Writer in residence Bei Ling - Exile, lost languages and censorship around the world
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From www.dictionary.com:
Exile- noun
1. expulsion from one's native land by authoritative decree.
What does it feel like to be 'in exile'? For Chinese poet and essayist Huang Bei Ling, 'exile' is the standard term used by journalists that most accurately describes his current predicament - an existence in isolation from his mother tongue and homeland.
Since 2000, after being caught by Chinese authorities for illegally printing a literary publication, Bei Ling (as is his commonly recognised pen name) has lived a life of exile, making beds between Boston, where he holds residence at Brown University, Taiwan and other cities around the world.
As an exiled writer, Bei Ling is constantly being quizzed on what it's like having to cut all ties with his homeland and the imprint that banishment has left upon his poetry and prose. However, after spending some days talking to Bei Ling and reflecting upon his experiences and responses to different landscapes since being in exile, I found that it was the contexts beneath this label - the water-tight censorship laws of China's staunch communist government, the difficulty of developing a second, Western tongue and the impact of geographical isolation upon one's spirit which gave the most honest definition of the word 'exile.'
Judging a book by its cover
The first time I met Bei Ling I remember noticing the inherent Chinese-ness of him. His cotton shoes, clothes and small flask of jasmine tea were instantly recognised as external markers of his ethnic origin. He poured tea and showed me some of his poetry - he and a translator were working on a presentation about translation to be given that night - and I read his verse without really taking anything in. After attending the seminar that night, I had a better idea of who he was - 'exiled writer', 'Chinese and 'poet' - but apart from these obvious but empty defining characteristics, had no realisation of how profoundly his act of dissidence had marked - or stained - his life.
It was not only until nearly a week later, after reading a personal, reflective essay about his adaptation into a foreign language and society that had been forced upon him that I began to realise, or perhaps only just touch the surface, of the weight of political exile upon an individual's life. In his essay entitled 'Choice: A Fated Tragedy' Bei Ling writes:
...My disappointment with myself has been almost eternal. It has consisted of some concrete parts, such as the foreignness of language, an indefinite future, and these chronic attacks of agony, all beyond my power to change ...
This sense of exile within the individual spirit is one that many Chinese writers have had to confront after expressing sentiments contrary to the belief of the state or simply publishing independently, an act worthy of conviction under China's tough communist regime. Renowned for its staunch approach to anti-government material or any publication produced without the approval of the state, The Chinese government's stringent censorship laws which effectively curb independent thought and creativity from its citizens are, as chairman of Sydney PEN Writers in Prison Committee Jack Durack says, testament to the fact that creative writing can be an extremely powerful voice of dissent in society.