Liu Qi on civic responsibility

Liu Qi is a columnist who lives in Beijing. The following short piece appeared in Southern Weekly in February and is translated here with permission from the author.

1. The building management is active in fee collection but slack in light-bulb changing. At night, in the corridors, property owners say “let there be light” but there is no light. Griping, and hatred, but after the hatred passes, no formal complaint.

2. Security guards wear service caps and stand in the shade, but they allow strangers to come and go: they exist in name only. Hatred, but never criticism.

3. The neighbor’s dog, out walking, relieves itself at will. And it’s not tied up – bad tempered, it chases and barks at everyone. Hatred, daily hatred, daily thoughts of rabies and the crematorium. But I never voice these opinions. The municipal government holds a public hearing on the dog issue, but I don’t attend.

4. A store sign – huge, colorfully airbrushed, and eye-catching. Only, 家具 (furniture) is written as 家俱, and 青菜 (vegetables) is written as 青才. So my son writes this way, as does my niece, and they talk back when I criticize them. Hatred, but I don’t go to the shopkeeper to correct it.

5. The one-meter line at the bank is a “civilized line,” but it really is a line for illiterates. Ten people line up, ten people step over it. Hatred, and from that hatred, strength, so I too trample the line, pushing ahead with all my might.

6. The vendor selling seafood does a bait-and-switch, using a live crab to hide the three dead ones he puts in the bag. Hatred. I number one by one the nasty tricks of those profiteers, but I’m too lazy to go back to the market for return and reimbursement. The crabs go into the steamer for ten minutes longer. I gulp down hard liquor, eat ginger and garlic and then berberine.

7. I happen to discover that the small restaurant outside my house has gotten several barrels of used oil, and I suddenly had an epiphany – no wonder the fried chicken is so cheap. I strive to remember how many meals I’ve eaten by myself at home, whether I could have gotten cancer. Hatred, then fear. But I don’t go to report them; I only grit my teeth and curse: may the boss have a kid with no asshole.

8. Someone wants to jump off a building, and a crowd gathers below looking up, looking up with exhilaration. People use the opportunity to hawk binoculars and stools, and others shout: What are you waiting for? Jump already, if you don’t then I’ll go off to work. Revulsion, hatred, melancholy, a dejected sigh about our countrymen’s character, but I don’t go to prevent it.

9. At the airport, a traveler protests the unfairness of the airline company. Hatred, sympathy – I share the same fate, but I do not speak up in support.

10. Cars and pedestrians wrestle for right of way. A driver sticks out his head and tells the pedestrians to go to hell. Hatred, and a feeling that people and cars are equal and each have a right to the roadway. People are weaker and by rights should go first. I think about telling this to the driver, but I swallow the words.

11. I take a taxi in the summertime, and the driver doesn’t turn on the A/C. He rolls down the windows and says that the natural breezes are much more comfortable. Rubbish! I tell him to turn on the A/C, and he counters that the freon is low. Displeasure, hatred even, but I don’t have the driver flick the switch to see if that’s the truth or a lie. And I don’t change to another taxi where it’s cooler. I just endure, fuming and sweating.

12. On the highway cars speed. Buses and trucks too, and they’re also overloaded. Finally I spy a police car running its siren, and I’m secretly pleased – there’ll be a good show, now. Who knew that the police car holds a passel of men and women decked out in swimming gear? Hatred, and criticism from afar. I say I’ll record the plate number and expose them. Then I look for a pen, but can’t find it, and want to take a cell-phone photo but the battery’s gone. Let it go – I extricate myself by saying that even if I report it up the chain, someone will protect them.

13. Sunning myself on the beach, I see a family having a picnic. Bones, bottles, and wrappers are tossed all over or piled up on the sand. Hatred. I turn my head the other way, unwilling to look at them.

14. In the cinema, the couple next to me is noisy, they tease each other and snack on sunflower seeds. Annoyance, hatred, but I don’t let them know.

15. When selecting ten outstanding employees, image ambassadors, super chicks, and special guys, the vote tabulators are careless, or perhaps deliberately negligent, and small numbers become large while large becomes small. Hatred, sneering, glaring with righteous eyes, but I don’t expose it.

16. On screen there’s this clownish program host – rascally, with a devilish smile, smarmy and unbearably vulgar. Disgust, hatred. The guy’s like a fly, and I immediately change the channel. But apart from the vexation I keep bottled up, I have never thought to exercise my rights as a viewer to take modern measures – telephone the TV station, say, or send an SMS or an email to express my personal viewpoint with poise and rigor.

17. Giving a report at a work meeting, I say that China is a society of acquaintances, a society that fears causing trouble, still somewhat removed from a society of modern citizens and strangers. Apart from one’s own home, one’s own office, what’s in front of one’s own door, callous indifference used to be the norm – whatever, who cares. Now we know how to care, how to hate. This is progress, no question, but it is far from enough. In comparison, the people of western developed countries have a widespread sense of civic awareness and a fairly high level of public morality. Those foreigners over there are really strange – it’s like everyone is really nosy. No matter who you are, if you harm the public interest, whether the matter is small or large, everyone is responsible and can voluntarily bother into your business. Us – it seems that only at crucial junctures involving the fate of the nation will we shout, “everyone has the obligation.” Ask the heavens, how long does it take to awaken the public to civic action? At this point, the whole audience erupts into thunderous applause. After the meeting, the throng of presenters and audience members exit, only to come across a man plastering ads onto a wall. Everyone turns a blind eye, and we scatter like sand to the winds.