作者：黄维克
编辑：胡丽莉 校对：熊辩 翻译：戈冰

资本家算“干部”吗，这是我小时候一直纠结的问题，到今天还没有答案。

我是家里这一代唯一的男孙，也就是我可以把姓氏传下去，但爷爷并不喜欢我，听说我出生那一年，他就被“公私合营”给开除了。

相信他感觉解放后受骗上当，自己创业开办的生意被政府公私合营后，人家学会了经营之道，就把相对高薪的他赶走。

因为在同一个时间发生，我就成了“扫帚星”，上海人说的“触霉头”。

那个年代每人要填写很多表格，每个表格上都有“家庭成分”，每次这个时候家里都要争论一番，叔叔们认为爷爷算是“干部”，除了投资还要管理。

但实际上应该填写“资本家”，或者“资产阶级”，那时候听起来像“艾滋病””强奸犯”一样，而且往往空位不够。只能两个字，“工人”、“农民”、“职员”…….

他一个人干的“缺德事”，接下来的几代人都要受磨难，当年的“荣华富贵”我没份，遭人嫌弃时却轮到我了。

爷孙一堂本来是件好事，他不喜欢我，我也不喜欢他，每天就这样僵持。

原来爷爷整天闷闷不乐，还有其他的原因，随着时间推移我知道的越来越多。

1950年上海才有围城的枪炮声，他早已经买了去新加坡的船票，但他的母亲听说他要去外国，发誓当场撞墙死在他面前。

曾祖母在孤儿院，把爷爷领回家里抚养成人，他靠努力或者幸运发了“小财”，岂能众叛亲离？再加上当时政府全力宣传“剥削有功”，爷爷就决定留在大陆继续敬他的孝心。

噩梦远远不止“剥削”，很快他就发现自己“罪孽”深重。原来上海的资本家里也有“合法”和“不合法”之分，他是属于后者。

那个动乱年代，为了保护家人，爷爷想买一把手枪回家。那时候买枪要加入一个团体，他就填了一张表格。由于祖母反对，那把枪在家里只呆了一晚上。

就这样，爷爷莫名其妙地加入了“反动组织”(大概是“三青团”吧)，他面临发配新疆。那时候的宣传说“新疆是个好地方”，“肥肉吃进去吐出来”，上海人始终对此半信半疑。

全家男女老少出动在火车站送行，孩子们在月台下跪哭声一片，爷爷清楚接下来的日子——凶多吉少，不断地对家人挥手，感觉像是“英勇就义”。

这时候出现了一位认识的里弄干部，他说： “你怎么会来的？” 爷爷回答：“我是不法资本家”。由于他平时对人很好，这位来往两地的“官员”，坚定地对他说：“你不够格，你不能去！”

这时候火车已经开始移动，他的行李被一件件扔到月台上，也只好跳下了火车。就这样巧遇“救星”，爷爷没有了新疆的故事，后来他才有机会死在上海。

之前讲到爷爷因为他固执的妈妈，没有去成“新加坡”，后来又因为善心的干部没去“新疆”。虽然两个地方都是“新”字打头，但任何一个去成了，结果会是天壤之别。

从小都有一个好奇心，爷爷是个孤儿，在上海“十里洋场”，靠什么会赚得“盆满钵满”，这里面一定有一些“见不得人”的事。

我们那一代的教育都是这样，周扒皮半夜里学鸡叫，天不亮就让人下地干活；刘文彩在收租院里，如何用水银秤杆缺斤少两。

无论上一代给了我们多少爱，因为学校的教育，我们都带着一种怀疑的，甚至“敌视的”眼光看他们。

记得一次问婆婆，别的女人都戴金银首饰，你为什么从来不戴？她回答说，如果有那样的习惯，当年会被金银财宝压死(这么大的口气)。

家里真的那么有钱？是的。婆婆说以前家里在湖南路的老房子，楼梯拐弯可以放一桌酒席，后来家境不好了，就搬到了“大西路”小房子(今天的”延安路”)。

几年前我回上海，还特意去了我长大的房子，在那里拍了张照片(见图)。

那时候家里经济十分落魄，不时要变卖一些东西。在物质条件很艰苦的情况下，婆婆仍然把最好的东西留给我，爷爷则特别注重我的学习。

那时候上海有小学入学试，有一道题目是两张照片，一张是月亮，另一张是太阳，听说有小孩把那太阳，说成可以吃的“大饼”。

爷爷则连家长表格都让我自己填，我不仅会写父母的名字，还会写他们的工作单位，包括中间两个难字“師範”(那时中国还是繁体字)。

我慢慢地意识到爷爷是个好人，给我打的文化基础，今天看来是“钢筋混泥土的”，虽然是小学的前几年，也给我带了好多荣誉。

那时候我在心里想：爷爷为什么以前会去“剥削”他人呢？

爷爷对他的“剥削”历史，从来都是闭口不谈。

由于我的好奇心，加上家里人口众多，七拼八凑地找出了爷爷的“发家史”。

我感觉到“剥削”的成分几乎没有，或者是极少。如果真有的话，他更多的是剥削美国人，而不是中国人。

爷爷到上海之前都在和尚庙办的孤儿院里，幸运地被黄氏领养带到上海，没有任何钱，更没有任何人际关系做生意。

找到的第一份工作是美国人办的贸易公司，必须学习讲英语与上司交流。他为了供养母亲，就开始了鹦鹉学舌地讲英文。

爷爷倒是真有一样与众不同的特长，那就是他写得一手很好的毛笔字，简直像书店里卖的帖子一样，可能是和尚庙里修来的功夫。

他后来又喜欢上了京剧，不但能唱还会拉。

赚到一点钱后，逢年过节就搞“堂会”，把一帮京剧名角和票友请到家里。他作为东道主还能又拉又唱地表演一番，令他在上海滩的生意人里与众不同。

那时候他办的一个仓库，除了存放一些吃穿住用行的小商品外，还存放美国运来的剩余物资。精明的商人不愿意空船来上海办货，往往运一些没有买家的物品。

货仓存放的东西都有散货或者破损，也允许损耗一个百分比。家里人告诉我，从来都是仓库里有什么，家里就有什么，很多吃用的东西都不愁，

因为仓库租金都是随着时间递增，美国商人经常弃置存货，抵扣所欠的仓库租金，一次是一货仓的棉花，另一次是一货仓的煤炭。

爷爷做起了“无本买卖”，就这样“发了横财”。

像我爷爷这样的”成分”，必然是每一次政治运动的“运动员”。对他影响最大的当属人民公社运动和文化大革命。

“人民公社”是从农村到城市，“文化大革命”是从城市到农村。

当时在上海的人民公社运动，需要很多房产来办学校，他们对爷爷都是“好说好劝”。我一直在猜想，他们如何让他心甘情愿签字，“捐赠”部分房产。

“剥削”本来就是犯罪，应该坐牢的，现在无需你坐牢，只是把非法所得分一点出来，那就意味着明天十家陌生人会搬到你家来住。

我还记得家里住在二楼，原来的客厅和饭厅都消失了，甚至阳台也当房间来住。最奢侈的是我们家在楼下，有一个独立的厨房，别人家都要五六家分享。

那时候上海也是住房奇缺，家里的车房变成两层楼，上面一家人下面一家人，连锅炉房也住了一家人。

我长大住在二楼的阳台，每当拉小提琴打拍子，楼下阳台的“工人阶级”邻居就大喊大叫。

后来上海落实政策了，房子算是还给主人了，但是没有一分钱租金，因为这么多年的修缮费，房管处要房主负担，算起来房主还倒过来“欠钱”。

当年有个奇特的现象是，楼梯走廊厨房厕所非常昏暗、但是电灯却有很多盏，开灯的绳子也很多，我小时候最怕的是，错误地开了别人家的电灯。

那时候的邻居一个比一个善良，也是一个比一个穷，“斤斤计较”是实在没办法。

上个世纪中国最大的政治运动——十年浩劫的“文化大革命”终于开始了，那是1966年的一个夏天，感觉是风云突变，上海满街都是身穿军装，但没有领章和帽徽的红卫兵。

平时坐在外面乘凉的老头老太太和孩子们，都觉得那天不妙必有大事发生。

红卫兵们一边喊着“破四旧、立四新”的口号，一边呼吁所有的民众，把封建迷信和西洋文化的东西都拿出来，街上的人都忙于砸烂菩萨和钢琴。

我家搬出了所有的菩萨和观音，就连“万寿无疆”红绿黄的饭碗菜碟，都难以幸免，要搬到马路中间敲碎，直到今天我还记得那个刺耳的声音。

街上的男男女女都很恐慌，搞不清楚身上哪些东西是“四旧”，红卫兵们成了理所当然的法官。

金丝边眼镜的人会被红卫兵截停，眼镜强制拿下后被踩碎，很多人哀求留下“无罪的”镜片，这样高度近视的人，仍然可以举着两片玻璃回家。

男的女的裤腿也有很明确的要求，男的不能小于六寸，女的不能小于四寸，凡是裤腿尺寸不符合标准的都会被剪掉，街上男男女女都穿着开叉的裤子。

上海人的精明超出了想象，很多正在单位上班的人，都利用电话相互转告，提前把裤腿顺着逢线自行拆掉。

后来才知道，原来是毛泽东在北京已经失势，跑到上海来“发动群众闹革命”，之后还发表了“我的一张大字报”。

红卫兵们誓死“砸烂一个旧世界，创造一个新世界”，最后他老人家都受不了，不得不踩刹车地说“古为今用，洋为中用”。

满街砸碎的菩萨观音，燃烧的钢琴、唱片，活像一出“世界大战争”的场面。

爷爷的表情非常沉重，我感觉在他眼睛里看到了“世界的末日”，没想到最后成了“他的末日”。

“文化大革命”开始了，日子是越来越不好过，回到父母内地家中？他们是知识分子“臭老九”，还不如呆在上海。

这时候的爷爷也开始有活儿干了，他每天刻意的打扮像“老克勒”(上海话也叫“老狄克”)，扫大街的时候还哼着小曲儿。

我上学放学都要经过他，还记得他穿一身浅色的西装，还有那双镶有鳄鱼皮的三色尖头皮鞋。

下午的活就是写革命标语，里弄里不要红卫兵，偏要这个资本家，我就负责书写前的折叠和裁剪。

那时候粮店和煤店已经开始,停止向“黑五类”家庭送货，我那时候很小，居然学会用快木板和四个轴承做了一个拖板车运重物。

后来连用蜂窝煤(上海人叫”煤饼”)的资格都没有了，买煤炭回来砸成碎渣，再用黄色泥浆捏在一起做成煤球。

不到十岁的我手太小又没力气，做出来的煤球不经烧，上海的冬天又潮又冷，搞得手又红又肿长满了冻疮。……

那时候认为受苦是应该的，当年爷爷就是这样“剥削别人”的。

但小小年纪的我最受不了的是，除了附近的邻居以外，当我拉着米和煤走在路上，那些陌生人的冷眼和羞辱的语言。

那时候全国流行的一句话：“爹亲娘亲，没有毛主席亲”，我一直不肯定，是因为下面的两件事(令我不断思考)。

我家有个邻居也是资产阶级，我看到她郊游的时候带了大本的塑料“红宝书”(毛主席语录)，下雨后放在石头上一屁股坐在上面。

爷爷也指着毛主席的像说过“我是好人，他是坏人”，因为他们这些“反动言行”，我经常晚上无法入睡。

除了各地都有的武斗以外，上海“抄家”可能算是另一特色，今天的年轻人很难想象。

“抄家，就是有一批人到你家翻箱倒柜，把任何值钱的东西都拿走，无视国家的宪法：“私有财产神圣不可侵犯”。

有一批北京的高干子弟，叫什么“联合行动“简称“联动”，来上海随意抄任何名人的家，听说用皮带的铁扣打人也是他们发明的。

我们的小区垃圾桶在正中间，那时候会经常看到首饰盒和麻将盒，有的把金银财宝转移，有的则是扔到垃圾桶里。

十二号别墅是开染料厂的，住了一个老人和一个保姆。抄家的红卫兵发现这个叫菊花的保姆为东家匿藏金银财宝，命令她站在凳子上，把她打得哭天喊地，打她的竹竿都爆裂开来。

我们家也被抄了整整三天，红卫兵们来了都很客气，可能是不熟悉这位早就被解雇的“老板”，或许听说爷爷以前对员工很好。

但是红卫兵很利索地找到了爷爷藏的金银财宝，在晾衣服的竹竿里和晚上封炉子的煤灰里，原来这是当时最流行的匿藏地方。

婆婆也很快地交出了所有藏的首饰，红卫兵采取了有效的逼供法说: ”老头子都交代了，难道你为他坐牢，他可在外面找别的女人”。

抄家前我也被分派了一个任务，藏一颗火油钻石。我把它绕在剩余的毛线团里，每当红卫兵把毛线抽屉翻过来倒一地，我就去把毛线捡起来放好。

这成了我们家唯一幸存的财宝，后来通过乡下友人贱卖，让全家人又“发了一次财”，去苏州杭州旅游吃好的玩好的。

最后那一天的晚上记得他们围着一个大圆桌，用一把“金钱秤”称重量，清点着金银首饰，清单里列明了数量和重量，像是要上缴国库。

上海后来的抄家算是正规，由单位的职工红卫兵来完成，而不是早期的学生红卫兵。周恩来政府工作报告说，上海抄家物资不足以建一个飞机场，“抢了东西还嫌少”？

后来退还抄家物质，但必须变卖给国家，所规定价格是一个笑话。

我算是见证资本家“残酷”的第一证人。可以大胆地说，起码不是每一个人都那样。

爷爷素来对每个人都很好，素不相识的人和认识的人都如此。那时候上海有很多安徽来的逃荒难民，爷爷都会把家里剩下吃的用的给他们。

还有家门口有一个小皮匠，他长得一张娃娃脸，因生了很多小孩导致家里十分贫困，爷爷会叫我把家里小东西给他。

别说对人就连对动物爷爷从来都是这样，那时候上海人没有娱乐，喜欢玩斗蟋蟀(上海人叫“螊绩”)，他告诉我这个游戏太残酷。

那年头没人与爷爷交朋友，谁接近他都涉嫌政治立场，他居然交了几个野猫为朋友，晚上会带牠们来家里吃一些残汤剩饭。

现在我一把年龄，想到那几只野猫在黑暗中绿油油的眼睛，仍然十分害怕。

文革结束后，我与叔叔去浙江乡下看望以前家里的佣人。去那里要坐长途公共汽车，到了县城汽车站后，还有大半个小时路程需骑自行车。

叔叔见到了与他一起长大的“水牛”，当年水牛还是一个小孩，他的爸爸负责带着几个帮工，打理黄氏一家大小吃喝拉撒。

水牛在村口带我们回到他家里，我终于有机会见到最直接被剥削的人。

水牛的爸爸问叔叔说，“少爷最近怎么样？” 叔叔回答，他早已经去世了。他当场就从灶台倒在地上，痛苦地喊道：“他是好人啊！” 接下来他讲了很多爷爷的故事。

这是一个被剥削的人对剥削他的人的“总结”，我既不敢相信自己的眼睛，也不敢相信自己的耳朵。

文革时期上海流行一种“鸡血法”，就是把小公鸡血抽出来打到人体里面。

邻居们都纷纷开始养鸡，他们的厨房太挤地方不够，鸡笼子都搬到我们家的厨房里来。

我问婆婆为什么我们不可以打鸡血，她回答我们没有医务所。是的，我们全家是没有任何医疗。

爷爷因为长期高血压得不到治疗，中风后半身瘫痪，肚子饿了就拍打自己的大腿，喊叫：“三分洋厘只大饼”。

我父母不断来信催促，要我尽快离开上海回到内地，爸爸被铺天盖地的大字报搞得实在吃不消。

他的罪名是“将儿子放在资产阶级的家庭里培养剥削阶级的狗崽子”。

等了好几个月，终于有人答应，带我坐火车回四川。当时火车会经过西安停一晚，我这样的年龄不可能一个人上路。

爷爷的病情不见好转，他仍然一瘸一拐地把身子移到弄堂口送我，爷孙两人都知道这是“最后一面” ……

回到内地后不久的一天，我放学回到家里吃午饭，桌子上放了一张简短的电报，全家人一言不发。

我看着爸爸，心里这样说：你哭我就哭(我的眼泪早就准备好了)。爸爸居然“没有哭”。

绝不是！他只是眼泪朝心里流(那时候的人居然有这样的本事)。对不起了，我只能做到没有声音。

我决定放上一张爷爷的照片，相信天堂没有隐私。

爷爷，无论你是资本家也好，是干部也好，我都怀念你！

Are Capitalists Considered “Cadres”?

Author: Huang Weike
Editor: Hu Lili Proofreader: Xiong Bian Translator: Ge Bing

Abstract: This is a true story. The author’s grandfather, a self-made businessman in old Shanghai, was labeled a “capitalist” after the founding of the People’s Republic of China. He suffered persecution, had his home ransacked, and faced social discrimination during the public-private partnership campaign and the Cultural Revolution. The author’s own fate was also affected as a result.

“Are capitalists considered ‘cadres’?” This was a question that plagued me throughout my childhood, and to this day, I still have no answer.

I was the only male grandson in my family’s generation, meaning I was the one who could carry on the family name. But my grandfather didn’t like me. I heard that the year I was born, he was dismissed from his position due to the “public-private partnership” campaign.

I believe he felt he’d been deceived after liberation. After the business he’d built from scratch was taken over by the government through public-private partnership, the new owners learned the ropes of running it and eventually pushed him out—despite his relatively high salary.

Because this happened around the same time I was born, I became a “harbinger of bad luck”—what Shanghainese call “bringing bad luck.”

Back then, everyone had to fill out countless forms, and every form had a section for “family background.” Every time this came up, there would be a heated argument at home. My uncles argued that my grandfather should be classified as a “cadre,” since he not only invested in the business but also managed it.

But in reality, he should have been listed as a “capitalist” or “bourgeoisie”—terms that sounded as taboo back then as “AIDS” or “rapist,” and often there wasn’t even enough space to write them out. We were limited to two-character categories: “worker,” “peasant,” “clerk”… .

Because of the “immoral deeds” he committed alone, the generations that followed had to suffer. I had no share in the “glory and wealth” of those days, yet it fell to me to bear the stigma.

Having grandfather and grandson under one roof should have been a good thing, but he disliked me, and I disliked him—and so we remained at an impasse every day.

It turned out there were other reasons why Grandfather was so gloomy all the time; as time went on, I learned more and more.

It wasn’t until 1950 that the sounds of gunfire from the siege of Shanghai reached us, but he had already bought a ticket to Singapore. When his mother heard he was going abroad, she swore she would throw herself against the wall and die right in front of him.

My great-grandmother had taken him in from an orphanage and raised him to adulthood. He had amassed a “small fortune” through hard work or luck—how could he possibly abandon his family and friends? Compounded by the government’s all-out propaganda campaign promoting “the merits of exploitation,” Grandpa decided to stay on the mainland to continue fulfilling his filial duty.

The nightmare went far beyond “exploitation”; he soon discovered his “sins” were far more grave. It turned out that even among Shanghai’s capitalists, there was a distinction between “legal” and “illegal”—and he belonged to the latter category.

In those turbulent times, to protect his family, Grandpa wanted to buy a handgun to keep at home. Back then, buying a gun required joining an organization, so he filled out a form. Because Grandma objected, the gun stayed at home for only one night.

And just like that, Grandpa found himself inexplicably enrolled in a “reactionary organization” (probably the “Three Youth Corps”), facing exile to Xinjiang. The propaganda at the time claimed “Xinjiang is a wonderful place,” where “you can eat as much as you want,” but the people of Shanghai remained skeptical.

The whole family—young and old, men and women—turned out at the train station to see him off. The children knelt on the platform, their cries filling the air. Grandfather knew what lay ahead—the odds were stacked against him—and as he waved to his family, it felt as though he were “marching bravely to his death.”

Just then, a neighborhood cadre he knew appeared and asked, “How did you end up here?” Grandpa replied, “I’m an illegal capitalist.” Because he was generally a kind man, this “official”—who frequently traveled between the two places—told him firmly, “You don’t qualify; you can’t go!”

By then, the train had already begun to move. His luggage was being tossed piece by piece onto the platform, so he had no choice but to jump off the train. Thanks to this serendipitous encounter with his “savior,” Grandpa’s story of Xinjiang never came to pass, and he later had the chance to die in Shanghai.

As mentioned earlier, Grandpa didn’t end up going to “Singapore” because of his stubborn mother, and later he didn’t go to “Xinjiang” because of a kind-hearted cadre. Although both places start with the character for “new,” had he gone to either one, the outcome would have been worlds apart.

Ever since I was a child, I’ve been curious: Grandpa was an orphan. How did he manage to amass such a fortune in Shanghai’s “International Settlement”? There must have been some “shady” dealings involved.

That’s how our generation was raised: Zhou Bapi would mimic a rooster’s crow in the dead of night, sending people out to work in the fields before dawn; Liu Wencai would use a mercury-tipped scale to shortchange tenants in his rent-collection courtyard.

No matter how much love the previous generation gave us, because of what we learned in school, we viewed them with a skeptical, even “hostile” gaze.

I remember once asking my mother-in-law, “Why don’t you ever wear gold or silver jewelry, when other women do?” She replied, “If I’d had that habit back then, I would have been crushed under the weight of all that gold and silver” (she said it with such conviction).

Was the family really that wealthy? Yes. My mother-in-law said that in their old house on Hunan Road, the landing of the staircase was large enough to set up a banquet table. Later, when their financial situation deteriorated, they moved to a smaller house on “Daxi Road” (today’s “Yan’an Road”) .

A few years ago, when I returned to Shanghai, I made a point of visiting the house where I grew up and took a photo there (see picture).

Back then, our family was in dire financial straits, and we often had to sell off some of our belongings. Even under such harsh material conditions, my grandmother still saved the best things for me, while my grandfather placed particular emphasis on my studies.

Back then, Shanghai had entrance exams for elementary school. One question featured two photos: one of the moon and the other of the sun. I heard that some children mistook the sun for an edible “flatbread.”

My grandfather even had me fill out the parent information form myself. I could not only write my parents’ names but also their workplace addresses, including the two difficult characters “師範” (China still used traditional Chinese characters at the time).

I gradually realized that Grandpa was a good man. The cultural foundation he laid for me—which, looking back today, feels as solid as “reinforced concrete”—brought me many honors, even though it was only during my early elementary school years.

Back then, I wondered to myself: Why did Grandpa used to “exploit” others?

Grandpa never spoke a word about his “exploitative” past.

Driven by my curiosity, and with so many family members, I pieced together Grandpa’s “rise to wealth” story.

I sensed that there was almost no element of “exploitation,” or very little. If there was any, he exploited Americans more than he did Chinese people.

Before arriving in Shanghai, Grandpa had lived in an orphanage run by a Buddhist temple. He was fortunate enough to be adopted by the Huang family and brought to Shanghai, but he had no money and absolutely no business connections.

His first job was at a trading company run by Americans, which required him to learn English to communicate with his superiors. To support his mother, he began parroting English phrases.

Grandfather did, however, possess one truly unique talent: he had exquisite calligraphy skills, his brushwork as flawless as the calligraphy manuals sold in bookstores—a skill he likely honed during his time at the monastery.

Later, he developed a passion for Peking Opera; not only could he sing, but he could also play the erhu.

Once he had saved a little money, he would host “private performances” during festivals, inviting a group of Peking Opera stars and amateur enthusiasts to his home. As the host, he would perform both singing and playing the erhu, which set him apart from other businessmen in Shanghai.

Back then, he ran a warehouse that stored not only small daily necessities but also surplus goods shipped from the United States. Savvy merchants were reluctant to sail empty ships to Shanghai to restock, so they often shipped items with no immediate buyers.

The goods in the warehouse were often loose or damaged, and a certain percentage of loss was allowed. My family told me that whatever was in the warehouse was what we had at home; we never had to worry about food or daily necessities,

because warehouse rent increased over time. American merchants would often abandon their inventory to offset their overdue rent—once it was a warehouse full of cotton, another time a warehouse full of coal.

My grandfather thus engaged in “business without capital” and “struck it rich” in this way.

Someone of my grandfather’s “social background” was inevitably a “participant” in every political campaign. The events that affected him most were the People’s Commune movement and the Cultural Revolution.

The “People’s Commune” movement spread from the countryside to the cities, while the “Cultural Revolution” moved from the cities to the countryside.

During the People’s Commune movement in Shanghai at that time, they needed a lot of property to set up schools, and they always tried to “talk and persuade” my grandfather. I’ve always wondered how they managed to get him to willingly sign the papers and “donate” part of his property.

“Exploitation” is a crime in itself, one that should be punished by imprisonment. Now, instead of sending you to prison, they simply ask you to give up a portion of your ill-gotten gains—which means that tomorrow, ten strangers will move into your home.

I still remember living on the second floor; the original living room and dining room had disappeared, and even the balcony was used as a living space. The greatest luxury was that our family had a private kitchen downstairs, while other families had to share one among five or six households.

Back then, housing was extremely scarce in Shanghai. Our family’s garage was converted into a two-story unit, with one family living upstairs and another downstairs—even the boiler room was occupied by a family.

As a child, I lived on the second-floor balcony. Whenever I played the violin and kept time, the “working-class” neighbors on the balcony below would shout and yell.

Later, when Shanghai implemented its housing policies, the property was technically returned to its original owners, but not a single penny in rent was paid. Because the housing management office required the owners to cover all the repair costs accumulated over the years, the owners actually ended up “owing money.”

There was a peculiar phenomenon back then: the stairwells, hallways, kitchens, and bathrooms were very dim, yet there were many light switches and pull cords. When I was a child, my greatest fear was accidentally turning on someone else’s light.

The neighbors back then were one kinder than the next, but also one poorer than the next; being “petty and nitpicky” was simply a matter of necessity.

China’s largest political movement of the last century—the “Cultural Revolution,” a decade-long catastrophe—finally began. It was a summer in 1966; it felt like the sky had suddenly darkened. The streets of Shanghai were filled with Red Guards dressed in military uniforms, though without rank insignia or cap badges.

The elderly and children who usually sat outside to cool off all sensed that something ominous was in the air that day—that something major was about to happen.

Chanting the slogan “Destroy the Four Olds, Establish the Four News,” the Red Guards urged everyone to bring out anything associated with feudal superstition or Western culture. People on the streets were busy smashing statues of deities and pianos.

My family brought out all our statues of Bodhisattvas and Guanyin; even our red, green, and yellow “Long Live the Leader” rice bowls and plates were not spared. We had to carry them to the middle of the street and smash them to pieces. To this day, I still remember that piercing sound.

Men and women on the streets were in a panic, unsure which of their belongings constituted the “Four Olds”; the Red Guards had become the de facto judges.

People wearing gold-rimmed glasses were stopped by the Red Guards; their glasses were forcibly removed and stomped to pieces. Many begged to keep the “innocent” lenses, so that those with severe myopia could still hold two pieces of glass on their way home.

There were also strict requirements for the length of men’s and women’s pant legs: men’s must be no shorter than six inches, and women’s no shorter than four inches. Any pant legs that didn’t meet these standards were cut off, leaving men and women on the streets wearing split-legged pants.

The resourcefulness of the people of Shanghai was beyond imagination. Many who were at work at the time used the telephone to alert one another, allowing them to unpick the seams of their pant legs in advance.

I later learned that Mao Zedong had already lost power in Beijing and had come to Shanghai to “mobilize the masses for revolution.” He later published “My Big-Character Poster.”

The Red Guards vowed to “smash the old world to pieces and create a new one.” In the end, even the old man couldn’t take it anymore and was forced to hit the brakes, declaring, “Use the past for the present; use foreign things for China.”

The streets were littered with smashed statues of Guanyin and burning pianos and records—it looked just like a scene from “World War II.”

Grandpa’s expression was very somber; I felt I saw “the end of the world” in his eyes. Little did I know that in the end, it would become “his own end.”

The “Cultural Revolution” had begun, and life grew increasingly difficult. Should we return to our parents’ home in the mainland? They were intellectuals, the “stinking ninth category”—it was better to stay in Shanghai.

Around this time, Grandpa also found work. Every day, he would deliberately dress like a “Old-School Gentleman” (known in Shanghainese as “Lao Dik”), humming tunes as he swept the streets.

I passed him every day on my way to and from school. I still remember him in his light-colored suit and those three-tone pointed-toe leather shoes trimmed with crocodile skin.

My afternoon job was writing revolutionary slogans. The alley residents didn’t want the Red Guards, but they insisted on this capitalist—so I was in charge of folding and cutting the paper before writing.

By then, the grain and coal shops had already stopped delivering to “Five Black Categories” families. I was very young, but I actually figured out how to make a handcart out of a wooden plank and four bearings to haul heavy loads.

Later, we lost even the right to use honeycomb coal (which Shanghainese call “coal cakes”). We’d buy coal, crush it into fragments, and then mold it into coal balls using yellow mud.

I was not yet ten—my hands were too small and weak—so the coal balls I made didn’t burn long. Shanghai winters are damp and cold, and my hands became red and swollen, covered in frostbite.……

Back then, I believed suffering was inevitable; after all, that was how my grandfather had “exploited others” in his day.

But what I found most unbearable as a young child—aside from the neighbors—were the cold stares and humiliating remarks from strangers whenever I walked down the street carrying rice and coal.

There was a popular saying across the country at the time: “Father is dear, mother is dear, but none as dear as Chairman Mao.” I’ve never been entirely convinced by it, largely because of the following two incidents (which have kept me thinking).

One of our neighbors was also a member of the bourgeoisie. I saw her take a large plastic-bound “Little Red Book” (Quotations from Chairman Mao) on a picnic; after it rained, she placed it on a rock and sat right on top of it.

Grandpa also pointed at a portrait of Chairman Mao and said, “I’m a good person; he’s a bad person.” Because of these “reactionary words and deeds,” I often couldn’t sleep at night.

Apart from the violent clashes that occurred everywhere, “home raids” in Shanghai might be considered another distinctive feature—something today’s young people would find hard to imagine.

“Home raids” meant a group of people would come to your house, ransack your belongings, and take away anything of value, completely disregarding the national constitution’s principle that “private property is sacred and inviolable.”

A group of children of high-ranking officials from Beijing, known as the “Joint Action” (shortened to “Lian Dong”), came to Shanghai to raid the homes of any prominent figures at will. I heard that beating people with the metal buckles of belts was also their invention.

The trash bins in our neighborhood were right in the middle, and back then, we would often see jewelry boxes and mahjong sets there—some people had moved their gold and silver treasures to safety, while others had simply thrown them into the trash.

Villa No. 12 belonged to the owner of a dye factory and was occupied by an elderly man and a housekeeper. The Red Guards raiding the home discovered that the housekeeper, named Ju Hua, was hiding gold and silver treasures for her employer. They ordered her to stand on a stool and beat her until she was screaming in agony; the bamboo stick they used to beat her even split open.

Our home was ransacked for three full days. The Red Guards were quite polite when they arrived—perhaps because they weren’t familiar with this “boss” who had long since been fired, or maybe they’d heard that Grandpa had once treated his employees well.

But the Red Guards quickly found the gold and silver treasures Grandpa had hidden—inside the bamboo poles used for hanging laundry and in the coal ash from the stove at night. It turned out these were the most popular hiding spots back then.

My grandmother-in-law quickly handed over all the jewelry she had hidden. The Red Guards employed an effective method of coercion, saying, “The old man has already confessed. Are you going to go to prison for him? He’ll just find other women out there.”

Before the raid, I was also assigned a task: to hide a “fire oil diamond.” I wrapped it around a leftover ball of yarn. Whenever the Red Guards turned the yarn drawer upside down and scattered it all over the floor, I would go pick up the yarn and put it back in place.

This became the only treasure our family managed to save. Later, we sold it at a bargain price through a friend in the countryside, which allowed the whole family to “strike it rich” once more—enough to travel to Suzhou and Hangzhou, where we ate well and enjoyed ourselves.

I remember that final evening: they gathered around a large round table, using a “money scale” to weigh and tally the gold and silver jewelry. The inventory listed the quantities and weights, as if they were being turned over to the state treasury.

The subsequent house raids in Shanghai were conducted in a more “official” manner, carried out by Red Guards from the work units rather than the student Red Guards of the early days. Zhou Enlai’s government work report stated that the goods seized in Shanghai were not enough to build an airport—so “they looted things and still thought it wasn’t enough”?

Later, the confiscated goods were returned, but they had to be sold to the state at prices that were a joke.

I suppose I was the first witness to the “cruelty” of the capitalists. I can say with confidence that at least not everyone was like that.

Grandpa had always been kind to everyone, whether they were strangers or acquaintances. Back then, there were many refugees from Anhui fleeing famine in Shanghai, and Grandpa would give them whatever food and supplies were left in our home.

There was also a young cobbler near our doorstep. He had a baby face, and his family was extremely poor because he had so many children. Grandfather would tell me to give him small items from our home.

Not only with people, but even with animals, Grandfather was always like this. Back then, people in Shanghai had no entertainment and enjoyed fighting crickets (Shanghainese call them “miji”). He told me this game was too cruel.

In those days, no one would befriend my grandfather; anyone who approached him was suspected of having the wrong political stance. Yet he actually befriended a few stray cats, bringing them home at night to eat our leftovers.

Now that I’m getting on in years, I still feel a deep sense of fear when I think of those stray cats’ glowing green eyes in the darkness.

After the Cultural Revolution ended, my uncle and I went to the countryside in Zhejiang to visit our family’s former servants. To get there, we had to take a long-distance bus; after arriving at the county bus station, we still had to ride a bicycle for over half an hour.

My uncle met “Water Buffalo,” who had grown up with him. Back then, Water Buffalo was just a child; his father was in charge of leading several laborers who took care of the Huang family’s every need.

Water Buffalo led us back to his home from the village entrance, and I finally had the chance to meet someone who had been directly exploited.

Shuiniu’s father asked my uncle, “How has the young master been lately?” My uncle replied that he had passed away long ago. On the spot, the man collapsed to the floor from the stove, crying out in anguish, “He was a good man!” After that, he told many stories about my grandfather.

This was an “assessment” of his exploiter by the exploited—I could hardly believe my eyes or my ears.

During the Cultural Revolution, a “chicken blood therapy” became popular in Shanghai, which involved drawing blood from young roosters and injecting it into people.

Neighbors began raising chickens one after another. Their kitchens were too cramped, so they moved the chicken coops into our kitchen.

I asked my mother-in-law why we couldn’t get the chicken blood injections, and she replied that we had no clinic. Yes, our entire family had no access to medical care whatsoever.

Grandfather, suffering from long-term untreated hypertension, was left paralyzed on one side after a stroke. When he was hungry, he would slap his thigh and cry out, “Three fen for a flatbread!”

My parents kept writing letters urging me to leave Shanghai and return to the mainland as soon as possible; my father simply couldn’t bear the overwhelming barrage of big-character posters.

His charge was “raising his son in a bourgeois family to nurture a scum of the exploiting class.”

After waiting for several months, someone finally agreed to take me by train back to Sichuan. At the time, the train would stop overnight in Xi’an, and a child of my age couldn’t possibly travel alone.

Grandpa’s condition showed no signs of improvement, yet he still hobbled his way to the entrance of the alley to see me off. Both grandfather and grandson knew this would be our “last farewell”…

One day shortly after returning to the mainland, I came home from school for lunch to find a brief telegram on the table. The whole family sat in silence.

I looked at my father and thought to myself: If you cry, I’ll cry too (my tears were already ready). To my surprise, my father “didn’t cry.”

Not at all! He was simply letting his tears flow inward (people back then actually had that ability). I’m sorry, but I could only manage to remain silent.

I’ve decided to post a photo of Grandpa here, believing that there is no privacy in heaven.

Grandpa, whether you were a capitalist or a cadre, I miss you!

作者：赵文龙

编辑：周志刚 校对：熊辩 翻译：戈冰

2026年3月10日，洛杉矶刑事司法中心（Clara Shortridge Foltz Criminal Justice Center）门前，一群身着素色、神情坚毅的人士集结于此。他们不是为了旁听普通的刑事案件，而是为了在这片自由的土地上，向中共渗透势力的代理人发起法治的反击。

这起针对中共领事馆雇佣的安保负责人吴宪的听证会，绝非简单的肢体冲突诉讼，它是一场关于“长臂管辖”与“跨国镇压”的正面遭遇战：当中共试图将其在国内横行霸道的暴力手段移植到美利坚合众国的街头时，正义的防线将如何反击？

暴力的代理人：中共“跨国镇压”的新面具

长期以来，中共土匪组织在海外的迫害手段不断翻新。从早期的秘密特工监视，到利用网络水军抹黑，再到如今公然雇佣本地安保力量对和平示威者进行人身伤害。

在此次案件中，吴宪被指控对和平游行的中国民主党员喷射胡椒喷雾并进行人格辱骂。这种行为绝非偶然。胡椒喷雾喷射出的不仅仅是刺激性液体，更是极权主义的傲慢。其逻辑是：只要受命于中共，就可以无视当地法律，可以在文明社会公然动武，试图以此吓阻那些敢于说出真相的人。这种通过代理人执行的暴力，是中共“跨国镇压”（Transnational Repression）链条上的关键环节，旨在将恐惧输出到全世界。

法律的屏障：美国宪法第一修正案不容侵犯

美国之所以成为民主的堡垒，其核心在于对言论自由与和平示威权利的极致尊重。宪法第一修正案（First Amendment）明确规定，政府不得剥夺人民和平集会及向政府请愿的权利。

正如在法院门前抗议的中国民主党员所展示的那样，他们是在行使美国宪法赋予的合法权利。而受雇于中领馆的安保负责人动用武力，本质上是在向美国的司法主权发起挑战。如果在洛杉矶的街头，和平示威的公民可以被中共的代理人随意凌辱而无需付出代价，那么美国的民主将名存实亡。

3月10日上午的听证会，不仅是受害者维护个人合法权利的契机，更是美国司法体系证明其独立性与公正性的关键时刻。支持这起诉讼，就是支持每个人在这片土地上都可以不用担心暴力报复而自由发声的底线。

觉醒的抗争：从沉默到拿起法律武器

这张照片记录了历史性的一幕：站在法院前的民主党员们，手中举着“这里不欢迎来自中国的政治暴力”（Political Violence From China Is Not Welcome Here）和“停止中共跨国镇压”（Stop CCP Transnational Repression）的标语。

这代表了海外民主力量的一种觉醒。面对中共的海外迫害，我们不再仅仅是控诉和忍受，而是学会了利用自由社会的司法工具，将躲在暗处的施暴者拉向审判台。这种从街头抗议到法庭起诉的转变，是成熟的民主参与方式，也是对极权组织最有效的回击。

中共习惯于用金钱收买代理人，用暴力威慑反对者，但它最害怕的，是法治的阳光照亮其阴暗的勾当。当吴宪这种代理人不得不面对美国的法律制裁时，他背后的中共组织也将感到前所未有的压力——在这里，权力无法凌驾于法律之上。

结语：正义终将回归自由的土地

中共的海外渗透正如其在国内的统治一样，充斥着流氓习气与黑箱操作。但这里是洛杉矶，不是北京；这里有独立的法院，没有听命于党的判官。

我们强烈呼吁美国司法机关对此类涉嫌跨国镇压的暴力行为予以严惩。每一支射向示威者的胡椒喷雾，都必须换回一张法律的传票。同时，我们也向所有在恐吓面前挺身而出的中国民主党员致敬。你们在法院门前的集结，不仅是在为受害者求索正义，更是在为所有热爱自由的人们守卫那条神圣不可侵犯的红线。

自由不会自行延续，它需要每一位公民在面对暴政渗透时，都能勇敢地站出来说：NO！

Rejecting Transnational Tyranny: Defending the Boundaries of Freedom Through a Lawsuit in a Los Angeles Court

Author: Zhao Wenlong

Editor: Zhou Zhigang Proofreader: Xiong Bian Translator: Ge Bing

Abstract: On March 10, 2026, a hearing began regarding Wu Xian, the head of security employed by the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) consulate. The author calls on U.S. judicial authorities to severely punish the CCP’s violent suppression and put an end to its transnational repression.

On March 10, 2026, a group of people dressed in plain clothes and with determined expressions gathered in front of the Clara Shortridge Foltz Criminal Justice Center in Los Angeles. They were not there to observe an ordinary criminal case, but to launch a legal counterattack against agents of the CCP’s infiltrating forces on this land of freedom.

This hearing against Wu Xian, the security chief hired by the Chinese Consulate, is by no means a simple lawsuit over a physical altercation; it is a head-on clash concerning “long-arm jurisdiction” and “transnational suppression”: When the CCP attempts to transplant the violent methods it uses to run rampant domestically onto the streets of the United States, how will the front lines of justice fight back?

Agents of Violence: The CCP’s New Mask of “Transnational Suppression”

For a long time, the CCP’s thuggish organization has continually reinvented its methods of persecution overseas. From early-stage surveillance by secret agents, to smear campaigns using online trolls, to the current practice of openly hiring local security forces to inflict physical harm on peaceful protesters.

In this case, Wu Xian is accused of spraying pepper spray at peaceful Chinese Democratic Party members and verbally abusing them. Such behavior is by no means accidental. The pepper spray released is not merely an irritating liquid; it is the arrogance of totalitarianism. The logic is this: as long as one acts on the orders of the CCP, one can disregard local laws and openly use force in a civilized society, attempting to intimidate those who dare to speak the truth. This violence carried out through proxies is a crucial link in the CCP’s chain of “transnational repression,” aimed at exporting fear across the globe.

The Shield of the Law: The First Amendment of the U.S. Constitution Is Inviolable

The core of what makes the United States a bastion of democracy lies in its utmost respect for freedom of speech and the right to peaceful assembly. The First Amendment explicitly states that the government shall not deprive the people of their right to assemble peacefully and petition the government.

As demonstrated by the Chinese Democratic Party members protesting outside the courthouse, they were exercising the legitimate rights granted to them by the U.S. Constitution. The use of force by the security chief employed by the Chinese Consulate is, in essence, a challenge to U.S. judicial sovereignty. If citizens peacefully demonstrating on the streets of Los Angeles can be arbitrarily abused by agents of the CCP without consequence, then American democracy will exist in name only.

The hearing on the morning of March 10 is not only an opportunity for the victims to defend their individual legal rights, but also a critical moment for the U.S. judicial system to demonstrate its independence and impartiality. Supporting this lawsuit means upholding the fundamental principle that everyone on this land can speak freely without fear of violent retaliation.

An Awakened Struggle: From Silence to Wielding the Weapons of the Law

This photograph captures a historic moment: Democratic Party members standing in front of the courthouse, holding signs reading “Political Violence From China Is Not Welcome Here” and “Stop CCP Transnational Repression.”

This represents an awakening among democratic forces overseas. Faced with the CCP’s persecution abroad, we no longer merely denounce and endure; instead, we have learned to utilize the legal tools of free societies to bring the perpetrators hiding in the shadows to justice. This shift from street protests to court proceedings is a mature form of democratic participation and the most effective response to totalitarian organizations.

The CCP is accustomed to buying off proxies with money and intimidating opponents with violence, but what it fears most is the light of the rule of law shining on its shadowy dealings. When proxies like Wu Xian are forced to face legal sanctions in the United States, the CCP organization behind him will also feel unprecedented pressure—here, power cannot stand above the law.

Conclusion: Justice Will Ultimately Return to the Land of Freedom

The CCP’s overseas infiltration, much like its domestic rule, is rife with thuggish behavior and secretive dealings. But this is Los Angeles, not Beijing; here, there are independent courts, not judges who take orders from the Party.

We strongly urge the U.S. judicial authorities to severely punish such acts of violence suspected of transnational suppression. Every can of pepper spray fired at protesters must be met with a legal summons. At the same time, we pay tribute to all Chinese democrats who have stood up in the face of intimidation. Your gathering before the courthouse is not only a quest for justice for the victims, but also a defense of that sacred and inviolable red line for all who cherish freedom.

Freedom does not perpetuate itself; it requires every citizen to bravely stand up and say “NO!” in the face of tyranny’s encroachment.

作者：赵文龙

编辑：周志刚 校对：熊辩 翻译：戈冰

2026年2月15日，在南加州明媚却透着寒意的阳光下，一群中国民主党成员集结在洛杉矶中共领事馆前。他们手中举着的，是那位年近八旬、满头白发的守望者——黎智英的照片。这不仅仅是一场跨越太平洋的声援，更是一场关于自由意志与极权压迫的文明对垒。

作为一名长期关注中国政治与中国人权状况的中国民主党员，我必须指出：黎智英案不仅是香港法治的“葬礼”，更是中共这个独裁组织在面对现代文明价值时，因极度恐惧而陷入的末路狂奔。

欲加之罪：当新闻自由变成“危害安全”

黎智英，一位白手起家的企业家，本可以在晚年含饴弄孙、颐养天年。但他选择了留守。他创办的《苹果日报》曾是香港自由精神的灯塔，而今却成了中共口中的“反华基地”。中共以所谓的《香港国安法》对其进行政治审判，指控其“勾结外国势力”。

这何其荒谬！在一个健康的社会里，媒体监督政府、与国际社会交流是再正常不过的民主运作；但在中共的语境下，任何不愿下跪、不愿合唱的独立声音，都被冠以“卖国”之名。黎智英受审，审判的不是某一个人的罪行，而是审判香港曾经拥有的新闻自由、言论自由和司法独立。

独裁者的恐惧：为什么他们如此害怕一个老人？

中共土匪组织之所以不顾国际社会的严厉制裁，执意对黎智英进行政治迫害，根源在于其内心深处对“真话”的极度恐惧。

黎智英代表的是一种不屈的道德力量。他曾直言：“我是一个有信仰的人，我不能违背我的良知。”对于一个依靠谎言维持统治、依靠恐惧驯服人民的政权来说，这种基于信仰和良知的坚定，是比任何武器都令其颤栗的威胁。中共判刑黎智英，是试图通过“杀鸡儆猴”向全世界宣告：在它的权力辐射范围内，绝不允许存在不受掌控的灵魂。

然而，这种高压统治恰恰暴露了中共政权的脆弱。一个强大的国家不需要监狱来禁锢思想，只有内心虚弱、合法性缺失的独裁者，才需要通过摧毁一个垂暮之年的老人来维持其所谓的“稳定”。

全球联动：正义的力量在洛杉矶集结

今年2月15日的这场抗议，其意义远超行动本身。当中国民主党的同仁在洛杉矶中领馆门前喊出“港人无罪、中共放人”的口号时，他们实际上是在修补那条被中共试图切断的自由阵线。

长期以来，中共试图将香港问题简化为“内政”，试图用民族主义的叙事来掩盖其反人类、反自由的本质。但洛杉矶的抗争者们用行动告诉世界：追求自由是人类的共性，无论是在维多利亚港还是在圣塔莫尼卡海滩，反对暴政、要求法治的声音是跨越国界的。黎智英不仅是香港的黎智英，他是全球民主阵营中一面不倒的旗帜。

结语：历史终将判决独裁者有罪

我们中国民主党在此强烈要求中共政权：立即、无条件释放黎智英！停止对香港民主派人士、维权律师及所有良心犯的政治迫害。

独裁者或许可以查封报纸，可以封锁网络，甚至可以把义士投入深牢大狱，但他们永远无法囚禁人心对光明和自由的渴望。历史的审判台早已搭建完毕，正如黎智英在狱中所展现的坚韧，真正有罪的绝不是追求自由的人，而是那些躲在铁幕后，妄图逆转历史车轮的独裁爪牙。

黎智英先生，请保重。世界各地的同仁正与你一同守候黎明。中共的暴政终将崩塌，而自由的精神将如洛杉矶的阳光一般，终会照彻神州大地。

Integrity Under Shackles: The Jimmy Lai Case and the CCP’s Desperate Rush Toward Ruin, as Seen Through the Los Angeles Protests

Author: Zhao Wenlong

Editor: Zhou Zhigang Proofreader: Xiong Bian Translator: Ge Bing

Abstract: On February 15, 2026, members of the China Democracy Party gathered in front of the Chinese Consulate in Los Angeles to show solidarity with Jimmy Lai. This article analyzes why the CCP fears Jimmy Lai.

On February 15, 2026, under the bright yet chilly Southern California sun, a group of members of the China Democracy Party gathered in front of the Chinese Communist Party Consulate in Los Angeles. In their hands, they held photographs of Jimmy Lai—the nearly 80-year-old, white-haired guardian. This was not merely a show of solidarity across the Pacific; it was a clash of civilizations between free will and totalitarian oppression.

As a member of the China Democracy Party who has long followed Chinese politics and the human rights situation in China, I must point out: The Jimmy Lai case is not only the “funeral” of the rule of law in Hong Kong, but also the desperate, frantic rush of the CCP—a dictatorial organization—driven by extreme fear in the face of modern civilizational values.

Fabricating Charges: When Press Freedom Becomes a “Threat to National Security”

Jimmy Lai, a self-made entrepreneur, could have spent his twilight years enjoying his grandchildren and living out his days in peace. But he chose to stay. The Apple Daily, which he founded, was once a beacon of Hong Kong’s spirit of freedom, yet today it has become what the CCP calls an “anti-China base.” The CCP is subjecting him to a political trial under the so-called Hong Kong National Security Law, accusing him of “colluding with foreign forces.”

How utterly absurd! In a healthy society, media oversight of the government and engagement with the international community are the most normal aspects of democratic functioning; but in the CCP’s narrative, any independent voice that refuses to kneel or sing in unison is branded a “traitor.” Jimmy Lai’s trial is not a judgment on the crimes of a single individual, but a judgment on the press freedom, freedom of speech, and judicial independence that Hong Kong once possessed.

The Dictator’s Fear: Why Are They So Afraid of an Old Man?

The root cause of why the CCP’s gangster organization persists in politically persecuting Jimmy Lai despite severe sanctions from the international community lies in its deep-seated, extreme fear of “the truth.”

Jimmy Lai represents an unyielding moral force. He once stated plainly: “I am a man of faith; I cannot go against my conscience.” For a regime that relies on lies to maintain its rule and on fear to subjugate its people, this steadfastness rooted in faith and conscience is a threat that makes it tremble more than any weapon. By sentencing Jimmy Lai, the CCP is attempting to send a message to the world through an act of “making an example of him”: within the reach of its power, no soul beyond its control will be tolerated.

However, this high-pressure rule precisely exposes the fragility of the CCP regime. A strong nation does not need prisons to imprison thought; only a dictator who is weak at heart and lacks legitimacy needs to destroy an elderly man in his twilight years to maintain his so-called “stability.”

Global Solidarity: The Forces of Justice Gather in Los Angeles

The significance of the protest on February 15 of this year extends far beyond the action itself. When members of the China Democracy Party chanted “Hong Kongers are innocent, CCP release them” outside the Chinese Consulate in Los Angeles, they were effectively mending the front lines of freedom that the CCP had attempted to sever.

For a long time, the CCP has sought to reduce the Hong Kong issue to a matter of “internal affairs,” attempting to use a nationalist narrative to mask its anti-human and anti-freedom nature. But the protesters in Los Angeles have shown the world through their actions: the pursuit of freedom is a universal human trait. Whether in Victoria Harbour or on Santa Monica Beach, the voices opposing tyranny and demanding the rule of law transcend national borders. Jimmy Lai is not merely Hong Kong’s Jimmy Lai; he is an unwavering banner within the global democratic camp.

Conclusion: History Will Ultimately Convict the Dictators

We, the China Democratic Party, hereby strongly demand that the CCP regime: immediately and unconditionally release Jimmy Lai! Cease the political persecution of Hong Kong’s pro-democracy activists, human rights lawyers, and all prisoners of conscience.

Dictators may be able to shut down newspapers, block the internet, and even throw righteous men into deep dungeons, but they can never imprison the human heart’s yearning for light and freedom. The historical judgment seat has long been set up. Just as Jimmy Lai has demonstrated his resilience in prison, those who are truly guilty are not those who pursue freedom, but the dictatorial henchmen hiding behind the iron curtain who foolishly attempt to turn back the wheels of history.

Mr. Jimmy Lai, please take care of yourself. Colleagues around the world stand with you, awaiting the dawn. The CCP’s tyranny will eventually crumble, and the spirit of freedom will, like the sunshine of Los Angeles, ultimately illuminate the land of China.

活动主题：抗议习近平修宪八周年

2018年3月，注定是中国近代史上极有纪念价值的一个月。习近平修改了宪法，原本轮流坐庄的政治体制瞬间的倒回到独裁体制。山河变色，历史的倒车从14亿中国人头上碾压而过，曾经的改革开放，经济挂帅，蒸蒸日上的景象顷刻间化作齑粉。集权，个人崇拜，借着反腐的名义大肆清洗，种种罪恶，罄竹难书！习近平想用高压独裁统治，在中国人头上再蓄上辫子，想在中国人心里再立起一个皇帝。我们！绝不同意！

活动组织：中国民主人权联盟旧金山分部

活动策划：李海风 惠汝涛

活动联络：张勇 6265816991

活动时间：2026年3月15日 2-4点pm

活动地点：圣何塞市政厅

导航地址：200 E Santa Clara St San Jose, CA 95113

——關注黎智英案與宏福苑大火百日

作者：關永傑
編輯：鍾然 校对：程筱筱 翻译：周敏

當地時間3月8日，作為海外多城市聯動行動的一部分，舊金山灣區中國民主人權聯盟成員及關注香港事務的民眾舉行集會，聲援流亡海外籌組的“香港議會”。本次參與聯動的城市包括倫敦、洛杉磯、舊金山、紐約及拉斯維加斯。與會者在發言中談及香港近年政治與社會環境的變化，並關注媒體人黎智英案件及宏福苑大火百日等議題。活動由李海風主持。

李聰玲在發言中表示，自2020年《香港國安法》實施以來，香港原有的政治空間與社會環境發生巨大變化，許多民主派人士被捕或被迫流亡海外。在這樣的背景下，一些流亡港人推動成立“香港議會”，希望為散居海外的香港人建立一個能夠表達意見、討論公共事務的平台，讓香港人的聲音繼續在國際社會被聽見。

楊坤在發言中談到香港近年來的社會變化。他表示，香港曾長期以開放、法治和國際化著稱，但隨著北京對香港的全面接管，社會氣氛明顯收緊，言論環境也發生了很大變化。他認為，這種轉變不僅影響香港本地居民，也讓許多長期關注香港發展的海外華人感到擔憂。

何冬玲在發言中提到香港媒體人黎智英的案件。她表示，黎智英創辦《蘋果日報》，長期支持新聞自由和民主價值，但在《國安法》實施後被控多項罪名並被重判，這一案件在國際社會引起廣泛關注。她呼籲外界繼續關注黎智英及其他香港政治案件，並聲援仍在為自由發聲的香港人。

李樹青則在發言中提到宏福苑大火百日。他表示，自己在中國大陸從事建築工程行業十多年，對相關行業黑幕較為瞭解。在他看來，這場造成重大傷亡的火災很難被簡單視為普通意外，其中可能涉及行業腐敗及監管缺失等問題。在香港整體政治環境發生變化的背景下，一些人也擔憂，過去香港制度中的透明度與社會監督機制正在被逐漸削弱。

主持人李海風在總結發言時表示，香港曾是一個以自由、法治和繁榮聞名的國際城市，但近年來這些特質正面臨嚴重衝擊。他指出，支持海外推動成立“香港議會”，不僅是為了讓流亡港人繼續參與公共事務討論，也是為了提醒國際社會持續關注香港的處境。

在隨後的自由討論環節，與會者還就香港社會變化、中國政府的統戰策略以及台灣社會對相關問題的看法進行了交流。有參與者表示，香港近年來發生的變化，對台灣社會具有一定警示意義，希望台灣民眾能夠更加警惕來自北京方面的政治影響，不要輕信中共的統戰敘事。

活動最後，現場延續此前發起的“一人一美元支持大陸良心犯”募捐行動。同時，與會者也以捐贈支持的方式聲援中國“惡俗維基案”當事人牛騰宇的母親，現場展示了她創作的部分畫作。據介紹，這些畫作目前是牛騰宇母親的重要生活來源。由於在中國境內購買相關作品可能面臨公安騷擾，因此部分畫作寄送至美國，由李海風協助保管，並通過自願捐贈的方式表達支持。

主辦方表示，希望通過持續舉辦類似活動，讓更多人關注香港與中國的人權狀況，並為相關人士提供力所能及的支持。

Bay Area Rally Supports “Hong Kong Parliament” ——Paying Attention to the Jimmy Lai Case and the 100th Day of the Wang Fuk Court Great Fire

Author: Guan Yongjie
Editor: Zhong Ran Proofreader: Cheng Xiaoxiao Translator: Zhou Min

On March 8 local time, as part of a multi-city coordinated action overseas, members of the San Francisco Bay Area China Democracy and Human Rights Alliance and citizens concerned with Hong Kong affairs held a rally to support the “Hong Kong Parliament” being organized by those in exile overseas. The cities participating in this coordination included London, Los Angeles, San Francisco, New York, and Las Vegas. In their speeches, participants spoke about the changes in Hong Kong’s political and social environment in recent years and paid attention to issues such as the case of media person Jimmy Lai and the 100th day of the Wang Fuk Court fire. The event was hosted by Li Haifeng.

Li Congling stated in her speech that since the implementation of the Hong Kong National Security Law in 2020, Hong Kong’s original political space and social environment have undergone huge changes, and many pro-democracy figures have been arrested or forced into exile overseas. Against this background, some exiled Hong Kongers are promoting the establishment of a “Hong Kong Parliament,” hoping to build a platform for Hong Kong people scattered overseas to express opinions and discuss public affairs, so that the voice of Hong Kong people continues to be heard in the international community.

Yang Kun spoke about the social changes in Hong Kong in recent years. He stated that Hong Kong was long famous for its openness, rule of law, and internationalization, but with Beijing’s comprehensive takeover of Hong Kong, the social atmosphere has tightened significantly, and the environment for speech has also undergone great changes. He believes that this transformation not only affects local Hong Kong residents but also causes many overseas Chinese who have long followed Hong Kong’s development to feel worried.

He Dongling mentioned the case of Hong Kong media person Jimmy Lai in her speech. She stated that Jimmy Lai founded Apple Daily and long supported press freedom and democratic values, but after the implementation of the National Security Law, he was charged with multiple crimes and heavily sentenced; this case has caused widespread concern in the international community. She called on the outside world to continue paying attention to Jimmy Lai and other Hong Kong political cases, and to support the Hong Kong people who are still speaking out for freedom.

Li Shuqing, in his speech, mentioned the 100th day of the Wang Fuk Court fire. He stated that he himself worked in the construction engineering industry in Mainland China for more than ten years and has a relatively good understanding of the “black curtain” (shady dealings) of the relevant industry. In his view, it is difficult to see this fire, which caused major casualties, as a simple ordinary accident; it may involve industry corruption and lack of supervision. Against the background of changes in Hong Kong’s overall political environment, some people also worry that the transparency and social supervision mechanisms in Hong Kong’s past system are being gradually weakened.

Host Li Haifeng stated in his concluding remarks that Hong Kong was once an international city famous for freedom, the rule of law, and prosperity, but in recent years these qualities have faced a serious impact. He pointed out that supporting the overseas promotion of the establishment of the “Hong Kong Parliament” is not only to allow exiled Hong Kongers to continue participating in the discussion of public affairs but also to remind the international community to maintain continuous attention on Hong Kong’s situation.

In the subsequent free discussion session, participants also exchanged views on Hong Kong’s social changes, the Chinese government’s United Front strategies, and the views of Taiwan society on related issues. Some participants stated that the changes occurring in Hong Kong in recent years have a certain warning significance for Taiwan society, hoping that the people of Taiwan can be more vigilant against political influence from Beijing and not easily believe the CCP’s United Front narrative.

At the end of the activity, the scene continued the previously launched “One Person, One Dollar to Support Mainland Prisoners of Conscience” fundraising action. At the same time, participants also expressed support through donations for the mother of Niu Tengyu, the party involved in China’s “Esu Wiki Case,” and displayed some of the paintings she created at the scene. According to the introduction, these paintings are currently an important source of livelihood for Niu Tengyu’s mother. Because purchasing relevant works within China may face police harassment, some paintings were sent to the United States, kept with the assistance of Li Haifeng, and support was expressed through voluntary donations.

The organizers stated that they hope, through continuously holding similar activities, to let more people pay attention to the human rights situation in Hong Kong and China and provide what support they can to relevant individuals.

“三八妇女节” 写给中国受压迫女性的一点纪念

作者：冯仍
编辑：黄吉洲 校对：程筱筱

又到“三八国际妇女节”。在正常国家，这本来应该是一个尊重女性、感谢女性、为女性争取平等权利的日子。但对我这样一个从中国逃出来、如今流亡在美国的中国人来说，每到这一天，我心里想到的却不是鲜花、祝福和热闹，而是那些在中国大陆和香港，因为说真话、维权、参政、纪念历史、追问真相，而遭到打压和迫害的女性。

这些女性里面，有记者，有律师，有母亲，有学者，也有普通公民。她们并没有做什么伤天害理的事，她们很多人只是想讲一句实话，讨一个公道，守住一点做人最基本的良知。可就是这样，她们却被抓捕、被判刑、被长期羁押，被羞辱，被监控，有的人甚至失去了健康，失去了家庭，失去了自由。这样一个现实，实在让人心里沉重。

我自己也是一个中国流亡者。过去在中国的时候，因为中共长期的信息封锁，因为网络高墙，因为对言论的严密控制，很多事情我们根本不知道，或者知道得很少。那时的我，也和很多中国人一样，只能活在一个被筛选过、被扭曲过的世界里。来到美国以后，我才慢慢知道，原来这些年有这么多中国女性，在黑暗中承受了那么大的代价。她们替这个民族说出了真话，也替这个民族承受了本不该由她们承受的苦难。

这些年来，公开可见的案例已经很多。像张展，因为去武汉独立报道疫情真相，被中共判刑；黄雪琴，因为长期关注女权和社会公共议题，被重判五年；李翘楚，因为持续发声，被以“煽动颠覆国家政权罪”判刑；何方美因为替疫苗受害儿童家庭维权，最后也遭到重判。还有更早一些的曹顺利、倪玉兰、高瑜等，她们的遭遇都说明一个问题：在中共治下，女人只要不甘心做沉默者，只要敢站出来说一句不一样的话，就随时可能成为被打击的对象。

香港的情况也是一样。过去很多人以为香港还有空间，还有法治，还有表达的自由，可是这几年大家都看得很清楚了。《港区国安法》实施后，很多香港女性也成了政治迫害的受害者。邹幸彤因为坚持纪念六四、坚持发声，被长期关押；何桂蓝因为参与民主初选被定罪；周庭、毛孟静等人，也都因为和平参与公共事务而付出了沉重代价。还有一些流亡海外的香港女性倡议者，连人在海外都仍然被通缉、被威胁，甚至家属都受到牵连。这样的政权，已经不是简单地打压异见，而是把一切不顺从、不配合、不沉默的人，都当成敌人。

让我感到特别沉痛的是，中共对女性的迫害，很多时候不只是一般意义上的政治打压，而是带着一种更阴冷、更残忍的特点。它不仅要剥夺你的自由，还要羞辱你、摧毁你、孤立你，让你在身体、精神、家庭、孩子这些方面都付出更大的代价。对女性来说，这种迫害常常更深，更痛，也更让人看清这个制度的邪恶。一个真正自信、真正文明的国家，不会把说真话的女人当成威胁。只有一个极度虚弱、极度恐惧的专制政权，才会连一个记者、一个母亲、一个普通维权者都害怕。

作为一个男人，作为一个丈夫，也是一个父亲，我每想到这些事情，心里都很难平静。因为我知道，女人不是一个抽象的词。女人就是我们的母亲、妻子、女儿，是家庭里最能忍耐、最有担当、也最容易默默承受痛苦的人。如果一个社会连自己的女性都保护不了，反而去压迫她们、侮辱她们、毁掉她们，那这个社会还有什么文明可言？如果一个政权口口声声讲妇女解放，讲男女平等，结果却把敢于发声的女性送进监狱，把坚持追问真相的女性当成“危害国家安全”的对象，那这套宣传就完全是一种无耻的政治表演。

今天我人在美国，离中国已经有一段距离了。但也正因为离开了那个环境，我反而更能看清，中国最值得尊敬的一批女性，往往不是那些站在宣传舞台上的人，而是那些在压力之下仍然没有放弃良知、没有放弃说真话的人。她们也许没有头衔，没有掌声，甚至没有多少人知道她们的名字，但她们的坚持本身，就是对谎言最有力的揭露。

我常常想，如果没有这些女性，中国社会会更加黑暗。因为正是她们，在最危险的时候站出来；在别人不敢说话的时候开口；在历史被掩盖的时候坚持记住；在整个社会都被恐惧压住的时候，仍然不肯完全低头。她们用自己的苦难，照出了这个制度的本相；她们用自己的代价，让世界知道中共所谓的“稳定”“和谐”“妇女解放”到底建立在什么之上！

所以，在这个所谓的“三八妇女节”，我更愿意把纪念留给这些真正受苦、真正勇敢的中国女性。她们不是节日宣传里的符号，不是口号里的点缀，也不是官方拿来装点门面的“妇女代表”。她们是中国苦难现实中的亲历者，是强权之下没有低头的人，是这个民族还没有彻底麻木的证明。

我写下这篇短文，也是想表达一个最简单的意思：今天纪念中国妇女，不能只讲鲜花和赞美，不能只讲成功和风光，更不能在中共制造的节日气氛中假装一切都很好，真正值得被纪念的，是那些因为坚持良知而被迫害的女性，是那些在监狱里、在看守所里、在监控之下、在流亡路上，仍然没有放弃尊严的人。

她们的苦难，不该被节日掩盖。她们的名字，不该被沉默吞没。她们的勇气，也不该只停留在少数人的记忆里。

愿有一天，中国的妇女节不再带着压抑和眼泪，不再有那么多女人因为说真话而坐牢，因为追求公义而受罚，因为坚持尊严而被毁掉人生。到了那一天，中国妇女才算真正迎来了属于自己的节日。

Their Suffering Must Not Be Covered by a Holiday— A Brief Tribute on International Women’s Day to Oppressed Women in China

Author: Feng Reng
Editor: Huang Jizhou       Proofreader: Cheng Xiaoxiao     Translator: Peng Xiaomei

Abstract:On the occasion of International Women’s Day, the author pays tribute to women in China and Hong Kong who have been persecuted for defending rights and speaking out. Their suffering and courage, the author argues, must not be concealed beneath the atmosphere of celebration, and their sacrifices for truth and dignity must be remembered.

International Women’s Day has come again. In a normal country, this should be a day to respect women, thank women, and fight for women’s equal rights. But for someone like me—a Chinese person who escaped from China and now lives in exile in the United States—what comes to mind on this day is not flowers, greetings, or festivity. What I think of are the women in mainland China and Hong Kong who have been repressed and persecuted for telling the truth, defending rights, participating in public affairs, commemorating history, and demanding the truth.

Among these women are journalists, lawyers, mothers, scholars, and ordinary citizens. They did not commit any monstrous crime. Many of them merely wanted to speak one honest sentence, seek one measure of justice, and hold on to the most basic conscience that a person should have. Yet for this, they were arrested, sentenced, detained for long periods, humiliated, and monitored. Some even lost their health, their families, and their freedom. Such a reality weighs heavily on the heart.

I, too, am a Chinese exile. When I was still in China, because of the Chinese Communist Party’s long-term information blockade, the Great Firewall, and its tight control over speech, there were many things we simply did not know, or only knew very little about. At that time, like many Chinese people, I could only live in a world that had been filtered and distorted. It was only after I arrived in the United States that I gradually learned how many Chinese women had endured such enormous suffering in the darkness over these years. They spoke the truth for this nation, and they bore suffering that should never have fallen upon them.

Over the years, many public cases have become visible. Zhang Zhan was sentenced by the CCP for independently reporting the truth about the pandemic in Wuhan. Huang Xueqin, who had long followed feminist issues and public affairs, was sentenced to five years. Li Qiaochu, for her continued public speech, was sentenced on charges of “inciting subversion of state power.” He Fangmei, who fought for families of children harmed by vaccines, was also heavily sentenced in the end. There are also earlier figures such as Cao Shunli, Ni Yulan, and Gao Yu. Their experiences all point to one fact: under CCP rule, as long as a woman refuses to be silent and dares to step forward and speak differently, she can at any moment become a target of repression.

The situation in Hong Kong is the same. In the past, many people believed Hong Kong still had room for freedom, still had rule of law, still had freedom of expression. But over the past few years, everyone has seen clearly what has happened. After the implementation of the Hong Kong National Security Law, many Hong Kong women also became victims of political persecution. Chow Hang-tung was imprisoned for persisting in commemorating June Fourth and continuing to speak out. Gwyneth Ho was convicted for participating in the democratic primary. Agnes Chow and Claudia Mo, among others, have also paid a heavy price for peacefully participating in public affairs. There are also Hong Kong women activists in exile overseas who remain wanted, threatened, and even see their families implicated. Such a regime is no longer merely suppressing dissent. It treats all those who do not obey, do not cooperate, and do not remain silent as enemies.

What pains me especially is that the CCP’s persecution of women is often not merely political repression in a general sense. It carries something colder and crueler. It seeks not only to deprive you of freedom, but to humiliate you, break you, and isolate you, making you pay a higher price in your body, your spirit, your family, and your children. For women, this persecution often goes deeper, hurts more, and more clearly reveals the evil of this system. A truly confident and truly civilized country would not regard women who tell the truth as threats. Only a deeply fragile and deeply fearful authoritarian regime would be afraid even of a journalist, a mother, or an ordinary rights defender.

As a man, as a husband, and also as a father, I find it difficult to remain calm whenever I think about these things. Because I know that women are not an abstract word. Women are our mothers, wives, and daughters. They are often the ones in a family who are most enduring, most responsible, and most likely to suffer in silence. If a society cannot even protect its own women, but instead oppresses, humiliates, and destroys them, then what civilization can it still claim to have? If a regime constantly speaks of women’s liberation and gender equality yet sends outspoken women to prison and labels women who insist on pursuing truth as threats to national security, then this propaganda is nothing but a shameless political performance.

Today I am in the United States, already some distance away from China. Yet precisely because I have left that environment, I can see even more clearly that the women most worthy of respect in China are often not those who stand on propaganda stages, but those who, under pressure, still refuse to abandon conscience and refuse to stop telling the truth. They may have no titles, no applause, and perhaps very few people even know their names, but their persistence itself is the most powerful exposure of lies.

I often think that without these women, Chinese society would be even darker. Because it was they who stepped forward at the most dangerous moments; who spoke when others dared not speak; who insisted on remembering when history was being buried; who still refused to bow completely when the entire society was pressed down by fear. Through their suffering, they illuminated the true face of this system. Through the price they paid, they let the world see what the CCP’s so-called “stability,” “harmony,” and “women’s liberation” are built upon.

So on this so-called International Women’s Day, I would rather dedicate my tribute to these truly suffering and truly courageous Chinese women. They are not symbols in holiday propaganda, not embellishments in slogans, and not “women’s representatives” used by officials to decorate their image. They are witnesses to China’s painful reality, people who did not bow under power, and proof that this nation has not yet become completely numb.

I write this short essay simply to express one very basic thought: to commemorate Chinese women today, we cannot speak only of flowers and praise. We cannot speak only of success and glamour. We certainly cannot pretend, in the festive atmosphere created by the CCP, that everything is fine. What truly deserves remembrance are the women persecuted for upholding conscience; the women in prisons, detention centers, under surveillance, and on the road of exile, who still have not given up their dignity.

Their suffering must not be covered by a holiday.Their names must not be swallowed by silence.Their courage must not remain only in the memory of a few.

May the day come when Women’s Day in China is no longer burdened with repression and tears, when no more women are imprisoned for speaking the truth, punished for pursuing justice, or have their lives destroyed for defending dignity. Only then will Chinese women truly have a holiday that belongs to them.

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