作者：缪青 编辑：冯仍 校对：冯仍 翻译：彭小梅
“乡愁不是乡土的回忆，而是文化的失根。”
历史学者余英时的这句话，像一枚沉重的铁钉，深深钉进无数政治流亡者的心里。它没有华丽的修辞，却揭示了一种残酷而真实的命运：政治流亡者失去的，并不仅仅是土地，而是与土地相连的精神根系。
他们被制度放逐，被历史边缘化，被现实迫害，被语言冷落。 久而久之，他们仿佛成了精神与文化之间的游魂——怀着一点微弱却顽固的火种，在异域的夜色里行走。
而这火种，叫作乡愁。
美国旧金山金门大桥（图片来自网络）
一、乡愁：从地理之痛到文化之失
“独在异乡为异客，每逢佳节倍思亲。”
王维的诗句，千百年来一直是中国人理解乡愁的经典表达。然而，对于政治流亡者而言，乡愁早已超越了节日里的思念。它更像一种缓慢而持久的疼痛，是一种难以弥合的断裂。
我的故乡在重庆，一座山水交错、历史绵长的城市。 记忆里有巷口老太太摆着凉粉的小摊，有街角老荫茶馆里飘出的清香，有夏日屋檐下摇曳的芭蕉叶，也有满山盛开的三角梅。
还有那些无名的老街小巷。 它们不在地图上，却在记忆里清晰如昨。
然而，我也亲眼见证过另一种重庆。 在城市拆迁的年代，一夜之间，熟悉的石板街被推平，取而代之的是冷冰冰的玻璃幕墙。那像一场暴力的失忆工程，让城市忽然失去了时间的层次，也让人失去了回忆的坐标。
过去20余年的时间里，中国许多城市都在迅速变得陌生而魔幻。 文化的消失与制度的破坏，并非一夜之间完成，但一旦形成洪流，便像决堤的洪水，再无退路。
我在北京生活工作期间，每每回到家乡都深深感到，曾经熟悉的街道已经变得陌生。于是乡愁不再是一张机票能够解决的问题，它成为心灵深处一处无法愈合的伤口。
二、政治流亡者：最深情的爱国者
很多人无法理解，为什么海外的中国异议人士与民主党人，总在批评中国。
事实上，我们从来没有批评中国。 我们批评的是“中共国”，而不是“中国”。
他们指责我们“辱华”、“不爱国”。 但真正的爱国，从来不是掩盖问题，而是敢于指出问题；不是在国家生病时沉默，而是在她痛苦时发出呼喊。
沉默有时也是一种背叛。
在今天的中共国，说出问题往往需要勇气。 提出问题，常常被视为“抹黑国家”；而不提出问题，则意味着放弃人民最基本的尊严。
如果一个国家真的希望变得更好，它必须学会面对真相。 自由与公平，不应是国家对人民的恩赐，而是人民与生俱来的权利。
因此我始终认为，政治流亡者不是恨国者，而是更深情的爱国者。
我们并非抛弃故国，而是被故国所抛弃。 我们离开的，是一种政权，而不是一种文化。 我们批判的是制度的邪恶，而不是中华民族的根。
三、历史中的流亡者
乡愁并不是现代人才有的情绪。 在人类历史中，流亡往往与文明相伴。
唐代的杜甫在安史之乱中漂泊半生，从长安辗转到成都草堂。在帝国崩塌的废墟里，他写下：“国破山河在，城春草木深。”短短八个字，道尽家国两重悲凉。
林语堂一生漂泊海外。他说：“我离开中国，并不是因为不爱它，正因为爱它，所以离开。” 在英文世界里，他用幽默而温暖的笔调讲述中国文化，却始终带着一种无法言说的忧伤。
俄国女诗人阿赫玛托娃在丈夫被枪决、儿子入狱的年代，仍然写下《安魂曲》。 她没有离开祖国，却生活在比流亡更沉重的监视与恐惧中。 她说：“我愿意为人民守夜，而不是为暴君献媚。”
托马斯·曼在纳粹上台后离开德国。他曾对友人说：“德国已经死了，可是我还在活着。” 在流亡中，他写下《魔山》《布登勃洛克一家》，为自己建立了一座精神上的祖国。
回望历史，人们会发现一个奇特的现象： 很多时候，文明的火种正是由流亡者保存下来的。
他们不是失败者。 他们是守夜人。
四、余英时：在流亡中重建中国
在众多流亡者之中，余英时先生或许最能给予我们精神上的支撑。
他一生没有政治职位，却成为中国近代思想史上最重要的声音之一。他不依附权势，也不投机政治，却始终坚定地站在自由这一边。
他将儒家“士”的精神重新注入现代知识分子的理想：“为天地立心，为生民立命。”
他说过一句意味深长的话：“我在哪里，中国就在哪里。”
这句话，是他对流亡状态最深刻的回答。 一个人即使身处异乡，只要心中仍然保存着中华文化与自由理想，中国便不会真正消失。
有时我也会一个人陷入长久的沉思。 流亡者的孤独，是一种安静而漫长的孤独。
但也正是在这样的孤独里，人才能重新追问： 我们是谁？ 我们究竟为谁而坚持？
余英时的坚持提醒我们： 在自由世界里，也依然可以为中国保留一块思想的净土。
五、我的乡愁
我的乡愁，不只是重庆的街巷、三角梅与芭蕉叶。 也不只是火锅的味道和青石路的脚步声。
我的乡愁，是父母说话的口音，是命运多舛的外公（本人外公苏更生，是黄埔军校10期生，少将）留下的家书，是我在地下家庭教会里唱过的诗歌。
我的乡愁，是每一次听到异见人士被秘密抓捕、维权律师突然失踪、记者被封口时，那种刀割般的疼痛。
同时也是一种沉重的羞愧：他们仍在拼死抗争，而我却幸运地活着。
我曾站在旧金山的海岸线前发呆很久。眼前是太平洋的海风，而脑海里却浮现重庆嘉陵江边的晚霞。
在美国教会朗读经文时，我会想起自己在重庆圣爱堂受洗的那个清晨。
在民主活动中喊出“言论自由”的口号时，我的脑海里又浮现出2010年刘晓波在法庭上的最后陈词：“我没有敌人，也没有仇恨……我希望我能够超越个人的遭遇去面对国家的未来，去表达我对自由中国的向往。”
重庆嘉陵江边的晚霞（图片来自网络）
那一刻，我渐渐明白：乡愁并不是一个空间坐标，而是一种精神投射。
只要我们没有放弃信仰、理性、自由与正义，我们就没有真正离开中国。
余英时先生说：“我在哪里，中国就在哪里。” 这句话不是傲慢，而是一种担当。
政治流亡者的乡愁，是背负理想的疼痛。 它让人疲惫，让人迷惘，却也让人更加清醒，更加坚定。
在海外，我们生活在自由世界，却不能忘记那些仍在牢狱、监控与沉默中的同胞。
因此，我们用这份乡愁提醒自己：“不放弃，不沉默，不背叛。”
我们是流亡者，但不是失根者。 我们是亡国之人，却不是忘国之人。
只要守住文化的根脉，延续价值的信仰。即使身在异乡，我们依然可以成为中华文明的火种。 我们的存在，本身就是另一种形式的中国。
因此我常常这样想：每一个流亡者，都是一座微弱却倔强的灯塔。
我们用不大的声音提醒世界： 中国还没有自由，中国人民仍在黑暗之中。
同时也提醒自己：不要停下。 不要放弃。
也许有一天，当中国拥有自由的时候，人们会回头看这段历史。那时他们也许会发现，在最黑暗的年代里，总有一些微弱的声音没有沉默；在最孤独的流亡岁月里，总有人仍然守着语言、信仰与记忆。
历史往往如此：帝国会消失，政权会更替，但人类对自由的渴望不会终结。
如果未来某一天，中国真正走向自由与宪政，也许不会有人记得我们这些流亡者的名字。但那并不重要。重要的是，在历史最寒冷的时刻，我们没有熄灭手中的火。
只要这火仍然在燃烧，中国的黑夜就不会是永恒的。
《在野党》记者 缪青 旅美随笔03/09/2026
Nostalgia and Exile
Author: Miao QingEditor: Feng Reng Proofreader: Feng Reng Translator: Peng Xiaomei
Abstract:Quoting historian Yu Ying-shih’s observation that “nostalgia is the uprooting of culture,” this essay explores the spiritual condition and cultural memory of political exiles living abroad. Through recollections of the author’s hometown Chongqing and stories of historical exiles, the author reflects on the responsibility and perseverance of those in exile, arguing that true nostalgia is not merely longing for land, but a vigilant commitment to freedom, culture, and the future of the nation.
“Nostalgia is not the memory of homeland, but the uprooting of culture.” These words by historian Yu Yingshi strike like a heavy iron nail driven deep into the hearts of countless political exiles. Without elaborate rhetoric, they reveal a harsh and truthful reality: what political exiles lose is not merely land, but the spiritual roots connected to that land.
They are banished by institutions, marginalized by history, persecuted by reality, and neglected by language.Over time, they seem to become wandering spirits suspended between spirit and culture—walking through foreign nights while carrying a faint yet stubborn spark.
That spark is called nostalgia.
I. Nostalgia: From Geographic Pain to Cultural Loss
“Alone in a foreign land as a stranger,every festival makes me miss my family even more.”
For centuries, this line from Wang Wei has been the classic Chinese expression of homesickness. Yet for political exiles, nostalgia has long surpassed the sentimental longing of holidays. It resembles a slow and enduring pain—a rupture that cannot easily be healed.
My hometown is Chongqing, a city of mountains and rivers with a long history.In my memories there are elderly women selling liangfen at alley entrances, the fragrance drifting from old teahouses on street corners, banana leaves swaying under summer eaves, and bougainvillea blooming across the hills.
There are also countless unnamed old streets and alleys. They do not appear on maps, yet they remain vividly alive in memory.
But I have also witnessed another Chongqing. During the years of urban demolition, familiar stone-paved streets disappeared overnight, replaced by cold glass facades. It felt like a violent project of collective amnesia suddenly stripping the city of its layers of time and robbing people of their coordinates of memory.
Over the past two decades, many Chinese cities have rapidly become strange and surreal. The disappearance of culture and the erosion of institutions do not occur overnight. Yet once they become a tide, they resemble a breached dam unstoppable.
While living and working in Beijing, each time I returned home I felt that the streets I once knew had become unfamiliar. Nostalgia was no longer something that a plane ticket could resolve. It had become a wound deep within the soul, one that refuses to heal.
II. Political Exiles: The Most Devoted Patriots
Many people cannot understand why Chinese dissidents and democracy activists overseas constantly criticize China.
In truth, we have never criticized China.What we criticize is the Chinese Communist regime, not the nation itself.
They accuse us of “insulting China” and “being unpatriotic.”But true patriotism has never meant hiding problems. It means daring to confront them. It means not remaining silent when the country is suffering but speaking out when it is in pain.
Silence can also be a form of betrayal.
In today’s China under Communist rule, speaking about problems often requires courage.Raising questions is frequently labeled as “smearing the nation,” yet refusing to raise them means abandoning the most basic dignity of the people.
If a country truly wishes to become better, it must learn to face the truth.Freedom and fairness should not be gifts bestowed by the state—they are rights inherent to the people.
For this reason, I have always believed that political exiles are not enemies of their country. They are, in fact, its most devoted patriots.
We did not abandon our homeland—our homeland abandoned us.What we left was a regime, not a culture.What we criticize is the evil of a system, not the roots of the Chinese nation.
III. Exiles in History
Nostalgia is not unique to modern times.Throughout human history, exile has often accompanied civilization itself.
During the An Lushan Rebellion, the Tang poet Du Fu wandered for half his life, drifting from Chang’an to the thatched cottage in Chengdu. Amid the ruins of a collapsing empire, he wrote:
“Though the nation is shattered, the mountains and rivers remain;in the spring city, grass and trees grow deep.” Eight simple characters express both personal grief and national tragedy.
Lin Yutang spent much of his life abroad. He once said:“I left China not because I did not love it. It was precisely because I loved it that I left.” In the English-speaking world he wrote warmly about Chinese culture, yet always with an unspoken sadness.
The Russian poet Anna Akhmatova, whose husband was executed and whose son imprisoned, wrote Requiem in those years of terror.She never left her homeland, yet lived under surveillance and fear heavier than exile itself. “I would rather keep watch for the people,” she wrote,“than flatter the tyrant.”
When the Nazis came to power, Thomas Mann left Germany. He once told a friend:“Germany is dead, yet I am still alive.”
In exile he wrote The Magic Mountain and Buddenbrooks, building for himself a spiritual homeland.
Looking back at history, one notices a remarkable pattern:very often, the flame of civilization has been preserved by exiles.
They are not failures.They are night watchmen.
IV. Yu Ying-shih: Rebuilding China in Exile
Among many exiles, Yu Ying-shih perhaps offers the greatest spiritual encouragement.
He never held political office, yet he became one of the most important voices in modern Chinese intellectual history. He neither depended on power nor sought political advantage, but consistently stood on the side of freedom.
He revived the Confucian ideal of the scholar-gentleman, expressing it through the phrase:
“Establish the heart of Heaven and Earth, secure the destiny of the people.”
He once said something deeply meaningful: “Wherever I am, China is there.”
This statement is his most profound answer to the condition of exile. Even when a person lives in a foreign land, as long as Chinese culture and the ideals of freedom remain alive in his heart, China itself does not truly disappear.
Sometimes I fall into long periods of quiet reflection.The loneliness of exile is a quiet and enduring loneliness.
Yet it is precisely in such solitude that people begin to ask again: Who are we? For whom do we continue this struggle?
Yu Yingshi’s perseverance reminds us that even in the free world, one can still preserve a sanctuary of thought for China.
V. My Nostalgia
My nostalgia is not only the streets of Chongqing, the bougainvillea, or the banana leaves under summer eaves. Nor is it merely the taste of hot pot or the sound of footsteps on stone roads.
My nostalgia is the accent in my parents’ voices.
It is the letters left by my grandfather, Su Gengsheng, a graduate of the tenth class of the Whampoa Military Academy and a major general whose life endured many hardships.It is the hymns I once sang in an underground house church.
My nostalgia is also the knife-like pain each time I hear that a dissident has been secretly arrested, a rights lawyer has disappeared, or a journalist has been silenced.
At the same time, it carries a heavy sense of shame:they continue to struggle at great risk, while I remain fortunate enough to live freely.
I once stood for a long time along the shoreline of San Francisco, staring out at the Pacific wind. Yet in my mind appeared the evening glow along the Jialing River in Chongqing.
When I read scripture in an American church, I remember the morning when I was baptized at St. Love Church in Chongqing.
When I shout “freedom of speech” at democratic gatherings, I recall Liu Xiaobo’s final courtroom statement in 2010:
“I have no enemies and no hatred…I hope to transcend my personal suffering to face the future of the nation and express my longing for a free China.”
At that moment I gradually understood something:
Nostalgia is not a geographical coordinate—it is a projection of the spirit.
As long as we do not abandon faith, reason, freedom, and justice, we have not truly left China.
Yu Ying-shi once said, “Wherever I am, China is there.” This is not arrogance. It is responsibility.
The nostalgia of political exiles is the pain of carrying ideals.It exhausts us, confuses us, yet also makes us more sober and determined.
Living in the free world overseas, we must not forget those compatriots who remain imprisoned, monitored, and silenced.
Therefore, we remind ourselves through this nostalgia:
Do not give up.Do not remain silent.Do not betray.
We are exiles, but we are not rootless.We are people without a country, yet we have not forgotten our country.
As long as we preserve the roots of culture and the faith in values, even in foreign lands we can still become sparks of Chinese civilization.
Our very existence is another form of China.
Thus I often think:every exile is a small but stubborn lighthouse.
With quiet voices we remind the world:
China is not yet free,and the Chinese people are still living in darkness.
At the same time we remind ourselves:
Do not stop.Do not surrender.
Perhaps one day, when China finally becomes free, people will look back on this period of history. They may discover that in the darkest years there were always faint voices that refused to fall silent; that in the loneliest years of exile there were still people guarding language, faith, and memory.
History is often like this:empires disappear, regimes change, but humanity’s longing for freedom never ends.
If one day China truly moves toward freedom and constitutional government, perhaps no one will remember the names of those of us in exile.
But that does not matter.
What matters is that in the coldest moments of history, we did not allow the flame in our hands to go out.
As long as that flame continues to burn, China’s night will not be eternal.
Miao QingReporter, The Opposition PartyEssay written in exile in the United StatesMarch 9, 2026
