Opening Remark

Recently I had a conversation with a good friend, in which I expressed my opinion that all academic pursuits are basically fraud. He disagreed by saying 'autheticity is my middle name'. This prompted me to question myself what would be mine, and I find no more suitable word than Cynicism. Hence, from today on, my name is Peidong C. Young, C for Cynicism. 9/7/10







Tuesday 13 November 2012

Sumptuous Revolutionary Erotics - two films by Jiang Wen



(1) In the Heat of the Sun (1994)

“My stories always take place in the summer. In the heat of the sun, people were forced to reveal more of their bodies and it was more difficult to conceal their desires. In my memory, the Sun always shone brightly during this period, as if there were only one season: summer.”

An eroticized fantasy about China’s Cultural Revolution through the stories of a bunch of Beijing youths. An orgy of revolutionary aesthetics.

The English translation of the film’s original Chinese title (Yangguang Canlan de Rizi) does not quite capture the sentiment conveyed by the Chinese phrase, which is nostalgia, pretty much to the same tune of ‘good old days…’ Thus, contrary to the usual portrayal of the Cultural Revolution as the darkest moment in recent Chinese history, an interpretation that is deeply lodged in the Western mind as well as sanctioned by the official Chinese discourse, Jiang Wen, the film’s director and script writer, describes this period as an eternal summer that is sunny, passionate and sultry. Through the apparently trivial stories of a group of Beijing youths—set free from the authority due to the total societal chaos of the period—the film brings out to the fullest extent the sensuous and aesthetic aspects of The Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution. Compared to many artistic representations that simply condemn the Cultural Revolution and Maoism in general, this film perhaps ironically provides one hint or two as to just why that traumatic experience took place, and why people were so deeply drawn into that collective frenzy.




(2) The Sun Also Rises (2007)

“If it’s not the hand that touched the buttocks, was it the buttocks that touched the hand?”

A visually seductive, sophisticated, but ultimately puzzling story about human desire set in the ‘red’ China under Mao.

In China, 1976 (the year of Mao’s death which also marks the end of the Cultural Revolution), a countryside youth (starring Jaycee Chan, son of Jackie Chan) lives with his ‘mad’ single mother, under the mystery about his father’s identity. Soon, a middle-aged urban intellectual is to be ‘sent down’ to this village to be ‘reformed’, bringing his own mystery past at a college, involving sex scandal, intrigue, and possibly murder. The two mysteries unfurl and intersect, and are finally ‘resolved’ when the story takes us back to 1958 (the year of the ‘Great Leap Forward’ movement). The non-linear and jumpy narrative makes the film puzzling at the odd places, but generally the theme of sexual desire looms large. Since desire is always depicted in its interaction with the socio-political, this film is also a vivid recapitulation of the social and political life in Mao’s China. Remarkably, while doing all these, the film manages to be quite funny and light-hearted at not a few places; and the soundtracks are superb too!

Though perhaps not as famous as some other Chinese heavyweight directors of recent times, Jiang Wen’s artistic achievement in this film is surely not inferior, and he remains a deeply interesting figure for his often romantic and nostalgic representation of Maoist China—it is said that he owns many portraits of Mao at home. This film of his is sophisticated and defies any simple reading, but watching it will very likely prove to be an enjoyable aesthetic and intellectual experience.

Monday 8 October 2012

Millennium Actress (千年女優) and the Fantasy of Japan’s Destiny


 
 
One of Japan’s many remarkable contributions to world culture must be its animation (or ‘anime’). Not only is the Japanese anime industry of huge scale and its production of very high quality, it is often the cultural sophistication and imagery/imaginary sumptuousness of the anime productions that are truly amazing. Unsophisticated audience appreciates them sensuously—thus, generations of Chinese (and other nationalities too) youths grew up enthralled by Japanese amine series, knowing that their own country is incapable of producing anything that is even a hundredth as interesting as the Japanese stories. A Chinese boy probably first got to know about Greek mythology through Saint Seiya, just like he is also likely to have encountered Detective Conan before Sherlock Holmes or Agatha Christie. As a teenager, I marvelled at how the Japanese anime The Twelve Kingdoms (十二国記) appropriated ancient Chinese culture and language in such a phantasmagorical fashion that made me ashamed of the state of Chinese culture in China itself… But apart from the endless and awe-inspiring creativity of the Japanese when it comes to making serial anime stories, in this essay I am more concerned with the extent to which the Japanese has also been able to make anime a medium for more serious cinematic experiences. In other words, compared to any other countries, Japan probably has done much more to make anime films ‘proper’ films, which are in turn proper subjects for literary and socio-historical interpretations. Here, I focus on the 2001 anime film Millennium Actress (千年女優 MA), which I recently watched at Oxford’s Magdalen Film Society (praise be to the MFS, they really choose good films!).

    In China, the Japanese invasion during the WWII is a traumatic experience that is constantly reiterated and a ‘strategic’ wound that is frequently re-opened as need arises. The prevailing understanding is that Japan has never really repented for the war, and therefore it harbours militarist ambitions. In reality, however, although Japan did not and never will ‘repent’ in the fashion that the Chinese in their victim complex desires, the WWII is clearly an experience that is also painfully mulled over and agonized over by the Japanese themselves. In this regard, MA is similar to Grave of the Fireflies (蛍の墓, GF, 1988), as they both regret and condemn the war experience. But while GF is entirely set in the War and its primary topic is just the War, MA can be viewed as a more encompassing allegory of Japan’s agonizing search of destiny in the 20th/21st centuries.

    The word ‘Millennium’ in the film title has a threefold meaning, in and outside the film. The actress Chiyoko has played in roles that span over a millennium—thus, ‘Millennium Actress’; with the film being produced just at the turn of the 21st century, millennium also referred to the historical juncture at which the Actress Japan stood then; and finally, if we count Japan’s civilizational history from the time in which her culture really started to flourish—Heian Jidai—then Japan is also an actress that is just over a thousand years old. Therefore, it is not really a wild leap of imagination to read the story as really a story of Japan. The wild time travels and the enactment of various historical scenes and significant events in Japan’s history (though this tend to be social history) throughout the film makes this suggestion even more plausible.

    If we understand Chiyoko as really a stand-in for Japan herself, then the storyline immediately assumes a level of meaning deeper than just a sentimental tragic love tale. Throughout the story, Chiyoko keeps on searching for someone—the soldier/painter who she came across on a snowy day, fell in love with, but did not even see the face of. The soldier/painter accidentally left a key, and Chiyoko holds onto that key which she must return to its owner. The key becomes the ultimate signifier for its elusive owner, but we knew that the key was also supposed to open something. Yet, that something, just as the face and real identity of the soldier/painter, was never revealed. In other words, in the entire story, Chiyoko was chasing after a dream: an object of her love/desire that she doesn’t even know—nor do we—what is at all. But she knows that she had fallen in love with him, and that to find him and be with him was her destiny, and she would not settle for otherwise. She searches for a destiny that is obscure, unknown, but that is endlessly romantic. Let’s not beat about the bushes: Japan is searching for her destiny.

    There is one minor interesting point in the film that I think was really really clever, and made me admire this film more. In various flash-back sequences of Chiyoko’s acting, it is the earthquake that abruptly wakens us from the dreamy sequences, and returns us to the grim world of reality and real time. There is no better signifier that captures the tragedy of Japan as a nation better than the earthquake. Every time when Chiyoko and we as spectators are deeply engaged in her search for her desire/destiny, and when such searches seem to promise to turn up some positive results, the earthquake comes and shatters the fantasy. Japan, enchantingly beautiful as she is, is nevertheless plagued by that disease that seems to be a perpetual curse on her. March last year, the world over has seen how devastated an earthquake/tsunami has left the world’s second/third largest economy; but even without this, we also know that Tokyo is always preparing for a devastating earthquake that is bound to occur some time down the line. This curse from the nature regularly interrupts in Japan’s fantasizing about her destiny. She may be rich, she may be beautiful, she may be technologically-advanced and powerful, but it probably only takes a huge earthquake for everything to be completely nullified again. Her destiny is in constant jeopardy; and it is this kind of fundamental anxiety that has produced doomsday films such as Japan Sinks (日本沈没2006)—nothing very complicated about this.  

    Apart from recapitulating Japan’s historical experience through Chiyoko’s acting in various old Japanese eras and scenarios, what’s also interesting is Japan’s more recent fantastic ambitions that are illustrated in two of her flashback sequences: the one with Chiyoko sitting in a western horse-drawn carriage, and the spaceship launch episode. For me, these are allusions to Japan’s fascination with the West (西洋) and its ambition in technological or even military supremacy. And both these two aspects of fantasy had also been the true experience of Japan in the 19th and 20th century. Setting Chiyoko’s theatrical endeavours not only in historical Japan but also in these two frames declares beyond any doubt the allegorical relationship between Chiyoko and Japan.

    So finally, what is Chiyoko/Japan’s destiny? Near the end of the film, on the snowy hills in Hokkaido, Chiyoko finds not the soldier/painter, but only the painting he has left. The painting in fact paints nothing else than where Chiyoko actually stands at that moment—snowy hills. Thus, the painting does not give any fresh clues to Chiyoko as to the whereabouts of the soldier/painter/destiny, but only refers to her present agony; it only refers to itself. Destiny again escapes Chiyoko/Japan, and she despairs.

    The one detail that was not revealed to Chiyoko but revealed to us the audience was the fact that the soldier/painter was killed long ago in Manchuria. It would be too harsh a fact for Chiyoko to know—she has in fact for all her life been looking for someone/something that has long been irrevocably lost! But the message for us can’t be clearer: the life-loving soldier/painter who did not want to go to war in Manchuria/China was forced to go, and killed. In other words, Japan’s destiny was already lost when she went into that war—an unjustifiable war. After the WWII, no destiny was possible for Japan. The search for Japan’s destiny will just be like Chiyoko’s fantasies—only after an object of desire that is not only unknown/unknowable but also already lost.

Tuesday 5 June 2012

Several cynical rules of the academic world—regarding conference presentations


RULE 1. These days, in a given academic conference held in an English-speaking country, it is more likely than not that half of the conference speakers are non-native English speakers.
RULE 1.1 Among the non-native English speakers, at least one is likely to be from China who speaks such poor English that s/he becomes the pain of the conference; since this Chinese person is likely to be a man, the category that he represents may be conveniently called ‘the China-man at the conference’.

RULE 2. Subject to only a few insignificant contingent factors, most presentations, regardless of their quality/delivery, are generally likely to receive equal amount of responses in the Q&A session, although if the paper is abstract/conceptual/high-theoretical beyond a point, the amount of responses significantly drops.
Explanatory note 1. Due to the nature of their profession, academics are generally congenial animals who rely on each other for their self-esteem. The rule of reciprocity and karma prevails here.
Explanatory note 2. If one’s presentation is very shallow and stupid, listeners will show not the slightest slight, and will rally around by asking basic factual or comparative questions (e.g. 'In which year were the figures released?' or 'I wonder if you have any insights into the comparative situation in X country?') which are easy to answer.
Explanatory note 3. If one’s presentation sounds incomprehensibly sophisticated and therefore devastatingly impressive, the speaker’s oral pleasure is highly alloyed, because: firstly, there will not be many listeners who would ask questions for the fear of appearing stupid, and secondly, even when some listeners do ask factual/basic questions out of courtesy, the speaker feels that s/he is not addressed at the level of intellectual depth or height s/he deserves. In this case, it is always an unwholesome situation.
RULE 2.1 Given the above reasoning, it may be concluded that like any other form of sociality, academic sociality also punishes outliers and reinforces norm.

RULE 3. The more primitive your manner and technology of presentation, the more readily it is to come across as intellectually heavy-weight.
Explanatory note. PowerPoint presentation slides with animation and sound effects belong to undergraduate students; PowerPoint presentation slides with photos and text quotations belong to Masters and doctoral students; a theory-oriented sophisticated academic tends to do away with visual aids, and to read from a few unstapled pages, while leaving the last presenter’s final ppt slide still on the screen; and a true philosopher’s equipment should be one page of scribbles and a pipe dangling between his lips.
Revelatory note. Dense theoretical discourse stripped of all aids for cognition—and therefore most hostile to comprehension—demands rigorous and vigorous cerebral powers from the audience; the speaker knows this, and knows that the listeners know this; and by assuming such powers are with his listeners, the speaker asserts his superiority most aggressively.

RULE 4. In a similar logic with RULE 3, in order to convey a sense of academic gravitas and intellectual authority, one should do away with all forms of verbal formalities and frills.
Explanatory notes.
    If you want to sound like an utter novice, you can say ‘I’m honoured to be invited to present at this conference…’ at the beginning of your presentation; you can only do worse than this by saying the same in a thick Chinese accent.
    On the contrary, if you want to assert your superiority, you can start your presentation without any preambles, and plunge yourself and your audience directly in the deep end.
'Say what you are going to say, say it, and say what you have just said’ are undergraduate level effective communication cliché; instead, you should adopt a linear or even circuitous narrative that requires the audience to figure out the logics and connections in your talk, if there are any in the first place. If there aren’t any, don’t worry, you will sound brilliant.
    Instead of saying ‘let me conclude...’ or things along that line at the end of your presentation, you can say ‘let me leave it there’, or ‘and that’s where I’d like to leave it’; and emphatically, you should not feel obliged to say ‘thank you’—only junior year undergraduate students speaking English as a second language have been taught to say ‘thank you for your attention’.

RULE 5. During the Q&A session, do not ask the questioner to further clarify their question—you will be wasting everybody’s time, including that of the questioners.
Explanatory note. In the case the questioner was not able to articulate her question or did not understand your presentation at all, you may either quietly ignore her question, or catch the key word(s) in the question and say something about it as you wish.

Thursday 9 February 2012

A Theory of happiness: Mundane Happiness = Time x Space


The mundane happiness in life is a function of a specific multiplicitous relationship between time and space. By mundane happiness I refer to that realm of feelings and sensations without the dramatics of life such as deaths, disasters, grave illness or marriage, childbirths etc.

In other words, I propose that time and space are co-determinants of the sense of being mundanely happy in life.

Life in Nordic countries such as Norway, Denmark and Sweden are often said to be the happiest on earth, and the explanation, according to my formula, is that people there have plenty of space as well as time. This is self-evident from the fact that these are sparsely populated wealthy welfare states.

England/UK shares some but much pared down characters of these countries, and that explains my feeling of being generally happy there, despite its foreignness.

Life in Asia, which may be well-represented by that of Hong Kong or Singapore, is in general very unhappy, because of the lack of space and time in people's lives.

Mao wanted China to have a large population, as did Lee more recently want for Singapore. Both succeeded. India, Indonesia, Philippines, Vietnam...all these are countries of very high population densities. Given this, the mundane happiness of Asia hinges on the second factor on the right side of the equation. And there is bad news here too.

Despite the increasing prosperity of Asia, people no longer have any time. They are too embroiled in working (production) and enjoying life (consumption) that there's no time left, and life becomes stressful. Taking holidays, as contemporary individuals ritualistically do, is no longer an act of leisure and sign of having time. It is nowadays almost a compulsory activity or, an obligation, that actually brings people stress.

Truly 'having time' is not measured by whether or not, or how much leisure activities you engage in. As Baudrillard has shown, consumption of leisure is merely another form of production, and fundamental to the productive system which is responsible for our unhappiness in the first place.

Instead, truly having time is the luxury of having no worry about one's future, of having no anxiety, and having peace. Most individuals in Asia have no time (1) either because they are too worried about their material survival that they have to spend all their time securing one, (2) or they are too fixated on a better (than Thou) future that they spend all their time striving at one. Increasing population in Asia are shifting from the from type (1) having no time to type (2). Most Southeast Asian countries are predominantly type (1), China is in the process of tipping from type (1) to type (2). Singapore and Hong Kong are predominantly type (2) unhappiness. The deliberate lack of welfarism in these countries is justified in the name of continual economic growth, as is official discourse in Singapore. The logic is, if we make people happy, they will actually be happy, and that cannot be allowed to happen, because the administrators have decided that if unhappiness=growth, then happiness=recession.

Hong Kong and Singapore, being city state/entities, are purer in naturea and thus easier to characterise. China, although vast, but due to the population scale, is also almost uniform. Otherwise, in a country of some variation in terms of distribution of economic activities and population, there will be happiness variations within a country. Good example, Japan. In its large cities, there is a pervasive type (2) unhappiness that is of the same essence with HK or SG. In Japan's suburbs or rural areas, however, the happiness approaches that of Nordic countries.

Sunday 29 January 2012

The Anti-Academe Manifesto


(This article is written under the effects of an unnamed recreational drug. The author, whoever it may be, is not responsible for the content of it.)

At a time when worthless knowledge proliferates at exponential rates in the forms of meaningless dissertations and journal/book publications, it is apt to institute the movement of a radical disestablishment of the gigantic hypocrisy that the academe is.

To dig one’s own grave for one’s own worthless existence is an act of heroism not susceptible to being understood by the contemporary mediocre mass, including the academics themselves, who will simply call the above-mentioned act one of foolishness.

Academe, by right, should hold, or at least attempt to grasp, the truths of the world and conscience of societies; but at present, it is firmly in the grip of the capitalist social logic that pervades every nook and corner of human existence.
Not only has higher education become an ‘industry’ in the capitalistic sense of the term—this has happened long ago, and is only expected to deepen; institutionalized intellectual activity, i.e. the academe, has itself succumbed totally to the logic of capitalist production and consumption.

As Baudrillard has demonstrated, capitalistic production and consumption are characterized by the intrinsic worthlessness of both what is being produced and subsequently consumed. Produced object are consumed, in the capitalist economy, not because they have intrinsic worth, as if people really ‘need’ them; they are produced, and people are compelled to consume them, because the world of commodities are a closed system of sign/signification.

In such a system of signs, the logic is vigorous, tight, and thus compelling; so compelling indeed that individual producers-consumers do not even think of the true worth, or its absence, of the things they produce and consume. The central motivator in such a system of exponentially expanding sphere of production-consumption is that of social differentiation, which results in morbidly competitive production-consumption.

This regime of intrinsically worthless competition of productive-consumptive activities is undergirded by a fundamental human desire for recognition. The cleverest trick of capitalism consists in its having seized upon this desire, given it the substance of individualized production-consumption. Once this is accomplished, the system can run on itself, as the circle reinforces itself.

It is exactly the same that has happened in the field of academe. In pre-capitalist eras, only those who actually had anything worth saying said any. They devoted often ill-provided lives to the pursuit of true knowledge and beauty, and they wrote in idiosyncratic styles which they found best suited to expressing their ideas and visions. Their consumption of knowledge was largely sincere, i.e. for the benefit and pleasure of consuming the knowledge itself, and so was their production of knowledge—we hear time and again stories about writers/scholars/philosophers who believed in their thoughts and wrote despite the lack of recognition in their life times, and despite the hardships involved.

Contemporary academe is a capitalist industry in more or less the full sense of the term. It is a system of standardized mass production-consumption. Academics go through inhuman, standardized ‘post-graduate trainings’ by completing accredited methodology courses; they read the classics in their disciplines and lukewarm and tedious methodology manuals and articles, not because they enjoy or really want to read them, but because these academic consumption goods are like the Louis Vuitton bags that although you don’t quite know whether you like them, but you definitely know you have to have them; they write in impersonal, mechanistic and boring styles, and painstakingly make references just like the contemporary mass culture itself is a huge game of endless cross-referencing. Furthermore, just as the capitalist economy has to tap into ever deeper territories of human psyche and/or social relations in order to generate ever more ‘needs’/desires, so the academe has to ‘problematize’ ever more spheres of social life to keep the continuous and, in fact, accelerating production-consumption of academic discourses. One classic example would be the so-called ‘disaster anthropology’, an anthropology that profits from the disasters that have fallen on people. Of course, the justification is that such studies help the distressed people; but it must not be denied that the problematization of such an issue generates productive-consumptive activities that mainly take place within the esoteric field of the academe. It generates funding, employment for otherwise unemployable anthropologists, and eventually GDP…and publications in researchers’ CVs, and publicity for the anthropology departments and research centers.

It is not difficult to comprehend that the proliferation of previously inconceivable kinds of research (for reasons of they being absurd), which seem to account for the greater part of all the social research that goes on these days, is a direct effect of the dynamism of the capitalist economic activities, and is thus parasitic on the latter.

The parasitic and derivative field of the capitalist system that the academe is, in turn, exhibits all and every of those absurdities and madness in the larger system. For example, academics everywhere now are under huge pressures to produce as many research publications (and only those in certain high-impact factor journals count) as they possibly can, for otherwise they will be fired; this is no different from companies which cannot generate profits have to be shut down. Despite their limited energy, both physical and intellectual, academics are forced into a cycle of intensified production-consumption, which in the bottom of their hearts they know is futile and worthless. They are forced to read the ever proliferating books, journal articles, and attend academic conferences, in order that they get inspirations for their own ‘research’. Once they’ve done their own ‘research’, they take turn to produce large quantities of books, journal articles, and conference presentations which other fellow academics are now obliged to consume, because in this industry, one has to show that one has ‘engaged with the debate’, has surveyed the relevant literature, and is ‘in dialogue’ with their fellow academics.

There is often very little logicality in all these profuse academic production and consumption. As human knowledge accumulates over the past two millennia, it is increasingly impossible, if not already, for genuine intellectual questions to be posed in the humanities and social sciences. Academics often dwell on questions that have either been answered before or pseudo-questions that only stand behind thin veils of disciplinary protectionism. Such repeated questions or pseudo-questions have no purpose to them apart from creating activities for the academics themselves, hence perpetuating the academic institution itself. It is said that Goethe was that last man that could claim to have read everything that existed. Given the information explosion in the two centuries after Goethe, what academics are now doing has become reactionary, superfluous, even deductive; and it carries on only because of their own irredeemable ignorance.

But there is very little time for our contemporary academics to think about these problems. They are too deeply caught up in a tyrannical production-consumption system which has the long-term effect of deafening their critical sensitivities. Even if they are conscious of the absurdity of their activities, which I think the smarter ones of them in fact do, they are not foolish enough, or far too timorous, to dig their own graves. Academics are people after all, and in this age of the ‘affirmation of ordinary life’ (C. Talyer 1989), they choose to live a lie than die a truth.

Thus, when fashion waves sweep across academia, as they do across the sphere of normal production-consumption, the only thing the actors can do is to ride the tide and try to benefit from it. When certain signs become fashionable, these signs are produced and consumed in frenzy. Similarly, when an academic topic comes into fashion, the academics organize workshops/conferences about it, read and write papers about it, publish articles, books, edited volumes on it—a mad bout of productive-consumptive activities that generate employment and satisfactions for the academics, but hardly anybody else. Like in the capitalist economy, the research institutes/individuals that are able to produce the most innovative products at the lowest cost and within shortest time will win in this competition—hence the monstrous pressure that inflicts universities and their miserable academics—and those who don’t will gradually lose out.

Margaret Thatcher used to accuse sociology of being ‘academic socialism’. This brings up the memory of a time when the academe was somehow still opposed to the establishment, and functions as a source of criticism and enlightenment. This time seems to be gone for good now. Academia is now a capitalist industry every bit exhibiting the absurdities and inhumanity of capitalism. Worse still, in their domesticated behavior, the academe and academics surreptitiously glorify the capitalist logic of worthless production-consumption.

How much hypocrisy can a person manage to live with? How much hypocrisy can a system live with? When the absurdities of the academic industry become too apparent, it shall collapse under its own weight. Even if we are not able to bring forward that eventuality by our own meager strength, let us rejoice when (it’s not a matter of ‘if’) that judgment day finally comes. Let us also hope that day comes rather sooner than later.

Friday 20 January 2012

贺岁扯文:写在历史的空白页上


玉兔归月辞旧岁,金龙摆尾迎新年。

玉兔在人间的执勤还剩下好几天,但已经等不及,收拾好了行李,只待搭上神舟B级动船返回月宫。他叹口气,想:

“他妈的!在月亮上看嫦娥姐姐摘桂花酿酒,自己不停的捣药也比在这人间的历史空白页上守着要exciting一点。”

是啊,玉兔自己都不知道是什么样的tenacity让他suffer了这太平(人)间的insufferable boredom。

历史走到了尽头就像书走到了尽头,光留下几页白纸。人的生活就仿佛这白纸上数不清的纸浆分子,你知道他们在活动,但宏观的看,等于没有动静。

金融风暴、经济低迷、欧债危机。。。算了罢,不过饭后谈资,一切都会好的。阿拉伯之春,茉莉花革命。。。民主变革之风,正如潘基文所说,势不可挡。世界人民迈开步伐,以不同的速率向科学民主进发。

但这些其实都不是玉兔的管辖范围。华人的历史从盘古开天辟地开始算,其实不是。宇宙大爆炸之后,众神就开始讨价还价,分谁归谁管。多少亿年之后,终有定论。凡是华人都归玉皇大帝和如来佛祖两权分立。玉兔便是玉帝手下十二个轮职观察官之一,其实只负责华人事务。

真正是观察华人事务把玉兔给郁闷到了。

果然是四海升平,九州盛极啊!

马英九大胜蔡英文,台海前景,一片光明。从此世界华人都不用计较意识形态问题了,专心生儿育女发家致富就行了。

简直是哪里有华人哪里就有幸福生活啊!

老一辈移民海外的华人在唐人街刷盘子、洗衣服,积累下点资本,供小孩读了书。小孩读书好,现在都翻了身,混得好的资本横跨五大洲四大洋,混得差的也是稳保小康。

新一代华人移民,乘了改革开放中国崛起的春风,学业事业有成,即使未能融入西方主流,也在无国界的商界职场意气风发。

更有华人小岛新加坡——俗称“Republic of Reproduction”——专心致力于社会再生产,六十年如一日。拥挤的shopping mall,嘈杂的hawker centre,高耸入云的写字楼,长了三条腿像船的赌场。。。。。。无人脸上不露出对生活满意的笑容。

中国来的foreign worker,赚着比国内高五倍的工资,每天笑容满面;有空就去牛车水吃火锅,或在HDB下面石凳上上网和国内聊天,不可抑制地自high。中国来的foreign talent,生活费学费全免,泡在蜜罐里读完大学,出来之后结婚买房,生儿育女,读Master in Financial Engineering,薪水稳步提高。

生活从来没有如此安定过,前途从来没有如此美好过!

幸福如潮水般将大家淹没。

接替玉兔的金龙听说是张牙舞爪,生猛无比。说不准龙威发作,一鼓作气,在他任上,我们华人继续生息繁衍,顿时五湖四海,皆黑发黄皮。

欧美日本,家庭观念沦丧,人口负增;印度虽众,但多数营养不良,加之爱与尸首同浴神河,当不长命;非洲艾滋疟疾猖獗,且为资源互相残杀。。。。。更何况Lee Kuan Yew School of Public Policy力挺新加坡城市发展模式,全世界改头换面,成为新加坡,指日可待。

彼时,全世界人民口操新加坡式英语,面泛新加坡式满足,循新加坡式生活方式,生活中唯一剩下也只有新加坡式再生产与新加坡式complain。

天下大同,吾皇万岁!

再也没有惊心动魄,再也没有英雄浪漫,再也没有天灾人祸,一切都很好。奥林匹亚众神被集体阉割;安拉因与恐怖主义有染,被海豹吃掉;耶和华、佛祖、玉帝三位合一,来到人间即化作孔子、亚当斯密、与牛顿三头同身的怪物,众生膜拜。And God saw that it was good.

玉兔想着他从空白的月宫下来,却经历了一番比空白更空白的空白,不禁怅然。

临走前,他来到Jurong West Public Library找一本书路上看——动船最近减速,可能是受MRT事件及更早前甬温特大铁路交通事故的影响——结果发现了张爱玲的自传体小说《小团圆》。

随手一翻,翻到关于二战期间日本占领香港一节。开战消息在港大校园里炸开锅,大家惊恐焦虑万分,唯有张爱玲

“不作声,坐在那里一动也不动,冰冷得像块石头,喜惊的浪潮一阵阵高涨上来,冲洗着岩石。也是不敢动,怕流露出欣喜的神情。”

玉兔会心微笑,心想:张爱玲果然是明白人——这便是天才与庸庸世人之区别。

遂毫不留恋地将历史的空白页翻了过去。

这正是:史书白页教兔闷,山河巨变待尔书!