血肉磨盘——缅共的悲剧

作者：陀先润

1969年的缅北丛林里，有一批中国年轻人第一次拿起了枪。

他们大多数是昆明、云南各地的红卫兵，文革武斗中的失败派系。武斗结束之后，胜利的一方开始清算，失败的人面临的是政治档案上永久的污点，轻则下乡插队，重则被关押批斗。就在这个时候，有人悄悄告诉他们：去缅甸，跟着缅甸共产党打仗，打完回来，一切既往不咎，还算参加了革命，政治前途一片光明。

没有人告诉他们，缅共内部有一条秘密指令：这批中国人要被安排在战斗第一线，逐渐消耗掉。

他们跨过了边境，以为自己是去参加革命的，不知道自己其实是被送去消耗的。最多的时候，在缅北丛林里打仗的中国人超过一万。他们在那里结婚、生子，有些人在丛林里待了十几年，出去的时候还是二十岁不到的孩子，回来的时候已经是中年人。

但在他们回来之前，还有很多人死在了那片丛林里。死的方式有两种：一种是被缅甸政府军打死，一种是被缅共内部的肃反运动杀死。前者是战场，后者更残酷，因为杀你的人和你睡在同一顶帐篷里。

这就是缅共，中共输出革命历史里最惨烈的一颗棋子。

要理解缅共为什么会走到这一步，必须从它奇特的起源说起。

缅共和马共、泰共不同，后两者从建党第一天就是中共的附属物，是被种下去的。缅共的起源要复杂得多，它的第一任领导人昂山，根本就不是一个共产主义者。昂山是缅甸民族主义者，他一生真正在乎的只有一件事：缅甸独立。为了这个目标，他可以和任何人合作，也可以随时背叛任何人。

1939年，昂山成立德钦党，同时挂了一个缅甸共产党的名义，目的是从共产国际那里拿到支持和经费。他确实拿到了一部分，但拿得不多。1940年他去印度参加印度国民大会，被缅甸殖民政府通缉，辗转逃到中国，想从中共那里寻求援助。结果刚到厦门就被日本人抓了。日本人跟他谈：你不是想让缅甸独立吗，我们大东亚共荣圈，来帮你。 昂山答应了，带着二十九个追随者去了日本占领的海南岛接受军事训练，史称“三十志士”。

1942年日军进攻缅甸，昂山率领他的缅甸独立军配合日军作战，帮助日本打败了英国殖民军，也顺带打了进入缅甸的中国远征军。他对中国战俘的手段极度残忍，这段历史在中国几乎没有人提，但在缅甸是公开的史实。他是缅甸的建国英雄，同时也是曾经屠杀过中国士兵的人。

1944年，眼看日本要输，昂山又转投盟军，带着缅甸军队倒戈。这个时机拿捏得恰到好处，让他在战后既没有被当作战犯清算，又保住了缅甸民族英雄的地位。1947年他被政治对手暗杀，年仅三十二岁，遗孀的女儿就是后来的昂山素吉。

昂山死后，缅共选出了真正意义上的第一任总书记德钦丹东，一个毛派，和中共关系密切，认同武装革命的路线。1948年缅甸独立之后，德钦丹东宣布开始武装斗争，但那个时候中共还没有建政，云南还没有解放，缅北还在国民党残军的控制之下，中共根本顾不上支持缅共。缅共就在几乎没有外援的情况下，在缅甸各地打游击，打得非常艰难。

1950年之后情况本来应该好转，中共建政了，云南也解放了，云南边境和缅北接壤，支持缅共在地理上完全可行。但中共没有支持，原因很现实：缅甸是第一个承认中华人民共和国的非社会主义国家，在外交上对中国极为重要。周恩来的外交系统不愿意为了扶持缅共而得罪缅甸政府，于是缅共就被晾在那里，自生自灭。

更复杂的是缅北的国民党残军问题。国共内战结束之后，一支国民党部队退入缅北，拒绝投降，在缅北建立了根据地，继续抵抗。从1950年到1959年，中缅双方进行了长达九年的军事合作，一起打击这支国民党残军。为了换取缅甸政府的配合，中国做了很大的让步，甚至承认了麦克马洪线的缅甸段，把一些原本属于中国的土地划给了缅甸。用割地换来的外交关系，当然不能因为支持缅共而破坏。

于是整个五十年代，缅共就在中缅两国政府的默契之下被冻结了。德钦丹东被请到北京，在四川、云南等地挂职，住着相当于副部级的待遇，吃着国家的粮，在中国度过了漫长的等待岁月。他以为北京只是暂时不方便支持缅共，等时机成熟就会放他回去大干一场。

他等到了1968年。

那一年，中联部通知他：可以打回去了，中国会支援一个师的兵力帮他夺取缅甸政权。德钦丹东听到这个消息的时候，大概觉得等待终于有了结果。

但真正的支援来了之后，和承诺的差了十万八千里。

说好的一个师，变成了从云南边防部队临时抽调的一千多人；说好的军事顾问团，变成了从云南省军区和昆明军区拼凑来的几个干部。正规军的装备和训练没有，有的是另一种东西：大批的红卫兵。就是那批在文革武斗中落败、被人告知去缅甸可以洗清政治污点的年轻人。

1969年，缅共武装从云南边境打进缅甸，开始了所谓的武装夺取政权。最开始打得不错，缅甸政府军在遭遇战里连连败退，主要是因为这批红卫兵根本不怕死，冲锋的时候嗷嗷叫，缅甸士兵见过这阵势吓得腿软。但不怕死不等于会打仗，随着战线拉长，缺乏战术训练的弱点开始暴露，伤亡越来越大。

前面第一篇提到过的那个场景，就发生在这个阶段。一百多人哭着往山上冲，背着弹药，没有枪，炮火过后进入坑道的只有三个人。这不是个例，这是缅北战场上每天都在发生的事。

与此同时，缅共内部开始了肃反运动。

肃反这件事，是中共送给各地共产党的一份特别礼物。马共搞过，泰共搞过，缅共也没有例外。肃反的逻辑很简单：队伍里一定有内奸，有阶级敌人，要揪出来，要纯洁队伍。怎么揪？严刑逼供。逼出来的口供再去牵连其他人，一个人咬出十个人，十个人再咬出一百个人。缅共的肃反运动里，被杀死的人比被缅甸政府军打死的人还多。有些被杀的人根本就是被冤枉的，是在酷刑之下随便说了一个名字，那个名字就成了下一个被杀的人。

那批红卫兵知青夹在这两种死亡之间：出去打仗被炮火打死，留在营地被肃反杀死。他们在丛林里挣扎着活下去，靠的是一种近乎麻木的求生本能。

1979年，北京决定停止支持缅共。原因和马共、泰共一样：中国需要改善和东南亚国家的关系，缅共成了外交包袱。这一年，邓小平亲自把缅共总书记叫来北京谈话，语气平静地告诉他：你老待在北京不合适，回缅甸去吧。

然后，这批在北京住了将近二十年、享受着副部级待遇的缅共领导人，被礼貌而坚决地送回了缅北，送回那片他们其实从来没有真正管理过的丛林。

与此同时，越南停止了对缅共的援助，但提出了一个条件：要缅共把军队中的中层干部和骨干军官里的中国人全部驱逐出境。这批人，就是在丛林里打了十几年的知青。他们被缅共驱逐，回到中国，发现国内的一切早已经变了。文革结束了，当年的政治污点很多人都翻篇了，那些没有去缅甸的战友该下乡的下乡，该回城的回城，有些人已经找到了工作，结了婚，开始了正常的生活。

而他们，在缅北丛林里蹉跎了十几年，两手空空回来，没有任何安置，没有任何承认，就像从来没有发生过这回事一样。他们想让缅共开一张证明，说明自己参加过革命运动，缅共拒绝了。他们去找国内的有关部门，有关部门也没有任何说法。

一些人因为极度的愤怒和不平，后来又回到了缅北，成为缅共最后阶段瓦解的导火索之一。

1989年，缅共在内部的兵变中彻底崩溃。彭家声、赵尼来、鲍有祥这几个以华人为主的军事指挥官宣布脱离缅共，各自划地为王，建立了后来的几个缅北武装势力。这就是今天缅北乱局的直接起源。

今天人们谈论缅北的毒品、诈骗园区、武装割据，很少有人追溯到这段历史。但如果不知道这段历史，就无法理解缅北为什么会变成今天这个样子。中共在那里种下了一颗棋子，棋子烂掉之后留下了一片烂地，烂地上长出了各种各样的东西，一直长到今天。

缅共的故事和马共、泰共不同。马共和泰共好歹还有一个相对体面的结局，放下武器，领一笔补偿，在某个地方终老。缅共没有这个结局，它是在自我撕裂中死去的，死得混乱，死得难看，死后留下的是一地碎片。

中联部在五十年代选择缅共作为棋子的时候，大概没有想到这颗棋子会烂成这个样子。但棋子烂掉之后，棋手依然坐在棋盘前，选下一颗棋子，走下一步棋。输掉的，永远都是棋子。

编辑：黄吉洲 校对：熊辩 翻译：戈冰

The Party’s Pawns — The Secret History of the CCP’s Export of Revolution (Part IV)

A Flesh-and-Blood Grinding Wheel — The Tragedy of the Communist Party of Burma（CPB）

By Tuo Xianrun

In the jungles of northern Burma in 1969, a group of young Chinese individuals picked up guns for the first time.

Most of them were Red Guards from Kunming and various parts of Yunnan, members of the defeated faction in the armed violent clashes of the Cultural Revolution. After the clashes ended, the victorious faction began a political purge. Those who lost faced permanent stains on their political dossiers—ranging from being sent down to the countryside to settle in production teams at best, to being detained and subjected to struggle sessions at worst. It was precisely at this juncture that someone quietly informed them: go to Burma and fight alongside the Communist Party of Burma (CPB); once the fighting is over and you return, all past offenses will be forgiven, you will be counted as having participated in the revolution, and your political future will be bright.

No one told them that there was a secret directive within the CPB: this group of Chinese was to be deployed on the combat front lines to be gradually used up through attrition.

They crossed the border believing they were going to participate in the revolution, unaware that they were actually being sent to be consumed. At its peak, the number of Chinese fighting in the jungles of northern Burma exceeded ten thousand. There, they married and had children; some spent over a decade in the jungle, leaving as kids under twenty and returning as middle-aged adults.

Yet before they could return, many more died in those jungles. They died in two ways: one was being killed by Burmese government troops, and the other was being killed in the internal purges of the CPB. The former was the battlefield; the latter was even more brutal, because the ones killing you slept in the very same tent.

This was the CPB—the most tragic pawn in the history of the CCP’s export of revolution.

To understand how the CPB reached this point, one must start with its peculiar origins.

Unlike the Malayan Communist Party and the Communist Party of Thailand, which were appendages of the CCP planted from day one, the CPB’s origin was far more complex. Its first leader, Aung San, was not a communist at all. Aung San was a Burmese nationalist who cared about only one thing in his entire life: Burma’s independence. To achieve this goal, he was willing to cooperate with anyone—and equally willing to betray anyone at a moment’s notice.

In 1939, Aung San established the Dobama Asiayone (Thakin Party) while simultaneously using the name of the Communist Party of Burma, aiming to secure support and funding from the Comintern. He did receive some, though not much. In 1940, he traveled to India to attend the Indian National Congress; wanted by the Burmese colonial government, he made his way through circuitous routes to China, seeking assistance from the CCP. Upon arriving in Xiamen, however, he was captured by the Japanese. The Japanese negotiated with him: “Don’t you want independence for Burma? We, the Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere, will help you.” Aung San agreed and led twenty-nine followers to Japanese-occupied Hainan Island for military training, historically known as the “Thirty Comrades.”

In 1942, when the Japanese army invaded Burma, Aung San led his Burma Independence Army to coordinate with Japanese combat operations, helping Japan defeat the British colonial forces and, in the process, also engaging the Chinese Expeditionary Force that had entered Burma. His methods toward Chinese prisoners of war were extremely brutal—a chapter of history rarely mentioned in China, yet a matter of public historical record in Burma. He is a founding national hero of Burma, but he was also someone who had once massacred Chinese soldiers.

In 1944, seeing that Japan was about to lose, Aung San switched allegiance to the Allies once again, turning his Burmese forces around. His timing was impeccably executed, allowing him to avoid being purged as a war criminal after the war while preserving his status as a Burmese national hero. In 1947, he was assassinated by political rivals at the young age of thirty-two; his widow’s daughter is the later Aung San Suu Kyi.

After Aung San’s death, the CPB elected its first genuine General Secretary, Thakin Than Tun—a Maoist who maintained close relations with the CCP and subscribed to the line of armed revolution. Following Burma’s independence in 1948, Thakin Than Tun declared the start of armed struggle. However, at that time the CCP had not yet established its regime, Yunnan had not been liberated, and northern Burma was still under the control of Kuomintang remnants; the CCP simply had no capacity to support the CPB. Operating with virtually no foreign aid, the CPB waged guerrilla warfare across various parts of Burma, fighting under immense hardships.

After 1950, conditions ought to have improved: the CCP had established its state power, Yunnan had been liberated, and the Yunnan border adjoined northern Burma, making support for the CPB geographically entirely feasible. Yet the CCP did not provide support, for very practical reasons: Burma was the first non-socialist country to recognize the People’s Republic of China, making it diplomatically crucial to China. Zhou Enlai’s diplomatic apparatus was unwilling to offend the Burmese government for the sake of backing the CPB, so the CPB was left out in the cold to fend for itself.

Compounding the complexity was the issue of the Kuomintang remnants in northern Burma. Following the conclusion of the Chinese Civil War, a Kuomintang force retreated into northern Burma, refused to surrender, established base areas there, and continued their resistance. From 1950 to 1959, China and Burma engaged in nine years of military cooperation to jointly strike against these Kuomintang remnants. To secure the Burmese government’s cooperation, China made significant concessions, even recognizing the Burmese section of the McMahon Line and ceding to Burma lands that originally belonged to China. A diplomatic relationship bought through land concessions naturally could not be ruined over supporting the CPB.

Thus, throughout the 1950s, the CPB was placed on ice under a tacit understanding between the Chinese and Burmese governments. Thakin Than Tun was invited to Beijing, where he held nominal posts in places like Sichuan and Yunnan, enjoyed treatment equivalent to a vice-ministerial rank, lived off the state’s coffers, and spent years waiting in China. He believed Beijing was merely temporarily constrained from supporting the CPB, and that once conditions matured, he would be sent back to make a grand splash.

He waited until 1968.

That year, the International Liaison Department notified him: he could fight his way back, and China would provide a division’s worth of military force to help him seize state power in Burma. Hearing this news, Thakin Than Tun likely felt his long wait had finally yielded results.

When the actual support arrived, however, it fell light-years short of what had been promised.

The promised division turned into just over a thousand men temporarily transferred from Yunnan border defense units; the promised military advisory group turned into a handful of cadres cobbled together from the Yunnan Provincial Military District and the Kunming Military Region. Regular army equipment and training were absent; what was present was something else: large numbers of Red Guards. They were precisely those young people who had lost in the Cultural Revolution’s violent factional warfare and were told that going to Burma could cleanse their political stains.

In 1969, the armed forces of the CPB struck into Burma from the Yunnan border, initiating so-called armed seizure of state power. Initially, the fighting went well, with Burmese government troops retreating repeatedly in encounter battles—primarily because this group of Red Guards were completely fearless of death, howling as they charged, leaving Burmese soldiers weak-kneed with fright at such a sight. Yet fearlessness of death did not equate to knowing how to fight. As the front lines stretched, the weakness of lacking tactical training began to be exposed, and casualties mounted ever higher.

The scene mentioned earlier in Part I occurred precisely during this phase. Over a hundred people charged up the mountain crying, carrying ammunition without rifles, and after the artillery barrage, only three entered the bunker. This was no isolated incident; this was what occurred daily on the northern Burma battlefield.

At the same time, an internal purge campaign began within the CPB.

This business of internal purges was a special gift bestowed by the CCP upon communist parties everywhere. The Malayan Communist Party ran them, the Communist Party of Thailand ran them, and the CPB was no exception. The logic of these purges was simple: there must be spies and class enemies within the ranks, who must be rooted out to purify the organization. How were they rooted out? Through torture and forced confessions. Confessions extracted under duress were then used to implicate others—one person implicated ten, and ten implicated a hundred. In the CPB’s purge campaign, more people were killed than were killed by Burmese government forces. Some of those killed were entirely framed, having blurted out a random name under severe torture, and that name then became the next person to be executed.

That cohort of Red Guard educated youth was caught between these two forms of death: dying from artillery fire when going out to fight, or being executed in purges when remaining in camp. They struggled to survive in the jungle, relying on a near-numb survival instinct.

In 1979, Beijing decided to halt its support for the CPB. The reason was identical to that regarding the Malayan Communist Party and the Communist Party of Thailand: China needed to improve relations with Southeast Asian nations, and the CPB had become a diplomatic liability. That year, Deng Xiaoping personally summoned the CPB General Secretary to Beijing for a talk, telling him in a calm tone: “It is not appropriate for you to stay in Beijing continuously; go back to Burma.”

And so, this group of CPB leaders who had resided in Beijing for nearly two decades enjoying vice-ministerial-level treatment were politely yet firmly escorted back to northern Burma—back to that jungle they had never actually managed.

Concurrently, Vietnam halted its aid to the CPB, but attached a condition: that the CPB expel all Chinese nationals among its mid-level cadres and backbone officers. These people were precisely the educated youth who had fought in the jungle for over a decade. Expelled by the CPB, they returned to China only to discover that everything domestically had long since changed. The Cultural Revolution was over, the political stains of those years had been cleared for many, and those comrades who had not gone to Burma had either gone to the countryside or returned to the cities as appropriate; some had already found jobs, married, and begun normal lives.

As for them, having squandered more than a decade in the jungles of northern Burma, they returned empty-handed without any resettlement provisions or official recognition, as if none of it had ever happened. They sought a certificate from the CPB attesting that they had participated in the revolutionary movement, but the CPB refused. They approached relevant domestic authorities in China, yet those authorities offered no statement whatsoever.

Out of extreme anger and injustice, some of them subsequently returned to northern Burma, becoming one of the fuses that ignited the final collapse of the CPB.

In 1989, the CPB completely disintegrated amidst internal mutinies. Military commanders of predominantly ethnic Chinese background—such as Pheung Kya-shin, Zhao Nilai, and Bao Youxiang—declared their separation from the CPB, carved out their own domains as warlords, and established the armed factions of northern Burma that followed. This is the direct origin of the chaos in northern Burma today.

When people talk today about drugs, scam compounds, and armed warlordism in northern Burma, very few trace back to this period of history. Yet without knowing this history, one cannot understand why northern Burma turned into what it is today. The CCP planted a pawn there; after that pawn rotted away, it left behind a piece of ruined land, and upon that ruined land grew all manner of things that continue to grow to this day.

The story of the CPB differs from those of the Malayan Communist Party and the Communist Party of Thailand. The Malayan and Thai communist parties at least had relatively dignified endings—laying down their arms, collecting a sum of compensation, and living out their days in some quiet corner. The CPB enjoyed no such ending; it died amidst self-tearing, dying in chaos, dying hideously, leaving behind nothing but scattered fragments.

When the International Liaison Department selected the CPB as a pawn in the 1950s, it likely did not foresee that this pawn would rot to such an extent. Yet after the pawn rotted away, the chess player remained seated at the board, picking the next pawn and making the next move. Those who lose are forever the pawns.

Editor: Huang Jizhou Proofreader: Xiong Bian Translator: Ge Bing

第三篇：从来不是白眼狼——越共真相

作者：陀先润

中国人谈起越南，有一个根深蒂固的叙事：越南共产党是中国一手扶持起来的，打跑了法国人和美国人之后，转身咬了恩人一口，是典型的白眼狼。这个叙事流传很广，也几乎完全是错的。

要理解越共和中共之间真实的关系，必须先从一个人说起。不是越南教科书里那个穿草鞋、把一生献给人民的胡伯伯，而是他真实的政治面貌。

胡志明在国际共产主义运动里的资历，比大多数中国人想象的要高得多。他最早是法国社会党的党员，因为印度支那是法国殖民地，他直接参加了法国本土的政党。后来法国社会党从第二国际分裂出来，加入第三国际成立法国共产党，胡志明是那次投票的参与者之一，算是第三国际的创始会员。周恩来在法国的时候，是共产国际青年团旅欧支部中国组的召集人，是个勇为青年。胡志明那个时候已经是国际共运里的职业革命家，是有头有脸的人物。他们认识的时候，周恩来在他面前是个晚辈。

1925年，共产国际派鲍罗廷到广州指导中国工作，鲍罗廷的私人秘书叫阮爱国，这个人就是胡志明。他以这个身份在广州开始筹建印度支那地区的共产党组织，同时和蒋介石、国民政府保持着不错的关系。那个年代国共还在合作，胡志明在广州周旋于各方之间，左手拿着共产国际的授权，右手和国民政府打交道，游刃有余。这种两边都不得罪的处世方式，贯穿了他整个政治生涯。

1930年，胡志明在香港主持会议，把几个越南共产主义小组统一起来，成立了越南共产党，后来改名“印度支那共产党”。这个党在第三国际体系里的归属非常特殊，不挂靠远东局下面的任何一个分支，直接向第三国际汇报。这个安排本身就说明了越共的独立地位，它和中共是平级关系，不是上下级关系。

但就在越共刚刚建立的1931年，发生了一件至今说不清楚的事。

那一年4月，越共从党中央到地方区级的整个领导层被法国殖民政府一锅端了。从总书记陈复往下，几乎所有高层干部全部被捕，大部分人被处决。这次清洗来得太过精准，太过彻底，党内的本土派后来一直怀疑，是有人从内部出卖了他们。而这次清洗最大的受益者，恰好是胡志明领导的海外派——本土派被消灭干净，海外派顺理成章接管了党的重建工作。

1932年，共产国际委托中共帮忙联系越南，协助重建越共。这是越共历史上和中共关系最密切的一段时期，中共实际上充当了越共的组织重建者。中共在澳门设立了一个叫“海外行动指导委员会”的机构，专门负责越南的地下工作联络。但即便是在这期间，双方的关系也更像是两个平级组织之间的协作，而不是父子关系。

随后的1940年，越共领导层又被一锅端了。这一次是日本人动的手，越共在越南坚持地下斗争的骨干几乎被一网打尽，幸存者要么在监狱里，要么被迫转移。本土派再次遭受重创，海外派再次成为越共重建的主导力量。两次关键时刻，受益者都是同一批人。本土派里有人认为这不是巧合，但这个指控从来没有得到证实，也永远不会得到证实。

1941年，胡志明带着在中国集结的游击队进入越南北部，开始建立根据地。帮他完成这件事的军事副手是武元甲，两人在中国共事多年，是胡志明最信任的人。这支队伍的建立，得到了国民政府的部分支持，也得到了中共地下组织的协助，就是这样一个多方合力的产物。

越共建军初期，武元甲的部队根本不会打仗，不懂运动战，不懂攻坚战。1950年前后，陈庚奉命来越南协助指挥。胡志明对陈庚极为信任，两人在广州时期就认识，交情深厚。胡志明甚至把越军的全部指挥权都交给了陈庚，由他来具体部署作战行动。那段时间，越南的战场实际上是陈庚在指挥。1950年的边界战役，越军大获全胜，打通了与中国的联系通道，陈庚是真正的操盘者。

但陈庚后来去了朝鲜，换来了韦国清。韦国清和陈庚是完全不同的风格，他在越南的做法让胡志明越来越不舒服。1953年前后，胡志明向毛泽东和周恩来提出了正式抗议，用的原话是：中国军队在越南的某些做法，和历史上侵入越南的中国军队没有什么区别。

这句话说得很重。一个依赖中国援助的革命领袖，用这样的措辞来形容自己的援助者，说明他内心真实的感受已经到了一个临界点。越南人对北方邻居的历史戒心，在这句话里暴露无遗。这不是忘恩负义，这是一个民族几千年形成的集体记忆在起作用。

1954年的日内瓦会议，是中越关系真正开始破裂的起点。

那一年朝鲜战争刚刚停火，中国已经打不下去了，国内经济濒临崩溃。在日内瓦，中国和法国、英国一起推动了一个越南停火方案，以北纬十七度线为界，把越南分成南北两部分，暂时停火，等待日后统一选举。美国没有签字，南越没有签字，但北越签了，中国签了，法国签了。

对中国来说，这是可以接受的。对越共来说，这是一刀插进心脏。

越共打了这么多年，眼看就要把法国人赶出去，统一整个越南，偏偏在这个节骨眼上，中国出来说停火，说分治。以李损为首的南方派认为，中国在关键时刻出卖了越南的利益，为了自己和西方搞缓和，把越南当成了外交筹码。日内瓦协议签完之后，李损在南方坚持地下斗争的那批人，一夜之间从北越的正规武装变成了不被承认的非法游击队，因为北越政府不能公开承认他们和南方的游击队有关系。胡志明小道之所以存在，正是因为北越必须绕开边境线秘密向南方输送物资，不能走正面。这一切，都是日内瓦协议造成的。

越共内部的亲中派长征，在这件事上持续为中国辩护。他认为中国的做法有现实考量，不能怪北京。他的立场让他在党内越来越孤立，60年代被以土改问题搞下去，彻底出局。长征走了之后，越共对中共的态度从客气变成了冷淡，再从冷淡变成了公开对抗。

与此同时，胡志明在党内也越来越边缘化。李损不信任他，认为他是亲中派，担心他把越共绑上中国的战车。从50年代末开始，胡志明被逐渐架空。他多次向越共中央提出结婚申请，全部被拒绝。党的理由是：胡伯伯把一生献给了越南人民，应该保持单身形象。真实原因是，李损不允许胡志明有子嗣，一个党的创始人如果有了孩子，他的后代很容易成为新的政治力量，这是李损不愿意看到的。

胡志明死于1969年，没有等到1975年越南统一。他晚年的实际处境，和越南教科书里那个受万民爱戴的胡伯伯形象，相差甚远。

越共的故事还有一个尾巴，和柬埔寨有关，这件事最能说明中国输出革命的连锁反应。

波尔布特是柬埔寨共产党的领导人，他的政党最早也是从印度支那共产党分裂出来的，和越共有着共同的历史根源。1966年前后，波尔布特来到中国，见了中央文革的几个关键人物，包括张春桥等人。他被“文化大革命”深深震撼，回到柬埔寨之后，决定要在柬埔寨实现一场比中国还要彻底的共产主义革命：消灭城市，消灭货币，消灭知识分子，把整个社会推倒重来。

他做到了。代价是两百万柬埔寨人的生命。

1979年，越南出兵推翻了波尔布特政权。很多人问，越南为什么要打柬埔寨？官方说法是为了推翻种族灭绝政权，拯救柬埔寨人民。真实原因没那么高尚：波尔布特完全倒向中国，成了中国在东南亚的棋子，越南无法接受在自己的西面有一个亲华政权。打波尔布特，是越南对抗中国影响力的一步棋。

然后中国出兵教训越南，就是1979年的中越边境战争。

这场战争的根子，可以一直追溯到1954年的日内瓦会议，追溯到中越之间25年积累的裂痕，追溯到波尔布特在北京见到张春桥时受到的那一番思想冲击。一只蝴蝶扇动翅膀，最后变成了边境上的炮火和成千上万人的死亡。

所以越共到底是不是白眼狼？这个问题本身就是一个伪命题。白眼狼的前提是你养了它，但越共从来不是中共养大的。越共有自己独立的历史根基，有自己在越南土地上流血建立起来的武装力量，有自己在国际共运里的独立地位。中国在某些阶段给过越南援助，但这是两个平级组织之间的相互利用，不是父子关系。

真正能称得上中共亲儿子的，是马共和泰共，他们离开北京的指令就活不下去。越共不一样，越共有自己的脊梁，有自己的判断，也有自己的民族主义底色。正是这个底色，让它最终走上了和中共对抗的道路。

中国人叫它白眼狼，越南人叫中国北方霸权，双方都在用一个简化的标签掩盖一段复杂的真实历史。真正的故事，比任何一个标签都要混乱得多，也真实得多。

编辑：黄吉洲 校对：熊辩 翻译：戈冰

The Party’s Pawns: A Secret History of the CCP’s Export of Revolution

Part III: Never an Ingrate — The Truth About the Vietnamese Communist Party(VCP)

By Tuo Xianrun

When Chinese people talk about Vietnam, there is a deeply ingrained narrative: the Vietnamese Communist Party was single-handedly nurtured by China, and after driving out the French and the Americans, it turned around and bit its benefactor, proving to be a textbook ungrateful wolf. This narrative is widely circulated, and almost entirely wrong.

To understand the true relationship between the Vietnamese Communist Party (VCP) and the Chinese Communist Party (CCP), one must begin with a single individual. Not the “Uncle Ho” of Vietnamese textbooks, who wore straw sandals and dedicated his life to the people, but his true political persona.

Ho Chi Minh’s seniority in the international communist movement was far higher than most Chinese people imagine. He was originally a member of the French Socialist Party; since Indochina was a French colony, he directly joined a political party in mainland France. Later, when the French Socialist Party split from the Second International and joined the Third International to establish the French Communist Party, Ho Chi Minh was one of the voters in that decision, effectively making him a founding member of the Comintern. When Zhou Enlai was in France, he served as the convener of the Chinese group within the European branch of the Communist Youth League—a passionate, brave young man. By that time, Ho Chi Minh was already a professional revolutionary in the international communist movement and a prominent figure. When they met, Zhou Enlai was a junior figure in his presence.

In 1925, the Comintern sent Mikhail Borodin to Guangzhou to direct work in China. Borodin’s private secretary was named Nguyen Ai Quoc, who was none other than Ho Chi Minh. In this capacity, he began preparing for the establishment of communist party organizations in Indochina while based in Guangzhou, all the while maintaining good relations with Chiang Kai-shek and the Nationalist Government. During that era, the Kuomintang and the CCP were still in their First United Front, and Ho Chi Minh maneuvered among various factions in Guangzhou with consummate ease—wielding the Comintern’s mandate in his left hand while dealing with the Nationalist Government in his right. This diplomatic approach of offending neither side ran throughout his entire political career.

In 1930, Ho Chi Minh presided over a meeting in Hong Kong that unified several Vietnamese communist groups to establish the Communist Party of Vietnam, which was later renamed the “Indochinese Communist Party.” The organizational affiliation of this party within the Comintern system was quite unique: it was not affiliated with any branch under the Far Eastern Bureau, but reported directly to the Executive Committee of the Comintern. This structural arrangement itself demonstrated the independent status of the VCP—it was an equal counterpart to the CCP, not a subordinate.

Yet in 1931, shortly after the VCP was founded, an event occurred that remains unexplained to this day.

In April of that year, the entire leadership of the VCP, from the Central Committee down to the regional level, was wiped out in a single sweep by the French colonial government. From General Secretary Trần Phú on down, virtually all senior cadres were arrested, and the majority of them were executed. This purge was so precise and so thorough that the native faction within the party later harbored persistent suspicions that someone had betrayed them from the inside. The primary beneficiary of this purge happened to be the overseas faction led by Ho Chi Minh—with the native faction completely eliminated, the overseas faction naturally took over the party’s reconstruction.

In 1932, the Comintern entrusted the CCP to help contact Vietnam and assist in rebuilding the VCP. This was the period of closest relations between the VCP and the CCP in history, with the CCP effectively serving as the organizational reconstructor of the VCP. The CCP established an organ in Macau called the “Overseas Work Guidance Committee,” specifically responsible for liaison work regarding underground operations in Vietnam. Yet even during this period, the relationship between the two sides was more like collaboration between two equal organizations rather than a father-son dynamic.

Then in 1940, the VCP leadership was wiped out yet again. This time it was the Japanese who struck; the backbone of the VCP maintaining underground struggles inside Vietnam was virtually wiped out in one fell swoop, with survivors either imprisoned or forced to relocate. The native faction suffered another heavy blow, and the overseas faction once again became the dominant force in rebuilding the VCP. At two critical junctures, the beneficiaries were the exact same group of people. Some within the native faction believed this was no coincidence, but the accusation was never proven—and never will be.

In 1941, Ho Chi Minh crossed into northern Vietnam with guerrilla forces assembled in China to begin establishing base areas. The military deputy who helped him accomplish this was Vo Nguyen Giap; the two had worked together in China for many years, and Giap was Ho Chi Minh’s most trusted confidant. The establishment of this armed force received partial support from the Nationalist Government as well as assistance from the CCP’s underground network—it was precisely the product of such joint efforts from multiple parties.

During the early stages of the VCP’s army building, Vo Nguyen Giap’s troops had no idea how to fight a war, possessing no understanding of mobile warfare or siege warfare. Around 1950, Chen Geng was ordered to Vietnam to assist with command. Ho Chi Minh placed immense trust in Chen Geng, as the two had known each other since their days in Guangzhou and shared a deep friendship. Ho Chi Minh went so far as to hand over complete operational command of the Vietnamese forces to Chen Geng, leaving him to plan and deploy combat actions. During that period, the battlefield in Vietnam was effectively under Chen Geng’s command. In the 1950 Border Campaign, the Vietnamese forces won a major victory and opened up a transport corridor connecting with China; Chen Geng was the true mastermind behind it.

However, Chen Geng was later dispatched to Korea and replaced by Wei Guoqing. Wei Guoqing had a completely different style from Chen Geng, and his approach in Vietnam made Ho Chi Minh increasingly uncomfortable. Around 1953, Ho Chi Minh lodged a formal protest with Mao Zedong and Zhou Enlai, using these exact words: certain actions of the Chinese military in Vietnam are no different from those of Chinese armies that invaded Vietnam in history.

These words were exceptionally heavy. For a revolutionary leader reliant on Chinese aid to use such phrasing to describe his benefactors shows that his genuine internal sentiments had reached a breaking point. The historical apprehension felt by the Vietnamese toward their northern neighbor was fully laid bare in this single statement. This was not ingratitude; it was the collective memory forged over thousands of years by a nation coming into play.

The 1954 Geneva Conference marked the starting point where Sino-Vietnamese relations truly began to fracture.

That year, the Korean War had only just reached a cease-fire; China could no longer afford to continue fighting, and its domestic economy was on the brink of collapse. In Geneva, China, alongside France and the United Kingdom, pushed for a Vietnamese cease-fire proposal—setting the 17th parallel as the border to divide Vietnam into North and South, temporarily ceasing fire, and awaiting future unifying elections. The United States did not sign, and South Vietnam did not sign, but North Vietnam signed, China signed, and France signed.

To China, this was acceptable. To the VCP, it was a dagger plunged into the heart.

After fighting for so many years, the VCP was on the verge of driving out the French and unifying the entire country—yet at this exact juncture, China stepped in to call for a cease-fire and partition. The Southern faction, led by Lê Duẩn, believed that China had betrayed Vietnam’s interests at a critical moment, turning Vietnam into a diplomatic bargaining chip for the sake of its own détente with the West. After the Geneva Accords were signed, Lê Duẩn’s cohort who remained in the South to pursue underground struggles were transformed overnight from North Vietnam’s regular armed forces into unacknowledged, illegal guerrillas, as the North Vietnamese government could not publicly admit any connection to the insurgents in the South. The Ho Chi Minh Trail existed precisely because North Vietnam had to bypass the border to secretly transport supplies to the South rather than moving directly across it. All of this was caused by the Geneva Accords.

Trường Chinh, a pro-China figure within the VCP leadership, consistently defended China on this matter. He argued that China’s actions stemmed from realistic considerations and that Beijing should not be blamed. His stance left him increasingly isolated within the party, and in the 1960s, he was brought down under the pretext of land reform issues and completely sidelined. After Trường Chinh was removed, the VCP’s attitude toward the CCP shifted from polite to cold, and then from cold to open confrontation.

At the same time, Ho Chi Minh was becoming increasingly marginalized within the party. Lê Duẩn mistrusted him, considering him a pro-China figure and fearing that he would tie the VCP to China’s war chariot. Starting from the late 1950s, Ho Chi Minh was gradually stripped of actual power. He submitted multiple applications to the VCP Central Committee requesting permission to marry, all of which were rejected. The party’s pretext was: “Uncle Ho has dedicated his life to the Vietnamese people and ought to maintain a single persona.” The real reason was that Lê Duẩn would not allow Ho Chi Minh to have offspring; if the founder of the party had children, his descendants could easily become a new political force—something Lê Duẩn was unwilling to see.

Ho Chi Minh died in 1969, never living to see the unification of Vietnam in 1975. His actual situation in his twilight years was a far cry from the image of the universally beloved “Uncle Ho” depicted in Vietnamese textbooks.

The story of the VCP also has a postscript concerning Cambodia, which best illustrates the chain reaction of China’s export of revolution.

Pol Pot was the leader of the Communist Party of Kampuchea, a party that had also originally split off from the Indochinese Communist Party, sharing common historical roots with the VCP. Around 1966, Pol Pot visited China and met several key figures of the Cultural Revolution Group, including Zhang Chunqiao and others. He was deeply shaken by the “Cultural Revolution.” Upon returning to Cambodia, he decided to realize a communist revolution even more thorough than China’s: abolishing cities, abolishing currency, eliminating intellectuals, and tearing down society to start anew.

He succeeded. The cost was the lives of two million Cambodians.

In 1979, Vietnam dispatched troops to overthrow the Pol Pot regime. Many ask why Vietnam attacked Cambodia. The official rationale was to overthrow a genocidal regime and save the Cambodian people. The real reason was far less noble: Pol Pot had completely aligned with China, becoming China’s pawn in Southeast Asia, and Vietnam could not tolerate having a pro-China regime on its western flank. Striking Pol Pot was a move by Vietnam to counter Chinese influence.

China then dispatched troops to teach Vietnam a lesson, which was the 1979 Sino-Vietnamese Border War.

The roots of this war can be traced all the way back to the 1954 Geneva Conference, to the quarter-century of accumulating rifts between China and Vietnam, and to the ideological shock Pol Pot received when meeting Zhang Chunqiao in Beijing. A butterfly flapped its wings, and it ultimately turned into artillery fire on the border and the deaths of tens of thousands of people.

So, is the VCP an ingrate after all? The question itself is a false premise. Being an ingrate presupposes that you raised it, but the VCP was never raised by the CCP. The VCP had its own independent historical foundation, its own armed forces forged through bloodshed on Vietnamese soil, and its own independent status in the international communist movement. China provided Vietnam with aid at certain stages, but this was mutual exploitation between two equal organizations, not a father-son relationship.

Those that could truly be considered the CCP’s own offspring were the Malayan Communist Party and the Communist Party of Thailand—they could not survive without directives from Beijing. The VCP was different; the VCP had its own backbone, its own judgment, and its own underlying nationalist color. It was precisely this nationalist foundation that ultimately led it down the path of confrontation with the CCP.

The Chinese call them ungrateful wolves, while the Vietnamese call China a northern hegemon; both sides are using a simplified label to obscure a complex historical reality. The true story is far messier—and far more real—than any single label.

Editor: Huang Jizhou Proofreader: Xiong Bian Translator: Ge Bing

作者：张兴贵

极权主义国家为何事故多发、频发。这绝非孤立的技术故障、个别官员渎职、偶然的天灾；不是管理失误，不是技术落后，更不是“发展阶段问题”，而是极权制度内在逻辑的必然产物。它根植于权力结构的本质，层层衍生出信息、激励、认知与文化的系统性扭曲。

第一层，权力的高度垄断。极权主义的核心是权力的绝对集中与不可分割。它不仅垄断暴力与资源，更试图垄断真理与未来。这种“单一大脑”治理复杂社会的狂妄，哈耶克称之为“致命的自负”。复杂系统中的知识是分散的、默会的、动态的，任何中央计划者都不可能完全掌握。而极权体制却拒绝承认这一人类认知的根本限制，坚信通过意识形态与行政命令就能实现完美控制。这一原罪直接导致系统性认知盲区。决策者远离现场，信息链条冗长且被层层过滤；基层的真实风险信号在上传过程中被扭曲、淡化甚至删除。因为承认问题就等于承认体制优越性的瑕疵。结果是风险被低估，隐患被常态化，事故从“可预防”变成“必然爆发”。于是，小概率事件变成大概率灾难。

第二层，问责向上负责而非向下负责。权力垄断必然衍生出扭曲的激励结构。官员与管理者的仕途、利益和安全，全部系于上级的评价，而非实际的安全绩效或公众福祉。这就形成了经典的“委托-代理”问题极端化：地方官员的最理性的选择永远是掩盖、粉饰、甩锅，而不是根治。小事故被定性为“不可抗力”或“个别现象”，以避免影响政绩；安全投入被挤压，因为它不产生短期可见的政治红利；报告真相的风险远高于隐瞒的风险——前者可能被视为“政治不成熟”，后者最多是“技术事故”。这种激励错位制造了负反馈缺失的恶性循环：错误得不到纠正，反而被强化。

第三层，信息封闭与恐惧文化。极权体制必须控制叙事，因为真相是权力的天敌。媒体、学术、工会皆被纳入宣传体系，独立监督被视为威胁。于是形成了双重信息屏障：对上隐瞒与对下封锁。一线工程师、工人发现隐患却不敢言——因为批评可能被上纲上线为“动摇军心”“别有用心”。久而久之，“报喜不报忧”成为生存理性，专业判断让位于政治忠诚。安全文化无法生成，取而代之的是形式主义与表演式治理。这种封闭切断了跨层级、跨领域的纠错机制。民主法治社会通过自由言论、独立调查和司法问责，形成持续的进化压力；而极权体制则像一个封闭的热力学系统，熵值（混乱度）不断累积，直至以灾难形式释放。

第四层，专业主义崩塌与人才逆淘汰。忠诚优先于能力的选拔机制，必然导致逆向选择。真正懂安全、敢担当的专业人才被边缘化，甚至被淘汰；善于揣摩上意、粉饰太平者则步步高升。腐败进一步加剧这一过程：安全资金被挪用、设备偷工减料、监管走过场成为常态。结果是整个治理链条的专业能力与责任感同步衰减。

编辑：Geoffrey Jin 校对：毛一炜 翻译：戈冰

Phenomenon of Totalitarianism, Part V: High and Frequent Occurrence of Accidents

By Zhang Xinggui

Abstract: This paper explores the institutional roots of frequent accidents under totalitarian regimes, arguing that major disasters do not stem merely from technical flaws, management failures, or accidental factors, but are rather the systemic consequences of the extreme concentration of power. The author points out that when power monopolizes decision-making, information, and truth, the dispersed knowledge required by a complex society cannot be effectively gathered, and risk information at the primary level is continuously distorted as it passes upward through administrative layers, creating cognitive blind spots and decision-making deviations. Under the pressure to maintain the correctness of the system, problems are covered up and hidden hazards accumulate, ultimately transforming preventable and controllable risks into major accidents. Through this analysis, the article reflects on the intrinsic limitations of highly centralized regimes in information feedback, risk governance, and public safety.

Why do accidents occur so highly and frequently in totalitarian states? This is by no means an isolated technical breakdown, the dereliction of duty by individual officials, or an accidental natural disaster; it is not a management failure, not technical backwardness, and even less a “problem of the stage of development,” but the inevitable product of the internal logic of the totalitarian system. It is deeply rooted in the essence of the power structure, generating systematic distortions in information, incentives, cognition, and culture at every level.

The first layer: The extreme monopoly of power. The core of totalitarianism is the absolute concentration and indivisibility of power. It not only monopolizes violence and resources, but also attempts to monopolize truth and the future. This arrogance of using a “single brain” to govern a complex society was called “the fatal conceit” by Hayek. Knowledge in a complex system is dispersed, tacit, and dynamic, making it impossible for any central planner to fully master. Totalitarian regimes, however, refuse to acknowledge this fundamental limitation of human cognition, firmly believing that perfect control can be achieved through ideology and administrative orders. This original sin directly leads to systemic cognitive blind spots. Decision-makers are far removed from the ground level, and the information chain is protracted and filtered layer by layer; real risk signals at the primary level are distorted, diluted, or even deleted in the process of being passed upward. This is because admitting a problem is equivalent to admitting a flaw in the superiority of the system. The result is that risks are underestimated, hidden hazards are normalized, and accidents change from “preventable” to “inevitable.” Thus, small-probability events turn into high-probability disasters.

The second layer: Accountability directed upward rather than downward. The monopoly of power inevitably breeds a distorted incentive structure. The political careers, interests, and safety of officials and managers are all bound to the evaluations of their superiors, rather than actual safety performance or public well-being. This creates an extreme version of the classic “principal-agent” problem: the most rational choice for local officials is always to cover up, gloss over, and pass the buck, rather than to address root causes. Minor accidents are categorized as “force majeure” or “isolated phenomena” to avoid affecting political performance achievements; investments in safety are squeezed out because they generate no short-term, visible political dividends; and the risk of reporting the truth is far higher than the risk of concealing it—the former may be regarded as “politically immature,” while the latter is at most a “technical accident.” This misalignment of incentives creates a vicious cycle lacking negative feedback: errors are not corrected, but rather reinforced.

The third layer: Information blockade and a culture of fear. Totalitarian regimes must control the narrative because truth is the natural enemy of power. The media, academia, and labor unions are all incorporated into the propaganda system, and independent supervision is viewed as a threat. Thus, a dual information barrier is formed: concealment from above and blockades against below. Frontline engineers and workers detect hidden hazards yet dare not speak out—because criticism might be politically elevated and branded as “shaking morale” or having “ulterior motives.” Over time, “reporting good news while withholding bad news” becomes the logic for survival, and professional judgment yields to political loyalty. A culture of safety cannot emerge, replaced instead by formalism and performative governance. This closure cuts off cross-level and cross-domain error-correction mechanisms. Democratic societies governed by the rule of law generate continuous pressure for evolution through free speech, independent investigations, and judicial accountability; a totalitarian regime, by contrast, resembles a closed thermodynamic system in which entropy (disorder) continuously accumulates until it is released in the form of disaster.

The fourth layer: The collapse of professionalism and adverse selection of talent. A selection mechanism that prioritizes loyalty over capability inevitably leads to adverse selection. Professional talent who truly understand safety and dare to take responsibility are marginalized or even eliminated, while those adept at figuring out the intentions of superiors and painting a false picture of peace advance step by step. Corruption further exacerbates this process: safety funds are embezzled, materials are cut on equipment, and regulation becomes a mere formality as standard practice. The result is the simultaneous decay of professional competence and sense of responsibility throughout the entire governance chain.

Editor: Geoffrey Jin Proofreader: Mao Yiwei Translator: Ge Bing

作者：李素芳

我是一个出生于1992年的中国农村女性。 如果有人在十年前告诉我，有一天我会离开中国，带着家人来到美国生活，并重新审视自己过去几十年所相信的一切，我一定不会相信。因为在很长一段时间里，我和无数普通中国人一样，从出生开始便按照既定的人生轨迹成长：读书、工作、结婚、生子，努力生活，努力挣钱，努力让家庭过得更好。

我从来没有想过自己会离开中国，更没有想过有一天会站在另一个国家的土地上，用完全不同的角度重新审视自己的过去。曾经的我认为，世界本来就是我所看到的那个样子。直到离开之后，我才发现，原来世界还有另外一种可能。

我曾经以为世界本来就是这样我出生在中国农村，成长环境和千千万万个普通农村家庭没有什么不同。从小到大，我们被教育要听话，听父母的话，听老师的话，听领导的话，听权威的话。一个孩子如果太喜欢提问，往往会被认为不懂事；一个成年人如果总是表达不同意见，也容易被认为不成熟。从小我就学会了隐忍，学会了顺从。于是我跟很多人一样慢慢学会了沉默，因为沉默最安全，不发表意见最安全，不参与讨论最安全，不去思考那些复杂的问题最安全。长大以后，我也和大多数普通人一样，每天忙着生活，忙着工作，忙着承担家庭责任。我相信媒体告诉我的信息，相信教科书告诉我的历史，相信我从小接触到的一切。因为，不能怀疑，因为不能反驳，因为不允许发声，因为乱说话会不安全，所以我从来没有认真思考过，为什么有些问题不能讨论，为什么有些事情不能公开表达，为什么很多人明明心里有想法，却不愿意说出来。那时候的我并不觉得有什么问题，因为我以为所有地方都一样。

真正改变我的，不是出国，而是经历。 人生有时候会因为某个瞬间而彻底改变方向，有些经历会让人一夜长大，有些经历会让人重新认识世界。在经历过人生中一些重大变故之后，我第一次开始思考一个问题：一个国家与一个普通人的关系究竟是什么？一个制度究竟应该服务于谁？一个普通人究竟应该拥有哪些权利？过去我从未认真思考过这些问题，因为在成长过程中，很少有人告诉我们应该思考这些问题。更多时候，我们被教育的是如何适应环境，如何忍耐，如何接受现实，如何服从安排。然而随着年龄增长，我开始发现，一个人的尊严并不仅仅来自于吃饱穿暖，一个人的价值也不仅仅来自于是否有工作。人还需要被尊重，需要被倾听，需要拥有表达自己想法的权利。这些看似简单的东西，实际上非常珍贵。

第一次来到美国 第一次踏上美国土地的时候，我并没有立刻感受到什么巨大的震撼。美国没有想象中那么完美，机场也会拥挤，道路也会堵车，城市也会有贫富差距，甚至有些地方看起来还不如中国繁华。到处都是低矮的房子，没有高楼大厦。但是随着生活时间越来越长，我开始注意到一些过去从未留意过的细节。

我发现这里的人似乎并不害怕表达自己的观点。无论是在电视节目里，还是在网络平台上，或者朋友之间聊天，人们都可以公开表达自己的看法。支持政府的人可以说话，反对政府的人同样可以说话，媒体之间可以互相批评，普通人也可以批评政府。刚开始的时候，我甚至感到有些不适应，因为在我过去的环境里，人们往往更谨慎，很多话只敢私下说，很多问题不会公开讨论。而在这里，不同观点的人甚至可以在电视节目里激烈争论。让我感到震撼的并不是他们争论的内容，而是他们拥有争论的权利。

我开始理解什么叫言论自由 过去我一直以为，言论自由只是一个抽象概念。来到美国以后，我才发现，它其实与普通人的生活息息相关。言论自由并不意味着每个人说的话都正确，也不意味着所有观点都值得赞同。它真正重要的地方在于，人们拥有表达的权利；当一种声音出现时，另一种声音也能够出现；当有人提出质疑时，不会因为质疑本身而受到惩罚。

一个社会真正的进步，并不是所有人说同样的话，而是允许不同的人说不同的话。因为只有不同声音同时存在，人们才有比较和判断的机会。如果一个人从出生到长大，只能听见一种声音，那么他实际上失去了选择的权利。离开中国以后，我第一次开始大量阅读来自不同国家、不同媒体、不同立场的信息。这个过程并不轻松，很多曾经深信不疑的东西开始被重新审视，很多过去认为理所当然的事情开始出现新的解释。我的世界观开始发生变化，这种变化并不是简单地否定过去，而是学会从多个角度观察问题。比如，劳动者应当拥有尊严，是对于劳动者的尊重。在美国生活期间，我接触过很多普通劳动者，餐厅服务员、建筑工人、卡车司机、超市员工、维修工人。快递员，外卖员。他们未必富有，未必拥有很高的社会地位，但是他们普遍拥有一种自信，这种自信来自于对自身劳动价值的认可。很多人敢于维护自己的权益，敢于拒绝不合理要求，敢于通过法律维护自己的利益。我逐渐意识到，一个社会是否尊重劳动者，并不取决于口号喊得多响亮，而取决于劳动者是否真正拥有维护自身权益的能力和胆量。一个社会如果能够让普通劳动者活得有尊严，那么这个社会才是真正尊重劳动的社会。

美国让我印象最深刻的，还有对生命价值的尊重。这种尊重体现在许多细节之中：公共场所随处可见无障碍设施，残障人士能够获得更多帮助，社区会组织志愿服务，动物保护组织十分活跃，老人能够获得各种社会支持。我还看到了人类与动物原来也可以相互尊重，街头巷尾肆意行走的鸭子，小兔子，小松鼠。甚至有狗熊，有鹿 。它们可以在任何地方，做任何事情，在任何时间都可以自由自在的生存。我还看到了对于生命的尊重，医院里不会因为没钱而被医院拒之门外。下水道里一个落水的小狗可以出动救护车以及整个街区的警力。高速上一排悠闲自得行走的小鸭子足以形成堵车长龙，人们宁可堵车，就为了给它们一个既安全又获得尊重的生存权利。在教堂里你会看到那群有信仰且善良的人们在为苦恼者祷告…在救助站太多人被温暖 在社区义工群里太多善良的人在研究如何做的更多。在法庭上 在市议会大楼的广场前 太多…太多我从未见过的画面。到处充斥着自由，正义，勇敢 ，善良，这些事情看似普通，却让我不断思考，一个社会最真实的文明程度，究竟体现在哪里？是高楼大厦吗？是经济总量吗？还是科技实力？

后来我越来越觉得，一个社会真正的文明程度，体现在它如何对待最弱小的人，如何对待那些无法为自己发声的人，如何对待生命本身。因为一个社会对弱者的态度，往往反映出它最深层的价值观。原来公平是属于每一个人的，原来尊重是不分物种的。

来到美国以后，我养成了一个新的习惯，大量阅读，大量查阅资料，大量了解不同观点。我发现，世界远比我过去想象得更加复杂，很多问题并没有标准答案，很多事情也并非非黑即白。但是我逐渐意识到，认知的边界，往往来自信息的边界。一个人能够接触到的信息越丰富，他看待世界的角度就越多；而当一个人长期只能接触单一来源的信息时，他对世界的理解也会受到限制。所以，在中国你只能看允许你看的，只能听你允许听的。只能学你允许学的。哪怕简单的翻墙去外网都是违法的。我们被信息的边界困在了一个牢笼里。我们被认知的边界困在了无知愚昧的沉默中。

我开始明白，独立思考并不是盲目怀疑一切，而是在充分了解不同信息之后，形成属于自己的判断，所以，我知道美国也并不完美，随着生活时间越来越长，我也看到了美国的问题。这里有贫富差距，有毒品问题，有枪支犯罪，有无家可归者，有激烈的政治对立，有各种社会矛盾。美国绝不是一个完美国家，事实上，世界上根本不存在完美国家。但是我越来越认为，一个社会最重要的并不是从不犯错，而是在犯错之后是否允许讨论，是否允许批评，是否允许改进。当问题被允许公开讨论时，解决问题的可能性就会存在；而当问题无法被讨论时，问题本身往往不会消失，它只是被隐藏起来。正是因为问题的存在而得不到解决，独裁的邪恶得不到遏制。被迫害的人无奈沉默，受伤害的人无力反击。不允许发声，不允许批评，不允许讨论。这就是我们最大的根本原因。

我最大的改变

回顾我的成长经历，自从到了美国，我学会了独立思考。我开始主动寻找答案，开始阅读不同观点，开始尝试理解复杂世界，开始不再轻易接受任何单一答案。这种变化并没有让我变得更聪明，却让我变得更加谦逊，因为我发现自己知道的东西其实很少，世界远比想象中更大，真相也远比想象中更复杂。今天的我依然只是一个普通人，没有权力，没有财富，没有特殊身份，但我拥有了一种过去从未真正拥有过的能力，那就是独立思考的能力。而这份能力，也许比任何财富都更加珍贵。因为它让我明白，一个人最重要的自由，不仅是身体的自由，更是思想的自由。当一个人学会独立思考的时候，他才能真正开始认识这个世界。所以，如果上帝赐予我神力。我希望国人希望人类都能精神自由 身体自由 言论自由 拥有独立思考的能力。在被尊重的环境中乐观积极幸福的生活。

编辑：Gloria Wang 校对：毛一炜 翻译：沈美花

From Leaving the Homeland to Rediscovering Freedom: The Experience and Reflections of an Ordinary Chinese Woman

Author: Li Sufang

Abstract: Taking the personal journey of an ordinary Chinese rural woman as its main thread, this article recounts her process from growing up on a predetermined social trajectory to leaving her homeland and rediscovering both herself and the world in a foreign land. The author reflects on the compliance and silence formed within her original environment, as well as her habitual acceptance of authority and established narratives. Through major life changes and cross-cultural experiences, she gradually begins to examine the sources and limitations of these mindsets. Through nuanced personal narration, the text presents the trajectory of an individual’s awakening consciousness, exploring differences in how freedom, expression, and self-awareness are understood across different social contexts, ultimately pointing toward a transformation from external norms to internal reflection.

I am a Chinese rural woman born in 1992.

If someone had told me ten years ago that one day I would leave China, bring my family to live in the United States, and re-examine everything I had believed over the past few decades, I certainly would not have believed them. Because for a long time, like countless ordinary Chinese people, I had followed a predetermined life trajectory from birth: study, work, get married, have children, work hard to live, work hard to earn money, and strive to give my family a better life.

I never thought I would leave China, let alone that one day I would stand on the land of another country and re-examine my past from an entirely different perspective. I once believed that the world was simply the way I saw it. It was only after leaving that I discovered the world actually held another possibility.

I Once Thought the World Was Just Like That

I was born in rural China, and my upbringing was no different from that of tens of thousands of ordinary rural families. From a young age, we were taught to be obedient: listen to our parents, listen to our teachers, listen to our leaders, and listen to authority. If a child liked to ask questions too much, they were often considered sensible or well-behaved; if an adult frequently expressed differing opinions, they were easily seen as immature. From childhood, I learned endurance and compliance. Like many others, I gradually learned to keep silent—because silence was safest, expressing no opinion was safest, abstaining from discussion was safest, and not thinking about those complex questions was safest.

When I grew up, like most ordinary people, I was busy every day with life, work, and family responsibilities. I believed the information the media gave me, the history taught in textbooks, and everything I was exposed to from childhood. Because questioning was not allowed, because refuting was not allowed, because speaking out was not permitted, and because speaking out of turn was unsafe, I never seriously pondered why certain issues could not be discussed, why certain things could not be expressed publicly, or why so many people clearly had thoughts in their minds yet were unwilling to speak them aloud. Back then, I did not feel anything was wrong, because I assumed everywhere was the same.

What Truly Changed Me Was Not Going Abroad, But Experience

Sometimes, life completely changes direction because of a single moment; certain experiences make a person grow up overnight, while others make one see the world anew. After going through several major personal changes, I began for the first time to reflect on a question: What truly is the relationship between a nation and an ordinary person? Whom should a system ultimately serve? What rights should an ordinary person actually possess?

In the past, I had never given serious thought to these questions, because throughout our upbringing, few people ever told us that we ought to think about them. More often, we were educated on how to adapt to our environment, how to endure, how to accept reality, and how to obey arrangements. However, as I grew older, I began to realize that a person’s dignity does not come merely from having enough to eat and wear, nor does one’s value stem solely from having a job. Human beings also need to be respected, listened to, and granted the right to express their own thoughts. These seemingly simple things are, in reality, extraordinarily precious.

Arriving in the United States for the First Time

When I first set foot on American soil, I did not immediately feel any massive shock. America was not as perfect as imagined: the airports were crowded, the roads had traffic jams, the cities had wealth gaps, and some places even looked less prosperous than China. Low-rise houses were everywhere, without skyscrapers. Yet as I lived here longer, I began to notice details I had never paid attention to in the past.

I noticed that people here did not seem afraid to express their opinions. Whether on television shows, internet platforms, or in casual conversations among friends, people could openly voice their views. Those who supported the government could speak, and those who opposed the government could speak just as freely; media outlets could criticize one another, and ordinary citizens could criticize the government. In the beginning, I even felt somewhat unaccustomed to it, because in my past environment, people were generally more cautious—many words were only whispered in private, and many topics were never discussed in public. Yet here, people with opposing views could even debate fiercely on television programs. What shocked me was not the content of their debates, but the fact that they possessed the right to debate.

I Began to Understand What Freedom of Speech Means

In the past, I always assumed freedom of speech was merely an abstract concept. After coming to the United States, I realized it is deeply tied to the daily lives of ordinary people. Freedom of speech does not mean that everything spoken is correct, nor does it mean every viewpoint deserves agreement. What truly matters is that people possess the right to express themselves; when one voice emerges, another voice is also allowed to emerge; and when someone raises doubts, they will not be punished simply for questioning.

The true progress of a society lies not in everyone saying the exact same thing, but in permitting different people to say different things. Only when diverse voices coexist do people gain the opportunity to compare and judge. If a person, from birth to adulthood, can only hear one single voice, then they have effectively been deprived of the right to choose.

After leaving China, I began for the first time to read vast amounts of information from different countries, media, and perspectives. This process was not easy; many things I had once firmly believed began to be re-examined, and many matters I had taken for granted began to yield new explanations. My worldview began to shift—not through a simple denial of the past, but by learning to observe issues from multiple angles.

For instance, workers ought to possess dignity, which is a matter of respect toward laborers. During my time in the United States, I came into contact with many ordinary workers: restaurant servers, construction workers, truck drivers, supermarket employees, maintenance workers, couriers, and delivery drivers. They were not necessarily wealthy or of high social status, but they generally possessed a sense of self-confidence—a confidence rooted in the recognition of their own labor value. Many dared to defend their rights, dared to refuse unreasonable demands, and dared to protect their interests through the law. I gradually realized that whether a society respects workers does not depend on how loudly it shouts slogans, but on whether workers genuinely possess the capability and courage to safeguard their own rights. If a society enables ordinary workers to live with dignity, then that society is one that truly respects labor.

What impressed me most about America was also its respect for the value of life. This respect is reflected in countless details: accessible facilities are everywhere in public places, people with disabilities receive greater assistance, communities organize voluntary services, animal protection organizations are highly active, and the elderly receive various forms of social support. I also saw that human beings and animals can respect one another—ducks, rabbits, and squirrels wandering freely through streets and alleys, and even bears and deer. They can be anywhere, do anything, and live freely and comfortably at any time.

I saw a profound respect for life: in hospitals, people are not turned away at the door simply because they lack money; for a small puppy fallen into a sewer, an ambulance and the police force of an entire block can be dispatched; a line of ducks leisurely walking along a highway can cause a long traffic backup, yet people prefer to wait in traffic just to afford them a safe and respected right to survive. In churches, you see devout, kind-hearted people praying for those in distress; in community volunteer groups, so many good-natured people are studying how to do more; in courtrooms, and in front of city hall plazas, there are so many scenes I had never witnessed before.

Everywhere is filled with freedom, justice, courage, and kindness. These things seem ordinary, yet they make me constantly reflect: Where is the true level of civilization in a society actually demonstrated? Is it in skyscrapers? Is it in total economic output? Or is it in technological strength?

Later, I felt more and more strongly that the true level of civilization in a society is reflected in how it treats its weakest members, how it treats those who cannot speak for themselves, and how it treats life itself. A society’s attitude toward the vulnerable often reflects its deepest values. It turns out that fairness belongs to everyone, and respect knows no distinction of species.

Restricted by Boundaries of Information

After coming to the United States, I developed a new habit: reading extensively, researching material thoroughly, and seeking out diverse perspectives. I realized that the world is far more complex than I had previously imagined; many questions have no standard answers, and many matters are far from black and white.

Yet I gradually came to realize that the boundaries of one’s cognition often come from the boundaries of information. The richer the information a person can access, the more perspectives they have to observe the world; conversely, when a person can only access information from a single source over a long period, their understanding of the world remains constrained.

Thus, in China, you can only read what you are permitted to read, listen to what you are permitted to listen to, and learn what you are permitted to learn. Even simple circumvention of the wall [using a VPN to access foreign websites] is illegal. We are trapped in a cage by the boundaries of information. We are trapped in a silent state of ignorance and foolishness by the boundaries of cognition.

I began to understand that independent thinking does not mean blindly doubting everything, but forming one’s own judgment after thoroughly understanding different information. Therefore, I know that America is by no means perfect either. As I live here longer, I also see its problems: wealth disparity, drug issues, gun violence, homelessness, intense political polarization, and various social contradictions. America is by no means a perfect nation—in fact, no perfect nation exists in the world.

However, I increasingly believe that the most important quality of a society is not that it never makes mistakes, but whether it permits discussion, criticism, and improvement after mistakes occur. When issues are permitted to be openly discussed, the possibility of resolving them exists; whereas when issues cannot be discussed, the problems themselves do not disappear—they are merely hidden away. It is precisely because problems exist yet cannot be solved that the evils of authoritarianism go unchecked. Those who are persecuted fall silently into helplessness, and those who are harmed lack the power to fight back. No speaking out, no criticism, no discussion allowed—this is our fundamental root cause.

My Greatest Change

Looking back on my growth, ever since arriving in the United States, I have learned to think independently. I have begun to actively seek answers, read different viewpoints, strive to understand a complex world, and no longer easily accept any single answer.

This change has not made me smarter, but it has made me more humble, because I realized how little I actually know—the world is far larger than imagined, and the truth is far more complex than imagined. Today, I am still just an ordinary person—without power, without wealth, without any special status. But I possess a capacity I never truly owned in the past: the capacity for independent thinking.

This capacity is perhaps more precious than any wealth, because it made me understand that a person’s most vital freedom is not merely physical freedom, but freedom of thought. Only when a person learns to think independently can they truly begin to know this world.

Therefore, if God were to grant me divine power, I would hope that my fellow countrymen—and all of humanity—could enjoy spiritual freedom, physical freedom, freedom of speech, and the ability to think independently, living optimistically, actively, and happily in an environment of mutual respect.

Editor: Gloria Wang

Proofreader: Mao Yiwei

Translator: Shen Meihua