Note: the title of this post is inspired by Ta-Nehisi Coates’s book Between the World and Me. The book is an achingly beautiful collection of letters documenting racial discrimination in the United States. I only change one word from the title of that book. “The world” means a physical, objective reality. But my post is not about the objective, naturalistic properties of the world. It is a subjective one, an intimate connection that I feel strongly every moment. I also owe much to J.M. Coetzee’s fictional lectures on animal ethics. That’s another story about someone wounded by her world, her reality.
For quite some time, I have refused to comment on what’s happening in Hong Kong since summer 2019. I apologise that I can only refer to it as “What’s Happening in Hong Kong” because I could not find a better expression without offending anyone. It seems that I cannot refer to it as a pro-democracy movement, or a protest, since the Chinese government has framed it very differently, and it has convinced the majority of mainland citizens and most of the overseas Chinese students I know. It seems that I cannot refer to it as an act of terrorism, or a riot either, since many of my friends from Hong Kong or Taiwan feel strongly about the cause despite occasional violence (as you may have guessed, I may already offend someone by using the word “occasional”). So whenever someone asks me to comment on Hong Kong, I say that I hope everything can be resolved peacefully soon. By playing the game of diplomacy, I often get a scornful, acrimonious “You actually think that’s possible?”.
Don’t get me wrong. This is not a post seeking the most neutral, most inoffensive description of what’s happening in Hong Kong. I am by no means qualified to do that. I have never been to Hong Kong, nor have I or my family directly benefitted from its special political and economic status. As you might have noticed, I do not like to offend others, especially on such a divided issue with both sides feeling so strongly. But to me, this is not a matter of seeking the most apolitical description; the most apolitical description is itself a political statement. This is an issue of personal matter and sentiment. This is an issue between my world and me.
Several months ago, in July 2019 if I remember it correctly, the New York Times published a commentary accusing the Chinese government of creating a dual reality. The author argued that with its tight censorship and control of the national narrative, the Chinese government had framed the pro-democracy protest in Hong Kong as an act of terrorism, led by a small group of stupid young people worshipping American hypocrisy. These terrorists, the Chinese government continued, disregarded national security, economic growth and the stability of their home while acting like disobedient children who didn’t appreciate their motherland or civilisational heritage. The entire event had been effectively paraphrased as a Confucian lesson dealing with rebellious children. The author used many harsher words, blaming the Chinese government for censoring what’s really happening and what Hong Kong people truly wanted.
Given its commentary nature, the tone of that article was noticeably more critical than the usual news reporting on the New York Times. I am not sure whether I wholeheartedly agree with its criticism of the Chinese government. But I think it raises a rather provocative idea, the idea of dual reality. I’m afraid that dual reality isn’t an artificial construction; it exists naturally as an integral part of life. After all, what does a reality consist of? Is it a physical tangibility, a set of ideology, or a group of tales that continue to convince me of the sanity of this world?
I have overlooked the dual reality I live in for quite some time. I was born and raised in China before moving to Singapore and learning to read English newspapers. Now I consider myself bilingual, knowing quite a number of nasty jokes incomprehensible to those who do not speak the language (or watch enough sitcoms in that language). All my studies, my future job and my interests are in English. New Yorker is my favourite magazine because it never hesitates to use the first-person pronoun and writes everything like a personal history (the formula used to be “my grandma died and my mom remarried”, but now it is “my other grandma died and my mom divorced again, and even worse, my husband voted for Donald Trump”). I am wring a personal history now if you notice the irony. On the other hand, all my childhood friends, my family members and very likely my future companion are from China. They speak Mandarin, watch Friends to learn English, but they don’t really appreciate what Kendrick Lamar is singing. They use a corresponding set of instant chat, social media and dating applications on their phones, many of which are manufactured by Huawei. They may study in the English-speaking world, and that experience definitely serves to strengthen their patriotic pride.
Language is the building block of reality. People construct sentences from words, and narratives from sentences. Being a bilingual speaker, I very often find myself simultaneously struggle in two very different realities, or two very different sets of narratives; each set is coherent on its own. On one side, there is home, my civilisational heritage that has taught me to value order and harmony. The ancient wisdom has been paraphrased by economic opportunism, international realism, and social Darwinism in the last few decades. On the other side, there is the sword of knowledge, of the truth-seeking spirit. Scepticism, secularity and a more liberal world meanwhile continue to echo. While staying comfortably in one reality, I am inevitably reminded of the other. It seems that they exist for the sake of each other. It’s especially aching when I cannot explain one side to the other, nor can I make sense of the dual reality I live in. The globalised world is a world of postmodern despair. Relativism of all sorts have been proposed. Everything is a construction, a fleeting narrative. I seem to have multiple choices, multiple ways of living and assigning moral significance to my existence. That can be daunting and particularly unsettling in the case of Hong Kong.
Back to what’s happening in Hong Kong. It’s like a small but powerful nuclear bomb ruining the sanity of my world. In the past few months, sentiment precedes facts, and cruelty defeats mercy. I have never realised how divided, how prejudiced my world and I have been. I’m awaken to the fragility of narratives, ideologies, realities, or whatever you prefer to call them. The political movement in a city I’ve never been to or substantially understood has become a deeply personal struggle. I cannot express, using languages, the feeling of despair, of estrangement when I’m stuck between my world and me. Perhaps, I seek explanations and resolutions because I’m still young. What’s happening in Hong Kong is still far from settled, and meanwhile I have to re-examine my life and its dual nature. Friendships have been destroyed, families divided, lovers turned against each other, and I have to re-think my principles, if there is still any left. I have never doubted myself and my world more.
I am not alone. I remember the female Hong Kong pro-democracy student leader interviewed by a German newspaper. The young girl just entered her adulthood. That interview was broadcasted in China, surprisingly, because the image of the girl typified what many mainland Chinese think of Hong Kong – submissive, polished, ungrateful and most importantly cannot talk sensibly. What that girl said during that interview did not make logical sense to many, but logic isn’t the only faculty I perpetually rely on between my world and me. The girl refused to condemn violent protestors and smiled with much embarrassment when pressed by the interviewer. I wonder what wounded her, and how much she had to endure to be interviewed and judged by the masses. She was in a disadvantageous position, but she persevered. I by no means want to defend her in terms of the sensibility of her words, but I wonder what brought a human being to that desperate situation, and how much she suffered struggling between her world and her.
The only conclusion I’m entitled to draw regarding what’s happening in Hong Kong is that we are all sentimental human beings wounded by our dual realities. There is not much difference among us despite our political affiliations or our preferred narratives. We are all prejudiced and treating others with acrimony, bitterness and hostility. It might be a bit cliched to say this, but very often the division among prevents us from seeing the commonality that unites us. As such, I pray that everything can be resolved peacefully soon in Hong Kong. This is not a word of diplomacy; this is the most sincere wish I have for people stuck between their worlds and them.
CARPE NOCTEM 