in downloading The Party: The Secret World of China’s Communist Rulers for free. In December, I thought about downloading the book for ten dollars to my iPod, but didn’t think it was worth it. I think I was afraid it would burst me from my bubble.

This morning while watching the movie “The Truman Show” with my students, I realized that like Jim Carrey’s character, Truman Burbank, I am living in a similar scenario, “The China Show.” When someone wants to know about the history of the Communist Party, or tries to tell the difference between President Hu Jintao and Premier Wen Jiabao, (even the NY Times can’t), it feels like they want to know about the executive producers behind the scenes who are responsible for making sure that the show doesn’t stop.

Here on the set of “The China Show” we worry about the incredibly expensive price of apartments, and students play the Three Kingdoms game. As my Chinese teacher pointed out, the movies and the television shows in China are harmonious, befitting a harmonious society, a path set by President Hu Jintao. I tell people that the Chinese movies I watch in the United States, outside the television studio, are what might be called “art house films,” often intentionally banned within China to get more viewers in the U.S. and Europe. These movies are about people stealing police uniforms and using them to extort pedestrians on the street, or the woman who is sent to the fields and becomes a one-person brothel in an attempt to regain her old city life. Back within “The China Show,” the movies are about people from an ancient period, quite often with the ability to fly.

Last week, I had a brief moment where I felt like I was teaching, using clips of movies like “Forrest Gump” to talk about school integration and the Vietnam War draft. I asked one of my students what she would do if her friend was drafted and sent to the Vietnam War, “Would you want to watch the news, or just ignore the whole thing?” She replied, “I wouldn’t watch the news.”

This week, many of my students returned from their attempts to leave “The China Show” through obtaining visas to study in the U.S. Some were successful and some were not. Like my student who would not want to watch news about the Vietnam War, these students did not want to do anything in class that required critical thought or analysis. Talk about the economy and other finance-related discussions, such as finding an internship when no hope of a job exists, quickly dissolved into movie-watching and playing computer games. As a dutiful cast member of “The China Show,” I put on movies, TV shows and cartoons, full of people flying and bending water. All of this entertainment and more is free here in China.

As I walked along a street with a former co-worker, I told her that this was supposed to be the site of some protests planned via the Internet. She couldn’t understand why, since she believed there was nothing wrong in China. Like the traffic that magically appeared to keep Truman from leaving the show, street sweeper trucks appeared out of nowhere and did a dutiful job of making sure that every inch of the pedestrian street was cleaned regularly, both of dirt and potential trouble makers. When I mentioned to my Chinese teacher that a friend’s husband had been in jail for two months for trying to protect citizens’ rights, there was a look of confusion on my teacher’s face. These stories didn’t correspond with a harmonious plotline.

Lately, I have been trying to get a job teaching about environmentalism here in China. The Deans of different study abroad programs regularly tell me that students from the U.S. are not interested – the interest is in the politics of producing “The China Show.” Students want to know about what’s going on behind the scenes, but for me this is too tiring. I want to be able to better understand those I meet everyday on the streets. The Communist Party members preparing to celebrate their founding 90 years ago are untouchable and rarely seen, living behind red brick walls, perhaps in some ways like studio walls.

A friend of mine who teaches international relations has not let the Communist Party dissuade him. He can rattle off cast members of “The China Show” like it’s his family tree as I stare in befuddlement. However, the problem for me is that I’m still not sure if I should try and do the same, or if I should just join the conversations with the common cast members, I mean citizens, talking about the expensive apartments like we did last week, last month and last year, and putting on more cartoons about air-benders to keep the students entertained.

In the wake of the trifecta of earthquake, tsunami, and nuclear crisis, Japanese Prime Minister Naoto Kan and his colleagues have donned the blue uniforms of first responders, suggesting they are working tirelessly. But despite his efforts to handle the biggest crisis in Japan since Hiroshima, Kan has not won the hearts of his countrymen, whose apprehension and distrust increases each morning when they turn on the news to learn of increasing radioactivity, the plummeting stock market, and the soaring death toll. As it turns out, blue uniforms are not enough.

History has taught us that disasters and mass emergencies can transform a mediocre politician into an inspiring leader. The 1944 San Juan earthquake in Argentina that killed more than 10,000 people, earned Juan Perón instant esteem, as well as a glamorous wife, Evita. Ten years ago, the rubble at Ground Zero in New York City transformed George W. Bush from an alleged illegitimate president to a folk hero shepherding the nation through crisis. For Kan, the challenges of Sendai have opportunities and pitfalls. But so far, Kan’s focus on the rubble has not brought the Japanese together in common purpose.

Where did Kan go wrong? To be sure, there is a Japanese cultural style, But nowadays politicians must be aware of new global expectations, which call for a man of compassion and empathy, a man of the people. Consider Wen Jiabao. Two hours after China’s 2008 Sichuan earthquake, he jumped on a plane bound for the area struck by disaster. Soon he was seen walking around in the devastated community, telling children who were buried in a half-collapsed building that “Grandpa Wen is here with you.” The politics of emotion in action. Hundreds of millions of Chinese watched Wen shedding tears, angrily slamming his cellphone at slacking officials, and hugging wailing orphans. Just as Bill Clinton, Wen realized that a politician must feel your pain. As a result, the Chinese felt sheltered instead of afraid. A few cynics have called Wen “the best actor in China,” but many more see him as the father of the nation. Wen’s recent remarks about democracy even kindled the flame of hope in some political dissidents’ hearts. Is he acting? Maybe. But the performance works!

For all his skills, Kan learned little from China’s Premier, the now beloved “Grandpa Wen.” Kan urged people to remain calm, meanwhile muting his own reactions. This may work in times of trouble when the world is under control. Perhaps this was the Japanese style in a world before global media, but today it seems apathetic and passive. In the new Asia, Kan must express emotions on the public stage, by daring to show compassion and by “being there.” After a disaster of the current magnitude, a nation searches for a leader who can rally the people with inspiring words, with displaying sincere compassion, and reassuring the frightened with his presence. Disaster politics do not consist of bureaucratic responses but of performances facilitated by symbols and gestures. People desire a leader who is able to share and articulate their emotions. We want to find him or her in the wreckages and in the crowded shelters. When George Bush decided not to touch down in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina something was forever lost.  In contrast, Wen Jiabao’s swift action was taken as a sign of the Chinese government’s concern, even while most rescuers had not yet arrived at the scene.

Political success belongs to the swift and to the empathetic. Before Wen Jiabao, there was also Rudy Giuliani, “America’s Mayor,” who rushed to the World Trade Center on 9/11. Sadly, Kan better resembles  George Bush after Katrina than Guiliani after the terrorist attacks. Hovering above the decimation is no replacement for having mud on your shoes and radiation in your lungs. Kan did what politicians used to do. He managed. But he failed at what politicians must do now. He didn’t perform. When he finally decided to go to the area, blue uniform and all, it was too late. As the emotional atmosphere had changed, the rubble on Kan’s shoes did not produce a positive effect.

The one Japanese politician who has become widely admired is not the prime minister, but Yukio Edano, the spokesman of the Japanese government. His success rests on his red eyes: he has been so omnipresent that the Japanese people believe he hasn’t slept since the quake. Japanese Twitter users, moved by his devotion, now routinely tweet, “Edano, sleep!” This echoes the comments of Chinese online users about Premier Wen Jiabao, also believed to have worked around the clock after the Sichuan quake: “Please, Grandpa, get some sleep!”

When citizens tell a politician that he needs rest, he surely is doing something right.