【中文标题】又一个伟大领袖去世了
【原文标题】The Dear Leader Is Dead, Again
【登载媒体】纽约时报
【原文作者】WENGUANG HUANG
【原文链接】http://www.nytimes.com/2011/12/24/opinion/sunday/in-death-north-korea-imitates-china.html?_r=1&ref=china
看着YouTube上朝鲜平壤市民在金正日去世后的悲痛景象，让我回到了中国的1976年9月，被我们尊称为伟大领袖的毛泽东去世了。
我当时还是中部城市西安一所中学的学生。那一天，校长暂停了我们的数学课，含着眼泪宣布了这个消息。作为一个年轻、易受情感左右的学生，我被一种无法言语的感情淹没了，好像生活的一切都失去了意义。这怎么可能？对我们来说，毛是不朽的。我在小学里最早认识的几个字就是“毛主席万岁”。
当西方孩子在圣诞节唱着颂歌和赞美诗的时候，我们在12月26日庆祝毛主席的生日，唱的歌曲是“毛主席是我们的大救星”。我的父亲曾经指着挂在卧室墙上的毛主席肖像，向我们解释为什么他的面相与众不同。“看他饱满的前额，象征着伟大。他的脸部和眼睛流露出慈祥，他不是凡人，他来自上天。”
宣布这个消息之后，老师们开始痛哭，班上的女学生也开始哭。我们男孩子不知道怎么办好，但是怕别人以为我们不够热爱毛主席，我们也试图挤出一些眼泪。这并不容易，因为我们根本不了解伟大的毛。
于是我想到了我的奶奶，她在家中卧病。如果毛主席真的去世了，她也可能离开我。我开始流泪了。很快，这个方法让我陷入疯狂的情绪当中，我竟然昏倒了。一个校医赶过来照顾我，我对毛主席悲痛的程度让所有的老师都对我另眼相待。校长呜咽着安慰我说：“没有了毛主席，我不知道会发生什么。”我相信她的眼泪是真诚的。
学校发下黑纱和百花，没有人敢大笑、开玩笑。不论去到哪里都有毛的肖像，垂着黑纱，围绕着白色花环。数千居民在工作单位的组织下来到西安市中心的人民广场，他们先是静静地跪在毛主席的肖像前。有人开始呜咽，很快人群变得歇斯底里、捶胸顿足、嚎天喊地，好像在进行一场哭喊比赛。
在某种程度上，他们是在比赛看谁更忠于毛主席。只要有足够的空间，就会被贴上大幅标语——“毛主席思想和我们永远在一起”、“伟大的领袖和导师毛泽东永远照亮我们”。市里的娱乐活动一律停止，大喇叭里整天播放哀乐。在学校里，每个班都选出4名学生，在一个临时搭建的毛的灵位前站岗，4小时轮班一次。如果我被选中，那将是莫大的荣誉。
在一个公开表露情绪被视为轻浮举动的文化中，葬礼的环境则是一个特例。实际上，一个人的哭声越大，情绪越激动——捶胸顿足、以头戕地——就会得到越多的尊敬。这表示你对死者的爱有多么的深。
毛主席去世之后，戏剧化地表现悲痛是政治上必要的举措。在我父亲的单位里，一位领导和其它管理人员在一天晚上准备毛的纪念活动的时候在一起喝酒。路过的工人把这件事汇报给当地公安局，说单位管理层缺少对毛主席的革命感情，在国家大难面前饮酒取乐。于是，这位领导不得不在全体员工大会上做“自我检查”。
现在回想起来，这是很具讽刺意味的一件事。毛一生都在宣扬人终有一死，精神随肉体消失，然而在他死后，他所指认的继任者却把他奉为神明，就像统治中国历代王朝的那些伟大的帝王。
在北京举行毛的追悼大会的那一天，下起了瓢泼大雨。我的老师阴沉地说：“上天也为毛主席流泪，历史上的皇帝去世时，也会下大雨。”我们这些学生太年轻了，还无法理解她的情绪。当我们收听追悼会的电台转播时，一个同学放了个屁，我们都笑起来。后来，这些同学的母亲——一家医院的护士长——出具了一份医学证明，说他消化不良，这个同学才免遭被开除的命运。
随着毛的去世，很多学者在私下预测中国将走上苏联的道路，也就是斯大林死后国家的政治解冻期。这个预测在后来被证明是正确的。毛指定的国家下一届领导人华国锋是个几乎不为人知的角色，国有媒体伪造他的资历，对他给与盛赞。国家把华称为“英明的领导人”，敦促人们向他效忠。然而，他浅薄的政治资本最终导致了一场权力斗争，共产党和军方内部的温和派战胜了对毛效忠的激进派，其中包括毛的妻子江青。中国的大门慢慢打开了。
我们小心翼翼地看着外面的世界，终于意识到我们长期以来被灌输的信念——世界上最伟大的社会主义国家也是最贫穷的国家之一。我们有机会接触到流露到外界的一些历史档案，了解到我们神圣的领袖其实是一个残暴的独裁者，他要为政治运动中数百万人的死亡负责。
就像我家乡古代帝王坟墓中被挖掘出来的珍宝一样，毛的个人崇拜在新鲜空气中土崩瓦解了。他那无处不在的肖像被取下，数十亿枚像章被熔解，做成厨具。现在，即使中国现任领导人依然敬重毛，依然有人把他的肖像挂在出租车里，挂在公司会议室的墙上，似乎还是这个国家的守护神，但毛的时代已经结束了。
三十五年过去了，看到毛的暴政依然在朝鲜上演，不禁令人厌恶。在电视播放的片段中，我看到很多年轻的我站在一群学生中，面对金正日的肖像。有些人捂着脸，强挤出几滴眼泪。他们知道如果不这样，他们和他们的家人就会被揭发。
我还看到了我的父母和老师的翻版，有些人真的悲痛于这个半神偶像的逝去，有些人则是在上演一场葬礼戏剧。
现在，所有人都期望在这个对人民施以暴政的与世隔绝的帝国中，可以发生在毛死后横扫中国的转变。
金正日的死，以及他年轻的儿子金正恩没有任何政治合法性的继任，或许让朝鲜那些有改革意愿的领导人几乎没有机会追随邓小平、赫鲁晓夫和戈尔巴乔夫的脚步。朝鲜完全向世界开放，允许进行经济改革，让中国边境那些不情愿开展的边境贸易进一步扩大的可能性相当渺茫。
在西方受过教育的金正恩有没有可能集结那些忠诚支持者们的力量，彻底改变他的父亲把这个国家带入灾难深渊的极端本土和国际政策呢？如果他继续残暴的统治，再过几年，我会毫不吃惊地看到他和他的家族接受世人的审判，就像世界上其它那些独裁者一样。
回忆70年代疯狂的中国是令人痛苦的，但中国毕竟已经走出了毛死后的阴影。我相信，朝鲜春天，或者苏联式的改革开放很快就会出现，而那些有组织的、对一个恶棍的死亡而捶胸顿足的行为将永远成为历史。
原文：
WATCHING the outpouring of grief over Kim Jong-il’s death in Pyongyang, North Korea, on YouTube transported me back to China in September 1976, when Mao Zedong, whom we revered as the Great Leader, died.
I was a middle-school student in the central city of Xian. That day, my head teacher interrupted our math class and announced the news with tears. A young and impressionable student, I was overwhelmed in a way I could not understand, as if life itself had been overturned. How could it be possible? Mao was like an immortal to us. The first words that I had learned in elementary school were “Ten Thousand Years to Chairman Mao.”
While Western children sang carols and hymns on Christmas, we celebrated Chairman Mao’s birthday on Dec. 26 with songs like “Chairman Mao Is Our Savior.” My father used to point at Chairman Mao’s portrait on our living room wall and explain how his physiognomy set him apart. “Look at his big forehead, such a sign of greatness. His face and eyes exude kindness. He’s no ordinary person. He is heaven-sent.”
At the end of her announcement, my teacher began to wail, as did many of the girls in our classroom. We boys didn’t know what to do, but, worried that people might think we didn’t love Chairman Mao enough, we tried to squeeze out some tears. But it was hard because, as large as Mao was, we really didn’t know him.
So I began to think of my grandma, who was sick at home. If Chairman Mao could drop dead like this, so could she. My tears became real. Soon, I worked myself into such a frenzy of emotion that I fainted. A school nurse was called to treat me. All of my teachers were impressed by the depth of my grief over Chairman Mao. “I don’t know what will happen to us without Chairman Mao,” our head teacher sobbed while consoling me. I could tell her tears were genuine.
The school handed out black armbands and white flowers. Nobody dared laugh or joke. Wherever we went, there were portraits of Mao, draped in black and surrounded by white paper wreaths. Thousands of residents, organized by their work units, showed up at the People’s Square in downtown Xian. They quietly knelt in front of Chairman Mao’s portraits first. Then, someone started weeping. Soon, the whole group turned hysterical, beating their chests, screaming and howling, as if they were in a wailing competition.
In a sense, they were competing to see who was more loyal to Chairman Mao. Big posters went up wherever there was enough space for them: “The spirit of Chairman Mao will stay with us forever” or “Eternal glory to the Great Leader and Teacher Mao Zedong.” All entertainment in the city was banned. All day long, loudspeakers broadcast the same loop of mournful music. In our school, each class selected four students to stand around a makeshift Mao altar in four-hour shifts. I felt it a tremendous honor when I was chosen.
In a culture that frowned upon open displays of emotion at home or in public as frivolous, funerals provided a rare exception. In fact, the louder one’s wailing and the more dramatically you conducted yourself — chest and feet stomping and thrusting oneself toward the casket — the more respect you gained. It showed your deep love for the deceased.
In the case of Chairman Mao, dramatic displays of grief were a political necessity. At my father’s company, the president and other officials drank liquor while preparing for Mao’s memorial services late one night. Some passing workers reported the incident to the local public security bureau, accusing the company president of lacking revolutionary feelings for Chairman Mao and taking pleasure in a national catastrophe. Subsequently, he was placed under investigation and forced to make one “self-criticism” after another at staff meetings.
Looking back, it was ironic that Mao had spent his whole life preaching that humans were mortals and that there was no spirit left after death, yet in death, his designated successor elevated him to a godlike status, an immortal like the great emperors of China who presided over dynasties.
On the day of Mao’s memorial service in Beijing, there was pouring rain. “The heavenly God is shedding tears for Chairman Mao,” my teacher said somberly. “It always happened in the past when an emperor died.” We children were too young to share her sentiments. While listening to the live radio broadcast of the memorial service, a classmate of mine farted. We all started giggling. The student eventually was spared expulsion after his mother, a head nurse at a hospital, presented medical records to show he had a digestive disorder.
Following Mao’s death, many scholars secretly predicted that China would follow the path of the Soviet Union, which experienced a political thaw after Stalin’s death. The predictions proved to be true. Hua Guofeng, whom Mao had designated as the country’s new leader, was a relatively unknown figure. The state media fabricated his credentials and lavished praise on him. The country addressed Hua as the “Wise Leader" and was urged to pledge loyalty to him. However, his lack of political experience soon fueled a power struggle, which eventually enabled the moderate factions within the Communist Party and military to triumph over the radical Mao loyalists, including Mao’s wife, Jiang Qing. Thus, China opened its door.
We cautiously looked at the world, realizing that what we had been taught to believe was the greatest socialist country in the world was actually one of the poorest countries in the world. We studied the newly leaked information from our historical archives and learned our saintly leader was actually a brutal dictator who was responsible for the deaths of millions of people in his political campaigns.
Like the antique treasures excavated from the emperor’s tomb in my hometown, Mao’s personality cult crumbled when meeting the fresh air. His omnipresent statues were torn down and the billions of lapel pins that bore his image were melted to make cooking utensils. At the moment, even though the current leadership in China still venerates Mao and some people hang his picture in cabs, or plaster it on the walls of businesses as if he were a patron saint for the whole country, the Mao era has long ended.
Thirty-five years have passed, and it is sickening to see the echoes of Mao’s tyranny still being played out in North Korea. In the TV footage, I found many younger versions of myself among a group of schoolboys in front of a Kim Jong-il statue. Several were covering their faces, trying to force out a tear. They knew that if they didn’t, they or their families could be denounced.
I also saw the likenesses of my parents and my teachers — some were truly saddened at the loss of a demigod, while others resorted to funeral histrionics out of fear.
At this moment, all one can hope for North Korea, it seems, is that the transformation that swept over China after Mao’s demise might also take hold in this hermit kingdom that is so punishing to its people.
Kim Jong-il’s death and the ascension of his son Kim Jong-un, a young leader who has no political legitimacy, might provide a rare opportunity for the reform-minded leaders to follow the examples of Deng Xiaoping, Nikita S. Khrushchev and Mikhail S. Gorbachev, and open up the country to the outside world, allowing economic reforms, which have already been initiated grudgingly in the border regions with China, to blossom further.
Could it also be possible that Kim Jong-un, educated in the West, might consolidate his power with the help of loyal supporters and drastically change his father’s radical domestic and international policies, which have dragged the country down into total misery? If he instead continues with brutal rule, it won’t surprise me if, in a few years, he and his family stand trial, as so many other dictators in the world have.
It is often hard to remember how insane the 1970s were, but China, for all its faults now, did emerge from the shadow of Mao’s death. I’m optimistic that a North Korean Spring or Soviet-style glasnost will come soon, and that the organized public wailing and chest-beating over the death of a villain will forever be relegated to history.
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发表于 2011-12-29 09:45
