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It doesn't take much to get a taxi in Shanghai. Stick out your hand, climb in, and find yourself at your destination in a few minutes. But on May 8, when a friend and I hailed a cab to take us to one of Shanghai's hottest restaurants, we ended up mired in gridlock instead.
After an hour we got out, waded into the crowd, and realized we were deep in an angry demonstration. Our Caucasian faces drew hard stares. I'd done business in China since 1977, first as a wool trader and later as a writer, but I'd never felt anything like this. I unclipped my dark hair, pulled it around my face and grabbed my friend's hand. She spoke no Chinese and I couldn't let her get separated from me.
Over the heads of the crowd we couldn't see anything except the orderly rows of banners, riding past. Finally we asked someone what this was about. The NATO bombing of the Chinese embassy, was the answer. Naturally. Why hadn't I guessed?
Maybe because I had been so certain the bombing was an accident. Now, back home, I sense many Americans are stuck in the same perceptual gap. How...