Lijia Zhang's Blog, page 8

Euthanasia

Ever since my mother’s passing, I’ve found myself reflecting deeply on death and its related issues. The recent suicide of Taiwanese romantic novelist Chiung Yao inspired me to write this op-ed, where I advocate for the legalization of euthanasia in China—a compassionate approach to the final chapter of our lives.
As always, if you’re interested in reading the full piece, feel free to reach out. I’d also love to hear your thoughts on this issue.
https://www.scmp.com/opinion/china-opinion/article/3290166/novelist-chiung-yaos-death-rekindles-discussion-euthanasia-china

Culture overdose?

Yesterday, I had a bit of cultural overdose.
The afternoon began with a visit to the cinema, accompanied by my delightful Irish neighbor, to see Conclave. Then, as evening descended, I found myself seated the Conway Hall, swept into the opulent strains of Puccini’s Turandot. The invitation had come earlier that morning, quite out of the blue. My dear friend John Man, a historian of considerable renown and a leading authority on Mongolia, had offered me a seat at a black-tie premiere of the opera, hosted by a Mongolian cultural organization. His playwright wife Timberlake couldn’t make it. Naturally, I leapt at the chance.
Both experiences, distinct in their forms, were suffused with drama and grandeur, leaving an indelible impression.
Let me start with Conclave. Based on Robert Harris’s gripping novel, the film delves into the labyrinthine politics of papal selection. From the first scene, I was utterly engrossed. Ralph Fiennes leads a formidable cast, his portrayal of the weary but astute Dean imbuing the character with depth. Fiennes is at his zenith here, commanding every moment on screen. The screenplay sparkles with sharp dialogue; one line, in particular, lingers in my mind: “If there was only certainty and no doubt,” the Dean muses, “then there would be no need for faith.”
The cinematography is equally arresting, capturing the solemnity and grandeur of the Vatican’s inner sanctums with painterly precision. The interplay of shadow and light felt almost sacred, a visual hymn to the themes of faith and power.
The opera, by contrast, was a spectacle of a different order. Turandot was given a Mongolian twist. Before the performance began, the audience was treated to the haunting melodies of a Mongolian horse-head fiddle and traditional throat singing.
Yet it was a Chinese folk song, sung by the children’s chorus, that stirred me most profoundly: Jasmine, a melody from my home province of Jiangsu. Hearing it in that grand setting, far from home, felt like an unexpected embrace from the past.
And so the day wasn’t the most industrious of days, but then, I have long since made peace with my priorities. To live an interesting life—rich in stories, encounters, and stolen moments of beauty—seems to me a far greater aspiration than mere achievement.

Writing English and identity

The issue of language and identity fascinates me. Here’s my latest piece exploring it and explaining why I chose to write in English.

https://www.scmp.com/opinion/china-opinion/article/3286682/what-i-gained-and-lost-native-chinese-writing-english

If you’d like to read but can’t access it, please reach out to me.

Mao documentary

TV Documentary: Mao – China’s Red Emperor

A few months ago, Arte aired this documentary, directed by the brilliant Italian filmmaker Sergio Basso. I had a small part in it, though I only just managed to watch it while visiting Berlin; living in London makes it tricky to access Arte’s broadcasts.

To my amusement, the documentary opens with me singing “The East is Red”. My singing, let’s just say, has never been my strength; my children insist I confine my performances to the shower. Still, a moment of song is no matter. I just hope what I said made sense.

In the interview, I made the point that truly understanding Mao is essential for understanding modern China and its leadership today.

Let me know what you think! Here’s the link to the documentary. (For viewing outside Germany, you may need a VPN set to Germany.)

[Watch *Mao – China’s Red Emperor* on Arte](https://www.arte.tv/de/videos/113586-001-A/mao-chinas-roter-kaiser-1-3/)

Film festival in Cottbus

Film Festival in Cottbus

Cottbus? Where’s that? It’s a small town located about 90 minutes southeast of Berlin by train. For the past 34 years, Cottbus has been home to a vibrant film festival that spotlights East European cinema.
This year, I attended at the invitation of an old friend knows the festival organizer, and I thoroughly enjoyed the experience. There’s something magical about film festivals—immersing yourself in back-to-back screenings and diving into diverse stories.
My favorite film was Amerikatsi (American), an Armenian film about an Armenian-American who, after World War II, repatriates to the Armenian SSR, only to end up in a Soviet prison by a tragic twist of fate. This film, which won the Best Feature award at the Woodstock Film Festival in 2022, felt especially poignant to me, as I’ve had the chance to visit Armenia and know a bit about its culture.
Another standout was the Ukrainian sci-fi film U Are the Universe, about love and loneliness. A surprisingly engaging piece written and filmed amidst the ongoing Russian invasion. The film is a huge achievement by its young director, Pavlo Ostrikov, who managed to bring such a unique vision to life under challenging circumstances.

Berlin Wall

The Fall of the Berlin Wall

Tomorrow, the 9th of November, 2024, will mark thirty-five years since the Berlin Wall came down. It’s almost serendipitous that I find myself here in Berlin on this anniversary. Today, I paid homage to the Wall, reflecting on that pivotal moment, an event that reshaped the world. This guarded concrete barrier, which once encircled West Berlin, had stood since 1961, symbolizing the iron divide between East and West. When it fell in 1989, it was more than just a structural collapse—it was the end of an era, the crumbling of the Cold War’s most visible scar, and the beginning of a new dawn as Germany moved toward reunification.

But the wall’s collapse was not contained within Berlin. It sparked a tidal wave of democratic change that swept across Eastern Europe. What an exciting time it was! Within months, Communist regimes toppled or transformed in places like Poland, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, and Romania. It also accelerated the dissolution of the Soviet Union itself in 1991, ending decades of its dominance over Eastern Europe.

Yet, while Berlin’s story became a beacon of freedom, 1989 also bore witness to a different but equally unprecedented event in China – the pro-democracy movement in China, led by students in Tiananmen. The tide of change rose but broke differently, leaving a profoundly different legacy on the other side of the world.

Talking about racism in China

I’ll be speaking for the British Council’s Diversity Program on issues of race in China at 7 pm on Monday 4th of Nov. You’re welcome to join us. britishcouncil-portugalacademic.createsend1.com/t/y-...

The room next door

Film: The Room Next Door by Pedro Almodovar

This is a film about death, something that has fascinated me ever since the passing of my mother five years ago. More precisely, it’s about dying with dignity, on one’s own terms. Tilda Swinton stars as Martha, a seasoned war correspondent facing her final days as cancer overtakes her. She reconnects with her old friend Ingrid, a dazzlingly successful author played by Julianne Moore. Martha’s unusual request to Ingrid—that she be present in the room next door as she chooses to end her life—sets the story’s haunting tone.

Unexpectedly, The Room Next Door clinched the Golden Lion at the Venice Film Festival this year, raising some eyebrows. Personally, I found it engaging and deeply reflective. Both Swinton and Moore deliver captivating performances, bringing depth to characters weighed down by mortality yet brimming with human resilience. Visually, it’s a feast of rich autumn hues that saturate each scene.

True, there’s no suspense: the narrative is bound by its inevitable end. Almodóvar’s script, adapted by the director himself, leans toward the didactic, perhaps lacking the confidence of his Spanish-language masterpieces like Pain and Glory and Julieta. Perhaps it’s a mark of his first English feature.

Regardless, it’s well worth the watch, offering moments of beauty and thought that linger long after the credits roll.

Land of the free

Play: Land of the Free

Yesterday, I saw an intriguing play, Land of the Free, at Southwark Playhouse, which delves into the life of John Wilkes Booth, the actor who assassinated Abraham Lincoln, and explores the theme of political violence. A powerful topic, and one rich in dramatic material: both Booth, from a distinguished thespian family, and Lincoln were passionate about the theatre. Fittingly, it was at Ford’s Theatre where Booth ended the life of the American president.

The play was highly engaging and enjoyable. The seven-member troupe delivered a quality performance, with each actor (aside from the lead) taking on multiple roles and playing various musical instruments. Creatively structured, it avoided strict chronological order; the assassination occurred in the first half, just before the interval, while the second half retraced Booth’s life. Like many from Maryland, Booth was sympathetic to the Confederate cause, viewing Lincoln as a tyrant threatening the white Southerners’ “right” to keep slaves. Personally, I was uncertain about this structure—once Lincoln was killed, the narrative felt like it lost its momentum.

The Guardian gave it four stars; I’d give it three.

Timely, too. As Americans head to the polls, it’s once again a moment for them to reflect on who they are and what they stand for.

Medieval women

Exhibition: Medieval Women in Their Own Words

Expecting the usual display of chemises, cloaks, headdresses, and ancient manuscripts, I was surprised to find that an exhibition about medieval women could be such a lively experience! Last night, I attended the opening reception at the British Library, where the celebrated historian and writer Kate Moss delivered a stirring keynote. There was a free flow of drinks, delectable canapés, and a trio singing hauntingly beautiful harmonies that followed us right into the exhibition halls.

I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so much at an exhibition! One young woman had written a humorous poem about female anatomy—proving that centuries before “The Vagina Monologues”, women were already giving voice to the unspeakable. The church, it turns out, decreed sex only on Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sundays, and if you were thinking of divorcing your medieval husband, an interactive exhibit provided “helpful” tips. Grounds for separation ranged from impotency and bad breath to bad sex and infidelity.

Other highlights included Joan of Arc’s signature (the last photo), and a scent box allowing you to inhale the “smell of evil” or the “smell of an angel”—modern technology delightfully enhancing these glimpses into the past.

When a TV crew asked for an interview, I was more than willing. Women have often been written out of history, and I’m thrilled that this exhibition casts a light on the lives of women from centuries past, bringing their voices and stories to us in vivid, unexpected ways.