This past weekend California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger appeared on CNN to express his disappointment with the passing of Proposition 8--the ballot initiative that outlawed same-sex marriage on the same day the nation elected it's first African-American President.  

"It's unfortunate, obviously, but it's not the end," the Republican governor said.  "I think that we will again maybe undo that, if the court is willing to do that, and then move forward from there and again lead in that area."

There's something a little strange in seeing an elected official publicly show such distaste for an amendment a majority of his citizens approved, but it shows how uneven the issue of gay marriage sits today.  

Judging by the sizable protests happening around Mormon temples and Los Angeles alone, and the already thousands of calls for federal lawsuits, the issue isn't ready to die anytime soon.  Similar bans on gay marriage also passed in Arizona and Florida this past election, but for it to pass in one of the nation's most recognized "progressive states" remains something of a bizarre mystery to equal rights activists.  Those protesting Prop 8 also have some difficult to counter arguments.

Chris Messina of the Factory City blog writes:

• First, I don’t believe that laws should codify discrimination. Our history as a nation has been blighted by both gender and racial discrimination, and now we’re facing discrimination against the makeup of certain families — specifically those of same-sex couples. Good law should strive to be non-ideological; discrimination is nearly always ideologically driven.
• Second, if marriage as an institution stems from a religious foundation, but is represented in law, by the principle of the separation of church and state and presuming the importance of tolerance to culture, we should cleft out the religious underpinnings of marriage from law and return it to the domain of the church, especially if the church mandates that the definition of marriage is strictly between a man and a woman. The state should therefore only be in the business of recognizing in law civil unions, or the lawful coming together of two people in union. Marriage itself would be a separate religious institution, having no basis in civil law.

 

The signs carried by protesters alone stick in my memory for their sensibility.  One featured in the LA Times last week read, "I didn't vote on your marriage."  Others read, "Latter Day H8," "Protect traditional marriage. Ban divorce," and "Jesus said love everyone."

Many of the protests are targeting conservative religious groups who held the biggest hand in passing Prop 8, but thousands have been flocking to rallies in front of Mormon churches, specifically.  Mormon involvement was crucial to the passing of the ballot measure, as hundreds of thousands, if not millions of dollars were spent by the religious group to promote the message that somehow gay marriage would go against traditional American values.  It was also a wide concern that the passing of Prop 8 would lead to public schools suddenly teaching about gay lifestyles (whatever those are, exactly).

But, again, to show the uneasiness of the ban, not all religious officials support the decision.  "It's very unfortunate and embarrassing that the (Christian religion) is in large part responsible for this act of bigotry," the Rev. Ed Bacon told The Associated Press.

As protests continue to linger and occur on grander scales, it's hard to deny that the spirt of the 1960s' is no longer with us today--anyone who says so isn't getting out of the house much.  According to KCRA Sacramento, seven people were arrested in a protest in Los Angeles last week, and "Supporters and opponents of the measure squared off at two locations in Sacramento, and at one point police got into riot gear as a precaution."

 

The protests certainly send a loud message, but revising state, constitutional amendments in California, Florida, and Arizona is the only way to reverse the decision.  To some, there is a great deal of hope here.  Goodwin Liu of the Los Angeles Times writes:

Does Proposition 8 qualify as a revision? Under the case law, it's a revision only if it "substantially alters the basic governmental framework set forth in our Constitution." Proposition 8 does exactly that, its opponents say, by eliminating a fundamental right for a specific group, and by limiting the judiciary's constitutional role in enforcing equal protection and privacy guarantees.

Historically, however, the court has taken a narrow view of what kind of measure "substantially alters the basic governmental framework." For example, neither Proposition 13, which capped property tax rates, nor Proposition 140, which imposed legislative term limits, were held to be a revision of the Constitution despite their far-reaching transformation of state government. Moreover, a 1972 initiative that reinstated the death penalty after the court had declared it cruel and unusual punishment was also deemed an amendment, not a revision, even though it directly limited the judiciary's power to declare fundamental rights.

Nevertheless, there are good reasons for the California Supreme Court to rethink its jurisprudence in this area. Even if Proposition 8 does not "substantially alter the basic governmental framework," there is no question that it targets a historically vulnerable group and eliminates a very important right. Changing the Constitution -- the state's paramount law -- in such a momentous way arguably calls for deliberative rather than direct democracy. Indeed, as early as the nation's founding, our constitutional tradition has favored representative democracy over simple majority rule when it comes to deciding minority rights.

In my view, progress seems to always be achieved with one step backwards and two steps forwards.  To many of us it feels we have taken a giant leap backwards with the passing of Prop 8, but I see no reason whatsoever to give up hope.  Liu wrote the following final thoughts for your consideration:

Each of the 18,000 same-sex couples and their families in California represents a potential catalyst for broader acceptance of gay marriage. The more familiar we become with gay spouses and their children -- as our friends, neighbors and co-workers -- the more gay marriage will become an unremarkable thread of our social fabric. Proposition 8 may then come to be viewed, in the long run, not as an enduring constitutional principle but as the will of a narrow and ultimately temporary majority.

 

 

 

As if we didn't have enough material about the election season in our newspapers, magazines, books, and televisions--it has to take up space in our movie theaters (places thought to provide escapism) as well.  But that's the sort of species we are--we make art and entertainment, and we're often inspired by what's happening around us.

Plenty of movies have been made about political elections, and often revolve around the question, "What would happen if the ideal candidate was elected president?"  Not too long ago Robin Williams starred in Man of The Year, the story of what it would be like had a truth-seeking comedian like Jon Stewart been elected president.  Chris Rock starred in a similar plot called Head of State.  In 1998 Warren Beatty played the un-PC, Noam Chomsky-as-a-rapper-like presidential nominee in Bulworth.  And let's not forget Dave, the Kevin Kline vehicle in which a bizarre set of circumstances elect the nicest US President ever known--a man who actually wants to provide new jobs to the unemployed.  

Within these films the ideal candidate always turns out to be a funny, handsome, and charming purveyor of truth who wishes to spread wealth across America (Hmm...), speaks out against greedy corporate CEOs, and realizes the value of low-income communities.  Oddly enough, things rarely work out for these lead characters, and the films end with them being exposed as frauds, or even being assassinated.  In a few examples the characters continue to enjoy a presidential career even after being exposed, but in those films audiences walk away knowing on some level they just saw a bullshit, Hollywood-style happy ending.  None of the films I mentioned earlier have enjoyed much longevity after their opening weekend, if that much to begin with.

Presidential election movies reveal an enormous truth about the attitudes of Americans: we know what we want in a president, but we also know we'll never get it.  

This is exactly why I only re-watch the same election-themed film every four years at about this time: Alexander Payne's Election.  It's not about a US presidential race, but it's story of three characters running for high school class president remains as timeless and relevant as it's breakthrough release in 1999.  

Matthew Broderick stars as Jim McAllister, an unconsciously pathetic high school teacher in charge of supervising the yearly school elections.  The film starts with one, unchallenged nominee--the obsessively over-achieving Tracy Flick (Reese Witherspoon), but McAllister convinces Paul Metzler (Chris Klein) the dopey, popular school jock to run against her after realizing he'll have to spend the rest of the year working closely along side her.  Why doesn't McAllister want to be around the A+++ student?  Because his best friend was recently fired when it was discovered he was having an affair with the young girl, of course.  McAllister's reasons for widening the election are even more personal; there's something about Flick he simply doesn't like.

Election get's at the unspoken truth of political campaigns: much of what drives them is entirely personal and petty.  Metzler represents a puppet regime, and Flick is only running for personal advancements for college and future careers.  A third candidate decides to run only to "get even" at a romantic interest, and after she delivers a speech calling out the whole sham of the school elections, she is disqualified from the race, and expelled from school for making a mockery of the system.  Politics in Election are personal, involve love affairs, voting fraud, fake and devious smiles, and are almost entirely shaped by institutions.  And, yes, they are on a high school level of maturity.

Like our politicians, films arise from our cultural attitudes.  While many election-themed movies are entirely forgettable once they sweep the public (also, arguably, like real elections), others continue to linger with lasting truths about who we are and where we're going.  Should you choose not to vote in the 2008 Presidential Election, I hope you can at least make a good movie about it--as a culture we're in need of more things to look up to.      

Halloween originated in Ireland as part of the Celtic festival of Samhain.  Celebrated at the end of the harvest season in Gaelic culture, it is sometimes known as the "Celtic New Year."  Traditionally it was used by the ancient pagans to take stock of supplies and slaughter livestock for winter stores.  On October 31st, known as "All Hallows' Even," the boundary between the dead and living was believed to be dissolved, and the dead were to cause problems for the living by spreading sickness and damaged crops.  The pagans absolved themselves of this danger through a festival that frequently involved bonfires, costumes and masks to placate the evil spirits, and the burning of bones belonging to the slaughtered livestock.

Today, the rituals of Halloween couldn't be further from their origins--especially in upper middle class, suburban America.

I was 17 years old when I agreed to give Halloween one final, traditional hurrah with my friends.  We were seniors in high school, and realized it was probably the last time to enjoy free candy and dressing up in non-ironic costumes (hip irony was still a new concept then) until we could live vicariously through our future children.  I was hung-up on a girl named Stacy.  We shared mysterious, perhaps final kisses the night before at a Halloween party.  I decided that escape into childhood rituals could be the best way to absolve my pain and uncertainty.  My friend Rory further convinced our buddy Dario and myself when he explained he wanted to enlighten Pierre, the French exchange student living in his house at the time, to the American tradition of "Trick-or-Treat-ing."  

Wearing my usual black hoodie, jeans, and skateboarding shoes, I decided to put on a pair of fake, black-rimmed glasses as my costume.  I still thought getting dressed up and carrying a bag was lame--I looked different enough as far as I was concerned, and my pockets should suffice for whatever candy I happened to come across.  

When I arrived at Dario's parents' house so Rory could pick us up, my friend greeted me wearing a tie-dyed Pink Floyd shirt, a winter hat, a purple cape, and a mandolin in his hands.  

"What are you supposed to be?" I asked.

"A hippy who reached ultimate consciousness.  What about you?"

"I'm emo," I replied.

Dario and I sat on on the front porch, taking in the first of the evening's mild chill, the smell of dead leaves thick in the air  as he plucked the opening notes to the theme from Deliverance on his mandolin--the only partial tune he knew.  Rory's '87, silver Buick Cutlass eventually rolled up to a stop, the Misfits distorting from the radio, and what I assumed was the French kid riding shotgun and wearing an elaborate and expensive looking skeleton costume.  He hopped out and immediately screamed "TRICK OR TREAT!!!!!" at us.  

"No, Pierre!" yelled Rory.   "You say that to the people giving out candy after you knock on their door."    Rory got out of the car and shook his head.  "He's learning," he said.  

Rory was dressed in ripped jeans, Converse All-Stars, and a black leather jacket about two sizes too big for him.  

"That might be worse than Paul's costume.  You're not even dressed up," laughed Dario.  

"To the unenlightened eye, maybe," Rory replied confidently.  "That is, until I do this."

Rory took a pack of Marlboro Reds out of the coat pocket--it was the first time we'd ever seen him with cigarettes.  He took two out of the pack, put one behind his ear, and the other in his mouth before expertly lighting a wooden match off the canvas of his shoes.

"Now I'm James Dean," he said through the cloud of smoke.  

I started having second, third, and fourth thoughts about going out.  What if I ran into Stacy?  Would I ever have a chance again if she saw me with these friends?  My God, were these really my friends?  The thoughts remained as I quietly loaded into the Buick with the others.  Rory belted out a violent cough before speeding down the road.    

We agreed that the Section 8 housing project in our suburban homestead was the best location for trick-or-treating.  The neighborhood of Dunfield in Baltimore County, Maryland was a sprawl of 300 some identical, brown townhomes.  All "Section 8" meant in this part of Baltimore was working class.  The five to seven steps it took from getting from one door to the next led Rory to reason we could get a lot more candy at a faster rate.  Besides, we were less likely to run into people we knew who we were convinced were doing unfathomably cooler things with their Halloween.

We walked towards the address of 001 with slight hesitancy, but just enough in our bubble of amusement to push onwards.  I kept my hands in my hoodie pocket, trailing lastly and mostly looking down at my shoes trying to hide the growing smile on my face.  

"Rory, don't forget to put on your costume," I said.

Rory lit up a cigarette without missing a beat and let it dangle from his lips before giving the door a few knocks.  We stood in anticipation, my friends and Pierre with open bags as the front door creaked open.  A man in a latex, bloody werewolf mask jumped out and emitted the beginnings of a gurgling sound before suddenly stopping and slowly removing his mask.  The small man behind the wire-rim glasses and mustache eventually spoke.

"Oh, uh, hey there boys."

"Trick or treat!" the boys nearly shouted in unison.  

Never breaking eye contact with us, he began slowly dropping candy into the bags.  "So, you guys aren't too old for Halloween, eh?"

"No, Sir, no one is too old to enjoy candy," said Rory.  

"Why are you smoking a cigarette, son?" the man asked.

Dario and I tried our best to suppress the laughter.  

It was no more than ten houses later, and several children's candy bags Rory accidently ashed his cigarettes into, when we received our first invite from somebody to come inside.  A mid-forty-year-old woman in black fishnet stockings and something resembling a clown wig.  

"Well, hello there guys!" she almost squeeled in delight.  She studied each of our faces, making all of us except Pierre too self-conscious to say "trick or treat."  "Well, just look at all of you.  You know what,  why don't you come in?  I'm about to put on some make-up before my shift at the bar.  Maybe you can help me out."  

Dario played the beginning of the Deliverance theme as we entered the house.  

The woman was clearly unmarried and without children.  Clothes and panties were strewn across the living room while a television played Nightmare on Elm St. Part 3: The Dream Warriors.  A vibrantly colored make-up kit and hand mirror rested on top of a piano.  She put her foot up on the bench and pulled up her stocking.  

"Gosh, I'm sorry guys.  I didn't buy any candy because I thought I'd be at work by now!  But I have plenty of left-over pizza on the coffee table there you can help yourselves to." 

Dario waddled his stocky body over to the couch, pushed aside his cape, and sat down to dig into a slice almost immediately. I eventually walked over and grabbed a slice while Rory stood by the piano, fixated on the woman.  Pierre stood alone in the foyer holding his bag open, studying what he could see of the house through the blackened holes of his mask.

"Say, can I bum a smoke off you there, James Dean?" the woman asked Rory.  Rory's pack of smokes dropped to the floor quicker than his jaw.  She put one in her mouth.  Rory continued to gawk.  "Can I have a light too?" the woman giggled.

As Rory continued to blush and fumble I noticed a familiar female shape outside the large living room window.  A girl with the same auburn hair of Stacy, wearing a genie costume and face veil was walking across the street.  

"Hey I'll be outside," I said as I walked passed Pierre and out the front door. 

"Here, honey, take the brush and just sort of stroke it like this," I heard the woman say as I was leaving. 

I looked around the neighborhood street, which was becoming increasingly crowded with activity.  Strobe lights illuminated mock gravestones on some of the more elaborately decorated houses, and costumed bodies could be heard cheering between footsteps that crunched on fallen dead leaves.  Towards the end of the block I saw the genie girl again, and started to approach when I ran into Katie, Shawn, Missy, and Tina from school.  They were each adorned in costumes.

"Hey, Paul, what are you doing here?" asked Missy.

"I'm with Rory and Dario," I said somewhat surprised.  

"Are you trick or treating?" asked Tina as she studied my 'costume.'

"Uhm, yeah I think so," I replied.  "Listen, there's somebody up there I need to catch up with.  Are you guys going to be out for a while?"

They all said yes.

"Okay, we'll probably run into you later.  See ya!"

Missy and Tina were two of the prettiest, coolest girls at school.  I walked away from them suddenly feeling self-conscious of my appearance.  I hustled to the top of the block and looked around, but the genie girl was nowhere in sight.  I was half-way back to the sexy clown woman's home when I came across Rory, Dario, and Pierre.  "What happened I asked?"

"Dario ate all her pizza, I applied half of her make-up, some trick-or-treaters with their parents came and then she pretty much shooed us out of the house," said Rory.

"Huh," I blurted.

"Yeah, she was pretty hot," Rory said looking at nothing in particular.  He then directed sharp focus on Dario and Pierre.  "Why didn't you guys get the clue like Paul?  I was about to get some back there."  

We continued among the avenues of townhomes.  Whenever somebody was naive enough to just leave a bowl of candy on the front porch with a hand-written sign reading "Please take one," Rory made sure to grab the whole thing.  Other homes sometimes contained a smiling husband and wife, gleefully handing out candy to whomever "braved" it enough to walk through their haunted front lawn.  Other times we would run into somebody who we knew graduated four or so years before us, sitting on the front porch with a bowl of candy and nothing else better to do--sometimes with a cordless phone resting nearby.  We also happened upon the cool, long-haired dude who worked at the local guitar shop--strumming his vintage Fender Telecaster with his girlfriend beside him.  The one person who I couldn't seem to find was the genie girl who looked a lot like Stacy.  

The night couldn't have been darker or the air more brisk when we reached a house that marked roughly two-thirds of our targeted journey.  A husband and wife dressed as a prison convict and Cleopatra stood in front of their open door as handfuls of trick-or-treaters walked to and fro.  The Cars "Moving In Stereo" played loudly from inside their living room.  

"Ohhh my God, honey!  Salvation is here!" yelled the jailbird before taking a massive swig out of the plump Budweiser can in his right hand.  Cleopatra lifted her gown before hustling down the porch steps and dropping handfuls of Snickers and Twix bars into my friends' bags.  I tried to squeeze one into my already stuffed jeans pockets.

"Wow, how old are you boys?" asked the woman.

"Thirteen, ma'am," replied Rory.  I punched him hard in the back.

"Haha!  Great!" said the man.  "I think we finally found some kids ready to get even with the hooligans up the street!"

None of us said anything, but continued to listen interested.

"There's a house full of college kids up the street a little ways," said the woman.  "They've been terrorizing all these poor children here with a hockey mask and weedwacker.  Now, I love Halloween as much as anyone else, but I think these guys are taking it a bit too far."

The man made a dash inside the house, and a few seconds later came back with a large, yellow water balloon.  "Any of you guys willing to pelt one of those bastards with this?" he asked.  

I continued to stand behind everyone else, contemplating while swallowing a small box of Nerds.  Dario listened attentively, and who knew what was going on behind Pierre's mask.  Rory stepped up to the challenge.

"I'll do it, sure," he said.  

"Great!" exclaimed the woman.  "If you guys need protection, feel free to hide out here!  We won't let anything happen to you!"

The husband and wife clanked beer cans together and giggled more wildly than perhaps any of the kids who paid them a visit that night.  As Rory began leading the way with the water balloon, the three of us followed with nervous, bowel-jittering anticipation--a little too scared to think rationally, but too excited by the unknown to turn back.  

We were no more than a few steps away from a darkened, seemingly abandoned house as we watched two young girls approach the front door.  As they stepped onto the main walkway leading to the porch, the front door suddenly swung open, and the threatening roar of the weedwacker ripped through the air.  The two children screamed and ran through the neighboring front lawns as a large teen in a hockey mask chased after them a little ways.  He turned off the machine and lifted his mask to belch out a maniacal laugh.  He was soon joined in a chorus of laughs by a few other older looking teenagers coming out of the front door, each taking sips from beer cans.  The one with the weedwacker seemed to be ignoring us and the handfuls of other costumed kids roaming the block.  Dario and I looked over to Rory, but he was already taking a few pivoting steps to launch the balloon.

In films and TV shows when such a moment occurs, it's shot in slow-motion.  The object hurtles through the air, its vibrancy creates loud "whooshes" of sound as it almost seems suspended in another dimension.  The reason why those sequences have been allowed to become such cliches is because that's exactly how they play out in real life as you experience them for yourself.  The balloon hit the teen direct-center in the face, exploding with a loud pop.  We all froze.  The teen stood paralyzed, his friends laughter on the porch  diminished to a complete silence.

"That kid just threw piss at me!!!" he yelled dropping the weedwacker.  He and his cronies honed their focus on us.  

Dario's hands accidentally strummed the mandolin, and the next thing I knew we were all running in separate directions.  Screams of tricker-or-treaters belted out as some of us dashed through their groups, committing rapid motion with no direction.  At some point I realized I was running across the street and in the way in which we came.  On the other side of the street and a few feet behind me was the bouncing, unmistakable glow of Rory's cigarette, and at least two of the teenagers just behind him.  As I approached the corner home, I ran around the side to reach the fence of it's back yard, diving over it almost head first and with enough height to clear it perfectly.  I tumbled to my knees and rolled onto my stomach, where through the fence openings I could see Rory making a dash towards Cleopatra and the convict's home.  The door was wide open, and Rory ran straight through.  Finally realizing what was happening, the two adults eventually hustled up to the front porch and blocked the door as the older teenagers came to a halt on their front lawn.

"Look, lady," said the one in the hockey mask.  "Your son just threw a water balloon of piss at me!"  

"He's not our son, but if he did I'm sure you were doing something to deserve it!" yelled back the woman.

The teens paced around looking bewildered.

"Guys, it's Halloween.  I'm sure it wasn't pee.  It's a time for fun and pranks.  Deal with it," said the drunken convict. 

"Fun and pranks?!" yelled hockey mask.  "When you get out of there, kid.  You're fuckin' dead, you hear me!?  DEAD!!!"

I continued to lay motionless, unable to believe what I was witnessing.  Eventually the older teens, who now looked to be in their early 20's, sauntered off in different directions.  I looked around and noticed that the very back of the yard led into a small patch of trees that would take me over to a street we hadn't been to that night.  I quietly crept over and made my way through the trees.  

As I walked along the new block, more houses had their lights turned out, fewer trick-or-treaters walked the street, and the haunted, musical sounds of decorated houses were becoming quieter.  I yelled out Dario's name.  

"Paul, I'm up the street, hold on!" I heard him echo back.  

We started walking towards each other, and he was laughing hysterically with Shawn, Missy, and Tina surrounding him.  

"Pretttty funny, man," Missy said to me.  

"Where's Rory and French-y?" asked Dario.

"Last I saw Rory he was running into that couple's house.  Those guys were pissed!"

"In more ways than one, apparently," Dario remarked. 

"So you guys lost the French exchange student?" Shawn asked.  

"Oh my God.  He's probably wandering alone somewhere just saying 'Trick or Treat?' over and over again," said Dario.

It was horrible, but we couldn't help exploding into laughter.  

We said goodnight to our friends after walking them back to Missy's house in non-stop chatter.  Dario and I figured the next best plan was to wait at Rory's car.  We sat on the hood of the Buick, looking at a tree covered in toilet paper, not daring to break the newfound silence that finally enveloped the neighborhood.  As I chewed on another box of Nerds, I wondered if the genie girl I saw earlier was, in fact, Stacy.  If it was, that meant she was just a big a loser as me for trick-or-treating at the age of 17.  If it wasn't, than some other girl equally as pretty, and probably the same age was also partaking in Halloween.  I looked over to Dario who quietly played his mandolin.  I started to feel glad I didn't find her that night.  We eventually heard approaching footsteps, and saw Rory and Pierre begin to illuminate under the moonlight, both carrying their massive bags of candy.  Pierre had finally removed the skeleton mask and was grinning like a child as he took bites from a Baby Ruth.  

"What the hell happened to you guys?" I asked.  

Rory unlocked the car and shot us a grin.  "I snuck out the back of that house just as soon as I ran inside.  I took my time doing some more trick-or-treating on the next block and eventually ran into Pierre, who apparently thought none the wiser of our little piss balloon incident."

"I just thought it was all part of Halloween," said Pierre with a smile.  

We drove home saying very little, but there was no question about it--it was Halloween, alright.  

I'm so sick of people making excuses for this woman I could fill a pool with my own vomit.  This is a person who has volunteered to be the potential leader of this country--not some mentally retarded child who has no control over herself.  Politicians, media, and ordinary people--please, please, please stop baby-ing this woman.  I ask you to consider this video:

 

Hearts across the world were warmed by Lin Miaoke's beautiful rendition of "Ode to the Motherland" at the Olympic Opening Ceremony.  The sweet and adorable nine-year-old sung with passion and angelic beauty--or so it seemed.  Word is out now that Lin (top right) was actually lip-synching to the pre-recorded voice of another, apparently less attractive seven-year-old girl named Yang Peiyi (top left).  Lin replaced her when Chinese officials decided they needed a better national image to impress the rest of the world.

According to the Guardian, Chen Qigang, the event's general music designer, explained to a Beijing radio station, "This is in the national interest.  It is the image of our national music, national culture.  Especially the entrance of our national flag; this is an extremely important, extremely serious matter."

But it appears to many that the only message China sent was to embrace superficialness.  Yang, like many young children, has uneven teeth, but--let's face it, China has never been one to favor, at least any Western notions of humanity.  The Chinese government hasn't expressed much embarrassment over the issue, and Chen talks about the construction of an artificial symbol as perfectly acceptable:

"We made the decision that the voice we would use was Yang Peiyi's.  The child on camera should be flawless in image, internal feelings, and expression.  Lin Miaoke is excellent in those aspects.  But in the aspect of voice, Yang Peiyi is flawless."

To many in China, there is nothing wrong with this artificial creation--even Yang agrees.  When asked if she was upset for not being chosen to appear at the ceremony, she told journalists, "No, my voice was there."

Personally, I feel it would be a mistake to criticize China for being "shallow" with this incident.  This is a window of opportunity to better understand the country's views on humanity, which are clearly in conflict with many others' around the globe.  From their perspective, taking the image of one girl and the voice of another can create the perfect ideal.  While I may not personally agree with the notion (I think it's ludicrous to look up to flawless, imaginary inventions), I can still understand the Chinese attitude on this, and look forward to an intelligent and respectful debate on such ideas.