Tolerance is the Bedrock of Democracy
The Culture Revolution was a constant reminder in my childhood, from the bullet holes in the walls of school classrooms that seemed completely missed and unseen by those adults, from those little forgotten graves hidden in the bushes of the hills alongside the road I walked to school, where wild strawberries blossomed beautifully and bore the sweetest fruits. Many times, about the same aged me sat on their dirt-bumps to rest, eating their strawberries, trying to imagine what they looked like, understand their stupidity, and find some meaning in their wasted lives. Every single one of those forgotten souls, those little murderers, those small kids just as innocent as me under their unnamed and unmarked graves believed they died a hero for a noble cause. I couldn’t understand them because I, just like them, could only hear one voice from one Party. I couldn’t understand them because I, just like them, was living in the communist censorship vacuum that had no free speech, no tolerance, no democracy. I couldn’t understand the Culture Revolution because I, just like them, was brainwashed all my childhood by the same propaganda machine of the Government press editorials.
Tolerance is the Bedrock of Democracy
I was born to the Culture Revolution in China. But for all those born to it, the Culture Revolution was not something we could understand, we wanted to talk about, we wanted to hear other people to talk about, or we wanted to be reminded of. When I was a baby, my parents left me in a nursery to flee the Culture Revolution that turned violent. I knew babies could be depressed, because I was after I was left in the nursery for too long to finally realize I had been abandoned. I still could remember the shock and joy the not even 2-year-old me had when I turned around at the bottom of slides and saw my young parents standing by the gate and smiling at me, the happiest moment of my life. Many years later, my parent told me they wandered to the train station subconsciously concerned about the worsening situation, and showed up on the platform when the train arrived and turned out to be the last one leaving the town. Luckily or not, they were there just in time to catch the last train out of town before it turned into a war zone. They told me they didn’t have time to get me. They told me they believed I was in a safe place.
But the Culture Revolution was a constant reminder in my childhood, from the bullet holes in the walls of school classrooms that seemed completely missed and unseen by those adults, from those little forgotten graves hidden in the bushes of the hills alongside the road I walked to school, where wild strawberries blossomed beautifully and bore the sweetest fruits. Many times, about the same aged me sat on their dirt-bumps to rest, eating their strawberries, trying to imagine what they looked like, understand their stupidity, and find some meaning in their wasted lives. Every single one of those forgotten souls, those little murderers, those small kids just as innocent as me under their unnamed and unmarked graves believed they died a hero for a noble cause. I couldn’t understand them because I, just like them, could only hear one voice from one Party. I couldn’t understand them because I, just like them, was living in the communist censorship vacuum that had no free speech, no tolerance, no democracy. I couldn’t understand the Culture Revolution because I, just like them, was brainwashed all my childhood by the same propaganda machine of the Government press editorials.
Shanghai in the late 80th was and still is the most democratic place in China, open to many Western ideas and cultures. Luckily or not, it was there I had to learn the Western idea of being tolerant, awakening to the dream of democracy. But that dream was shattered by the June 4th gun shots in the Tiananmen Square in 1989. Many Chinese students at that time, just like me, couldn’t stand the intense suppression and silencing afterwards and ended up running away to the dreamland of democracy in the whole world, the US. However, the US is no longer it was 30 years ago.
The public execution of Charlie Kirk, a devoted Christian, social media icon who was liked by those even disagreed with him, beloved father and husband with 2 toddlers and a beautiful wife was the unthinkable before in a land of democracy. It was a shocking wake-up call how wrong this Country is now. We have lost our way. This Country has completely lost its way.
I have been temples. I have been churches. I have prayed. To me, God was never given, but found. God’s will could never be foreseen, but could be appreciated. I believe God, not any God in temple, in church, in Bible, but the God in my heart, in a divine place. God is kind and almighty. If rain is God’s cry, today God dropped his tears for Charlie Kirk, for humanity, because, once again, we are at the last front to fight for free speech, for tolerance, for democracy, for all the American values and rights we took for granted. It is the turning point for all of us to stand by the bedrocks of democracy that Charlie Kirk stood by with his life.