OpEds – Page 5 – Le Dragon Déchaîné

On being French and Vietnamese, and the issue of Vietnamese immigrants.

Inspired by the Humans of New York platform, first year student Jason Trinh interviews Lucas Lam. He intends to write down the stories of our students on campus, and connect them with the bigger relevant issues in society.

You have heard of Vietnamese Americans. Their stories are everywhere, some of them best sellers like Thanh Nguyen or Ocean Vuong. But what about the Vietnamese French? Today I will tell you the story of Lucas Minh Duc Lam.

When I first arrived on the Sciences Po campus, the most commonly asked question, both by other students and by me when greeting new people, is “Where are you from?”. I answered the question easily, and admittedly I even felt a little bit proud of the answer I could offer, knowing that I was the only Vietnamese student going to the Le Havre campus this year. I was born in Vietnam to a Vietnamese family, speak Vietnamese fluently as a mother-tongue, had a Vietnamese upbringing and attended Vietnamese schools. It’s the life of an average Vietnamese. However, my I was surprised once when I answered the question with the same answer. The person went, “I think there is another Vietnamese”.

It turned out that the Vietnamese mentioned was Lucas Minh Duc Lam, but unlike me, he is not the “average Vietnamese”, or at least that was my impression when I saw and talked to him at one of the first social events. His vibe let me know immediately that there was some familiarity; he is humble, a little bit shy (maybe because we spoke in English?); he even looks like one of my cousins, who is really thin with slender hands and a short, carefree haircut. I couldn’t help but feel extremely curious: being in Vietnam for my whole life and surrounded by other typical Vietnamese, I did not really understand the life of Vietnamese abroad – those who are originally Vietnamese, but officially some other nationality. I have heard of the Vietnamese-Americans: they are easy to recognise as most of them call themselves Vietnamese, most of them migrated to the United States after the Vietnam War by highly dangerous ways such as boats, hence the birth of the term “boat people” which is often used to describe first generation Vietnamese-Americans. Some of them are very widely known authors such as Viet Thanh Nguyen and Ocean Vuong. But I have never heard of the Vietnamese French. I decided to interview Lucas directly, and this article is the recap with some reflections with the talk I had with him.

***

We had our talk in the library, one Friday afternoon right before the Fall break. I texted and asked for Lucas’ participation before, with his first response being, “I’m afraid I’m not an interesting person”, reaffirming my impression of him as a very humble one. I started the conversation with some very basic question: his childhood, his upbringing, his parents, etcetera. Lucas’ parents are of Vietnamese origins. Officially, Lucas is French. He was born and raised in France, around Paris, speaks French fluently as his mother-tongue, had a French upbringing and attended French schools. He was even named a French name, with his Vietnamese middle names rarely used. Spiritually, he is… also French. Lucas does not speak Vietnamese well; he does not identify as a Vietnamese, not because he is not proud of his origins, but rather because his parents raised him as an integrated French citizen, and now he just feels more French than Vietnamese. “It seems to me that there are two types of Vietnamese here” – Lucas told me – “The first type is the very patriotic one. My friends from secondary school, some of them have Vietnamese parents,and they were raised in France. Whenever somebody asks for their identity, they say they are Vietnamese. The second type is me.”

However, he also expressed that his parents helped him appreciate his culture and reminded him of his origin: they “only cook Vietnamese food” for him when he is home (which he admitted that he enjoys very much) and sent him to a school that had Vietnamese in his subject choices (there are only two of them in Paris). Lucas still identifies as French not Vietnamese, because other than the food and some of the basic spiritual or celebratory rituals like the Vietnamese New Year festival Tết or the famous Vietnamese food phở and bánh cuốn, he admitted that he doesn’t know much about the Vietnamese life. “My parents don’t want to erase my origin, but they wanted me to integrate into French society, to feel like a French person. After all, Vietnamese is just my origin; French is my nationality.” He also told me that among the Vietnamese community in France, it’s not always the same, but in his case, even his parents feel very French nowadays, as they have lived in France for more than thirty years. “I think it’s very nice to be allowed to be a part of French society and at the same time respect your own origin.”

I asked him more about his parents and their political opinions as the discussion moved to a more political sphere. His parents, from small provinces of Vietnam in both the North and the South, came to France as a result of the Vietnam War; but unlike most first-generation Vietnamese Americans who are highly anti-communist, his parents are said to be neutral in Vietnamese affairs. They just wanted to maximize their opportunity abroad, he said. I asked him if the community of French people whose origin is Vietnamese holds the same political position. “It depends, really. Many of them are very anti-communist, yes. But many are just like my parents who feel more French than Vietnamese, therefore they now only care about French politics.” He also admitted to me that his parents do not talk to him much about Vietnam.

He spoke of his experience as being “the only Asian in the whole school” back in the time when he lived in the countryside near Paris. He was mocked at school, but fortunately he was backed and defended by many friends. When he moved inside Paris which is a melting pot with many different people, he and even his friends never experienced racism again. He told me that there are many stereotypes – or “cliché”, to use his word – about Asian people, but most of them are good ones, such as Asian people are hard-working, intelligent and good at math. “I think the racist, bad cliché targets black and Arab people, so it’s much harder for them.”

***

At the end of the conversation, we talked about Sciences Po, about why we chose Sciences Po, about our future occupations. When asked about his plans for his future kids, if any, he told me that he would try to teach them about Vietnamese culture, about Vietnamese food, but it will be hard to teach the language.

I said goodbye to Lucas and went home to prepare for the Fall break. But the conversation with him has stayed in my head for a while, until now, whilst I’m writing it down. I have always felt like the serious conversation about the Vietnamese abroad is rarely had among the Vietnamese at home; if they do exist, they are mostly offensive jokes on the internet made by the Vietnamese at home about betraying and leaving the motherland, about refusing the identity. On the other side, the Vietnamese abroad (many times the Vietnamese Americans) talk of the Vietnamese staying as the “commies”, as uncivilized and uneducated, authoritarian-loving people. The Vietnamese at home and the Vietnamese abroad, mostly Vietnamese Americans, are even divided by the version of Vietnam they identify with. The Vietnamese at home identified with the Socialist Republic of Vietnam and the red flag with a big yellow star in the middle. The Vietnamese abroad identified with the Republic of Vietnam (the old South Vietnam regime back in the Vietnam War) and the yellow flag with three yellow stripes. The division is deeper than anything non-Vietnamese people can imagine. Many people are surprised when I tell them that I could not walk into a Vietnamese-owned phở restaurant in the United States and speak Vietnamese, because then my Northern Vietnamese accent would be exposed, and Vietnamese Americans might behave badly as a response.. The understanding between the Vietnamese at home and the Vietnamese abroad is almost non-existent. That is why when President Donald Trump decided that he could deport Vietnamese migrants from the Vietnam War back to Vietnam if they have any criminal offences, it hurt the Vietnamese community abroad in an unimaginable way: the Vietnamese government wouldn’t recognize or accept those people into Vietnam, and the Vietnamese people also wouldn’t sympathize with the deported people.

Maybe because of the strict censorship in Vietnam. Maybe because of the deep, penetrated hatred inside the people abroad who fled the country out of fear. But the conversation has never occurred, and I’m just very glad that I had the chance to talk to a Vietnamese who has grown up in a Western country, from the other side of the world, the other side of the conversation. Maybe the Vietnamese community in France isn’t as hateful towards the current Vietnamese regime as the community in the States, but there are undeniable differences in our mindsets, our lifestyles, our upbringings, and our opinions.

The current event in which 39 bodies were found inside a container in the United Kingdom, most of them suspected Vietnamese nationals trying to immigrate, sparked conversation among Vietnamese people. Vietnam nowadays is not having any wars and the economy is growing very fast, but the trend of immigration is still visible because many (mostly poor) people dream about the Western life and then follow the smugglers to migrate to Western countries. Is it illegal? Yes, but one thing that rather privileged people like you and me don’t understand is the desperate feeling of having no choice, of wanting to be better and to provide better for your family.

It is important to remember that not all immigrants’ stories are warm-hearted stories. People like Lucas and his parents can be said to be very lucky, to not only successfully come to France but also to successfully integrate into society. But somewhere out there, there are immigrants who die in freezing containers at -25*C, with their desire to have a better life unfinished, and we shouldn’t forget about them.

Photos: author.

My “favourite” theory

Our radio editor-in-chief reflects on her least favourite question.

When we introduce ourselves, when we do some primary school task or later when we learn a new language, there is always one question that keeps coming up: “What’s your favourite blank?”

I don’t have a favourite. Ironically, the only answer I could give you when you ask for my favourite is that my least favourite question is what is your favourite. I know. It gets confusing. You see, usually I can narrow myself down to a few favourites for certain things but getting the favourite – the ‘one and only’ – is my mission impossible.

When I was younger, I used to memorise which colour was my favourite. I felt this pressure coming down from somewhere – I needed to have one. For some reason I was also bothered by the inconsistency of my answers so I would try to come up with one and stick to it. Once I thought it was blue; I bought a pair of really bright blue glasses, which then of course I started to hate after a few months. Unfortunately, my mom did not understand my awkward teen embarrassment necessitating me to get a new pair, so they stuck with me (do not ask me to send you a picture with them on). It took me quite some time to give up on finding my favourite colour.

Let me explain where all of this is coming from. It is not that I am completely indecisive (even though I am close) or that I don’t like anything. I just haven’t found the answers to two questions: What is a ‘favourite’? And why do we need to have one?

What is a favourite?

Many people close to me have heard me go on a long rant after a question such as this one. Ask me any favourite-type question and I will deconstruct it for you. For example:

When you ask “what is your favourite food?”, are you asking me for the type of food I would eat every day for the rest of my life? Favourite food when I am sad or happy? My guilty pleasure or what I am always excited to snack on? Winter or summer food? For breakfast or dinner? Sweet or sour? Food is such a broad category which means every answer to a favourite has a different meaning to every person.

If a favourite can have such different interpretations, then does it have any meaning at all?

Once, my yearbook quote was “your favourite and least favourite Lithuanian”. It is easy to get a true favourite (with a least favourite) when there is only one of something to choose from. Two birds one stone, am I right?

Why do we need to have a favourite?

I hope at this point of the text you have lost at least one of your favourites. Maybe that song you swore was your favourite is actually your “Summer-2018-the-time-at-the-beach-you-spent-with-your-dog” favourite. That being said, I don’t want to say it’s not okay to have favourites. I just want to say that it is okay not to have one.

I love when people know their answer straight away, when their eyes light up as they get their answer ready: “My favourite number is seven!” Honestly though, why is seven such a popular favourite number? Their certainty is comforting. Their self-awareness is one to admire. However, I feel like it is often expected for us to have favourites. Faced with a-favourite-type question I start talking about why I dislike favourites but more often than not I just end up killing the conversation.

If I give you an answer when you ask for my favourite colour, that one colour will suddenly become very different to all the colours. It will become the colour. I won’t be even sure of what kind of the it will be. It almost feels unfair to all the other beautiful colours. I have no colour to embody that subjective feeling of favourite.

Maybe part of me is afraid that by choosing my favourite, I will be prevented from fully enjoying the alternatives. Once I settle that my favourite season is summer, will blooming springs ever look as beautiful as they did? In the end, what your favourite means does not matter as long as you stay open-minded. Keep the ability to change your favourites. Or if you change them too often like me, just don’t pick one.

Let’s call it – my theory of favourites (or my favourite theory?).

From a Hong Konger: What we want, and why should you side with us.

Following yesterday’s forum on the Hong Kong protests, Marco Law writes a compelling personal piece about his identity and demands.

Source: Fung Kin Fan

When filling in immigration forms, I always had some hesitations when asked for my nationality. My passport, and all other Hong Kong passports, have “Chinese” imprinted on it by default. So Chinese is the official answer. Yet when people ask me where I’m from, I always say “Hong Kong”. There is no doubt that I am technically a Chinese citizen, but I simply do not feel like I am of the same nation as my fellow Chinese compatriots from the mainland. It’s complicated. We say we are from Hong Kong instead of China, but we also refer to ourselves as Chinese instead of Hong Kongese, or whatever the word should be. Hong Kong is not the same as mainland China, but most of us also do not consider independence from China to be a justified cause. So what is Hong Kong, and how should we categorize the people in it?

These questions on the identity of Hong Kong weren’t important for the majority of our past history. Since our establishment as a British colony, Hong Kong was just a place where people come to pursue a better life. Western colonists came for economic profit, whilst Chinese migrants came in various waves simply to seek a better life from a chaotic mainland, with their identity still firmly Chinese. The millions who lived in Hong Kong identified themselves with the nation they were from, not the territory they are living in. Then we were handed back to China without any consultation of the Hong Kong people, purely as part of a deal between London and Beijing, bypassing the biggest stakeholder in it all. The deprivation of self-determination didn’t matter, the Chinese promises of “one country, two systems” looked good enough to continue our economic prosperity, and those who didn’t believe emigrated. Until quite recently we were happy to witness the rise of China, cheering for Chinese achievements in space, in sports and in infrastructure.

These affectionate sentiments to China turned to anger and resentment by the time of these Anti-Extradition Law protests. The original trigger of the protests was the mistrust on the mainland judicial system, which was known to be corrupt, and has been openly declared as a system which prioritized the interests of the communist party. The bill to allow extradition to the mainland hit the most common and profound fear of the people of Hong Kong – that Hong Kong would be integrated socially to the mainland. There is little dispute that we prefer the rule of law, protection of fundamental rights and freedoms which still somewhat exist in Hong Kong, to the communist authoritarian regime reigning over the mainland. A new common value of the people of Hong Kong has thus been born, to defend the territory against further ‘mainlandization’. The Chinese identity is no longer fully applicable, because a core part of the Hong Kong identity is being different to mainland China. We are not the same as the Chinese, because we will not succumb to an authoritarian regime. Some people, therefore, have begun referring to the people of Hong Kong as “Hong Kongers”, to liberate us from the tag of “Chinese”, recognizing our uniqueness. Our allegiance no longer lies with any overarching sovereign, but purely to the good of the territory. I am a Hong Konger, and we are fighting for the future of our beloved home.

The Anti-Extradition Law Amendment Bill protests started out as protests against a very specific political issue, being the bill that gave the movement its name. It has since clearly grown into a general protest against the political status quo of Hong Kong, which translates to a desperate struggle to retain our rule of law and autonomy from China. Yes, social and economic problems exist in Hong Kong, but they were never the cause nor the aim of the movement. Since the early days of the movement, there has always been only the five demands (and not one less) that are the common goals of the movement. For those of you not familiar, they are: 1) Compete withdrawal of the extradition bill, which has been the only one promised by the government for now; 2) Form an independent inquiry commission with legal powers to investigate police brutality; 3) Retract the characterisation of the 12th June protests as ‘riots’; 4) Release and grant amnesty to protesters arrested during the movement; 5) Immediately implement real universal suffrage for both the Chief Executive and Legislative Council elections.

Whilst the government tries to blame the protests on other factors, such as frustration by the youth on housing prices and foreign interference, I am certain that none of the protesters took to the streets driven by anything else than the five demands. No matter how the government spins it, or tries to have ‘dialogue’ with Hong Kongers, there is only one way to calm the protesters, which is to concede on all five demands. For the casual bystander, this may seem too much of an ask. “Politics is about compromise”; “why demand universal suffrage when you know well that Beijing will not approve?”; “the extradition bill has been withdrawn, don’t be too greedy”. What these people don’t understand, is that the five demands are in essence the bare minimum that Hong Kongers can ask for to safeguard the future of our city. How can we compromise if we cannot make our police forces accountable for their illegal acts? How can we believe autonomy of the city can be guaranteed if Beijing can still pick and choose whichever candidates it likes? Anything less than the five demands will mean that the movement has failed and we have failed to protect Hong Kong in the way we would like it to be. Yes, this sounds like a tough ask, but what the political reality is does not equate to what the reality should be. Just because Beijing won’t allow free elections, does not mean we should not fight for it. There are values that Hong Kongers will defend regardless of the political reality, in this case being our freedom, rule of law and democracy. We may fail, but the result of the movement does not make these claims any less legitimate.

You may also criticize protesters for overusing violence, for wrongly beating people up , and ask both sides to “calm down”. I do not blame you for thinking this way, as many of you may have done the same in the case of the gilets jaunes. Yet this misses that fact that Hong Kongers are left with no choice. We tried peaceful protests. We only held peaceful marches for the first 17 years after the handover. We chose the peaceful method of occupying roads during the Umbrella Movement. We started this very movement with two big peaceful rallies of 1.03 million and 2 million people out of a population of 7 million. Nothing changed. In fact, we witnessed the gradual decrease in autonomy despite constant public resentment against it. Responding to the 1.03 million who demanded the extradition withdrawn, our Chief Executive purely responded “we will continue the second reading of the bill on Wednesday”. “You taught us peaceful marches don’t work”, is what the protesters sadly pointed out. You can blame the gilets jaunes for destroying public property, because they could’ve simply voted against Macron to get rid of him (yes, it’s a long time away, and it’s not so straightforward, but still it’s absolutely possible). For us Hong Kongers who have had enough of Carrie Lam, there is no way we can take her down. The only thing that decides whether she gets to keep the job is Beijing’s blessing. So, when peaceful marches and public outcries are neglected, what other methods are there to make the government listen than to escalate the violence? Yes, not every act of the protesters have been fully morally acceptable, to which I ask for your understanding. If you are simply looking to condemn violence of any kind, I recommend that you look first to the police and pro-government gangsters, whose violence was directly aimed at physically hurting protesters. Whilst thousands of protesters have already been arrested, not one police officer has been made accountable for their brutality, and the pro-government gangsters have been subject to clearly disproportionate degrees of tolerance from the prosecution. The protesters are violent, but it is a false equivocation to say they are just as violent as the other side. You cannot also expect perfect morality and EQ from a bunch of protesters suffering from fatigue, injustice and immense anger on a daily basis. These people understand very well the possible consequences of imprisonment or even death when they stand on the streets, and know this is not child’s play, yet they are willing to sacrifice for the belief that their actions are necessary to save our city. Regardless of what the protesters do, I will still treat them as fellow protesters of the same cause. Regardless what violence occurs, the movement and its aims remain as legitimate as ever.

As the movement faces unprecedented suppression from the government, I have also oddly gained my hope in the future of the city. This is the best of times, this is the worst of times. Our government and police force is turning the city into a police state like never before, but Hong Kongers are also united in both our cause and identity like never before. The movement has done wonders to consolidate our identity as uniquely a Hong Konger, and has given us a common history and value. When listening to “Glory to Hong Kong”, the anthem of the protest, I finally understood what it was like for athletes to stand on their sport’s greatest stage, and burst into tears when hearing their national anthem, a song that is part of their identity and pride. This connection never happened between the Chinese “March of the Volunteers” and I. That was more like a formality. Yet “Glory to Hong Kong” inscribed the very beliefs than define me as a person. “Freedom and liberty belong to this land, may glory be to Hong Kong”. Some may argue this carries a pro-independence sentiment, to which I do not disagree, but would claim that Hong Kong’s independence as a sovereign state is unlikely and not an aim of the movement. What this signifies instead is the spiritual formation of Hong Kongers into a nation, with a fundamentally different identity than the Chinese. The nation of Hong Kong will neither be defined by race or territory, but will solely root from the aspirations of freedom and democracy, for our beloved city to prosper. Even if all else fails, the movement would still have contributed to the process of nation-building in Hong Kong. Hong Kongers, for the first time in history, attempt to break free from our classification as “Chinese” or “British colonial subjects”.

Living in a state that prides itself with freedom and liberty in its blood, I urge you all to remember that whilst we are currently enjoying the fruits of a free and democratic society, this is not a given in all parts of the world. The people of Hong Kong are fighting to defend the little autonomy we have from the biggest authoritarian regime of our era, and the least you can do is to empathize the cause.

This article does not necessarily represent the views of the editors or Sciences Po.

Don’t wait until we are in power.

A report and analytical defense of the global climate strike.

“Many social, technological, and nature-based solutions already exist. The young protesters rightfully demand that these solutions be used to achieve a sustainable society. Without bold and focused action, their future is in critical danger. There is no time to wait until they are in power.”

Science, 2019

The Climate Strike in LH

On Sept. 20th, 2019, young protesters gathered on the streets in every part of the world for a better future, fulfilling the responsibility of their generation.

As part of the series of climate strikes taking place worldwide on the same day, hundreds of students in Le Havre skipped schools to join the protest, including approximately over 30 Sciences Po students.

Days before the strike, Sciences Po students were informed that absences would still be counted during the strike. This did not extinguish the passion, nonetheless, of those who were firmly willing to participate. On the Le Havre campus, the preparation for the strike had started the day before, when active students met to prepare for the coming protest, writing slogans down on posters.

“A flood generates the growth!”

On Friday morning, students met in front of campus and headed to the University of Le Havre, where the strike would begin. At around 10:30 a.m., the protestors started to march through the city, with more joining the march later. A small proportion of the protestors, notably, were not students but non-student citizens of Le Havre. Some participants of the strikes were members of Mouvement Jeunes Communistes de France (JC) and several JC flags could be seen during the march. Confédération Générale du Travail (CGT) also participated.

The strikers marched through the city from the University of Le Havre to La Plage, carefully avoiding possible negative impact on neighborhoods and public transportation. At approximately 12:00 p.m., the strikers arrived at La Plage, gathered at a square. After the organizers of the strike delivered a speech on the emergency of climate issue, the strike ended.

Why is there a strike?

The climate strike on Friday in Le Havre was a part of the series of international strikes and protests, a.k.a. the “Global Climate Strike” or “Earth Strike.” The full week from Sept. 20 to 27, called the “Global Week for Future,” is a worldwide week-long strike. Inspired by Skolstrejk för klimatet (School strike for climate) initiated by Swedish young activist Greta Thunberg, the participants of the worldwide strikes are predominantly students. Since August 2018, Greta started to protest in front of the Swedish parliament and skipped school every Friday.

Youths have the responsibility to act and demand changes because their previous generation has failed to treat climate change as a crisis and actively respond to it, as the slogan “If you do your job, we would be at school now!” reveals.

Greta’s action has become a global movement. The strike on Sept. 20, 2019 is the third global strike in this movement, with the previous two in March and May this year, which had smaller numbers of participants.

Although this movement is highly decentralized and grassroot, its mobilization has been a huge success. Over 4 million people around the world participated in the climate strikes on Sept. 20th. In France, it is reported that roughly 40,000 people participated, with the gilets jaunes (“yellow vests”) joining the climate protest on their 45th Saturday of action.

The UN Climate Action Summit will take place on Sept. 23, 2019, three days after the strike on Friday, in New York. [5] The strike on last Friday was timed to put pressure on the summit, demanding a realistic solution.

In Defence of the Strike

Unsurprisingly, the movement confronts criticisms from many perspectives. Some consider the young protesters truant, while some other claim that the movement is not practical. A widely supported argument opposing the strike, noticed on social media, is that the strike is not constructive since it cannot bring viable solutions and actual changes. According to this argument, these can only be achieved through the effort of scientists and policymakers, and thus the movement is a waste of time. The key issue is, therefore, in what way these strikes are able to achieve their goal.

Jürgen Habermas’s Public Sphere provides a direct approach to prove the constructiveness of the strikes: in such a discourse-based sphere, the active participation of the public is essentially a contribution to the advancement of the social agenda. Critically, the domination over discourse often aligns with the established frame and domination in policy-making, which makes breaking the bondage of disciplinary discourse a rebellion against the political establishment.

“Before most of the children who will be striking were born, scientists knew about climate change and how to respond to it,” says Kevin Anderson, a climate scientist. The scientists’ open letter in Science magazine also states that “many social, technological, and nature-based solutions” are already available. The scientific community recognizes the failure to respond to climate change a consequence of ineffective governance rather than a lack of alternative solutions.

It is not to blame politicians and governments for being blind, but it should be realized that in the legislation process, other considerations are taken prior than environmental concerns. In this manner, the popular discursive participation, through mobilizing the teenagers who are excluded from the political establishment, is fundamentally a contribution to the improvement of governance.

It doesn’t mean all the movements are constructive – only certain kinds of movements contribute discursively. Movements should not be person- or concept-oriented but agenda-oriented to challenge the domination over discourse. The significance of a popular movement opposing existing norms, like the climate one we are experiencing, is the popular participation for the purpose of advancing a certain agenda which would effectively undermine the establishment.

The political sociologist Anthony Orum also explains the indirect role of civil societies and movements in legislation; although the mobilized masses are not able to immediately propose alternatives, through linkage institutions, they are capable of advancing legislation by pressuring actual actors. In a parliamentary system, for instance, a popular movement would empower the opposition parties or MPs to find an alternative solution. Another possibility is that the ruling party or parliamentary majority would gradually embrace the movement’s demands to maintain its standing.

The case of Germany could prove the significance of public actions in the legislation process. Germany has a strong tradition of civil disobedience on environmental issues – in the Friday strikes, there were over 1.4 million protesters across Germany, comparing to the 40,000 in France. Consequently, the ruling parties have to constantly make compromises to the greens, on both national and local levels, due to the pressure from activists. The Social Democratic Party, before losing the 2005 election, even had to form a coalition with the greens (Alliance 90) to gain a parliamentary majority, which is a time witnessing a huge progress in environmental legislation. When Merkel’s grand coalition came to power in 2005, although it had a firm majority in parliament, Merkel’s cabinet had to occasionally accept environmental groups’ demands for fear of losing popularity among them, which would probably lead to a second SPD-greens coalition’s victory.

When I visited Germany in June, I saw a well-designed and -developed recycling system of cans and plastic bottles, as well as the celebrated efficient garbage classification, clearly a result of the effort of the past movements in Germany. The goal of strikes, thus, is to generate a flood that revolves the watermill of political machines, to produce a revolution of our time.

Photos by Emo Touré, Yufeng Liu, Zhenhao Li

Pleading Not Guilty

*From the April print edition* Our new Editor-in-chief Joyce Fang reflects on the existential guilt bourne from a privileged liberal existence.

If you were to ask me what I was proudest of, I would tell you it’s my empathy and compassion. If you asked what I was most ashamed of, it would be my failure to always act on it. Perhaps failure is a harsh word. But it is the word that describes the way I frequently think of when striving to align myself with values I hold.

In my applications to university, I wrote personal statements explaining my interest in the particular courses I had applied to. My answers often outlined a vague hero complex; that I was uncomfortable with inequalities and that “understanding economics and politics is the best way for me to affect large scale change” for all the issues I care about. Poverty. Gender inequality. The environment. However, as I acknowledge my actions or thoughts that are in conflict with what I say I’m passionate about, a creeping guilt crawls across my conscience. Too often, I am imprisoned by an overwhelming sense of disapproval that I am not doing enough to satisfy the expectations that I have placed on myself. How can I buy things that have been made by the exploited and impoverished? How can I simultaneously indulge in chivalry and call myself a feminist? How can I eat dairy or use a plastic bag and protest against climate change? It is as if I carry some sort of barometer that measures my level of “good” on any given day. Today I bought veg from the farmers’ market, gave money to the homeless guy on the street, and held the door open for a man- I’m fixing the environment/homelessness/gender stereotypes! On the other hand, a day of action that compromises my beliefs leaves me with the awful taste of guilt.

The kind of guilt I am privy to is one that has inevitably arisen from privilege. It is the byproduct of private school education, holiday homes and the bubble of an upper middle class. Having this life, alongside a certain degree of compassion and sense of injustice, means the guilt has steadily festered. With the cost of my university fees, I could probably feed a small village in a developing country for a considerable amount of time. Of course, I am constantly assured that my education is an investment in the future change I will work for. We all know that if we give a man the proverbial fish he’ll eat for a day, if we teach him to fish he’ll eat for a lifetime, and perhaps if we establish some policy that helps him get a job, he can eat something other than fish, and have a better life. Unfortunately, this pressure for me to use my degree for good will without a doubt coexist with guilt that I’m not doing everything I can.

Guilt has utility to a certain extent- many people make good choices from feeling bad about something. But I don’t want my actions to be viewed as a way to offset my guilt when they are born out of a real altruism. What’s more, is that guilt has become a hindrance. I fear being caught out- standing up for something and then being accused that I am not a true believer. Hypocrisy, the antithesis of being well informed, is a harrowing insult, and one I am terrified of. Thus, my confidence in my values is stemmed, and my likelihood of identifying with any movement or speaking out is less that it would be otherwise.

Frankly, I’ve come to the conclusion that having such a dogmatic attitude is ruinous. It may be powerful at times, but often it breeds a type of guilt that stagnates its bearer, and wastes the value of their initial motivation. By sapping the confidence of those who transgress, and instilling discomfort, it takes away the positive of any good action. Instead, it is important to acknowledge any hypocrisy or conflicting ideology, and accept that you may not always be congruent to your beliefs. To exist is to have a multifaceted assimilation of values and expectations of yourself that may sometimes be contradictory, but in which the recognition of these dualities motivates us rather than hinders. If we bolster even the least scrupulous, we give them an encouraging boost of confidence that they can have an impact.

Consistency in these things is an admirable goal, but it is one only attainable for those who are willing to sacrifice their whole lives for a greater good. This does not mean that anyone privileged who wants to contribute shouldn’t bother at all. I can’t separate my actions from my values, but I need to distance them a little and be confident in the fact that this will ultimately yield more beneficial action than what would be produced under the weight of guilt. There is infinitely more power in one who believes they can make change, than one who doesn’t think they can have any impact. It is exactly the latter mentality that stalls progress.

Finally, when speaking to others about this, I am often told things like: “at least you care” or “your guilt shows you’re a good person,” and “look at how many people in the world do nothing and don’t feel guilty.” If you too are aware of your privilege, and do not feel some drive to use it for good, then it is wasted. My call to arms is to ask that you start with something small. If we all envision an upward trajectory of hope, it will be a powerful force for meaningful change.

Edited by Pailey Wang.