I'm tired of being tired of myself - Miscellaneous feelings about the Sitong Bridge incident in Beijing

Today, I forwarded several photos of Beijing Sitong Bridge to WeChat Moments. Although the number of replies received is not many, it is far more than usual. This surprised me a bit. First, I have very few friends, and only a handful of them interact frequently. Second, I have long been desensitized to publishing such "sensitive issues" related to domestic politics and society, and I have published them in the circle of friends. Naturally, he is accustomed to testing on the verge of being deleted when he speaks, so he doesn't feel the need to embolden himself with regard to today's events. It seems that this incident has indeed caused a lot of public shock within the high wall. After all, this is a highly sensitive time, and it is happening in the political center of the country. The authorities' reaction is so fierce and it is indeed "excusable".

The first person to send the message, a little unexpectedly, was the old lady. Although we often focus on the current situation in the weekly video hours, she has always been more restrained in paying attention to my online comments. Although she often worries about the danger of my account being deleted and losing contact, she rarely directly reminds me. But this time, she said bluntly: Just forward it for everyone to see, it's better to delete it quickly. After a few more chats, I realized that she had heard about it from a friend long ago, but due to the strong censorship, she could only hear the sound but did not see the picture. Instead, it was thanks to my forwarding that I finally got a glimpse of the content of the slogan. smile.

Then, one after another, replies were received. Many of my friends didn't forget to ask "Be careful, be careful not to delete your account", and a friend's condolences turned into a question: "Why haven't you been bombed yet?". I checked the news on the Internet, and it seems that the strictness of this review can be said to be unprecedented. Some netizens have already been punished with account bombing and banning for small-scale retweets in WeChat groups; I have even heard that some people in China were intimidated by the national security agency over the phone for retweeting the content of this matter. Seeing such a turbulent scene, I understand why this retweet has received so much attention today.

I often joke with my family and friends that I am not afraid of being "exploded" or of being retaliated against. Since the eight-child mother incident in Fengxian County in February this year, I have decided to regard my circle of friends as a small fortress to defend freedom of speech. Every day, I take the trouble to carry those articles buried by the censorship machine and spread those brave people. and their voices. I even occasionally wrote some small essays that were inspired by my feelings, trying to say something unpleasant to the small audience, and tell some simple truths. I have always understood that the ban on me is not some distant threat, but the sword of Damocles that will suddenly come at no time. That said, I often take an unreasonably optimistic fluke about the threat. But today, at this moment, I feel more and more that this fluke is futile.

That being the case, I will take this opportunity today to say a few words from my heart again.

Speaking of silence, it is not a new thing in my family; I have mentioned more than once that my current "reactionary" thinking has long been passed down. Dad is a "reactionary" person, especially when it comes to the strange status quo of society, his irritability is far higher than mine. I sometimes joke with my friends about what happened to my father on WeChat: because he is frequently banned for speaking out, I have to add back his newly registered account after being banned from time to time under the guidance of my mother. The most outrageous one, the new account was banned again after less than a week of registration, and it was still hot. This became the ID with the shortest survival time; and it was precisely because of such frequent explosions, I had to give my dad's WeChat ID. Introduce "digital management", that is, serially number each of his account notes, otherwise, I will definitely be completely confused by the large number of IDs. Recently, this sequence has been ranked "E" after A, B, C, and D. Looking at the large collection of Dad's portraits in the address book, it is also spectacular.

Since the bombing is not unfamiliar and close at hand, I have to always appease my parents. After all, although they are not worried about how reactionary my thoughts are, they will definitely worry about being bombed in the face of the ubiquitous censorship machines. A series of chain reactions - I cut off contact with me who is far abroad, and may face reprimands, bans from going abroad, and even loss of personal freedom after returning to China. For these concerns, I often look for some solutions: for example, after the account is broken and disconnected, I can reconnect with my daughter-in-law's WeChat account and add the account back. Delete to cope with checks and so on. These words, while not completely alleviating their concerns, at least softened the atmosphere of our conversation a little.

To put it bluntly, I often use a term of "technical thinking" as a shield to avoid taking this topic with my parents in a more serious and therefore more pessimistic direction. The so-called "technical" is nothing more than a way of thinking that "believes that any problem can be avoided or solved by technical means." We no longer ask whether it is necessary to say some words, whether some truths should be said, whether some people and things should be paid attention to, and how some problems should be solved, but to comfort each other or "deceive" each other, even if these problems continue to exist , even if the status quo cannot be changed, we can use some brains, dexterously avoid those possible dangers, and be able to escape. In all fairness, this way of thinking is not only used in my communication with my parents, but also in self-comfort. But I understand that it's all just a self-deceiving mind game. Deep down, I was actually full of contempt for this idea of myself.

So the question that needs to be answered now is, since I clearly know the possibility of being banned, I can foresee the consequences of being banned, and I can better understand that this is a one-way ticket asking for trouble, why should I still try the law? Why do I still have to sincerely say to those friends who care about the safety of my account: Thank you for your reminder, but I don't care?

For this question, I have given the answer in another small article about the massacre of the Russian army in Butcha, Ukraine: because of boredom .

Recently, by chance, I reread Milan Kundera. I had been addicted to several of his novels when I was in college, but Kun’s most famous work, The Unbearable Lightness of Life, was the first time I read it after a lapse of ten years. Halfway through the book, I suddenly understood why we had loved him so deeply. Everything stems from the fact that we grew up in social systems that are not identical but very similar. The background of the writing of "Sheng" is the famous event "Prague Spring" during the Cold War in the 1960s. With the invasion of the Czech Republic by the Warsaw Pact coalition forces, Dubcek, the general secretary of the Czech Communist Party, who advocated a political thaw, was arrested by the Soviet army. The seeds of freedom that the system was trying to break free from were smothered in infancy. This event profoundly affected Milan Kundera's life and thought. I often feel that only readers who have also grown up in communist countries can really understand his words - those who are patient and helpless in the face of the state apparatus, those who have long been accustomed to under the authoritarian system but are distorted, repressed, and deeply The subtle feelings buried in the bottom of his heart are spread out and stretched out by his words little by little, and they are displayed in front of everyone. Familiar with his heart, but no one has enough language ability and sincere heart to speak out like him.

There are two characters in the book. The painter Sabina is from the communist Czech Republic and fled to Geneva to escape the persecution that followed the Prague Spring; while her lover Franz is from Switzerland, a native of the free world. There is a dedicated chapter in the book that describes the differences in the perception of the same thing between two people from different backgrounds, such as Franz's belief in loyalty, and Sabina's love of rebellion; Franz's love of marching in the streets, because that is his escape from the mundane. The narcotics of life, and Sabina hated the marches, because she was required to participate in the May Day activities organized by the government since she was a child. She hated the forced group activities, and she hated the uniform singing that did not allow different voices to appear. And slogan; Franz believes that the greatest truth is to be true to the surface and to hide nothing, while the truth in Sabina's heart is the secret that is never told.

You might say that the days of the Cold War and the Soviets are long gone, but the specter of the Soviets has been lingering around us all the time. You and I are both Soviets. If everyone's life is a movement, then communism is the basic mode of every movement. Our language and behavior have long since decayed and mutated in this spiritual prison.

All of this is exactly what I'm tired of.

The pervasiveness of the state apparatus makes every individual's life invisible:

Before the censorship robots came to the city, we had begun to censor ourselves, and then deceived and persuaded ourselves;

After the moral police have shackled our minds, we can't wait to get used to the distortion and learn to love the shackled dance;

We were knocked to the ground by power, and then deprived of the right to get up, and had to crawl forever.

That's all I'm tired of: persuading, loving, creeping. These high-sounding names cannot hide our humble reality like maggots.

From the end of 2020 to the middle of 2021, when the epidemic was raging, my grandparents passed away one after another. Because I was overseas, and due to irresistible reasons such as the suspension of the return flight and the 21-day quarantine policy for returning people, I was unable to return to China to see the two elderly people for the last time. Not only that, because of the isolation policy during the epidemic, none of their relatives could accompany them when they were hospitalized. They were the closest people I grew up with.

I don't know how long it took me to slowly come out of my grief, and just a few days ago, when I was dreaming back in the middle of the night, I dreamed of my grandma. In the dream, she cried anxiously because she found that her eyesight had deteriorated and she could not go far. I also cried in my dream.

When I saw people who were locked down desperately asking for help online, those who died because of extreme anti-epidemic policies, those who were made homeless because of anti-epidemic policies, and those who couldn't see their loved ones for the last time - I once tried to Use their suffering to comfort your own. I once comforted myself and said: Compared with their experience, the hardships you face are nothing, at least the grandparents did not suffer those extra pains when they left.

I'm starting to get tired of this "self-healing", and I'm tired of this stubborn Chinese mentality, which is to use the greater suffering of others to relieve one's own suffering. Because the pain that tyranny brings to everyone will not cancel each other out, but will only continue to accumulate.

This simple truth, we have been pretending not to understand.

I'm tired of this pretense.

I'm even sick of boredom itself. After I saw the "Sitong Bridge" incident, some eloquent rhetoric of a gentleman appeared on the social network: "What's the use of this, and it won't change anything." A like-minded friend also lamented: "Even so, there is no hope of change."

The sour and rotten remarks of upright gentlemen are naturally irrelevant, but I also sympathize with the grief of my friends.

I suddenly thought of the famous "Tank Man" after the Tiananmen massacre in 1989. He is so thin and weak in the picture, he looks weak. His mantis arm as a car also failed to stop the long drive of the armored convoy. If we can go back in time, should we also look back and ask him, "What's the use of doing this, and it won't change anything?"

This is naturally a false proposition, because each of us Chinese is truly living in a history that he participated in shaping.

I have no intention and I know I am powerless to play the horn. But I have a subtle hope for myself and for the readers who read these words: I hope that more of us can recognize that we are living in a huge lie and try to fight it- Do everything possible. (Also, if you can, don't forget your and others' suffering.)

As for the way this confrontation should be taken, a warrior has given him the answer through action; and for cowards like you and me, at least this can start: learn to live, speak, and act in an upright manner, without deceiving yourself or being dull. ,No compromise.

I just read an interesting quote: "Writing is the smallest unit of freedom". I'm already exercising my freedom, and I believe you can too.

In the early morning of October 14, 2022 in Boston