Before the TV documentary, “Our Overseas Study Lives — Days in Japan”, was broadcast last year and caused such a sensation throughout China, Li Zhongsheng was just an ordinary Chinese overseas student in Japan. Having gone to Japan to study at the age of 35, and spent 14 years on his doctorate, however, Li is extraordinary. He also stands out as the only controversial figure in this documentary, and his autobiography, The Unbroadcast Story, which was published on his return to China this year, has added fuel to the social debate over his overseas studies.
The theme of overseas students and their lives abroad has, in recent years, become a popular subject for films and TV dramas in China. In the 1980s, when China had just opened its door to the outside world, and still suffered from a lack of commodities, overseas students were envied by their fellows for being able to make "big" money from part-time work, which they could then mail home. As, since the 1990s, a greater number of students has been going abroad to study, and a phenomenal improvement has occurred in Chinese people's living standards, a more rational attitude has prevailed towards overseas studies, and the glitz on life abroad has worn off, bringing into focus its pain and hardship.
Chinese students in Japan encounter more difficulties than they do in the U.S. and European countries. Their scholarship grant is minimal, meaning they have to engage in the grinding, high-pressure life of the Yamato people. Living with a nation that has countless cultural ties with China, Chinese students are nonetheless treated, not with affection, but with taunts and spite.
During the four years it took to shoot, “Our Overseas Study Lives” recorded the everyday life of Chinese students abroad, but the part concentrating on Chinese students in Japan was most striking. Students often need several part-time jobs in order to survive, involving toil and hardship, and are forced to study in poky rooms in the small hours, exhausted after finishing work, when all they really want to do is to sleep. They are so short of funds that deep deliberation is required on the question of whether or not to buy a small can of fish, and throughout their studies they are deeply homesick. This film took China by storm after being screened on TV, and achieved record ratings.
Li Zhongsheng is remembered by many people as "the elder overseas student in perpetual pursuit of his doctorate." This man, already in his 40s, left a particularly deep impression on viewers, particularly from the following scenes. In the first shot, Li squats outside the kitchen of a Japanese restaurant on a 2 ?C winter day, peeling radishes. After filling several cartons, his fingers freeze, and the radishes slip from his grasp. Shot 2 shows Li at the entrance to the examination room, where he swigs from a bottle of ginseng extract, composes himself, and steps forward to defend his thesis. Shot 3 shows Li, after hearing that his defense of his thesis has been once more unsuccessful, standing by the square fountain, staring blankly.
In The Unbroadcast Story, Li Zhongsheng recalls his childhood and youth, and the feelings he experienced during his stay in Japan. Despite its stark, sometimes crude, language, the book is nonetheless compelling. Dreams are cheap, and not everyone has the inner strength necessary to make their dream a reality, or to withstand repeated defeats, yet to remain loyal to this dream. Still fewer can regenerate their courage after a setback without flinching, and continue to pursue their apparently impossible objective. Li has always adhered to his dream, struggling, experiencing failure, but soldiering on. The whole viewing audience was moved by his unflagging resolve, and felt personally concerned as to his fate. When “Our Overseas Study Lives” was rebroadcast on BTV, and the station staff added the subtitle "Today, Li Zhongsheng successfully defended his thesis," thousands upon thousands of viewers were moved to tears by this announcement.
"He is penniless, but his face reveals his confidence in life. These days, it is not money but spirit that we are short of, the kind of spirit this Chinese man has shown us. He makes clear that Asia benefits far more from soul-nurturing spirit than money," one Japanese viewer commented. For many Chinese, however, Li's act is more meaningful, as his dream is that of a whole Chinese generation.
During the 10-year "cultural revolution" millions of youth of Li's generation were forced to leave school and work in the countryside and mountainous regions. At its end, when China was restored to order, most of them, for various reasons, were unable to resume their studies. This was to them an irretrievable loss and the biggest source of regret in their lives. Li's peers transposed their own hopes on to him, as he struggled indomitably and eventually succeeded. It was at this point that Li realized the dream of a whole generation.
Despite the respect and admiration Li Zhongsheng has inspired, there are those that have expressed their doubts at his quest: "Is it worthwhile spending 14 years just on winning a diploma? Does it make any sense to study for study's sake?" The answer to these questions may be that everyone has their own life and values. In today's China, however, such an expressed doubt refutes the traditional concept of education. Under the imperial examination system in feudal China, knowledge was synonymous with ability, and it was not uncommon at this time for certain candidates to make several attempts at passing the imperial examination, often taking them into their 50s or 60s. It was deemed justifiable for those who had gained good marks in the examination to be granted official titles. Although the imperial examination system was abolished in late Qing Dynasty, this traditional concept has by no means been eradicated from the Chinese consciousness. When higher education is not available to all citizens, and a college diploma means a stable job and a good salary under the planned economy, Chinese students are forced to cram their way through the college entrance examination. Consequently the essential goal of education is superseded, and the objective of higher education is merely to go to college and gain a diploma, as it is only this, the diploma itself, that is the key to social recognition.
Li Zhongsheng had two aspirations: the first, to achieve a doctorate; and second, to do his bit for his country. In his eyes, the first was the precondition for the second. Now back in China and working as a teacher as he had hoped, Li may find that the concept of education and the system have undergone drastic changes in the past 14 years, a fact endorsed by the doubt expressed about Li and his quest for a doctorate.
Just as Albert Camus said in his The Myth of Sysiphus, "One is happy on the track to the peak, whether or not one can conquer it in the end." Li Zhongzheng is happy, since he has ascended his peak, and is making his way up the next. He knows what he should do, and how it should be done.
(China Today 10/16/2001)
