Xi Jinping’s Empire of Tedium

鮮花著錦、烈火烹油

 

Today, whether you characterize the Xi Jinping era as an age of stagnation, a state of malaise, or an empire of tedium, Official China boasts of an extended Prosperous Age 盛世shèng shì. It is a term with ancient echoes and one that has been an abiding focus of our interest.

In an Age of Prosperity: China 2013 《盛世：中國、2013年》, a novel by Chan Kanchoong, appeared in 2009. A fictional dissection of China’s Prosperous Age, Chan’s book was also a warning about what lay ahead.

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Chapter Thirty-four of Xi Jinping’s Empire of Tedium, the penultimate chapter in the collection, consists of a series of essays related to China’s intellectual life and its stillborn public sphere.

The chapter was published in the lead up to ‘Knowledge, Ideology and Public Discourse in Contemporary China’, a conference organised by Sebastian Veg and held at L’École des hautes études en sciences sociales (EHEES) in Paris on 13-14 June 2024. It consists of six parts:

• Time’s Arrows
• The Revolution of Resistance
• Have We Been Noticed Yet?
• Chinese Visions: A Provocation
• On China’s Editor-Censors
• Ethical Dilemmas — notes for academics who deal with Xi Jinping’s China

Since one of the speakers at that conference was Chan Koonchung 陳冠中, a noted writer whose identity and work has straddled the Chinese commonwealth of Hong Kong, Taiwan and Mainland China, it seemed like an opportune moment to re-introduce readers of China Heritage to his work. ‘Fifteen Years of China’s Prosperous Age’ is thus a supplement to Chapter Thirty-four of Tedium. In it the author recalls  of In an Age of Prosperity: China 2013 《盛世：中國、2013年》, Chan’s best-selling 2009 novel which was published in English under the title The Fat Years. The translation appeared as we were preparing an issue of China Heritage Quarterly devoted to the theme of China’s New Prosperous Age 盛世.

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The following originally appeared under the title Sic transit gloria mundi — Ten Years of a Prosperous Age in Translatio Imperii Sinici, the 2019 edition of China Heritage Annual.

Chan Koonchung’s thoughts on intellectuals, society and the Xi Jinping era generally, remain relevant today. For this reason they warrant a place in our ongoing mediation on China’s century-long dilemma, one which a dark humourist might be tempted to sum as ‘wash, rinse, repeat’.

See also ‘Turn, Turn, Turn’, Chapter Three in Xi Jinping’s Empire of Tedium, published in two parts:

• 迴 The Tyranny of Chinese History; and,
• 旋 The Lugubrious Merry-go-round of Chinese Politics

— Geremie R. Barmé
Editor, China Heritage
14 June 2024

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Sic transit gloria mundi

Original Editorial Note

 

On 7 February 2019, the WeiBo publication NGOCN featured an interview with Chan Koonchung (陳冠中, b.1952, also known by his English name, John Chan) the author of In an Age of Prosperity. The translation of that interview below is part of our China Heritage Annual 2019, the topic of which is Translatio Imperii Sinici — intimations of empire in modern China. As we noted in the introduction to the Annual:

The topic of ‘Empire’ has enjoyed renewed debate among historians and political scientists for over a decade, and it has featured in our own work since the launch of China Heritage Quarterly in 2005 and through our advocacy of New Sinology 後漢學. It was a particular focus of my 2008 book The Forbidden City, as well as being prominent in the joint academic discussion of China’s Prosperous Age 盛世 from 2010, and in a collective undertaking to ‘Re-read Joseph Levenson’ over the years 2012 to 2014 (see The Practice of History and China Today, The China Story, 25 August 2015).

Chan has been a prominent cultural figure since the 1970s and he is a rarity in the broader Chinese cultural world. Although many other creative men and women also straddle the divide between Hong Kong, Taiwan and the People’s Republic — as writers (of poetry, fiction, essays, plays), journalists, translators, teachers, film-makers and musicians — Chan long ago moved to Beijing and from that vantage point he has mapped the ever-changing landscape through fiction and non-fiction prose. Although Chan’s work is, by and large, unavailable in the politically hostile environment ‘curated’ by the Communist Party, his is nonetheless a prominent voice in the global Chinese world; it is a voice of nuance, complexity and imagination. His activities, both as a writer and as a socially engaged individual, hint at what ‘China’ can be and might, one day, become.

We are grateful to Koonchung for his kind permission to translate and present his reflections on ‘prosperous China’ today. Although he reviewed the translation (and corrected a few factual inaccuracies!), all remaining errors are the responsibility of the translator.

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Sic transit gloria mundi — ‘worldly glory does thus pass’. This Latin expression became famous because of the role it played for centuries in the elaborate ceremonies surrounding the crowning of a new pope, known officially as the Bishop of Rome, Vicar of Jesus Christ, Successor of the Prince of the Apostles, Supreme Pontiff of the Universal Church, Primate of Italy, Archbishop and Metropolitan of the Roman Province, Sovereign of the Vatican City State and Servant of the Servants of God. The estimable Catholic empire is ever mindful of the vanity of worldly pursuits, and the wiser heads who would presume imperium in China also constantly encourage themselves to ‘ponder danger even when in repose’ 居安思危 .

The English translation is followed by the original Chinese text as published, that is in Simplified Chinese Characters.

We are also listing this translated interview in our series The Best China.

— Geremie R. Barmé
Editor, China Heritage
14 February 2019

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Translator’s Introduction

When preparing the June 2011 issue of China Heritage Quarterly, which took as its focus China’s New Prosperous Age 盛世, we invited the novelist and translator Linda Jaivin to write an essay about Chan Koonchong’s novel. Under the title ‘Yawning Heights: Chan Koon-chung’s Harmonious China’ Jaivin wrote:

Chan Koonchung paints a vivid and detailed portrait of China as simultaneous utopia and dystopia. In order to accurately describe China today, he has written elsewhere, one needs to be like the famous Tang-dynasty songstress Jiang Shu 絳樹, who was capable of singing two songs at the same time, one in the back of her throat and the other from her nose.

Chan Koonchung has a similar background to that of the narrator ‘Lao Chen’ and, one imagines he shares a similar sense of both familiarity and alienation from the world in which he lives: as Lao Chen puts it, he is a ‘dispassionate observer’ 一個不投入的旁觀者. Chan came to prominence in Hong Kong in the ’80s as the founder of the stylish City Magazine 號外. Those in the know will see the wink in the many references to Reading magazine 讀書 — Chan was for a time its overseas publisher/distributor. In an Age of Prosperity is his first novel set in China. Although not published there, enough copies have got in to make it a hot topic in intellectual circles; at a fashionable party I attended in Beijing in late 2009, the host presented all of her guests with a copy as a gift.

Linda Jaivin also translated a section from the novel’s prophetic discussion regarding the future of China’s domestic and foreign policies. The lengthy declamation offers the views of an uncharacteristically frank member of the Politburo:

There are people who are probably thinking now that China has risen and entered into An Age of Prosperity, we can bring an end to one Party dictatorship! Twenty years ago, He Dongsheng himself had also thought that. He would probably have joined a faction in the Party that advocated democratic reform and even gone so far as to have supported a Chinese Gorbachev. But by now He Dongsheng had lost any faith he might have had in Western-style democratic systems. More importantly, he knew that after 4 June 1989, there were no idealists left in the Communist Party. As the group with a monopoly on political power in China, the Communist Party exercised power in order to protect itself — people became officials in order to profit from their position and there was absolutely no chance of a Gorbachev-like figure emerging.

He Dongsheng not only had lost his passion for political reform, he cynically now believed that not only shouldn’t reform be carried out but that it cannot be carried out, that reform could only lead to chaos. He said: ‘Let’s just keep the situation as is; after another twenty years of stable development we can reopen the discussion about reform. For the moment, at most, we could try to reform a few things here and there, as part of a gradual move towards benevolent government.’ He could not imagine what a post-communist democratic China might be like. He said, and not without sarcasm: ‘Political reform? Is it that simple? In the end, you’ll emerge from the transition, not with the commonwealth you desire, not the European style of social democracy or the American style of a free, democratic constitutional government, but rather a Chinese style fascist dictatorship that’s a compendium of nationalism, cultural traditionalism, patriotism and national racial purity.’

Xiao Xi retorted: ‘You’re fascists already, don’t tell me you need a transition?’

There was no anger in He Dongsheng’s reply: ‘So, we’re fascist. This is still only the first stage. You have yet to taste what true fascist tyranny is like. Listening to the way all of you speak I know that you lack imagination when it comes to evil.’ Just then, the faces of several fascist opportunists within the Party came into He Dongsheng’s head. If these people took over, he thought, not just China but the whole world would really have something coming. He felt a sense of mission — it was his responsibility to prevent them from coming to power.

Ten years on, He Dongsheng’s fictional concerns have found a place in reality, just as his well-intentioned aspirations have been frustrated by events.

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Since the rise of Xi Jinping in late 2012, it has been a commonplace for The Disappointed — that is, a disparate group of the powerful, the influential and the opinionated scattered both within and outside China — to bewail how the leader has reasserted Party power and encouraged in the People’s Republic a more muscular regional and global stance.

The Disappointed have been confronted, and affronted, by what is now dubbed China’s ‘authoritarian turn’. To reverse a well-known expression, one has the impression that The Chinese People (albeit the un-elected representative of the People, the Communist party-state) have hurt their feelings!

The Disappointed can be thought of as those ‘China Hands’ nostalgic for beliefs and hopes that were predicated on a range of economic, political and cultural assumptions, along with a kind of condescension that smacked of colonial hauteur. That is to say, in their obsessive focus on neo-liberal economic goals along with unquestioned presumptions about globalisation they — be they politicians, analysts, business people, academics, journalists or a host of others, including Chinese factional players — repeatedly ignored or underestimated what the Party and its theoreticians (along with fellow-travelling academic New Marxists) were saying, thinking and actually doing. Too often this encouraged a purblind belief in immutable historical and economic forces that predetermined China’s path forward. Such near-burlesque confidence — which, in many respects, mirrored the dogmatic historical determinism of the Communists — has been challenged by significant changes in official policy and rhetoric over recent years.

Readers familiar with our publications, and of views that date back to the early 1980s, will be aware that a number of ‘inflection points’ in post-1978 history long foretold the possibility of the kinds of changes that have been witnessed under Xi Jinping and Wang Qishan. In this 2019 anniversary year, we would do well to recall three such moments:

• March 1979: the dissident Democracy Wall activist Wei Jingsheng posted his essay ‘Do We Want Democracy or New Autocracy?‘ 要民主還是要新的獨裁 leading to his arrest and long-term imprisonment. Wei’s poster was followed a few days later by the announcement of the Four Basic Principles 四項基本原則, ‘core Party values’ that have remained at the heart of the one-party state, its Constitution and its draconian rule ever since;
• January 1987: following student demonstrations in favour of media freedom in late 1986, the ouster of Hu Yaobang, Communist Party General Secretary, and the purge of dissenting Party members who championed ‘bourgeois liberalisation’, that is who advocated political reform, a free media along with intellectual and cultural pluralism. These events reflected an on-going political and ideological contest that resulted in
• June 1989: the fall of Zhao Ziyang, the Beijing Massacre and Deng Xiaoping’s re-affirmation of the dangers of Western-led attempts to encourage ‘peaceful evolution’, that is a policy first championed by the United States in the late 1950s aimed at encouraging socialist countries like China to abandon one-party dictatorships in favour of citizens’ rights and constitutional democracy.

Even for the latecomers, in particular from the 2007-2008 Olympic Year, it was evident that the People’s Republic was leaning further in to its noxious brand of authoritarianism. This too was a significant ‘inflection point’, and Chan Koonchung addressed it perceptively. As the author of In an Age of Prosperity observes in the interview below, since the People’s Republic remains in a ‘party-state prosperous age’, he sees no reason to write a sequel.

Only now are The Disappointed fitfully catching up with four decades of reality, not to mention the last decade of China’s ‘prosperous age’, and all that it entails.

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Even the Best Party Must Have an End
盛筵必散

Chan Koonchung in Conversation

Translated by Geremie R. Barmé

 

Still in a Prosperous Age

NGONC: What is it about fiction that particularly appeals to you?

Chan Koonchung: It allows the greatest freedom and offers the broadest range of expressive possibilities. One thing that only fiction can do is offer readers a vast range of experiences, inculcating in them responses that can be realistic and contradictory at the same time. You may end up absolutely confused by what you have read, or you may find that you’ve had a very complex emotional reaction.

I feel that this is an age in which fiction writing is at its most open, no one can impose rules on anyone else; you are limited neither by fashion nor formalism. Whether it be realism, or modernism, post-modernism, or post-post-modernism — any and all of these genres and styles are available for you to employ in your writing.

It was only after my novel In an Age of Prosperity [aka The Fat Years] was published in 2009 that I really felt my metier was writing fiction. Up until then, I was always thinking of pursuing other interests, or writing in different genres. In a Prosperous Age allowed me to realise that my interests and ideas could best, and most satisfyingly, be expressed through fiction writing.

N: What exactly did you mean by the title In an Age of Prosperity?

Chan: In the lead-up to the publication of the English edition [in 2011] I pondered how the word 盛 shèng could best be translated. There was a suggestion that it should be rendered as ‘prosperous’, although that seemed to overly emphasise the idea of wealth. Then there was the option of going with ‘golden’, but that too is limited to the idea of a gilded age, a period of luxury. For me 盛 shèng relates to the ideas of ‘plentiful’ or to ‘blossoming’, as in ‘abundance’, ‘overflowing’ 盛放 or ‘sumptuousness’ and ‘plenitude’ 豐盛. 盛 shèng summed up in one word a sense that this was an era [to quote a line on evanescent excess from the famous mid-Qing-dynasty novel The Dream of the Red Chamber] like ‘a posy of fresh flowers pinned to an embroidered dress or the flare-up of spilt cooking-oil on a blazing fire’.

Of course, the title was also ironical: it hinted that perhaps this age of abundance was not necessarily all that it seemed to be. After all, a harvest moon [literally, ‘the mid-autumn moon in the middle of the eighth lunar month’] looks beautiful for it has reached the peak of luminescence, but behind it all there is an ever-present dark side.

N: Will there be a sequel?

Chan: It’s still too soon for a sequel. For China, the year 2008 was something of a turning point; although there have been many new developments since then, overall the general sense one had starting in 2008 of there being a particular kind of ‘prosperous age’ is one that is still with us today.

N: Although all of your novels are about China, mainland readers don’t have access to them. Given this, what meaning do you think your work has for mainland society?

Chan: It’s extremely frustrating that the people I think of as being my ideal audience can’t actually read my work. If my novels were published on the Mainland, I’m pretty sure they would enjoy a considerable readership. But that’s simply not on the cards. Who’s to say: years from now, my books might finally appear on the Mainland, but by then people probably won’t be interested. As a writer I’m simply powerless; there’s nothing I can do about the situation. I just keep on writing. At least my work can be published in Hong Kong and Taiwan. 

An Absentee Intelligentsia

N: Over the past few years, Chinese technology as well as the public realm have undergone dramatic changes. What are your observations about the changes in the Chinese intellectual sphere?

Chan: In the early years of the new millennium, it was fairly evident that ‘Liberal Intellectuals’ dominated the scene, even though they were being challenged by the ‘New Left’. But today, many of the old ‘New Leftists’ have become establishment figures who support Statism, and Liberals are deeply divided. Who would ever have thought that some Liberal Intellectuals actually oppose the MeToo movement, that they would denigrate Islam and regard people of different ethnic backgrounds [that is, not East Asia and non-Caucasian] as inferior? They are moving to the Right. What I mean by that is that they seek solace in a kind of racial collectivism; they find meaning in opposing all forms of equality and ‘political correctness’; they are moving towards an extreme, in the direction of male chauvinism and racism.

[New Note: On the fate of leading Chinese #MeToo activists in June 2024, see 中國嚴判2名MeToo推手 已遭禁1000天 罪控煽動顛覆.]

N: What do you think are the reasons?

Chan: Maybe it’s just a byproduct of profound despondence. They feel there is no hope for political reform in China and that unfolding new social movements also ignore them. These new social trends are about seeking justice and redress, including gender equality, respect for racial difference and concern for the working class. These are all areas in which you would expect to find the Liberal Intelligentsia actively engaged, but the ‘rightist turn’ among China’s Liberal Intellectuals is occurring because they feel that since there is no chance for systemic change [under the present Party dispensation] all of those other things are futile.

[New Note: See

• Lin Yao 林垚, Beaconism and the Trumpian Metamorphosis of Chinese Liberal Intellectuals, Journal of Contemporary China, vol.30, issue 127 (2021): 85-101;
• Lin Yao, “I Beg to Differ”, Reading the China Dream; and,
• Ian Johnson, Why Do Chinese Liberals Embrace American Conservatives?, The New York Times, 18 November 2020.]

N: Why do you think we are hearing less and less from the intelligentsia in regard to contemporary social issues?

Chan: Well, there’s far fewer platforms for them, and even the remaining arenas can’t really publish very much. Then there is the general tendency towards stigmatisation [whereby people are readily condemned online in the form of en masse trolling regardless of the views they express].

It’s only natural that members of the Intelligentsia want to be heard; Public Intellectuals are an integral part of modern society. Of course, not everything they have to say is correct, but by making themselves heard they help a society reflect on issues of major public concern and help it to correct mistakes. However, at the moment, the Intelligentsia is deprived of real platforms by means of which they can express themselves and what platforms do exist are mostly ephemeral ‘self-media’ [that is, limited-range ‘me-media’). ‘Self-media’ enjoys what they call ‘stratospheric conditions’, that is it offers a cosy and self-referential environment. Apart from public intellectual life on Weibo, there is no other kind of public stature that the intelligentsia can presently enjoy.

It seems inevitable then that in the present era China has what I’d call an ‘Absentee Intelligentsia’. Of course, those intellectuals who speak on behalf of the power-holders are something else. I don’t really have any answers. I think people just have to work out what they believe and what they feel that can and should do.

N: But if the intelligentsia doesn’t make itself heard, what good are they?

Chan: Sometimes, the only choice for thinking people is retreat. In some eras, the best thing they can do is to focus on writing books and pursuing research. Some things can still be published and books can have an influence.

N: In recent years, students and young people seem to be the most socially active. Don’t intellectuals also have some responsibility to act?

Chan: You’re right, the young are taking the lead, in particular university students and recent college graduates. It’s only right and proper that they are the main activists. Overall, [established] intellectuals are not particularly adept at social activism; they are bookish creatures best suited to writing. At present, all the major examples of social activism and creative social movements are the work of younger people. Sometimes they are involved in a kind of naïve activism that is simply aimed at helping others, or they pursue things aimed at improving the society, or advocate on behalf of justice. This is valuable and meaningful.

Without Cracks The Light Can’t Get In

N: But there is no denying that space for any kind of activism is increasingly narrow. In an environment in which one is under constant surveillance can a ‘Heterotopia’ [of the kind described by Michel Foucault, and featured in Chan’s own essays] really exist? If so, where?

Chan: You’re right; it’s increasingly difficult. Social activists have to use new technologies, just as they did in the past. It’s a bit like the classic ‘cat-and-mouse’ game. As soon as a new technology appears people start using it, just as others try and control it and eventually bend it to their own ends for the sake of increased dominance.

I’m rather disappointed in the Internet. It started out as a liberating technology, just as people nowadays claim that Blockchain promises to be liberating. However, in the long run, the Internet allowed for the creation of even greater monopolies and it has failed to realise the potential that had to undermine dominant forms of control. I guess there are still spaces or interstices, and without them you don’t get a utopia, you just end up trapped in a dystopia.

N: Will we really end up in some kind of dystopia?

Chan: If sci-fi can really sell then resistance will be successful. There are always vulnerabilities; new technologies invariably disturb the status quo. Just consider the lessons of Star Wars: no matter how indomitable the evil Empire appeared to be, there was always a Resistance. Hollywood films don’t just depict dystopias, they also reveal utopias; but I’d caution you against getting caught up in this kind of simple binary; if you do, you’ll find it difficult to do anything substantial. Reality is never that cut-and-dried; it’s never just about dystopia versus utopia.

I don’t believe that the majority of people can really be enlightened or that they wake up to the realities of the world. Nor do I believe that it’s actually necessary for that to happen and that’s where Heterotopias come in to the equation. These are not easily categorised environments; you might suddenly have some particular feeling, a desire to do something or other for someone. That’s enough. You don’t have to think about the long-term significance of what you’re doing for society as a whole.

When people talk about Enlightenment, there are always those who hope that it will lead to a whole-of-society awakening. But what I’m trying to say is that it might only ever be partial. There will be a flash of awareness in one area, some meaningful activity, an inspiration, some kind of raw urge for justice, a kind of emotive morality, but that’s all. There won’t be any holistic, thoroughgoing intellectual Enlightenment as such.

Maybe we are all slowly moving towards darkness. But you shouldn’t get too hung up on it; you should try not to be too cynical. Things might often be better than you think they are and, if a few positive inflection points appear, then there is always a possibility that society as a whole might change.

Beijing Has Always Been An Occupied City

N: Beijing has been your home for nearly twenty years. I appreciate that you have a particular fondness for this city, after all [in 2004] you published a novel called Bohemian Beijing. In it you depicted a vibrant place of endless possibilities. After two decades what do you feel is most different about Beijing today?

Chan: I’m afraid I’m going to say a few things that your readers might find discomforting. In the first place, Beijing has never really been a city of ‘Beijing People’. Rather it is a place that has constantly been invaded and occupied by outsiders. When we talk about ‘Beijing People’ today, they really aren’t people who have been around all that long. The national government finally removed itself to Nanking from 1928 [after the Republic of China had been founded in 1912], and Beijing became Beiping, a special city independent of direct control by the central government. It’s only really from then that the old Manchu Bannermen of the defunct Qing dynasty created this unique place which we think of as ‘Old Peking’; they created it along with the Han and Hui-Muslim inhabitants of the city. So, in point of fact, ’Old Peking’ is relatively new.

The biggest changes in the city that I have known started to unfold in the 1990s. Of course, after 1949 the old city walls were demolished and all the central government ministries moved in as part of a process to turn what was really a medieval city into a modern capital. It was a huge transformation, but an even more massive process unfolded from the 1990s when global capital and the practices of modern real estate invaded the place.

I lived in Beijing in 1992 when there were still lots of hutong-alleyways. In fact, the last place I lived was on Ju’er Hutong [at Zhonggu Lou, now in a major ‘heritage’ tourist district]. By the time I moved back to Beijing in the year 2000 of course there had been various major changes, but from 2004, in preparation for the 2008 Olympics, the word 拆 chāi — ‘Demolish!’ — dominated the landscape.

The most remarkable thing about Beijing is the constant demolition and rebuilding that goes on [in the old city]. The most absurd, and unforgivable, of all of that was the destruction unleashed to create ‘Finance Street’ [the Financial District at Fuchengmennei in Xicheng] and its expansion. At the time, everyone knew the whole area was full of heritage courtyard houses and that they shouldn’t be threatened. The authorities even had a preservation plan that showed in detail all the areas marked for protection. Then, with neither rhyme nor reason, they went ahead and built Financial Street. And it’s a complete failure: access is difficult and the only way to deal with the traffic problems is to keep on tearing things down to expand the roads.

There used to be street stalls where you could get breakfast, but in recent years as part of the process to eliminate what they call ‘low-value’ businesses and residents [DD stands for 低端 dī duān, literally ‘low end’, meaning low-income, non-resident itinerant workers and their families], more and more stalls have been disappearing.

Historically, there were other times when ‘low value’ residents were forced out of the city, such as during the Jiajing reign period of the Ming dynasty [in the early sixteenth century], a time when the emperor wanted the poor banished from the Inner City [roughly the area now encircled by the Second Ring Road]. But that’s how Beijing is: with every new wave of outsiders, more poor people are dislocated leaving only the well-to-do behind. After they built Dadu, the Yuan-dynasty city [located just north of what is known as ‘Old Peking’ today] poor people were ejected because the rulers wanted to attract wealthy Han residents to the place. That’s what they did in the Yuan, and again during the Ming, and also during the Qing dynasty. In the present New Era of Socialism with Chinese Characteristics [under Xi Jinping] they’re doing it all over again.

N: Did you follow the controversy surrounding the relocation of ‘low-value’ people a few years back? You just said that real Beijing people only make up a small percentage of residents, and that the city mostly consists of outsiders. So what do you think of the forced relocation of ‘low-value’ outsiders?

Chan: Even from the perspective of current urban theory, this exercise was problematic. What is a city: a city is a complex matrix of functions, so complex in fact that for it to work you need all types of people. It can’t be just one vast shanty town, nor is it possible for a city to solely be made up of suburbs for the wealthy.

If a city only consists of the well-heeled, lacking even workers at fast-food outlets or students employed part-time, let alone a range of people in the service industry, then the wealthy inhabitants of the place are going to have a very hard time of it.

If the authorities think they could make the city work better by getting rid of the ‘low-value population’, they are very much mistaken. Many other cities have pursued similar homogenised projects, but once you achieve your on-paper goals the remaining inhabitants who are interested in enjoying themselves by living in a complex environment will move out. Wealthy people don’t want to live in cities like that; they are inconvenient and boring because they lack variety.

No Age for Idealists

N: In discussing developments that have some public significance like this people often use the term ‘amnesia’ to describe how, after a momentary flare-up of interest they are soon forgotten. In your novel In an Age of Prosperity people have forgotten a whole month. Why did you start the novel this way? [The novel opens with the words: ‘A month is missing. I’m saying an entire month has gone missing 一個月不見了。我是說，一整月不見了’, that is, the time between a global economic crisis and China’s rise to pre-eminence. — trans.]

Chan: It is a critique of human nature, and of myself. The ‘forgotten month’ depicted in the novel actually is not the result of political manipulation. The government isn’t capable of such a sleight of hand. People have simply willingly forgotten what happened during that month of their own accord. Such things are constantly taking place; people forget things that they really should remember. The scariest thing is that in many circumstances people aren’t deliberately choosing to suppress a particular memory, and that’s how things simply disappear.

For instance, many of the major social incidents that have occurred over the last decade now seem as though they are in an impossibly distant past. Some people might still remember them, but over time it is simply easier to forget, in particular now that everything is online. If something’s deleted it’s like it never existed in the first place. In the past, at least you could always check things in books or newspapers.

Most people have generally been fairly blind to most things. Among my generation of Hong Kong people it was normal to avoid discussing politics. For example, when I was in my first year at Hong Kong University there was a major popular movement to support Taiwan’s territorial claims over the Diaoyu Tai Islands. There were 150 people in my student dorm but only two of us joined in the demonstration. Think about it: a major youth protest, but only two university students showed up. That’s what it used to be like in Hong Kong; no one discussed politics. Žižek put it something like this: before we didn’t know, so we did nothing and we didn’t resist; now although we do know, we still don’t protest.

Lots of people know there are many social ills, but they won’t do anything about it. In my writing I say that people have been scared off by dystopian reality, so they take a different stance: because they don’t believe they can achieve anything they chose to do nothing.

N: In your novel In an Age of Prosperity you talk about a form of ‘Chinese idealism’. Most readers of NGONC belong in that camp. Given the absurdity of our reality, what do you think young people should do or believe in?

Chan: What is truly astounding about China is that there are still so many idealists here. Despite all of the struggles and the suffering of those who try to pursue their ideals, people still persevere. It is highly unlikely that idealists who are living in a ‘prosperous age’ can fully enjoy the bounties of the times; for them, things don’t feel as though they are better than ever.

In the present age, it is inevitable that idealists will feel betrayed. The times are against them, and that’s exactly why I am so surprised that there are still so many of them, even though generation after generation finds itself disappointed and let down, in every respect. At present, regardless of whether you are pursuing paid employment in private enterprise or within the party-state system, overall, if you are an idealist it’s pretty much a given that you are not going to see your ideals realised.

Maybe it’s because the culture of socialist countries inculcates idealism. I know lots of members of the Cultural Revolution generation [of men and women who graduated from high school from 1966 to 1968 and who are now in their late sixties and early seventies]. In their youth they were admonished to ‘think globally’ and now that they’re retired they are really travelling around the globe, and it’s because they are sincerely interested in the rest of the world.

It’s also true of the present generation; their education is suffused with idealism and they might really be touched by this stuff. But when they attempt to pursue their ideals in reality they encounter overwhelming obstacles. When you’re constantly being frustrated like that you find yourself in an impossible bind, a heterotopia.

N: Are you such an idealist yourself? Do you feel that you have been betrayed by the times?

Chan: Of course, I’m an idealist. I’m one of those people who tortures themselves. In my time, there was no faith in or hope for writers in Hong Kong, no respect and so what writers did exist were pretty weird and they achieved what they did by the sheer dint of their own efforts. That’s why I really can’t say I feel let down or betrayed by society, that’s because society never expected anything of me, and I didn’t expect to get any recognition from my society either.

Over the past two or more decades I’ve learned a huge amount from friends who come from elsewhere. I have a pretty good idea about how things happen in Beijing, and I moved here with my eyes wide open. Beijing has taught me far more than Hong Kong ever did, so I could never say that Beijing has let me down.

N: Although we’ve reached an end today it doesn’t feel like we are any more relaxed than when we started.

Chan: I don’t think it’s my responsibility to make anyone feel more relaxed. I’m not that laid back, so I can’t really lighten the mood for anyone else. If you want to find it, there’s no lack of character-building inspirational material out there in the market place.

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陈冠中谈《盛世》：

鲜花着锦、烈火烹油的年代感

春节反乌托邦指南2

2019.02.07

NGOCN出品

作者: 一灿

 

这是春节反乌托邦系列书单第二篇。

今天要介绍的是香港作家陈冠中2009年出版的小说《盛世》。下面还会有NGOCN与陈冠中的访谈，听他对创作和时代的看法。

《盛世》讲述的故事设定在2013年，当全世界的其他国家经济都在迅速衰退（书中称“世界经济进入冰火期”），中国一枝独秀进入盛世，全国人民都过上幸福生活。然而在冰火期与盛世之间，有一个月的时间突然消失了，没有人记得发生了什么，没有人想要知道发生了什么，没有任何的文字和网络记录。故事的主人公老陈是一名定居北京的香港作家，他也不记得有这样一个月的存在，直到他遇到几个怪人，才被动地和这些被他称作“中国式理想主义者”的人开始寻找那消失的一个月。

书的篇幅不长，节奏十分紧凑，信息量很大，许多细节耐人寻味。从书的名字就可见一斑。《盛世》里的“盛”字意味深长，见仁见智。陈冠中认为“盛世”的“盛”应该是盛放和丰盛的“盛”，是那种鲜花着锦、烈火烹油的年代感。以“盛世”作为题目也不无反讽，就如八月十五的月亮，亮堂堂的背后是一片漆黑。

《盛世》设定的细节固然与现实并不全部吻合，然而小说对国情的把握非常准确，对于中国人的剖析也一针见血。阅读时难免产生一种未来与现实交错的感觉。

陈冠中谈创作与时代

NGOCN×陈冠中

陈冠中，香港作家，曾联合创办月刊《号外》，并担任其出版人和总编辑共23年，同时也是香港电影导演协会创办人之一。

“盛世：鲜花着锦、烈火烹油的年代感”

 

N：你为什么对于虚构现实的小说情有独钟？

陈：小说能给我最大的文本的自由，能有最多的方法去展开表达，在同一个文本里面，可以同时让读者感觉到不同的状况，这是小说能做到的。只要你把文本读完，就能感受到很多不同的、真实但是矛盾的东西，也许会令你思想更混乱，情感更复杂。

我认为现在是小说写作最自由的时代。从文本来说，所有风格都有人做过，谁都没有资格敢规范别人、再也没有潮流或者陈规要求别人怎么去写小说。从现实主义，到现代到后现代到后后现代，所有方式、方法都利用没有不可以。

我是在09年《盛世》写完出版之后，才非常确定要以写小说为主要工作，之前都不会这样想，总想做点什么其他有意思的事情，或者写些其他的文章。《盛世》让我觉得我的关注和思考可以这样写出来，可能是更有效的表达方法，而且也很有满足感。

N：怎么理解《盛世》这个名字？

陈：当时英文版出版前我也是在想怎么翻译“盛”这个字。有提议说用prosperous，但好像只有富裕的意思，也有说用golden，又只是镀金、黄金年代的意思，而我自己觉得这个“盛”应该是plentiful或者blossoming，盛放和丰盛的“盛”，是那种鲜花着锦、烈火烹油的年代感。

小说以《盛世》为名不无反讽，这样一个 “盛世”一定就好吗？八月十五的月亮，瞻望过去非常亮非常圆非常大，但背面仍是暗黑的。

N：《盛世》会有续集吗？

陈：写《盛世》的续集现在还太早。中国2008年是一个转变的拐点，现在虽然也有些另外的情况出现，但整体其实并没有离开08年开始有的那种“盛世”感觉。

N：你所写的小说都是关于中国，但是中国大陆读者几乎都看不到，在这样的情况下，请问你认为你的文字对于中国大陆社会的意义在哪里？

陈：真很遗憾，我最理想的读者读不到我的小说。如果我的小说都能出版发行，我相信应该会有相当的读者量，但恰恰不是。说不定很多很多年后，我的书会在大陆出版，但到那时候这些书可能也没有那么多人想看了。身为作家我无奈，我没有更好的方法。但是我还在写，在香港台湾出版。

“这几年知识分子一定会缺位的”

N：这几年，中国的科技和公共讨论的空间都在剧变，你观察到中国的知识界有什么变化吗？

陈：知识界在2000年时候比较清楚是自由派主导的，虽然也已受到“新左派”的挑战。到今天，当年的“新左派”很多走到体制的国家主义，自由派本身分歧也很大了。你都不能相信自由派知识分子中会有人反对MeToo、骂穆斯林、觉得有色人种低劣。这些人往右走了。所谓往右，就是回到族群，回到反对任何平等和政治正确，走到一个极端，走到男性中心，族群的立场。

N：那他们为什么会这样呢？

陈：可能是太沮丧了吧。政改无望，新的社会运动也不在意他们。社会运动本来是想伸张某种正义，这种正义包括性别、族群或者劳工等等。本来这些都是自由派知识分子要支持的领域，但是现在往右转的自由派往往觉得制度不改变，做这些都没用。

N：在整个社会环境里，现在知识分子的声音都越来越少被听见了，你觉得是为什么？

陈：平台少了很多，或者就算平台还在，很多东西不能刊登发表了。另外一方面，是被污名化。

知识分子当然要发声。公知这个族群在现代社会是不可缺少的。并不是说他们说的一定对，但是因为他们能发声，社会就有机会自我反省，就能纠错。但现在不给平台，有平台也是游动在自媒体，而自媒体是同温层倾向很强的地方。自由派公知微博之后就不再有角色可担当。

这几年知识分子一定会缺位的。有些知识分子替权势说话那另论。我没有答案给大家。大家自己要想应该做什么，能做什么。

N：知识分子如果不去发声，那存在的意义在哪里？

陈：知识分子有些时候只能退隐。在某些时代会先去写书、做学问、研究问题。比如说写书，有些书能出来，影响还是会有。

N：近年来很多社会活动，都是学生、青年人在做，知识分子没有做事的责任吗？

陈：的确是要年轻人去做，尤其在学校的、刚刚毕业的年轻人，他们出来做是对的。知识分子从来都不是强于行动的，本来就是写东西的动物。现在社会行动、社会创新的行为，都是年轻人开始的。这些年轻人可能只是很朴素的冲动，想帮帮别人，想改善社会环境、伸张正义，这样而已。这是难能可贵的，只要还在做就行。

“没有缝隙的时候，就是恶托邦了”

N：不过，现在做事的空间也越来越窄，在这无处不在的监控下，还会有异托邦（注①）吗？如果有，它又在哪里？

陈：确实是越来越难。社会行动者必须要利用新科技，过去也一直有用到新科技。这个有点像猫跟老鼠互相追逐的情况。新科技出来了，有些人就用上了，那些要控制人的人，也会用这个科技去加强控制。

我对互联网比较失望。互联网曾经是个解放性的技术，现在有人说block chain算是解放性的技术。但是互联网最后很明显出现更大的垄断性的企业，它做不到本来想要的让威权控制减弱。缝隙估计还有，现在还是有。没有缝隙的时候，就是恶托邦（注②）了。

N：会变成恶托邦吗？

陈：科幻小说如果要畅销的话，一定要有人反抗成功。总会有漏洞，新科技总是会颠覆一些东西。你看星球大战，那么强的邪恶帝国，还是有人整天跟它抗争。好莱坞电影不是恶托邦就是乌托邦，但不要太投入这两个想法，太投入这两个想法就很难去做事，现实不见得这样清晰，不是恶托邦就是乌托邦。

我不觉得大众会有完全的启蒙和对世界的理解。我相信也不需要，所以才有异托邦。异托邦是根本说不清楚的，你可能突然有个感觉，为我的猫狗做点事，那就够了。你不需要同时去想之后的社会会怎样。

通常在说启蒙的时候，人们都期待有一种整体的启蒙。而我恰恰想说，可能只有零碎的、某些地方的灵光一闪、一种冲动、一种直觉、一种朴素的正义、一种情感的伦理而已，而做不到整体的、全盘的思想化启蒙。

也许我们最后还是会一步步走向黑暗。但是你不需要想这么多，不需要犬儒，形势比人强，如果有几个拐点出现，可能所有社会都要改变。

“北京从来不是北京人的北京”

N：你是2000年开始定居北京。差不多到现在快20年了吧。我了解你对于北京有特殊的感情，你写过波希米亚北京，里面你描绘了北京的多元和无限可能。我想问一下20年来，你觉得北京有什么变化呢？

陈：我先说几句可能别人不爱听的话。首先就是北京从来不是北京人的北京，从来都是外来入侵者、征服者带着一大批人进来。我们现在说的北京人也不是很久以前的事。

终于到了民国1928年，国民政府南迁之后，北京变成一个特别市。那时候前朝的旗人，跟北京汉族和回族的居民，他们自己整合出一个世界，就是我们现在所说的老北京。老北京这个概念是非常新的。

北京最大的改变都是在90年代后开始的。49年后曾经有拆城墙的事情，所有政府部门搬到市中心，把一个中古的城市变成现代的首都。这个改变相当大，但更大的改变是90年代之后，大资本和房地产开发来了。

92年我住在北京时，当时胡同还很多，我最后的居住地是菊儿胡同，到我2000年再搬来，当然改变更大了。“拆”是04年之后加快的，为了08年的奥运。

北京最不可思议的就是不断的拆改。最离谱、不可原谅的是金融街的拆建。那个时候大家都知道不应该这样做的，那么多文物级别完整的四合院和胡同区域，政府也出台了一些保护的想法，有些片已经不能动了，但莫名其妙的就建了金融街。这其实是个很失败的项目，周围交通都不方便，只能继续拆迁扩路。

路边早餐摊子，以前还有，但近几年驱赶DD人口，就更没有了。 历史上北京也有过几次驱赶DD人口。比如嘉靖年间，皇帝也把穷人驱出内城。北京就是这样，很多外来人进来就把穷的人赶走，留下有钱的。元大都建好，也是要吸引有钱的汉人进去内城，不准穷的进去。元代做过，明代做过，清代也做过，现在新时代中国特色社会主义也这样做。

N：前年的驱逐DD人口事件，不知道你有没有关注？你提到所谓北京人在北京是少数，外来人口反而是构成了北京的所在。那不知道你如何评价驱逐外来人口？

陈：这个即使从现在的城市理论来说，都是有问题的。什么叫城市，城市就是功能很复杂之地。很复杂就是需要很多不同的人在一起，才能互补。你不能全部是贫民区，不能全都是富人区。

如果一个城市全部都是富裕阶层，快餐店都没人上班，打零工的学生都没有，提供家政服务的人也没有，富裕阶层的生活也不会方便。

以为把DD人口赶走，就舒服了，其实是想错了。城市单一化在世界上很多城市都出现过。单一化之后，喜欢生活的人又会搬走。富裕阶层也不想住在这样的城市，不方便也没意思，没有多样性。

“理想主义者在这个时代注定会被辜负”

N：谈到这些公共事件，现在人们都喜欢用“善忘”来形容这些事情的走向，火速地成为热点又火速地被忘掉，在《盛世》里面，也有一个情节，是民众自己遗忘失去的一个月，为什么做了这样的设计？

陈：这是对人性对自己的批判。小说中遗忘的一个月最后并不是政府弄成的，政府都没有能力弄到这样子，是人们自动高高兴兴忘记。这种情况一直都在发生，不应该忘记的事情都会忘记，很多时候还不是自觉的去选择说我要压抑住它、不要记住，都不是。这才是最恐怖的，一些事情就这样过去了。

比如说过去十年发生的重要社会事件，感觉上已经遥远的不得了了。会有一些人记得，但是越来越容易忘掉。尤其电子化之后，都在网上，一删掉就全部不见了。以前还有本书或报纸杂志留下来。

视而不见的从来都是大多数人。我那个年代的香港人，没有人谈政治。比如说我在香港大学一年级的时候，香港有个很大的社会运动，就是保卫钓鱼台。我们那个宿舍区有150个人，只有我和另外一个同学去了集会。你想想，那是这么大的运动，最多年轻人参加的，但是香港大学的学生，宿舍区里只有两个人去。这是香港以前的情况，从来就不谈政治。

齐泽克有个理论是这样说的：以前我们是不知道，所以我们不做，我们不去反抗，现在是我们知道了，我们依然不去反抗。

很多人都知道有很多社会问题，他不去反抗。我的文章是说他们被恶托邦想象吓坏了，所以他们选择其他的立场，不去做这个事，觉得做不了。

N：《盛世》里提到了中国式理想主义者。NGOCN的读者也大多是这样子的理想主义者，在荒诞的现实里，这样子的青年人应该如何坚持下去呢？

陈：中国令我惊讶的是，还有这么多理想主义者。经过这么多磨难，以理想之名的磨难，但是他们还是坚持某些理想。理想主义者在盛世里面，大概不会享受这个盛世，不会觉得愉快无比的。

理想主义者在这个时代注定会被辜负。时代真的是不断辜负理想主义者。所以我才惊讶，还有这么多理想主义者，虽然已经一代一代而且在方方面面地被辜负。现在不管是在职场还是体制内，从社会整体来说，如果你要坚持某些理想，可能都做不到。

可能社会主义国家的文化，还播种了很多理想主义的种子。我认识的很多北京老三届那代的人，从小号召他们要放眼世界，现在退休了就满世界到处旅游，因为他们对世界真的很有兴趣。

这一代也是，从小的教育里也有很多理想主义的成分，有些可能打动过你，但你真的跟着受过的教育去做追求理想的事，可能要碰到很大的挫折，不断给你挫折，很奇妙的异托邦世界。

N：你是理想主义者吗？你被辜负了吗？

陈：我当然是理想主义者。我是自寻烦恼。在我这一代，香港没有期待过任何作家，也不重视作家，作家都是怪人自己弄出来的。所以我不能说社会对我有什么辜负，因为社会对我没有期待，我也没有期待这个社会认同我做的事情。

这二十多年来，我从其他地方的朋友学到的非常多。对于北京，我是知道它是一个怎么样的情况才来的，我是睁大了眼睛走进来的。北京给我的教育比香港给我的教育多很多。所以北京也没有辜负我。

N：跟你聊完了，好像也没有更轻松哎。

陈：好像我也没有责任让大家轻松。我自己也没有太轻松，所以没什么好意见给大家。很多励志的东西，市面上不缺。

——访谈内容经过编辑，有删减。

***

注①: 异托邦是法国哲学家福柯提出的一个概念，字面意思是一种“另类空间”。文学评论家王德威对异托邦的解释是现实社会里面，或者是由执政者，或者是公立的单位来规划的一种空间，或者是社会的成员从思维想象的形式所投射出来的一种空间。

在陈冠中发表的《乌托邦、恶托邦、异托邦》一文中，陈称异托邦是有差异性的不同空间场域，可以是异度空间、异域，也可以是看似正常或人们习以为常的场域，没有固定本质，边界不清不楚，互相渗透(如太极图黑中有白、白中有黑)，多中心或去中心而且是现有的中心皆已难以维系，猎鹰不听驯鹰人的哨令，从此非线性、分形组合、移形换影的气漩和轨迹都可能出现。

陈冠中认为以异托邦社会想象，代替更多人习以为常的乌托邦恶托邦想象，认定在多个不同的空间，通过各施各法的行动包括论述和组织，改变是有可能的。

注②：恶托邦即反乌托邦。

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