In hindsight, no matter how dramatic the high school setting may have been, I believe it has encapsulated the essence and power which lies inherent in pieces of literature.
My experience as a underclassman consisted of a strange transitional phase between elementary material and heavy, buttery universal texts containing multifarious cultivations of aphorisms. I didn't learn to appreciate works such as Les Miserables, I didn't understand the empowerment of revolution, I didn't understand why my teacher wore tie-dye every other day. These abstractions hung in the air, but I was still too indignant, too immature to inhale.
I do not believe pride (in moderation) is a completely implausible thought. Therefore, I state own my pride breaking through the cycle to nowhere and letting myself explore into the depths of a beyond, an obscured sea of thoughts and emotions that could have otherwise been shadowed by the nothingness of flamboyant yet shallow mating rituals. I have criticized and praised myself, and our world.
Often, it's difficult to visualize anyone else who has the same feelings or contrasting feelings or some feeling towards specific subjects I discuss here. I am positive all my readers have, as all human beings have, a vast sea of emotions and innovative ideas and thoughts and insecurities and aspirations. Surely I am not the only one psychotic enough to dictate such an belief.
Yet there are so many others around the world who do not have the opportunity to express personal beliefs without the risk of punishment for their freedom of expression.
I'm going to begin innocuously enough, with a reference to George Orwell's chef d'oeurve 1984 for it is applicable in every facet of society, but I believe the work to be more distinct in modern authoritarian regimes. Orwell creates a world with an alabaster facade complimented by constant internal struggles between factual, dry data and invisible yet persistent strands of human awareness and emotional existence.
All members of this supposed utopia seem utterly flat and monotonous with the exception of the protagonist, who dared to cross the red line, and initiate a warfare of new concepts, thus holding within him the possibility to grow exponentially as an individual and cause friction and heat.
Comparative government bridged the gap between the world of words and the world of worlds; Orwell's 1984 thoroughly illustrates the struggles of the repressive Communist "Big Brother" system.
In my numerous trips to China, the streets were perfectly mundane, scattered with citizens who seemed to walk the streets at the perfect pace, carrying plastic groceries bags or heavy bookbags, the air perfumed with the scent of slightly burned dumplings and soy sauce. With the exception of the low cloud of translucent smog that blanketed the sky, it looked like an alternate America.
But I soon discovered that the appearance was merely a fallacy.
My parents sheltered me from the violence of June 4th and Tiananmen Square as long as they could. They never told me they protested; they never told me they spent hours persuading military troops to back down from their city; they never told me of the interrogations which took place by the federal government; they never told me just how graphic smell of bloodshed permeated the air of that night. They've never told me any of this until recently.
This revolt is Winston Smith's realization of an imperfect world. How brave for citizens to confront their fears, to realize that they could have been exposed to so much more education and beliefs and worlds of knowledge that existed before the Cultural Revolution, before Mao! They organized any way they could and at the first sign of hope, all strength was snatched away and the silent dust of dawn set in the morning after.
Hopelessness is most desolate and consuming. I don't blame the Chinese citizens for not organizing another such powerful organization ever since. Partially it is because the Chinese government censors any mention of June the 4th in the media, yet partially it is because the Chinese people could not fathom the bleakness of the future that stood in front of them. To be so close yet so distant was deteriorating to their spirits.
Soon though, I think the realization sunk in and the next generation of individuals were born into a restored world of oppression.
I came to America at the age of six. Before my arrival, I had spent two months in my local elementary school in China. According to Confucius, it is of the utmost importance to respect one's parents. Therefore, though I believe it is most dehumanizing and horrific action, I can comprehend the physical abuse performed by Chinese parents on their children as a display of authority. Although my parents have never abused me in such a manner, it goes without saying that in the Chinese public school system, paddles and slaps were frequent.
I've never discussed the physical abuse conducted by my teacher to my parents before because I know that they know that I wouldn't want to discuss it. And I wouldn't want to discuss it in civilized conservation with anyone. But I think this blog acts as a middleman and dilutes the intensity of the topic. I will not go into great detail, but the abuse included more than just a few degrading comments and pushes and slaps, and not for disobedience, but simply the questioning of a theory or talking with other classmates or scratching an ear. More than a decade later, I am still tarnished by such vile and violent actions; it is unfair for a child to witness such evil at a such precocious age. It is unfair for the child to see the glazed expressions of their teachers or principals as they recount their skewed beliefs on the world as they have been brainwashed in the periods after the Cultural Revolution, and learned from textbooks that are dry and lacked the vividness of the real world.
Learning the system of government in China brought back that open wound, that memory that persists and will continue to do so throughout my lifetime.
But angry is the last emotion on my mind. I feel remorseful for all Chinese educators who were thrived under such a suppressive system of belief. I feel remorseful for those Winstons in Chinese society who can fathom no light or end to this malady. I feel remorseful for all individuals who remain starry-eyed and blind towards the government because its theories have been instilled in them since childhood and I feel remorseful for all the revolutionists and naysayers like Ai Wei Wei, Liu Xiao Bo and my parents who have done everything in their power to paint a better world only to be thwarted and harassed by their beliefs of a healthier future. I am an advocate for varying beliefs, including different definitions of governments, but I refuse to support a belief that suppresses alternative beliefs in the path to gain power. A socialist democracy is euphemism for suppressive political legitimacy.
