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发帖数: 9656 | 1 【 以下文字转载自 ChinaNews 讨论区 】
发信人: Communipig (共产猪), 信区: ChinaNews
标 题: 5月35日的精神
发信站: BBS 未名空间站 (Sat Jul 16 20:26:54 2011, 美东)
余华
原文：The Spirit of May 35th （载《纽约时报》—中国来信， 2011年6月23日）
译者：爻义
你可能认为5月35日是个虚拟的日子，但在中国，它是真实存在的。它指的实际上是6月
4日，1989年发生“天安门事件“的日子，这个词在互联网上被禁掉了，人们于是使用
“5月35日”来逃避审查和纪念那天发生的事。
今年早些时候我访问台湾的时候，我的书《十个词汇里的中国》在那儿刚刚出版。我被
问到，“为什么这本书不能在大陆出版，而你的小说《兄弟》却可以？”
这就是虚构与非虚构的差别：尽管两本书都是关于当代中国的，《兄弟》触及的是隐晦
的事因而可以成为漏网之鱼，而《十个词汇里的中国》过于直白，逃不过审查。
“《兄弟》是5月35日”，我解释道，“而《十个词汇里的中国》更像6月4日。”
想要表达观点的话，5月35日式的词汇成了今天的例行规则。根据最新的数字，中国有
四亿五千七百万网民，三亿三百万中国人可以用手机上网。在网上控制这些用户不越距
是巨大的工作，政府最有效的控制机制是把某些词汇设定为不可接受，直接禁止它们在
网上使用。
于是那些热衷于表达他们自己观点的人发现他们发不出声音。互联网服务器——你可以
叫它们为自动过滤器——会孜孜不倦的屏蔽所有包含这些划了红线词语的评论。
我有次想要在网上贴我的一个随笔。虽然它无关政治，但是一个错误的信息不断弹出来
。起初，我以为是我写错一两个词，于是修改了几处错误的拼写，但是那个恼人的错误
的信息不断出现。最终，我意识到那个文章触犯了几个敏感词。虽然分布在不同的段落
，那些敏感词使得自动的审查者认定我就是一个政治异见人士。
我们不知道多少词被列入了黑名单，或者哪些被禁止的词现在可以使用。有时候你可以
成功避免所有的禁忌，发表你的观点，不过一旦你加入一个敏感词，它立刻会被删掉。
于是我们随机应变。随着中国政府不断宣传“和谐社会”，互联网用户狡猾地把这个词
按照他们自己的意思裁剪了。假如一个人写道：“小心你不要被和谐了，”实际他的意
思是：“小心你不要被噤声了”或“小心你不要被捕了。”“和谐”这词最有5月35日
的精神。官员们当然十分明白这个词在网上的含义，但他们不能禁掉这个词，因为这样
做，会触犯他们制定的“和谐社会”的含义。因此“和谐”被公众劫持了。
这就是中国的互联网政治。实际上，每人都掌握了“5月35日”的表达艺术，我本人也
很精通。
我谈过言论自由的问题。我曾贴过一篇文章引用我在慕尼黑的讲话。那文章说：“我被
问到：‘在中国是否有言论自由？’‘当然有，’我回答。‘在任何国家，’我继续道
，‘言论自由都是相对的。在德国你可以骂你的首相，但你不敢骂你的邻居。在中国，
我们不能骂我们的总理，但我们可以自由地骂隔壁的家伙。’”
关于中国的权力集中，我写道：“在台湾我告诉一个记者，‘这里你跟政客握手需要戴
手套，因为他们总是要出门拉票、和人们握手。在大陆你不需要手套，因为我们的政客
从来不必亲手做任何事。你不会在他们的手指上找到任何的细菌。”
既然第一段评论强调任何事情都是相对的，而另一段似乎只是聚焦于卫生的问题，两篇
文章都毫无问题的发表在互联网上了。我的读者知道我要表达的。
我一直乐意以“5月35日”模式来写作，我很感谢这种虚构的形式，因为虚构政治化不
明显，但实质上也可以借用作5月35日式的词汇。以六月四日的模式写作，正如我在《
十个词汇的中国》里所作的，是与我通常写作方式的一次告别。
在台湾经常会被问的一个问题是，“假如你用第11个词汇来描述中国，那会是什么？“
“自由！”我回答。
这句话的实际意思，当然不是那种熟悉的6月4日那种自由，而是这种更高深的5月35日
式的。
5月35日式的自由是一种艺术。为了能够在互联网上表达观点的时候躲过审查，中国人
利用了充分利用了汉语的修辞功能，达到了一种非常微妙的程度，融合讽刺和比喻，滑
稽和夸张，冷嘲热讽地表达不满。
我确信我们的语言从来没有像今天这么丰富和有活力。有时候我不禁想，假如某天6月4
日式的自由真的到来了，我们是否还会如此有活力，如此有想象力？
或许我们可以描述中国互联网政治是一种猫捉老鼠的游戏。但你不应该想象中国互联网
的老鼠像迪斯尼卡通里的老鼠那么灵巧，政府这个大猫也不像卡通的猫那么笨。当我们
的互联网老鼠要嘲讽他们的敌人的时候，他们必须要确保旁边有个老鼠洞可以随时溜走
。在今天的中国，越来越多的人想要听到真相，但没有很多人敢讲出来。但即使我们的
互联网老鼠只能与政府大猫玩智力游戏，而不能直接参与体育行动，它仍然对我们是一
种安慰——因为我们没有6月4日式的自由，只有5月35日的。
作者简介：余华1960年生于杭州。在文革后他被分配做一名牙医。在替人拔牙拔了五年
之后，他决定成为一名作家。他在20世纪80年代因为写作了一系列不同于传统的短篇开
始为人所知。从那之后他写了四本小说，包括《活着》和《兄弟》；几部散文；并对绕
过审查的艺术颇有心得。他的新书《10个字汇里的中国》11月将出版。
本文原作为中文，由Allan Barr翻译为英文。
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/06/24/opinion/global/24iht-june24-i
The Spirit of May 35thBy YU HUA
You might think May 35th is an imaginary date, but in China it’s a real one
. Here, where references to June 4 — the date of the Tiananmen incident of
1989 — are banned from the Internet, people use “May 35th” to circumvent
censorship and commemorate the events of that day.
Earlier this year I visited Taiwan, where my book China in Ten Words had
just been released. “Why can’t this book be published in mainland China,”
I was asked, “when your novel Brothers can?”
That’s the difference between fiction and nonfiction: Although both books
are about contemporary China, Brothers touches on things obliquely and so
slips through the net, whereas China in Ten Words, by straight talking, goes
beyond the pale.
“Brothers does a May 35th,” I explained, “and China in Ten Words is more
like June 4th.”
To express oneself in May 35th terms is standard practice these days.
According to the latest figures, there are 457 million Internet users in
China, and 303 million Chinese can access the Web on their cellphones. It’s
a big job to keep all these onliners in line, and the government’s most
effective control mechanism is to designate certain words as unacceptable
and simply prohibit their use on the Internet.
So people who hanker to express their own views find that their voices are
muffled. Internet servers — automated censors, you might call them — are
assiduous in blocking any and all commentary that involves these red-flagged
phrases.
I once tried to post online a literary essay of mine. Though it made no
reference whatsoever to politics, an error message kept popping up.
Innocently, I assumed I must have miswritten a character or two, and
marveled that technology could detect typos so easily. But after careful
proofreading and revision of the odd phrase here and there, that frosty
error message continued to appear. Finally I realized that the text had
violated several taboos. Though widely scattered in different paragraphs,
the offending words left the automated censors with little doubt that I was
indulging in political dissent.
We have no way of knowing how many words have been blacklisted, or which
once-banned words can now be used. Sometimes you can manage to avoid all the
taboos and post your opinion, but if it is couched in too explicit an idiom
, it will get deleted almost right away.
So we adapt. With the Chinese government so bent on promoting a “harmonious
society,” Internet users slyly tailor the phrase for their own purposes.
If someone writes, “Be careful you don’t get harmonized,” what they mean
is “Be careful you don’t get shut down” or “Be careful you don’t get
arrested.” Harmonize has to be the word most thoroughly imbued with the May
35th spirit. Officials are aware, of course, of its barbed meaning on the
Internet, but they can hardly ban it, because to do so would be to outlaw
the “harmonious society” they are plugging. Harmony has been hijacked by
the public.
Such is China’s Internet politics. Practically everyone has mastered the
art of May 35th expression, and I myself am no slouch.
I’ve had a go at broaching freedom-of-expression issues. I once posted an
article referring to a talk I gave in Munich. The post said: “I was asked:
‘Is there freedom of expression in China?’ ‘Of course there is,’ I
replied. ‘In any country,’ I went on, ‘freedom of expression is relative.
In Germany you can curse the chancellor, but you wouldn’t dare curse your
neighbor. In China we can’t curse our premier, but we’re free to curse the
guy next door.’ ”
On the concentration of power in China, I wrote: “In Taiwan I told a
reporter, ‘You need to wear gloves when you shake hands with politicians
here, because they are always out canvassing and shaking hands with people.
You don’t need gloves on the mainland, because our politicians never have
to press the flesh. You won’t find many germs on their fingers.”
Since the first remark seems to emphasize that everything is relative and
the other appears to focus on matters of hygiene, both were posted on the
Internet without incident. My readers know what I’m getting at.
I have always written much as I please in the May 35th mode, and for that I
have the fictional form to thank, since fiction is not overtly political and
by its nature lends itself to May 35th turns of phrase. Writing in the June
4th mode, as I did in China in Ten Words, was a departure from my normal
practice.
The question asked most often in Taiwan was, “If you had an 11th word to
describe China, what would it be?”
“Freedom,” I answered.
What I meant by that, of course, was not the familiar June 4th sort of
freedom, but this more recondite May 35th kind.
May 35th freedom is an art form. To evade censorship when expressing their
opinions on the Internet, Chinese people give full rein to the rhetorical
functions of language, elevating to a sublime level both innuendo and
metaphor, parody and hyperbole, conveying sarcasm and scorn through veiled
gibes and wily indirection.
Surely our language has never been as rich and vital as it is today.
Sometimes I can’t help but wonder, if one day the June 4th kind of freedom
were to arrive, would we still be so creative, so ingenious?
Perhaps we can describe China’s Internet politics as a cat-and-mouse game.
But you should not imagine China’s Internet mice to be as mighty as the
mouse in a Disney cartoon, nor are our government flunkies as dumb as a
cartoon cat. When our Internet mice taunt their adversaries, they make sure
to have a bolt-hole right next to them. In China today, more and more people
want to hear the truth but not many dare to speak it. And so, even if our
Internet mice play only a game of wits with the government cats and do not
engage in an action sport, it still remains a source of comfort to us —
because we don’t have the June 4th kind of freedom, only the May 35th
variety.
Yu Hua was born in Hangzhou in 1960. Shortly after the Cultural Revolution
he was assigned to become a dentist. After peering into people’s mouths for
five years, he decided to become a writer. He made his name in the late
1980s with a series of disturbing short stories. Since then he has written
four novels, including “To Live” and “Brothers”; several volumes of
essays; and refined the art of circumventing censorship. His book “China in
Ten Words,” will be published in November.
This essay was translated from the Chinese by Allan Barr. |
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