That Universal Human Spirit

In his famous “Kitchen Debate” in the 1950s, Vice President Richard M. Nixon, the man who would later become the first American President to go to China, told Soviet premier Nikita Kruschev that their two nations should have a free exchange of ideas. “Let’s have far more communication and exchange,” said Nixon. “You must not be afraid of ideas… Let’s have more exchange.”

Through the visually stunning works of Director Zhang Yimou, America and China are having just such a free exchange of ideas. Through filmic discourse, we are learning more about China, and China is learning more about us. Merely check out your local video shop, and you will probably find several Chinese films available.

If President Nixon were alive today, and if I were his hired speech writer (as opposed to, say, Patrick J. Buchanan), I am sure he would tell America and the world: “Let’s open up the whole world to China and China to the world, so that we can better appreciate each other, not so much as separate members of distinct races, but rather–and much more importantly–as sentient human beings struggling and striving for the same purposes in a common humanity–in short, to live.”

In Zhang Yimou’s To Live, a great milestone in Chinese cinema, for example, we see a sensitive, humorous, charming, heart-warming and often heart-wrenching portrayal of a Chinese family in the throes of China’s tumultuous 20th Century history, extending from the violence of the Nationalist-Communist civil wars to the insanity of the Cultural Revolution. Yet, though the context is unmistakably 20th Century China, it is still the same old universal story of hope and humanity in the face of adversity.

The film pays homage to that eternal human spirit: the spirit to endure, the spirit of sadness and love–the spirit that makes us all uniquely human. Yes, we see that spirit in To Live. We see it when Youqing, the family’s young son, is pronounced dead and his mother urgently cries, “Mommy is here! Mommy is here! [Don’t worry] Mommy is here!”

We see it when Fuqui, the father character, encourages his old friend, the bereaved driver: “Pull through,” he says. “Bear up, don’t give up. Things will get better.”

And we see it, too, when Jiazhen, the mother, finally forgives the driver for accidentally killing her one and only son. “Remember,” she yells, “you owe us a life, so you must value your own.”

We see it in “Little Bun’s,” the grandson’s, simple but poignant act of placing his tiny chicks in grandpa’s old puppet chest, signifying continuity as well as renewal.

We see it in more than a dozen different beautiful moments, all captured and suspended in film, for future generations around the world to see. Make no mistake: This is not a Chinese film–but if it is, thanks to Zhang Yimou, we are all Chinese now. See it.

Strictly a personal view. Charles Reyes Jr. is a regular columnist of Saipan Tribune. Mr. Reyes may be reached at charlesraves@hotmail.com