What Scares Me — a letter from Kathy on the first anniversary of the Blank Page Movement

Xi Jinping’s Empire of Tedium

Appendix LV

一週年

 

In May 2022, Li Yuan 袁莉, a New York Times columnist who focuses on the intersection of technology, business and politics in China and across Asia, started a weekly Chinese-language podcast titled Who Gets It — a Shared Search for the Truth and Answers 不明白播客：一起探尋真理與答案. In her conversations with a diverse range of people both in- and outside of China, Yuan brings her unique perspective to contemporary affairs.

In Episode 23 of Who Gets It, released on 29 October 2022, Li Yuan discussed the protests among Chinese overseas students that erupted in response to the Sitong Overpass Incident in Beijing on 16 October that year. Her interlocutor, who was based in London, called herself ‘Kathy’. (For a translation of that conversation, see Awakenings — a Voice from Young China on the Duty to Rebel.)

On 2 December 2023, around the time of the first anniversary of the Blank Page Movement, Kathy posted a letter on the Who Gets It website. That letter, along with a translation, is published below.

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During the Xi Jinping era, those who are interested in the future of the People’s Republic pay attention not only to local protests against government malfeasance, legal injustices and various forms of social inequity, but also accord unprecedented levels of attention to instances of cultural resistance. Halloween cosplay in Shanghai and the annual kerfuffle over egg-fried rice during China’s ‘Thanksgiving’ are only two recent examples of popular nark. See:

From the early 1980s, we have noted the appearance and impact of what Lu Xun long ago called ‘seeds of fire’ 火種, which represent the rekindling of possibility. Over the decades, people have repeatedly speculated about how, when and where those ‘seeds’ 火種 might combust into a ‘spark’ 星星之火 that will ‘ignite a prairie fire’ 燎原. Our approach has tended to favour caution. We note that, despite the changing landscape of China’s party-state, what we have long referred to as ‘The Other China’ flourishes regardless. The ‘ironic points of light’ that we discussed during the protests of late 2022 shimmer in the observations that Kathy makes below — the lights signalling each to each. Surely that is proof of something. The memory alone marks a change.

This appendix in Xi Jinping’s Empire of Tedium is also included as a chapter in The Other China.

— Geremie R. Barmé
Editor, China Heritage
4 December 2023

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Material in Xi Jinping’s Empire of Tedium related to protests from October to December 2022:

Peng Lifa’s protest at Sitongqiao Overpass, Beijing, 22 October 2022

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What Scares Me …

Kathy

This is Kathy. Some of you might remember me from the interview that I recorded as part of Li Yuan’s Who Gets It podcast last year.

At the time, I was in an overwrought state, something evident from the tone of our phone conversation last year — I guess that, in part, it reflected the underlying fear and isolation that I had lived with for so long, the sense that I couldn’t trust anyone. Then, all of a sudden, here I had an outlet to express all of the things that I’d bottled up inside.

During the night of the Sitongqiao Bridge Incident [on 13 October 2022, when a lone protester unfurled two banners on the Sitongqiao Overpass near the university district in Beijing], people were constantly publishing updates and images on Instagram. … In response, I felt overwhelmed by a completely unfamiliar emotion, one of community and shared enthusiasm. Although, paradoxically, it left me feeling even more isolated than before. It wasn’t only because I’d only recently arrived in the UK and had yet to make any new friends, it was also because I was used to keeping to myself and avoiding attracting people’s suspicions. On top of that was my deep-seated belief that I’d never really find anyone in my vicinity who saw the world the way I do. Over the years, I’d learned to protect myself by keeping quiet. Then, at that moment [in October 2022], I was desperate to ask everyone: friends — my comrades — where in this whole wide world are you? If our paths ever cross, how will we ever recognise each other?

When I think back to that moment, I realise that memories are suffused with anxiety and an overall vagueness. The posters that I put up were constantly being pasted over by others, and things developed from there as mine became just one voice among all the messages scribbled on the posters. We went from open support for ‘Bridge Man’ to the surreptitious attempts the university made to tamp things down.

But I remember it as a time of many personal ‘firsts’: it was the first time that I put up a political poster; it was the first time that I took part in a street march; it was the first time that I exchanged surreptitious glances with people using the kind of unspoken code I’d only ever shared with friends in private … Only in retrospect do I appreciate how difficult each of these steps was for me because at the time I didn’t have a moment to think about such things. It was as though my very being was consumed by the fires of a new passion. It’s all so much of a blur that I can’t really remember exactly when the Blank Page Movement erupted, though I can recall the subsequent mini wave of protests that appeared on the public announcement boards at my university. Then there was the protest outside the Chinese Embassy in London on 27 November 2022. I’d never seen so many overseas Chinese students before. It was such an extraordinary, foreign feeling.

The apartment fire in Urumqi, the Blank Page protest at the Communication University of China in Nanjing, the commemoration at Middle Urumqi Road in Shanghai, the release of detainees at the police station the next day, the slogans shouted at Liangma River in Beijing, and all the people who took to the streets … I honestly thought that the exact details, as well as the time and dates of those extraordinary events would be etched into my memory. But all that’s left is one long blur and this series of shorthand expressions. I really don’t know how I should think about all of it.

However, I’m certain about one thing: I’m scared.

I’m scared that I’ll forget my agonised sense of impotence; I’m scared because I repeatedly fault myself for not having really done anything; I’m scared that, although I do have some friends now, I still feel very much alone; I’m scared that everyone will forget what happened and that I’ll end up exactly where I’ve always been.

I’m also scared that I, too, will forget.

I have had offline friends who were beaten up by the police, detained and interrogated, but I’ve lost contact with them. I also have offline friends in China who took part in protests on their campuses as well as offline friends who marched in the streets of Beijing. And it’s because these offline friends did something in the real world [in contrast to online activism], I can’t possibly claim that I did anything. Compared to them, how could I even say that I took part in that ‘revolution’, that ‘movement’?  Up to this point, the most I could possibly say is that, with the greatest of possible effort, I did manage to cook up a few catchy slogans.

Then again, at least I did compose them and that’s why I wanted to say a few things here under the name ‘Kathy’. It’s because if you heard what I said previously, and you listen to it again now a year later, you might find a measure of solace in it all. I can say that with some confidence since I have found comfort in the fact that I was heard.

A year has gone by and that name ‘Kathy’ — insignificant though it may be — still has some lingering resonance. Whenever I notice some mention of it, I get a shock or frisson. It touches on a place of pain that also happens to be a source of inexpressible warmth. That’s right: I’ve been heard and I’m remembered. Although my state of mind has undergone a considerable shift over this past year, a short period of time I admit, but I feel that sense of isolation all over again and whenever I experience that affirmation, I feel a renewed sense of power.

Why was my immediate, unthinking response to the Blank Page Movement one of rejection? Maybe it was because I felt that it didn’t have a convincing narrative. There’s been no conclusion either, it lingers there, unresolved.

In that place in which we — me and all of them — find connection, there is, as everyone knows all too well, a regime of censorship that simply makes it impossible for us to discuss any of this openly. Following the highly restrictive years of Covid a series of things took place in a welter, yet people have been too busy getting on with their lives really to get involved, or absorb what it really all meant. All those acts of bravery and decency never really got their fair due or recognition. The collective memory of what had happened, what had really happened, is in question, especially since it was soon replaced by our habitual feeling of impotence. When you zoom out for a moment you can’t help wondering whether any of it actually happened at all. Was it no more than a collective hallucination experienced by a small group of us?

I still feel a profound sense of guilt and helplessness, and I’m scared. I’m also still learning to live with a different kind of loneliness. Only after a conflagration burns itself out do you really appreciate the aftereffects, or pay attention to the wounds it’s inflicted. The friends you made all over the world turn out not to be quite what you had imagined. All of us have lived with the trauma of those events for so long that now it’s hard for us to work out how we should or can communicate with each other. Not many people realised at first that this is how it would turn out. Appreciating the sense of isolation that other people are experiencing can’t really relieve you of your own sense of despondency.

But there’s another story to tell. It’s not about the hesitation to move on, just because of personal loneliness and obstinacy. Although there’s no superficial difference between then and now, after Sitongqiao Bridge things can’t simply go back to the way they were. Even if that street name in Shanghai has been removed, at least for a time we were all together on Middle Urumqi Road.

We are lucky to have had those shared moments of unity. It also means that from our different perspectives we can confirm that it wasn’t all just a dream. Even when nothing means anything any more, one thing is certain: we heard each other’s voices.

It’s a positive memory, a lingering affirmation.

Kathy

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Chinese Original:

也許有人還記得我，我是錄制過《不明白》播客的 Kathy。

接通採訪電話的時候，我的心情是有些不合時宜的熱切——因為已經習慣生活在孤獨和不信任的恐懼中太久，我第一次發現那些郁積在心中的話竟然不是全無出口。

“四通橋事件”爆發的那一天夜晚，Instagram 上不斷更新的內容和圖片，一張張海報連起的遙遠版圖，那種我從不敢想象的共識和熱忱淹沒了我，卻又更加證實了我的孤獨——那不僅僅是因為初到異鄉而無友，而是長久慣於設防，還有根植於心的身邊沒有同路人的預期，只能沈默以自保。所以那時我最急切地想問，天涯海角的朋友們，你們在哪裡？我們走在街上，到底要怎樣我才能認出你？

那一陣子的記憶是緊張而模糊的。學校里的海報經歷著不斷「迭代」，從一個人的聲音到中性筆留下的中文字樣的對壘，從對 Bridge Man 的聲援到對校方不公正處理方式的指控。

第一次張貼有政治主張的海報，第一次走上街頭，第一次面對一雙雙眼睛說出那些曾經只存在於我和朋友間的私下暗語……我竟然是在現在回想時才意識到這一樁樁的艱難。那時候的我沒有時間多想，每一刻都在被內心的火焰燃燒。我甚至記不清「白紙運動」爆發在哪一個時間點，但我記得學校的公告欄上掀起了再一個小高潮，還有2022年11月27日倫敦中國大使館前的集會，我第一次見到那麼多中國留學生——多麼奇異的一種心情。

烏魯木齊市的大火，南京傳媒學院的白紙，上海烏魯木齊中路的悼念，第二日警察局門口的「放人」，北京亮馬橋的喊話，更多走上街頭的人……說實話，這些詞語、時間和網絡上的帖子，無數次我以為會刻骨銘心的時刻，現在已經在我腦中模糊成了一片。我不知道該怎樣去面對。

我恐懼。我恐懼回憶起那些無能為力的時刻的痛苦，我恐懼不斷受到「我什麼也沒有做」的愧疚的折磨，我恐懼即便擁有了一些朋友卻依然要面對無人訴說的孤獨，我恐懼別人都忘了而只有我一個人留在原地。

我恐懼我忘記。

我有真實的朋友被警方暴力傷害、帶去留置盤問而失聯，我有真實的朋友在國內的校園裡行動，我有真實的朋友走上北京的街頭。因為這些真實的存在，我不敢說自己做了什麼。和Ta們相比，我怎麼好意思自稱參與了一場「革命」或者「運動」？時至今日，我最大的努力也不過是在這裡煎熬出一些排比句而已。

但我總歸還是寫了，我想用這個名字再說一點話。因為如果你曾經聽見過我，也許時隔一年再次聽見，會感到些許安慰——我這麼相信，是因為我也一直在從那些被聽見之中得到安慰。一年過去了，這個小小的名字竟然有時還會被提起，幾經周折的轉述被我偶然捕捉，每一次都是過電一般地被觸動，隱隱的創痛後泛起無限的暖意。是的，我有被聽見，我有被記得。雖然短短一年的時間我的心境已經有了莫大的變化，但那個孤獨的創洞始終留在那裡，而每一次它能得到安慰之時，也都是我最感到力量之時。

為什麼我會對「白紙運動」條件反射地想要回避，大概也是因為它沒有得到應有的述說，於是不能結案，心中一直空懸。

在最重要的和它相關、和我們相關的那片土地上，眾所周知的言論審查使它無法被討論，新冠政策的突然轉向和隨之發生的一系列事情以超高速貫穿了這一整年。有人在獄中，但多數人在日常中自顧不暇。那些勇敢的義舉不能得到公正的對待，一面是正確的集體記憶，一面是習得性的無助，夾在中間抬首四望，難保不會心生出疑竇——那一切到底是真的發生過，還是只存在於我們少數人的幻覺？

我仍是愧疚和無措的，我也仍然恐懼，我還在學習與新的孤獨感相處。烈火平靜之後，燒傷的痕跡才顯露出來。那些散落在天涯的朋友終於得以相識，往往面目也並不同於想象，我們蟄伏在各自的創傷後遺症中太久，沒有人真正熟悉該怎樣交流，也很少有人預先明白，孤獨不會因為份數的疊加而彼此慰懷。

不過還有另一重故事，它不因孤獨的頑固而止步不前。即便看上去沒有差別，北京海淀區的那座立交橋再也回不到過去那一種普通的存在了。而就算失去了路牌的指引，我們也都曾在世界的不同角落走上過烏魯木齊中路。

好在，我們曾站在一起。我們可以交叉驗證這一切不是幻覺。就當所有的意義都不作數，至少也還有一樣：我們曾聽見了彼此的聲音。

那是最好的記憶的證言。

Kathy

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Source:

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恐 kǒng, fear, terror, to be scared, grass script in the hand of Wang Xianzhi (王獻之, 344-386 CE)