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Remembering a bridge of tears and humiliation 70 years ago
By Zhou Chun |
March 16, 2009, Monday
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"GARDEN Bridge (Waibaidu Bridge) is coming back!''
It was raining heavily, but people still rushed to the Bund to watch the reinstallation of their darling bridge that had been removed and taken to a factory for a thorough repair lasting nearly a year.
The bridge, built in 1907, has not only witnessed rejoicing and celebration.
Seventy years ago, for example, the scene was totally different.
We used to live in the then French Concession. On school days I had to cross the bridge twice a day since my school was in Hongkou District. I was an eyewitness to the humiliation inflicted on my hometown and my countrymen by the French and British colonialists as well as by the Japanese invaders.
If you approached Garden Bridge from the south, you would see the Huangpu River on your right filled with foreign ships as if anchored in their own waters. The only Chinese boats to be seen were dilapidated sampans.
Further to the north and still on your right you would find the Bund Garden, called Huangpu Park today. It was widely believed that a sign had once stood at the entrance, saying: "Chinese and dogs not permitted.''
In the middle of the bridge, two Japanese soldiers stood on guard, one at each side.
Everyone crossing had to stop walking some 10 paces in front of the soldiers and make a Japanese bow, bending 90 degrees. They had to wait in that position until they heard the Japanese utter a sound as if chasing away a dog.
Only then they were allowed to go on. Many a time had I seen a countryman beaten or kicked by the Japanese only because he failed to perform that Japanese ritual.
Zhang was a friend of my family. One day he told us a sad story.
He was in a hurry when he crossed the bridge that day and raised his head unconsciously to peep at the Japanese soldier before he uttered that sound. Zhang had to pay a high price for his impatience.
The Japanese slapped him so hard in the face that he nearly fell. He had to resume that bowed position, waiting for permission to go on.
He muttered to himself: "Mother, forgive your disobedient son! But he is also a man. If that Japanese bastard dares to touch me again, I will grasp him firmly and jump with him into the river. Mother, forgive your disobedient son ...''
Zhang's humiliation was so deeply engraved in my mind that I could still repeat the story precisely after more than 50 years.
Moreover, Zhang had wept and cried when he told us his suffering, sometimes shuddering violently.
Fifty years later, when I was abroad and told somebody about Zhang's most unfortunate experience on that bridge, I also wept and cried, I also shuddered.
Garden Bridge has come back after repair. Let us hope that our dear old bridge does not have to witness foreign invasion and oppression or humiliation and suffering of my countrymen again. And this is only possible when we do not forget, because to forget means to betray.
(The author is a retiree at Shanghai Jiao Tong University.)
It was raining heavily, but people still rushed to the Bund to watch the reinstallation of their darling bridge that had been removed and taken to a factory for a thorough repair lasting nearly a year.
The bridge, built in 1907, has not only witnessed rejoicing and celebration.
Seventy years ago, for example, the scene was totally different.
We used to live in the then French Concession. On school days I had to cross the bridge twice a day since my school was in Hongkou District. I was an eyewitness to the humiliation inflicted on my hometown and my countrymen by the French and British colonialists as well as by the Japanese invaders.
If you approached Garden Bridge from the south, you would see the Huangpu River on your right filled with foreign ships as if anchored in their own waters. The only Chinese boats to be seen were dilapidated sampans.
Further to the north and still on your right you would find the Bund Garden, called Huangpu Park today. It was widely believed that a sign had once stood at the entrance, saying: "Chinese and dogs not permitted.''
In the middle of the bridge, two Japanese soldiers stood on guard, one at each side.
Everyone crossing had to stop walking some 10 paces in front of the soldiers and make a Japanese bow, bending 90 degrees. They had to wait in that position until they heard the Japanese utter a sound as if chasing away a dog.
Only then they were allowed to go on. Many a time had I seen a countryman beaten or kicked by the Japanese only because he failed to perform that Japanese ritual.
Zhang was a friend of my family. One day he told us a sad story.
He was in a hurry when he crossed the bridge that day and raised his head unconsciously to peep at the Japanese soldier before he uttered that sound. Zhang had to pay a high price for his impatience.
The Japanese slapped him so hard in the face that he nearly fell. He had to resume that bowed position, waiting for permission to go on.
He muttered to himself: "Mother, forgive your disobedient son! But he is also a man. If that Japanese bastard dares to touch me again, I will grasp him firmly and jump with him into the river. Mother, forgive your disobedient son ...''
Zhang's humiliation was so deeply engraved in my mind that I could still repeat the story precisely after more than 50 years.
Moreover, Zhang had wept and cried when he told us his suffering, sometimes shuddering violently.
Fifty years later, when I was abroad and told somebody about Zhang's most unfortunate experience on that bridge, I also wept and cried, I also shuddered.
Garden Bridge has come back after repair. Let us hope that our dear old bridge does not have to witness foreign invasion and oppression or humiliation and suffering of my countrymen again. And this is only possible when we do not forget, because to forget means to betray.
(The author is a retiree at Shanghai Jiao Tong University.)
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