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The Games Began. Hearts Swelled
The Games Began. Hearts Swelled.
By EDWARD WONG
Published: August 16, 2008
BEIJING — The flags were everywhere when I returned home. I had been reporting in the western desert right before the start of the Olympic Games, and in the 48 hours I had been gone, my gray alleyway in Beijing had been splashed with the bright red of dozens of Chinese flags.
The neighborhood committee had decreed that in the spirit of the Olympics, every household should hang up a flag. It had even installed a small metal flagpole stand on the wall beside every door.
There were grand flags and faded flags and flags that billowed at the slightest gust of wind. But my doorway was conspicuously bare.
I had moved into this courtyard home in one of the city’s ancient alleyways, called hutongs, less than two weeks earlier, and I was self-conscious about standing out. Here I was, a foreigner who was wealthy by Chinese standards, living in one of Beijing’s poorer neighborhoods. Would my neighbors think I was aloof if I didn’t hang up a flag? And hadn’t I chosen to live in a hutong to share in the lives of ordinary people?
I was a man without a flag, and the afternoon before the Olympics began, I decided to get one.
“What, you don’t have a flag?” said Mr. Zhao, an old man sitting next door who wore the red armband of the volunteer neighborhood sentries recruited for the Olympics. “It’s easy. Just walk down the street to the People’s Market. It won’t cost more than five kuai.”
That’s about 75 cents. Was that what love of country boiled down to in China?
Of course not. In the three months I’ve been working in this country, I’ve come to realize how complicated Chinese patriotism is.
It has manifested itself throughout this year: in the backlash against the Western news media for its coverage of the Tibetan conflict, in brawls between pro- and anti-China demonstrators as the Olympic torch relay passed through foreign cities, in the surge of volunteerism during the May earthquake, and in the rush to make Beijing presentable to the world before the Olympics.
When it comes to love of China, nothing is more representative these days than the feelings of Chinese toward the Olympics. I realized this when I interviewed a group of grieving parents recently in the earthquake zone. They were furious at local governments in Sichuan Province for not investigating why so many schools had collapsed. But they said they would not go to Beijing to protest until after the Olympics.
“We don’t want to get our nation into trouble,” said Gan Tingfu, whose 16-year-old daughter died alongside hundreds of classmates in the collapse of a high school in Juyuan.
Patriotism doesn’t end at China’s borders. Last spring, when many Westerners criticized Beijing’s harsh reaction to the Tibetan riots, some of the Chinese who rushed most quickly to their nation’s defense were students abroad, ones who have been fully exposed to Western culture and thought. But for many Chinese, especially those overseas, love of country doesn’t necessarily equate to love of the Communist Party — it can mean admiration for, or loyalty to, Chinese culture (“5,000 years of history” as most Chinese will tell you), and a desire for the West to respect the Chinese.
The Olympics have given overseas Chinese a momentous rallying point. Even my family members, who immigrated to the United States decades ago, take great pride in it.
Like all Chinese, my parents have a complicated history with communism. By the early 1970s, when the horrific Cultural Revolution was in full swing, my parents saw little hope economically or politically in that part of the world, and they left Hong Kong for Washington.
I sensed their attitude toward China changing in the 1990s, as the economy began improving. A signature moment for them came on July 1, 1997, when England handed Hong Kong back to China. The return of the island to the motherland seemed right to my parents.
Now comes this month’s gala, with the host ready to reassert itself as the Middle Kingdom.
My mom and dad watched the opening ceremony on television. Though my mom thought the production was overwrought, she was impressed by what it said about the new China. “They worked so long to prepare for this, and now they can show the world who they are,” she said. “Before, a lot of Americans didn’t even know where China was. They thought it was small and secretive. Now they can see it’s opened up.”
She told me to stock up on Olympic souvenirs for them. My dad’s older brother, Uncle Sam, asked me to mail him letters with Olympic stamps and cancellation dates of Aug. 8, the day of the opening ceremony.
Last year, when I told my relatives I had been assigned to China, almost all of them said, “So you’ll get to cover the Olympics!”
Few mentioned the chance to report on China’s economic evolution, its troubled environment or its widening rural-urban divide.
Even in my childhood, the Olympics opened my eyes to the idea of Chinese transnationalism. I remember staying up during the 1984 Summer Games with my parents to watch the women’s volleyball final match, United States versus China. China won 3-0 and got the gold. My parents rooted for China, I for the United States. Our loyalties were based on birthplace and cultural affinity.
Decades later, I see how malleable such sentiments can be. Last Sunday, as I watched the highly anticipated United States-China men’s basketball game at the arena here, I found myself occasionally rooting for China because it was the underdog. The Chinese roared in appreciation for both teams. A few days later, when I called my parents while they were watching the Games, I heard them cheering for Michael Phelps, the American swimmer.
“We’re American citizens,” my mom said. “We want America to do as well as China.”
Patriotism can be subtle and fluid, but some Chinese here see it as a fixed quality. Many who know my American background still naïvely expect me to behave as if I had grown up in China. When I write an article that is even the slightest bit critical of the government, I get reader e-mail messages like this one I received while reporting on the earthquake: “An ABC? I am ashamed of you!” (ABC, for American-born Chinese.)
So as an ethnic Chinese, how was I supposed to feel about the Olympics? What would hanging up a flag outside my courtyard signify?
I thought about these questions as I looked for the market that Mr. Zhao had recommended. I bumped into a neighbor who suggested I go to another shop. Minutes later, I peered down the street where that shop was supposedly located. I asked a young man named Little Zhai where I could find a flag.
“You have to go to a big supermarket like Carrefour,” he said.
I thought I had misheard him. Was he telling me to buy a Chinese flag at Carrefour, the French supermarket chain that angry Chinese youth had urged everyone to boycott in the spring because of the French owner’s rumored ties to the Dalai Lama?
“Yes, go to Carrefour,” he said. “They definitely have flags.”
The earlier manifestation of patriotism seemed to have dissolved in a matter of months.
But Carrefour was too far away. I mentioned to Little Zhai the name of the store my neighbor had suggested. He took me down the block.
The cramped shop sold cold drinks and lottery tickets. A short woman with glasses stood behind the counter.
She pulled a pile of flags off a rear shelf. Each one was neatly folded and wrapped in plastic. “People come in every day to buy these,” said the woman, Yang Xiaoyuan.
I had no flagpole, so Ms. Yang got me a strip of wood at the picture-frame shop next door. After I returned home, I stuck the entire thing into the metal stand by my doorway.
Putting up the flag meant nothing more than my hope that China would pull off an Olympics that ordinary Chinese could enjoy. They, like everyone else, want a nation they can be proud of.
There was a slight breeze, and the flag fluttered a bit. It was wrinkled and needed ironing.
奥运开始了，人心膨胀了。
奥运开始了，人心膨胀了。
作者：EDWARD WONG
发表于2008年8月16日
北京 — 当我回到家的时候，这里到处旗帜飘扬。就在奥运会开幕前，我去西部沙漠地区做一个报道，仅仅离开了48小时，回来后就看到我所住的灰色小巷中已插上了数十面鲜艳的国旗。
居委会说了，为了弘扬奥运精神，每家每户都得挂国旗。每户门边的墙上甚至已经装好一个小小的金属旗杆座。
家家门前都挂了国旗：巨大气派的、褪了色的、还有在微风中飘扬的。唯独我家门口空空荡荡，格外显眼。
这幢带院子的房子坐落在这座城市某条古老的、被称为“胡同”的小巷里，我搬到这里住还不到两周时间。而且，我也意识到自己在这里很“显眼”。在这里，我是一个住在北京较贫困地区的外国人（按中国的标准算是一个有钱人）。如果不挂旗的话，邻居们会不会觉得我太冷漠离群呢？我之所以选择住在胡同里，不就是为了和普通百姓共同生活吗？
我是个没有旗的人，在奥运会开幕那天的下午，我决定弄一面旗来。
“什么？你还没旗子呢？”隔壁的赵大爷说道，他戴着代表奥运会社区巡视志愿者的红袖箍。“那容易。顺着这条街走到人民市场。花不了你五块钱。”
当然不是。在这个国家工作的三个月中，我开始认识到中国人的爱国心是多么的复杂。
从今年年初到现在，处处彰显着爱国心：在对西方媒体关于西藏冲突报道的抗议中；在奥运火炬接力经过外国城市时，支持和反对中国的示威人群的争吵中；在五月地震后掀起的志愿者救灾浪潮中；还有在奥运会前拼尽全力向世界展现北京风采的冲刺中。
说到对中国的爱，这些天来，没有比中国人对奥运的感情更具有代表性的了。最近，当我在地震灾区采访一群悲痛的父母时，我才意识到这一点。他们对四川省当地政府怒不可遏，因为政府没有调查为何有那么多学校在地震中倒塌。但是他们说，在奥运会结束前他们不会去北京抗议。
“我们不想给国家惹麻烦。”甘庭富（音译）说，他16岁的女儿同她的数百名同学一起被压死在聚源某中学的废墟下。
爱国心没有止步于中国的国境线。今年春天，当许多西方人批评北京对待西藏骚乱的严厉反应时，最快站出来为祖国辩护的人中，有不少就是在海外深受西方文化和思想熏陶的中国留学生们。不过，对于许多中国人而言，尤其是那些海外的中国人，爱国家并不一定等同于爱共产党——他们的爱国心也许是热爱或忠诚于中国文化（大多数中国人会告诉你他们有“5000年历史”），以及期望西方人对中国人的尊重。
奥运会给了海外华人一个极大的凝聚点。甚至早在几十年前就移民美国的我的家人，也以此为荣。
和所有中国人一样，我的父母和共产主义也有一段复杂的历史。在1970年代初期，当恐怖的文化大革命闹得最厉害的时候，我的父母在世界的这个角落看不到任何经济上或政治上的希望，所以他们离开了香港前往华盛顿。
1990年代，随着中国经济的崛起，我感觉到他们对中国的态度发生了变化。对他们而言，1997年7月1日是一个重要时刻，英国将香港还给了中国。香港重回祖国的怀抱，我父母认为这理所应当。
现在，迎来了本月的体育盛事，主办国已经准备好重申自己是“中央帝国”了。
我的父母通过电视观看了开幕式。虽然我妈妈认为开幕式过于考究了，她仍然对演出所表达的新中国印象深刻。“他们为这个准备了那么久，现在他们终于能向世界展示自己了。”她说，“以前，很多美国人都不知道中国在哪里。他们以为那只是一个神秘的小地方。现在他们会看到她开放的样子。”
她要我为他们多买点奥运纪念品。我爸爸的兄长，山姆伯伯叫我用奥运会的邮票给他寄信，还要盖上8月8日奥运会开幕那天的邮戳。
去年，当我告诉亲戚们我会被派往中国工作一段时间时，他们大多数人都说，“那么你就能去报道奥运会了！”
很少有人提起，我将有机会报道中国的经济改革、令人堪忧的环境问题或者其日趋显著的城乡差异。
在我的孩提时代，也是奥运会开了我的眼界，让我见识了中国人的跨国民族主义。我记得1984年夏季运动会时，我和父母一起熬夜观看女子排球的决赛，美国对阵中国。中国队以 3 比 0 赢得了金牌。我父母为中国队加油，我为美国队鼓劲。我们的忠诚基于自己的出生地和文化亲近感。
数十年之后，我发现这种感情的可塑性是这么的强。上个星期天，当我在体育馆现场观看备受期待的中美男篮大战时，我发现自己有时也在为中国队加油，因为他们是较弱的一方。而现场的中国人在为双方高声喝彩。几天后，我给父母打电话时，他们正在看比赛，我听见他们在为美国游泳选手迈克尔.菲尔普斯而欢呼。
“我们是美国公民。”我妈妈说，“我们希望中国取得好成绩，也希望美国表现出色。”
爱国心可能是微妙和易变的，但是这里的一些中国人将其视为一个固定不变的品质。许多知道我美国背景的人仍然天真地期望我能表现得像一个土生土长的中国人。如果我写的文章中哪怕只有一点点批评政府的内容，我就会收到与以下内容相似的电子邮件，那是我在报道地震时收到的读者邮件：“你是ABC？我为你感到羞耻！”（ABC意为“在美国出生的中国人”）。
那么，作为一个华裔，我应该对奥运会抱以何种态度呢？在院子外面挂红旗又象征着什么呢？
我一边想着这些问题，一边寻找着赵大爷推荐的商场。此时正巧碰到一个邻居，她建议我去另一家商店。几分钟后，我来到那家店所在的街道上，左看右看怎么也找不着。我向一个名叫小翟的年轻人打听，哪里有旗子卖。
“你要到大一点的超市去，比如家乐福。”他说。
我还以为我听错了。难道他是在告诉我说，去家乐福——那家今年春天愤怒的中国青年们督促每个人去抵制的法国连锁超市（因为有谣言说，家乐福的老板与达赖喇嘛有牵连）——买中国国旗？
“是啊，去家乐福。”他说，“他们肯定有旗子的。”
先前的爱国主义表达方式似乎只过了几个月就消失殆尽了。
但是，家乐福实在太远了。我问小翟，去我邻居建议的那家商店怎么走。他带我顺着街道往前走。
这是一家不起眼的小店，主要卖冷饮和彩票。一个戴眼镜的矮小妇人站在柜台后面。
她从后面架子上拽出一叠旗子来。每一面都整齐叠好并用塑料袋包着。“每天都有人来买国旗。”这位名为杨小元（音译）的女士说道。
我没有旗杆，所以杨女士去隔壁的像框店弄了一截木棍给我。回到家之后，我把整套东西插进了门口的金属座里。
挂起红旗是为了表示我希望中国能成功地举办一届能让普通中国百姓们都得到享受的奥运会，仅此而已。他们，和每个其他国家的人一样，想以自己的国家为荣。
微风吹过，旗帜轻轻飘动着。它有点儿皱，需要烫一下了。
