作者：大兵
编辑：李聪玲 责任编辑：罗志飞 校对：程筱筱 翻译：彭小梅
秋天的洛杉矶带着一种加州特有的明亮。街道两旁的树影摇曳，微风吹过，那面蓝旗在风里轻轻展开：中国民主党 推翻中共再造共和。
在离家万里的异国他乡，这群人用一面旗帜、一段演讲、一场集会，追寻着中国大陆本该有的样貌。现场氛围出奇地平静，有人举着旗帜、有人抱着孩子、也有人只是静静地站在路边。阳光落在他们的脸上，混合着笑意与坚定，带有一种不屈的温柔。
他们谈论自由与民主，谈论信念，也谈论生活。一个男人举着麦克风，手里握着青天白日旗。他的声音不高，却格外清晰，叙说着今天我们因为什么站在这里。我站在人群边，一次次按下快门，却总觉得镜头还不足以承载那种情绪。 这不是愤怒的抗议，而是一种平静的呼喊——一种属于流散者的尊严。
一位父亲抱着孩子站在人群中，孩子的眼神充满好奇。那一刻，我想到一个问题：自由，是不是也要被一代一代的亲手传递？
活动结束，旗帜依然在风中飘动。阳光从树缝洒下落在地面，像是无声的注脚。我收起相机，心里有一种奇异的宁静——仿佛拍下的不只是一次纪念活动，而是一段流亡者的历史。在洛杉矶的街头，我们以这样平静的姿态，纪念着中华民国的国庆，也守着属于自己的信念。 或许，我们追求的，不仅仅是“政治意义上的自由”，而是一种更广义的尊严——让每个人都能自由地说、自由地记、自由地被看见。这就是我那天看到的一切。
镜头之外，是我心中挥之不去的回声：离开故乡的人，也能用另一种方式，继续为故乡而活。
A Blue Flag in Los Angeles, October
Author: Da Bing.
Editors: Li Congling Executive Editor: Luo Zhifei Proofreader: Cheng Xiaoxiao Translator: Xiaomei Peng
Abstract:A photographer captures, through both lens and words, the quiet yet powerful presence of those who gather in pursuit of freedom and democracy.
Autumn in Los Angeles carries a brightness unique to California. Shadows of trees sway gently along the streets, and a light breeze passes by. In the wind, a blue flag unfurls softly—its words clear and resolute: “China Democratic Party — Overthrow the CCP, Rebuild the Republic.”
In this foreign land, far from home, a group of people holds onto a flag, a speech, a gathering—seeking the image of a China that should have been.
The scene is unexpectedly calm. Some hold the flag high, others cradle their children, and some simply stand quietly at the roadside. Sunlight falls upon their faces, mingling with both smiles and steadfastness, radiating a gentle defiance.
They speak of freedom and democracy, of conviction, and of life itself. A man raises a microphone, a Blue Sky with a White Sun flag in his hand. His voice is not loud, but every word is clear, explaining why we stand here today.
Standing at the edge of the crowd, I press the shutter again and again—yet I feel that no photograph can truly contain this emotion. This is not an outburst of anger, but a calm and dignified cry—a cry that belongs to those who live in exile.
Among the crowd, a father holds his child, and the child’s eyes are filled with curiosity. In that moment, a question arises in my mind: Must freedom, too, be passed down—hand to hand, generation to generation?
When the event ends, the flag still flutters in the wind. Sunlight streams through the branches, scattering on the ground like silent footnotes. pack away my camera, feeling an unexpected tranquility—as if I had captured not merely a commemoration, but a fragment of the history of exile.
On the streets of Los Angeles, we commemorate the National Day of the Republic of China in quiet defiance, holding onto our own faith. Perhaps what we seek is not merely political freedom, but something broader and deeper—a sense of dignity:the right for every person to speak freely, to remember freely, to be seen freely.
That is what I witnessed that day.And beyond the lens lingers a faint echo in my heart: Those who have left their homeland can still, in another way, continue to live for it.
