立場新聞 Stand News

回來也無家可歸 Coming Back Homeless

2017/8/11 — 14:50

編按:方禮倫曾患嚴重抑鬱,掙扎兩年,差點死去,他在本文述說人與人之間的信任和破裂,也談及他在香港感到日漸失去自己的家園。他問前任特首梁振英,北京指「雨傘運動」受到外國勢力擺佈,但有拿出證據嗎?為什麼「一國兩制」竟滋生出本土派和愛國派的極端分子,抱著種族主義和仇外心理,好勇鬥狠?這些心態本不屬於他視之為家的香港。英文原文在中文譯文之下。

After a two year struggle with severe depression that very nearly ended his life, Evan writes of the break down in relationships and trust, and the sense of losing his home, Hong Kong. He asks the city’s former Chief Executive, CY Leung, where is the promised evidence of foreign interference that Beijing blames for the Umbrella Revolution? And why has “One Country” politics fostered a patriotic and localist extreme that is racist, xenophobic and aggressive, and thoroughly alien to the Hong Kong that was his home? English original text is below the Chinese translated text. 

【譯:昌明】

廣告

差不多兩年來我一直沉默,從世界退回黑洞。

這過程總是慢慢開始,抑鬱症會不知不覺間找上門。每次說話,逐漸失掉信心,失去自信 。每次跟人爭論,或被人輕率對待,這些言行不僅看得到聽得見,也感覺得出來。丘吉爾把自己的憂鬱沮喪稱為黑狗,現在這隻狗低聲吼叫了。真想躲起來。

廣告

前一年,一切似乎要分崩離析。我的家人突然好像充滿怨氣,各不相讓,鬧得不可開交。我的工作關係變得很緊張,滿以為會實現的承諾一一落空。每次有人向我發脾氣,都會痛在心頭;每次有人奚落我,詛咒我,都像往心裡刺上一刀。正當我最需要朋友時,朋友似乎都變得遙不可及,令我不敢打擾。人人都忙著過活,人人都忘記了我。

香港已在我四周捲起一場風暴。外面的政治氣候變得惡劣不堪。

我這家園與中國大陸根本不同,不但發展互異,經驗有別,價值取捨更不一致。我一家的身份是華人,這不是出於政治原因,也跟百年割讓的恥辱歷史無關,而是按照我家的語言、傳統和籍貫而確定的。我們像許多人一樣,相信香港對北京最大的好處,就是成為大陸政治和社會改革的示範,藉此彌合中國長期以來的分裂,在適當時機與台灣統一。這是我從小教養所相信的中國夢。

「基本法」是建基於「一國兩制」的原則,以「港人治港」作為憲法保障,使我的家、我的生活方式,還有賴以維繫的各種價值觀及制度,直到2047年都能保持不變。只要北京能依照法律並符合港人利益正確行事,似乎沒甚麼理由認為香港和中國不能求同存異,讓我的家園既保留自身特色,也成為中華人民共和國的一部分。其實「基本法」已有條款規定香港發展民主制度,這樣才可完全擺脫殖民主義的枷鎖,讓香港融入中國。

然而,至少從 2014 年開始,「基本法」就經常被人公開扭曲。中共對本港憲法的(重新)解釋,推翻了法院的裁決。經營「禁書」的書商被失踪,而更重要的是,事件被大肆報導,似乎想殺雞儆猴。司法獨立受到建制派和警方挑戰。「外籍」法官被人在報章示眾,政府卻連一聲反對也沒有。

沒有「基本法」,我們這些香港人就失去唯一合理合法的平台,這平台不是為了捍衛民主理想,而是為了擁有更根本的一份尊嚴,可以主動認定香港是吾家,自願認同中國人的身份。

2014年後,我周圍的一切都變成了政治把戲。一種不講理、沒自由、好侵略,歧視其他種族、排外仇外的權術。我認為那是不文明社會的權術——仇恨的權術。這不是伴我長大的香港人的政治信念。

我第一次自問是否還要信任警察。我不能再把政府公告視為中立文件。這不是我杯弓蛇影,而是我親眼見到的事實,有證有據。

到目前為止,這種滿腹怨毒的政治手法,為禍極大,能撕裂人與人的互信,其害處卻甚少人提及。我在香港長大,對這點感觸尤深,因為和我一同成長的人,現在都已離開。我認識到人際關係有很多局限,我失去了對人的信任。

我知道我的存在已離不開政治。看著我長大的「世叔伯」都告訴我,我和我一家人都不屬於這地方。我們不完全像華人,我們與外籍人士接觸太密了。我們不僅面孔看起來是異類,想法也是另類。

我發現我關心的朋友都不想談論這個家園所發生的事。他們就是不想知道,這令我深感痛苦。我發現有許多友誼不是基於互愛尊重,而在於我打網球有多好,我只是個玩伴。

我心中曾以為是深厚私交的人,背後竟有一張我不熟悉的面孔,這張面孔現在卻不想認識我。這是一張醜陋怯弱,自私自利的臉,流露出令人厭惡的特權。

每一天都有新的交往、新的失望,不斷有新聞發生。要是不讓我知道周遭發生的事,我的想像力便會被種種噩夢侵佔。所以我不顧別人勸告,依然與世界保持接觸。

報章社論所描繪的香港,是我不熟悉的,他們的口吻越來越道貌岸然,骨子裡卻滿是毒液。用的字眼也改變了。個人意見越來越像是官方定論。一句句話就像命令:香港的青年要如何、香港必須怎樣……

我在梁振英競選前不久見過他,那時他對我彬彬有禮,和我談到社會上的動蕩,說是背後有「外國勢力」介入,而且掌握了證據。報章指責有人召開邪惡會議,有一個由外國特務組成的陰謀集團,策劃動亂,資助反政府人士。我多位「世叔伯」都咬牙切齒,說話刻薄,態度強硬,簡直在摩拳擦掌,準備揍人一頓。那場會議我也有參加,所謂外國間諜其實都是我的朋友。有一份報紙把我說成是美國人,這是扯謊。但比謊言更令我痛心的是,那些大可以反駁他們的人卻不願知道真相,甚至連警察也不理會。

有個法官的話,概括了這班卑劣醜陋的人是怎樣的心態:當這法官坐在電視機前,看著旺角暴動的畫面時,她臉部被恨意扭曲,喊道:「殺死他們!一個不留!」她自己和身旁的朋友竟沒有想過可以無需這樣反應。她不是在開玩笑說說而已。在場的人鴉雀無聲。

到去年初,那唯一令我保持樂觀的希望也破滅了。我收到電話,對方說我採訪了八年的「香港身份計劃 (HKIDP) 」不會正式在網上推出。我又一次失敗了,資助云云都成了空話。是我契爺讓我失望了,但我知道原因,我明白他為什麼害怕。恐懼已無處不在。

放下電話時,我抬頭看著正待橫過的繁忙馬路,看到一輛雙層巴士。在我腦海裡,這是個救世主,正迎面而來——可以結束這一切痛苦,擺脫此刻的苦惱,消除未來的噩夢,讓我返回無是無非的狀態。

我衝出馬路。

巴士煞停,司機咒罵我。然後,在我腦海和心中,一切都停止了。

去年我曾自殺兩次不遂。第一次剛說了,當黑狗吠叫時,我倒了下來。第二次,我從虛無中掙脫出來,再次見到那條黑狗,牠咬住了我的鼻子。

在黑洞裡我差點第三次死去。有人發現我一動不動、不吃不喝的已有幾天。

今天我知道自己患上一種經常復發的抑鬱症(或稱單極抑鬱障礙)。我九或十歲的時候,第一次出現抑鬱。抑鬱症一直困擾著我,每隔五六年,我又會陷入同樣的心情和感覺。但直到去年我才能控制病情。我做邏輯解謎、填字遊戲,還閱讀大量書本。為了滿足我那沉迷思考的心智,我砌模型,每完成一個模型都會感到滿足。我順從自閉的傾向,任由自己甚麼都拿來數數,記下所有可能的模式。我回到了童年狀態。

目前我服用 7 種處方藥,有三種是抗抑鬱劑。從今以後,我多少要服些不同的藥。在 2014 年,我需要吃藥。哪怕有些微機會能讓黑狗遠離我,我都會繼續吃藥。黑洞仍留在心中,我每天都感覺得到

根《英國心理學期刊》去年發表的研究,單極抑鬱症不是由間接因素引起,如失業或際遇有變,而是因為受過嚴重的心理創傷。通常這種抑鬱症是由親愛的人過世引發的,或是一段刻骨銘心的關係瓦解所致。

今年初,我問加拿大伊甸紀念醫療中心研究主任 Larry Klassen ,我的抑鬱症有沒有可能不是因為某一密切關係崩潰,而是隨著家園喪失而令相關的許多心理關係逐步瓦解。「不是沒可能。」他答道:「雖然我沒看過有任何人,專門研究失去家園的感覺如何誘發憂鬱症,但看你的情況,這假設完全合理。」

我不會要求所有這些「世叔伯」承認我有權把我、把我祖父母和曾祖父母出生的城市,稱為我的家。我現在看清楚了我和這些叔伯之間的關係,在我心裡,他們不再是我的「世叔伯」。

我不需要有純粹「華人」血統,也可承認自己是華人,認同我的華裔根源。我也不需要借用政黨、政治辭令和意識形態來確認自己是中國人,來認同中國。政府無法規定香港是怎樣,也限定不了在我這個家園,怎樣才算是香港人。不過,香港已今非昔比了。

美國作家安德魯·所羅門 (Andrew Solomon) 的言談人品皆令人讚賞。他曾說抑鬱是活力的反面,是「愛之中的缺陷」。

我身體虛弱,體格矮小,不好勝,也不愛打架。我跟一起成長的大多數外籍孩子不同,不抽煙不喝酒,也不特別喜歡社交。我愛閱讀、做運動、砌模型飛機。如果我出生在小農村,我自自然然就是那種會留在家鄉的男孩。我會好好扎根在我的土壤,在小事物中發現美。我的家園和住在裡面的人,對我無比重要,是他們令我成為我自己。

那麼,梁振英,我也彬彬有禮地問你,你說過有外國勢力介入,也說過會拿出證據,那請問證據在哪裡?所有政府都會掩飾真相,粉飾太平,但只有最差勁、最專制、最沒保障的政府,才會公然扯謊。這種謊言權術,我們還要捲入其中嗎?

***

Coming Back Homeless

For nearly two years there has been silence. And I withdrew from the world into a black hole.

This always begins slowly. Depression creeps up on us unseen. Self belief and confidence begin to drain away with each discourse. Every argument and inconsiderate act is not only seen and heard, but felt. The black dog, as Churchill called it, begins to growl. You want to hide.

The year before last everything seem to fall apart. My family suddenly seemed poisonous and irrevocably divided; and my work relationships strained by hoping on empty promises. Every tantrum I faced suddenly hurt, and each put down and each curse felt like a stab to the heart. Now, when I needed them most, friends suddenly seemed too distant to be disturbed. Each busily living their own lives. All oblivious to mine.

Around me Hong Kong had become a storm. Outside raged a corrosive political climate

My home was fundamentally different to the Mainland, not only in development but in experience and therefore in values. The Chinese identity of my family were defined not by politics nor a history of century of humiliation, but by our language, tradition and familial roots. Like many we believed Hong Kong greatest asset to Beijing would be as an example for political and societal reform on the Mainland, thereby helping to bridge the divisions that have hurt China for so long, and in due course bring about reunification with Taiwan. This was the China dream I was brought up to believe.

The Basic Law, founded on principles of “One Country, Two Systems” and sold to the people as “Hong Kong people ruling Hong Kong”, served as a constitutional guarantee on which my home, my way of life and the values and institutions on which they were dependent would continue until 2047. Trusting in Beijing to do what was right both by law and in the interests of the people of Hong Kong, there seemed little reason to believe why my home could not retain its differences whilst also being a part of the People’s Republic of China. Indeedprovisions in the Basic Law alluded to there being democratic development, allowing Hong Kong to finally throw off the remnants of colonialism shackle, and allow the people to feel part of a nation.

Yet from 2014, if not before, the Basic Law, has been regularly and openly violated. Court rulings have been undermined by the CCP’s (re)interpretation of the city’s constitution. Critical booksellers have disappeared and, more important, their disappearance was allowed to make the news. Judicial independence has been challenged by pro-establishment voices and by the police. “Foreign” judges have been paraded in the press. This has happened without so much of a word of opposition from the government.

Without the Basic Law my people loss their only reasonable and legitimate platform on which to stand - not for the democratic ideal, but for something far more fundamental: the dignity of being allowed to define their home and their own identities as Chinese.

After 2014 everything around me had become political. It is a politics that is unreasonable, illiberal, aggressive, racist and xenophobic. It is, to my mind, the politics of the uncivilised - the politics of hate. This was not the politics of the Hong Kong I had grown up with.

For the first time I found myself questioning my trust in the police. I could no longer take government announcements as politically neutral. This was not from suspicion, but from the evidence of my own eyes.

By far the most damaging affect of this poisonous politicking has rarely if ever been commented on. It was the breakdown in personal relationships and trust. As a child of Hong Kong I felt this very acutely, as people I had grown up beside now turned away. I learnt the limits of relationships. And I lost my trust in people.

I learnt that my existence had become political. I was told by “uncles” I had known all my life that neither I nor my family belonged here. We were not fully Chinese. We were too close to expatriate circles. We did not look right, and we did not think right.

I discovered how people I cared for as friends did not want to talk about what was going on in our home. They did not want to know, even though it gave me great pain. I discovered how many friendships were not based on love or mutual respect, but on how well I played tennis. I was a play mate.

Behind the facade of what I had in my heart considered deep and personal friendships, I discovered a face I did not know, and one that now did not want to know me.  It is an ugly, self-serving and cowardly face; a face of ugly privilege.

With each day came new interactions, new disappointments and the news. Without knowing my imagination played host to nightmares. So I remained, contrary to advice, plugged in.

Editorials described a Hong Kong I did not know, and increasingly with sanctimonious venom. The language changed too. Increasingly opinions were stated definitively. We received orders. “Hong Kong’s Youth are…,” and  “Hong Kong must…”

CY Leung, whom I had met shortly before his election, and who had then greeted me with such politeness, spoke of there being evidence of “foreign interference” behind the troubles. Papers reported in outrage of there being a sinister meeting, and of a cabal of foreigner agents planning and financing opposition to the government. My “uncles” growled in anger, and tongues were sharpened and attitudes hardened for a beating. I was at that meeting. The supposed agents were my friends. In one report I was told I was apparently portrayed as an American. It was a lie. But what pained me more than the lies were that no one in a position to refute them wanted to know. Not even the police.

The words of a judge summed up the feeling among this nasty, ugly set of people: as she sat watching the television of the MongKok riots, her face crumpled with hate. “Kill them!” she cried, “kill them all.” She and her company would not entertain a word against. It was not said in jest. There was only silence.

Then early last year I lost the one hope that had held my head above the currents. I was told the Hong Kong Identity Project (HKIDP), after eight years of interviews, would again not be launching. It was yet another failure, and the promise of funding yet more empty words. It was my godfather who had let me down. But I knew why, and I understood his fear. Fear was everywhere.

When the phone call ended I looked up at the busy road about which I was waiting to cross. I saw a double decker bus. In my mind I saw a saviour - a way to end all this pain, to be rid of the torture of living in the present and to extinguish the nightmare of the future. To return to neutral.

I ran.

The bus stopped. The driver swore. And then, in my mind and in my heart, everything stopped.

Last year I tried to kill myself twice. First, as I have described, when the black dog barked and I began to fall. The second time when I had been wrenched out of nothingness and I again confronted the black dog, snapping at my nose.

In the hole I very nearly died a third time. I was found having not moved, eaten or having had anything to drink for several days.

I know today that I have a form of recurrent unipolar disorder. It is a condition I have had since I was nine or ten, when I first slipped in to depression. It has haunted my life, resurfacing every five to six years as a mood and a feeling. But I have until last year been able to manage it. I do logic and cryptic crossword puzzles, and I read. I satisfy my addictive mind by building models, each promising when completed a moment of satisfaction. I give in more to my autistic impulses, to count everything and to note every possible pattern. I return to childhood.

I am currently taking 7 prescription drugs, three are anti-depressants. I will be taking medication in some combination for the rest of my life. I needed them in 2014. And I continue taking them if there is even a small chance that they can keep that black dog at bay. The hole remains inside. I feel it every day.

According to research published last year in the British Journal of Psychology, unipolar depression is triggered not by indirect factors, such as the loss of a job or changing personal circumstances, but by deep personal trauma. Usually such depression is triggered by the loss of a loved one, or a breakdown in an especially deep and close relationship.

Earlier this year I asked Larry Klassen, Research Chair at Eden Memorial Health Centre in Canada, whether my depressive episode might have been caused not by the breakdown of a single, close relationship but by the slow breakdown of the many psychological relationships associated with the loss of home. “I don’t see why not,” he replied. “Whilst I am not aware of any research that looks specifically at loss of a sense of home as a trigger, it’s a perfectly reasonableassumption to make in your case.”

I will not ask all those “uncles” to recognise my personal right to call the city of my birth, and that of my grandparents and great grandparents, my home. I now see our relationship for what it is, and in my heart they are no longer my “uncles”.

I do not need to be fully ethnically “Chinese” to recognise and identify with my Chinese roots. Neither do I need to identify being Chinese and China with a political party, a political narrative and an ideology. The government does not define Hong Kong nor what it meant to be a Hong Kong person in the Hong Kong that was my home. But that Hong Kong is no more.

Andrew Solomon, a beautiful man of beautiful words, describes depression as the opposite of vitality. It is, he says, “the flaw in Love.”

 

I am physically weak, of insignificant height and build. I am not driven by competition. I do not relish the fight. Unlike the majority of expatriate children I grew up around, I did not smoke nor drink nor particularly enjoy socialising. I read, played sports and built model aeroplanes. If I were born in a small village I would by nature be the boy who would stay. I would tend my roots, and find beauty in the small. Home and the people of my home mean everything to me. It is they who made me who I am.

So CY Leung, I ask with respect and in all politeness, where is the evidence for foreign interference you said you had and promised to show us? All governments may spin the truth, but only the worst, the most authoritarian and insecure, will lie. Why now do we trade in the politics of lies?

發表意見