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Editors’
note: On Saturday, July 7, Jay Nordlinger received an award
from the Chan Foundation for Journalism and Culture, U.S.A. The
foundation, and award, were established in the name of Zhu Xi Chan,
a Hong Kong newspaper owner who used his pages to expose events
in Mao's China, including the murder of journalists. The award is
meant to honor and encourage journalists "who use their talents
to work for freedom and democracy in China." The ceremony took
place in Chinatown, New York. In the audience were Tiananmen Square
leaders, Cultural Revolution survivors, journalists and scholars,
and dissidents generally. Mr. Nordlinger's remarks appear below.
 riends,
Thank you for
this honor. I am deeply grateful. We should never write or work
in the expectation of thanks and praise; but when recognition comes,
it is undeniably sweet.
I feel there
is no sense in being a journalist if I can't do things such as shine
a light on China. You will not think me proud when I say that too
few journalists are willing to shine a light.
We are accustomed
to thinking of China as a normal country. This is one of the evils
of a tyranny that lasts a long time: We begin to see it as normal,
we get used to it. China's one billion people are condemned to live
under a brutal Communist system — that's that. Russians and other
peoples were under the rule of the Soviet Communists for over seventy
years. That came to seem normal. But we should resist thinking of
tyrannical, illegitimate rule as normal, because that can blur into
acceptance.
When a country
is first taken over by tyrants, that seems an emergency. But then,
the tyranny settles in, and the sense of emergency inevitably passes.
In a sense, however, a country under tyranny is always in a state
of emergency. Think of the North Koreans who starve and are denied
all rights — that seems the natural state of things. It has been
that way in North Korea for a long time. But this condition is not
natural: It should never cease to alarm and rouse us. God means
for man to be free.
Not long ago,
I was talking with a man — a great man — who bears a very great
name. It is a name synonymous with freedom, and resistance to tyranny,
and the indomitability of the human spirit: Solzhenitsyn. This was
Ignat Solzhenitsyn, one of the writer's sons, and he is a pianist
and conductor. We were talking about China, and he said, "Sometimes
people ask me, 'Have you performed in China?' And I say, 'No. I
will not perform in a Communist country, a country with a vast gulag
system, one that denies its people basic rights. You've got to be
kidding.'" And, continued Ignat, "They look at me as though
I had just come from the moon. They really cannot comprehend what
I am saying. They regard China as a perfectly normal, legitimate
state. They travel there as they would to Canada or the Virgin Islands
— they think nothing of it." But China, of course, is not normal.
I myself would
be reluctant to enter a country whose own people are forbidden to
leave. That seems to me fundamental. Perhaps the first right of
an individual is to leave a country that is dangerous to him. A
government that will not permit its citizens to leave — in part
because it fears what these individuals might have to tell — is
a government that should be opposed with all our strength.
All of us,
over the last couple of decades, have appreciated and rejoiced over
what loosening has occurred in China. Every gain is to be cherished.
But we would not be responsible, we would certainly not be brotherly,
if we forgot the political prisoners, and the immense suffering,
and the denial of rights that most people I know take for granted.
A couple of years ago, I was stirred by Harry Wu's photos from Laogai.
I was glad to see them, for the reminding they did. Often, we see
pictures of markets in Shanghai — and I am delighted that there
are markets in Shanghai. But how goes it with our people in the
camps?
I have written
from time to time about China, and I have done very little. I have
hardly lifted a finger. Yet Chinese people seem grateful to me —
inordinately so. This disturbs me, because it means that most other
people are doing even less than I. Cuban people, too, are grateful
for the little I have written about their country. I have simply
offered a few crumbs — and they have responded as though to a great
feast. Again, this disturbs and depresses me. To point out that
a government is brutalizing innocent people should not be remarkable.
To cock an ear to the screams of the tortured should not be abnormal.
Right this
second, U.S. citizens — leave aside Chinese citizens for a moment
— U.S. citizens are being held in Chinese Communist jails. We know
little of their conditions; we can only guess and fear. They are,
of course, guilty of nothing. And yet Americans seem unconcerned.
The mainstream media hardly breathe a word. It is almost beneath
notice. The U.S. administration has just declared itself neutral
about whether Beijing should be granted the 2008 Olympic Games —
at a time when the regime is cracking heads, hard, and banishing
our own citizens to the dungeon.
No, China is
not a normal country, deserving of such plums as the Olympic Games.
No one should be lulled into thinking that it is. This lulling is
something I try to work against in the journalism I do. The journalism
that rouses — even if people would prefer to sleep — is an important
kind of journalism.
How asleep
are we? I'm sure you noticed, the other day, that Luciano Pavarotti
sang a duet with Jiang Zemin. Yes. This makes it hard for people
like you and me to rouse. After all, how bad can a country be whose
head of state Pavarotti joins in song? Now, Luciano Pavarotti is
not a bad man; he is just a fool, in this area of life. And we should
point this out.
More and more,
I am aware that the press has great power. It has power to harm
or help. It has power to tell the truth or lie. Lies in the press
can sometimes seem more powerful than any peep of truth. But I have
learned, too, that a little truth-telling can go a long way; it
can be the lump that leavens the whole loaf. A whisper of truth
can have a surprising resonance.
When I am at
my most optimistic, I believe that Americans can be made to care
about the victims of Communism. I am often asked, though, why this
should be so difficult. The question comes from Chinese people,
and Cuban people, and people from eastern Europe (although this
happens less often now, with the fall of the Berlin Wall). I sometimes
despair of giving a satisfying answer. I can only say, first, that
it is a rare person who cares about other people's problems, and,
second, that the pull of the Left is very strong in this country.
Certainly the feeling against anti-Communism is intense, and almost
violent. In some quarters — I know, because I have lived and moved
in them — anti-Communism is regarded as a kind of disease, or a
mental defect. When I was in school, an anti-Communist was the craziest
thing you could be. There was hardly a word spoken against the government
in Beijing. Pictures of the great murderer himself, Mao, were everywhere;
so were pictures of the great idol, Che Guevara.
I hope that
most people who defend or excuse Communism are merely ignorant.
But make no mistake: Some simply like the oppression of human
beings for the sake of Communist ideology, or for the sake of standing
against the anti-Communists. That is a hard truth that I have only
fairly recently swallowed.
Robert Conquest,
the great historian of Communist terror, jarred me recently. He
pointed out that human testimony — testimony coming out of the Communist
countries — has always been disbelieved. Western elites have preferred
to believe false propaganda produced by the regimes. This was true
from the beginning: Reports of Soviet oppression were dismissed
as "rumors in Riga." After Mao took over, refugees began
to stagger into Hong Kong, having suffered the worst deprivations,
having made a harrowing journey — and they were branded "warlords"
and "bandits." The exiles from Cuba could not be trusted,
either: For one thing, they were suspiciously pro-American, too
grateful for their refuge, even as they longed to be back in their
homeland, freed of Communism. They were — and are — damned as zealots
and fanatics.
One great trick
of the Cuban Communists and their supporters is to pretend that
political prisoners in Cuba are bad characters from the old regime,
the Batista regime. Recently, I interviewed and wrote about a Cuban
dissident named René Montes de Oca. He is now somewhere in
Castro's prisons, or at least he is presumed to be; his family has
been allowed no contact with him, no information. After my articles
appeared, Castroites and pro-Communist apologists in this country
said that Montes de Oca must be a bad man from Batista days, deserving
of whatever Castro gives him. Please understand that René
Montes de Oca is 38 years old. He was born in 1963, four years after
the Communists seized power. The Communists and their allies will
never, ever give up this lie about Cuba's prisoners. But it is our
privilege, of course, as well as our duty, to point out that they
are, in fact, lying.
I have come
to believe, very strongly, that the ignorance excuse can only go
so far. Anyone can learn the truth about what takes place in countries
like China — all it requires is a grain of curiosity and an accompanying
grain of good will.
I did not,
to put it mildly, grow up in an anti-Communist environment. But
I noticed things. I remember, when I was very young, seeing a picture
of a small mountain of skulls in the Christian Science Monitor.
It turned out to be from the Communist genocide in Cambodia. That
told me something. Later I learned about the Soviet Union, and knew
there was a man named Solzhenitsyn: His testimony would seep into
my consciousness. In due time, I found William F. Buckley Jr. and
National Review, and Norman Podhoretz and Commentary.
These two organs countered for me a crush of false or faulty material.
I got hold of Simon Leys; I saw that Edgar Snow was not telling
the whole story — far from it. I read books and articles by Conquest
and David Pryce-Jones and Paul Johnson. I read journalists like
A. M. Rosenthal. In relatively short order, I simply found out about
Communism. You do not need to know the particulars of nations and
situations if you know about Communism. Whether in China or Korea
or Russia or Cuba or Yemen or Mozambique — it is all the same. The
same stamping boot, the same war against the spirit, the same river
or ocean of lies.
Speaking of
lies, I must say that the Communists are lying brazenly about Falun
Gong. It is very important that we pay attention to Falun Gong,
and defend them. They are not separate from us; they are, at the
moment, bearing the brunt of the evil that the Chinese Communists
have to mete out. One might be tempted to say, "These Falun
Gong have nothing to do with me. They are a strange sect, performing
strange exercises in parks, reading strange books, believing strange
concepts, making trouble." But we should swarm around Falun
Gong, in protection of them, and also in protection of ourselves.
Let me explain: To stand up for Falun Gong is not only the right
thing to do, morally, it is the selfish, or self-interested, thing
to do: The authorities may be attacking Falun Gong today, but, tomorrow,
they could be attacking us. This is a cliché, but perfectly
true.
There is no
one — no one — I admire more than the person who will stand up to
the bully. I am in awe of those who have displayed the necessary
courage: political courage, moral courage, physical courage. I think
of Solzhenitsyn and Armando Valladares. I think of Harry Wu and
Wei Jingsheng. There are countless others, less famous, or not known
at all. These men have risked everything, sacrificed everything
— they have not cowered before evil.
And the journalists
I admire? They are the ones who search out the dark places, who
subdue their fear, and who do not yield to discouragement. I admire
journalists like Justin Yu, who is untiring, truth-determined, and
impossible to intimidate. I mourn with you all the recent loss of
his mother, another one to admire, another model to follow.
As I have admitted
— it is only the truth — I have done next to nothing. But you might
say that at least I have not done nothing. I will do more. I am
astonished and moved to receive an award named for Zhu Xi Chan.
He who publishes the truth, as Mr. Chan did, is a priceless servant
— especially when that truth is not readily accepted, and constantly
and deviously opposed. I am told that the Chan award is meant to
encourage journalists. Well, I can happily report to you: I am encouraged.
Let me say further — and this is a delicate matter — that it is
good that you provide such an award; the world, by and large, is
not eager to bestow laurels on people who expose or publicize abuses
in Communist countries. We are generally regarded as nuisances,
or exaggerators, or even liars. We are generally accused of — and
here I reach for a phrase from the Cold War — "poisoning the
atmosphere of détente."
I myself am
all for trade and war-avoidance and harmony among nations. I understand
the requirements of diplomacy and geopolitics. But I will not, personally,
accept a deceptive and treacherous peace, wherein human beings are
persecuted by the state unseen and unheard. I will not forget Laogai
or Tibet or even the simple truth that no one, including the Chinese
people, should have to live under tyranny.
I will also
remember another simple truth: that this tyranny cannot possibly
survive. It stands no chance. It was doomed from the beginning.
Truth is not obliterated, and God is not dethroned.
Friends, I
love what you stand for, I love the work you do, and I am honored
beyond my ability to tell you to be in your company.
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