文：吕峰
编辑：王梦梦 责任编辑：胡丽莉 翻译：吕峰
中国文学巨匠鲁迅在《狂人日记》中写到：一位革命者被处死，头颅落地，而围观者却无动于衷，甚至带着兴奋与好奇。他们像“无形的手提了脖子的鸭子”，呆滞木然，却带着病态的快感。这一幕，成为鲁迅弃医从文的转折点。对他而言，最可怕的不是敌人的刀，而是同胞的冷漠与麻木。
一个世纪过去了，冷漠依然未散。新冠疫情期间，李文亮、张展、彭载舟、方方等人，为了公众的生命与尊严选择发声。他们揭示真相、记录现实，理应获得支持与敬意，但等待他们的却是封号、删帖、训诫、牢狱，甚至病痛与死亡。在权力的操控下，他们换来的不是理解，而是孤立与围攻。许多人冷眼旁观，随波逐流，甚至在官方叙事的引导下转而指责这些勇敢者。
这正是鲁迅笔下“人血馒头”的现代翻版。冷漠，并非与生俱来，而是专制体制、信息封锁与恐惧氛围的共同产物。公共空间被系统性压缩，发声者遭受惩罚，沉默成为人们的自保策略。于是，少数勇敢者成了孤勇者，而沉默的大多数，则在不知不觉中成为维系统治的帮凶。
疫情，更是把这一逻辑推向全球。最初的隐瞒与拖延，吹哨人的被噤声与惩罚，使病毒迅速蔓延，最终造成数百万生命消逝，数以亿计的家庭陷入痛苦。这不是单纯的自然灾难，而是中共体制下的必然悲剧。为了维持权力与“稳定”，真相可以被抹杀，个体生命可以被牺牲，甚至整个世界都可被拖入深渊。
2025年，中共高调举行9·3大阅兵。广场上，坦克隆隆，导弹林立，战机呼啸，口号震天，仿佛全民同庆。然而铁流滚滚、排山倒海的景象之下，是无数被噤声的灵魂：被警告的家庭、被封禁的账号、被捕的吹哨人。阅兵的轰鸣，与真相被压制的寂静，形成了刺目的反差。
整齐划一的步伐、闪亮的军装、雷鸣般的口号，掩盖不了内部的腐败与压迫；高耸的导弹和呼啸的战机，遮不住制度对真相的扼杀与对自由的践踏。每一次排练、每一次升旗、每一次齐步走，都是权力在宣告：服从、恐惧与控制，才是国家的核心价值。真正的民族脊梁，不在阅兵场上的钢铁方阵里，而在牢狱之中，在那些被噤声却依然坚守真相与尊严的人身上。
鲁迅说：“希望是本无所谓有，无所谓无的。正如地上的路，本没有路，走的人多了，也便成了路。” 今天，我们要走的路，正是打破冷漠、冲破铁屋的路。
本次行动——美西美东反共巡游。目标很清晰：让世界看清真相，揭露中共的邪恶本质。让人们明白，这个体制如何对待真相、对待公民、对待人类共同安全。
真相是权利，而不是罪行；
自由是天赋，而不是恩赐；
揭露中共，不仅为了中国的自由，更是为了世界的安全。
美东美西的反共巡游，不只是一次游行，而是鲁迅精神的当代回响。我们拒绝做冷漠的看客，不再在铁屋中沉睡。我们要以行动呼唤自由，以声音击碎沉默。唯有如此，才能告慰那些为真相付出代价的人，也才能让这场悲剧不再重演。
No Longer a Cold Spectator—Written for the Heroes of the Anti-CCP Motorcade Across America
Abstract: In a society where truth and freedom are strangled by authoritarianism, the “West Coast and East Coast Anti-Communist Motorcade” exposes the tyranny of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) through action, calling on us to reject silence and defend the shared security of humanity.
Author: Lyu Feng
Editor: Wang Mengmeng Responsible Editor: Hu Lili Translation: Lyu Feng
In Diary of a Madman, the great Chinese writer Lu Xun describes the execution of a revolutionary: as the blade fell and the head rolled to the ground, the onlookers remained unmoved—some even gazed on with excitement and curiosity. He compared them to “ducks held by the neck by invisible hands”—dull, numb, yet showing a morbid delight. That chilling moment became the turning point that drove Lu Xun to abandon medicine for literature. To him, the most terrifying thing was not the enemy’s blade, but the indifference and apathy of his compatriots.
A century has passed, yet indifference still lingers. During the COVID-19 pandemic, figures such as Li Wenliang, Zhang Zhan, Peng Zaizhou, and Fang Fang spoke out for public life and dignity. They sought to reveal truth and record reality, and deserved respect and support. Instead, they were met with censorship, deleted accounts, police warnings, imprisonment, illness, and even death. Under the weight of state power, what they received was not understanding, but isolation and attack. Many chose to watch coldly, to drift with the current, or even, under the guidance of official narratives, to condemn these brave voices.
This is nothing less than a modern reenactment of Lu Xun’s metaphorical “steamed bun soaked in human blood.” Indifference is not innate—it is manufactured by dictatorship, censorship, and a climate of fear. Public space is systematically eroded, speakers are punished, and silence becomes a survival strategy. Thus, the few who dare to resist become lonely warriors, while the silent majority, often unwittingly, serve as accomplices to the system’s rule.
The pandemic pushed this logic onto the global stage. Initial cover-ups and delays, the silencing and punishment of whistleblowers, allowed the virus to spread unchecked, claiming millions of lives and plunging hundreds of millions of families into grief. This was not merely a natural disaster, but the inevitable tragedy of the CCP system. To preserve power and “stability,” truth can be obliterated, individual lives can be sacrificed, and even the entire world can be dragged into the abyss.
In 2025, the Chinese Communist Party staged a grand military parade on September 3. On the square, tanks rumbled, missiles stood tall, fighter jets roared overhead, and slogans thundered through the air—an illusion of nationwide celebration. Yet beneath this torrent of iron and waves of spectacle lay countless silenced souls: families warned into submission, accounts banned, whistleblowers arrested. The roar of the parade stood in stark contrast to the suffocating silence imposed on truth.
The synchronized steps, gleaming uniforms, and thunderous chants could not conceal the corruption and oppression within. Towering missiles and screaming warplanes could not hide the regime’s strangling of truth and trampling of freedom. Each rehearsal, each flag-raising, each march in unison was a declaration of power: that obedience, fear, and control—not justice or liberty—were the state’s true core values. The real backbone of the nation is not found in the steel phalanxes on the parade ground, but in the prison cells, among those silenced yet still steadfast in defending truth and dignity.
Lu Xun once said: “Hope cannot be said to exist, nor can it be said not to exist. It is like the paths across the earth; originally there were none, but as people walk them again and again, they come into being.” Today, the road we must walk is precisely the one that breaks through indifference and shatters the iron house.
This action—the West Coast and East Coast Anti-CCP Motorcade. Our goal is clear: to let the world see the truth and to expose the CCP’s evil nature. To make people understand how this regime treats truth, how it treats its citizens, and how it threatens the shared security of humanity.
Truth is a right, not a crime;Freedom is inherent, not a gift;Exposing the CCP is not only for China’s freedom, but also for the safety of the world.
The Anti-CCP motorcade across the East and West coasts is not just a parade—it is the contemporary echo of Lu Xun’s spirit. We refuse to remain cold spectators; we will no longer slumber inside the iron house. With action, we call for freedom; with our voices, we shatter the silence. Only in this way can we honor those who have paid the price for truth, and ensure that such tragedy will not be repeated.
