鸭梨’s words.
Ceiling @ 2007-11-07 09:25
http://ariela.ycool.com/post.2748610.html
On Weiming, there is already a basic consensus on the matter of Triangle Ground: the demolition of Triangle Ground was by no means some premeditated move aimed at student freedom (like the near-mythical seizure of power on Weiming in 2002), but merely a decision hastily made by the leaders in the face of teaching evaluation, in order to tidy up the campus appearance. And yet the contrast between Triangle Ground’s weight in history and in the hearts of Peking University people—or more precisely, the weight it ought to have—and the silent way it has been restored to an ordinary patch of green lawn is truly absurd. So Weiming has seen all kinds of articles, as if they could lend a bit more solemn historical significance to Triangle Ground’s demolition.
Triangle Ground, that Triangle Ground crowned with the names of freedom, ideal, sacredness, and spirit. We students, listening to stories of Peking University in the 1980s, are always filled with longing and take them as myth and ideal. Yet when we pass by Triangle Ground, we do not see all these shining nouns. Legend has it that the first big-character poster was put up here; later that story was discredited. Then it was also said that the march eighteen years ago set out from here; that story too was denied. Exactly where Triangle Ground is sacred, and why it occupies such an unassailably high place in Peking University history, we do not know for sure as we stand before the board covered with training advertisements.
In the explanation issued by the university, the phrase “Triangle Ground was not demolished; only the shabby bulletin board was torn down” is indeed not wrong. Student clubs can still recruit with great fanfare on that street—just yesterday, passing by, I saw all the clubs once again lobbying like wolves and tigers for votes in the evaluation of the student club arts and sports department. Various discussions and debates have long since shifted to the pink-toned Weiming. Having spent more than three years in Yanyuan, the only time I can recall seeing Triangle Ground spark a flash of resistance was that big-character poster protesting motor vehicles entering the campus. Beyond that, there has only been the struggle between various club activities and lectures by successful people for poster space. So the following comment is also apt: that spirit had long since died; now even the corpse is gone.
What that spirit is, we also do not know for sure. Patriotism and progress have long since ceased to be chanted; my own major has personally deconstructed democracy and science, and the two are volleying a ball downstairs from my dorm. In the mouths of her students, Peking University has changed from a spiritual holy land into a great forest where every kind of bird can be found. This too counts as fulfilling “inclusive and eclectic.” I have been satisfied with this for the past few years as well. Thus, if that spirit really is dead, what meaning is there in still keeping the corpse? (At once I think of Chairman Mao Memorial Hall, and feel uneasy.)
Then let us imagine the result of not keeping the corpse. Now Triangle Ground, for the first time, has let students discover that there were in fact a few pines and cypresses and a few clumps of grass there. When the freshmen of ’08 come in, if they do not hear their elders earnestly recount it all, they will not know that this place was originally not a green lawn. When even “On the Demolition of Triangle Ground” becomes a legend that freshmen do not know for sure, then that stretch of history which we now do not know for sure will at last fall silent.
This probably is not some great matter. It is precisely the trend of the times. Those histories—whether in museums, on scholars’ bookshelves, in the hearts of the old, in Lecture Forum broadcasts, or in political speeches—after all amount only to a division between what concerns us and what does not. That history of Peking University, or the spirit within that history, seems already to have been placed in the university history museum, as material for anniversary speeches and tourist explanations. The substance no longer exists; only an empty shell remains, and one must still beware how many reckless people may use your name to act. In this way, that history truly has nothing to do with us. Hollywood has always promoted burying the past and starting a brand-new life. For us to sever that history is no difficult task; it is nothing but a dead corpse. No matter what the new life before us is like, we will always grow used to it.
So Triangle Ground’s demolition really is no earth-shattering matter; it does not signal that some spirit has died, nor that some era has ended. To argue that this decision did not go through a hearing is sheer nonsense. If the leaders had wanted a hearing, Triangle Ground would not have been demolished. This hasty decision precisely proves that in the leaders’ minds Triangle Ground was nothing more than a triangular patch of ground, and the history it was said to bear was nothing but history; that history had long since been recorded in the university history, so it could be sealed up in a display case. Triangle Ground did not vanish quietly; rather, it was hastily swept away from the eyes of the teaching evaluation team. In a somewhat abrupt form, this once again proves that Peking University’s title has shifted from pioneer and leader to a microcosm and mirror of society. Peking University’s frantic pandering to vulgar tastes is precisely the life attitude within a powerful system.
And a life without continuity, an anxious modern sensibility, is merely what my major buries its head in to discourse about.
I only regret that the school’s unconsciousness can no longer tolerate the existence of a corpse that reminds us of the past. With that corpse there, one could still, without any conclusion, look back longingly on that surging and impassioned age, and thereby gain a moment of alertness. Now, at last, we can bustle about without restraint.
I only regret that this move subtly implies that even “inclusive and eclectic” is about to be lost. The idealism that was almost a joke when spoken of has finally, in form, lost its shelter.
But can the leaders really not think of what even an ordinary teacher can think of? In class, the teacher said that if Triangle Ground were left there, it would at least still have tourist value.
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I do not want to call Triangle Ground a “corpse”; I would rather call it a “ruin.” The fate of a corpse can only be slow decay, but a ruin always has the possibility of rebirth. Just as the ruins of ancient Greece and ancient Rome were to the barbarian peoples of the Middle Ages. “Spirit” is often immortal; at least it does not die so easily. The residual power of great spirit can even gradually move barbarians. Therefore, I believe that keeping Triangle Ground, keeping those shabby ruins, would allow those great spirits to hide within them, or be imprisoned within them, waiting at any time for another era to set them free.
What pains me even more is the leaders’ casual, self-satisfied attitude when giving interviews or explanations, and they even want to accuse the media of liking to stir up a sensation (in fact I have not yet seen any media making much of a stir; this matter really ought to be publicized). In particular, the “president” said that Triangle Ground was not demolished; Triangle Ground is still there; only some information boards were torn down—how easygoing, how confident. But even if one says that others are simply making trouble, even if one says that you were right to tear down the information boards, as the head of a university, could you not have estimated beforehand the impact of such an act? Could you not, for a move that might arouse broad questioning, at least have shown some due seriousness? Why could you be so casual? What right do you have to be casual? Is Peking University your property? Are you the master of Peking University? Generations of great predecessors have entrusted the glorious heavy burden of the Peking University presidency to you, and when faced with the relics of those who came before, should you not at least have shown reverent trepidation? If you are so confident that you did nothing wrong, why are you too lazy even to face the media and the students sincerely and offer a proper explanation, dismissing the matter with just a few words? Then, to the outside world, you can say this is our own business at Peking University and you must not stir up a sensation; internally, you can say we have exchanged views with the “student union” (damn it), and then it is none of our business, and we can be self-righteous? Since you dared to exchange views with students, why did you not reveal even the slightest hint beforehand? Why demolish it so hastily—when there was clearly still some time before the teaching evaluation?
Translated from the Chinese original with AI assistance. The original text is authoritative.
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