老木已就木，“诗潮”成绝响

敖桂明

初冬的萍乡，凄风寒雨。诗人老木，于2020年11月27日早晨被发现于其安源区白源镇白源村老宅中猝然离世。老木1963年生人，年仅57岁！

第一时间得知他的死讯，已然是下午。我致电文友何春阳，她是老木在市图书馆的同事，下午已去其灵堂祭拜。何春阳也是一个词人，这几年她一直与老木同在地方文献室共事。

 当晚，我又接到原市文广新局刘晓峰局长的电话，他也是不胜唏嘘。因为正是在他的任上，安排了老木进市图书馆工作。他的印象中有两个细节难忘，一是老木的弟弟，曾任安源区纪委副书记，带着老木来见他谈工作的事，其时刘局长也已接到时为省文旅厅某副厅长的电话，该副厅长与老木原系北大同班同学，也是才子，创著甚丰，希望萍乡方面尽量能关照一下老木的生活。老木弟弟则表示，只要能妥善安排进文化单位，保持一点文化人的尊严，工资少一点没关系，他私下每月凑1000元放在单位工资里一并发放。后来，在文广新局所辖的安源纪念馆、博物馆、文化馆、图书馆里面，挑选了相对工作难度较轻一点、物理距离较近一点的市图书馆作了安排；其二是大约一年之后，老木忽然来向刘局长辞行，说是深圳方面一个朋友仰慕其诗名表态要他去那任文化顾问，不要做事，每月有几千上万的工资，他已买好南下的高铁票。但第二天他又跑来局长办公室要求保留职位，原因是临上车前那个朋友反悔了，不要他去了。我想，这大约是那个所谓的朋友酒酣耳热之时拍胸脯所言，当不得真的，但诗人的心总是很纯粹，哪晓得世事和人心已是如此的不堪。

接着，我又致电老木的弟弟刘书记。我与他虽见面很少，但老木蛰居萍乡这五年来，初期老木的起居行程都是他代为安排和关照的，即或请老木出去参加什么活动，也是需要向他“报备”的。故而很是熟稔，隔着屏板，也能想见作为胞弟的他一脸悲戚。从他的嘴里，我知道了老木共有四姊妹，老木为长，本名刘卫国，其下分别有二弟，一从政，一从商，另有一小妹在粤教书。父母已逝，生前免不了为滞留法国的老木而忧愁，以致不能尽享天年。

 从老木弟弟那里，我更是得悉了诗人老木的真实死因。大概是今年疫情正烈期间，老木因自感不适去做了体检，也曾两度住院。医生私下告诉老木弟弟，诗人已罹患晚期肺癌，回天乏术，同时，“随时都会有生命危险”。但出于善意，亲属并未告知其实情，是以老木自己不知，老木的领导和同事不知，老木的文友们不知。应该是在27日晚间，老木起夜不慎摔跤，戳破肝部肿瘤，因老木终其一生并未婚娶，身边无伴，更无子嗣，无法得到及时救治。待早上发现之时早已气绝，且七窍流血，其状甚惨！

呜呼，一代著名新诗潮名将和引领者之一的老木先生就此在贫病之中撒手人寰。

老木本系萍乡市安源区白源街人氏，1979年16岁即以萍乡文科状元的身份考入北京大学。其时国门甫开，思想解放，老木无愧来自“工运摇篮”的安源，非常活跃，既写诗又编诗还演讲，热衷社会活动，一时风头无两，当时即被人誉之为“北大四才子”之一。这“北大四才子”，或曰“北大诗歌四才子”“北大诗歌四剑客”，一般认为是海子、西川、骆一禾和老木四人，四人中，其余三人诗名很盛，老木虽写诗，但其名更在于他所从事的诗歌活动（比如创办诗刊《启明星》和诗歌民刊《倾向》等）和所主编的新诗集，据说他对海子都有发现之功，隐然有青年诗人领袖之慨。他于1985年1月在北大所编就的《新诗潮诗集》上下两册以及另一册《青年诗人谈诗》，影响了一代诗人，产生了极为深远的影响，并且在当代中国文学史和诗歌史上成了一个绕不过去的存在。该书后来被普林斯顿大学选为教材，这些都绝非偶然。

老木编选的这套《新诗潮诗集》极具选家眼光，有意无意中已具朦胧的“朦胧诗”“诗史”意味。诗集系以北京大学五四文学社未名湖丛书编委会名义印行，谢冕作序。

上集中以北岛打头，随后是舒婷、江河、芒克、顾城、杨炼、食指、多多，方含、严力、林莽、晓青、肖驰。下集中则以梁小斌打头，随后收录了当时风头正盛的一些无名诗人和后来证明极具创作潜力的著名诗人，前者如牛波、吕贵品等，后者如王小妮、徐敬亚、韩东、张枣、王家新、马丽华、瞿永明、欧阳江河、车前子、黑大春、廖亦武、于坚等一大批诗人。这其中，还有一些后来转型不再写诗的前著名诗人如杨争光和林贤治等。有意思的是，上集仅收13名诗人的作品，但篇幅甚厚，诗作甚多，下集则林林总总收了73名诗人作品，比上集多收了60名诗人，篇幅反而更薄，这其中很多诗人仅收一首。特别是被誉之于“北大诗歌四才子”的，骆一禾仅排在下集第24位，西川则在第26位，而海子则在倒数第9位，下集中的第65位，而且也仅收一首《女孩子》——至于这其中的“为什么”？小女敖竹梅中国社会科学院大学中文系学士学位毕业论文《选本的编纂、流播与诗歌的经典化——以老木<新诗潮诗集>为例》多少做出了一点尝试性的探究。

如今，这曾经赫赫有名的“北大四才子”，海子于1989年3月26日于山海关卧轨自杀，年仅25岁；骆一禾于1989年5月31日，死于脑血管大面积出血，年仅28岁；风流云散，仅余西川蛰伏于北京某高校任教和写作。

有关资料介绍中说老木著有诗集《你在火的上面歌唱》，我虽然知道他写了不少诗，但这本诗集却没能见到，也等不及当面向他确认或索赠。倒是前年9月12日，老木先生兴致勃勃给我专程送来一书，原来是北京大学出版社出版、洪子诚主编的《阳光打在地上——1978-2018年北大当代诗选》，里面收录了老木五首诗歌，并且排位前五，他很是高兴，亲笔为我签名题赠。

 事实上，老木先生定居萍乡一年之后，把他请回文坛，不得不说，我是主要的“始作俑者”。

因为一直关注老木先生，我自然也一直在打听他的下落。网上有些文章或语焉不详，或明显失实。我知道老木父亲曾经是市政协的县级干部，便委托文友、时为市政协办公室副主任的著名诗人、青年作家漆宇勤多方打听。2018年2月2日，宇勤来电说找到了，并给了老木的监护人，亦即其弟弟刘喜明书记的电话号码。我当下马上致电邀请老木和他弟弟来我大唐国学读经幼儿园见面。很快，暖阳之下，老木在其弟弟刘书记的陪同下欣然来园，我叫来青年诗人钟敏超一起与他畅聊并喝酒。

两天之后，2018年2月4日立春之日，由漆宇勤实际创建并诚邀我和秦先凤分别担任会长和常务副会长的赣西文学学会，正式在我的大唐金碧辉煌幼儿园宣告成立。那天，挂靠单位市文广新局的领导来了，市文联的领导也来了。我也特别邀请到了老木先生并刻意让他在这个雅聚场合亮相，当我同时也以市作协副主席的身份把事先经过商量准备“任命”老木先生担任学会顾问一职的结果在大会上宣布并简介其人其作之后，市作协主席赫东军先生随即惊起，随即作了热情洋溢的发言（我事先没有告知他老木的信息）。至此，老木先生在萍城文苑正式回归。

 因为老木先生去国26载——据我所知，他一直未入外籍，这也算是坚守做一个中国人的初心吧——回国时，业经国家公安部和北京市委正式批准，以普通公民的身份回老家江西萍乡定居。后来，安源区成立作家协会，贺焕明主席在请示了安源区委宣传部同意之后，正式推选老木先生为区作协副主席，此后，市、区每有重大文事，也往往会请老木先生出席了。

2020年8月19日，萍乡市图书馆新馆开张，我奉市领导之命，特邀原解放军艺术学院副院长、全国著名文学评论家朱向前先生来馆首讲毛泽东诗词。当晚，我与金坪烟花老总、企业家秦斌武先生宴请朱氏及萍乡一干文化人，我又特意请来了疫期避居萍乡、写作《中国农民调查》的全国著名作家陈桂棣、春桃夫妇，请来了著名书法家“神州双管李”、中医教授、人文学者李远实先生，也特意请来了老木先生，望着这几位文化名家举杯痛饮，我心下大慰：相聚不易，毕竟这几位都是可能要进文学史或文化史的人物哪！

不无惊喜的是，在赣西文学学会组织的一次散文诗歌创作研讨会上，老木先生不仅自始至终参加，而且兴趣盎然，既朗诵又点评，我们发现，老木先生虽已不太写诗，但诗心犹在，对诗的敏感还在，宝刀未老。同时，他对美酒的渴望也一如既往，我和东军、刘鑫、敖有邦、钟敏超等几个诗人每每与他相聚，总是推杯换盏，尽可能陪他多喝上几杯，让他阴云密布的脸上多绽放几许笑容。

更为难得的是，现在看来，在他生命的晚期，仍然不遗余力为诗歌事业而呐喊，为年轻诗人而提携。青年诗人赖咸院出版处女诗集《一个人的安源》，他专门写下诗评《雏凤清于老凤声》；诗人敖有邦作长诗《赣西萍乡，我为你歌唱》，他为其写下诗评《新时代现实主义文学的雄浑力作》以勉励；青年诗人易美鹃写作甚勤，新旧体皆能为，他也写来诗评《月光掀起青瓦轻轻跃下来》……

据老木弟弟告诉我，老木先生1979年考入北大，1984年才毕业，期间因为染上肝炎而休学一年。后来，他1989年去国离乡，郁结之情终不能已，加上孑身一人，孤苦无靠，只能更多以酒浇愁。昨早逝于肝癌，实在事出有因。
回首其一生，老木先生有几个重要的人生节点：

1979：考入北大；

1989：出走法国；

2015：落叶归根；

2020：魂归诗国。

噩耗传来，老木弟弟随即告之京华同学北大中文系高远东教授，以及当年的班长贺绍俊（著名文学评论家）和当年的班主任（辅导员）、儿童文学大家曹文轩教授等。北师大当代新诗研究中心主任谭五昌先生也当晚来电，并赋悼诗一首《燕园的夜空，今晚又陨落了一颗诗星》。

本地文友更是悲声一片：

词人丁顶天先生有联《悼老木》感慨斯人斯文：

时世造人，命运弄人，燕园诗客归还去；才华惊座，文章登座，萍水鳌鱼潜复浮。

市楹联学会副秘书长冯庆怀先生《悼念老木》：

岐道漂欧，事起京华多舛运；文坛折帜，魂归大海赋新诗。

女诗人张艳琴《挽老木先生》：

高山同得句，雅室互评诗，昔日音容犹在目；恨重病相侵，叹英年早逝，今时风雨亦悲君。

诗人、书画家刘才源先生《悼老木先生》：

命搓诗伯，艾菲尔留东坡憾；天妒英才，萍水河见李煜悲。

诗人、作家敖有邦先生撰联：

诗坛老木，挥手新浪潮，醉眼朦胧舞剑金都，天问世界难回首；书馆卫国，埋头旧典籍，宽怀寂寞扶毫厚土，地叩楚吴再撰诗。

市辞赋学会会长、知名辞赋家巫志刚先生《挽刘卫国》：

异域几飘零，想轻狂意气，慷慨北天曾舞剑；神州今易象，叹潋滟风华，峥嵘南国痛凋才。

诗人死了！          

更早一点，2018年4月16日，萍乡的另一名享誉全国的“煤炭诗人”唐恒亦死于贫病交加的折磨之中，恶性肺癌，年仅56岁。

28日黄昏，灵堂之前，我们来了。

著名女作家春桃女士来了，她扼腕叹息没能早点去找老木先生做一个长篇采访以致成憾；

著名画家、岑美术馆馆长唐柏林先生来了，他也叹惋自己答应为老木创作一幅肖像一拖而至今日成长别。

著名诗论家陈良运先生的夫人赖施娟老师委托学生党史专家黄仂来了，作为老木在萍乡二中高三的班主任，白发人送黑发人，她实在不忍来到现场！何况，陈良运先生生前一直关注和指导老木，老木走上诗歌道路，陈良运教授功不可没，影响至深。而今，先生陈良运和学生刘卫国（老木）俱已天人永隔，怎不叫她肝肠寸断！

然而，亲人的生活还得继续；周遭的一切并没有改变，熙来攘往，经商者仍然只关心他的银行进账，为政者仍然只关心他的GDP，大家都不读书，更不会想着读诗!

 诗人兼学者的谢冕在2009年3月26日所写的《每年这一天》文末，如是写道：

  “一个诗人的一生不一定要写很多诗，有一些诗让人记住了就是诗人的幸运。海子的诗让我们记住了，他也就在我们的记忆中活着。让我们如同海子那样，热爱诗歌，热爱春天，作为年长的人，我还要加上一个：热爱生命！”

是的。正如西川在《怀念》一文中所明示：

 “在海子自杀的次日晚，我得到了这一令人难以置信的消息。怎么可能这样暴力？他应该活着！因为就在两个星期前，海子、骆一禾、老木和我，还曾在我的家中谈到歌德不应该让浮士德把“泰初有道”译为“泰初有为”，而应该译为“泰初有生”，还曾谈到大地丰收后的荒凉和亚历山大英雄双行体。”

我们都应该活着，好好活着，读些书，读点诗……

2020年11月28日晚急就于赣湘诗源私人藏书楼

作者简介：

敖桂明，民进江西省企联会副会长、江西省民办教育协会副会长、民进萍乡市工委会委员、萍乡市政协常委、萍乡市工商联常委，市作协副主席、大唐幼儿教育机构董事长兼总督学。

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刘卫国，你在哪里？

高远东

刘卫国，我们的同学和兄弟，你在哪里？

大家叫你卫国的时候，你是北大7910快乐的一员。当时我们为什么那么快乐呢？今天想来，可能是由于处在青春的年代，生命力恣肆，可把美好年华当一般之故。

记得有一次聊天，学长黄子平说，中国有两个青春期，一是1950年代建国初，一是1980年代文革后。这两个时期社会上充满向上走的蓬勃朝气，一片氤氲，人心中充满向前走的梦想和憧憬，满目乐观，虽然大家刚刚经历了战乱或浩劫。

我惊奇于黄子平的精当概括，因为在其他场合，自己也几次表达过类似意思，而且似乎听父亲也说过类似的话。因此我以为，那是时代和青春相遇、大我与小我相激所普具的社会心理，而且照理，每一代人都该有类似的心理感受和经验的。

可是我曾问过比我们更年轻的一代人，他们却并无这样的体会。他们的青春时代没有碰上时代的青春期，大时代与小人物的命运未曾共振共鸣，不能产生个人因与时代同步而可能导致的引导时代的错觉，不会出现本由时代塑造却自以为在塑造时代的误会。

其实我们快乐的源泉，也许更在于内心的梦想，所追逐的文学梦——诗歌。青春只是一段可计量的物理时间，而生命的体验、扩张及对梦想的追求及其记录才赋予它真实的存在感，只有文学能够整合和表达这一切，只有诗歌才能绽放它的光华。

当时，选择文学为志业的我们，那么狂热地阅读，那么热切地交流，那么痴迷于写作。剧烈的社会转型，急剧的思想变化，多元的学术争鸣，纷繁的文艺时尚演绎，统统夸张变形地汇流于我们个人奋斗的白日梦之中。争吵、讥嘲、义愤都在激励，听讲、奔波、表演都是抒写。

记得大二时暑假回来，你那么兴奋地讲和山东大学经济系学生韩东在火车上的相识，并把他寄来的诗作一一展现；记得一起参加五四文学社的有关讨论，公刘的、徐刚的、叶文福的、雷抒雁的、杨炼的……讲座，虽内容和水平不一，却总能激发我们思考诗与人、与社会、与自然宇宙的关联。

也记得有一次你写了一首诗，给吴诠元和我批得体无完肤，你垂头丧气的样子。你把你的诗拿给谢冕老师看，谢老师肯定其中几首诗清新真挚，你溢于言表的欣喜之情我也记得。

还有一次，国庆前我模仿江河写的反思共和国命运的一首诗，要登在三角地的墙报上，却受到学生会潘维明刘晓峰们的阻挠，引发主编墙报的班长老贺的怒火，你的义愤和吴诠元的声援我也记忆犹新。

现在想起来，那时我们的自我那么不自我，自以为个人了哲学了艺术了现代主义了，却依然不脱时代文化革命传统的制约，一举一动，都和中国社会变革和进步的主题有关，时代和个人互为镜像，彼此映照：大我至于无形，小我微不足道。

后来你当中文系学生会主席的时候，邀我当学生会宣传委员，后来实际当的却是团总支宣委。我至今清楚记得薛涌闻讯吃惊的样子，我也不知道为什么会答应你。

因为上大学以来，早就打定主意要告别中小学的“五道杠”生涯、心无旁骛走“白专”道路的。而且已担当的班生活委员一职，负责每月发放四十几个同学的助学金和分门别类的各种粗细粮票，还得再换成各种菜票，麻烦得要命，永远没人愿意接手，实在没有理由再出任他职。

但为什么竟然“出山”了呢？现在想来，你的单纯和热情的感染，共同的思想兴趣和爱好，以及某种夸张的社会关怀和虚荣心，应该都算是原因。

当然，其中真正的纽带仍然是诗歌，它是我们生命的制高点。它像穿蚂蚱一样穿引了我们，让我们共同进退，一起经历春夏秋冬。

大约是大三吧，你因病休学了，后来改在80级插班，因此晚毕业一年。但我继续读研时，你却已在北京市委党校文史教研室工作。有一次你拿着一摞诗歌目录跑到34楼宿舍来找我，兴奋地讲拟编的《新诗潮诗集》的情况。讲如何通过杨炼找到了多多、北岛，如何淘到他们海量未发表的作品，讲多多如何比已经名声大噪的《今天》派其他诗人如北岛、江河、顾城等诗人更值得重视。

后来，这本上下两册由北大五四文学社内部出版的非正式出版物，也成为1980年代中期中国诗歌新生力量的第一次大规模汇聚，是比1986年《深圳青年报》“中国诗歌群体大展”更早的一次大检阅，至今仍颇具史料价值。

我也第一次看到了那么多的出名和未出名的诗人的出色作品，觉得中国诗歌的未来已由他们占据。你把部分诗集寄存在我的宿舍，每次下课回来总有闻讯而来的大学生川流不息地来敲门、购买。我因此成为你的临时“代理”，而你则在那个时候，变身为中国当代先锋派诗人老木。

老木——你工作的北京市委党校，位于车公庄大街三塔寺附近，明清以来最有名的传教士利玛窦、南怀仁、汤若望的墓都在那里。校园树木参天，花木掩映，是个引人遐思玄想的好地方。午餐时人声鼎沸的食堂，就是修道院的老建筑，深邃幽暗。每次走近，总似觉有无限寓意。

本来，中共党校和耶稣会修道院的合址，无神论和基督教义的相替，饮食场所和精修会堂的变迁，已包含了足够丰富的历史吊诡。但一个非党员先锋派诗人“潜伏”于体制大脑之一角，总显出某种矛盾和不和谐。

我对你的访问，因此常常遇到奇怪的现象，比如门卫的盘问和阻挠，邻居老头怀疑的眼目，有一次更看到到访的面容精致的诗人杨炼因不耐盘查和门卫吵响一片……

1980年代在民间在校园确实是诗歌的天堂，但对另一环境秩序而言，不可控、反规范的先锋性总意味着某种危险。你大概就是因此被视作了异端吧。

 1986年9月的一天，我因延长毕业刚换了宿舍——那可能是北大校园最阴暗的一角，挨着厕所不说，要命的是几乎不见天日，只有在夏天黄昏日落时，才会有一丝阳光射进靠近门口的狭小窗户——却又因导师赴美一年而提前毕业，因而享有近三个月无所事事、迹近由自性主宰的时间，每日沉浸在尼采和《20世纪哲学主潮》展现的世界中魂不守舍，遨游天外。

这时，你带着一个年轻人来访。来者腼腆温和，长几根稀稀拉拉的小胡子，眼睛闪着奇异的光亮，娓娓而谈他暑期徒步和扒车完成的青藏之行，谈西藏的地理和历史，谈西藏人的精神和生活，谈达赖喇嘛言辞给他的触动。

那时我论文答辩已毕，正做离校前的自我清算，刚把两本写满诗句的笔记焚烧，准备从此诀别诗歌和心中的爱情，转投其实也是一直倾心的另一爱好——哲学，既身心疲惫又踌躇满志，既心力憔悴又意志昂扬。我觉得如果彼时此刻不进行割舍，大概会至于精神分裂也说不定。

但我听了来客的话，忽然意志动摇了。因为我分明看到了能把诗歌和哲学整合起来的另一种形式，超乎语言的生命之“诗意的存在”。你说来者就是海子，和我们同级的法律系校友査海生。

我认定这个还不太出名的海子是诗人中的诗人，他的浪漫主义的纯净和澄澈比我所见过的所有人都更迫近诗歌的元质，能把一切“伪诗歌”逼出差距，使一切“伪诗人”显现原形。

我在超人的幻象中看到了赤子，而你和海子（其实也包括我们的同学、海子遗诗的整理编纂解释者、诗人骆一禾，以及你所不知道为诗人的诗人周易）共具诗质和人格。后来你还专门写了一首诗，记录那天下午1980年代北京常见的寻道者互相切磋探讨砥砺磨炼的一瞬，把它收在自己打印出版的《老木诗集》中。

后来你就到中国作协的《文艺报》工作了，你的诗人交游圈也更为扩大，你和上海的，四川的，安徽的，山西的……各种诗人往来交流，依然袒露着赤子之心，但偶尔也流露某种浪子气和才子气，我怀疑这种风尘气和江湖气乃是朋友感染所致，不是出于本性，因为交谈中你所欣赏夸赞的诗人，依然是那些真实真诚真情认真者。

像有次在你的蜗居不期而遇的、上海歌剧院的陈东东，就当排属此列——每当我读到鲁迅《野草·秋夜》中小粉红花梦见的“瘦的诗人”，总是无端地想到他。

其实自诗坛成为名利场，诗痞诗棍们无不把自己打扮为诗仙诗圣，假丑恶横行。更有一流人把诗歌当行为艺术，热衷于表演以哗众取宠。结党营私、排斥异己、蝇营狗苟这些行为，诗坛一点不少。诗坛和官场、商界一样，成为一个需要持续经营才能立足的地带，不靠作品，而是靠宣言和运动来炒作。

私底下，听诗人谈论另一些诗人，就像听女人们谈论另一个女人，充满了由竞争、嫉妒而来的复杂机心。诗坛海一般的正负能量裹挟着你，像浪涛里翻滚着一个婴儿，而其他人游泳的游泳，驾船的驾船，漂流的漂流，喧嚣着貌似搏浪其实是随波前行。

渐渐地，你的诗名越来越大了。有一次探亲回家，我看到读高中的妹妹在看一张没见过的报纸——《诗歌报》，上面大半版登着你的诗作。而我那时已步入所谓学界在鲁迅研究室工作，基本告别了对当代诗歌的关注而整日沉浸于鲁迅的思想和文学之中，也感染一些鲁迅式的对人对事的态度，也积极，也虚无。

比如对我衷心爱好的思想，就突然发现其于历史的进步近乎无用——越是深刻和纯粹的东西，越难于为群众所掌握，也越难于真正及物于社会人生，历史的面貌总是简单、粗放地生成的。然而它那深刻和纯粹的境界还是强烈地吸引着我，为守护这种神圣和纯粹的献身还是始终感动着我。

为什么会这样？我想还是由于它所具的美吧，那是一种在天地宇宙人畜动植物之中蕴蓄、穿越和滋蔓的大美、通美，我们可以简单地、无功利地、迫近本质地沉醉在那里。只有道德律可以对峙其中，只有真理的发现可以齐平它的程度。

当然，我并不知道遭遇它是会要人命的，像歌德笔下浮士德博士不断追求意义和价值的一生就是因对它的体验而戛然而止。这是人内心感受自主、自在和自由的美好时刻。

其实只是又过了两年，这至纯至真至善至美汇聚的惊天动地的一刻，就历史性地、偶然而又必然地和我们遭遇了。       

既是观众又是演员的我们，似乎沉醉于思想与行动不二、理念与现象合一的激动和狂欢之中。记得一通电话之后，我们相约了见面的地点，然而在滴水成湖的空前的广场盛会中，我从阜成门你从团结湖的郑重赴约却再也未能完成。

后来，你似乎被当局挂上号了，一个真诚单纯热切的诗人从此远走异乡。1990年代的最初几年里，我不能确知你的消息。那时好友薛涌已从政治学所辞职，埋头于托福GRE之中而准备出国留学。我也换了工作单位，每日体会中国社科院施诸助研以下青年知识分子的惩罚——坐班。

在办公室阅报喝茶的沉闷气氛中，我在《参考消息》之类报纸上，偶尔瞥见你在法国发表的不成熟的政治言论。你似乎在兴奋地、然而吃力地重新认识和定位自己，像拥抱诗歌一样一片浪漫地拥抱着政治。我很自然想到了屈原，因政治理想和怀抱不得其遇而焦灼，因遭受放逐思念土地和人民而毁灭，这真是不祥！

但又一日，在单位资料室的台湾《中央日报》副刊上，我看到有大幅版面登载着老木诗歌专辑。在那里，你一如既往地在歌咏爱情、土地和人民，格调依然清新真挚，但生命境界更为阔大，情感变得深沉含蓄，一汪清水变成了一潭湖绿。

我由衷地为你诗艺的进步和成熟而高兴。我久别的诗情也因之死灰复燃，写了一些貌似自怨自艾其实是顾影自怜的“小我”之作。但我发现，在我机会主义的诗歌之路上，我已彻底掉队。虽然我依旧批评你的性情比你的语言更接近诗歌，你的言语比你的行动更不适宜于政治。

1993年夏，我重回北大工作。一日在校园遇到一向消息灵通的张颐武兄，他高兴地说你在和一个台湾女子谈恋爱，但后来又听说好像遇到了女方家庭的什么阻力。我不知道这对你意味着什么。

大约又过了一两年吧，似乎是在宴请一位韩国诗人的场合，一位后来也是同事的年轻诗人突然和我说，“老木疯了！”我不知就里地大吃一惊，但我知道这个年轻人在中国诗坛和你已经隔代，并无任何交往，所以也就不会采信。

但似乎存在天意一般，没几天我旋即就收到你从意大利辗转寄来的明信片，上面分明写着你未来的写作、就学等生涯规划，而且文通字顺，逻辑清晰。我终于放了心。虽然之后偶尔也在诗人圈子仍会听到类似消息流传，但我严重怀疑它缘于“众女嫉余之蛾眉”的“谣诼”心理，不去相信和理会。

我们一别，转眼24年过去了。生活在继续，社会在变化，曾经清晰的历史的面目日渐模糊。你去国后，邓小平死了，朱镕基来了去了，创造历史的英雄人物代替不断。随着中国加入世界贸易组织和北京申奥成功，那一代流亡者的返国梦渐渐淡出了国人的视线，淡出了新生一代的历史记忆。

到今天中国崛起，海外流亡者群体仿佛由放逐变成了弃儿，与中国的政治、经济和社会进步已然无干。但我知道历史不会遗弃，它即使出于各种原由不停地改写，也无法切断记忆的电路。没有了真实的记忆，我们的文明只会一片黑暗，我们的历史只会是一片空白。

多么希望在北京的大街上突然见到你，多么希望同学会上听到你的消息，多么希望再看到你的诗作，在诗的国度想必你不会再遭受放逐。但你大音希声，俨然已从人间蒸发。无论国内国外，再也接受不到你的消息！你去了哪里？

在1980年代的北大诗人中，海子的死是浪漫的，一禾的死是唯美崇高的，你的被放逐却是凄绝的——其可称悲剧者，不止在不准停留于土地和人民的屈原式流放，虽然这足以毁灭一个诗人，但也许会成就他的诗歌，而把一个诗人从诗的国度放逐于政治之中，让一个人的才华和心智错置，这才是更令人痛彻心肺的毁坏，才是更巨大的生命悲境。

老木，你在哪里？你在哪里漂泊？我们想念你，7910等待你的归队！

作者附记：

该文写完一年多以后，曾由微信公号“零度写作”推出，刘卫国——诗人老木的失踪也因此为社会所关注。 2015年初，北大中文7910文学班的同学联合刘卫国的弟弟妹妹等亲属，开始寻找已失踪多年的诗人老木。

经由同学王友琴的努力，组织起一个广涉中国内地、法国、北美、港台的寻人网络。在数批巴黎志愿者一年多的不懈寻找下，终于找到了身患疾病、流浪巴黎街头的刘卫国。经过短暂治疗，克服了种种料想到和料想不到的困难，才在2016年6月，使刘卫国同学由巴黎落地广州白云机场，回国继续治疗养病。

我们祝愿他早日恢复健康！也由衷感谢巴黎的王先生、傅先生、任先生、朱先生、曹先生等，由衷感谢法国友人潘鸣啸等先生！对刘卫国的寻找救助，是一曲跨国超政治的人道主义凯歌。也许该再写一篇《刘卫国归来记》弘扬此旨。

本文写于2013年9月，系作者为北大中文系79级本科毕业30年同学会而作。

（原文略有删节，小号获作者许可推送。图片部分由作者提供，部分来自网络。）

作者简介：

高远东，1979年考入北京大学中文系，现为该系现代文学专业教授，专长在现代小说史、鲁迅研究等。

       轉引自微信

悼念老木

庞培

老木走了

沉默走进了沉默

老木走了

他去了哪里

老木

你是一代人的名字

一代人面孔的孤儿

时而被照耀

时而黑暗

田野走进了田野

枯树走进了枯树

十一月萍乡走进了赣州

火车走进了江西

在站台上的老木

北大校园里的老木

《新诗潮诗集》的老木

微信未连接的老木

厨房里砧板走进了砧板

刀切的锋刃走进了刀

未名湖走进了未名湖

沉默走进了沉默

2020

————

庞培   1962年生，诗人，散文家。早年曾在江南各地漫游。散文著作有：《低语》、《五种回忆》、《乡村肖像》、《黑暗中的晕眩》、《旅馆》、《帕米尔花》、《少女像》等。现居江苏江阴。曾获刘丽安诗歌奖、中国年度诗人等奖项。

怀念老木

西川

2016年9月20日星期四下午，我在北京大学燕京学堂正给学生们上课（做兼课教师），忽接到一个电话，是老木的弟弟打来的，说“老木想见你”。我遂约他们课后在北大东北门附近的地铁车站入口处见面。自老木1989年6月去国，到那时，我们已有27年没见过面了。曾在网上见过不知是谁拍下的老木流浪巴黎的照片，但总觉得照片中的那个人不是老木。暮色中，站在地铁站入口处，我努力辨认行人。终于看到两个中年男人由南向北走来。是老木和他的弟弟。那一刻我百感交集，冲上前张开双臂拥抱老木，但老木似乎表现得并没有多么激动。他明显老了许多，脸上带着傻傻的笑意，双臂垂着，没有要拥抱我的意思。传言中老木已患精神疾病多年。我看着他已经秃掉的头顶，悲凉之感将我紧紧攫住。我开车带他们去了海淀镇，找到一家临街的饭馆，坐下来说话。老木跟我逐一打听故友的消息。他所有的问题都是关于80年代的。我说：“历史已经翻过好几篇儿了。”而他的反应是：“没翻过去！”好吧，他说没翻过去那就没翻过去，没法跟一个病人争论。他说他天天得吃药以抑制病情，药一断，病情就会复发。
海子、骆一禾去世以后，27年来，故友老木的消息像影子一般会不时闪过。1992年夏天，我曾接到一个邮件，打开一看，是老木托人寄给我的阿赫玛托娃俄法对照本限量版诗集《安魂曲》。这件事我曾在散文《与书籍有关》（见《水渍》一书）中提到过，但文中称“老木”为“老金”。后来我听说远在巴黎的他有了台湾女友，又听说他接受了《解放报》的采访，又听说他和他的海外朋友们闹翻了，又听到别人对他的讥笑，又听说他疯了…… 记不清什么时候了，我忽然接到他从罗马发给我的一封信，信上说他在罗马遇到了诗人某某和某某，说他亲眼看到他们在参加纳粹的活动。那时我就确定老木脑子出了问题。1997年11月，我去巴黎参加瓦尔德玛涅（Val-de-Marne）国际诗歌节，遇到本来并不认识的北大校友封从德，我们在十三区的一家咖啡馆聊了一下午又一晚上。封从德示我一篇老木数年前发表在香港某刊物上的文章，文中追及我们当年的友谊。我记得他文中曾表示将整理海子遗稿。看得出他当时的心情。封从德说他最后一次见到老木是在巴黎的沙特赖地铁站。事后我曾特地跑到那个地铁站，久久徘徊，当时真有生死两茫茫或生生两茫茫的感觉。
很多关心诗歌和诗人的朋友们应该都熟悉网上流传的一张照片：老木、骆一禾、翟永明、欧阳江河和我在北京中国美术馆前面的合影。老木去世以后，杨炼来信要我谈谈这张照片的拍摄背景，我回信的部分内容如下：

这张照片应该是多年前从我手里传出去的，如果我没记错的话。
本来传出这张照片是为了纪念骆一禾。现在，它又被用来纪念老木。
不知道该说些什么。凄凉的滋味。
这张照片应该拍摄于1989年4月。当时海子刚刚离世。北京高校里开始有了动静。
好像是画家何多苓当时正好在中国美术馆参加一个展览。翟永明与欧阳江河就随之从成都来到北京。老木、一禾和我就与他们相约在美术馆见个面。
海子走后我才发现，我和海子从未合过影。一禾是否与他合过影我不知道。那时候没有手机拍照的便利。照片没法随便拍。照相只能用照相机。可谁没事老拿个照相机啊！
但何多苓他们是来北京参加活动的，带个相机很正常。
这张照片的拍摄者正是何多苓。
曾见有人指站在中间的小个子是陈东东。错了。那明明是个女孩怎会是东东？当时东东在上海。
这女孩的名字我至今还记得。但抱歉我不会说出来。当时老木正追求这女孩。他带这女孩来参加我们的聚会。这女孩现在在哪里我不清楚。她应该过着正常的生活。
这张照片拍过一个多月，一禾就去世了。
这张照片拍过一个多月，我和老木的生活就彻底拉开了距离。那是多大的距离啊！
一禾5月31日去世，6月2日老木来我在蓟门里的家（当时我与父母住在一起）。他还带着两个保镖，是体育学院的学生。两学生没上楼。我和老木说到太平天国。

在给杨炼的信中我没有提到，6月3号晚上清华学生诗人李朱来我家聊天，6月4号一大早我接到邹静之的电话说翻了天，便骑车进城了。这天下午，老木和另一人乘小车路过我家，在楼下喊我。我妈听到，下楼告诉他我不在，出去了。老木要水喝并问有没有吃的。我妈说晚饭还没做，家里也没什么吃的，但转身上楼给等在楼下的他和那另一人拿了两根黄瓜。他们咔嚓咔嚓吃完就走了。事后我妈说那是他来跟我告别的。
老木卷入历史的来龙去脉我不太熟悉。一禾、海子和我在一起聊的主要是文学、诗歌和朋友。一禾在学校做学生时既已有作品发表，后来去了《十月》杂志编辑部，所以认识一些作家、诗人，也算有他的人脉。老木在1985年编成《新诗潮诗集》和《青年诗人谈诗》（那时他已毕业），由北大五四文学社印制（非正式出版）。他之所以能够编成这两部书，是由于当时他广交游，不仅认识朦胧诗这帮人，也认识当时刚刚兴起的所谓“第三代”这帮人。就是通过老木，我后来才认识了韩东、于坚等远方的诗人。老木是个笑呵呵的、单纯的、热情的活动家，或者正式一点说，他是个行动者。北大之后，他的工作单位，先是在车公庄的北京市委党校，后来去了《文艺报》。1987年《诗刊》社在北戴河开“青春诗会”，我和欧阳江河、陈东东、简宁、杨克等都参加了，组织者是《诗刊》的王燕生和王家新。老木以《文艺报》记者的身份也去了北戴河。1988年老木和我商量办本诗歌小杂志，就是《倾向》。我们找的陈东东、张枣、欧阳江河、张真等。后来贝岭也加入进来。这小杂志的名字是我取的。由东东负责在上海印制，只出了三期。第二期是纪念海子、骆一禾的专号。后来贝岭在美国又弄了本《倾向》，但和我们这本《倾向》没什么关系。
老木意气风发，走东走西，见过风云，得过风光。他认识的朋友肯定就不限于我们这些诗人了。但现在他似乎又重回了“北大四才子”的行列。“四才子”的说法我在北大读书的时候好像没有。当时北大里写诗的还有一些人，比如阿吾、阿海、骆驼等。应该是我离开北大以后才有的这个说法。可能是更年轻的诗人们仿着奥登、麦克尼斯、刘易斯、斯彭德那“牛津四才子”的说法叫出来的。由于广交游并且编了《新诗潮诗集》，老木那时的名头很响。在社会上的青年诗人圈里，他的名头可能要盖过骆一禾。但后来他的精力已经不完全用在诗歌写作上。他成了GZL的宣传部长。所以诗歌界又有了“三剑客”的说法。“三剑客”本来是法国作家大仲马的一部小说的名字（又译《三个火枪手》）。是个现成的说法。我第一次是从欧阳江河嘴里听到这个“三剑客”的说法的。
老木是被他的同学和弟弟妹妹从巴黎街头找回来的。他首先回到老家江西萍乡将养。自他去国到他返回，老木经历了多少凄凉，多少风雨，多少危险，多少讥讽，多少白眼，多少拒绝，多少驱赶，多少苦难，我不得而知，可能他自己也不全然清楚。2016年在北京与老木重逢，他表示还想重操旧业，重新开始写诗，重新开始做文学批评，并且正式出版《新诗潮诗集》和他自己的诗集。但由于他离开国内写作现场的时间已经太久，中国的变化已经太大，我觉得他的很多想法都不太现实。他后来又来过几次北京。2018年3月我们再次在北京见面，同时见面的还有唐晓渡、王家新和胡敏。吃饭的时候他更强烈地表达了他想重返文学界的愿望。
可是忽然，老木就没了。11月27日晚我在重庆，接到北岛的信息，说老木没了。我人就木了。感觉一个时代真正离我而去。
老木回国以后我们的联系并不太多。可能是因为他不愿给朋友们添麻烦，所以他很少主动联系我。但我知道他的老同学们一直在帮助他，这帮助包括经济支援，也包括帮他找工作。网上有一篇敖桂明先生的文章《老木已成木，诗潮成绝响》。从这篇文章我得知疫情期间老木被查出晚期肺癌，但他自己并不知情。不过他不是逝于肺癌，也不是逝于精神疾病，而是逝于起夜跌跤，被硬物戳破肝部肿瘤。他走过不少国家，最终逝于家乡。我再也见不到这当年的诗歌同志、诗歌战友了。我想说出的凄凉话，我想讲出的历史记忆，还有不少，但现在我把它们咽回去。
2020.12.1

火车站，小姐姐……

王家新

“没有人可以伴哭，没有人可在一起回忆”
                                             ——阿赫玛托娃


1989年3月下旬，海子在山海关卧轨自杀。最早把这一消息传给我的是老木，当时他在文联大楼的文艺报上班，我在他们楼下的诗刊社上班。老木一贯风风火火的，遇到这事更显得火急火燎，他匆匆来到我的办公室，劈头盖脑地告诉了我这一噩耗后，还没有等我反应过来，他的人影已不见了——大概去筹备追悼会或其它什么活动去了。

而我楞在那里！怎么会呢？不可能吧？就在大半个月前，海子还来过这里，一如既往地和我在一起谈诗，我们甚至还一起上楼去文联出版公司买书。没有任何征兆，没有任何迹象！唯一的迹象是他在同我的谈话中，谈到了他春节回老家安庆期间的一个发现：黑暗不是从别处，是在傍晚从麦地里升起来的！
但在当时我并不怎么在意他的这个“发现”，直到后来我在他的遗作《黑夜的献诗》中读到这样的令我颤栗不已的诗句：

        黑夜从大地上升起
        遮住了光明的天空
        丰收后荒凉的大地
        黑夜从你内部上升

也许正是在那一刹那，我才如梦初醒般地理解了海子的死。我知道了一个写出如此诗篇的人必死无疑，因为他已径直抵达到生与死的黑暗本原，因为他竟敢用一种神示的语言歌唱，因为——他已创造了一种可以让他去死的死！
然而，我却不愿轻易说出这一切。海子的壮烈的死，在我看来，也使一切的言说显得苍白。在此后的日子里，我推却了陈东东的约稿，他将在《倾向》第2期出一个纪念专辑；而在更早，不知怎的，我甚至没有去参加海子的追悼会。我知道我需要更长的时间才能理解这不可理喻的一切。我在内心里如此执拗，就是不愿相信海子及后来骆一禾的死——正如我不敢相信那一年在北京所发生的一切一样！

那是在4月初，海子死后还不到一周。我在家里闷着，但又坐立不安。我似乎也隐隐感到了一禾所说的雷霆（他在整理海子遗作期间写下的诗：“今年的雷霆不会把我们放过”），但又不知这是一种什么样的雷声。就在这种茫茫然中，我一再想到一个人，那就是诗人多多，想骑车去新街口附近他的家去（那时北京的普通家庭中还很少有电话），想告诉他这一消息，想和他在一起谈论，或者干脆在一起沉默——在沉默中默默分担这像雷霆和乌云一样笼罩着我们的一切！

是的，在那时我最想见到的就是多多。我们认识的时间不长，但相互间却有一种难得的默契。他经常一个人到我家来，一谈就谈到很晚（当时的《天涯》杂志准备出一个多多诗歌专辑，他还特意请我写一篇关于他的文章，但这个专辑后来因故未出，我们的稿子也全被弄丢了）。可以说我热爱多多，不仅喜爱他的诗，还赞赏他的人本身。说来话长，在那时的北京诗人圈子里，虽然对多多的诗歌天才早有公论，然而对他的人，许多人却敬而远之——他的傲气，他的暴烈和偏激，让许多人都受不了。传说有一次他和一个老朋友发火时，在人家的阳台上掂起一把自行车说扔就扔了下去！然而很怪，对他的这种脾性，我却能理解。一次在一个聚会上，多多一来神就亮起了他的男高音歌喉，接着还念了一句曼德尔施塔姆的诗“黄金在天上舞蹈，命令我歌唱”，然后傲气十足地说“瞧瞧人家，这才叫诗人！哪里像咱们中国的这些土鳖！”可以说在那一刻，我一下子就喜欢上了多多！

当然，多多的生活中还有着另一面，那就是独自面对命运的黑暗并与它痛苦搏斗的一面。记得有一次在我家，当他看到我的刚过五岁的叫他“多多叔叔”的儿子（顺便说一句，多多特别喜欢孩子，在他临出国前还不忘要我选一幅他的画送给我的爱画画的儿子），颇动情地问我“家新你知道吗，我也曾有个女儿……”我当然知道，因为“多多”这个笔名就是他的早夭的小女儿的名字！但我一直没有问及此事，怕触及到他的隐痛和创伤，也不便问他为什么这样做（是为了纪念？还是为了让死亡在他那里活着？）我所知道的是，他一直在以内在的暴力抵御着外在的暴力。可以说从一开始他就是一个顶着死亡和暴力写作的诗人。这就是我所知道的多多。他自己一直为死亡所纠缠，他的性格那样暴烈，他在孤独和痛苦中承受的又是那么多，我怎能把这样的消息传递给他？！

我就这样压下了去找多多的念头。但是，我没有骑车到多多那里，他却到我这里来了！时间是4月初的一个深晚。那时我和我的家人住在西单白庙胡同的一个有着三重院落的大杂院里。夜里11点左右，我听到屋外一个熟悉的叫我的声音，开门一看，正是多多！他在院子里那棵黑乎乎的大枣树下放好自行车，然后像地下党人似的紧张而神秘地走进屋来，还没有坐下，就这样问“家新，我听说海子自杀的事了！是不是因为我呵？”声调里有一种抑制不住的惶惑和不安，我心里一震，嘴上一面赶紧说“不，不”，一面安顿他坐下，并赶紧找杯子沏茶。

我当然明白多多说的是什么。他指的是头年在我家举行的“幸存者”活动。“幸存者”是80年代后期由芒克、唐晓渡等人发起的一个北京诗人的俱乐部，多多和我都是它的首批成员（虽然多多和我都对“幸存者”这个名字有异议），海子是后来才加入进来的。那一次，轮到在我家举行活动，去了二三十人，屋子里挤得满满的，根本没有那么多地方坐，人们只好站着或靠着；屋子里唯一的单身沙发，人们留给了多多，多多当仁不让地在那里坐了下来，并点起烟，一付大师的派头。那么，怎么开始？像往常那样“侃”诗？静默了二三分钟，也没有人挑头，“那就念诗吧”，有人提议。这一次，海子自告奋勇地打头。他先念了一首，没什么反响，“我再念一首吧”，接着念了一首新写的比较长的和草原有关的诗。这一首节奏更为缓慢，在我的印象中，只能算是海子的中等水平的诗（我想我还是比较了解海子的诗的）。这之后，依然没有什么反响，气氛有点尴尬。这时，多多说话了：“海子，你是不是故意要让我们打磕睡呢？”就是这句话，使多多后来深深地内疚不安。但了解八十年代诗歌圈子的人知道，那时的人们就是这样在一起谈诗的，不像现在有那么多的矜持和顾虑。多多这样一说，气氛有点活跃起来。在我的印象中，人们七嘴八舌地提了一些意见，但并没有像后来所传说的那样把海子的诗“贬得一无是处”。人们也并不是有眼不识天才。如果当时海子念的是像《黑夜的献诗》这样的诗，我想说不定多多会一下子站起来拥抱住这位“兄弟”的！多多就是这样一种性情。我了解他对诗的那种动物般的敏锐直觉，更知道他对诗的那种赤子般的热爱（这里仅举一例：多多出国前一直在中国农民报编副刊，一次他很兴奋地对我谈到一个农村作者寄来的诗稿《我是田野的儿子》：“写得好哇，就跟我写的一样！他妈的，我也是田野的儿子呵！”）海子可能在当时受到刺激，但我想他并不会因此而对多多和其他诗人有什么看法，或改变他一直对多多所抱的崇敬之情。后来有人把这件事和海子的自杀联系起来，我更是不能同意。那晚人散后，因太晚不能赶回昌平，海子就住在我家。一同留下的还有另一个朋友，他们一人睡在长沙发上，一人睡在折叠床上。我记得在睡前我们又谈了一会儿，海子是有点怏怏不乐，但我想他是在想他自己的诗。他并没有说任何人的不好。他不是那种人。在这方面，他永远单纯得像一个孩子。

话再回到4月初那天晚上。多多在屋子里坐下后，我关了大灯，开了书桌上的台灯。我的妻子和孩子已在里屋睡了，只有我们俩在外屋低声聊着。夜色的深邃和宁静并不能使人平静。我们都被海子的死深深地震撼了，“家新，今年一定有大事发生，你等着吧，一定有大事发生！”多多在谈这一切的时候，就像大地震前的小动物一样躁动不安（后来发生的一切才使我理解了他那惊人的预感）。一会儿，话题又回到海子的死上。这一次，多多不解地、若有所思地问我：“家新，你说怪不怪，这两天我翻海子的诗，他写过死亡，写到过火车站、小姐姐，哎，我也写过这些呀！我这样写过：小姐姐向火车站走来……”而我抑制着内心的颤栗听着。后来我曾想从海子和多多的诗中找到有关的诗篇，但又作罢，还有必要去找吗？死亡一直就在那里！在童年的铁锈斑斑的火车站上，在“小姐姐”那贫困而清澈的眼睛里，更在我们自身生命中那不可理喻的冲动里……是到了让死亡来造就一位诗人的时候了！想到这里，尤其是想到近年来我自己也曾经历的那种几乎要“越界”的精神危机和冲动，我这样对多多说：“海子是替我们去死的”。

一时间多多无语，我亦无语，在十多年前的那个愈来愈深重的夜里。

二个月后，多多去了英国。当我闻知这个消息后，我心中的一块石头落了地。

四、五个月后，西川在到我家的路上、在西单路口碰到一个人，他对那个人说他梦到了海子和一禾，他们一起要他到他们那里去。待他到我家后，我大吃一惊：数月不见，西川一下子变苍老了，配上那付他穿了多年的浮士德式的破旧的蓝色长工作衫，像是刚从地狱里出来似的！

三年后，当我在伦敦的乌云翻滚的天空下再次见到多多时，我更是不敢相信：多多的头发几乎全白了。

而在这之后的第二年春天，也即90年代的第一个春天，仿佛是从寒冬里刚刚出来，当我经过北京西北郊一片荒废的园林，当我看到一群燕子飞来，在潮润的草地上盘旋并欢快地鸣叫时（是在那里寻找蠕动的小虫子吧），我不由自主的站住了。这就是梦幻般的春天吗？是的，然而生命的复苏却使一种巨大的荒凉感重又涌上了我的喉咙——在那一刻，我想起了我们曾经历的苦难青春，想起那曾笼罩住我们不放的死亡，想到我们生命中的暴力和荒凉……我想起这一切，流下了眼泪。于是回来后我写下了一首诗：

        车站，这废弃的
        被出让给空旷的，仍留着一缕
        火车远去的气息
        车轮移动，铁轨渐渐生锈

        但是死亡曾在这儿碰撞
        生命太渴望了，以至于一列车厢
        与另一列之间
        在呼喊一场剧烈的枪战

        这就如同一个时代，动词们
        相继开走，它卸下的名词
        一堆堆生锈，而形容词
        是在铁轨间疯长的野草……

就这样，我写下了我的哀悼和纪念。现在，当我回想这一切时，已是2001年7月14日。昨夜彻夜的狂欢似乎仍未平息，连我也受到感染。我衷心为这个国家祝福，更为广场上那些因申奥成功而狂欢的青年祝福——是的，七年后的中国将属于他们，七年后的他们正是登上所谓“历史舞台”并大展身手的时候，他们甚至还不知道“苦难”这个词，为什么不狂欢呢。但同时，就在我这样想时，我更深切地感到了一种寂寞。的确，一切全变了，这已是一个和十多年前甚至三四年前都不大一样的时代。然而苦难并没有变为一种记忆，因为没有人记忆。于是，恰恰就在电视中传来的举国狂欢中，我感到一切正离我远去。我再次想起了海子——死亡已使舞者和那最后的舞蹈化为一体，使他永远定格在永恒的25岁；想起了多多——他现在仍乔居在欧洲的某一个国家，带着一头白发，眺望那已看不见的黑暗田野；想起了新街口马相胡同、前门西河沿街、西单白庙胡同这些我曾居住过的、现在恐怕已逐一从新版北京市区地图上消失的地名。是的，一切已不存在或将不存在，一切甚至还没有来得及化为一支挽歌。唯有不灭的记忆仍留在心中，唯有那不灭的记忆仍在寻找着流离失所的人们。想到这里，我再一次找出多多的近作《四合院》，它写得是多么好呵。我读着它，惊叹于诗人语言天才的再度迸发，同时，又禁不住泪流满面——为一位游子的家国之思，为那“撞开过几代家门的橡实”，为那些在神话的庇护下“顶着杏花互编发辫”的姐妹，也为那一阵为我们所熟悉的“扣错衣襟的冷”……是的，无尽的文化乡愁、多少年的爱与恨、一种刻骨的生命之忆，这一切，找到了一个名叫多多的诗人：

        把晚年的父亲轻轻抱上膝头
        朝向先人朝晨洗面的方向
        胡同里磨刀人的吆喝声传来

        张望，又一次提高了围墙……

除了久久凝望这些令人颤栗的诗句并梦呓般地重复它外，我还能说什么呢。是的，在这里，在这个寂静的远离市区的燕山脚下的乡村院子里，当我遥想多年前的那个一去不复返的时代，当我怀念着那些光辉的生者和死者，我只能这样喃喃自语地重复说：张望，又一次提高了围墙！
                         2001年7月，北京昌平上苑

作者简介：王家新，诗人、批评家、翻译家，1957年生于湖北丹江口，高中毕业后下放劳动，1977年考入武汉大学中文系。现为中国人民大学文学院教授。王家新的创作贯穿了中国当代诗歌四十年来的历程，先后出版有诗集、诗歌批评、诗论随笔、译诗集三十多种，并有编著多种，在创作的同时，他的诗学批评随笔和诗歌翻译也产生了广泛影响。作品被译成多种文字发表出版。曾获多种国内外诗歌奖、诗学批评奖和翻译奖。

轉引自梅朵雅歌微信

背影：悼LM

王家新

梅朵按

老木，原名刘卫国，江西萍乡人。1984年毕业于北京大学中文系，与西川、海子、骆一禾并称北大诗歌四才子，著有诗集《你在火的上面歌唱》。《启明星》共同创刊编委，主编《新诗潮诗集》《青年诗人谈诗》，卓有远见地录入了一批先锋诗人、诗作，对当时的诗坛产生了极深远的影响。老木1989年来到法国，在巴黎一直生活到2015年；2015年回家乡萍乡，2020年11月27日,因病于萍乡市安源区白源街家中猝然离世，享年57岁。

谨此登载诗人王家新老师纪念老木的诗歌《背影》，和他的一篇旧文《火车站，小姐姐……》，以示对离世诗人的哀悼和纪念。

背影
——悼LM

王家新


这次你真的走了，
当年我要劝你的话，此刻
也许是永远
咽了下去。

但我觉得你还在那里走，
在我们最后一次见面的北京世纪城。
那是2018年3月初，
饭后，春寒陡峭中，
我们望着你臃肿的黑色背影，
肩后拖着（而不是飘着）
一长截红色围巾，
（没有人告诉你系反了吗？）
从灰色的大街上离去——
不再是三十多年前的那个年轻
革命家和先锋派诗人，
而像是一个村干部，
一个秃顶的小包工头，
（不是你曾崇拜的凡高，
更不是疯了的荷尓德林）
你要去找谁呢？
海子早走了（那时是你第一个
来告诉我的消息），一禾
也接着走了。
你还想掀起一次“新诗潮”吗？
不，那一页永远翻了过去。
未名湖早已结冰。
而我们所在的高楼林立的世纪城
当年曾是一片乱坟地。
我担心的，是你的那一长截
长尾巴似的红色围巾，
（那也许是巴黎的礼物——
德拉克洛瓦的“自由
引导人民”的巴黎……）
如果你路过一个游乐场
或卡夫卡的布拉格，
向绝食艺人投掷石子的顽童，
会不会猛地从你的背后
喧笑着把它拖拽起？

不，在这个无奇不有的时代，
没有人会对此在意。“我看见
我这一代最杰出的头脑毁于疯狂”，
杰出？不；“我不得不和烈士和小丑
走在同一条道路上”，是，曾是；
但走着走着，就成了同一个人。
我们中的诗人西川
曾在巴黎寻你不遇而哭，
一旦见面却又无话可说。
你是不是也渴望成为悲剧英雄，
演完之后才发现它是喜剧？
总之，你回来了，像是从一个
比地球更苍凉的外星球上回来了，
老友们见面，我们也只是
从你仅存的几根拉喳胡须上
才认出了你。
我们拥抱，拘谨地拥抱。
我们交换一点温暖。
而你咧开嘴笑了，满足地
痴呆地笑了……

（但是为什么我会感到心酸，
甚至想跑到一个乱坟地里哭一场？
这一切都是真实的吗？
我们想不出。我们只是
劝你多吃，多吃……）

走了，这次你真的走了，
不是从仓惶中的首都机场，
也不是从归国后的家乡，
而是从那样一条灰街——
身后拖着一长截系反了的红色围巾，
脚步踉跄，像是怀揣着
一笔什么糊涂账。
而我只能努力来记住这一切——
那不单是你的，也似乎是
一个时代的最后背影。

2020，11，28-29

在火的上面歌唱——記詩人老木

貝嶺

（注：因老廖《巴黎，當侯芷明碰上老木》這一文，引我在德國的顛沛中對老木沒法忘懷。近日，子立又多次問我：這當年北大中文系學長的出國人生。茲找出早年（1989年）我因獲悉老木被捕（後證實是誤傳）而寫下的文，與大家分享。當年文筆稚，可不掩沉痛。後來，我和老木於1990年春在華盛頓DC匆匆重逢，便再未見過面。寫於2014年 ）

我依然拙於用筆來表達那些最深切的東西。那些記憶面對著你，它強大，而且揮之不去。

我面前擺著一張照片，它由三個北京大學的校友組成，背景是北京天安門廣場人民英雄紀念碑的漢白玉底座，時間是1989年的5月，三個人分別是王丹、老木、劉蘇里。

我只能寫老木，他是我熟得不能再熟的老友，我們都是詩人，而且是「傾向」雜誌的同人。小老木老了，比以前成熟了，還蓄起了鬍子，還是那副我送他的暗紅色眼鏡架，他的眼神堅定而惘然，我還能記得他的習慣，他在照相機前閃閃爍爍的神情。

我始終不能想像老木會成為一個職業革命者，他只是一個敦厚、樸實、富有正義感的作家，在常態的社會環境下，他是一個不倦的文學活動家，一個優秀的記者和文學編輯，他在夜裏寫作，並且一氣呵成，他寫的詩越來越揮灑，並且憑著他詩人的本能，預感到了一場風暴的來臨，他在詩中渴望「在火的上面歌唱」，並且預言我們將在「時間的暴政」面前承受煎熬，可這一切畢竟是詩啊，它超越政治，也超越國度，一個詩的國度怎麼能迫害它的詩人呢？

老木原名劉衛國，生長在江西，他在北京大學中文系讀書時就是一個文學活動者，他曾擔任北大五四文學社的副社長，並開始了詩歌創作，他木訥而精力充沛。參與創辦了不少校內的文學刊物，畢業後被分配到中共北京市委黨校擔任文學教員，嚴格地講，他有在大陸良好的家庭出身背景，又有相對單純的學生經歷，這一切竟使他被分配到黨校工作，也許是由於他對詩的狂熱愛好，一件事情幾乎改變了他未來的道路。

《新詩潮詩集》在老木手下誕生了

1984年底，在他持續地努力下，他受北京大學五四文學社的委託，編選一本中國前衛詩人的詩集，當時許多青年詩人的作品正受到國內反精神污染運動的持續圍剿，可這些前衛詩歌反而在青年人中受到廣泛的傳播與熱愛，尤其是像我這種人的詩，根本不可能在官方的文學刊物上發表，只能在底下以油印民辦文學刊物的形式流傳，編輯一本在真正文學意義上有代表性的前衛詩人詩集，並在內部出版，幾乎是我們這些前衛詩人的夢想。1985年，老木以罕有的熱情，在北京大學十幾位署名教授的支持下，日夜勞作，在短短三個月的時間裏，他跑遍了北京及各地幾十位青年詩人的家，索要手稿，徹夜篩選。他從民間籌款又兼程趕往外省的印刷廠，校稿、設計版式、聯絡運輸，僅僅半年時間，中國四十年出版史上第一本鉛印民間書籍《新詩潮詩集》誕生了。

這是一本極其搶手的書籍，在沒有正式發行管道的情況下，在我們的努力下，在大學生及朋友們的傳播下，《新詩潮詩集》竟在一年內發行了三萬多冊，這本書的主編及發行人就是老木，一個年僅二十三歲的青年詩人。

老木出名了，他的並不太嚴重的厄運也降臨了，1986年的反對資產階級自由化運動開始後，老木被中共中央宣傳部點名批判，《新詩潮詩集》也被中宣部作為「非法出版物」，在北京軍事博物館陳列展出。老木在黨校是不能待下去了，在文藝界人士的幫助下，老木幸運地調入中國《文藝報》，擔任編輯記者，他終於學以致用，做了一個文學編輯。

他是文藝報最能幹的記者，又具有廣泛的交際能力，他屬於那種騎著車子轉一天，就能把整個版面稿子湊齊的神手，但他的精力仍未發洩，他真正的夢想是創辦純文學的同人刊物，同時還寫詩、寫文學評論、甚至寫中國先鋒派詩歌史這樣大部頭的專著，這還未耗盡他的精力。他渴望愛情，為了追一個女友，專程跑到雲南和女友的家人攤牌，搞得昏天黑地，期間竟還抽空，把一本他編的書稿和當地的一家出版社敲定，他風塵僕僕地在北京像幽靈般敲開每一個朋友的門，籌辦文學沙龍、組織聲勢浩大的前衛詩歌朗誦會，我簡直不能想像，今日中國詩壇沒有老木，將會變成何樣？

《知識分子公開信》

 可這一切終於過去了，一個真誠、熱情的知識分子，憑著他的耿直、憑著他對於國家責無旁貸的使命感與參與感，他必然要投入到那場喚醒了每個人的民主運動中去。他先是在今年（1989年）2月參與發起了三十三位中國知識分子懇求政府與執政黨釋放魏京生的公開信，他們做得溫和而又理性，並贏得了整個知識界的連鎖反應，與其說他們是在呼籲，倒不如說是每一個知識分子良知的反省，因為一個正在發生深刻變革的社會，必須予以它的公民表達自己合法要求的管道。作為當代歷史事件的參與者與目睹者，他們只是表達了最低限度的願望，甚至並未要求政府重新評價歷史事件，而僅僅是期望政府在建國四十周年的時候予以歷史事件中的人物特赦的可能，老木發起做了，他坦然地擔當了一個知識分子的責任。一個聲稱尊重知識、注意傾聽知識分子願望的政府又怎能不為之感動呢？可這隨後的事實卻無情地嘲弄了知識分子的善良願望。

終於，更大規模的學生請願運動爆發了，它波及到整個社會，全民的民主運動也隨之爆發，可是它如此和平，如此地理性，它拒絕激烈與暴力的要求，人民被感動了，整個知識界甚至黨政機關的工作人員都被感動了。作為一個詩人、一個文學工作者的老木被深深地撼動了，他不是一個具有激烈與狂熱性格的人，許多年，他甚至小心翼翼躲開與政治有關的事情，在他參與創辦的《傾向》雜誌上，他強調詩人在創作上的純粹性與理想主義精神，他和詩人們在《傾向》雜誌的創刊詞中引用了《新約馬太福音》中的句子作為結尾：「引到永恆，那門是窄的，路是小的，找到的人也少。」這種永恆超越政治，它是一種精神，是寫作者面對本體的一種勇氣。我始終確信老木對政治沒有專業的興趣，就像我從不認為中國的這場民主運動是一場政治鬥爭一樣，這場民主運動具有強烈的理想主義精神，它如此盛大的場面猶如一首史詩。老木作為一個極具理想主義精神的詩人，他必須置身其中，置身于詩的源泉中，他確信，對這場民主運動的背棄與遠離，也就是對詩的背棄與遠離，作為北京知識界聯合會的宣傳組組長，他和許多知識分子一樣，和學生們在一起。他強調民主運動和平與理性的重要性，強調整個民運良性的發展過程，他勸說學生們結束絕食，他也為學生與政府平等持續的對話做了許多工作，他生性的敦厚使他為學生生命的安危而寢食不安，並和人民一起守候在廣場，為此他甚至暫時放棄了美國哈佛大學邀請他赴美講學申請護照的時間，他不忍在此時離開。

我們最後一次通電話是在今年5月初，當時我轉告他，哈佛大學費正清研究中心期望他儘快來美講學，時間地點早已安排好了，他應該履約。當時他告訴我：也許我不出去了，我不能這時候離開祖國。之後，他沉默了許久，他最後的一句話是：貝嶺，你在美國好好地活著吧。

他是這次民主運動之後第一個遭到正式逮捕的知識分子，他的罪名是反革命暴亂的煽動者與策劃者。

  一個多麼可怕，而又何等荒誕的罪名啊。

使我感到恐懼的是如果像老木這樣一個性格平和、彷徨而又本質上不諳世故的知識分子都要擔上如此可怕的罪名，像他這樣經歷簡單、人事檔案上無可挑剔的人都要承受如此厄運，那些比他更激烈經歷更坎坷、更具政治性的知識分子又將面臨什麼呢？這一切我已不忍想像。

老木獻身理想的精神是詩人的驕傲

我還清楚記得我們最後一次見面的情景，那是在1988年9月，我們剛剛舉辦完「和平之夜」前衛詩歌朗誦會，那是一場既讓詩人沮喪，又令人們難忘的盛大詩會，我曾在會上留下憤怒的淚水，因為我們承受了太大的壓力，勞動了無數員警的關照，而觀眾卻又如此喧嘩，可那次畢竟可以使詩面對人民，可以展現詩人的憤怒與感情，當我痛斥那些人沒有給予詩最高的尊重時，當我由此發出感慨，對著眾人說：「這樣的人民是沒有希望的」時候，老木的眼淚也流了下來，周舵這時也走過來，和我講：「你這樣說話是會傷眾的。」而出乎預料，當朗誦會結束時，許多的聽眾走上前來，和我握手，他們告訴我，你的批評是對的，你應該憤怒，因為我們需要詩，我們不希望人民沒有希望，我們希望聽到詩人的朗誦。這是多麼感人的情景啊。過了兩天，我應邀赴美訪問，在即將離開北京的火車上，老木滿頭大汗地出現在我的面前，他告訴我，我們的雜誌《傾向》已經編好了，編得很理想，他說他會很快給我寄來。他最後的一句話仍然是：「好好活著。」是的，此時我在「好好地活著」——苟活在一塊異鄉的土地上，而老木，卻已身陷囹圄。在今年，他活得比我豐富，比我更有價值，我曾經羡慕他趕上了一個偉大的時代，為他的所作所為而驕傲。而這一切畢竟太短暫了，我沒有身臨其境，我不能料到他在1989年的中國起了這樣大的作用，我曾日夜為他擔憂，因為他在今年的最後一封信中告訴我，他日夜生活在恐懼中。是歷史讓他承擔了一個他未曾料想到要承擔的角色，而這一切僅僅是因為他的信念，他的理想主義精神，他生性中的質樸與單純。他的被逮捕至今仍未公開，甚至沒有多少人知道，他已足夠有名，可比他更有名的人遭到逮捕的已太多了，也許人們忽略了他。不，人們不會忘記他，他已成為詩人為爭取一個理想的社會而獻身的象徵。他是中國詩人的驕傲。

老木是個人物，他矮矮胖胖的身軀散發著熱量，他有不倦的精力，他不拘小節，不修邊幅；他不善言辭，卻又足夠固執；他其貌不揚，卻對詩和女人足夠專一；他可以在任何地方倒頭便睡，醒來時會睜大惶惑的眼睛辨認自己身在何地；他對朋友溫和而友善。他不太設防，卻又常自以為自己足夠聰明；他並不老練，他本質上是一個涉世不深的脆弱型知識分子。他不是一個風度優雅、而又喜歡自以為是的詩人，他是一個你一旦認識，便可以為之託付感情的熱心人。他也是一個做事不牢靠、忘性很大，但你可以對他直率批評的人。

我常常想，老木和我們許多人一樣，我們並不是生來就要和政府、和權力作對的，我們並不企望承受太多的苦難，我們只是希望有一種正常的、自由的、有尊嚴的生活，我們需要的只是寫作，並能夠進行形而上的思考、享受一種富有感情的散漫生活方式。可這一切在中國為什麼就這麼難，這麼危險，甚至要付出如此沉重的生命代價呢？這究竟是因為什麼？

老木，我的好兄弟，我現在還能為你做些什麼呢？朋友們將關注著你，哈佛大學還在等著你來講學，《一行》雜誌還等著你在國內約稿，可你現在在哪裡？在承受著什麼呢？

在時光面前，老木留下了一本詩集，一部未完成的中國先鋒主義詩歌史手稿，還有他編輯的幾本書，以及他今年所具有的輝煌經歷，這一切足以引起人們對一個知識分子在中國當代歷史中承擔的角色的思考，它足夠豐富與複雜，就如同我此時的筆受它制約一樣，它還將制約我的生活。它嚴酷，也使我們別無選擇。

更深的思考也許已經開始，而且必須開始。在短暫的光明與希望之後，更深的黑暗籠罩著我們，倖存的與不幸的，已構成一種巨大的反差，但我們都無法回避光陰的拷打。

最後，我想重複老木的一段話：「一個詩人，一個當然的理想主義者，他的疑慮、他的絕望、他的呼喚、他的堅信、他的歌唱，都不僅僅和世紀之末有更本質的關係。詩人站立在世紀之末，他依然歌唱，因為他深懷愛情，對人類、對世界、對中國、對家園、對親人的愛，而並不要求什麼；因為他天生就是一個理想主義者。在世紀之末，他的歌唱只能夠是下一個世紀的曙光……」

這就是一個詩人的信念。

人們，請記住吧！

1989年7月於紐約

阿海被捕專輯

The Mysterious Disappearance of an Author and Publisher

Bei Ling

Gui Minhai’s apartment complex in Pattaya, Thailand（2016,January）

October 2015, Pattaya, Thailand

In Thailand’s Pattaya, a soft white, Baroque-style building towers over the nearby beaches with their silvery water. Outside the luxury apartment building that has taken years to construct, a golden Buddha stands in silence. This neighborhood, where all is protected by 24-hour security, seems as peaceful and innocent as the utopia of Shangri-la. Dr. Gui Minhai, fondly known as Ah-hai, lived on the seventeenth floor, facing the Gulf of Thailand. Gazing south from its three balconies, the view is unobstructed, with water extending to the horizon. From time to time, Ah Hai – a mysterious Chinese author and Hong Kong publisher – liked to stay here, leaving the cacophony of Hong Kong politics and business behind him. Hiding here, he would spend his days writing and compiling books while still directing the Hong Kong publishing, distribution and bookstore empire he had built over a decade. His wife, who lived in Germany, and his daughter, Angela, who studied in the UK, would occasionally come to visit. Now and then, he would also invite fellow booksellers or his old friends who were poets to relax with him here.

Here are the events that we have been able to reconstruct, leading up to the disappearance of Gui Minhai.  On October 6th, 2015, Ah Hai flew from Hong Kong to Bangkok, where he had a four-day stopover. Four days later, he arrived at his beloved seaside condominium in Pattaya. On the afternoon of 17th October, the publisher drove back from picking up groceries; he was casually dressed, in a T-shirt and shorts. Outside the apartment building, he pulled his groceries out of the car and handed them to the security guard. After exchanging a few words, he got back in his car and drove away.

The panoramic view inside Dr. Gui’s apartment in Pattaya（2016,January）

November 2015, Hong Kong

In early November, two mutual friends of mine and Ah Hai informed me that Gui Minhai was missing. We tried various ways to contact him – by email, Skype, and phone – but there was no reply. This was unusual, as he was responsive by nature; we were concerned. There was further evidence that seemed to justify our increasing alarm: he hadn’t contacted the contractors renovating his apartment in Hong Kong for more than 10 days. Perhaps strangest of all, since he was a reliable friend, he had said on 15th October that he would be in Hong Kong at the end of the month to welcome a guest from Shanghai, yet he never showed up.

The concerns of Ah Hai’s friends seemed to be vindicated on 4th November.  That evening, Wang Yiliang, an author friend living in Thailand, forwarded me a short news story posted on Boxun, a Chinese news website based in the U.S., that read: “Hong Kong Publisher Gui Minhai Suspected Kidnapped in Thailand.”

My heart pounding, I immediately sought out the source of this information. A Boxun reporter sent word that the information had been emailed anonymously, and that Gui Minhai had officially gone missing in Thailand.  Our friend had not been seen since that day in October when he had arrived with groceries and then driven away.

It was already the middle of the night in Germany, but we needed to confirm this report with Ah Hai’s family urgently. I called his home in Düsseldorf, and his wife, a German citizen, answered. Most shocking to me was that she had no knowledge of what had happened. She stammered that it was not possible, simply not possible that he was missing, because “Ah-hai calls me regularly.”  I could hear her voice trembling. I urged her to confirm the story with Ah Hai, her husband, as soon as possible.

The next day, I called Ah Hai’s wife again. She told me her husband had just called and emailed her; he had assured her that he was “safe and sound.” Gui Minhai had told his that it would be better not to discuss the matter with outsiders for now, as he had urgent business to handle. I could tell by the tone of her voice that our friend’s reassurances had calmed her, but she seemed upset with both me and the media for “mistakenly spreading” the story of Ah Hai’s disappearance in Thailand.

Was it possible that the news report was a mistake?  I certainly thought so, and wrote a note to other friends of the Hong Kong publisher – this was on 7th November – assuring them that Ah Hai was “perfectly fine” and urging them to “forget about the police report”.

However, with worries still nagging at the back of my mind, I discussed the situation with Meng Lang,an exiled Chinese poet and an old friend of Gui Minhai. Aptly, he pointed out similarities between our friend’s case and that of Yiu Mantin.  Yiu Mantin was chief editor of Hong Kong’s Morningbell Press. Back in October 2013, when Yiu was preparing to publish Godfather of China Xi Jinping by the exiled writer Yu Jie, he was jailed in Shenzhen for allegedly smuggling industrial chemicals across borders. A year later, Yiu was sentenced to ten years’ imprisonment.  When Yiu had been arrested, his family had flatly refused to publish information about the situation, insisting over and over again that Yiu was “fine.” During that time, Yiu’s wife might have been led to believe that privately seeking help from an intermediary in the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference or the Liaison Office of the Central People’s Government in Hong Kong was the best way to get her husband back.  I considered the similarity between the two cases, and after analyzing it with friends became frightened.

Social networking software may have played a sinister role in Ah Hai’s disappearance – what was beginning to look like a political kidnapping. The Hong Kong publisher could not have foreseen that WeChat, designed in China but freely used across the globe, might have allowed China’s secret police to discover his personal information and whereabouts. When he contacted friends and family on WeChat, Gui Minhai may have unwittingly revealed his address in Thailand, the length of his visit, and the identities of his friends.

What everyone who cared about Ah Hai wanted to know was: where exactly was he?  Was he really “fine”, as he had claimed to be when he spoke to his wife?

A Jolting Loss for Hong Kong: Three Employees Arrested in China

Something strange was happening in Hong Kong: our friend Ah Hai was not the only bookseller and publisher who seemed to have been strangely snatched away.  That same week, two booksellers at the Mighty Current Publishing Company and the manager of Hong Kong Causeway Bay Bookstore vanished – and no-one seemed to know where they had been taken, or why.

Sandwiched among Hong Kong’s most bustling neighborhoods, Causeway Bay Bookstore is on the second floor.  Its entrance would be easy to miss, yet this unassuming bookshop has become a must-stop destination for mainland tourists eager to get their hands on books about Chinese politics that are not available in Beijing, Shanghai, or indeed anywhere in mainland China. Last year, Ah Hai and his colleagues Lv Bo, Lee Po and his wife Sophie Lee (to use her English name) acquired this bookstore; Lin Rongji served as the store’s manager.

But in mid-October 2015, within little more than a week, a series of chilling disappearances was to rock Hong Kong society: in addition to our friend Ah Hai, three Hong Kong booksellers vanished while visiting the mainland province of Guangdong.  Lv Bo, the Mighty Current manager, disappeared in Shenzhen, apparently on 15th October, while resting at his wife’s family’s home.  On 24th October, in the city of Dongguan, ten military police took Mighty Current business manager Zhang Zhiping away at gunpoint; after that, no-one was able to contact him.  Meanwhile, in Shenzhen, Causeway Bay Bookstore manager Lin Rongji disappeared on 24th October.

If Hong Kong society was shaken by this series of disappearances that were hard to account for, no-one was more shocked than friends of Ah Gui.

When Ah Hai contacted his wife in Germany and assured her that he was “fine”, we can only assume that the Chinese secret police – known in Chinese as “the mysterious force” – gave him little choice but to reassure her. In addition, we initially hesitated to pursue our investigation into his disappearance because it was appropriate to respect the family’s decision.

On November 7th, the day after Hong Kong’s Apple News reported his disappearance, Lin Rongji unexpectedly phoned his wife from Shenzhen, saying, “I’m quite safe, I’ll come back after a bit, please don’t fret.” After that, nothing.

That same day, I wrote an open letter to PEN members expressing the hope that we would no longer be misled.

“Thus, regarding the matter at hand, we must not blindly trust what the family says. I only need Ah Hai to appear just once, to tell us just one thing – where is he? Is he free, or not? No matter if it’s just one sentence, as long as he tells us where he is, that’s the only important thing.

“In the early stages, we were led to believe he was safe, and so didn’t have the strength of conviction to ask for help or call for support. Perhaps we missed the best time to save him. I simply could not believe, that while his employees and associates were detained in Shenzhen, he was somehow al right…

“Today, Hong Kong’s Apple Daily reported Causeway Bay Bookstore manager Lin Rongji called his wife after being detained in Shenzhen – further proof that my suspicions were justified.

“Thinking it over, there is no way I believe Ah Hai is okay, and now, I want to convince his wife that I have come to this conclusion after lengthy consideration. Everyone, please do not lower your guard…”

There were too many precedents for us to ignore. From that point onward, we could not blindly trust what the families of the disappeared told us. Our investigation into the booksellers’ disappearance could no longer be postponed.

I’d go as far as to hypothesize that the secret police’s motive for detaining Ah Hai and the three booksellers lay in amassing evidence of Ah Hai’s so-called “crimes.”

Since Bangkok is a place to flee for Chinese applying for political asylum status with the United Nations, I wrote a letter on October 28th to friends in Thailand, warning them:

“Friends and PEN members in Thailand and Bangkok, please be aware… you must keep a low profile, limit the number of people you contact to three per day, and try not to share information on WeChat – you should stick to these guidelines to avoid ending up in prison. Bear in mind, you are living under the rule of a post-coup militia government. If you stay in Thailand, your rights are not guaranteed and it will be easier to get arrested. Please, be careful!”

Rereading the letter, there was a sense of dark foreboding within.

An Important Breakthrough: The First Piece of the Puzzle

Aside from Ah Hai, there were no other ethnic Chinese living in this seaside apartment building in Pattaya, Thailand. While news of the disappearance of Gui Minhai – who held Swedish citizenship – caused an uproar in the Chinese-speaking world and in the media, not a word about it could be heard in Pattaya. The apartment building’s property management office had been baffled by Ah Hai’s sudden disappearance and the four mysterious visitors who subsequently came to his apartment.

By now, three weeks had passed since Gui Minhai’s disappearance. Not only had Thai police not yet opened an investigation – his family hadn’t filed a report either. With no trail to follow, I and several other friends of Ah Hai formed a team to “break the case.” We anxiously searched for him, relying on one piece of information at a time, piecing together the puzzle. We made countless phone calls, analyzed the case day in and day out, approaching the case calmly and rationally. My team and I discussed the situation, making plans for every possible outcome. Eventually, we decided to go directly to Ah Hai’s apartment building in Pattaya to investigate.

On November 9th, we made an important breakthrough in our friend’s case. Through a Chinese friend who cannot be named, Li Fang, a Chinese political refugee in Finland, ascertained the actual address of Gui Minhai’s apartment building. Subsequently, two ethnic Chinese friends in Thailand, who must remain anonymous, went to Ah Hai’s residence in Pattaya, where they inquired into their friend’s whereabouts. Our ethnic Chinese friend spoke Thai fluently, and was able to communicate in Thai with Ms. Mai, the property manager, thereby gaining the confidence of the building’s management office. Within a month, the two were able to procure complete video and photographic records of all entry to and exit from the building.

That day, I promptly wrote to my team:

“They’ve already found Mr. Gui’s apartment in Pattaya, and are confirming the circumstances of his departure; local friends in Thailand are providing assistance. Thanks xx, keep it up.” (November 10).

Following the Clues

On October 17 at 1:15pm, a young male appeared to be standing guard in the shade of a bus stop outside Mr. Gui’s apartment building. After several minutes, Mr.. Gui is depicted driving his own car, white with license plate number 5870, to the apartment building exterior. He then took the groceries he’d just bought out of his car, and asked the building security guard to take it to his apartment. Immediately after, he got back in his car and left with the unidentified man.

This was the last sighting of Mr. Gui before his disappearance. From that moment on, he has not returned.

Video screenshot from the garden outside Mr. Gui’s residential building: On the afternoon of October 17, Mr. Gui returned to the apartment building driving his own car after ordering take-out. Before going upstairs, he left immediately.

Screenshot from the apartment surveillance video: The man that Dr. Gui was seen leaving with on the afternoon of October 17.

Clearly, the mysterious force that took him had prior knowledge of his comings and goings. Perhaps he recognized this person, or maybe one of his so-called friends had introduced them?

This was not the only instance of interference; even more damning footage emerged.

In the afternoon on November 3, four mysterious men who appeared to have come from the casino underworld, with calm demeanors and sure in step, entered the promenade of Dr. Gui’s building. From analyzing and comparing the vocal movements of the four men in the video, it can be established that at least three of them spoke Mandarin Chinese. One man in red appeared to be the leader of this operation. Before entering the building, one man took a phone call. After they entered, Ms. Mai received a call from Mr.Gui. In English, Mr. Gui said the four men were his friends, and they could enter the building and stay the night at his apartment. After the call ended, the property manager asked the four men where Mr. Gui was. One man responded, Mr.Gui was gambling at a casino in Cambodia, and therefore wouldn’t be returning for awhile. After that, building security accompanied the four men in the elevator to the 17th floor, and opened his apartment to let them in. According to the building manager, before these four men left the apartment, they attempted to take Mr. Gui’s desktop computer with them, but the property manager refused.  Grudgingly, the they left without it. 

The panoramic view inside Dr. Gui’s apartment. His desktop computer is still there. （2016,January）

It can be deduced from the time stamp on the surveillance video that they only lingered in Dr. Gui’s apartment for around 20 minutes. Obviously, they hadn’t planned to stay long.  From this it can be determined, in my analysis, that within nearly half an hour, the men likely took his Swedish passport and copied all the files on his computer, including his bank account information and even his emails.

After Dr. Gui disappeared, on November 3, the four men who entered his apartment and attempted to take his computer.

Friends in Thailand also checked The visitor registry showed the men calling on Dr. Gui did not actually write in Thai, but rather used simplified Chinese to write a name: “He Wei” (何伟). Apparently, they are ethnically Chinese, sent there on a mission.

Screenshot of video footage from inside the apartment elevator: The four men who entered Dr. Gui’s apartment.

Screenshot of video footage from inside the apartment elevator: A man who entered Dr. Gui’s apartment. The man wearing red is the ringleader.

Mr. Gui called again! After screenshots of the four men who entered Dr. Gui’s apartment were published in news media reports, Ms. Mai once more received a call from Mr.Gui on November 6. Ms. Mai asked him, “Where in the world are you? Your friends have been looking everywhere for you.” In a nervous tone, without revealing where he was, he responded that everything was alright, adding: “I’m with friends doing computer [sic].” Before he could disclose his whereabouts, he hung up.

“I’m with friends doing computer.” Was this a hint?

We continued our search through every channel possible. From Ms. Mai’s cell phone, we know Mr. Gui’s three phone calls were made over the internet from numbers in Egypt, Poland, and the Congo, but it is beyond our authority to investigate from which country he actually called.

Since this event transpired, Dr. Gui’s family members have still not reported his disappearance to the Thai police. As such, I tried to convince Dr. Gui’s wife to call Thai police in Pattaya from her home in Germany to report his disappearance. As she failed to do so, my friend Li Fang asked whether he could use my name and a friend’s identity to get the property manager to report Dr. Gui’s disappearance to the Thai police. Doing so would prevent strangers from entering his apartment or even taking his computer.  I agreed, and the report was filed.

Police report form

Dr. Gui and his wife spoke on the phone every seven to ten days; with such frequent contact, the tone of his voice was not peculiar. Up until November 15, I was still in phone contact with Dr. Gui’s wife. She always told me, “He’s just fine!” The most recent time we spoke, I asked her directly: “Where is Dr. Gui at this moment?” “He’s in Thailand!” Because she held onto this conviction, I suggested to her at once: “When Dr. Gui calls next, please express that you’ll be flying to Thailand to see him in a couple days, and ask if he would fly to the Bangkok airport to meet you. This is the only way to test whether Dr. Gui is actually in Thailand, whether or not he is free.” She thought this course of action was reasonable, and thus approved of my suggestion.

Several days later, Dr. Gui’s wife told a mutual German friend of ours that she had complied with my suggestion. She used WeChat to mention to Dr. Gui she’d be flying to Thailand to visit and asked him to go to the airport in Bangkok to meet her. Dr. Gui immediately responded, saying he would be unable to meet her and asking her not to fly to Thailand. As I saw it, this was tantamount to Dr. Gui covertly telling his wife that he was no longer free, or perhaps this suggested Dr. Gui had already been taken out of Thailand.

Where was Dr. Gui, after all? Still in Thailand, or already taken into custody back to another country? How exactly was he taken back to China?

I’m still searching.

Has Dr. Gui Really Already Been Returned to China?

On November 10, several foreign Chinese-language media outlets published a news story that caught my attention, a story that I couldn’t help but associate with Dr. Gui’s disappearance. The story was published in official Chinese media:

“On November 9, under the direction of the Ministry of Public Security, 282 police chartered four Chinese civil aviation planes to go abroad. They deported 254 individuals in Indonesia and Cambodia suspected of committing fraud back to China.”(Boxun news portal)

This news story aroused my suspicion:

1. “On November 9, under the direction of the Ministry of Public Security, 282 police” went in-person to Cambodia and Indonesia. As such, Chinese police officials must have arrived first in Indonesia and Cambodia to discuss the details of the operation. Is it possible they could have taken a detour to Thailand to conveniently handle other cases?

2. “…chartered four Chinese civil aviation planes to deport 254 individuals in Indonesia and Cambodia suspected of committing blackmail back to China.” This instance of cross-border cooperation with China, transferring the suspected criminals back to China, is between only the Cambodian and Indonesian governments, not the Thai government.

As Thailand and Cambodia share a border, I instinctively wondered: if Dr. Gui had already been kidnapped back to Cambodia, would he have been thrown in among the other 254 suspected criminals under similar charges and taken back to China?

With this, I phoned my friend in Bangkok who confirmed that it only takes around two hours to drive from Pattaya to Poipet, the casino town straddling the borders of Cambodia and Thailand. In fact, crossing the border into Cambodia is quite easy. Even without a passport, you can directly enter the border casino in Poipet through an acquaintance there. Once inside, you’re already in Cambodia. If you want to continue from the casino to do some sightseeing at the world-famous Angkor Wat, with its imposing architecture and meticulous reliefs, driving a car is also straightforward. With a passport, it’s more convenient. One need only have one’s passport stamped when exiting Thai customs and crossing the Cambodian border. For many years, guests traveling from Thailand to the Thai-Cambodia casino or to Cambodian tourist sites have used these channels to travel between the two countries. If one without a passport wants to go back to Thailand from Angkor Wat, the casino can arrange to take him.

For these reasons, it was technically feasible that Dr. Gui was escorted from Thailand to Cambodia and then detained in Cambodia’s capital Phnom Penh with the group of suspected criminals for transfer back to China.

A Mobile Phone Left Behind in a Taxi

After the four mysterious men left Dr. Gui’s apartment building, they called a taxi outside the building’s gates and headed east toward Thai border town Poipet. While several of them haggled over the taxi fare, one man called the manager of Dr. Gui’s apartment building, asking him to turn off the air conditioning in Dr. Gui’s apartment as they’d forgotten to do so. Be it intentionally or unintentionally, the mobile phone used to call the building was unexpectedly left behind in the taxi. By browsing the phone’s call record, the driver was easily able to confirm that the last call was placed to Dr. Gui’s apartment building management office looking for lost property. Only then did Ms. Mai know that these four mysterious men were headed to the Thailand-Cambodia border town Poipet.

The exit strategy these four men took after leaving Dr. Gui’s apartment was not sufficiently professional. The recovered mobile phone not only divulged their direction, but even more so corroborates my own inferences.

Dr. Gui’s daughter, who goes to school in England, only learned of her father’s disappearance in Thailand on November 9–two weeks after he went missing–when Mr. Li, Dr. Gui’s associate at the Hong Kong publishing company, told her. After the disbelief and sorrow, she accepted interview requests from British and Swedish media, urgently connected with the Swedish government, and reported the case to the Swedish police, therefore making public her search for her father.

Two days later, media reported that she, who’d not heard word from her father for a long time, received a short English-language letter he’d written over Skype. Its contents were baffling and enigmatic, as Dr. Gui’s daughter neither requested money from nor lent money to her father recently:

“Hi, XXX, I have put in 30,000 HKD in your account in HK, and hope you be fine with everything [sic].” (November 11)

Without a doubt, the mysterious force that held control over Dr. Gui had sanctioned his writing this letter.

Five days later, Dr. Gui’s daughter received the $30,000 HKD on schedule through a Hong Kong bank. In the last month since Dr. Gui’s disappearance, this was the only time he had written and remitted funds to his daughter. In my view, the mysterious force allowed Dr. Gui to write and send money to his daughter because she had been calling for help searching for him in international media; this force wanted to convince her of his “safety” so she would not continue publicizing her search.

On November 12, a BBC reporter called Sweden’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs to inquire whether the Swedish government was aware of Dr. Gui’s disappearance from Thailand. The Ministry responded they had already learned of this news, and indicated the government was launching an investigation into Dr. Gui’s disappearance.

On November 17, one month after Dr. Gui’s disappearance, the International PEN Center and the International Publishers Association jointly issued a statement of strong concern regarding the disappearance of this Chinese author and publisher.

On November 20, the Swedish police formally contacted Dr. Gui’s family to notify them they were dispatching police to Thailand to seek out the cooperation of Thai police in order to ascertain Dr. Gui’s whereabouts.

1984, Beijing

I’ve been an acquaintance of Dr. Gui’s for more than 30 years.

Our friendship can be traced back to Beijing in 1984, where this young poet was known by his pen name, “Ah-hai.”

On one Beijing afternoon in 1984, a certain chilliness had not yet dissipated from the early spring air. At Beijing Industrial University (now known as Beijing Institute of Technology), I had burrowed into my narrow, single-room, second floor apartment when someone–ignoring the doorbell–knocked on my door, asking in Beijing-speak with a hint of Ningbo accent, “Is Bei Ling there?” I opened the door to find a round-faced young man, cigarette smoke still idling in his mouth. This was how he serendipitously found me. He pulled out a mimeograph print of a long poem and introduced himself: “Ah-hai, student in the History Department at Peking University, composer of modern poetry.”

The Iron Curtain had already been lifted by that time, but authoritarian control was still severe. During this period, the ban on books was lifted, and “rebellious” Western literature and ideology bubbled forth like floodwater. At the time, literature became in vogue and poetry writing experienced a renaissance. Poetry served as a kind of business card for young literary types, who produced poems as a job applicant produces a resume. In those days, homes rarely had telephones, so to meet someone one would have to devise a way to seek out his address and go directly to his front door. If the person was there, you’d meet him; if not, you’d leave a note and try again another day. I don’t know how many doors Dr. Gui knocked on. In terms of poetry writing, contacts in underground poetry circles, and connections with the underground poetry community, I ranked half-a-generation ahead of Dr. Gui.

Poet Gui Minhai in the 1980s

Both our universities were located in the Western neighborhoods of Beijing, such that Dr. Gui could bike from Peking University to my small, single occupancy apartment at Beijing Industrial University within half an hour. From 1984 to 1985, he would visit my place practically every day. The company I kept at the time was mixed; perhaps he only came to direct his efforts at the motley crew that gathered in my apartment. He was shy, but not reserved, and his high spirits churned out rich discussions, all with disregard for the opinions of his big shot professors. He was heavily dependent on tobacco, as was I, though his ferocity for smoking could not be matched–he’d smoke one cigarette after the other, filling my tiny apartment with clouds of thick smoke. Through me, he made some poet and artist friends outside his circle at school. Sometimes, I’d bring him along on long car rides into the city, or take him to rest for a bit at a residence for poets and painters in the Sanlihe residential area, or ask him to tag along to a gathering of underground poets. With the solemnity of a memorial service, poets of cheerful or bright poems would one after the other get into character at those gatherings.

On weekend nights, I’d take him to parties held at the residences of Western diplomats around Sanlitun or Jianguomen. We’d have to park our bikes in the lot outside the Jianguomen “Friendship Store.” Then, outside the storefront we’d change into foreign clothes–nothing more than cotton Texwood jeans, distressed and faded from so many washings, or brand-new, tight-fitting Levi’s, still indigo blue. We’d top the outfits off with a brand name red down jacket or a t-shirt, passing for overseas Chinese, and call our diplomat friends from a phone booth to let us inside.  After ten minutes, they’d pick us up outside the storefront in a car, and after three or four turns, we’d be inside the diplomatic residence compound. When our car passed through security, plainclothes police and soldiers with guns sized us up with eagle eyes, but I played it cool. Dr. Gui, on the other hand, held his breath–that was a time when “Chinese or dogs [were] not allowed” to enter diplomatic residence compounds. Infiltrating the foreigner’s home amid the merriment set to deafening rock’n’roll and free, unlimited wine and beer is a memory of our 1980s youth that I share with Dr. Gui.

After graduating in history from Peking University, Dr. Gui stayed in Beijing, where he was assigned by the government to serve as assistant editor and editor of the state-run People’s Education Publishing House from 1985 to 1988. Dr. Gui took specialty training in editing, during which time he penned his own book, titled A Guide to Twentieth Century Western Cultural History (1988). To us underground writers, the 1980s were a decade spent ravenously learning about Western culture and reading Western literature. I admired Dr. Gui for getting a government publishing house to publish a book introducing Western cultural history, and gained a new level of respect for him.

Around 1989, we both left China, and fell out of contact. In my capacity as a poet and editor, I visited the United States as a literature fellow, while Dr. Gui and his wife at the time (now divorced) left for Göteborgs, Sweden. He started graduate study at the University of Goteborgs (Göteborgs universitet). In 1989, the June 4 Tiananmen Square student movement and subsequent government massacre shocked the world. This massacre was a turning point both in China’s modern history as well as in the lives of individuals of my generation.

In 1990, Dr. Gui became a Swedish citizen. In 1994, his daughter was born in Göteborgs. Because her parents were constantly by her side with care and concern, she told me, she has fond memories of her childhood.

A moving photograph–Dr. Gui and his daughter in Göteborgs

From 2000 to 2005, Dr. Gui went back to live in China, but I have no idea what what his life like during this period. The year he went back, in late August, I was imprisoned for “illegal publication” of my literary magazine, but was freed through the hard work of the U.S. State Department. After being deported to the United States, I began my life and career in exile. Dr. Gui and I passed so close in China we nearly brushed shoulders.

In 2005, Dr. Gui married his current wife, and together they left China, first immigrating to Berlin before settling down in central Germany.

Nineteen Years Apart

The next time I saw Dr. Gui was February 2007 in Hong Kong, where the International PEN Center’s Asia-Pacific regional conference, called “Chinese World of Authors–Literary Exchange,” was being hosted, marking only the second time since International PEN’s inaugural conference in 1921 that it was held in the Asia Pacific. In total, more than one hundred authors and PEN members from China, Hong Kong, Taiwan, Japan, and Europe participated. It was truly a long-awaited reunion for us. I noticed his dignified appearance and enlarged figure. In disbelief, I blurted out: “Ah-hai, how did this fellow get taller AND stronger? I nearly didn’t recognize you.” With a cigarette still in hand, he still spouted smoke wherever he went. But the capable and experienced man whom I met at the conference had long ago left behind that baby-faced young poet.

After a short three days, we had amassed a deeper understanding of each other’s lives. I knew he had become Gui Minhai, PhD., but he’d also published several academic works and prose anthologies. It was also that year that I read a Chinese-language translation of a book he’d sent me, The Stories Around the Swedism (2005, United Authors Publishing House)–his doctoral thesis completed at the University of Göteborgs.

At the October 2009 Frankfurt Book Fair, we met again, and together served as panelists at the Frankfurt, Germany headquarters of the International Society for Human Rights (IGFM).

Bei Ling and Ah-Hai at the forum discussion at the Frankfurt Book Fair in 2009 [Photo: Zhong Weiguang]

A Prolific Politics Author with a Secret Identity

Starting in 2006, Dr. Gui discontinued writing academic works on comparative East-West history and producing prose, gradually transitioning into a political writer. He focused on the high-level inner-workings of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP), the sexual relationships of CCP officials, and family histories of CCP leadership. He’d travel between Germany and Hong Kong every year, following the trends in modern Chinese politics from nearby.

From 2006 to 2013, he became an apprentice and intimate friend of Liu Dawen, chief editor of noted Hong Kong political culture magazine Front Line, head of XiaFeiEr publishing company, and former literary critic. Dr. Gui even had a desk at the company where he could go anytime to write or edit books. Since he already understood how Hong Kong’s publishing industry operated, he took the initiative to help Liu Dawen’s wife evaluate books, or dig them out from the warehouse. By their example, Dr. Gui became very familiar with the workings of the book publishing industry in Hong Kong.

Dim Sum restaurants are optimal for entertaining visitors to Hong Kong or family and spreading gossip, and Dr. Gui would often invite Mainland guests there to drink and eat. Between courses, Dr. Gui listened as his Mainland guests talked nonstop, blabbering with conviction about high-level CCP relationships, internal power struggles, and erotic anecdotes, thereby collecting much first-hand information. Dr. Gui was exceptionally energetic, mentally writing and compiling books day and night. He had a keen sense for finding inside stories of high-level politics, fully utilizing the analysis, research, annotation, material sourcing, and evidence gathering skills he’d learned in the history departments at Peking University and Göteborgs University. He dashed his pen across paper, writing at least one book a month and compiling more than ten books in a year. Within only a few years, he became known as a prolific publisher in the world of banned political books.

According to information leaked in Hong Kong publishing circles, Dr. Gui published a book about Wang Guangmei, wife of former PRC Chairman Liu Shaoqi, in 2008 titled Autobiography of Wang Guangmei. But in March 2009, Wang’s daughter Liu Sida told a Hong Kong reporter that the book’s contents were pieced together from essays her mother had written while living as well as excerpts from interviews with reporters. According to her, the book had not changed third-person interviews into a first-person “autobiography.” Her initial response to the book was incredulous: “The things written on the cover are just not possible, we want to take legal action to determine whose fault this is, but several lawyers we consulted said it would be too hard to sue… why are people talking rubbish, concocting stories, telling slanderous lies? Publishing such a false autobiography, full of gossip and vulgarities? How is it that in a place like Hong Kong, where freedom and democracy are so strong, there is no way to investigate?”

Dr. Gui wrote many books, but never used “Ah-hai,” instead using different names to publish. Though there was nothing he and his friends didn’t talk about together, he never publicly acknowledged which books he’d written. As such, friends never had the access to confirm which he’d written and which he’d edited. Just like that, he became an invisible author.

The Emergence of a Non-Native Hong Kong Publisher

It was not Dr. Gui’s only ambition to become a prolific but secret political gossip writer; he also wanted to start his own business. He’d already had a publishing house and run a distribution company, but at that time he still wanted to buy a print shop to print books. He aspired to establish a top-to-bottom publishing empire in Hong Kong. I saw these ambitions of his, and I understand them.

In 2007, Dr. Gui and Wang Jie (pen name: Chu Jin), a venerable scholar and legal translator, jointly established United Authors Publishing House. Within three years, they published 8 books. Excluding the best-seller Overseas Mistresses of the Chinese Communist Party; Secrets of Wives of CCP Officials; Women of the Shanghai Gang, which made a small profit; and QingBangWuGuo–In the Words of Jiang Zemin, the other four books were not profitable. Two literature books didn’t sell more than 100 copies, a cruel loss. The two did not go into business together again, and the publishing house did not put out any more books.

Starting in 2011, Dr. Gui established several publishing houses, including North Canal (Bei Yun He), New Vision (Xin Shi Jie), Triangle (San Jiao Di), Double Abundance (Shuang Feng), Floating Duckweed (Piao Ping), Biao Di, Breadth (Guang Du), and others. He’d alternate publishing houses, one after the other publishing banned Chinese political books. After living and publishing in Hong Kong for an extended period, Dr. Gui not only wrote or compiled books, but also had many politics writers publish with him.

Dr. Gui’s publishing houses published 4 or 5 books a month, about 50 books a year, accounting for one-third the total number of banned Chinese political publications published in Hong Kong each year. In 2013, the infamous Bo Xilaiscandal, involving murder and trysts, broke around the world, leaving millions and millions of Chinese in hungry suspense. That was the perfect opportunity for Dr. Gui’s publishing house. According to my rough calculation, of the hundreds of books published on Bo Xilai in Hong Kong during that time, nearly half were published by Dr. Gui’s publishing houses. According to the Guardian, one recent book published by Dr. Gui, titled The Collapse of Xi Jinping in 2017, looked at the scandal’s of China’s president.

In 2013, Dr. Gui, Lee Po, and Lv Bo, a Hong Kong expert in publishing banned Chinese politics books, jointly founded the Hong Kong Giant Dragon (Ju Long) publishing company, and started self-distributing. After decreasing the number of banned Chinese politics books they published, their distribution profits were drained.

In 2014, the three together pooled $300,000 HKD to buy Hong Kong’s Causeway Bay Bookstore, for which business had been bad and which had been operating at a loss, with a month’s rent costing nearly $400,000 HKD. The bookstore primarily sold banned Chinese politics books. To date, Causeway Bay Bookstore is considered to have the most comprehensive collection to enter into the Hong Kong publishing world.

In the last five years, Dr. Gui has already become one of the most important publishers of salacious Chinese politics books in Hong Kong. In addition to Dr. Gui, publishers including Mirror Books, XiaFeiEr Publishing including its subsidiary Global Industry  Publishing Company (Huan qiu shi ye (Xianggang) gong si)), New Century Press, and Open Books have together served as the forces behind the banned Chinese politics book publishing world in Hong Kong.

Prospects for Press Freedom in Hong Kong

With a population of more than 7 million, Hong Kong enjoys freedom of speech and of the press. The proliferation of freedom of information there is the only such example in the entire People’s Republic of China. As Hong Kong faces an enormous mainland readership market of 1.3 billion, half the books published in Hong Kong are political books that cannot be published in China. Among them are books where the facts are a matter of historical record, with complete and accurate evidence, that are able to endure Mainland bans. There are also books based on hearsay with sensationalized stories that would make one’s hair stand straight, stories of internal power struggles at high levels of the CCP, the rise and fall of CCP factions, and inside stories of high-level political emergencies in the CCP. Not to mention licentious page-turners featuring accounts of the mistresses and sexual encounters of high-level officials. These kinds of books, banned in China, are commonly found in Hong Kong bookstores, newsstands, and airports. A new book hits the market almost every day, sometimes becoming a bestseller. Banned publication of political books is the only glaring outlier in the publishing industry in a Hong Kong with press freedom. The biggest purchasers of these books–numbering more than one million people a week, and nearly 100 million each year–are Mainland tourists, or travelers exiting or transferring from China through Hong Kong. China, where information is censored and there is no grassroots independent media or freedom of press, is a publisher’s paradise. It has unlimited potential, attracting prolific authors and publishers such as Dr. Gui to immerse themselves in it. They very clearly recognize China isn’t just a place to make big money on a small investment through royalties and book sales. More so, it is a place where collecting source materials is difficult and the details are thrilling, like detective work. In the writing process, this kind of work yields tremendous spiritual stimulation.

The domain of banned Chinese politics books, with its secret authors, confidential sources, and thrilling revelations, is both fearful and highly competitive for publishers. Not only are there unwritten rules and regulations for publishing houses in this field, but also taboos. For example, ordinarily Chinese political books not signed with the author’s real name, or without a publicly known pen name, with content lacking in reliability, would not be published. Nor would books about the current CCP general secretary or chairman or the private lives of their families be published, in order to protect the publisher’s life. In recent years, for example, He Pin, director of Mirror Books group’s main office, has not visited Hong Kong. Dr. Gui, on the other hand, has disregarded these unwritten rules, even challenging publishing taboos. Though he keeps a low profile, he pays no mind to the danger he is in. He spends three months every year living in Hong Kong. His status as a Swedish citizen served as a psychological safeguard in these circumstances.

A sense of mourning has overcome Hong Kong since Dr. Gui and his three colleagues were “disappeared” more than 40 days ago. Those in the world of Hong Kong’s banned Chinese politics books panic at the slightest move. The absolute freedoms of speech and press in Hong Kong are now in decline. Though press freedom exists there, the self-censorship imposed by publishing houses is even more restrictive. In a Hong Kong with no media to serve as watchdog, authors and publishers have to face the “consequences” each time they put out a new book. The spell of self-censorship has been cast upon the heads of all publishers of banned Chinese politics books. This is the state of “press freedom” in Hong Kong under China’s shadow.

Dr. Gui’s “disappearance” is, so far, the most terrifying outcome a Chinese publisher and author could encounter. The mysterious force that entrapped him did not merely want to prevent his continued publication of these Chinese politics books. This force didn’t only want to understand, what did he write? What they really want to know is: who are the authors of books he has published? Who are the sources that provided information to him? Who was frequently dealing with him over email? And what were they giving him?

The information on Dr. Gui’s computer was hacked, his email password compromised, his mail read. I fear that every author of one of those books, every person with whom he had electronic contact, every source who supplied him information, all will face uncertain consequences.

Conclusion

Dr. Gui was disappeared in Thailand. Looking at the present circumstances, the Thai government and police are responsible for executing the following investigations:

• Collecting fingerprints from inside Dr. Gui’s apartment in order to identify the four men who entered his apartment;
• Checking whether Thai customs has a record of Swedish citizen Gui Minhai leaving the country on October 17;
• Looking for the location of the car Dr. Gui was driving when he disappeared on October 17.

Dr. Gui is a genuine risk-taker in the publishing world, an atypical publisher who has taken off in the Hong Kong publishing world in recent years. Even more so, he is a master player in the fiercely competitive Hong Kong publishing industry who has broken the rules–written and unwritten–of the industry. He has an extraordinary sense of the appetite shared by millions and millions of potential Chinese readers for voyeuristic Party politics and the depraved acts of Party leaders. His success in flooding the Hong Kong publishing world with such works, and even his work’s abrupt halt now, have become another page in the annals of Hong Kong publishing history.

Since Dr. Gui told his wife over WeChat in mid-November not to fly to Thailand, he has made no contact whatsoever.

From where does the mysterious force that captured Dr. Gui across borders come? From which country? The answer is all but certain.

Sharing a common fate, there is no doubt that the threat presented by this force draws nearer to Hong Kong’s press freedom, Hong Kong publishers, and Chinese politics writers.

[FIN]

Special thanks to:

Boxun’s Chinese language website, author Meng Lang, Mr. Li Fang in the Netherlands, Gui Minhai’s family, the property management office at Dr. Gui’s apartment building in Pattaya, Pan Yongzhong, U.K newspaper the Guardian, and the many individuals whose names cannot be divulged.

Appendix I: November 7, 2015, Bei Ling’s “Reflections on Ah-hai’s ‘Disappearance’”

I spoke with Dr. Gui’s wife ten hours ago, and she very clearly told me ‘he’s well.’ Even so, after five hours spent believing her and three spent thinking it over, I strongly doubt he’s really ok. My question is this: where is exactly is Dr. Gui? In what place is he ‘well’? Has he been kidnapped and taken back to China, or is he still vacationing in Thailand? Why have they not allowed him to appear and report to the media that he is ok? How exactly did this happen?

All signs suggest he has come under the control of some kind of mysterious force, to the extent that, regardless what what he says, I fear it will be manipulated behind his back by this force. The signs include: it has already been 15 days since he contacted the contractors renovating his apartment in Hong Kong to talk through the details of the renovation, whereas before he would call nearly every day; he confirmed he’d be in Hong Kong on October 25 to receive a poet friend visiting from Shanghai staying at his apartment, but he has yet to return to Hong Kong so the poet found other accommodations; also, though he’s had phone contact with his wife, the calls have been rushed, and it seems the media attention on his whereabouts pushed him to tell his wife he’s ‘ok.’ This all points to one conclusion: he’s being controlled.

This is my suspicion! If only I were wrong…

From my experience being detained in prison in China, I know prisoners’ families ordinarily are managed by police, led to believe that if they keep quiet and comply, then this big problem will go away. Moreover, the psychology underlying an authoritarian society’s actions allow it to believe that through connections and back doors, it can make someone free. This fantasy is well demonstrated. Take Yiu Mantin as an example. When he was first taken, his family didn’t disclose it to the public but rather also reported ‘he’s well.’ They thought privately seeking help from an intermediary in the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference or the Liaison Office of the Central People’s Government in Hong Kong, and relying on connections could bring Mr. Yiu back to Hong Kong. When Hong Kong Legislative Council members including Zhang Mao wanted to hold a press conference to make Mr. Yiu’s case public, his wife was absent, further delaying the process three months in total. In the end, Yiu Mantin was sentenced to ten years in prison.

Thus, regarding the matter at hand, we must not blindly trust what the family says. I only need Ah-hai to appear just once, to tell us just one thing–where is he? Is he free, or not? No matter if it’s just one sentence, as long as he tells us where he is, that’s the only important thing.

In the early stages, we were led to believe he was safe, and so didn’t have the strength of conviction to ask for help or call for support. Perhaps we missed the best time to save him. I simply could not believe, that while his employees and associates were detained in Shenzhen, he was somehow alright…

Today, Hong Kong’s Apple Daily reported Causeway Bay Bookstore manager Lin Rongji called his wife after being detained in Shenzhen–further proof of my suspicions.

Thinking it over, there is no way I believe Ah-hai is ok, and now, I want to convince his wife that I have come to this conclusion after lengthy consideration. Everyone, please do not lower your guard…

Dr. Gui is also my friend of thirty years. Now we must seize this important moment to help him by bringing the attention of the international community–only then can we save Dr. Gui. I will work as hard as possible to utilize my connections with the German Foreign Affairs Ministry councilor of human rights and other agencies as well as Western media contacts. Through XXX’s hard work, we have contacted the Swedish Ministry of Foreign Affairs to intervene and save this Swedish citizen. Dr. Gui is also a permanent resident of Germany, so the German government will likely also have a strong response to this situation.

The PEN Center’s statement might be insignificant, but we still must issue it and translate it to inform the International PEN Center and the PEN American Center. It is our moral duty to make clear the PEN Center’s absolute intolerance of this kind of behavior.

The International PEN Center so far has been insignificant in the international community, and we [the ICPC] have no way to match its pooled power. This is something Jennifer Clement, the International PEN Center’s new president, touched on in her remarks when she took office. Soon after she and I talked about the current situation, and she said the focus of her work would be to make the International PEN Center resemble organizations like the International Cities of Refuge Network, Doctors Without Borders, or Amnesty International, thereby becoming an international organization with the weight to be valued by the international community. The International PEN Center–let alone the ICPC–has yet to achieve this status.

These thoughts thus are drawn from several decades of life experiences and have nothing to do with my position as president. In sending this to our community, I only want it to be shared among members.

Appendix II: China: Serious Concerns about the Disappearance of Four Hong Kong-based Publishers

The International Publishers Association and PEN International are alarmed at reports that four people associated with a publisher and bookstore in Hong Kong famous for producing and stocking books critical of the Chinese authorities have gone missing. Gui Haiming, the Swedish owner of Sage Communications, along with general manager Lu Bo, store manager Lin Rongji, and staff member Zhang Zhiping have all been reported missing. Fears are growing that they may have been detained by the Chinese authorities.

The President of PEN International, Jennifer Clement, said, ‘PEN International is deeply concerned by the recent reports of four missing publishers in China. If it’s confirmed that they are in detention, it will be yet another blow to the declining situation for freedom of expression in the country. Chinese authorities should investigate these reported disappearances and immediately clarify the situation.’

IPA President, Richard Charkin said, ‘We are seriously concerned for these people’s safety. If they have indeed been arrested, then this is another example of the Chinese Government’s campaign to try to silence dissent in Hong Kong. The IPA calls on the Chinese Government to immediately declare whether these four people are indeed being detained and if so, on what charges. In any event, we ask the Chinese Government to do everything in its power to assist in locating the publishers and allowing for their safe return.’

See more at: http://www.pen-international.org/newsitems/china-serious-concerns-about-the-disappearance-of-four-hong-kong-based-publishers/#sthash.j4h4mPKr.dpuf

A photograph of the author in October 2015

About the Author

Bei Ling is an exiled poet, essayist, literary editor and publisher. He received the PEN USA’s Freedom to write award in 2000, and is a founder and current president of the Independent Chinese PEN Center (ICPC). In the 1980s, Bei Ling was a main organizer of the Beijing underground literature movement. In August 2000, he was jailed in Beijing on charges of “illegal publication” for publishing the thirteenth issue of Tendency. After being released from prison, he was deported to the United States. He has lived in Germany, France, Taiwan, Hong Kong, and other cities. He was selected as an author in residence at the New York Public Library’s Cullman Center for Scholars and Writers in 2002-2003, author in residence at the Kunstlerhaus Schloss Wiepersdorf in Germany in 1998, recipient of the German Academic Exchange Service Fellowship in 1997, and author in residence at Brown University from 1990 to 1993. His work includes Bei Ling: Selected Poems, Havel: A Simple, Complicated Man, and German translations of literary memoirs Exiled (Ausgewiesenpage, German language edition) and Sacrificing Self and Freedom:　Biography of Liu Xiaobo (Der Freiheit Geopfert, German language edition).

About the Translator

Lauren Gloudeman has served as a Chinese-English translator and translation coordinator for several different NGOs and non-profits, covering topics including civil society developments, philanthropy, LGBTQ rights, environmental policy, healthcare, and microfinance in China. In addition, she has worked with various international organizations and institutions to translate academic and legal works.

像香港一樣抗爭

Manifestations

雨傘運動以及其它抗議活動也是如此。主張民主、更多的自由，更多的權利。工人遊行在其口號中宣稱要尊重自己的權利，支付他們應得的津貼。 堅定、勇敢的工人，不被鎮壓所威嚇，逮捕也不能阻止他們行動，即使讓他們失去工作，他們也不想放棄贏得自己的權利。

《喊叫與耳語》（Outcry and Whisper）運用了各種形式來結構其主題，從最傳統的訪談到最具創造力的影像，如同一部奇幻作品，影片中運用了動畫，也有對真實狀態的直接捕捉。例如，電影中展示了一位紡織女工在工廠裡艱辛、重複、單調的工作。

女工的訪談，使我們傾聽到她們迫切的呼聲。它們是以相同的方式構圖，固定的機位並以低角度拍攝。女工們細緻、精確的描述了她們的抗爭行動。示威遊行，面臨鎮壓，承擔失去工作的風險，但她們仍然決定頑強維護自己的權利。她們已然感受到了自己的權利，她們不會屈服。

影片是女性群像的呈現，其中一位佔有特殊地位。她（曾金燕）在香港大學攻讀學業，正在撰寫有關中國公民運動的論文。此外，她的拍攝方式與其他人不同，她面對攝像頭，屏幕上呈現時縮小了尺寸，如同黑牆上的窗口，她喃喃自語，向看不見的對話者傾述。很明顯，這是自我拍攝的私密視頻。我們還看到她在公寓照顧她的小女孩，她們一塊去學校的路上。與其它章節相比，這部分拍攝更加私密，更加生動，更側重於女性的工作及其情感。

這些女性的段落佔據了電影的大部分時間，但是，它們遠沒有耗盡電影的視覺豐富性。毫無疑問，通過「雨傘運動」的示威者與警察的對峙拍攝，這成為一個章節。從高角度，我們看到警察的頭盔，猛烈地撕開雨傘織物，示威者與他們混戰，而音樂持續且重複的節奏，使其幾乎成為搖滾，將我們帶入了另一個維度，參加一場激情派對。

很難完全說出所有這部獨特電影的原始創意。一些段落令人印象深刻，在城市建築物上空進行的航拍，在這些建築物之間沉入黑暗的輪廓，足以讓人聯想到此時在香港發生的一系列自殺事件。繪製或合成圖像中的動畫，有時會破壞電影圖像的統一性，但這些都是導演故意編排的。另外，曾的裸體照片，加上印在其上的抗爭投影，製造出斑駁陸離的效果，藝術性的呈現真實。

電影中以兩段女性行為藝術現場來呈現當代藝術。片首女性藝術家趙躍的特寫鏡頭，她用刮鬍刀割劃自己的臉，鮮血的線條形成了奇特的格子面具。第二個是在香港大街上，一條長長的汽油軌跡，女藝術家杜越將頭用繃帶覆蓋，表演以點燃這條火線結束。這兩件作品都震撼了現場公眾和電影觀眾。

然後，上班的女工的場景，一系列驚人的可塑性歸因於被掩蓋的女人正在處理的工作中的機器。她重複的手勢，將白線軸放置在面前的機器格中，她在機器間緊張、穿梭的身影，構成驚人的編舞，這是卓別林《大都會》的現代版本。該工廠的鏡頭以另一個參考結尾，離開工廠的工人朝向鏡頭走來。

總而言之，這部電影是對女性鬥爭的頌歌，是對女性抵抗和挑戰她們所遭受的不公正待遇的贊歌。

谷歌翻譯，聞海校對

原法文鏈結已屏蔽，原文現附於後

H COMME HONG KONG – Manifestations.

Outcry and whisper. Wen Hai, Jingyan Zeng, Trish McAdam, Hong Kong-Chine, 2020, 100 minutes

Le mouvement des parapluies. D’autres manifestations aussi. Pour réclamer la démocratie. Plus de liberté, plus de droits. Des cortèges d’ouvrières réclamants dans leurs slogans le respect de leur droit. Le paiement de leurs allocations qui leur sont dues. Des ouvrières déterminées, combatives. Que la répression n’intimide pas. Les arrestations ne les découragent pas non plus. Et même si elles perdent leur travail, elles ne veulent pas renoncer à obtenir gain de cause.

Outcry and whisper, traite son sujet de bien des manières différentes, des plus traditionnelles – des entretiens – aux plus inventives, à la limite du fantastique – des animations 3D – en passant par des séquences de pure captation du réel comme le filmage d’une ouvrière au travail dans une usine de textile.

Les entretiens nous mettent en présence de plusieurs ouvrières, cadrées toutes de la même façon – en plan fixe et en légère contre-plongée. Elles évoquent avec beaucoup de détails leurs action, les manifestations, la répression, les risques qu’elles prennent de perdre leur travail. Mais elles affirment avec force leurs droits. Elles se sentent dans leur droit. Elles sont déterminées à ne rien céder.

Parmi ces femmes, l’une d’entre elles occupe une place particulière dans le film. Une jeune étudiante qui veut continuer ses études à Hong Kong – elle fait une thèse sur les formes d’activisme social en Chine. Elle n’est d’ailleurs pas filmée de la même façon que les autres. Elle fait face à la caméra de son ordinateur – l’image est alors de taille réduite sur l’écran – et parle à un interlocuteur invisible. Mais il est clair que le plus souvent elle s’adresse au spectateur du film. Nous la voyons aussi dans son appartement, s’occupant de sa petite fille ou dans les rues lorsqu’elle la conduit à l’école. Un filmage beaucoup plus intime et donc vivant que les autres entretiens, plus centrés eux sur le travail des femmes et leurs revendications.

Mais si ces entretiens avec ces femmes occupent la majorité du temps du film, ils sont loin d’en épuiser la richesse visuelle. Le filmage des affrontements des manifestants du mouvement des parapluies avec les forces de l’ordre est sans doute destiné à devenir une pièce d’anthologie, par son cadrage stupéfiant – en plongée, nous dominons les casques des policiers arrachant violemment les toiles des parapluies des manifestants au corps à corps avec eux. Et par la musique au rythme soutenu et répétitif qui en fait une quasi chorégraphie qui nous plonge dans une autre dimension.

Il est difficile de citer toutes les trouvailles originales qui jalonnent ce film à nul autre pareil. On se souviendra pourtant des contre-plongées verticales sur les immeubles de la ville entre lesquelles la chute d’une silhouette sombre suffit à évoquer la série de suicide qui eut lieu alors à Hong Kong.

Des animations, soit dessinées soit en images de synthèse, viennent par moment rompre l’unité des images filmiques. Des photos aussi de la jeune étudiante, sur lesquelles sont ajoutées des traces de peinture, ont une véritable dimension artistique.

L’art contemporain est d’ailleurs présent dans le film, sous la forme de deux performances. La première en pré-générique dans laquelle l’artiste, filmé en gros plan, se fait des entailles sur son visage avec une lame de rasoir, les lignes de sang dessinant un étrange masque de souffrance contenue. La deuxième est la réalisation dans une rue d’une longue ligne de peinture réalisée avec la tête de l’artiste recouverte de bandage. La performance de termine par la mise en feu de cette ligne. De quoi bousculer le public présent et les spectateurs du film.

Et puis il y a le filmage de l’ouvrière au travail, une séquence d’une plasticité étonnante due uniquement aux machines sur lesquelles s’affaire la femme masquée. Ses gestes répétitifs – elle dépose des bobines de fil blanc dans les alvéoles de la machine devant elle – composent également une chorégraphie étonnante, une version moderne des Temps Moderne de Chaplin. Cette séquence de l’usine se termine d’ailleurs par une autre référence : un plan où les ouvriers quittant l’usine se dirige vers la caméra.

Au total, ce film est une ode aux combats des femmes, à leur volonté de résistance et de contestation des injustices dont elles sont victimes.

Visions du réel 2020.

影評：權利不能拯救女性──《喊叫與耳語》（Outcry and Whisper）

羅傑·科扎

反抗屈辱

「沒有什麼比拍攝反抗屈辱的電影更值得稱贊的了。」

中國是發跡的標誌，但毫無疑問，它掩蓋了恐怖的事實。「共產黨資本主義」的暴發，促使共產主義不正當性加劇，並延遲改善自由、民主分離的資本主義。中國受到所有人的關注，甚至是WTO。這就向我們解釋了在遙遠的土地上，如何優先考慮共產黨而非個人的生產模式。但我們對它的認識，只會引用古老的智者孔子，彷彿一個名字就可以解決全部的謎團，而中國人傾向於把外國人放在優先地位之上。

認真了解中國對外國人而言是什麼？人們如何看待這個領土遼闊的國家？以及今天如何生活在這裡？這總是涉及到歷史，可能需要數十年的時間。此外，還需要學習漢語。但是，中國不是一個難以理解的標誌，除了包圍它所引起的表面多義性之外，那個遙遠地區的電影也在為其辯護。剛剛在國際電影節中放映的一些新影片，便重申了中國可能具有的多種願景：《地久天長》（王小帥）、《一直游到海水變藍》（賈樟柯）、《喊叫與耳語》。

上述最後一部電影是由導演文海、聯合導演曾金燕，持續了八年的製作。影片的主題是女性在中國勞動和政治領域中的地位，以及持不同政見和抗議的形式。敘事結構是複調的，線索之一是社會活動分子曾金燕的故事，她將分散的材料貫穿在一起，這些章節共有的是國家、社會的暴力對個人的控制和壓制。

曾金燕現在帶著女兒居住在香港，她在大陸曾被軟禁，她的丈夫胡佳自2007年以來因「煽動顛覆國家政權」而被拘禁，後來常年處於監控中。曾金燕出現在影片的開頭、中間和結尾。她的聲音和故事，使影片的政治觀點井井有條，並且代表了抗議活動個性化的理想途徑。當她談到裸體行為和克服羞辱的權利時，出現了一種主觀立場，似乎在一場文化大戰中引起了爭議。個人在政治中是什麼意思？主觀不服從與服從之間建立了什麼關係？這些不是電影提出的問題，但它在影片中隱隱的存在。

曾金燕的證詞與《喊叫與耳語》中其他女性的辯證形成對比。所有奮鬥中的女人，似乎已經自然地放棄了自己的享樂和慾望。這場鬥爭被界定為捍衛勞工權利，這種姿態在女工中並不總是如此。一個美麗的二十三歲女性，在江蘇紡織廠工作了七年，甚至無法意識到自己的疏離狀況，這是影片中的第一個證詞，但絕不是導演的隨機選擇。她綜合了失敗的經歷，因為她將自己的生活視為一條命定的道路，包括她的愛情命運，因為她的未婚夫是家人選的，他在無限的未來等待著與她建立家庭。這部電影的目的就是要糾正這種無意識。在針對這種意識的政治抗爭中，不乏可以觀察到曾金燕和其他女性社會行動的願景。

正如許多中國電影中經常顯示的那樣，很明顯，國家是一個抽象的金字塔。對過去的指稱是不精確的，在這裡僅含糊不清地提到了「反右運動」、夾邊溝勞改農場，在電影製片人艾曉明房間的牆上，張貼著一張海報，上面寫的是「1989年天安門事件中的坦克人」。不可否認，每個人都希望民主到來，這並不意味著可以從這個目標中看到對超過一個世紀，相對範疇廣義生產體系的批判性解讀，即共產主義和資本主義。剝削顯然是當前系統的擴展邏輯：工人沒有保險，他們在週六和週日工作，老闆實際上是工人全部時間的所有者，任何抗議都被當局騷擾，隨之而來的是懲罰。在《喊叫與耳語》中有一段引人注目的段落，三十五歲的河南女工小梅，她沒有接受公司的要脅，由於她幫助工友們維權，老闆解除了她原來的工作，將她安排到地下室整理文書。這部電影在技術官僚主義和商業理性的病態狡猾中增加了一個新的章節，老闆用一台監控攝像頭無間斷地記錄了小梅的舉止，這些偷錄的證據，讓公司找到了開除她的藉口：在工作或休息時打電話給他人，這是不可接受的行為。

《喊叫與耳語》還編織了其他人的抗議和她們的證詞，並用動畫來呈現。包括：女性藝術家的行為作品，著名的2014年香港雨傘革命。所有的言論力量都指向征服自由，挑戰當前體制，以及超越平衡作用的抵抗力量。沒有什麼比拍攝反對屈辱更值得稱讚的了。但正如一位不服從的哲學家曾經說過的，與他自己的時代相反，「權利不能拯救人」。 現在，用我們這個時代的詞彙來描述它，並將其應用於影片中所代表的鬥爭：「權利不能拯救女性」。

（谷歌翻譯，聞海校對） 原文連結：

VISIONS DU RÉEL: HANJIAO YU ERYU / OUTCRY AND WHISPER