I've Come to Offer a Sincere Apology
Although I know that to pass the GFW certification for this blog, I must only discuss technology, never politics. But I can’t help posting this. I must sincerely apologize to our Country.
Some ill-intentioned netizens post online claiming they’ve never seen a ballot in their lives, with ulterior motives. But I must solemnly and righteously declare: a year ago, I had the chance to see a ballot. I didn’t cherish it. When I lost it, I was actually quite happy. For the past year, I thought I’d encountered political bribery. I even spread this among a small circle of people who “don’t know the truth,” causing some negative impact on our Country.
Here’s the full story:
A year ago, I’d just gotten home from work. The neighborhood committee auntie (though that’s what we call her, she might be a post-80s herself — I really wonder what’s the point of graduating just to spend your life in the committee office gossiping about whose family is long and whose is short) came to my door and solemnly announced: “Next Wednesday at 9am, the election for the xx Village Committee of Anting Town, Jiading District, Shanghai, PRC, will be grandly held. It will surely be a meeting of victory, success, and unity. Since your household registration is in this district and you’re over 18 with full political rights, you’re a qualified voter with the right to vote and be elected. Please attend the election, exercise your civic rights, and cast your sacred ballot.”
After some mental calculation, next Wednesday I have class. Plus, although I live in this village, I’ve never met any village officials. We Chinese value harmony. We’re not like foreign countries where candidates plaster their faces everywhere before elections, mail self-promotion materials to your mailbox, openly attack each other, and even insult each other on TV — extremely unharmonious. (How do I know this? I went to Canada in 2008 and Sweden in 2010, both times coincidentally during elections. Every street had suited candidates’ faces posted. At first I thought they were job ads on utility poles. More importantly, during some training at a “can’t-be-too-explicit” department, I could receive Taiwan provincial卫视. It happened to be two days before their provincial election. They stopped broadcasting everything — even Qiong Yao soap operas — replaced by 48-hour live coverage, just like our Wenchuan-level earthquake coverage. The ads between coverage weren’t “giving gifts only brings NZT” or “wash cleaner, healthier” anymore. Only the two parties’ ads. The milder ones bragged about themselves; the less civil ones directly attacked the other side. All in Chinese, my mother tongue. “It will get better soon,” “322, vote for No. 2,” “Vote for No. 2, vote for bad news.” Crystal clear. 40 years ago, I’d have been convicted of listening to enemy radio and executed on the spot.) As for xx Village’s election, a week before the vote, I didn’t even know if the candidates were male or female, let alone which unit they were from or who their leaders were. Even if I went, I’d just be ticking boxes randomly. Might as well not go.
So I told the auntie: I can’t go, I have to teach. She replied: “If you can’t make it, that’s fine. 20 yuan per person. You and your wife, two voters, total 40 yuan.” At first, I thought this was the usual government approach: “management means charging fees.” You can skip, but you still pay. Maybe an election organization fee. Ballot printing fee. Venue rental fee. Vote counting labor fee. Or like some countries where voting is both a right and a duty, and non-compliance is penalized. Is Anting Town going international? A 40 yuan fine for missing the election? Either way, at least it wasn’t a huge amount. I quickly grabbed my wallet. “Here’s 50, give me 10 change.” But the auntie was faster than me. She’d already pushed 40 yuan into my hand and said, “Brother, you misunderstand. Keep the money. I’ll handle the election for you. Don’t worry.” Then she left.
I was very confused about the free 40 yuan. Didn’t fully catch her last words either. So I mulled it over and came up with a theory: she gave me 20 yuan, and I sold my voting rights to her. She’d vote for me. Why did I think this? Because at the village level, direct elections are held. Anyone can vote and anyone can be elected. Whoever gets the most votes wins. Very exciting, no indirect election needed. That’s why you often see news about village committee candidates spending 200K yuan on campaigns. Those 40 yuan must be part of the campaign funds, and I was one of those “campaign-targeted” people.
For over a year, I firmly believed this conclusion. Until today, chatting with a friend from Chongming. I was about to spread my twisted theory when he debunked it. He told me: our Party and Government, with great foresight, considered that elections might conflict with people’s work schedules. To minimize the people’s losses, the Party and Government provide each voter with compensation for lost work time, in cash or kind. Like in Chongming, given the sparse population and poor roads, they give 10 yuan cash AND a pair of socks. So citizens don’t wear out their own socks trudging to the polls, and can participate more comfortably. Ah… so that 40 yuan was: lost work compensation!