“Which level of mindfulness have you attained today?” (今天到什麼境界了？）

The Sino-Japanese war was still ongoing, but still, when China’s foremost philosopher professor the Columbia-educated Jin Yuelin (1895-1984）chanced upon his equally formidable colleague（and fellow Columbia alumni) Feng Youlan (1895-1990) on his way to class in the makeshift wartime campus that had employed both of them, he was in a tranquil-enough frame of mind to casually direct this query at Feng.

“The highest level, in mystical union with nature,” Feng replied in all seriousness.

Amused, both laughed out loud before making their way to their respective classrooms.

Jin and Feng - and other intellectuals of their generation - may have prided themselves in successfully warding off Japan’s effort to upend academic life in China, but little could they have imagined a more sinister enemy to the life of the mind would await them: shortly after the CCP (Chinese Communist Party) took over China, it forced every university professor to renounce their previous beliefs and pledge allegiance to Marxist-Leninism. Among those who capitulated with alacrity was Jin, prompting a former colleague to remark sarcastically, “this regime has done the impossible task of subduing even the staunchest champion of individualism in China. Or should we beseech God to release Jin from his struggle sessions once and for all, now that he has debased himself so completely?”

As for Feng, he eventually stooped so low that during the Cultural Revolution, he laid his learning at the feet of Mao’s wife Jiang Qing (江青), penning newspaper editorials that reflected her latest political fancy.

Earlier this week, I was surprised when I learned from The Atlantic that academics in Hong Kong are in the dark about what the launch of the national security law means for their profession (“We all sit around talking about it, but we don’t have answers,” a professor at Hong Kong Baptist University told the publication).

To find out, they simply have to read up on what happened to Chinese intellectuals in the first 20 years of CCP rule; many good books have been published on the issue (most hit the bookstands from around 2000 to 2012, when the political climate was more relaxed and independent studies of controversial matters were sometimes allowed to see the light of day).

I was also taken aback to learn that some faculty members of the Chinese University of Hong Kong were bewildered when Vice-chancellor Rocky Tuan, who had previously expressed sympathy for the student protests, turned tail and signed his name to a statement signaling his support for the national security law (Tuan’s move sent “a very clear signal downstream that there is no debate here; (management) truly don’t care,” a CUHK academic told The Atlantic). In my view, Tuan was simply being human. He reminded me of this mainland professor who was an acquaintance of the exiled mainland writer He Qinglian: when this professor - he was famous but He Qinglian didn’t name him - read her will-definitely-ruffle-CCP’s-feathers work, he confessed “while your book provides an accurate portrayal of China’s situation, what’s the point of rocking the boat? I have lost the vigor of youth, and the last thing I want is to be caught up in a political storm in my later years.”

I have been discussing the life choices of others at length, but what I’m really doing is using other people’s response to the national security law to clarify my thoughts about my situation as a writer in these times. Not only have I not lost the vigor of youth, but I’m just starting to live my prime years. No one knows when the CCP will collapse; it could take place soon, or it may not happen in my lifetime. The only thing that seems certain is it’s risky if I, say, give up writing for Apple Daily, heed Xi Jinping’s recent call to improve China’s international image

(Editorial: Blindfolded political dance; foreign propaganda-monologue | Apple Daily Hong Kong https://en.appledaily.com/editorial-blindfolded-political-dance-foreign-propaganda-monologue-apple-daily-hong-kong/2TMFDABHVFHXZKRUQIXLBJP73Q)

and lay my writing talents at Beijing’s feet. Go down this path, and constantly I’ll be rattled by the fear that I’ll end up like a boy who just got himself castrated out of the expectation that he’ll land on a position as an eunuch at court, only to wake up from the operation and realize the Qing Dynasty has disintegrated - he has mutilated himself for nothing.

“No longer is there any room to set up a quiet study” （已經安放不得一張平靜的書桌了） - in the late 1930s, when the Japanese barged into Beijing and laid waste to many campus grounds, this was a common refrain among Chinese intellectuals. Looks like this refrain will be my way of life for the foreseeable future too. And If I’m going to feel unsettled whether I continue to be anti-CCP or suddenly become “patriotic,” I might as well remain the way I am.

(Michelle Ng (吳若琦) is an independent bilingual writer based in Hong Kong.Her blog is https://michellengwritings.com, and she can be reached at [email protected])

From today onwards, Michelle Ng’s article can be found in our Columnist section.

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