On the Verge of Disappearance (End of the Chinese Letters)
By Ying Chen (page 1 of 4)
Dear friend,
If you knew how much your letter, coming from so far away, after such a long silence, first brought me joy, then troubled me, even more so because I'm in the habit of granting the greatest attention to your feelings and opinions.
I'm glad that even while successfully managing your affairs, you have found the time to read and reread the words of Kong-Zi. The two activities should be very complimentary, the link between them being so fragile.
You believe that those who don't read Kong-Zi are not real Chinese. You seem to be worrying yourself about the moral education of my children who weren't born in the land of their ancestors. You imagine them in the company of robots, efficient but without souls. I remember, in times past, you weren't preoccupied with moral questions. But now you treat us differently because we're in the West, and we run the risk, more so than you, of sinking into decadence. I don't know what to say about this. I have the exact same feeling of powerlessness each time a Westerner comments loud and clear about Continental China's political system. I don't think a foreign country should be judged according to second hand information. We can't form a sensible opinion as long as this country and its people are strangers to us, when we don't deign to learn their language, and we haven't shed sweat and tears on their land. Don't worry: my descendants born into this land won't be particularly demoralized. I admit that my children won't read the words of Kong-Zi right away: they don't have to learn the science of governing or the necessity of obeying at their young age. They also don't know the Bible that caused torrents of blood to flow. But already they can recite many ancient Chinese poems, and they watch the film "The Little Prince" every day. "The Little Prince" is an excellent moral lesson, accessible to the children and also to me. It portrays the principle of Love, as in all the holy books, but this work has a tenderness and sensitivity without equal, it teaches nothing but the art of living, it questions without resolving. It pleases me, because a child is at the centre of the story, and not a sovereign.
You regret the fact that after the Cultural Revolution a new elite left China's continent. You consider this departure one more betrayal of the great tradition. You compare this gesture to the "May 4th Movement" at the beginning of the century; you judge them both to be ill omened. You don't even distinguish the escape and disenchantment of the eighties from the madness of the sixties. You don't untangle the causes from the effects. You prefer the fighters to the escapees. "Once gone," you say, "this elite is quickly westernized". As you aren't very objective in matters concerning me, it seems to me, you didn't know to exclude me from this elite. And no one is unaware of the profoundly derogative meaning of the term "westernized", and the haughty tone of anyone who pronounces it. I left, therefore I'm westernized, eliminated, lost, disappeared, finished. This is the fate reserved for traitors throughout history.
To save myself from this situation, to elevate myself a bit, you have proposed a solution. You want me to be a double ambassador. You're sure I'm not really a citizen of any place, and you wouldn't hesitate to condemn me to eternal comings and goings. What I am on the inside is of little importance to you. The individual doesn't count in Kong-Zi's book. You think my role is to represent. You want me to live for something bigger than myself. You don't want me to exist.