Congrats to the seniors who saw victory， Congrats to Taiwan

When I first came to Toronto in the summer, I met a Taiwanese uncle in front of a nearby Chinese supermarket. His father was an elementary school principal in rural Qingdao, and his experience in 1949, “before the liberation of Qingdao,” gave them an early taste of the sharp edges of the times on October 1, so there was a small window of time for his family to go south to Taiwan. They had a small window of opportunity to move their family south to Taiwan, where Nixon and Mao shook hands in the 1970s. The Taiwan wave continued to run, and this uncle came to Toronto, a sort of two-generation refugee. Similarly, there were Hong Kong people after the meeting between Margaret Thatcher and Deng Xiaoping, I think. I also met one.
The uncle and I talked and said that the wave of people who assassinated Chiang Ching-kuo in the United States migrated to Canada because of the Taiwan-US relations at that time. Also near Toronto. Supposedly, the relationship with the Democratic Progressive Party is quite close.
I really want to go and talk to this wave of “Huang Wenxiong’s circle of friends” when I have a chance. It’s quite emotional. I don’t really believe that human rights are divinely ordained or heavenly ordained, but it’s okay to be a believer. The reality is that in modern times, these basic rights need to be constructed on one’s own initiative. There’s no way they can just pop up on their own. In other words, they have to be fought for, and someone has to fight for them. And the fight doesn’t even have to be a fight.
Huang Wenxiong’s wave is not bad, the depression, pain, repression and trauma of his youth can be largely relieved in his later years. For example, watching the Taiwan election, that kind of psychology, huh? I don’t know, I empathized a little and my eyes got wet. The sympathetic nerves are very sensitive.
Aung San Suu Kyi ran in the Myanmar election. My colleague went to the Thai-Burma border beforehand to interview a group of student rebels who had stayed behind. These were college students from that Burma 64 in ’88 who watched their classmates die in front of their eyes, couldn’t let go of their accounts, and hid in the jungle, on the fringes of society, using geopolitical connections to make things happen.
The 2015 Myanmar election was pretty brutal for them. In the context of that time, many people would choose to give up, go back to Rangoon, shake hands with the executioners who killed their classmates, and throw themselves into a new game of peaceful democratic elections. In this new game, there is no fair account of ’88, and most people want to forget and turn the page. And sticking around, staying in the jungle, is actually pretty brutal for people who have been there most of their lives.
How can I put it, I feel as though in history, it seems as though the sudden turning of the page is the norm and has to be recognized.
What exactly is an individual to choose? I don’t know. I think it’s the right choice either way. It’s not just about the individual, it’s about the family, the offspring. The bachelor’s choice is relatively easy. An individual’s life, ups and downs, because of chance, a lifetime is put on hold. But with a family one has to ask, what about the children.
Several years ago, and old Mo Yu sound drinking. The rain is very love old Mo, this everyone knows. It is his mouth stinks. Oh, I forgot to talk about what, the old Mo drunk said, I’ll guard them for 40 years, and what’s wrong.
If one day the mainland can be like Taiwan, Mo will be how the whole, I do not know. But I’m a little worried that when the time comes, maybe a bunch of old guys will cry tears of joy, hug and cry, and then fall unconscious.
In fact, it does not matter where these people are, whether they are hiding in the suburbs of Toronto, the jungle on the Thai-Burma border, or a publishing company on the third floor of a business building in Chengdu, it does not matter. It doesn’t matter if they go to Rangoon or not, if they want to make a cut with history or not.
What matters is still the light. If there is light, you can find it and shine it on others. I’ve been in the media for almost 20 years, but I’ve never believed in freedom of the press, and I don’t think journalists are much more decent, but actually it’s more or less because of people like Lao Mo, the light in these people. Compared to them, media people are still part of the mainstream social game. Of course, I enjoy media work, and I’m thankful for those old bosses. Even the ones I didn’t like and didn’t agree with. After all, there I was able to have the opportunity to do something that interested me enough.
The main thing is to have light. Anxiety attacks lately, childhood trauma always erupts. Good things, and seeing what price I’ve paid for anxiety and trauma, and who I’ve hurt. However, no matter how you look at it, there is one thing that is still solid in your heart, at least, the light is always there. Quite good.
Can the mainland see that day? I’m not looking for it. What should be done to do, the light to stay, spread out, always an account.