Late last month, WeChat moderators’ axe fell on “Du Fu of Huanhua Creek,” apparently prompted by a post questioning online comments about Sino-Japanese tensions. On their other account, “History Rhymes,” author “Xu Peng1” lamented the loss of the account, the writing posted to it, and the connections it had made. The core of the post is a defense of what the authorities term “negative energy.” The great “poet-historian” after whom the account was named famously recorded the suffering of the common people during the An Lushan rebellion of the mid-eighth century, which “some argue was the end of China’s greatest Golden Age.” “Certain people around today would have called all of this ‘negative energy,’” Xu Peng writes. “But a thousand years on, what was ‘negative energy’ then is positive energy that today’s schoolchildren must learn by heart.”
Some serially banned members of Chinese social media’s “Resurrection Party” mock the process by numbering their new accounts or adopting increasingly absurd names like the recent “New New New Silence.” Xu Peng writes that instead, his next account will continue to follow the path through significant locations in Du Fu’s life. Many who have been censored express sarcastic penitence: “Yuzhilu,” for example, recently posed the rhetorical question-and-answer: “Q: What’s your opinion on public account posts getting shot down? A: I have no opinion, and feel nothing but gratitude toward the public account platform.” Similarly, Xu Peng borrows the Party exhortation to “not forget the original intention,” while making a somewhat contradictory promise of greater obedience in future: “I’ve certainly learned my lesson, and will correct my past mistakes.”
Today really was the darkest day. At noon, my younger cousin, who had been in the ICU for ten days or so, finally couldn’t hold on anymore. I hope I’ll have a chance to tell you about his story at some point.
My tears hadn’t yet dried when, in the afternoon, my WeChat public account Du Fu of Huanhua Creek (浣花溪杜甫, Huànhuāxī Dù Fǔ), was permanently banned. A sandcastle will always be swept away by the waves in the end.
I was in a daze from noon until evening, but I had to keep snapping myself out of it to look after my child.
During those distracted moments, I couldn’t stop thinking about the meaning of life, and the significance of speaking out.
Whenever I did speak out, I’d do it cautiously, aware that I was treading on thin ice, but I still inadvertently stepped on a mine and got blown up in the end.
I started posting from Du Fu of Huanhua Creek after [my previous WeChat account], Du Fu of Shihao Village, disappeared [amid the White Paper protests] at the end of 2022. Since then, the newer account has been temporarily suspended several times, and many of its posts have been deleted.
At the last count, more than 400 posts had survived. Sadly all of those are now gone, too.
If you want to see those posts now, all you can do is search for my account “History Rhymes” on NetEase News.
A lot of my posts went viral over these three years, but I still only managed to attract around 40,000 followers. I’m very lucky to have had the appreciation of so many like-minded friends, but still: after years of effort, it was only a small account. With the explosion of online video, the market for text-based content has diminished.
No matter how hard it gets, I won’t forget my original intention: no hymns of praise, just plain speaking.
Pointing out society’s problems isn’t “negative energy”—it comes from hoping society can improve.
Viewed on a broader timescale, today’s “negative energy” is tomorrow’s positive energy.
Du Fu wrote “Three Officials and Three Farewells” [a set of six poems], “The Army Wagons: A Ballad,” and “A Song on How My Thatched Roof Was Ruined by the Autumn Wind.” He wrote “The state broken, its mountains and rivers remain” [from the poem “View in Spring”] and “Crimson gates reek with meat and ale, while on the streets are bones of the frozen dead” [from the poem “From the Capital Secretly Making My Way to Fengxiang”]. Certain people around today would have called all of this “negative energy.”
But a thousand years on, what was “negative energy” then is positive energy that today’s schoolchildren must learn by heart.
So when I write, it’s in the hope that people a hundred years from now might feel I wasn’t just talking rubbish.
I wrote some poems during these three years, too. Topical writing decays quickly, but poetry stays fresh. At one point I compiled an anthology of poems, but now I can’t find it. I’ll sort it out later on.
Now, as suddenly as a clap of thunder, Du Fu of Huanhua Creek must bid farewell to those 40,000 friends and readers. If we hadn’t previously added each other [here], it will be hard to reconnect.
The path of Du Fu’s life took him from Shihao Village to Huanhua Creek, and on to Baidi Fortress. So now there’s [my new account,] Du Fu of Baidi Fortress. Please follow and hit the star ⭐️ — for the account History Rhymes, as well.
I will calm myself, and post updates here. I’ve certainly learned my lesson, and will correct my past mistakes.
I hope that by following and sharing, you can all help reunite me with my like-minded friends and readers.
Thank you. [Chinese]
The translations of the poem titles and quotes above are taken from Stephen Owen’s open-access collection “The Complete Poetry of Du Fu,” in which they are numbered, respectively: 7.1-6; 2.13; 10.42; 4.25; and 5.3-5. Two of them, “The Army Wagons” and “From the Capital …,” were discussed in a 2023 post at The China Project by Jonathan English:
[…] Many examples from Du Fu’s poetry can be cited, but the poem “Five Hundred Words About My Journey to Fengxian” [which Owen translates as “From the Capital …”] is a tour de force. David Young writes, “No poem of this kind existed in Chinese poetry before this; it is more personal, more searching, and more comprehensive than anything that had preceded it.”
[…] Du Fu used his own experience of obscurity and loss to fuel his concern for others. In this, he seemed to follow the teaching of Confucius: “A humane person wishes to steady himself, and so he helps others to steady themselves…The ability to make an analogy from what is close at hand is the method and the way of realizing humaneness.” Repeatedly, his own adversity served as a bridge toward that of others. At the same time, his attentive observation of others expanded his awareness as well, providing access to experiences he himself did not possess. And circumstance would call for much empathy — the An Lushan rebellion and ensuing civil war (755 – 763) dislocated the imperial court (and Du Fu as well) and left millions of casualties in its wake.
[…] This protest quality of his poems has long been recognized as well. Eleventh-century writer Wáng Huī 王翬 explicated Du Fu’s poetry as employing praise and critique — critique of injustice and inhumanity — and he evidently applauded this quality. For Wang Hui, this practice was consistent with longstanding Chinese literary tradition exhibited especially in the classic Shijing (i.e., Book of Poetry, or Book of Odes). Indeed, this impulse for impartial criticism and counsel reportedly cost Du Fu his brief official position as Reminder (of precedents and traditions) to Emperor Suzong. [Source]
