原文作者：Andrew Lok Hang Chan
發表日期：2023年10月24日
***本譯文版權歸作者/刊登機構所有。***
陳樂行——港語學前主席
每天，我都會被有關香港《國家安全法》的新聞淹沒——但我從未想過自己會陷入其中。 當警察來到我家門前，告訴我父親他們將在沒有搜查令的情況下搜查我們的公寓時，情況發生了變化。 在此之前，我一直天真地認為他們的重點是政客和抗議者，而不是像我這樣的書呆子。 警方的擔憂比小說更離奇： 他們對我在 2020 年組織的廣東話寫作比賽中提交的 11 篇文章感到不滿。
《國家安全法》旨在促進 "社會和諧"——在很大程度上是透過消滅大多數香港人的母語粵語，轉而強制廣泛使用中國的國家語言普通話。 一位政府官員告訴我，這些文章破壞了 "社會和諧"，並指出其中“有問題的內容”，從廣東話髒話到移民敘述，所有這些都被認為是非法的。
當我重看這些文章時，眼淚再也忍不住了。 我做夢也沒有想到，我作為廣東話倡導者的角色會導致如此絕望的時刻。 今天，我認為自己是幸運的，可以自由地表達自己的想法，但我不能漠視無數仍然隱藏在陰影中的香港人，也無法擺脫對我們所珍視的廣東話文化在強大的經濟壓力和反對保存文化的政治勢力的影響下可能正在枯萎的擔憂 。
這就是為什麼我們要重印、翻譯和編輯其中一篇作品的原因。 這是一個關於 2050 年烏托邦現實的短篇小說，在這個現實中，我們的文化認同已成為過去式。 但願我曾經蓬勃發展的粵語團體的結束能夠清楚地揭示我們所面臨的荒謬。
‘Our Time’ by Siu Gaa (中文全文)
Part One: Gwong Zai’s first time in Hong Kong
“Hey! Excuse me, how do I get to Queen’s Road Central?” Gwong Zai asked a teenage girl standing nearby. “I don’t know!” she grumbled and promptly walked away.
Gwong Zai frowned and continued on his journey. He looked down at his notebook — a guide to Hong Kong passed down from his parents — and then up at the bustling crowds of Central, and then back at his notebook.
He stood there, feeling lost and confused, when suddenly he felt a tap on his shoulder. “Is there anything I can help you with?” Siu Sze asked. She must have been in her early 20s. She was gentle and kind, with fair skin and a warm smile. A welcome change from the rude teenager he met earlier.
“Hi, excuse me, I’m actually looking for the escalator that goes up to the Mid-Levels,” Gwong Zai told her before introducing himself. He wanted to visit a few places where his parents had been before, starting with the mosque on Shelley Street. Siu Sze beamed and offered to show him the way.
They passed through the bustling Tai Kwun area, watching tourist after tourist take pictures in their qipaos — as Gwong Zai’s parents remembered. Luckily, most tourists don’t continue past Elgin Street, so the pair kept walking toward the mosque.
“The Rednaxela Terrace is on your right,” Gwong Zai read from his notebook and pointed. “And the mosque is across from the terrace.”
Before entering the mint-green mosque, which was surrounded by guards, Gwong Zai and Siu Sze eagerly launched into a history lesson. After all, it was the first mosque built in Hong Kong.
“Some people thought the name ‘Rednaxela’ came from ‘Alexander’ because Chinese translators used to read and write from right to left during the British colonial era, resulting in this weird street name,” Gwong Zai said.
Siu Sze filled in the rest, teaching Gwong Zai what his parents missed: “Later research shows that the terrace was actually named in honor of Robert Alexander Young, who fought for the African people’s human rights in the 19th century. He used to call people who live outside Africa ‘Rednaxela.’”
As they walked up the stairs toward the mosque’s entrance, they saw worshipers washing their hands, some removing their shoes before walking inside, and others teaching their children to recite verses from the Quran.
“During Hong Kong’s earliest years, the British government recruited soldiers and police officers from India, many of whom were Muslims,” Gwong Zai said, using his notes to make sense of what was right before his eyes.
Inside the mosque, they were surrounded by booming echoes of the Islamic prayer known as “adhan,” as visitors gathered in the center of the domed building to recite their chants. Gwong Zai felt a connection to the strangers around him.
“Besides Hongkongers, there are many different ethnic groups who are also part of our community,” his parents wrote in the last page of the notebook. “They belong here too. We need to get to know our home better.”
Eager to see the rest of his homeland, Gwong Zai asked Siu Sze once again if she’d join him on this adventure.
*
Part Two: Siu Sze
“It’s 2050, and yet there are still people who don’t speak Mandarin!” Siu Sze overheard a teenage girl mumbling to herself as she walked away from a tourist asking for help.
It was a rare day off for Siu Sze, so she planned to sit down at a cafe in Central, read a book and enjoy a cup of coffee.
As she passed through the Central Market, Siu Sze saw a man in his late 20s holding a notebook and a camera. It was obvious at first sight that he wasn’t a local: He stood in front of the Central Market, and just as he was about to take a step, he retracted with confusion.
To be fair, this area is always jam-packed with tourists. Most of them drag their suitcases around while dipping in and out of cosmetic shops and pharmacies; very few look like the man standing in front of Siu Sze. She decided to tap him on the shoulder and ask if he needed help.
The young man introduced himself as Gwong Zai, born in Hong Kong and raised in Britain. His parents left the city not long after he was born and never came back.
Siu Sze led him through the Central Market so they could take the escalator to the affluent Mid-Levels neighborhood. She stopped periodically to give Gwong Zai a proper tour of what they saw.
“This is now known as the ‘People’s Middle Road,’” she said, pointing to the street below. It was renamed 25 years ago, and the younger generations have no idea what its original name is.”
As they reached their next stop at the Rednaxela Terrace, Gwong Zai’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “I have heard these stories for so many years now but my parents never allowed me to come to Hong Kong,” he shared. “They suffered from serious health issues after inhaling way too much Chinese-made tear gas in Hong Kong when they were young. They passed away a year ago. I found this notebook among their belongings.” Held it up to show Siu Sze.
“Growing up, they would read me stories from this notebook, reminding me that Hong Kong was a beautiful and special place to our family. I still don’t understand why they left,” he said as his voice trailed off.
Siu Sze knew that in just a few months the government would rename the terrace, too, erasing any hint of British influence. She didn’t have the heart to tell Gwong Zai, who had spent the day reciting tales of Hong Kong’s now-disputed history. The guards standing at the entrance of the nearby mosque watched them closely.
In 2025, the government began to crack down on religious freedom and take control of all places of worship. Practitioners were forced to join the “patriotic” church instead, and those who refused watched their holy sites get demolished in retribution. Fortunately, the mosque was considered a historical site and therefore remained untouched. The irony is that many locals don’t even know that there is a mosque in the area, as it’s no longer a place where devout Muslims gather.
Now, the mosque welcomes “patriotic” Muslims who study and recite lines from the government’s revised version of the Quran; those who obey the new laws that force Muslims to learn Mandarin only — not Arabic. Their culture is fading away and you can see it gradually being wiped out, just like what happened to Hong Kong 30 years ago.
Siu Sze couldn’t help but notice that Gwong Zai was more familiar with Hong Kong’s stories than most of its locals. “You are more qualified than any of us to call yourself a Hongkonger,” she said.
“This is our home, and there is a unique story behind every street, every building and every corner. If there were more people like your parents remembering and passing on these stories, Hong Kong might not have become what it is now,” her voice tapered off, not wanting others to overhear.
Before parting ways, Siu Sze gave Gwong Zai her book and pointed to her favorite quote within: “The struggle of man against power is the struggle of memory against forgetting.”
原文網址：https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/2023/10/24/hong-kong-cantonese-essay-national-security/
