Blood drives, cake sales, charity fund-raisers and art auctions have already been held. Other people have dropped everything and raced to the scene. Forty members of a private car club in Chengdu, Sichuan’s provincial capital, made multiple trips transporting more than 100 injured people out of the devastated city of Shifang. Others have filled their cars or sport utility vehicles with supplies and driven hundreds of miles to Sichuan’s mountains.
   Public interest is being driven by images and stories of heartbreak in the Chinese media that once would have been banned. State television has replayed film of herculean efforts to save trapped people, while newspapers have also been allowed to describe the horrors and graphic details of the devastation.
  “One of the most amazing things is to see 24-hour coverage,” said Anthony Saich, a China specialist at the Kennedy School of Government at Harvard. He added, “Given the heightened sensitivity to the Olympics and the nationalist pride pumped up with the events in Tibet, maybe there’s a heightened sense of patriotism that was easier to mobilize here.”
  Mr. Saich noted that China’s younger urban generation had shown little interest before in the plight of people in the countryside. “But now they are really shocked by the conditions people are living in.”
  Developing a robust civil society is considered a major step if China is to become more democratic, and some advocates are hoping the earthquake proves to be a defining moment that will inspire the public to push for more change in the future. As yet, though, nongovernmental organization’s are still playing a very minor role, and Mr. Xing of the Yunnan Institute acknowledged that merely being allowed at the scene did not mean that private groups were having the sort of impact they desired.
  “The most frustrating thing is that transportation is a big headache,” he said. “We have so much cargo stuck on the way. We know thousands of people are in need urgently. But we simply cannot get to them.”
  There are also a few emerging warning signals. Some companies are now requiring employees to make contributions rather than encouraging volunteerism. Bloggers have hectored celebrities, including the basketball star Yao Ming, whose relief donations are not deemed big enough. The torrent of contributions inevitably raises the specter of corruption and concerns about whether the money will be well spent. Government officials are starting to seek out experts on how to make rescue efforts more efficient.
  For now, though, the huge public response, and its often chaotic, ad hoc nature, is evident in much of the earthquake zone. State media reported that the first private volunteers to arrive at the scene were a rescue team organized by the president of a Jiangsu Province investment firm. Since then, a passionate contingent of private citizens has steadily arrived.
  Here in the remote village of Luchi, the local glass factory is a shattered husk while clusters of brick farmhouses are leveled. For Liu Lie, 67, a rice farmer, the situation is dire. He is sleeping with seven family members under a plastic tarp. Every wall of his home has been destroyed. But at the edge of his tarp, Mr. Liu pointed to stacks of bottled water, boxes of snacks and food and two bags of rice — all donations from volunteers who came here.
  “They are coming because they love the Chinese people,” Mr. Liu said. “You have to understand the difference between the old society and new society. Twenty years ago, we didn’t have food to eat. Now people are bringing us supplies from Guangzhou and all over the country.”
  Mr. Liu must still rebuild his home and restart his life long after the volunteers have returned to their regular lives. His wife, Guo Bihua, 63, is worried. “I’m worried about how we will build the house,” she said. “I’m old.”
  Not far away, Mr. Hao, the psychologist, was just arriving with two other bikers, including Larry Wang, a Chinese who spent 30 years living in New York City. They had met in Chengdu and were riding through devastated rural areas to provide counseling. Mr. Hao lives in the teeming export city of Shenzhen and had two weeks of supplies stuffed inside a backpack.
  He said he was excited to talk to survivors, especially children, and to help them cope. But do not tell his wife. “My wife doesn’t know I’m here,” he admitted. “She would be too scared. She thinks I’m in Guangzhou.”

出处：New York Times
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