中文读者请留意：此文的中文翻译在英文版的后面。中文图注紧随英文版图注。

Author’s note / 写在前面 :

This text is excerpted from my English-language interview with Yi Liu for China Books Review and is reproduced here with the interviewer’s permission. The original interview was intended for English-language readers and covered a broad range of topics; the excerpts presented here focus only on material directly related to my new book Sacred Understanding: The Research of the Chinese Paper Gods Collection at the C.V. Starr East Asian Library of Columbia University. Although Sacred Understanding studies Chinese folk belief, its archival point of entry is in New York. The Chinese Paper Gods Collection preserved at Columbia’s East Asian Library, along with the related archives left by Mrs. Anne Swann Goodrich, make New York an important site for rethinking Chinese folk society. In this sense, “New York Nonfiction” is not limited to writing about New York itself; it also attends to the Chinese experiences this city has preserved, translated, and brought back into view.

The original interview is available here: https://chinabooksreview.com/2026/08/27/wct-li-mingjie/.It was published on August 27, 2026.

本文摘编自“中国书评”（China Books Review ）刘怡女士对我的英文访谈，2026年8月27日发表，经采访记者同意编译发布。原访谈面向英文读者，讨论范围较广；这里仅选取与我的新书《神交：纽约哥伦比亚大学“中国纸神专藏”研究》直接相关的内容。《神交》的研究对象是中国民间信仰，但材料入口在纽约。哥伦比亚大学东亚图书馆保存的“中国纸神专藏”及富平安女士相关档案，使纽约成为重新理解中国民间社会的重要现场；“纽约非虚构”也因此不仅书写纽约本身，也关注这座城市所保存、转译和重新呈现的中国经验。采访原文请见：https://chinabooksreview.com/2026/08/27/wct-li-mingjie/

Selected Excerpts from

“Li Mingjie on Chinese Folk Belief”

Yi Liu: Your academic career has taken a few twists and turns. Why did you choose linguistics and then folklore studies? Does it have to do with how you grew up?

Li Mingjie: In 2017 I came across the “paper gods” material at Columbia University and began going back and forth to New York, to study it. By the time I retired in 2023, New York had come to exert an enormous cultural pull on me. I had become interested in New York’s archives of Chinese folk culture, and in the work devoted to introducing Chinese folk culture to America.

For me, the thread running from linguistics to folklore studies to cultural anthropology is a consistent one. What I have always cared about is this: how the customs, rituals and images expressed through language present our memory and expression of the past and of the present. That expression is in fact our everyday practice — how a person settles himself through daily practice, understands the world, and then copes with social change.

Yi Liu: You recently published Sacred Understanding. What exactly are China’s paper gods? And why did you write this book?

Li Mingjie: In 2017, after I transferred from East China Normal University’s Chinese department to the Institute of Folklore, I wanted to open up some new ground and do comparative urban folklore. New York was the obvious case to set against Shanghai. As it happened, Jim Cheng, then director of Columbia’s C.V. Starr East Asian Library, introduced me to Columbia’s Chinese Paper Gods Collection. In 1930 an American woman, Anne Swann Goodrich, came to Beijing for the second time, following her husband, with three children in tow. The following year she bought up every paper god in the Renhe paper shop in Beijing — a full panoramic record of the actual state of folk belief in early Republican Beijing. The book is built around that collection.

On page eight I give a definition of the paper god. The concept itself isn’t a Chinese one — Europeans and Americans both like the term “paper god.” In China, though, it means “door gods plus Zhima.” Door gods [divine guardians of doors and gates] are easy enough to understand. Zhima, paper horses, are comparatively harder. We used to think of door gods and Zhima as two separate things. But it was because of the Europeans, the French above all, that we came to see that door gods and paper horses are both gods. This is all a system of gods that ordinary Chinese believe in. Paper gods — door gods plus Zhima — is our pantheon. It is the pantheon of the common people, the pantheon of Chinese folk religion. Not Daoist, not Buddhist.

These beliefs can only be seen from the standpoint of the other. Much of Chinese academia, and ordinary Chinese too, have never heard of paper gods, and assume the foreigners must have gotten it wrong — a misreading. But the thinking of the other is not necessarily all misreading. Set against Zhima, the door-god system is relatively simple: generally historical figures and immortals. Shenshu and Yulü, say, who are immortals out of the Classic of Mountains and Seas (山海经), or Qin Qiong and Yuchi Gong who are historical figures. We know that Chinese people will elevate historical figures, people who made important contributions, into gods.

A door god print of Shenshu, an immortal from the Classic of Mountains and Seas, crafted in Tianjin. (Courtesy of the C. V. Starr East Asian Library at Columbia University)

天津杨柳青印制之门神“神荼”（哥伦比亚大学东亚图书馆慨允使用）

Yi Liu: With urbanization moving so fast in China, the rise of the middle class and the growth of the internet — how widespread is the paper gods tradition in China now?

Li Mingjie: Because economic and cultural conditions differ from place to place, it’s uneven across regions. In Yunnan province, for instance, you can buy zhima at any grocery store; they’re an ordinary everyday item. Or take Nantong [in Jiangsu province, next to Shanghai] — they are also an entirely common item there. In Shanghai they may survive in the form of “intangible cultural heritage”: woodblock-and-watercolor prints, say, sold as tourist souvenirs and no longer objects of belief. But that doesn’t mean they’ve disappeared. When you hand out a red envelope at New Year, that too is a mutation of the paper god; only the medium has changed. China is too vast.

Yi Liu: But can you say with confidence that any Chinese person knows what these are?

Li Mingjie: Of course — everyone has seen them. But there’s another point: what survives overseas is more extensive still. In New York, the larger Chinese supermarkets all have a dedicated counter selling zhima. Hong Kong Supermarket in Manhattan’s Chinatown has an enormous counter for zhima and folk-worship supplies. And another one, HL Supermarket, has several whole shelves of Zhima.

So in plain terms, Zhima are a kind of Chinese belief and blessing — hopes printed onto paper — or a visualization of how Chinese people imagine the gods.

It is a human deity. In the Qin and Han dynasties it was connected to burial sacrifice. Back then the aristocracy sacrificed real horses — buried real horses alive, as grave goods. Later that came to seem too extravagant, too wasteful, and so they made a horse out of paper. You can still see this kind of paper horse today in the funerary paper shops of Manhattan’s Chinatown. Look at Sun Yat-sen’s funeral: paper horses appear there.

Yi Liu: Why are the paper horses burned?

Li Mingjie: How do you go about getting a wish to reach the gods? The simplest method is to burn it, because when you burn it the smoke goes up. Chinese people are both very romantic and very concrete: if you want to tell a god something, how do you make sure he receives it? You burn it for him.

Yi Liu: So the smoke is the means of transmission, something like a telephone line?

Li Mingjie: It’s express delivery. Among the god images there is even a god for exactly this: Sanjie Zhifu Shizhe (三界直符使者), who holds a box in his hands; you put your words in the box, and he carries them up for you. Even today, in China’s Central Plains, the kitchen god (灶君) sacrifice before Spring Festival keeps the custom alive — after the offering [of sweet treats] you scatter a handful of soybeans across the roof, and their rattling is the sound of hooves.

Yi Liu: Why do Chinese people place their belief in paper, fragile as it is?

Li Mingjie: Because it isn’t a courtly aesthetic or an elite one. It’s thoroughly of the common people — it belongs to the bottom, to ordinary people. Paper is the medium an ordinary person can most easily get hold of, the cheapest and simplest, and it can be burned too. That fits the Chinese imagination of the gods: immortals ride the clouds and mists, they’re all up above.

Yi Liu: Zhima are fascinating, but they’re a small part of Chinese folk culture. Could we talk about the broader history of Chinese folklore and religion?

Li Mingjie: Chinese folk belief is very old. It begins with the worship of nature gods: the Queen Mother of the West (西王母), the God of Mount Tai (泰山神), the Duke of Thunder (雷公) and the Mother of Lightning (电母). This is the kind of nature worship every country and every people has some version of.

But what we see today in China, what in some sense is still alive today, is a conception of ancestor worship that became systematic after the Ming and Qing dynasties. In my book I quote a passage from the Mrs. Anne Swann Goodrich:

The Chinese were conscious that the problems of life were too great for human beings to solve by themselves, so they turned to the spirits of the dead, who, having been human, would understand the problems, and being spirits, had supernatural power to help. They were conscious of the reality of spiritual, supernatural forces in everyday life, that influenced their own lives individually. Each person worshipped the god he thought would help him most. Belief in the supernatural is one of the foundations of Chinese culture. Without belief in the continuation of life after death, resulting in ancestor worship, China would have developed a different society.

Yi Liu: Chinese folk belief recovered very quickly after Reform and Opening. Why did it come back so fast? You once recommended to me the scholar Adam Yuet Chau’s book Miraculous Response: Doing Popular Religion in Contemporary China (2006), that laid out three explanations. First, that the organizational mechanisms of popular religion reproduce secular ways of living, so it recovers easily. Second, that village elites treat temples as political, economic and symbolic capital, so the growth of popular religion is closely bound up with the emergence of a new kind of local elite. Third, local government. Do you accept those three explanations, and are there examples of it?

Li Mingjie: Entirely reasonable. Let me give an example: the Miaofengshan temple fair [a traditional cultural event in the mountains to the west of Beijing], which has a very long tradition. Since the Ming and Qing dynasties it has been dedicated to Bixia Yuanjun (碧霞元君), an extremely important fertility goddess for women — a little like Mary in Western religion. First of all, it’s a tradition. Even after people weren’t permitted to believe [during the Cultural Revolution], they might practice their belief not by way of “going to burn incense” but by way of climbing the mountain, and so it carried on. If a family held a wedding, or a wedding or a funeral, people mobilized and organized very easily. That’s how it works.

Climbing the mountain, spring outings, ascending the heights, excursions — they all end up at the temple. That’s its first organizing principle. Including going as a village, together. They organize by village, township, pilgrimage association or social organization, and the connections run extraordinarily wide. It’s stubborn. The roots go deep and fine, and are very hard to clear out. The organizational capacity of the folk didn’t disappear because religious belief was disallowed. It is isomorphic. Or understand it this way: religious organization and the social-mobilization organization at the base of folk society are isomorphic — they are one organization.

In the years when it was absent on the mainland, Taiwan and Hong Kong — and [the diaspora] overseas, Malaysia included — served as a mirror of Chinese society, and it survived there. In that sense we even have a surviving strand. It persisted at the base, it’s grass that wildfire can’t burn out: the roots are there and all you’ve done is cut off the top. Hong Kong’s intangible heritage, for instance — Hong Kong folk custom — is entirely an expression of folk belief, preserved whole, never broken. It’s a cultural lineage.

Yi Liu: China has more than 1.4 billion people. People must find a place for their spiritualism. But by the statistics, China’s rate of religious belief is very low. So do Chinese people have faith? And if they do, what is it they believe in?

Li Mingjie: They do. It’s a belief diffused through life — dissolved into life. A belief that I should do something, that life should be made better, that all of life’s troubles should be dealt with. What ordinary people care about is whether this religion is useful. Does it solve an actual problem? That is the essence of Chinese folk religion. Efficacy, efficacy, efficacy — it has to be efficacious, and efficacious means useful. So Chinese gods are very concrete. There’s a god for getting rich and a god for having children — my book discusses childbirth, and the fertility gods are extremely specific: one for conception, one for hastening labor, all different gods.

A Zhima of a “Spirit Tablet of the Efficacious Heavenly Immortal Holy Mother and the Nine Ladies” used to watch over child-bearing women. (Courtesy of the C. V. Starr East Asian Library at Columbia University)

护佑妇女儿童的北京纸马“灵感天仙圣母九位娘娘之位”（哥伦比亚大学东亚图书馆慨允使用）

Chinese belief doesn’t necessarily show up first as “what religion do I believe in” but rather as “how do I handle uncertainty in daily life.” We can’t simply answer the question “what does a Chinese person believe” — gods, ancestors, morality, relationships. More precisely, the structure of Chinese belief is usually not organized around an exclusive doctrinal system. It is diffused through family, ancestors, local society, ethical order, festival ritual, trade organizations, everyday life. Chinese people look as though they believe in nothing, in the sense that it isn’t centered on an independent church, fixed doctrine and a clearly marked believer’s identity. A person may never say “I am an adherent of such-and-such a religion,” but that doesn’t mean he has no structure of belief. Much of Chinese belief comes through doing — Adam Chau has a concept for it, “doing religion.” It is doing: you have to do it, your body has to be in place, you have to show up, the money has to show up. If those aren’t there, your intent is a fake.

So we can’t say that Chinese folk belief has no system. Its system doesn’t take the form of religious organization familiar to Westerners; its order is hidden inside daily life. Like salt going into water, and water going into life.

Yi Liu: On Chinese social media I’ve noticed a lot of young people starting to pray to gods and worship the Buddha.

Li Mingjie: Young people going to temples, buying amulets, taking part in intangible-heritage events doesn’t necessarily mean they’ve become religious believers in the traditional sense. A great deal of the time they are looking, inside a life that is intensely competitive, intensely mobile and intensely uncertain, for somewhere to put their feelings, for a cultural belonging and a touchable sense of order — even if the emotional relief lasts only a moment.

《李明洁谈中国民间信仰》选摘

刘怡：您的学术经历有几次转向。您为什么先选择语言学，后来又进入民俗学研究？这与您的成长经历有关吗？

李明洁：2017 年，我在哥伦比亚大学接触到“纸神”材料，之后就开始往返纽约，研究这批材料。到 2023 年我退休时，纽约已经对我产生了巨大的文化吸引力。我开始对纽约保存的中国民间文化档案，以及向美国介绍中国民间文化的相关工作产生兴趣。

对我来说，从语言学到民俗学，再到文化人类学，始终有一条连续的线索。我一直关心的是：通过语言表达出来的习俗、仪式和图像，如何呈现我们对过去和现在的记忆与表达。而这种表达，事实上就是我们的日常实践——一个人如何通过日常实践安顿自己、理解世界，并应对社会变化。

刘怡：您最近出版了《神交》。中国的“纸神”究竟是什么？您为什么写这本书？

李明洁：2017 年，我从华东师范大学中文系调到民俗学研究所以后，希望打开一些新的研究空间，做比较都市民俗学研究。纽约显然是可以与上海相对照的城市。也是在这个时候，时任哥伦比亚大学 C.V. Starr 东亚图书馆馆长的程健先生，把哥大的“中国纸神专藏”介绍给我。1930 年，美国人 Anne Swann Goodrich（富平安）女士带着三个孩子，随丈夫第二次来到北京。第二年，她买下了北京人和纸店里的全部纸神——这是民国初年北京民间信仰实际状态的一份全景式记录。我的这本书就是围绕这批收藏展开的。

我在书的第八页给出了“纸神”的定义。这个概念本身并不是中文里的概念——欧洲人和美国人都喜欢使用 paper god 这个说法。但在中国语境中，它的意思是“门神加纸马”。门神比较容易理解，纸马则相对难一些。过去我们一直认为门神和纸马是两类东西。但正是因为欧洲人，尤其是法国人的观察，我们才意识到，门神和纸马其实都是神。这是普通中国人所信仰的一整套神灵系统。纸神——门神加纸马——就是我们的万神殿。它是普通人的万神殿，是中国民间信仰的万神殿。它既不是道教的，也不是佛教的。

这些信仰只有从他者的立场才能被看见。很多中国学者，以及普通中国人，也从来没有听说过“纸神”，会觉得外国人一定是弄错了，是一种误读。但他者的思考并不必然全都是误读。与纸马相比，门神系统相对简单：通常是历史人物和神仙。比如神荼、郁垒，他们是《山海经》里的神仙；或者秦琼、尉迟恭，他们是历史人物。我们知道，中国人会把历史人物、把那些作出重要贡献的人，提升为神。

刘怡：中国城市化发展很快，中产阶级崛起，互联网也在增长——那么，纸神传统今天在中国还有多普遍？

李明洁：因为各地经济和文化条件不同，所以地区差异很大。比如在云南，你可以在任何一家杂货店买到纸马，它们就是非常普通的日用品。再比如南通，江苏靠近上海的地方，纸马在那里也是非常常见的物品。在上海，它们可能以“非物质文化遗产”的形式存在，比如作为旅游纪念品出售的木版水印年画，不再是信仰对象。但这并不意味着它们已经消失。过年时你给别人发红包，那也是纸神的一种变体，只是媒介发生了变化。中国太大了。

刘怡：但您能有把握地说，任何中国人都知道这些东西吗？

李明洁：当然——每个人都见过。但还有另一点：海外保存下来的东西甚至更丰富。在纽约，大型华人超市里都有专门出售纸马的柜台。曼哈顿唐人街的香港超市有一个很大的柜台，出售纸马和民间祭祀用品。还有一家华乐超市，几排货架上都是纸马。

所以，用最简单的话说，纸马是一种中国式的信仰和祝福——是印在纸上的愿望，或者说，是中国人想象神灵方式的一种视觉化呈现。

它是一种人形神。在秦汉时期，它与陪葬祭祀有关。那时贵族会用真马陪葬——把真马活埋，作为随葬品。后来，人们觉得那样太奢侈、太浪费，于是就用纸做一匹马。今天在曼哈顿唐人街的丧葬纸品店里，你仍然可以看到这种纸马。你看孙中山的葬礼，里面就出现了纸马。

刘怡：为什么纸马会被焚烧？

李明洁：你要怎样让一个愿望抵达神灵那里？最简单的方法就是把它烧掉，因为烧掉以后，烟会升上去。中国人既很浪漫，也很具体：如果你想告诉神一件事，怎么才能保证他收到呢？你就烧给他。

刘怡：所以烟就是传送的媒介，有点像电话线？

李明洁：这是快递。在神像中，甚至有一位专门负责这件事的神，叫“三界直符使者”。他手里捧着一个盒子；你把你的话放进盒子里，他就替你带上去。直到今天，在中国中原地区，春节前祭灶君的习俗还保留着这种观念——供奉之后，你把一把黄豆撒到屋顶上，黄豆滚动的声音就是马蹄声。

刘怡：为什么中国人会把信仰寄托在纸上？纸毕竟如此脆弱。

李明洁：因为这不是宫廷审美，也不是精英审美。它彻底属于普通人——属于底层，属于老百姓。纸是普通人最容易获得的媒介，最便宜，也最简单，而且还可以焚烧。这也符合中国人对神灵的想象：神仙腾云驾雾，都在上面。

刘怡：纸马很有意思，但它只是中国民间文化的一小部分。我们能不能谈谈中国民俗和宗教更广泛的历史？

李明洁：中国民间信仰非常古老。它从自然神崇拜开始：西王母、泰山神、雷公、电母。这是每个国家、每个民族都会有的某种自然崇拜。

但我们今天在中国看到的，某种意义上仍然活着的，是明清以后系统化的祖先崇拜观念。我在书中引用了 Anne Swann Goodrich（富平安）女士的一段话：

中国人意识到，人生的问题太大，单靠人类自己无法解决，所以他们转向亡灵求助。亡灵曾经是人，因此能够理解人的问题；而他们已经成为神，因此拥有超自然的力量，可以提供帮助。中国人意识到，精神性的、超自然的力量在日常生活中是真实存在的，并且会影响每个人的生活。每个人都会祭拜他认为最能帮助自己的神。对超自然的信仰是中国文化的根基之一。倘若没有对死后生命延续的信仰，以及由此产生的祖先崇拜，中国社会将会发展成另一种样子。

刘怡：改革开放以后，中国民间信仰恢复得很快。为什么它回来得这么快？您曾经向我推荐过周越的《灵应：在当代中国“做”民间信仰》（2006），那本书提出了三种解释。第一，民众宗教的组织机制复制了世俗生活方式，所以容易恢复；第二，乡村精英把庙宇视为政治、经济和象征资本，因此民众宗教的增长与新型地方精英的出现密切相关；第三，地方政府的支持。您接受这三种解释吗？有没有例子？

李明洁：完全合理。我举一个例子：妙峰山庙会，这是北京西郊山中的一个传统文化活动，有很悠久的传统。自明清以来，它一直供奉碧霞元君，一位对女性来说极其重要的生育女神——有点像西方宗教中的圣母玛利亚。首先，它是传统。即使在宗教信仰不被允许的年代，人们也可能不以“去烧香”的方式实践信仰，而是以爬山的方式实践，于是它就延续下来了。如果一个家庭有婚礼或者丧礼之类的红白喜事，人们也很容易用同样的方式被动员和集结起来。民间信仰就是这样运作的。

爬山、春游、登高、出游，最后都会抵达庙宇。这是它的第一个组织原则。包括以村庄为单位一起去——他们按照村庄、乡镇、香会或社会组织来组织，连接面非常广。它很顽强，根扎得又深又细，很难清除。民间的组织能力并没有因为宗教信仰不被允许而消失，它们是同构的。或者可以这样理解：宗教组织和民间社会基层的社会动员组织是同构的——它们其实是同一个组织。

在民间信仰看似从大陆缺席的那些年里，台湾和香港——以及海外，包括马来西亚——都成了中国社会的一面镜子，民间信仰在那里保存了下来。从这个意义上说，我们甚至有一条幸存的脉络。它在基层坚持下来，就像野火烧不尽的草：根还在那里，你只是把地面以上的部分割掉了。比如香港的非物质文化遗产——香港民俗——完全是民间信仰的表达，被完整地保存下来，从未断裂。这是一条文化脉络。

刘怡：中国有 14 亿多人口。人们总要为自己的精神性找到安放之处。但从统计数字看，中国人的宗教信仰比例很低。那么，中国人有信仰吗？如果有，他们相信什么？

李明洁：有。它是一种弥散在生活中的信仰——溶解在生活里的信仰。相信我应该做些什么，生活应该变得更好，人生中的各种麻烦都应该被处理。普通人关心的是，这个宗教有没有用。它能不能解决实际问题？这就是中国民间信仰的本质。灵验，灵验，灵验——它必须灵验，而灵验的意思就是有用。所以中国的神非常具体。有求发财的神，有求子嗣的神——我的书里有一章讨论生育，生育神非常具体：有管受孕的，有管催生的，不同的事由不同的神来管。

中国人的信仰并不一定首先表现为“我信什么宗教”，而更多表现为“我如何处理日常生活中的不确定性”。我们不能简单回答“中国人相信什么”这个问题——神、祖先、道德、关系。更准确地说，中国人的信仰结构通常不是围绕一个排他性的教义系统组织起来的。它弥散在家庭、祖先、地方社会、伦理秩序、节令仪式、行业组织和日常生活之中。中国人看起来好像什么都不信，意思是说，它并不以一个独立的教会、固定的教义和清晰标识出来的信徒身份为中心。一个人可能从来不会说“我是某某宗教的信徒”，但这并不意味着他没有信仰结构。很多中国人的信仰来自行动——周越有一个概念，叫 “doing religion”，可以译作“做宗教”或“实践宗教”。它是要去做的：你的身体要到场，你要出现，钱也要出现。如果这些都没有，你的心意就是假的。

所以我们不能说中国民间信仰没有系统。它的系统并不采取西方人熟悉的宗教组织形式；它的秩序藏在日常生活里。就像盐进入水中，而水进入生活。

刘怡：我在中国社交媒体上注意到，很多年轻人开始向神祈祷、拜佛。

李明洁：年轻人去寺庙、买护身符、参加非遗活动，并不一定意味着他们已经成为传统意义上的宗教信徒。很多时候，他们是在高度竞争、高度流动、高度不确定的生活中，寻找一个安放情绪的地方，寻找一种文化归属，以及一种可以触摸的秩序感——即使这种情绪缓解只持续片刻。

For English readers: the full English version appears below the Chinese text, and English explanations for the photo captions appear beneath the Chinese captions.

写在前面 / Author’s note:

2026年1月12日，华东师范大学资深历史学教授许纪霖先生与我围绕我的新书《破坏实验》展开过一次对谈，着重讨论全球都市的世界性、文化生成与社区精神，从纽约进入上海，也以上海反观纽约。以下是这次对谈实录的精选版本。

On January 12, 2026, I had a conversation with Professor Xu Jilin, a senior historian and professor at East China Normal University, about my new book, Wounded New York NY 2017–2023, whose Chinese title is Breaching Experiment (Guangdong People’s Publishing House, 2025). We focused on the global character of cities, the formation of culture, and the spirit of community. We approached Shanghai through New York, and also used Shanghai as a way to look back at New York. What follows is a selected version of the transcript.

一、双城镜像：纽约与上海的世界性对话

许纪霖：各位晚上好，萤火虫夜谈第十七期现在开始。今天我们邀请到李明洁老师。李老师现在纽约，我在上海，我们在两个城市之间对话。纽约和上海都是全球性大都市。经过三十多年发展，今天的上海已经有资格与纽约互为镜像地进行比较。

李老师的新书《破坏实验》以人类学田野札记的方式记述疫情前后的纽约。我们今天就从这本书出发，不仅谈纽约，也谈上海。

李明洁：我从2017年暑假开始，因为纽约哥伦比亚大学的一份珍档需要整理与阐释，每年寒暑假去纽约。2020年3月疫情发展到美国，我不得不在那里待了很长时间，直到9月11日才买到机票回上海。之后我继续每年两次去纽约完成研究项目，直到2023年底退休，才有更多时间待在纽约。

最初我把对纽约的观察作为档案研究的副产品，从城市民俗角度进行记录。疫情发生后，我开始写札记，回应内心的焦虑与疑惑。这些札记有的发表，有的只是写给自己。最后广东人民出版社的陈卓编辑建议把疫情前后的文字放在一起，让这次全球性的“破坏实验”得以全面呈现。

二、天堂与地狱：纽约的多元面貌与身份认同

许纪霖：这让我想起1990年代风靡一时的电视连续剧《北京人在纽约》里的那句话：“如果你爱一个人，送他去纽约；如果你恨一个人，也送他去纽约。”你的书的封面上有一句叫“纽约的损毁与愈合”。你觉得纽约是天堂还是地狱？

李明洁：纽约既是天堂也是地狱。很多纽约人说这里是一个“都市丛林”——人类的原始森林，非常丰饶，也非常残酷，有原始森林的规则。这需要慢慢展开。

许纪霖：有说法认为“纽约不代表美国”，上海在中国也有类似评价——“到了上海不一定到了中国”。纽约和上海更像是“世界的纽约”“世界的上海”。你是否赞成？

李明洁：完全成立。纽约和美国的疏离感非常强，在政治文化和价值观念上往往走在整个美国之前，经常与中部美国脱节。纽约更像一个高度全球化的节点城市，资本、移民、文化、信息在这里高速流动。人们在日常判断中不完全依靠“美国身份”，而是来自跨国职业、教育和文化网络。纽约不能代表美国整体，它代表的是一种世界城市的生活方式：多重身份并存，临时性强，对差异的日常处理能力成为必备的生存技能。

1976年3月29日《纽约客》的封面，很能说明问题。画面下方是曼哈顿第九、第十大道的林立高楼，中间是哈德逊河，上面黄色一小块是美国——荒芜的美国，再往上的世界更小：中间是日本，左边是中国，右边是俄罗斯。这就是漫画化了的纽约人的自我认知：纽约是一个庞然大物，是自成一体的世界，其他地方都无所谓。这种对纽约人的评价，今天看来，似乎也不为过。

许纪霖：上海也有类似气质。上海人很少说“中国的上海”，更多说“世界的上海”。很多中国人看上海人，觉得他们身上太洋气，似乎缺乏传统的东西，反而与世界精神更接轨。长假时，外地游客来上海看什么？没山没海，实际是通过上海看世界。外滩的万国建筑博览会、梧桐区像巴黎、黄浦区像伦敦、虹口区像东京——世界精神、世界景观都在上海被展示了出来。李老师作为上海人，到纽约是否有陌生感？

李明洁：我在《破坏实验》的“写在前面”里写到：“纽约十分浑浊，很多含义深藏不露，是上海人一落脚就会感到亲切的城市。”但两地的世界性有差异。上海的各个区让人“联想到”世界的某些地方；而在纽约，不是联想到，它就是世界的某些地方。

纽约是世界文明的秀场和超市。数不清的非营利文化机构在这里展演各自的文化传统——华美协进社、法兰西文化中心、歌德中心……世界上任何地区的文化代表，以使领馆和非营利组织的方式，都在纽约扎根。上海也有类似机构，但纽约的数量非常之大。

但纽约不仅代表世界得意的部分，也代表难堪的部分。《破坏实验》的扉页上印着一句话：“世界上没有谁像她那样，身上带着全世界的伤。”这句话来自我写到一名叫阿力的年轻人时产生的感慨。1999年科索沃战争时，8岁的他从火海中逃出，以难民身份来到纽约。这又让我想到同年5月中国驻南斯拉夫使馆被炸，上海市民和大学生到美领馆门前抗议。历史在这些具体的人身上具象化了。纽约是世界的伤痛与骄傲的文化集合体。

许纪霖：纽约人是否有身份认同？无论是“土著”还是新移民，他们会有“纽约人”的认同吗？我对纽约的了解多来自伍迪·艾伦的电影，那是精英阶层的纽约。但你接触的更多是普通纽约人和移民，他们会产生纽约认同吗？

李明洁：这是一个很难回答但很有价值的问题。美国身份认同从“沙拉盘”到“大熔炉”，再到今天的“身份政治”，经历了很多挣扎，也一直有争议。伍迪·艾伦我在书里写过，他的电影背景板就是纽约，描述的纽约人大多是白人知识分子、中产阶级、受过良好教育、有强烈自我意识。他们聪明但不快乐，不安、敏感、自嘲，对城市生活非常迷恋。这部分人掌握着电视、电影、《纽约客》、报纸，在过去半个世纪反复讲述他们生活着的纽约经验，使其成为持续存在的全球文化母题之一。

但这不是纽约的全部。如果要找更大的群体认同，要到流行文化里找。比如《纽约，纽约》（New York, New York）。这首歌是1977年电影《纽约，纽约》的主题曲，1978年弗兰克·辛纳屈翻唱后成为真正的流行歌曲。它在球赛、大学毕业典礼和时代广场新年落球之后都会响起，差不多是纽约的“民间市歌”。

歌词里有一句“I want to be a part of it, New York”——希望成为纽约的一部分。文眼是“If I can make it there, I’ll make it anywhere”——如果在这里能成功，就能在任何地方成功。这很像“如果你爱他，送他去纽约”。这种自我实现的愿望非常“纽约”。

我采访过一位波兰来的泥瓦匠，他一小时赚60美金，很骄傲地说：“我用这双手在纽约活下来了，还养活了一家人，我是纽约的一部分。”他觉得自己被纽约接纳了。

许纪霖：这种接纳是通过人生成功实现的吗？

李明洁：有很传统的成分——孩子在纽约得到更好的台阶。这很像来上海的农民工，但农民工很少自豪地说“我是上海人”，上海对他们而言多少总是打工的地方。

许纪霖：上海有很强的同化能力，外地人来了以后容易有焦虑感，怕被排斥，急于成为“上海人”。上海人有句贬低外地人的话叫“乡下人”，意味着要文明、开化、时尚才是上海人。这种压力是无形但强大的。北京和纽约的包容性更强，没有这么强的在地文化同化要求。

李明洁：相对而言，纽约是允许“适度的混乱”的。比如东哈莱姆和第五大道只有一街之隔，但你可以保持自己的生活方式，不会有人认为你不正常，或不是纽约人。

三、秩序与生机：城市文化生态与社区精神

许纪霖：我非常欣赏纽约的“适度混乱”。我心目中最理想的城市是“乱而有序”——看上去很混杂，但有基本法制和秩序。纽约是一个，伊斯坦布尔也是一个。上海虽然有序，但和纽约比，缺了这种“不那么整齐划一”的美感。

李明洁：纽约的混乱是分街区的。纽约大学周边的华盛顿广场是“乱而有趣”——裸体的、狂跳的、唱歌的、在地上乱写字的、奇装异服的、跳到喷泉里的，见怪不怪。但东哈莱姆、部分哈莱姆区是“乱而危险的”。格林威治村则是“乱而有小情调”。

这种混乱不是失序，而是多种生活方式同时存在且不被迅速清理。国际大都市面对高度异质的人群，如果维持单一秩序，可能会失掉创造力和吸纳力。凯斯·哈林的空心人最初是在地铁里画的，也被警察抓过。如果没有这种适度混乱，他的作品不可能成长。“水至清则无鱼”，正是这种适度混乱，让很多鲜活的艺术跃出海面。

许纪霖：30多年前，一位《中国时报周刊》主编对我说，上海应该成为纽约——商业中心加文化中心。30多年过去，上海成了中国的商业中心，但是否是文化中心？还不全然是。纽约确是商业中心加文化中心。商业和文化之间有勾连吗？

李明洁：纽约的商业和文化相辅相成。商业成功没有压倒文化，反而为文化提供了持续试错的空间。高密度的市场、资本和人口流动，使文化生产具有现实回报的可能性。

纽约的非营利组织密度可能是全世界最高的，可以从政府拿到资助，而政府的钱来自税收——强大的商业提供税收。年末时，各文化机构举办筹款晚会，这是纽约传统。捐款免税，制度鼓励资金进入文化机构。商业和文化不是非此即彼，而是在竞争和张力中共存。每个机构都要陈述为社区做了什么，讲不出来就申请不到资助。这种机制成为共同繁荣的动力。

没有纽约的商业，不可能有纽约的文化；没有纽约的文化，也不可能有纽约的商业——文化提供了不同的人共聚一堂的可能。

许纪霖：上海这些年也有变化。北方特别是北京有很多艺术人才、创意人才“孔雀东南飞”到上海。上海沿黄浦江的滨江、徐汇西岸发展得很好，民间艺术馆、博物馆、美术馆全国领先。上海博物馆、浦东美术馆也常有重要展览。

但还欠缺什么？纽约的文化层次非常丰富，既有精英文化，也有底层文化、波西米亚文化。霓虹灯外依然有活跃的文化，哪怕在贫困的移民区，也有来自非洲、拉美、亚洲的独特东西，可以在街头展示，自娱自乐。这种草根性、自然生长的丰富性，上海还有距离。

李明洁：许老师的观察很中肯。上海相对于纽约，“雅”和“颂”都有，但“风”——国风，民俗类、民间艺术——相对薄弱。纽约的街头文化传统非常蓬勃。东哈莱姆的墙绘、华人街区、拉丁美洲街区和波西米亚传统，为纽约提供底层创造力，不断向主流输送新的审美、语言和生活方式。

更重要的是，纽约保持了对“非功利性存在”的尊重——不是所有价值都必须立刻转换为效率或成果。到布鲁克林、东哈莱姆去，你几乎是在墙绘的世界中行走，自觉、自发、狂热的艺术表达，让你感到这是一个活泼泼的街区，生活着有强烈愿望和生命力的人。

许纪霖：我们转入最后一个问题，也是你书里的重点——社区。你在纽约经历了三年疫情，经过疫情，纽约人的社群纽带是强化了还是松弛了？这种松弛和文化多元主义有关吗？托克维尔在《论美国的民主》中分析，美国社区精神背后有共同宗教；今天文化多元主义是否解构了统一宗教，使社区支离破碎？

李明洁：两者并存，但更明显的是“局部强化，整体松弛”。疫情初期，邻里互助、社区小网络明显增强，这和上海一样。但长期的不确定性、治安和经济压力，削弱了跨群体之间的信任。纽约的特点在于社区粘合力更多依赖具体情境，而非稳定结构。社区纽带的修复是间歇性的、非线性的——有事情时，纽带重新凝结。

托克维尔的观察写于1830年代，是前工业化、低流动时期的美国。他考察的社区精神包括地方自治、结社传统、公共德性，当时新教伦理是社会道德底盘。但与其说他讨论宗教作为道德底盘，不如说他讨论社区如何训练民主——城市生活需要超越个人利益的共同练习。纽约不再依靠单一宗教，它需要的是在社区和公共事务中反复协作。纽约的社区精神恐怕从来就不是统一信仰，而是“在差异中持续共处的能力”。

举两个例子。我住的小区是老年社区，每月两个星期二晚上玩“宾果”游戏。老年人自己带点心零食，一人5块钱，输完就算了，30人左右，一边玩一边家长里短，交流谁家阿姨好、护工好。这是社区组织，相当于居委会活动。

另一个例子：我受华美协进社邀请，为纽约市教育局做公立学校汉语课程试点的顾问，到“281中学”听课。学校所在社区不富裕，很多华裔学生是福建移民后代。来迎接的副校长母语是西班牙语，两个教务长一位是戴头巾的穆斯林女性，一位也讲西班牙语。听课时两个教务长完全听不懂中文，但全程陪同观察学生反应。午饭时，学校准备的是纯番茄酱披萨和沙拉，考虑了素食者和穆斯林的不同饮食禁忌。

这个学校在实践中形成了对多元文化的尊重，也形成了在差异中共存的能力。多元文化没有必然解构社区精神，而是对“如何在不同文化背景下持续共存”提出了更高的生活智慧的要求。现在美国确实有困境：对多元文化过度强调异质性，对不同意见越来越不宽容，这是一种真实的危机。越在这样的时刻，越要提倡真正的多元文化相互尊重与共存的能力。

许纪霖：今天纽约和上海一样，社区不是单一的人种、宗教，而是混居的。社区精神的基础是什么？共同认同感从何而来？你以披萨为例，寻找“公约数”是一个方式。另外是参与感——社区越有自治能力，越需要成员有公共精神，参与公共活动。参与培养共同认同感，使原子化的个人形成“我们同属一个社区”的命运感。

上海也是这样。平时大家都忙，有防御感、不安全感，上海人又特别注重隐私。但2022年春天，大家困在社区里，突然有了参与意识，形成自我管理。本来邻居间不太说话，那一刻有了共同命运感，也有了参与小区事务的公共空间。社区精神在那一刻涌发出来。所以今天的社区精神，更多依赖公共参与，让人有共同命运感。上海和纽约互为镜像，可以互相参照。

四、尾声：在差异中维持公共生活

许纪霖：
时间快到了。李老师背后的窗已经亮了，纽约时间8点半，新的一天开始。今天我们谈了纽约和上海，这两个城市具有非常强的互文性、互为镜像。只有互文、互为镜像，才能真正认识自我。认知上海，需要外在参照，也需要内部参照。今天借李老师的新书《破坏实验》，我们先谈了纽约和上海。

李明洁：纽约不仅是文化商业中心，也是世界政治中心。很多社会事件的先兆首先出现在纽约，它也处在持续动荡中，面临新的困难和争议。但纽约始终告诉我们：如何在高度不一致的条件下，仍然维持最低限度的公共生活。

我的小书在75页引用了历史学家弗朗索瓦·维耶的《纽约史》：“纽约城的多元化滋养并刺激了城市文化的发展，有时它带来剧烈的冲突，但它为纽约物质土壤之上城市文化方面的自我意识成长做出了很大贡献。多元化也让纽约有了如此重要的象征意义——纽约是传说中的自由之港。”

我每天去上班都要坐史泰登岛轮渡，隔着窗户遥望自由女神像。在汹涌波涛之上凝望宁静稳固的自由女神——无论风雨还是阳光——她都给我重要的鼓励：永远不畏困难，在纷争中寻找心灵的自由。

许纪霖：纽约的象征就是自由女神，永远在召唤我们。李老师以后常回上海，也感受上海。你现在对纽约的感情是否超过上海了？

李明洁：我阿娘阿爷100年前就工作生活在上海，我的女儿一家现在上海，上海是我的家。

许纪霖：以互相参照的方式——以上海眼光看纽约，再以纽约眼光看上海——我们期待你下一场更精彩的叙述。谢谢各位朋友，下次萤火虫夜谈再见。

New York and Shanghai: Global Cities Mirroring Each Other

Xu Jilin and Li Mingjie in Conversation on the Global Character and Cultural Ecology of Shanghai and New York

I. Two Cities as Mirrors: A Global Dialogue Between New York and Shanghai

Xu Jilin: Good evening, everyone. The seventeenth session of Firefly Night Talks now begins. Today we have invited Professor Li Mingjie to join us. Professor Li is now in New York, and I am in Shanghai, so we are speaking from two cities. New York and Shanghai are both global metropolises. After more than thirty years of development, Shanghai today is indeed qualified to be compared with New York as its mirror image.

Professor Li’s new book Wounded New York NY 2017–2023 records New York during and after the pandemic in the form of anthropological field notes. Today we will begin from this book and talk not only about New York, but also about Shanghai.

Li Mingjie: I began traveling to New York every winter and summer in 2017, because a rare archive at Columbia University needed to be organized and interpreted. In March 2020, as the pandemic spread to the United States, I had to stay there for a long time, and it was not until September 11 that I managed to buy a ticket back to Shanghai. After that, I continued to go to New York twice a year to complete this research project. Only after I retired at the end of 2023 did I have more time to stay in New York.

At first, I treated my observations of New York as a by-product of archival research, recording them from the perspective of urban folklore. After the pandemic began, I started writing notes as a way to respond to my own anxiety and confusion. Some of these notes were published; some were written only for myself. In the end, Chen Zhuo, my editor at Guangdong People’s Publishing House, suggested bringing together the writings from before and after the pandemic, so that this global “Breaching Experiment” could be presented more fully.

II. Paradise and Hell: New York’s Many Faces and Its Sense of Identity

Xu Jilin: This reminds me of A Native of Beijing in New York, a well-known Chinese television drama from the 1990s that shaped many Chinese viewers’ imagination of New York. It has a famous line: “If you love someone, send him to New York; if you hate someone, send him to New York.” On the cover of your book, there is also a phrase, “New York’s Wounding and Healing.” Do you see New York as heaven or hell?

Li Mingjie: New York is both paradise and hell. Many New Yorkers say this is an “urban jungle”—a primeval forest of human life. It is extremely abundant and also extremely cruel, with rules of its own. This needs to be unfolded slowly.

Xu Jilin: Some people say that “New York does not represent America.” There is a similar judgment about Shanghai in China: “Arriving in Shanghai does not necessarily mean arriving in China.” New York and Shanghai seem more like “New York of the world” and “Shanghai of the world.” Do you agree?

Li Mingjie: Completely. New York has a very strong sense of distance from the United States. In political culture and values, it often moves ahead of the rest of the country, and it is frequently out of step with middle America. New York is more like a highly globalized node city, where capital, immigrants, culture, and information move at high speed. In everyday judgment, people do not rely entirely on an “American identity,” but on transnational professional, educational, and cultural networks. New York cannot represent the United States as a whole. What it represents is a world-city way of life: multiple identities coexisting, a strong sense of provisionality, and the everyday ability to deal with difference as an essential skill for survival.

The March 29, 1976 cover of The New Yorker illustrates this very well. At the bottom of the image are the tall buildings of Manhattan’s Ninth and Tenth Avenues, then the Hudson River. Above that is a small yellow patch labeled America—a barren America. Farther up, the world becomes even smaller: Japan in the middle, China on the left, Russia on the right. This is a cartoon version of how New Yorkers see themselves: New York is a colossus, a world unto itself; everywhere else hardly matters. Even today, this characterization of New Yorkers seems hardly overstated.

Xu Jilin: Shanghai has a similar quality. Shanghai people rarely say “Shanghai of China”; they more often say “Shanghai of the world.” Many Chinese people look at Shanghai residents and feel that they seem too Westernized, as though they lack something traditional, and are instead more closely aligned with a cosmopolitan spirit. During long holidays, what do visitors from elsewhere come to Shanghai to see? Shanghai has neither mountains nor the sea. In fact, they come to see the world through Shanghai. The Bund displays a museum of international architecture; the plane-tree-lined neighborhoods evoke Paris; Huangpu District resembles London; Hongkou District resembles Tokyo—the spirit and landscape of the world are all presented in Shanghai. As a Shanghainese, did you feel estranged when you first arrived in New York?

Li Mingjie: In the preface to Wounded New York NY, I wrote: “New York is extremely turbid; many of its meanings are hidden deep beneath the surface. It is a city where a Shanghainese person feels a sense of intimacy as soon as she lands.” But the two cities differ in their global character. The districts of Shanghai make one “think of” certain parts of the world. In New York, it is not that they make you think of those places; they are those parts of the world.

New York is both a showroom and a supermarket of world civilizations. Countless nonprofit cultural institutions present their own cultural traditions here—the China Institute, the French Cultural Center, the Goethe-Institut, and many others. Representatives of culture from almost every region of the world have taken root in New York through consulates and nonprofit organizations. Shanghai has similar institutions, but the number in New York is enormous.

Yet New York represents not only the world’s triumphant side, but also its more difficult and painful side. On the title page of Wounded New York NY, there is a line: “These is no one in the world carries the world’s wounds like she does.” This came to me when I was writing about a young man named Ari. During the Kosovo War in 1999, he escaped from the flames at the age of eight and arrived in New York as a refugee. This also reminded me of May that same year, when the Chinese embassy in Yugoslavia was bombed and Shanghai residents and university students went to protest in front of the U.S. consulate. History becomes concrete in these particular human lives. New York is a cultural assemblage of the world’s wounds and its pride.

Xu Jilin: Do New Yorkers have a sense of identity? Whether they are “natives” or new immigrants, do they identify as “New Yorkers”? Much of my understanding of New York comes from Woody Allen’s films, which portray the New York of the elite. But you have had more contact with ordinary New Yorkers and immigrants. Do they develop a New York identity?

Li Mingjie: This is a very hard question to answer, but also a very valuable one. American identity has gone through many struggles, from the “salad bowl” to the “melting pot,” and then to today’s “identity politics.” It has always been contested. I wrote about Woody Allen in the book. New York is the backdrop of his films, and the New Yorkers he describes are mostly white intellectuals, middle class, well educated, and intensely self-aware. They are intelligent but unhappy, anxious, sensitive, self-mocking, and deeply attached to urban life. This group controlled television, film, The New Yorker, and newspapers, and over the past half century they repeatedly narrated the New York experience in which they lived, turning it into one of the enduring motifs of global culture.

But that is not the whole of New York. If we want to find a broader collective identity, we need to look to popular culture. Take “New York, New York,” for example. It was the theme song of the 1977 film New York, New York, and after Frank Sinatra covered it in 1978, it became a truly popular song. It is played at sporting events, university commencements, and after the New Year’s Eve ball drops in Times Square. It is almost New York’s unofficial civic anthem.

One lyric says, “I want to be a part of it, New York”—a wish to become part of New York. The key line is, “If I can make it there, I’ll make it anywhere.” This is very close to the idea that “if you love him, send him to New York.” That desire for self-realization is very New York.

I once interviewed a bricklayer from Poland. He earned sixty dollars an hour and said with great pride, “I survived in New York with these two hands, and I supported my family. I am part of it.” He felt that New York had accepted him.

Xu Jilin: Is this acceptance achieved through success in life?

Li Mingjie: There is a very traditional element to it—the idea that one’s children can gain a better foothold in New York. This resembles the experience of migrant workers who come to Shanghai, but migrant workers rarely say with pride, “I am Shanghainese.” For them, Shanghai is still, to some extent, a place where they work.

Xu Jilin: Shanghai has a very strong capacity for assimilation. After outsiders arrive, they easily feel anxious, fear exclusion, and become eager to turn themselves into “Shanghainese.” Shanghainese have a derogatory term for outsiders, “country people,” which implies that to be Shanghainese is to be civilized, enlightened, and fashionable. This pressure is invisible but very powerful. Beijing and New York are more inclusive; they do not have such strong demands for assimilation into a local culture.

Li Mingjie: Relatively speaking, New York allows for “a moderate degree of disorder.” East Harlem, for example, is only one avenue away from Fifth Avenue, but you can keep your own way of life there. No one will think you are abnormal, or that you are not a New Yorker.

III. Order and Vitality: Urban Cultural Ecology and the Spirit of Community

Xu Jilin: I very much appreciate New York’s “moderate disorder.” My ideal city is one that is “disorderly yet ordered”—it looks mixed and unruly, but it has a basic rule of law and civic order. New York is one example; Istanbul is another. Shanghai is orderly, but compared with New York, it lacks this beauty of being “not quite so neat and uniform.”

Li Mingjie: Disorder in New York differs from neighborhood to neighborhood. Around New York University, Washington Square is “disorderly and interesting”—people are naked, dancing wildly, singing, scribbling on the ground, wearing strange clothes, jumping into the fountain. No one is surprised. But East Harlem, and parts of Harlem, are “disorderly and dangerous.” Greenwich Village is “disorderly with a touch of charm.”

This disorder is not a loss of order. It means that multiple ways of life coexist and are not quickly cleaned away. When an international metropolis faces a highly heterogeneous population, if it insists on a single order, it may lose its creativity and its capacity to absorb difference. Keith Haring’s hollow figures were first drawn in the subway, and he was arrested by the police for doing it. Without that moderate disorder, his work could not have grown. As the Chinese saying goes, “When the water is too clear, there are no fish.” It is precisely this moderate disorder that allows so much living art to leap out of the water.

Xu Jilin: More than thirty years ago, an editor at China Times Weekly told me that Shanghai should become New York—a commercial center plus a cultural center. More than thirty years have passed. Shanghai has become China’s commercial center, but is it a cultural center? Not entirely. New York is indeed both a commercial center and a cultural center. Is there a connection between commerce and culture?

Li Mingjie: In New York, commerce and culture reinforce each other. Commercial success has not overwhelmed culture; on the contrary, it has provided culture with a space for sustained experimentation. The density of markets, capital, and population flows makes it possible for cultural production to receive a real-world return.

The density of nonprofit organizations in New York may be the highest in the world. They can receive government funding, and that money comes from taxes—taxes provided by a strong commercial sector. At the end of the year, cultural institutions hold fundraising galas; this is a New York tradition. Donations are tax-deductible, and the system encourages money to enter cultural institutions. Commerce and culture are not mutually exclusive; they coexist in competition and tension. Every institution has to explain what it has done for the community. If it cannot tell that story, it will not receive funding. This mechanism becomes a driving force for shared prosperity.

Without New York’s commerce, there could be no New York culture; without New York’s culture, there could be no New York commerce. Culture creates the possibility for different kinds of people to gather together.

Xu Jilin: Shanghai has also changed in recent years. Many artists and creative workers from the north, especially Beijing, have migrated to Shanghai. The waterfront along the Huangpu River and the West Bund in Xuhui have developed very well. Shanghai now leads the country in private art museums, museums, and galleries. The Shanghai Museum and the Museum of Art Pudong also often host major exhibitions.

But what is still missing? New York’s cultural layers are extremely rich. It has elite culture, but it also has lower-class culture and bohemian culture. Beyond the neon lights there is still a very active culture. Even in poor immigrant neighborhoods, there are distinctive things from Africa, Latin America, and Asia that can be displayed on the street and enjoyed by the people themselves. Shanghai still has some distance to go in terms of this grassroots quality and this richness of natural growth.

Li Mingjie: Professor Xu’s observation is very apt. Compared with New York, Shanghai has both “Ya” and “Song”—the refined and the ceremonial—but its “Feng,” the folk and vernacular arts, is relatively weak. New York has an extremely vigorous tradition of street culture. The murals of East Harlem, the Chinese neighborhoods, the Latin American neighborhoods, and the bohemian tradition provide New York with a kind of grassroots creativity, constantly feeding new aesthetics, languages, and ways of life into the mainstream.

More importantly, New York preserves respect for “non-utilitarian existence.” Not every value has to be immediately converted into efficiency or results. When you go to Brooklyn or East Harlem, you almost find yourself walking through a world of murals. This conscious, spontaneous, and passionate artistic expression makes you feel that this is a neighborhood brimming with life, inhabited by people with strong desires and vitality.

Xu Jilin: Let us turn to the final question, which is also a central concern of your book: community. You spent three years of the pandemic in New York. After the pandemic, were New Yorkers’ community ties strengthened or loosened? Is this loosening related to cultural pluralism? Tocqueville, in Democracy in America, analyzed the common religion behind the American spirit of community. Has today’s cultural pluralism dismantled that unified religion and left communities fragmented?

Li Mingjie: Both processes exist, but what is more evident is “local strengthening and overall loosening.” In the early stage of the pandemic, mutual aid among neighbors and small community networks clearly strengthened, just as they did in Shanghai. But prolonged uncertainty, public-safety pressures, and economic pressure weakened trust across groups. What is distinctive about New York is that community cohesion depends more on specific situations than on stable structures. The repair of community ties is intermittent and nonlinear—when something happens, those ties condense again.

Tocqueville’s observations were made in the 1830s, in a pre-industrial America with low mobility. The community spirit he examined included local self-government, the tradition of association, and civic virtue. At the time, Protestant ethics served as the moral foundation of society. But rather than saying that he was discussing religion as a moral foundation, it may be better to say that he was discussing how community trains democracy—urban life requires a shared practice that moves beyond individual interest. New York no longer relies on a single religion. What it needs is repeated cooperation within communities and public affairs. I am afraid New York’s community spirit has never really been a matter of unified belief. It is the “capacity to continue living together amid difference.”

Let me give two examples. The community where I live is a senior community. On two Tuesday evenings each month, people play bingo. The seniors bring their own snacks. Each person pays five dollars; when the money is gone, the game is over. About thirty people come. They play while chatting about ordinary household matters—whose aide is good, whose caregiver is good. This is a community organization, something like a neighborhood-committee activity.

Another example: I was invited by the China Institute in America to serve as a consultant for a New York City Department of Education pilot program in Chinese-language curriculum, and I went to observe a class at M.S. 281. The community where the school is located is not wealthy, and many of the Chinese American students are descendants of immigrants from Fujian China. The assistant principal who greeted us was a native Spanish speaker. Of the two academic deans, one was a Muslim woman wearing a headscarf, and the other also spoke Spanish. During the class observation, the two deans did not understand Chinese at all, but they stayed throughout and observed the students’ responses. At lunchtime, the school prepared plain tomato-sauce pizza and vegetable salad, taking into account the dietary restrictions of vegetarians and Muslims.

In practice, this school has developed respect for multiculturalism and a capacity to coexist amid difference. Multiculturalism does not necessarily dismantle the spirit of community; rather, it places higher demands on the wisdom required to keep living together across different cultural backgrounds. The United States is indeed facing a predicament now: multiculturalism sometimes overemphasizes heterogeneity, and people have become increasingly intolerant of differing opinions. This is a real crisis. Precisely at such a moment, we need all the more to advocate genuine mutual respect within multiculturalism and the capacity for coexistence.

Xu Jilin: Today, New York and Shanghai are alike in that their communities are not defined by a single race or religion; they are mixed. What, then, is the foundation of community spirit? Where does a shared sense of identity come from? The pizza example you gave suggests one way: finding a common denominator. Another is participation. The more a community has the capacity for self-governance, the more its members need a public spirit and participation in public affairs. Participation cultivates a shared sense of identity, allowing atomized individuals to form a sense of destiny: “we belong to the same community.”

Shanghai is like this as well. In ordinary times, everyone is busy. People have a sense of defensiveness and insecurity, and Shanghainese pay particular attention to privacy. But in the spring of 2022, when everyone was confined within their residential compounds, a sense of participation suddenly emerged, and people formed practices of self-management. Neighbors who ordinarily did not speak much to one another suddenly had a shared sense of fate, as well as a public space in which to participate in the affairs of the compound. Community spirit surged forth at that moment. So today’s community spirit depends more on public participation, on giving people a sense of shared fate. Shanghai and New York mirror each other and can be used as references for one another.

IV. Coda: Maintaining Public Life Amid Difference

Xu Jilin: Time is almost up. The window behind Professor Li has turned bright; it is 8:30 in the morning in New York, and a new day has begun. Today we have talked about New York and Shanghai, two cities with an extraordinarily strong intertextuality, cities that mirror each other. Only through intertextuality and mirroring can we truly come to know ourselves. To understand Shanghai, we need external points of reference as well as internal ones. Today, through Professor Li’s new book The Experiment of Destruction, we have begun by speaking about New York and Shanghai.

Li Mingjie: New York is not only a cultural and commercial center; it is also a center of world politics. The first signs of many social events appear in New York. It is also in a state of continuous turbulence, facing new difficulties and controversies. But New York always tells us this: how, under conditions of profound disagreement, we can still maintain a minimum level of public life.

On page 75 of my little book, I quote the historian François Weil’s A History of New York: “New York City’s diversity nourished and stimulated the development of its urban culture. At times it brought fierce conflict, but it contributed greatly to the growth of the city’s cultural self-awareness on New York’s material soil. Diversity also gave New York its immense symbolic significance: New York is the legendary port of freedom.”

Every day on my way to work, I take the Staten Island Ferry and look through the window at the Statue of Liberty. Gazing at that tranquil, steady Statue of Liberty above the surging waves—whether in storm or sunshine—has given me an important encouragement: never fear difficulty, and seek freedom of the spirit amid contention.

Xu Jilin: The symbol of New York is the Statue of Liberty, forever calling to us. Professor Li, do come back to Shanghai often, and experience Shanghai as well. Has your feeling for New York now surpassed your feeling for Shanghai?

Li Mingjie: My grandparents lived and worked in Shanghai a hundred years ago. My daughter and her family are now in Shanghai. Shanghai is my home.

Xu Jilin: By using each city as a reference for the other—looking at New York through Shanghai’s eyes, and then looking back at Shanghai through New York’s eyes—we look forward to your next, even more compelling account. Thank you, everyone. This concludes today’s session of Firefly Night Talks. See you next time.

For English readers: the full English version appears below the Chinese text, and English explanations for the photo captions appear beneath the Chinese captions.

【写在前面】2026年7月23日，我应澎湃新闻“如此城市”节目组邀请，围绕《破坏实验》做了一次较为充分的对谈，从文学、影像与流行文化中的纽约想象出发，延伸至图书馆、档案、街区、墙画与日常生活经验。现将删节版转载于此，作为书出版后的补充记录，也为读者提供一个进入这本书和纽约的侧面入口。

Editor’s Note: On July 23At the, 2026, at invitation of The Paper’s Such a City program, I had a wide-ranging conversation about Wounded New York NY 2017–2023. The discussion began with images of New York shaped by literature, film, and popular culture, and extended to libraries, archives, neighborhoods, murals, and everyday urban experience. This edited version is reposted here as a supplementary record after the publication of the book, and also as a side entrance through which readers may approach both the book and New York.

“有个遥远的、能实现梦想的地方，叫纽约”

如此城市：我们都是在许多图像、影像以及文字中先看到纽约的，而真实体验可能完全不同。您是怎么一步步看到、了解，乃至体验纽约的？

李明洁：我最早认识的纽约并不是真实的城市，而来自阅读和影像。大学在上海读中文系，有一门课程叫《外国文学》，美国文学是非常重要的一部分，其中不少作品直接与纽约相关。

惠特曼一生多次在纽约工作生活，他的《草叶集》里经典的“O Captain! My Captain”，后来被用到电影《死亡诗社》，对我们这代人影响深远；再比如《了不起的盖茨比》，尽管菲茨杰拉德不是纽约人，但他的成名和作品的发展都在纽约；还有E. B. 怀特笔下的纽约、加缪笔下的纽约等等。

我们最早是通过这样的文学作品和这些作家，知道有一个遥远的、能够实现梦想的地方，叫做纽约。当然，流行文化同样参与塑造了我们对纽约的想象，如《欲望都市》《老友记》。这些电视剧能让我们看到另外一种纽约，年轻的、血脉偾张的、时髦的、都市的、职业女性的纽约，以及剧中的纽约咖啡馆、公寓等情感社交空间。它们当然不完整，但依旧参与构成了我对纽约的最初想象。

我第一次站在纽约的土地上，是2013年去康奈尔大学参加学术会议。那时我住在中城的 Holiday Inn，兴致勃勃地参观了纽约市立图书馆，没想到后来这里会成为我每周都去的读书写作场所。我还去了中央车站、梅西百货。这些城市符号早已扎根在我对纽约的想象里，但当时的我并没有真正“走进”纽约，还处于旅游状态。

后来在哥伦比亚大学做“中国纸神专藏研究”时，我有更多机会每年往返纽约。有了长期教学和生活经验后，我才慢慢地从图书馆、档案馆、社区和具体的街坊邻居中真正认识纽约。

2017年8月在纽约哥伦比亚大学东亚图书馆，开始“中国纸神专藏”的档案研究。

In August 2017, at Columbia University’s C. V. Starr East Asian Library in New York, I began archival research on the “Chinese Paper Gods Collection.”

《破坏实验》里面的“纽约”，基本是在这样一个阶段形成的：它不是文学想象里的纽约，也不再是观光者匆匆打卡路过的纽约，而是我所经历的具体的、不断自我修复的，尤其是在疫情与随后的政治冲突中不断受伤、不断痊愈的真实场地。

纽约不是典型的美国城市

如此城市：您提到纽约并不是典型的美国城市，而是全球城市。您说“快速处理差异”的能力才是全球城市的度量衡，能否展开谈谈？

李明洁：纽约是一个全球城市，不是说它不属于美国，而是说它不能完全用美国本土城市的框架来解释。在纽约，差异不是抽象概念，而是每天都会发生的现实。

不同语言、肤色、宗教、职业阶层、政治立场、移民经验，会在同一节地铁车厢、同一个街区、同一所学校、同一个医院里交织。这样的相遇不一定浪漫，也不一定温情，很多时候更加是摩擦、误解、冷漠，甚至冲突。

但是纽约的机制在于，它并不要求所有人先达成价值一致，才可以一起生活。它更像一个高压系统——你可以不一样，但你必须学会在纽约的制度空间和日常秩序里共存。观念、价值主张明明对立甚至冲突的人，居然能够被允许，甚至有默契地共现于同一个时空环境之中。对于曾在中国大陆长期生活工作的人，对此感到惊讶甚至冲击，其实并不意外。

见《破坏实验》196页。上图：2020 年 6 月 23 日，史泰登岛一户居民院子里插着三块标志牌。上左写着“我们站在纽约警察那边”。下面的“细蓝线”取自支持警察的旗帜图案，写着“顶住！”下图：2020 年 6 月 16 日，曼哈顿苏荷区。右起第一块防护板上的口号是“黑人的命也是命”（Black lives matter），右起第三块橱窗被砸碎，上面涂有 ACAB 字样，即“所有的警察都是混蛋”（All cops are bastards）。

See page 196 of “Wounded New York NY 2017–2023”. Top: On June 23, 2020, three signs were displayed in the yard of a resident on Staten Island NYC. The sign at the upper left reads, “We Stand by NYPD.” The “thin blue line” below is taken from the flag pattern used to show support for the police, with the words “STAY STRONG!” Bottom: On June 16, 2020, in SoHo, Manhattan. The slogan on the first protective board from the right reads “Black Lives Matter”; the third storefront window from the right had been smashed, with the letters ACAB painted on it, meaning “All cops are bastards.”

相比之下，上海当然有全球城市的面貌，但更多表现为开放口岸、国际资本、城市形象和消费景观。纽约的全球性则更深地内嵌到人口结构和日常生活中，更直接地体现在人身上——每一个人都可能是全球史的携带者。我想，纽约和上海在全球性上的差异，可能就在这里。

纽约墙画的野性与“漂亮街”

如此城市：《破坏实验》这本书的“好看”还在于有许多插图。您对东哈莱姆的记录着墨在许多墙画艺术，街头转角好像就能看到奇异的、充满野性的纽约。

李明洁：在中国概念里，涂抹墙壁常常被理解为侵占公共空间。纽约的涂鸦当然也有产权和城市管理的规定。即便很多时候，它确实是一种未经许可的表达，但它也可能逐渐被社区接受，被艺术机构吸收，甚至被商业化和地产重新包装。比如基思·哈林，也包括炙手可热的巴斯奇亚。

巴斯奇亚最早本来是一种种族抗争和阶层抗争的语言。但我在古根海姆特展里看到他的作品，价码已经过亿了。到这个时候，就很难再简单地把它说成是阶层抗争的表达，它已经进入当代艺术的商业运作。谁试图在这个城市里留下身影，最后都可能成为纽约城市肌理的一部分。

所以纽约墙面、地铁、桥下空间、废弃建筑上的“违法创作”，有可能最后变成正式合法的档案，成为纽约的文化财产。对于中国读者来说，理解这一点非常重要。

墙画《有一朵玫瑰》，2017年12月29日摄于东哈勒姆，见《破坏实验》第30-31页。

The mural “There is a rose”, photographed in East Harlem on December 29, 2017. See pages 30–31 of “Wounded New York NY 2017–2023”.

上海这些年建了很多艺术场馆，做了不少街区更新和文化空间营造，这是非常重要的变化。但和纽约比，一个差异在于，纽约的很多文化空间是从长时间的社区生活、移民历史、地下文化和商业中慢慢自己生长出来的；而上海往往由规划、地产、品牌和城市管理者来强驱动。它的优势是组织能力强、更新快，公共空间面貌可以迅速改善。

我不是简单地说哪一个更好。问题在于，如果一个艺术街区缺少真实社区生活和历史积累，它很可能变成一种好看的文化消费景观，套用一个时髦说法，就是“漂亮饭”，或者说“漂亮街”。

不过，纽约也有同样的问题。很多原本有生命力的街区，后来被艺术化、商业化、中产化，本来的主人反而被挤出去了。《美国大城市的死与生》里提到，苏荷区本来有一些工厂库房，供很多没钱的艺术家租来做工作室，进行艺术尝试和表达，而现在苏荷区成了全世界最典型的奢侈品旗舰店集聚地。

所以，纽约并非完美样本，而是更早暴露这些问题和矛盾的样本。我比较关心的问题是：艺术究竟是让城市变得更有生命力、更有趣，还是只是为了让土地变贵？这是全球城市共同面对的难题。

纽约人的“秘密欢愉”

如此城市：在书中您提到了很多只有正经纽约客才知道的“秘密欢愉”，例如伍迪·艾伦演奏的小酒馆、上东区卡拉瓦乔餐厅里的壁画、艺人酒店……能不能讲讲这条隐藏路线？

李明洁：我对东哈莱姆的墙画非常感兴趣。东哈莱姆的墙画，是民间底层情绪化的艺术表达。从学术田野研究来讲，我必须去找一些完全不同的参照项。在这个过程中，纽约上西区艺人酒店、卡拉瓦乔餐厅等等就进入我的视野。

纽约其实有两种文化。一种是外人容易看见的文化，这是纽约对世界的慷慨贡献。它把很多珍贵的文化面貌公开、大方地呈现给所有人，比如大都会博物馆、MoMA、百老汇、林肯中心、第五大道等。这是一种纽约的文化展演。

但还有一种，是你要慢慢在那里生活过才会知道的纽约人的秘密欢愉。它往往躲在小酒馆、老餐厅、社区剧场、旧书店，还有街边壁画里，在一些所谓“隐藏的地方”出现。这个“隐藏”不是说它不让你进，而是它确实有一扇“门”——知道才能看到，不知道的时候就会错过。第二种文化不像大都会或林肯中心那样恢宏热烈，但它反而更能说明纽约的精神。

比如丽兹-卡尔顿酒店，白蒙在那里画了无数速写，把纽约浓缩进《中央公园的四季》；皮埃尔酒店则是《闻香识女人》中探戈戏的取景地；还有艺人酒店，杜尚、邓肯、洛克威尔、华伦天奴、菲茨杰拉德夫妇、伯恩斯坦、纽瑞耶夫等人都曾出入这里，将这幢酒店式公寓成就为一座美国现代艺术家的纪念馆。

白蒙酒吧的四壁上是白蒙手绘的《中央公园的四季》。此处描绘的是中央公园动物园的场景。2019 年 8 月 2 日摄于纽约卡莱尔酒店，见《破坏实验》126-127页。

On the four walls of Bemelmans Bar are Bemelmans’s hand-painted murals, The Four Seasons of Central Park. This section depicts a scene at the Central Park Zoo. Photographed on August 2, 2019, at the Carlyle Hotel in New York. See pages 126–127 of “Wounded New York NY 2017–2023”.

纽约好玩的地方就在于，艺术的故事、生活的故事、历史的故事、学术的故事，以现实方式仍然存续。你在城里走着走着，就完成了一次次艺术故事的揭秘和思想文化的再理解。

这就是我讲的纽约人的“秘密欢愉”。这种欢愉未必都是享乐型的，其中还有很多来自历史、来自痛苦思考之后的深思，是一种带有确信的快乐。在这里，你不再是世界之外的一个个体。随时随地，你和世界相逢，扑了个满怀。

“身份政治”话语观察

如此城市：谈论美国，谈论纽约，身份政治是一个绕不开的问题。从社会语言学角度看，有哪些相关话语，是您特别留意并进行观察的？

李明洁：在美国，特别是在纽约，身份政治深刻影响到艺术领域、博物馆、大学和公共文化领域。身份政治，是过去被排除在主流叙事之外的人，希望重新获得可见性和解释权。这是可以理解的。

但我在《破坏实验》中的观察，有意地对此潮流保持了距离。当身份成为唯一解释框架时，复杂的人和作品就容易被简单化，成为政治口号。

艺术本来应该打开经验，但过度标签化会让我们在看到艺术之前，率先看到某种身份：是女性吗？是少数族裔吗？是酷儿吗？如果一个展览首先强调立场，而不是审美、历史和形式，那么它在揭示真实不平等的同时，也可能制造新的僵化。

根据我的观察，在年轻人当中，热衷意识形态表达常常被理解为一种进步，对少数利益群体的关注也被理解为善意。有的人是真诚的，但有的人可能只是一种姿态。作为学者，我在书里需要对这个事情的复杂性做剖析和记录。

革命本身往往带有诱惑性，是和时尚连在一起的。作为一个中国人看纽约的当下，我真觉得自己是“历史的老人”，纽约人是“历史的新人”。年轻人会觉得推倒罗斯福纪念雕像是酷炫的革命；但对经历过社会运动、对破坏传统有记忆的我来说，我知道能不能正确处理历史遗留问题，是一个社会是否成熟、能否持续进步的分水岭。

2020 年 7 月 23 日，美国自然历史博物馆门前的罗斯福塑像。见《破坏实验》第212-213页。现已被拆除。

On July 23, 2020, the Roosevelt statue in front of the American Museum of Natural History. See pages 212–213 of “Wounded New York NY 2017–2023”. It has since been removed.

我还在美国写作平台 Substack 上开了专栏，写我观察、经历和反思着的纽约故事。纽约当地人鼓励我说：“你们中国人经历过很多，得出的经验教训对我们是提醒，我们还在过程中，不知道会付什么代价，你多写写，让我们知道得多一些。”于是我用中英双语写作，结果读者里的英语母语者还真不少。

注：本文根据澎湃新闻《如此城市·奔流特辑｜在纽约随时随地与世界“扑个满怀”》删节整理，原文发表于2026年7月23日。转载前已获得澎湃新闻授权。完整访谈文字版（含播客音频，中文普通话）请见澎湃新闻原文（中文简体字）https://m.thepaper.cn/newsDetail_forward_33643437。

In New York, You Can Run Straight into the World Anytime, Anywhere

An Edited Conversation between Such a City and Wounded New York NY 2017–2023

“There was a distant place where dreams could come true, and it was called New York”

Such a City: We all first encounter New York through images, films, and texts, while the real experience of the city may be entirely different. How did you come to see, understand, and eventually experience New York step by step?

Li Mingjie: My earliest knowledge of New York did not come from the actual city, but from reading and images. I studied Chinese language and literature as an undergraduate in Shanghai, and we had a course called “Foreign Literature.” American literature was an important part of it, and quite a number of works were directly related to New York.

Walt Whitman worked and lived in New York many times throughout his life. His classic poem “O Captain! My Captain!” from Leaves of Grass was later used in the film Dead Poets Society, which had a profound influence on our generation. Then there is The Great Gatsby. Although Fitzgerald was not a New Yorker, his rise to fame and the development of his work were both closely tied to New York. There was also the New York written by E. B. White, the New York written by Camus, and so on.

It was first through these literary works and these writers that we learned of a distant place where dreams could come true, and that place was called New York. Of course, popular culture also helped shape our imagination of the city, such as Sex and the City and Friends. These television series showed us another kind of New York: young, vibrant, fashionable, urban, associated with professional women, and filled with cafés, apartments, and spaces of emotion and sociability. They were certainly incomplete, but they still helped form my earliest image of New York.

The first time I actually stood on New York soil was in 2013, when I came to attend an academic conference at Cornell University. At the time, I stayed at a Holiday Inn in Midtown and visited the New York Public Library with great enthusiasm. I had no idea that it would later become a place where I went every week to read and write. I also went to Grand Central Terminal and Macy’s. These urban symbols had long been rooted in my imagination of New York, but at that point I had not truly “entered” the city. I was still in a tourist’s state of mind.

Later, when I was conducting archival research on the “Chinese Paper Gods Collection” at Columbia University, I had more opportunities to travel back and forth to New York every year. After I gained long-term experience teaching and living there, I slowly came to understand New York through its libraries, archives, neighborhoods, and actual local residents.

The “New York” in Wounded New York NY 2017–2023 basically took shape during this stage. It was no longer the New York of literary imagination, nor the New York a hurried visitor passes through while checking off landmarks. It was a real place that I had experienced in concrete terms: a city constantly repairing itself, and especially a city repeatedly wounded and repeatedly healing during the pandemic and the political conflicts that followed.

New York Is Not a Typical American City

Such a City: You have said that New York is not a typical American city, but a global city. You also said that the ability to “process difference quickly” is the measure of a global city. Could you elaborate?

Li Mingjie: New York is a global city. This does not mean that it does not belong to the United States, but that it cannot be fully explained within the framework of an ordinary American city. In New York, difference is not an abstract concept. It is a reality that happens every day.

Different languages, skin colors, religions, occupational classes, political positions, and immigrant experiences are woven together in the same subway car, the same neighborhood, the same school, and the same hospital. Such encounters are not necessarily romantic or warm. Very often they involve friction, misunderstanding, indifference, and even conflict.

But the mechanism of New York lies in the fact that it does not require everyone to reach a consensus on values before they can live together. It is more like a high-pressure system: you may be different, but you must learn to coexist within New York’s institutional spaces and everyday order. People whose views and values are clearly opposed, even in conflict, can nevertheless be allowed — and may even tacitly manage — to appear together in the same time and space. For someone who has lived and worked in mainland China for many years, it is not surprising to feel astonished, even shaken, by this.

By comparison, Shanghai certainly has the appearance of a global city, but this is expressed more through its history as an open port, international capital, urban image, and consumer landscape. New York’s global quality is embedded more deeply in its population structure and everyday life. It is more directly embodied in people — every person may be a carrier of global history. I think this may be the difference between New York and Shanghai in terms of their globality.

The Wildness of New York Murals and the “Pretty Street”

Such a City: One reason Wounded New York NY 2017–2023 is so visually engaging is that it includes many illustrations. In your account of East Harlem, you devote a great deal of attention to mural art. It seems that at any street corner one may encounter a strange and untamed New York.

Li Mingjie: In the Chinese context, painting on walls is often understood as an occupation of public space. Of course, graffiti in New York is also subject to rules concerning property rights and urban management. Even though, in many cases, it is indeed an unauthorized form of expression, it may also gradually be accepted by the community, absorbed by art institutions, and even repackaged by commerce and real estate. Keith Haring is one example, and so is the now highly sought-after Basquiat.

Basquiat’s work originally functioned as a language of racial and class resistance. But when I saw his works in a special exhibition at the Guggenheim, their prices had already reached the level of hundreds of millions. At that point, it becomes difficult to describe them simply as expressions of class resistance. They have already entered the commercial operations of contemporary art. Anyone who tries to leave a trace of themselves in this city may eventually become part of New York’s urban fabric.

So the “illegal creations” on New York’s walls, subways, spaces under bridges, and abandoned buildings may eventually become formally legitimate archives and part of New York’s cultural property. For Chinese readers, this is very important to understand.

Shanghai has built many art venues and has undertaken a great deal of neighborhood renewal and cultural-space construction in recent years. These are very important changes. But compared with New York, one difference is that many of New York’s cultural spaces have grown slowly on their own out of long-term community life, immigrant history, underground culture, and commerce. In Shanghai, by contrast, they are often strongly driven by planning, real estate, branding, and urban administrators. Shanghai’s strength lies in its organizational capacity and speed of renewal; the appearance of public space can be improved quickly.

I am not simply saying that one is better than the other. The problem is that if an arts district lacks real community life and historical accumulation, it may easily become a visually attractive cultural-consumption landscape. To borrow a fashionable expression, it becomes “pretty food,” or, in this case, a “pretty street.”

New York, however, has the same problem. Many neighborhoods that once had vitality were later artified, commercialized, and gentrified, and their original inhabitants were pushed out. In The Death and Life of Great American Cities, Jane Jacobs mentions that SoHo once had factory warehouses that many artists without money could rent as studios, where they experimented with and expressed art. Today, SoHo has become one of the world’s most typical concentrations of luxury flagship stores.

Therefore, New York is not a perfect model. It is simply a model that exposed these problems and contradictions earlier. The question that concerns me most is this: Does art make a city more alive and more interesting, or does it merely make land more expensive? This is a shared problem facing global cities.

New Yorkers’ “Secret Pleasures”

Such a City: In the book, you mention many “secret pleasures” known only to real New Yorkers, such as the small club where Woody Allen played music, the murals in Caravaggio on the Upper East Side, and the Hotel des Artistes. Could you talk about this hidden route?

Li Mingjie: I am very interested in the murals of East Harlem. They are emotional artistic expressions from the folk and lower levels of the community. From the perspective of academic fieldwork, I needed to find points of reference that were entirely different. In that process, places such as the Hotel des Artistes on the Upper West Side and Caravaggio entered my field of vision.

New York actually has two kinds of culture. One is the culture that outsiders can easily see. This is New York’s generous contribution to the world. It openly and expansively presents many precious cultural forms to everyone: the Metropolitan Museum of Art, MoMA, Broadway, Lincoln Center, Fifth Avenue, and so on. This is a kind of cultural performance by New York.

But there is another kind of culture: New Yorkers’ secret pleasures, which you only come to know after living there slowly over time. They are often hidden in small bars, old restaurants, community theaters, used bookstores, and street-corner murals, appearing in so-called “hidden places.” “Hidden” does not mean that they refuse you entry. Rather, there is indeed a kind of “door” — if you know, you can see it; if you do not know, you will miss it. This second kind of culture is not as grand or as fervent as the Met or Lincoln Center, but it may reveal the spirit of New York even more clearly.

For example, at Bemelmans Bar in the Carlyle Hotel, Ludwig Bemelmans made countless sketches and compressed New York into The Four Seasons of Central Park. The Pierre Hotel was the location for the tango scene in Scent of a Woman. Then there is the Hotel des Artistes. Duchamp, Isadora Duncan, Norman Rockwell, Valentino, F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, Leonard Bernstein, Rudolf Nureyev, and many others all passed through it, turning this apartment hotel into a kind of memorial to modern American artists.

What makes New York so interesting is that stories of art, stories of life, stories of history, and stories of scholarship continue to exist in real form. As you walk through the city, you find yourself repeatedly uncovering artistic stories and reinterpreting intellectual and cultural history.

This is what I mean by New Yorkers’ “secret pleasures.” Such pleasures are not necessarily all forms of enjoyment. Many of them come from history, and from deep reflection after painful thought. They are a kind of happiness with conviction. Here, you are no longer an individual outside the world. Anytime, anywhere, you meet the world — and run straight into its embrace.

Observations on the Language of “Identity Politics”

Such a City: When talking about the United States and New York, identity politics is an unavoidable issue. From the perspective of sociolinguistics, what related forms of language have you paid particular attention to and observed?

Li Mingjie: In the United States, especially in New York, identity politics has had a deep impact on art, museums, universities, and public culture. Identity politics means that people who were once excluded from mainstream narratives hope to regain visibility and the right to interpret themselves. This is understandable.

But in my observations in Wounded New York NY 2017–2023, I deliberately keep some distance from this trend. When identity becomes the sole interpretive framework, complex people and works can easily be simplified into political slogans.

Art should open up experience. But excessive labeling can make us see a certain identity before we see the art itself: Is the artist a woman? A racial minority? Queer? If an exhibition first emphasizes its position rather than aesthetics, history, and form, then while it may reveal real inequalities, it may also create new forms of rigidity.

In my observation, among young people, enthusiasm for ideological expression is often understood as a form of progress, and concern for minority-interest groups is also understood as goodwill. Some people are sincere, but others may merely be striking a pose. As a scholar, I need to analyze and record the complexity of this matter in the book.

Revolution itself is often seductive, and it is connected with fashion. As a Chinese person looking at today’s New York, I truly feel that I am an “old person of history,” while New Yorkers are “new people of history.” Young people may think that toppling the Roosevelt statue is a cool revolution. But as someone who has lived through social movements and retains memories of the destruction of tradition, I know that whether a society can handle historical legacies properly is the dividing line between whether it is mature and capable of sustaining progress.

I have also opened a column on the American writing platform Substack, where I write stories of New York as I observe, experience, and reflect on it. Local New Yorkers have encouraged me by saying, “You Chinese have been through a lot. The lessons you have drawn from those experiences are reminders for us. We are still in the middle of the process and do not know what price we will pay. Write more, so that we can understand more.” So I write in both Chinese and English, and it turns out that there are quite a few native English-speaking readers among my audience.

Note: This text is an edited version of The Paper’s Such a City: Current Special | In New York, You Can Run Straight into the World Anytime, Anywhere. The original was published on July 23, 2026. Authorization from The Paper was obtained before reposting. For the complete written interview, including the podcast audio in Mandarin Chinese, please see the original article in simplified Chinese on The Paper: https://m.thepaper.cn/newsDetail_forward_33643437.

For English readers: the full English version appears below the Chinese text, and English explanations for the photo captions appear beneath the Chinese captions.

【写在前面】

这篇文章写于2026年上海书展前。人在上海，写纽约第五大道的一间法国书店，似乎有些绕远。但也正因为绕远，才更容易看清一个近处的问题：一间有历史的书店，怎样才算持续地保有着自己的历史？

A Note Beforehand

This essay was written shortly before the 2026 Shanghai Book Fair. From Shanghai, writing about a French bookstore on Fifth Avenue in New York may seem like a detour. Yet sometimes it is precisely by taking such a detour that one can see a nearby question more clearly: How can a bookstore with a history continue to sustain that history as a living presence?

6月底回上海前，我专程去纽约第五大道上的阿尔贝蒂娜（Albertine）书店，买了一本《小王子》。《小王子》1943年在纽约首次出版，后来成为《圣经》之外世界上被翻译得最广的作品。这本书曾是我女儿小时候读到的第一本外文书，如今我想请它去迎接她自己孕育的“小王子”。法语书店阿尔贝蒂娜位于法国驻纽约文化处“阿尔贝蒂娜别墅”（Villa Albertine）内。2023年，小王子雕像来到这幢豪宅门前，这个空间与圣埃克苏佩里、二战中流亡纽约的欧洲文化记忆，以及法国文学之间的关系，也变得更加可见。

我常去一街之隔的大都会艺术博物馆查书看展，阿尔贝蒂娜便成了我顺路停下来的地方。和大都会的宏阔与嘈杂不同，这里漂亮、安静，也亲切；那些熟悉的法语书、童书形象和艺术装饰，让人很快心定下来，自然而然地步入纽约城市史与法国文化相互交叠的深处。

图注：（左）2023年，为纪念《小王子》在纽约首版80周年，法国雕塑家让-马克·德帕（Jean-Marc de Pas）创作的小王子铜像被安放在“阿尔贝蒂娜别墅”外的第五大道上。2026年6月16日摄。（右）阿尔贝蒂娜书店二楼的星空天花，由法国室内设计师雅克·加西亚设计，灵感来自德国慕尼黑施图克别墅（Villa Stuck）的星座天顶，让这间书店带上了天象、神话和欧洲艺术史的韵味。2026年6月11日摄。（文中照片除署名外，皆由作者本人拍摄）

Left: In 2023, to mark the 80th anniversary of the first publication of The Little Prince in New York, a bronze sculpture of the Little Prince by the French sculptor Jean-Marc de Pas was installed on Fifth Avenue outside Villa Albertine. Photographed on June 16, 2026. Right: The starry ceiling on the second floor of Albertine, designed by the French interior designer Jacques Garcia, was inspired by the zodiac ceiling of Villa Stuck in Munich, Germany, giving the bookstore an atmosphere of astronomy, mythology, and European art history. Photographed on June 11, 2026.

这种“真切的”心理愉悦，当然也来自装饰，但不是那种包装式的“修旧如旧”，而是这座建筑本身的历史装修、艺术陈设和长期文化用途所交织出来的气质。它原是佩恩·惠特尼宅邸（Payne Whitney Mansion），建成于1906年，是纽约镀金时代豪宅的代表之一；佩恩·惠特尼的嫂子格特鲁德·范德比尔特·惠特尼后来创办了惠特尼美术馆。入口圆厅里的大理石雕像《丘比特》（Cupid），曾被称作《青年弓箭手》（Young Archer），后来被认为可能是米开朗基罗的早期作品，原作长期借展于大都会艺术博物馆；詹姆斯·沃尔·芬恩绘制的穹顶、一楼“威尼斯厅”里的瓷花藤蔓，以及二楼由雅克·加西亚设计的星空天花，都让这座建筑显出一种层层叠加的历史质地。它不是一个被重新包装出来的文化空间，而是一块由时间、人物和艺术慢慢沉积出来的“真实”的历史岩层。

图注：“阿尔贝蒂娜别墅”的入口圆厅中央原有一尊《丘比特》，后来被认为可能是米开朗基罗早期作品，现原作借展于大都会艺术博物馆（图右，2026年6月16日摄），圆厅内为复制品（图左，2026年6月11日摄）；圆厅穹顶的藤架与儿童装饰出自詹姆斯·沃尔·芬恩（James Wall Finn），他是镀金时代重要的壁画家和装饰艺术家，作品见于纽约多处地标建筑。

At the center of the entrance rotunda of Villa Albertine once stood “Cupid”, later considered possibly to be an early work by Michelangelo. The original is now on loan to the Metropolitan Museum of Art (right, photographed on June 16, 2026), while a replica stands in the rotunda (left, photographed on June 11, 2026). The trellis and child ornaments on the rotunda dome are by James Wall Finn, an important muralist and decorative artist of the Gilded Age whose work appears in several New York landmarks.

百年豪宅佩恩·惠特尼宅邸1952年起成为法国驻美文化处所在地，阿尔贝蒂娜书店居于其间，实在是显得过于年轻——直到2014年才开放；然而，书店收藏法语及英译法语图书一万四千余种，涵盖三十个法语国家。作为法国文化处的一部分，这家书店是翻译、讲座、阅读和跨文化讨论发生的地方。近年，阿尔贝蒂娜持续举办“思想之夜”、法语及法语圈文学节“文学之秋”、美国龚古尔奖评选、读书会和儿童阅读活动。2025年，第四届美国龚古尔奖评选就在这里举行，来自哥伦比亚大学、纽约大学、哈佛、普林斯顿等10所大学的学生评委讨论当年入围的法语小说，并选出获奖作品；2026年6月，它又参加纽约“博物馆大道节”，为家庭观众举办《小王子》现场朗读。2025年3月“思想之夜”的主题是“共同点”（Common Ground），讨论民族主义回潮、党派分裂、AI、社交媒体与社会共同体修复等现实议题。换句话说，阿尔贝蒂娜不是把历史做成背景，而是让历史继续参与当下；它不是一间只把历史作为陈设的“漂亮书店”，而是仍在生产阅读、翻译、讨论和相遇的文化现场。

阿尔贝蒂娜书店并不是纽约唯一让我觉得“真”的书店。中城的阿戈西书店（Argosy Book Store）创立于1925年，至今仍由家族经营，六层楼里堆叠着古籍、绝版书、签名本、地图和版画；它的真实感来自旧书业本身的专业眼力，我在写关于纽约第五大道1143号的非虚构作品时就在这里找到了“维勒地图”（Viele Map），即1865年绘制的《纽约市及岛屿卫生地形图》。纽约大学附近的斯特兰德书店（Strand Book Store）创立于1927年，由巴斯家族几代人延续经营；它早已高度商业化，也出售帆布包和纪念品，但仍维持着巨大规模的书籍流通和纽约人爱淘旧书的日常习惯。门外几美元一本的旧书档旁，总有人不停翻检，其中也包括我。斯特兰德也卖咖啡，但这些并没有取代书店的核心：那里最稳定的景象，仍然是人在书架之间寻找、翻检并购买。

它们和阿尔贝蒂娜书店一道说明：所谓“真实感”，就是这种嵌入——书店仍然嵌在自己的历史、业态、读者和城市生活之中。书店可以被设计，可以商业化，也可以成为城市名片，但它不能只剩下设计、商业和名片。

图注：（左）斯特兰德书店门外的旧书档。几美元一本的旧书吸引行人停下翻检，书籍流通仍是这家纽约老书店最日常的景象。2026年6月18日摄。（右）阿戈西书店室内，古籍、版画、地图和旧照片层层陈列，保留着旧书业的专业眼力与历史质地。2026年1月22日摄。

Left: The used-book carts outside Strand Book Store. Used books priced at only a few dollars draw passersby to stop and browse; the circulation of books remains the most everyday scene of this old New York bookstore. Photographed on June 18, 2026. Right: Inside Argosy Book Store, rare books, prints, maps, and old photographs are displayed in dense layers, preserving the professional eye and historical texture of the antiquarian book trade. Photographed on January 22, 2026.

上海并不缺少有来历的书店名字。商务印书馆、内山书店、韬奋书店，每一个名字背后都曾经连着出版、思想、读者、作者、城市街区和现代中国的文化史。但纽约与上海并不能简单并列，上海这些历史书店所面对的情况要复杂得多。战争、政治变迁、产权转换、出版体制重组和城市更新，使许多老书店不可能以原来的形态延续下来。这并不是某一家书店经营者可以单独解决的问题。许多历史书店的重开，往往被纳入城市更新、公共文化服务和文旅展示的整体框架之中。今天重新出现的，往往首先是旧址、旧名和一套可供讲述的历史叙事。旧址重新被看见，名字重新被记起，当然有其必要性；但书店若被赋予过多象征功能，选书、阅读、讨论以及与具体读者建立长期关系的功能，就容易退到后面。

这些年在上海走进不少新修、重开的书店，我常有一种感觉：书仍然在场，却不再总是主角。它们被整齐地摆放在漂亮书架上，成为拍照、停留和空间消费的一部分；咖啡、文创和社交媒体传播，常常更像维持人气和收入的现实支点。问题并不在于书店不能卖咖啡，而在于当书逐渐退成背景，书店也就从阅读和思想交流的现场，转向了供人停留消费、拍照社交的空间。这就是我所说的“历史脱嵌”：历史并没有消失，甚至被更郑重地展示出来了，但它已经从原来依附的出版机制、作者往来、读者关系和日常业态中脱落出来。

比如商务印书馆虹口分店旧址，1925年开业，后来进入新华书店系统，2021年更名为“1925书局”并重新开放。它所承载的历史，确实包括商务印书馆、陈云、鲁迅、四川北路文化街等多重线索。但如果今天的经营与商务印书馆曾经代表的出版传统、现代知识启蒙、工具书、学术译介和近代上海出版业之间缺少持续关系，那么“1925”就容易从一个历史节点，变成一个被陈列出来的年份。

内山书店的情况更复杂。原来的内山书店不只是鲁迅先生买书、会友之处，而是上世纪二三十年代上海左翼文化、日中文化交流、避难与出版网络的一部分。重新开放后的“1927·鲁迅与内山纪念书局”当然有纪念意义，也承担了公共文化活动和城市记忆展示的功能。只是，它究竟更接近一间以书为核心、能够生成当代思想交流的书店，还是更接近纪念空间、公共文化展陈和城市更新项目的一部分，仍然值得温和地追问。

上海韬奋西文书店的情况又稍有不同。它不是没有书，也不是没有专业性。作为一家外文原版书店，它曾经有清楚的业态定位。但“韬奋”这个名字太重了，它背后连着生活书店、三联传统、现代中国出版业和“竭诚为读者服务”的理想。若一间以“韬奋”命名的书店，不能继续解释这种传统怎样进入今天的阅读生活，那么历史并没有消失，却被悬置在名字之中。

图注：2025年8月20日，拙作《破坏实验》读者见面会在上海韬奋西文书店举行。作家孔明珠女士应邀参加并作开场发言。她是作家、出版家孔另境之女，现场谈及自己曾与邹韬奋先生的幼女邹嘉骊在韬奋基金会的工作经历，并追忆父辈一代人与邹韬奋、鲁迅、茅盾相关的现代出版和文坛往事。对一间以“韬奋”为名的书店而言，这类由人、书与记忆构成的真实链接，正是这家书店与上海不可替代的无形资产。（崔璨摄）

On August 20, 2025, a readers’ event for my book “Wounded New York NY 2017–2023” (published in Chinese as 破坏实验) was held at Shanghai Taofen Foreign Language Bookstore. The writer Kong Mingzhu was invited to attend and gave the opening remarks. She is the daughter of the writer and publisher Kong Lingjing. At the event, she spoke about her experience working at the Taofen Foundation with Zou Jiali, the youngest daughter of Zou Taofen, and recalled stories from the world of modern publishing and literature involving her father’s generation, Zou Taofen, Lu Xun, and Mao Dun. For a bookstore bearing the name “Taofen,” this kind of real connection made of people, books, and memory is precisely an irreplaceable intangible asset of both the bookstore and Shanghai. Photograph by Cui Can.

阿尔贝蒂娜、阿戈西和斯特兰德之所以让我感到“真”，不是因为它们比上海书店更有历史，而是它们对待自己的历史，不是表达而是实践。这些书店都保留了自身历史的某种连续性：：空间与文化基因的连续，家族经营与旧书专业的连续，或者书籍流通与城市读者习惯的连续。上海的这些历史书店并不是“不真”，恰恰相反，正因为它们背后的历史太真、太重，才更让人感到今日重建之后的某种脱嵌。它们被修缮、被命名、被重新开放、被更新换代，值得鼓掌、值得珍视；需要进一步反思的是，这些努力如何把原来的出版关系、作者关系和读者关系真正接回来。历史书店的价值，不只是留下名字和地址，而是要让历史依然嵌入阅读、出版、讨论和人与人的相遇之中。

2026年7月30日于上海大华长风华邑酒店

2026年8月12日以《承载与延续历史：都市书店的“真实感”从何而来》为名，首发于“澎湃新闻·思想市场”

Bookstore and Disembedded History:

Where Does the “Authenticity” of an Urban Bookstore Come From?

Before returning to Shanghai in late June, I made a special trip to Albertine, the bookstore on Fifth Avenue in New York, to buy a copy of The Little Prince. The Little Prince was first published in New York in 1943 and later became one of the most widely translated books in the world, often described as second only to the Bible. It was the first foreign-language book my daughter read as a child; now I wanted to ask it to welcome the “little prince” she herself was bringing into the world. French-language bookstore Albertine is located inside Villa Albertine, the French institute for culture and education in New York. In 2023, when a sculpture of the Little Prince was installed in front of this mansion, the space’s connection to Saint-Exupéry, to the European cultural memory of wartime exile in New York, and to French literature became even more visible.

I often go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, just one block away, to consult books and see exhibitions, and Albertine has become a place where I stop on the way. Unlike the vastness and noise of the Met, this place is beautiful, quiet, and intimate. The familiar French books, children’s-book figures, and artistic decoration quickly settle the mind, and one naturally steps into the depths where New York’s urban history and French culture overlap.

This “real” psychological pleasure does, of course, come partly from decoration. But it is not the kind of decorative effect produced by packaged, simulated restoration. Rather, it comes from the atmosphere woven together by the building’s own historical interiors, artistic furnishings, and long-standing cultural use. The building was originally the Payne Whitney Mansion, completed in 1906 and one of the representative mansions of New York’s Gilded Age. Payne Whitney’s sister-in-law, Gertrude Vanderbilt Whitney, later founded the Whitney Museum of American Art. The marble sculpture Cupid in the entrance rotunda, once known as Young Archer, was later considered possibly to be an early work by Michelangelo; the original has long been on loan to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The dome painted by James Wall Finn, the porcelain floral vines in the first-floor “Venetian Room,” and the starry ceiling on the second floor designed by Jacques Garcia all give the building a layered historical texture. It is not a cultural space repackaged after the fact, but a “real” stratum of history, slowly deposited by time, people, and art.

The century-old Payne Whitney Mansion has housed the French Cultural Services since 1952; Albertine, set within it, seems strikingly young by comparison—it did not open until 2014.: it opened only in 2014. Yet its collection includes more than 14,000 titles in French and in English translation from French, covering thirty French-speaking countries. As part of the French institute for culture and education, it is a place where translation, lectures, reading, and cross-cultural discussion take place. In recent years, Albertine has continued to host events such as Night of Ideas, the Francophone literary festival Literary Fall, the American Goncourt Prize selection, reading groups, and children’s reading programs. In 2025, the fourth American Goncourt Prize selection was held here, with student jurors from ten universities, including Columbia, New York University, Harvard, and Princeton, discussing that year’s shortlisted French-language novels and choosing the winner. In June 2026, Albertine also took part in New York’s Museum Mile Festival and hosted a live reading of The Little Prince for families. The theme of the March 2025 Night of Ideas was “Common Ground,” addressing real-world issues such as the resurgence of nationalism, partisan division, AI, social media, and the repair of social bonds. In other words, Albertine does not turn history into a backdrop; it allows history to continue participating in the present. It is not a “beautiful bookstore” that treats history merely as décor, but a cultural site that still produces reading, translation, discussion, and encounter.

Albertine is not the only bookstore in New York that feels “real” to me. Argosy Book Store in Midtown was founded in 1925 and is still family-run. Its six floors are stacked with rare books, out-of-print books, signed editions, maps, and prints. Its authenticity comes from the professional eye of the antiquarian book trade itself. When I was writing my nonfiction work about 1143 Fifth Avenue in New York, it was here that I found the Viele Map, the 1865 Sanitary and Topographical Map of the City and Island of New York. Strand Book Store, near New York University, was founded in 1927 and has been carried on by generations of the Bass family. It is now highly commercialized and sells tote bags and souvenirs, but it still sustains a vast circulation of books and the everyday habit of New Yorkers browsing for used books. Outside, beside the carts of used books priced at just a few dollars each, there are always people stopping to browse—myself included. Strand also sells coffee, but this has not replaced the bookstore’s core. Its most constant scene remains people searching, browsing, and buying among the shelves.

Together with Albertine, these bookstores show that what we call a sense of “authenticity” is precisely this embeddedness: a bookstore remains embedded in its own history, its trade, its readers, and the life of the city. A bookstore may be designed; it may be commercialized; it may even become an urban landmark. But it cannot be left with nothing but design, commerce, and landmark status.

Shanghai does not lack bookstores with historical names. The Commercial Press, Uchiyama Bookstore, and Taofen Bookstore: behind each name lies a history connected to publishing, ideas, readers, writers, urban neighborhoods, and modern Chinese culture. But New York and Shanghai cannot be simply placed side by side. The historical bookstores in Shanghai face a far more complicated situation. War, political change, shifts in property ownership, the restructuring of the publishing system, and urban renewal have made it impossible for many old bookstores to continue in their original form. This is not a problem that the operator of any one bookstore can solve alone. The reopening of many historical bookstores is often incorporated into a larger framework of urban renewal, public cultural service, and cultural-tourism display. What reappears today is often, first of all, an old site, an old name, and a historical narrative that can be told. It is, of course, necessary for old sites to be seen again and for names to be remembered. But when a bookstore is assigned too much symbolic function, the work of selecting books, reading, discussion, and building long-term relationships with actual readers can easily retreat into the background.

In recent years, when I have walked into many newly renovated or reopened bookstores in Shanghai, I have often had the same feeling: the books are still there, but they are no longer always the protagonists. Neatly arranged on beautiful shelves, they become part of photography, lingering, and spatial consumption. Coffee, cultural merchandise, and circulation on social media often seem more like the practical supports of foot traffic and revenue. The problem is not that a bookstore cannot sell coffee. The problem is that when books gradually recede into the background, the bookstore shifts from a site of reading and intellectual exchange into a space for lingering, consumption, photography, and social media. This is what I mean by “disembedded history”: history has not disappeared; it is even displayed more solemnly than before. But it has come loose from the publishing mechanisms, writers’ networks, reader relationships, and everyday forms of business in which it was once embedded.

Take, for example, the former site of the Hongkou branch of the Commercial Press. It opened in 1925, later entered the Xinhua Bookstore system, and was renamed “1925 Bookstore” when it reopened in 2021. The history it carries certainly includes several threads: the Commercial Press, Chen Yun, Lu Xun, and North Sichuan Road as a cultural street. But if its present-day operation lacks a continuing relationship with the publishing tradition, modern intellectual enlightenment, reference works, scholarly translation, and modern Shanghai publishing represented by the Commercial Press, then “1925” can easily shift from a historical node into a year placed on display.

The case of Uchiyama Bookstore is even more complicated. The original Uchiyama Bookstore was not merely a place where Lu Xun bought books and met friends; it was part of the left-wing culture, Sino-Japanese cultural exchange, refuge, and publishing networks of Shanghai in the 1920s and 1930s. The reopened “1927 Lu Xun and Uchiyama Memorial Bookstore” certainly has commemorative significance and also performs functions of public cultural programming and urban memory display. Yet whether it is closer to a bookstore centered on books and capable of generating contemporary intellectual exchange, or closer to a memorial space, a public cultural exhibition, and part of an urban-renewal project, remains a question worth asking gently.

Shanghai Taofen Foreign Language Bookstore is different again. It is not without books, nor without professionalism. As a bookstore specializing in original foreign-language books, it once had a clear commercial orientation. But the name “Taofen” is too weighty. Behind it lie Life Bookstore, the Sanlian tradition, modern Chinese publishing, and the ideal of “serving readers wholeheartedly.” If a bookstore named after Taofen cannot continue to explain how this tradition enters today’s reading life, then history has not disappeared, but it has been suspended inside the name.

Albertine, Argosy, and Strand feel “real” to me not because they have more history than Shanghai’s bookstores, but because they do not simply present their history—they live it. Each has preserved a certain continuity of its own past: a continuity between space and cultural lineage, between family ownership and the expertise of the antiquarian book trade, or between the circulation of books and the reading habits of urban readers. Shanghai’s historical bookstores are not “unreal.” On the contrary, precisely because the history behind them is so real and so weighty, one feels even more keenly a certain disembeddedness after their reconstruction today. They have been restored, renamed, reopened, and renewed. This deserves applause and should be cherished. What calls for further reflection is how these efforts might truly reconnect the original relationships among publishing, writers, and readers. The value of a historical bookstore lies not only in preserving a name and an address, but in allowing history to remain embedded in reading, publishing, discussion, and encounters between people.

July 30, 2026, HUALUXE Shanghai Changfeng Park, Dahua

First published on August 12, 2026, under the title “Carrying and Sustaining History: Where Does the ‘Authenticity’ of an Urban Bookstore Come From?” in The Paper.

For English readers: the full English version appears below the Chinese text, and English explanations for the photo captions appear beneath the Chinese captions.

写在前面 / Author’s note:

这是一场围绕《破坏实验》（广东人民出版社，2025年版）展开的对谈。这部非虚构作品写的不是观光意义上的纽约，也不是影视作品中的纽约，而是疫情、社区、街角小店、普通劳动者和知识人共同置身其中的一座城市，是一个可以进入、可以观察、也不断提出问题的生活现场。

我与华东师范大学政治学系刘擎教授、清华大学社会学系严飞副教授的这篇对谈节选，集中呈现《破坏实验》中最重要的线索：普通人的纽约，并不只是城市生活的一角；它让我们重新观察美国，理解现代都市，也在时代困境中反观自身。这正是本书所寻找的“参考答案”。这个答案并不抽象，它藏在街角的披萨店里，藏在普通小业主的告示中，藏在疫情期间被迫承受伤痛却仍要继续生活的人身上。

This conversation centers on my nonfiction book, Wounded New York NY 2017–2023, whose Chinese title is Breaching Experiment (Guangdong People’s Publishing House, 2025). This work of nonfiction is not about New York as a tourist destination, nor about New York as it appears in film and television. It is about a city in which the pandemic, neighborhoods, corner groceries, ordinary workers, and intellectuals were all situated together — a living field that can be entered and observed, and that keeps posing questions.

This excerpt from a conversation among Professor Liu Qing of the Department of Political Science at East China Normal University, Associate Professor Yan Fei of the Department of Sociology at Tsinghua University, and I, the book’s author, brings into focus one of the most important threads in Wounded New York NY: ordinary people’s New York is not merely one corner of urban life. It allows us to look again at America, to understand the modern city, and to examine ourselves amid the predicaments of our time. This is precisely the “point of reference” the book is seeking. That answer is not abstract. It is hidden in a corner pizzeria, in the notice posted by an ordinary small-business owner, and in those who, during the pandemic, were forced to endure pain yet still had to go on living.

图注： 2025年11月6日，我与刘擎教授、严飞副教授以“在被破坏的世界里，寻找参考答案”为题，以网络现场直播的方式，做了一次对谈。这篇节选是在这次对谈的基础上，整理编辑而成的。

On November 6, 2025, Professors Liu Qing, Yan Fei, and I held an online livestreamed conversation under the title “Searching for Points of Reference in a Broken World.” This excerpt was compiled and edited on the basis of that conversation.

在纽约寻找普通人的参考答案

在游客和本地人之间：一个“游牧者”的纽约

严飞：很多人对纽约的印象，其实来自影视作品。我最早也一样，没去纽约之前，想到它就是《老友记》《欲望都市》，还有伍迪·艾伦电影里的纽约。真正到了纽约以后，又看到时代广场的人山人海，嘈杂、混乱、地铁破旧，让人有点无所适从。但当你走过游客区，进入没有那么多游客的街道，又能看到另一种城市生活的气息。所以我很好奇，明洁老师写《破坏实验》，对纽约是一种怎样的情感？这种情感又经历了怎样的变化？

刘擎：最近有一位日本哲学家东浩纪，在《观光客的哲学》里区分了现代世界中的三类人：一类是“村民”，扎根在本地；一类是“游牧者”，在不同地方之间游走并扎根；还有一类是“游客”，漂浮在各处，带着异乡人的眼光，但并不深刻介入。我觉得明洁更像一个“游牧者”。

李明洁：刘擎老师为我概括的“游牧者”这个定位，我觉得非常准确。它带有一点文学性的想象，但实际上也体现了我这本书在学术上的立场。

人类学特别强调对“他者”的研究。“他者”本身就意味着，你不是真正的当地人。如果你真是当地人，很多事情反而会熟视无睹，觉得理所当然。如果你只是游客，像严飞老师刚才说的，在《老友记》和《欲望都市》的想象中到处打卡，你也不会真正了解那里的生活。人类学的观察，恰恰处在这两者之间：你需要进入一个地方，但又不能完全失去陌生感。

如果用一句话概括人类学，也许就是：通过观察他人，反过来理解自己。他人是我们的镜子。我们在看他们如何生活的时候，会理解“他们和我不一样，他们这样做是有这些原因的”。这也是我读刘擎老师和严飞老师的《世界作为参考答案》时，感到强烈共鸣的原因。我们需要用“世界”作为自己的参考答案。这个“世界”可以是地理上的，比如通过纽约来认识上海，通过美国来理解中国；也可以是时间上的，比如通过疫情中的世界，或者更久远的历史，来理解今天。

对学者或者知识分子来说，这件事尤其重要。我常常反思自己，好像一辈子没有真正离开过学校。从学生到教师，一直待在校园里，永远和学者、学生打交道。这在某种意义上是一种特权，但也是一种限制。它让你生活在象牙塔里的象牙塔，关系相对简单，世界也相对扁平。

刘擎：我们家里也差不多都是这样，一辈子从学生到教师。不是和社会没有交流，但不是那种扎根式的跨界交流。

李明洁：正因为如此，我后来转向这样的写作，也是自我反思的结果。我们如何更接近真实、饱满的生活？我如何走出自己的泡泡？我能不能和不以脑力劳动为主要生存方式的人交流？二位的新书是基于在哈佛大学访学时候的对谈完成的，但我们设想一下，如果你一直在哈佛大学，你看到的世界，一定和从未有机会进入哈佛校园的人看到的世界不一样。纽约对我来说，就是这样一个让我不断提醒自己、也不断走出自身边界的地方。

纽约不是影视想象，而是普通人的生活现场

李明洁：这几年，我住在纽约一个很普通的社区。那里有消防员、警察、零售店员、披萨店老板。我去问他们对社会的感受，和平时交往的学者同事给我的答案完全不一样。这个时候你会发现，世界是折叠的，而且折叠的层次很多。

我们能不能理解他们，首先意味着我们愿不愿意看到生活的另一面。这也是我想在《破坏实验》里呈现的：不是《欲望都市》里的纽约，而是很多普通人每天“手停口停”的纽约。

当然，我也接触很多学者。我在哥伦比亚大学做研究，在纽约大学和新学院大学上课。越是如此，我越感受到不同群体之间沟通的必要。我们应该把彼此作为参考答案，倾听彼此的声音。人类学有一个很好的想法：关注底层，关注普通人，在不同层级之间做真诚的穿越。穿越，才可能提供真正有效的参考答案。

严飞：明洁老师有人类学的背景，所以她在书中看到的是不同的人，尤其是普通社区里的普通人。比如她写到披萨店老板，写他们在纽约疫情期间的日常生活。她在书里有一句话，我特别喜欢：“这些反对的声音和共同经历的挣扎却增长着我的智识自由，让我去思考世界上人类心灵的不同感受和人类生活的更多可能性”。

这句话把纽约从一个地理符号和文化标识，带入到了具体的人的处境里。我们看到，每个具体的人在面对普通困境时，如何展现出意想不到的韧性和创造力。也因此，我想请教明洁老师：“破坏实验”这个题目中，“破坏”比较容易理解，“实验”背后是不是意味着，在破坏的基础上，看见人的坚韧、创造力，以及从破坏中重新点燃生活希望的能力？

披萨店老板为什么成了我的参考答案

李明洁：这个书名，来自社会学里一个非常著名的概念：加芬克尔提出的“破坏实验”。所谓“破坏实验”，就是通过在社会生活实践中的某些部分引入混乱，造成局部失范，从而发现实践活动的内部规律。

2020年我在纽约遭遇新冠疫情。出于文科学者的本能，我感觉疫情的爆发和“破坏实验”有某种相似。其实这本书的重点不在疫情本身，而由疫情触发而暴露出来的文化问题和人性困境。为什么说这个“实验”是被动的？因为没有人真的愿意接受这个实验，大家都是被迫卷入其中。但也正是在这种被动之中，人性的微光可能恰恰才被彰显出来。

我曾和作家陈丹燕女士有过一次对谈。她说了一句很触动我的话：没有经历过创伤的城市，其实是比较乏味的；在创伤中，以及对创伤的克服中，人会生出对这座城市的爱护之心和敬意。我以前看纽约，也觉得它混乱、嘈杂。但经历了疫情这场“破坏实验”之后，我反而对这个城市生出了真正的记忆和爱护之心。

那么，哪里才可以发现纽约的底色呢？我的观察是，要去社区里的小披萨店。不是去S苏荷区的那些网红店，而是街角不起眼的小店。就像要了解上海，就该去馄饨店吃一碗菜肉馄饨一样。

疫情爆发时，有一位披萨小店的女老板请人在小店的临街窗户上画了一幅画：画的是披萨把病毒踢走，旁边有一个挽起袖子的女性形象，这其实是美国流行文化中很重要的符号——“铆钉女工罗西”。二战时期，大量美国男性参战，工厂缺少工人，许多女性走进工厂。那张著名海报上写着：“We Can Do It！（我们做得到）”

由此可以看到，普通老百姓也有自己的文化记忆和文化动员。这种动员在那个时刻，既是在向医护人员致敬，也延续了劳工阶层深厚的文化传统。疫情期间我问过不少从事所谓“核心工作”的护士、披萨店外卖员、加油站老板，他们都会跟我讲述自己的父母辈或者祖父母辈参加二战乃至自己经历911救援等经历，前人为这个国家付出过、牺牲过，所以也觉得他们自己也可以。这让我很感动。

图注：2020年5月12日，摄于纽约史泰登岛。收录在《破坏实验》第182页。Photographed on Staten Island, New York, on May 12, 2020. Included on page 182 of Wounded New York NY 2017–2023.

还有一家我常去的小披萨店。纽约封城很久，政府长期不允许堂食。那位披萨店老板在店面橱窗上贴了一张告示，我看到时很触动，就拍了下来。他写道：“科莫州长，注意了，你在扼杀我们的生意。我们的家庭需要吃饭，我们的员工需要工作。”落款是“纽约复市小业主协会”。

我原来觉得这家小店普通到不能再普通，但看到他贴出这张告示，突然感觉他是我的英雄。纽约最终复市，有很多类似这些披萨店老板的普通劳工的坚持、信念和努力。他们给了知识分子，尤其是我，上了一堂课：历史在他们身上是活的，历史不是历史书里的历史，而是“我的父母、我的祖父母”，是“我们为这个社会努力，为维持员工和家庭的生存而奋斗”。他们是活生生的纽约人，不是抽象的概念。最终让纽约人真的能够自由地吃上披萨的，正是这些人。

图注：2020年7月15日摄于纽约。收录于《破坏实验》第216页。

Photographed in New York on July 15, 2020. Included on page 216 of Wounded New York NY 2017–2023.

纽约披萨是意大利移民带到纽约的，如今成为纽约自己的符号，而它所代表的精神则活在这样的劳工阶层身上。“我们做得到”这句话，在他们身上是一种鲜活的新年。所以他们真的是我的参考答案：人应该怎样活着，为自己、为家庭、为社区，也为这座城市。

刘擎：明洁这本书很重要的一点，是她在纽约扎下去的根有相当的深度。我们平时接触的基本上是知识分子或学生，但明洁把观察放到了更具体的人身上。一个城市、一个群体，通常只有在非常状态下，才会鲜明地展现它的特征。无论是创伤、战争、文艺复兴还是天灾，那种时刻，一个城市的性格会像人的性格一样凸显出来。

疫情冲击来临时，不同人会有不同反应。有些人极度重视安全，宁愿更多限制自由；有些人则认为完全禁足是不可能的，选择更大胆地生活。这就引出一个难题：作为社会科学研究者，如何既保持全局视野，又不陷入局外人式的悬浮？

明洁这样的人类学者，是和具体的人待在一起的，带着自己的感受和情感。具体、具身、鲜活的真实有巨大的力量，会把我们吸引进去。但与此同时，我们也要看到，那些和我们处境、预设、信念不同的人，也有他们自己的真实。这是社会科学研究者都会面临的难题：我们如何在自己的特殊处境里，去感受和我们不同、甚至持冲突观点的他人的特殊性和立场？

知识分子需要听见另一种低音

李明洁：这本书带有人类学的关怀，而人类学写作，必须基于普通人的真实生活。从学理上讲，它要求事实判断不能有任何疏漏。在这一点上，我有百分之百的自信：书里涉及的所有人物和事件都可以回溯。你问我某件事是否真实发生过，我可以找到新闻报道、档案或当事人。所以对于这本书里的事实判断，我是百分之百自信的。

但文科所有的话题里，大概都存在两种判断：一是事实判断，二是价值判断。虽然我以尽可能中立的角度记录事实，但没有一句话不带有认知图式，每句话里都或显或隐地包含了某种价值判断，或者期待读者推断出某种价值立场。这本书是有价值判断的，我不需要粉饰这一点。

最近这些年发生的很多事，让我一次次确认，我当时的观察是准确的，也是重要的。这本书不是在讲“特朗普怎么了”，而是在解释“为什么是特朗普”——它试图理解，美国为什么会走到今天这个样子。

我也特别想强调：整个社会的话语权仍然掌握在知识阶层手里，而我自己就是从知识阶层出来的。我们在舆论场里看到的，尽管互联网给了个人一定的表达空间，但它仍然是以知识为基础的舆论生态。这个舆论场需要添加一些声音，那些真正应该成为我们“参考答案”的声音。否则知识阶层会很困惑，甚至很挫败，不理解“世界怎么会变成这样”。

我想回答的正是这个问题。如果你去看知识阶层泡泡之外的群体，他们早就给出了答案。那是一种沉重的低音，始终在回答时代的叩问；而且它有自己深重的传统，不是知识阶层的传统，而是市民阶层的传统。我们需要把这个低音写出来。

这也和我的学科背景有关。我做社会语言学，做都市民俗学，做人类学，它和基于宏观统计数据的社会学研究、以政策研究为基础的政治学研究，立场本来就不同。不同学科本身就在提示我们：知识框架应该有不同的位置和立场，认知才会更具体、更立体。

严飞：这本书的价值也正在这里。它是对特定时间段内一座城市的伤痛，以及人们如何处理这些伤痛的真实记录。它不是抽象讨论城市，而是回到一个个具体的人。普通人的生活、判断、挣扎和韧性，在其中获得了非常清晰的呈现。

李明洁：是的，非常真实的记录。比如：与这本书正文内容同样重要的，是每篇文章末尾的时间和地点——我在什么时间、什么地点写下了这篇文章。我没有做任何改动，因为这些时间和地点都可以找到人证和物证。

我对这件事比较敏感，也许也有个人原因。我有严重的哮喘，而命运偏偏安排我经历了纽约封城，在纽约感染过一次新冠；又迫使我在上海经历了两个月的封城，再次感染新冠。更早的时候，2003年我在香港教育学院工作，经历了SARS的全过程。一个有严重呼吸道疾病的人，命运偏偏安排她经历三次与呼吸道直接相关的疫情。

在这些经历中，我和千千万万的人一样受苦。但我冷静地对自己说：你要活下来。经历三次这样的“破坏实验”，让我更清晰地体会到，只要人们普通的同情心和求生的欲望还有那么一点点存在，愈合就永远有可能发生。生命里有一种盼望，也有一种韧性，它的强度超过人的想象。人面对这种力量时，要保持谦卑。

从疫情中的纽约，到第五大道的一幢楼

严飞：明洁老师下一本书的研究计划是什么？或者说，接下来城市书写的方向是什么？

李明洁：其实我不太主动规划。很多事情都是机缘巧合。比如我研究哥伦比亚大学东亚图书馆的中国纸神收藏，是因为程健馆长介绍我接触到一批档案；《破坏实验》也不是有意为之，而是疫情触发了我记录的愿望。那个时候，写作是为了克服自己的恐惧和迷惑，希望通过写作寻找参考答案，谈不上什么宏大的使命感。

但我手头确实有一个机缘：一批跟踪了将近十年的材料，而且这批材料不是人人都能接触到的。我会努力在教学之余，把这本书写出来。美国的教学工作压力很大，它有一套严苛的系统，不仅“卷”学生，也大量占据老师的时间。但我还是希望把这本书完成。

这本书准备写纽约第五大道1143号一幢楼的改建工程。通过这幢城市地标的重建，我想更深入地理解这座城市：从建筑师、纽约政府机关（如建筑局、交通局、地标保护局委员会）、上东区居民，到最基层的承包商和建筑工人，他们在一幢大楼的建造过程中如何发生交集，又如何共同塑造了这座城市。下一本书的题目暂定《第五大道1143号》。它接近人类学中的个案研究，但我仍然希望它是一部初中以上文化程度的读者都能读的书。学界该读的专业论著已经够多了，我更喜欢用非虚构写作的方式，把严格的人类学田野调查转化成普通读者能够进入的文本。

严飞：也就是说，通过一幢楼去看纽约这座城市如何运转，从而理解一个现代文明如何建立。它是在微观意义上理解城市规则，也理解“什么是城市”这个问题本身。

图注：照片中两幢高楼中间的那幢矮楼就是第五大道1143号，摄于2026年1月17号。第五大道1143号》记录了从2014年到2026年围绕这幢楼的重建所发生的真实社会博弈，这幢楼的重建成了纽约这座城市的制度、阶层、审美、冲突和资本逻辑的一面棱镜。

The low-rise building between the two tall buildings in the photograph is 1143 Fifth Avenue, photographed on January 17, 2026. 1143 Fifth Avenue records the real social struggles surrounding the reconstruction of this building from 2014 to 2026. The low-rise building between the two tall buildings in the photograph is 1143 Fifth Avenue, photographed on January 17, 2026. 1143 Fifth Avenue records the real social struggles surrounding the reconstruction of this building from 2014 to 2026. The reconstruction of this building became a prism reflecting the institutions, social strata, aesthetics, conflicts, and logic of capital within New York City.

刘擎：祝贺明洁。我们相识多年，我觉得到了学术生涯的某个阶段，你找到了和自己的禀赋、天性、才能真正契合的方式。这是不容易的。有的人一辈子都找不到。你现在之所以有创造力，是因为你真心喜欢自己正在做的事情，也没有什么业绩压力的束缚。

李明洁：对，我退休了，再也不用交业绩了。有很多风景，是在后期才能看到的。年轻时读文学作品、读诗歌，是纯粹感性的阅读，并没有真切感受到。但当你碰到切身的事情，比如疫情中某个时刻，一首年轻时读过的诗会突然活过来。

看到《世界作为参考答案》这个书名时，我就想起里尔克在《给青年诗人的信》里那段话：不要急着追寻答案，你现在还无法与答案共存，你必须活在每件事里，请先去经历充满难题的生活吧；也许有一天，不知不觉里，你会渐渐活出写满答案的人生。

我还在写我的参考答案，还没有写完。生活很慷慨，给你难题，也给你宽慰；还给你安排这么多人与你相逢。我充满感性，也充满感激。希望我们都能在各自的生活里，慢慢找到自己的参考答案。

Looking to Ordinary New Yorkers for Points of Reference

Liu Qing, Yan Fei, and Mingjie Li Discuss “Wounded New York NY 2017–2023”

Between Tourists and Locals: A “Nomad’s” New York

Yan Fei: Many people’s impressions of New York actually come from film and television. It was the same for me at first. Before I went to New York, I thought of Friends, Sex and the City, and the New York of Woody Allen’s films. After I actually arrived, I saw the crowds in Times Square, the noise, the disorder, and the old subway system, and I felt somewhat overwhelmed. But when you leave the tourist areas and enter streets with far fewer visitors, you can see another kind of urban life. So I am very curious: when you wrote Wounded New York NY, what kind of feeling did you have toward New York? And how did that feeling change over time?

Liu Qing: Recently, the Japanese philosopher Hiroki Azuma has become increasingly known. In Philosophy of the Tourist, he distinguishes three kinds of people in the modern world: “villagers,” who are rooted locally; “nomads,” who move among different places and put down roots; and “tourists,” who drift from place to place, looking with the eyes of outsiders but without becoming deeply involved. I think Mingjie is more like a “nomad.”

Mingjie Li: I think Professor Liu’s description of me as a “nomad” is very accurate. It carries a certain literary imagination, but in fact it also reflects the scholarly position of this book.

Anthropology places special emphasis on the study of the “other.” The “other” itself means that you are not truly a local. If you really are a local, many things may become so familiar that you no longer see them, and you take them for granted. If you are only a tourist, checking in at places through the imagined New York of Friends and Sex and the City, as Professor Yan just said, you will not truly understand life there either. Anthropological observation sits precisely between these two positions: you need to enter a place, but you cannot completely lose your sense of estrangement.

If anthropology can be summed up in one sentence, perhaps it is this: by observing others, we come back to understand ourselves. Others are our mirror. When we look at how they live, we come to understand that “they are different from me, and they do these things for these reasons.” This is why I felt such a strong resonance when I read The World as a Reference Answer by Professors Liu Qing and Yan Fei. We need to use the “world” as our own point of reference. This “world” can be geographical: for instance, understanding Shanghai through New York, or China through America. It can also be temporal: understanding the present through the world during the pandemic, or through a more distant history.

For scholars or intellectuals, this is especially important. I often reflect on the fact that I seem never to have truly left school. From student to teacher, I have remained on campus, always dealing with scholars and students. In one sense, this is a privilege; but it is also a limitation. It lets you live inside an ivory tower within the ivory tower, where relationships are relatively simple and the world is relatively flat.

Liu Qing: It is more or less the same in my family. A whole life from student to teacher. It is not that we have had no contact with society, but it is not a kind of deeply rooted crossing of boundaries.

Mingjie Li: That is precisely why I later turned toward this kind of writing. It was also the result of self-reflection. How can we get closer to a fuller and more real life? How can I step out of my own bubble? Can I communicate with people who do not make their living primarily through intellectual labor? Your new book was based on conversations from your time as visiting scholars at Harvard, but let us imagine this: if you remained at Harvard all the time, the world you saw would certainly be different from the world seen by people who have never had the chance to enter the Harvard campus. For me, New York is a place that constantly reminds me of this, and constantly pushes me beyond my own boundaries.

New York Is Not a Screen Fantasy, but a Field of Ordinary Life

Mingjie Li: In recent years, I have lived in a very ordinary neighborhood in New York. There are firefighters, police officers, retail clerks, and pizzeria owners. When I ask them how they feel about society, their answers are completely different from those I usually get from scholar-colleagues. At that moment you realize that the world is folded, and that there are many layers within those folds.

Whether we can understand them first of all depends on whether we are willing to see the other side of life. This is what I wanted to present in Wounded New York NY: not the New York of Sex and the City, but the New York of many ordinary people who live from hand to mouth every day.

Of course, I also have a great deal of contact with scholars. I do research at Columbia University and teach at New York University and The New School. The more this is the case, the more I feel the need for communication among different groups. We should take one another as points of reference and listen to one another’s voices. Anthropology has a very good idea: paying attention to the lower strata, paying attention to ordinary people, and making sincere crossings among different levels. Only such crossings can provide truly effective points of reference.

Yan Fei: Professor Mingjie has a background in anthropology, so in the book she sees different kinds of people, especially ordinary people in ordinary neighborhoods. For example, she writes about pizzeria owners and their daily lives during the pandemic in New York. There is one sentence in the book that I particularly like: “These dissenting voices and shared struggles increased my intellectual freedom, allowing me to think about the different feelings of human minds in the world and the many other possibilities of human life.”

This sentence takes New York out of the realm of a geographic symbol or cultural marker and brings it into the concrete circumstances of actual people. We see how each specific person, when facing ordinary hardship, can display unexpected resilience and creativity. That is why I would like to ask Professor Mingjie: in the title Breaching Experiment (Chinese name of Wounded New York NY), “breaching” is relatively easy to understand. Does the word “experiment” imply that, on the basis of disruption, one can see human resilience and creativity, and the capacity to rekindle hope for life from within disruption?

Why a Pizzeria Owner Became My Point of Reference

Mingjie Li: The book’s title comes from a very famous concept in sociology: the “breaching experiment” proposed by Harold Garfinkel. A breaching experiment introduces disorder into certain parts of social practice, creating a localized breakdown of norms in order to reveal the internal rules of practical activity.

In 2020, I encountered the COVID-19 pandemic in New York. Out of a humanities scholar’s instinct, I felt that the outbreak of the pandemic had something in common with a “breaching experiment.” In fact, the focus of this book is not the pandemic itself, but the cultural problems and human predicaments triggered and exposed by the pandemic. Why do I say this “experiment” was passive? Because no one truly wanted to accept it. Everyone was forced into it. Yet it may be precisely within this passivity that the faint light of human nature was revealed.

I once had a conversation with the writer Chen Danyan. She said something that deeply moved me: a city that has never experienced trauma is, in fact, rather dull; in trauma, and in the overcoming of trauma, people develop a sense of care and respect for the city. I used to see New York as chaotic and noisy. But after going through the “breaching experiment” of the pandemic, I instead developed a genuine memory of, and affection for, this city.

So where can one discover the underlying color of New York? My observation is that one should go to the small pizzerias in the neighborhoods. Not the internet-famous shops in SoHo, but the inconspicuous places on street corners. Just as, if you want to understand Shanghai, you should go to a wonton shop and eat a bowl of pork-and-vegetable wontons.

When the pandemic broke out, the female owner of a small pizzeria had someone paint a picture on the storefront window facing the street: a pizza kicking the virus away. Beside it was the image of a woman rolling up her sleeve, which is an important symbol in American popular culture — “Rosie the Riveter.” During the Second World War, large numbers of American men went to war, factories lacked workers, and many women entered the factories. The famous poster said: “We Can Do It!”

This shows that ordinary people have their own cultural memories and their own forms of cultural mobilization. At that moment, this mobilization was not only a tribute to medical workers; it also carried forward a deep cultural tradition rooted in the working class. During the pandemic, I spoke with many people doing so-called “essential work”—nurses, pizza delivery workers, gas station owners. They would tell me about their parents or grandparents who had served in World War II, or about their own experience in the rescue efforts after 9/11. Those who came before them had given something to this country, had made sacrifices for it, and so they felt that they, too, could do their part. I found that deeply moving.

There was another small pizzeria I often went to. New York was locked down for a long time, and the government did not allow indoor dining for an extended period. The owner of that pizzeria posted a notice on the storefront window. I was very moved when I saw it and took a photograph. It read: “Governor Cuomo, pay attention: you are killing our business. Our families need to eat. Our employees need to work.” It was signed by the “Small Business Association for Reopening New York.”

I had always thought of this little shop as ordinary in the extreme. But when I saw that notice posted in the window, I suddenly felt that he was my hero. New York eventually reopened because of the persistence, conviction, and effort of many ordinary working people like these pizzeria owners. They taught intellectuals—a group that very much includes me—a lesson: history is alive in them. History is not just the history written in books; it is “my parents, my grandparents,” and “we are working for this society, fighting to sustain our employees and our families.” They are living, breathing New Yorkers, not abstract concepts. In the end, it was people like them who made it possible for New Yorkers to eat pizza freely again.

New York pizza was brought to New York by Italian immigrants, and today it has become New York’s own symbol. The spirit it represents lives in this working class. “We can do it” is a living conviction in them. So they truly are my points of reference: how a person should live — for oneself, for one’s family, for one’s community, and for this city.

Liu Qing: One very important thing about Mingjie’s book is that she has put down roots in New York to a considerable depth. The people we usually encounter are basically intellectuals or students, but Mingjie has placed her observation on more concrete individuals. A city or a group usually reveals its characteristics especially clearly only under extraordinary conditions. Whether trauma, war, the Renaissance, or natural disaster, at such moments the character of a city emerges like the character of a person.

When the pandemic struck, different people reacted differently. Some placed extreme importance on safety and would rather accept more restrictions on freedom. Others believed that complete confinement was impossible and chose to live more boldly. This raises a difficult question: as a social scientist, how can one maintain an overall perspective without falling into the floating position of an outsider?

An anthropologist like Mingjie stays with concrete people, bringing her own feelings and emotions. Concrete, embodied, vivid reality has tremendous power; it draws us in. At the same time, we also need to see that those whose situations, assumptions, and beliefs differ from ours also have their own realities. This is a difficult question that all social scientists face: within our own particular circumstances, how do we feel the particularity and standpoint of others who are different from us, or who even hold views that conflict with ours?

Intellectuals Need to Hear Another Bass Line

Mingjie Li: This book carries an anthropological concern, and anthropological writing must be based on the real lives of ordinary people. From a scholarly standpoint, it requires that factual judgments contain no omissions. On this point I have complete confidence: all the people and events in the book can be traced back. If you ask me whether something really happened, I can find news reports, archives, or the people involved. So I am completely confident about the factual judgments in this book.

But in all humanities topics, there are probably two kinds of judgment: factual judgment and value judgment. Although I record facts from as neutral a perspective as possible, no sentence is free of a cognitive schema. Every sentence contains, explicitly or implicitly, some form of value judgment, or invites readers to infer a certain value position. This book does contain value judgments, and I do not need to cover that up.

Many events in recent years have confirmed for me again and again that my observations at the time were accurate and important. This book is not about “what happened to Trump.” Rather, it explains “why Trump” — it tries to understand why America has come to where it is today.

I also want to emphasize in particular that the power of discourse in society still rests in the hands of the knowledge class, and I myself come from that class. What we see in the public sphere, although the internet has given individuals a certain space for expression, remains an ecology of opinion based on knowledge. This public sphere needs to add some voices — the voices that should truly become our points of reference. Otherwise, the knowledge class will feel confused, even frustrated, unable to understand “how the world could have become like this.”

This is precisely the question I want to answer. If you look at groups outside the bubble of the knowledge class, they have already given answers. It is a heavy bass line, constantly answering the questions posed by the times; and it has its own deep tradition, not the tradition of the knowledge class, but the tradition of the urban citizenry. We need to write out this bass line.

This also has to do with my disciplinary background. I work in sociolinguistics, urban folklore, and anthropology. These differ in position from sociological research based on macro-level statistical data and political science research grounded in policy studies. These different disciplines themselves remind us that frameworks of knowledge need different positions and standpoints if our understanding is to become more concrete and more three-dimensional.

Yan Fei: The value of this book lies precisely here. It is a truthful record of a city’s pain during a specific period, and of how people dealt with that pain. It is not an abstract discussion of the city, but a return to concrete individuals. The lives, judgments, struggles, and resilience of ordinary people are presented with great clarity.

Mingjie Li: Yes, it is a very truthful record. For example, as important as the main text of the book are the time and place appended to the end of each piece — when and where I wrote it. I did not change any of them, because witnesses and material evidence can be found for all those times and places.

I am rather sensitive about this, perhaps for personal reasons as well. I have severe asthma, and yet fate arranged for me to experience the New York lockdown and to be infected with COVID once in New York. It then forced me to go through two months of lockdown in Shanghai and to be infected again. Earlier still, in 2003, when I was working at the Hong Kong Institute of Education, I lived through the entire course of SARS. A person with a serious respiratory condition was fated to experience three epidemics directly related to the respiratory tract.

In these experiences, I suffered like millions upon millions of others. But I calmly told myself: you must survive. Living through three such “breaching experiments” made me see more clearly that as long as ordinary human sympathy and the desire to survive still exist even a little, healing will always remain possible. There is a kind of hope in life, and a kind of resilience. Its strength exceeds human imagination. Faced with this force, one must remain humble.

From Pandemic New York to a Building on Fifth Avenue

Yan Fei: Professor Mingjie, what is your next research plan? Or, to put it another way, what is the direction of your next urban writing project?

Mingjie Li: In fact, I do not plan very actively. Many things happen by chance. For example, I studied the Columbia University East Asian Library’s collection of Chinese paper gods because Director Jim Cheng introduced me to a set of archives. Wounded New York NY (Breaching Experiment) was also not something I deliberately set out to write; it was the pandemic that triggered my desire to record. At that time, writing was a way to overcome my own fear and confusion, and I hoped to find points of reference through writing. I would not call it a grand mission.

But I do have an opportunity in hand: a set of materials I have followed for nearly ten years, and not everyone has access to these materials. I will try, alongside teaching, to write this book. Teaching in the United States is very demanding. It has a rigorous system that not only pushes students hard but also takes up a great deal of teachers’ time. Still, I hope to finish the book.

This book will be about the reconstruction project of a building at 1143 Fifth Avenue in New York. Through the reconstruction of this urban landmark, I want to understand the city more deeply: from architects and New York government agencies — such as the Department of Buildings, the Department of Transportation, and the Landmarks Preservation Commission — to Upper East Side residents, down to the most basic contractors and construction workers. How did they intersect in the process of constructing a building, and how did they jointly shape this city? The working title of the next book is 1143 Fifth Avenue. It is close to a case study in anthropology, but I still hope it will be a book that any reader with a middle-school education or above can read. There are already enough specialized monographs for the academic world. I prefer to use nonfiction writing to turn rigorous anthropological fieldwork into a text that ordinary readers can enter.

Yan Fei: In other words, by looking at a building, you are looking at how the city of New York operates, and thereby understanding how a modern civilization is established. At the micro level, it is an attempt to understand urban rules and also the question of “what a city is” itself.

Liu Qing: Congratulations, Mingjie. We have known each other for many years, and I feel that at a certain stage in your academic life, you have found a way that truly fits your gifts, nature, and abilities. That is not easy. Some people never find it in their entire lives. The reason you are creative now is that you genuinely like what you are doing, and you are no longer constrained by performance pressure.

Mingjie Li: Yes. I am retired, and I no longer have to submit performance evaluations. There are many landscapes one can see only later in life. When we are young and read literature or poetry, it is a purely emotional kind of reading; we do not truly feel it. But when you encounter something that touches your own life, a poem you read when you were young may suddenly come alive at a particular moment during the pandemic.

When I saw the title The World as a Reference Answer, I thought of that passage in Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet: do not rush to seek answers. You cannot yet live with the answers. You must live in everything; first live through a life full of questions. Perhaps someday, without even noticing it, you will gradually live your way into a life filled with answers.

I am still writing my own points of reference, and I have not finished. Life is generous. It gives you difficulties, but it also gives you comfort; it arranges for you to encounter so many people. I am full of feeling, and full of gratitude. I hope we can all, in our own lives, slowly find our own points of reference.

For English readers: the full English version appears below the Chinese text, and English explanations for the photo captions appear beneath the Chinese captions.

7月4日是美国的独立日，2026年更是250周年大庆的日子。今年这一天，我已回沪探亲，没能像往年那样在纽约上州小镇看游行。当地传来的照片，让我重新想起过去多年在那里度过的独立日：满眼的星条旗、鸣笛的消防车、主干道上长长的游行队伍、抛洒糖果的花车、欢呼着捡糖的小朋友、傍晚星空里的烟火，以及各种彼此并不一致的政治表达。

图注：2024年7月4日，蒂康德罗加镇（Ticonderoga）独立日游行中的山姆大叔高跷表演者。红白蓝三色和街边观众，把小镇主街变成了独立日的节庆现场。

On July 4, 2024, an Uncle Sam stilt performer in the Independence Day parade in Ticonderoga. The red, white, and blue colors, together with the crowd along the street, turned the town’s main street into a Fourth of July festive scene.

我第一次在美国过独立日，是2014年在印第安纳大学访学时。一早就看到很多人家在门廊挂上星条旗，等我受邀到达邻居家，他们已经在后院摆上长条桌，桌围和一次性的餐盘都是星条旗的颜色，孩子们在草地上跑，大人们围着烤炉聊天，食物倒是非常朴素：热狗、汉堡、烤玉米、冰镇可乐。当时觉得一整天，满眼的红蓝白色，很是凑趣；没想到后来会常在纽约上州度夏，才明白这并不是一地一家的偶然安排，而更接近美国独立日后院里通行的某种民俗。

图注：2021年7月4日，基恩谷（Keene Valley）上的一名营造商在后院举办独立日派对，桌布、餐盘上都有星条旗的图案。

On July 4, 2021, a builder in Keene Valley hosted an Independence Day party in his backyard, with Stars and Stripes motifs on the tablecloth and plates.

第一次在独立日看列队游行，是2018年在纽约上州的杰镇（Jay）。镇上的消防车开道，商户、协会、学校和老爷车主都开车出来，主干道上浩浩荡荡；游行的队伍和旁观的人群，呼朋引伴。这种熟络的自发的热情，有别于我脑子里固有的组织化、仪式化的国庆游行，让我有些意外。在乡土气十足的热闹里，我注意到一个细节：街边人手一个的小星条旗、孩子们头上的红白蓝发箍、充气的山姆大叔，很多都印着 Made in China（中国制造）。美国独立日的视觉符号很本土，物质来源却很全球化。

图注：2018年7月4日，杰镇上的独立日花车游行。花车上的星条旗、红白蓝发饰和充气山姆大叔，构成典型的独立日视觉景观。这些节日用品中，相当一部分是“中国制造”。

On July 4, 2018, an Independence Day float parade in Jay. The Stars and Stripes on the floats, the red-white-and-blue hair accessories, and the inflatable Uncle Sam formed a typical Independence Day visual landscape. Quite a large share of these holiday items were made in China.

仲夏的独立日，后来慢慢成了我观察美国的一个固定窗口。最初看到的是热闹：星条旗、消防车、烟火、后院烤炉。看得多了，另一些“不协调”的东西才浮现出来。对大半生都生活工作在中国的我来说，真正惊奇的，也许不是美国人怎样庆祝国庆，而是他们怎样在国庆这一天公开表达对这个国家的不同理解。

按美国选举地图的习惯，民主党占优的州常被称为蓝州，共和党占优的州常被称为红州。纽约州通常被视为蓝州，也就是民主党在全州层面长期占优势。但如果离开纽约市，走进上州的小镇和乡村，就会看到另一幅政治地图。纽约州的蓝，很大程度上来自纽约市及若干城市化地区的人口优势；在辽阔的上州，许多小镇的政治气质更接近共和党传统。也正是在这样的地方，独立日游行和住家装饰才会呈现出一种值得玩味的并置：国旗、围绕移民执法和持枪权的表达、反对政府政策的标语，以及对国际议题的表态，可以同时出现在同一个节日现场。这提醒我，即便是在纽约州，纽约市也不是全部。

纽约州北部的蒂康德罗加镇并不是一个普通的上州小镇。1775年5月，殖民地民兵攻占蒂康德罗加堡；这座控制尚普兰湖通道的军事要塞，因此成为美国独立战争早期的重要记忆现场。也因此，每年7月4日的游行不只是地方节庆，还天然带着一层纪念独立战争先驱的意味。游行中的鼓笛队身着殖民时期服装，像是在把18世纪的战争记忆重新带回小镇的主街。

图注：2026年7月4日，蒂康德罗加镇独立日游行中的鼓笛队。因蒂康德罗加堡与美国独立战争的关系，这里的国庆游行带有明显的历史纪念意味。

On July 4, 2026, a fife-and-drum corps in Ticonderoga’s Independence Day parade. Because of Fort Ticonderoga’s connection to the American Revolution, the Fourth of July parade here carries a pronounced historical commemorative meaning.

但也正是在这样的现场，当下美国高度争议的政策立场也会突然出现。今年，一名参与者就穿着写有“I Support ICE”（我支持移民与海关执法局）的 T 恤出现在游行队伍中。ICE 是美国移民与海关执法局，在当代美国政治中与移民执法、边境安全和遣返政策密切相关。支持 ICE，并不只是一般意义上的“支持政府机构”，而是在移民问题高度撕裂的美国语境中，支持一个执法机构及其背后的移民执法政策。这个行为的意义，正在于它出现在独立日游行之中：国旗、历史纪念、小镇节庆和当下尖锐的政策立场，被放进同一个公共场景里。

图注：2026年7月4日，蒂康德罗加镇独立日游行现场，一名参与者穿着“I Support ICE”的T恤。

On July 4, 2026, at the Independence Day parade in Ticonderoga, one participant wore a T-shirt reading “I Support ICE.”

有些小镇并不一定在7月4日当天庆祝，而是把游行、烟火和本地节日安排在独立日前后，“伊丽莎白镇日”（E-town Day） 就是这样的例子。表面上看，这是一个典型的上州乡镇游行：拖拉机拖着干草车，孩子坐在车上，农场和轮胎店做着本地广告，美国国旗插在车尾。但在路边观众的T恤上，支持持枪权的标语也出现了：“你留着你的建议，我留着我们的枪”（You keep your advice, I’ll keep our guns）。政治并不总是以演讲和横幅出现，它也可以穿在一个普通观众的身上。

图注：2024年7月20日，伊丽莎白镇（Elizabethtown）游行现场。观众T恤上出现了支持持枪权的政治表达。

On July 20, 2024, at the parade in Elizabethtown. A political statement in support of gun rights appeared on a spectator’s T-shirt.

在独立日前后的上州，乡村屋舍的节日装饰，几乎是一场以星条旗为主要元素的民间装饰大赛。爱国彩旗垂饰（patriotic bunting）和红白蓝三色，成为车窗外不断闪过的夏日民俗景观。

图注：2026年7月4日，埃塞克斯镇（Essex）上颇具创意的独立日装饰。除了常见的星条旗和爱国彩旗垂饰，这家大门上的红白蓝三色垂幔颇引人注目。

On July 4, 2026, a particularly creative Independence Day decoration in Essex. In addition to the common American flag and patriotic bunting, the red, white, and blue drapery hanging on the front door was especially eye-catching.

然而，也见到有人将星条旗倒挂在门前。它仍然是美国国旗，却不再只是庆祝符号，而成为一种抗议语言。旁边的“反抗”旗帜、乌克兰旗和巴勒斯坦旗，把一个上州小镇的门前草坪，变成了对美国国内政治和国际秩序的微型评论场。

图注：2026年7月4日，刘易斯镇（Lewis）一户住宅前的旗帜陈列：美国国旗被倒挂，旁边还有带有“反抗”（Resist）字样的旗帜，以及乌克兰和巴勒斯坦旗。美国国旗倒挂通常被视为遇险或危机信号，在现实政治中也常被用作抗议表达。

On July 4, 2026, a display of flags in front of a residence in Lewis: the American flag hung upside down, beside a “Resist” flag, as well as Ukrainian and Palestinian flags. An inverted American flag is usually seen as a signal of distress or crisis, and in real-world politics is often used as a form of protest.

翻看这些年的独立日照片，我越来越清楚地意识到：美国独立日的奇特之处，并不在于大家都同意什么，而在于他们可以在同一天、同一条街上，公开地不同意。国旗、消防车、孩子的糖果、后院烤炉和彼此冲突的政治标语并置在一起，形成一种不必协调的公共生活。对我来说，这幅图景的冲击在于：国家认同并不总是被表现为一种声音，它也可以承认分歧，并让分歧带着国旗一起出现。

2026年7月11日于上海台风夜

No Need to Reconcile:

Photo Notes on Independence Day in Upstate New York

July 4 is America’s Independence Day, and in 2026 it marked the grand celebration of the nation’s 250th anniversary. This year, on that day, I was back in Shanghai visiting family and could not, as I had in previous years, watch the parades in small towns in upstate New York. The photos sent from there brought back the Independence Days I had spent there over the years: Stars and Stripes everywhere, fire trucks sounding their horns, long parade lines along the main street, floats tossing candy, children cheering as they scrambled to pick it up, fireworks in the evening sky, and all kinds of political expressions that did not necessarily agree with one another.

The first time I spent Independence Day in the United States was in 2014, when I was at Indiana University as a visiting scholar. Early that morning, I saw many households hanging the Stars and Stripes on their porches. By the time I arrived at a neighbor’s home, where I had been invited, they had already set up long tables in the backyard. The table skirts and disposable plates were all in the colors of the American flag. Children ran around on the lawn, while the adults stood around the grill chatting. The food, however, was very plain: hot dogs, hamburgers, grilled corn, and iced Coke. At the time, I found the sea of red, white, and blue throughout the day rather amusing. I had no idea that I would later spend many summers in upstate New York and come to understand that this was not an accidental arrangement by one family in one place, but something closer to a common folk custom in American backyards on Independence Day.

The first time I watched an Independence Day parade was in 2018 in Jay, in upstate New York. The town’s fire trucks led the way, followed by local businesses, associations, schools, and owners of vintage cars, all driving down the main street in one long, mighty procession. The parade participants and the crowd watching called out to friends and acquaintances along the way. This familiar, spontaneous warmth was different from the organized and ceremonial national day parades fixed in my mind, and it surprised me. Amid the lively, deeply local atmosphere, I noticed one detail: the small American flags in everyone’s hands by the roadside, the red-white-and-blue headbands worn by children, and the inflatable Uncle Sam all frequently bore the words Made in China. The visual symbols of America’s Independence Day were deeply local, but their material origins were thoroughly globalized.

Over time, midsummer Independence Day became a fixed window through which I observed America. At first, what I saw was festivity: flags, fire trucks, fireworks, backyard grills. The more I watched, the more other, less “harmonious” things emerged. For someone like me, who had spent most of my life living and working in China, what was truly surprising was perhaps not how Americans celebrate their national day, but how they publicly express different understandings of the country on that very day.

In the language of American electoral maps, states where Democrats dominate are often called blue states, while those where Republicans dominate are called red states. New York State is usually regarded as a blue state, meaning that Democrats have long held the advantage statewide. But once you leave New York City and enter the small towns and rural areas of upstate New York, another political map comes into view. New York State’s blue coloring comes to a large extent from the population advantage of New York City and a few urbanized areas. Across the vast stretches of upstate New York, many small towns have a political temperament much closer to the Republican tradition. It is precisely in such places that Independence Day parades and household decorations present a striking juxtaposition: the national flag, expressions surrounding immigration enforcement and gun rights, slogans opposing government policy, and positions on international issues can all appear at the same holiday scene. It reminds me that even within New York State, New York City is not the whole story.

The town of Ticonderoga in northern New York State is not just any ordinary upstate town. In May 1775, colonial militia forces captured Fort Ticonderoga. Because this military stronghold controlled the Lake Champlain corridor, it became an important site of memory in the early history of the American Revolution. For that reason, the annual July 4 parade is not merely a local celebration; it also naturally carries an undertone of commemorating the patriots of the American Revolution. The fifers and drummers in colonial dress seem to bring the memory of eighteenth-century war back onto the town’s main street.

And yet it is precisely in such a setting that sharply contested contemporary American policy positions can suddenly appear. This year, one participant showed up in the parade wearing a T-shirt that read I Support ICE. ICE is U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement, an agency closely bound up in contemporary American politics with immigration enforcement, border security, and deportation policy. To support ICE is not merely to support “a government agency” in some general sense; in the deeply polarized American context of immigration politics, it means supporting an enforcement body and the immigration policies behind it. The significance of the gesture lies in the fact that it appeared in an Independence Day parade: the national flag, historical commemoration, small-town festivity, and an acutely divisive policy position were all placed into the same public scene.

Some towns do not necessarily celebrate on July 4 itself, but arrange their parades, fireworks, and local festivities around Independence Day. E-town Day is one such example. On the surface, it looks like a typical upstate small-town parade: tractors pulling hay wagons, children sitting on the wagons, farms and tire shops advertising their local businesses, American flags planted at the back of the vehicles. But on the T-shirts of spectators by the roadside, one also sees slogans supporting gun rights: “You keep your advice, I’ll keep our guns.” Politics does not always appear in the form of speeches and banners; it can also be worn on the body of an ordinary spectator.

In upstate New York around Independence Day, the holiday decorations on country houses are almost like a folk decorating contest centered on the Stars and Stripes. Patriotic bunting and the red, white, and blue color scheme become a summer folk landscape flashing past the car window.

And yet there was someone hanging the American flag upside down at the front of their house. It was still the American flag, but it no longer functioned only as a symbol of celebration; it had become a language of protest. Beside it were a “Resist” flag, a Ukrainian flag, and a Palestinian flag, turning the front lawn of a house in a small upstate town into a miniature commentary on domestic American politics and the international order.

Looking back through these Independence Day photos over the years, I have become increasingly aware that what is peculiar about America’s Independence Day is not that everyone agrees on something, but that they can openly disagree on the same day, on the same street. The national flag, fire trucks, children’s candy, backyard grills, and mutually conflicting political slogans are all placed side by side, forming a kind of public life that does not need to be reconciled. What strikes me about this scene is that national identity is not always expressed as a single voice; it can also acknowledge disagreement, and allow disagreement to appear together with the flag.

July 11, 2026, on a typhoon night in Shanghai

For English readers: the full English version appears below the Chinese text, and English explanations for the photo captions appear beneath the Chinese captions.

写在前面

这篇文章写于十年前。在美国建国 250 周年的独立日重读它，我依然觉得它没有过时。

作为一个经历过所谓社会主义生活的人，我对“乌托邦”这个词始终怀有复杂的感情。它看上去很美，也确实曾激动过无数人；但历史同样反复证明，空想社会主义式的乌托邦不仅会饿肚子，而且可能非常危险。问题正在于：它越美，越诱人，越容易让人忘记代价。

美国今天正陷于左右严重分裂之中。重发这篇旧文，并不是为了简单否定某一种理想，而是想提醒自己，也提醒读者：凡是许诺以某种完美蓝图一次性解决现实困境的思想，都值得格外警惕。

A Note Beforehand

I wrote this essay ten years ago. Rereading it on Independence Day, the 250th anniversary of the founding of the United States, I do not think it has lost its relevance.

As someone who has lived through so-called socialist life, I have always had a complicated relationship with the word utopia. It looks beautiful, and it has stirred the hearts of countless people. But history has also shown, again and again, that utopian socialism can leave people hungry, and can become dangerous. That is precisely the point: the more beautiful it looks, the more seductive it becomes, and the easier it is to forget the cost.

The United States is now deeply polarized between left and right. I am republishing this old essay not to dismiss every ideal in simple terms, but to remind myself—and my readers—that any vision promising to resolve the dilemmas of reality all at once through a perfect blueprint deserves especially careful scrutiny.

乌托邦的迷宫：印第安纳新和谐镇与乌托邦之问

中学的政治课上，是背过“罗伯特·欧文”和“空想社会主义”的名词解释的，那样的时光里，小和尚都在念经。三十多年过去，等闲平地起波澜。不知道如今的课本里，是不是还残留背诵的作业；但很清晰地记得，双脚踏上欧文建设的“新和谐镇”的一瞬，中年的心脏，仍有高歌《国际歌》的冲动，“不要说我们一无所有，我们要做天下的主人”。

一代人和一代人的情结。

“新和谐镇”（New Harmony）在美国印第安纳州埃文斯维尔市区的郊外。驱车穿越瓦巴希河畔的丘陵，起伏广袤的玉米地和人烟渺渺的旷野尽头，就是这个九百多人的小镇——她居然是个真实的存在。

政治课的老师记不得了，但是记得他的唠叨：空想社会主义失败的原因是因为生产关系超越了生产力的发展。十来岁的懵懂少年，可怜一个句子里，只明白“失败”两个字。老师没有告诉过我们，其实欧文一败涂地，而且嵌入一代又一代的哲学家、政客和无辜学生脑海里的这个乌托邦只迎来过两个春天。

我们背住的怕只是个谜面。

1824年，罗伯特•欧文（Robert Owen，1771-1858）带着儿女、好友威廉·麦克卢尔和一众追随者横渡大西洋。在英国已然是成功实业家和社会改革者的欧文，曾在新拉纳克（New Lanark）工厂采取人性化管理，使其成为生活质量上佳的“新和谐公社”（今天已是联合国世界文化遗产），公社里有劳工食堂、夜间娱乐中心、性格陶冶馆、幼儿园、工人宿舍和消费合作社，工人的劳动时间从十三四个小时缩短到十小时，还设立了医疗和养老金制度。新拉纳克成了资本主义泛滥罪恶中的净土，名震朝野，连俄国尼古拉大公也专程来访。工业革命催生了欧文去思考公有制和大生产之间的关系，这些举措无疑顺应了当时以大规模工厂化生产取代个体工场手工生产的历史潮流。回望两百年前的英伦，我们心中仍会激起熟悉的涟漪。有过国营大厂生活经历的人，谁会忘记灯光球场夏夜的露天电影、大食堂自制的便宜冰棍、按工龄分配的宿舍楼里煤球炉的烟幕、子弟学校说方言的班主任、上下班大喇叭永远高亢的《大海航行靠舵手》（注：中国文化大革命时期的代表性政治歌曲）？欧文天上可知，他的理想在遥远东方几代人的生命记忆中，有过这样长久而真切的刻录？

欧文漂洋过海，希望在新世界实践他的“有道德的新世界”，并修正在新拉纳克社区建设中的缺憾，希望经由教育、科技和公众生活，建设一个始终快乐、开化和繁荣的社会。欧文选择了“和谐镇”（Harmony），因为它是现成的，屋舍厂房俨然；而且欧文以为精神上也是现成的，它本来已是公社。1814年，以乔治·拉普（George Rapp）为首的虔信派德国移民来此拓荒，以时价两美元一英亩的价钱买下了两万英亩的土地，建起了他们在美国前后拥有的三个“和谐公社”中的第二个。十年间，他们以原始公社的方式生活，分工合作，售卖纺织品和园艺产品，建造了教堂、商店、学校、街道和一百八十座房屋，人口达八百五十人。他们认为自己是上帝的选民，信仰末世论，坚信基督耶稣很快就会再次降世，带领他们从这个地上的天国去到上帝的天堂。所以，家庭生活是禁欲的，单身男女都以兄弟姐妹相待，分住在男女分开的集体宿舍中。

图注：新和谐镇鸟瞰，中间有复建的“新和谐”时期的原木屋。摄于2015年4月12日。A bird’s-eye view of New Harmony; in the center are reconstructed log cabins from the New Harmony period. April 12, 2015.

走进今人复原的一座座原木屋，有面包作坊，每星期轮流由专人负责烤制整个社区一个星期的面包；有织布坊、磨坊、酒坊，大家分工合作，集体劳作、按需分配。生活区，看到的木床是狭窄的，屋里几乎没有装饰，完全是清教徒的风格。触目的是每个床下都有一只小皮箱，在这个社区里，所有的物品都归公，仅有这只小皮箱可以装私人物品。如果不遵守财产共有的原则，就必须拎着这只皮箱脱离社区。

我无法遥想当年。

一只皮箱装得下我所有的欲望吗？恐怕只有笃信上帝，坚信一言一行都是成为上帝选民进入天堂的必然功课，才能有如此定力吧。在类似中国北方干打垒式的土墙后，刻着“和谐镇”居民的留言：“1824年5月24日，就要出发。上帝啊，以您的伟大和仁慈，保佑我们的身体和灵魂吧。”他们在这一天启程迁回了宾夕法尼亚州，将“和谐镇”以时价十五万美元转卖给了欧文。

然而，欧文将其改名为“新和谐镇”时，他想建立的并不是这样的“宗教乌托邦”，而是一个没有剥削、没有压迫、人人劳动、财产公有的“社会乌托邦”，力主在社会理论、教育体制和科学发现等领域进行改革。他强调教育对人格的熏陶，建立了剧场、学校；规定全体公社社员按照年龄大小从事有益的学习和劳动。然而，与先前“和谐公社”相比较，“新和谐公社”既没有虔信派那样的忠诚信仰和强大的精神领袖，又缺乏任劳任怨的熟练工匠和充沛的劳动力。剧院每周有戏，学生都在上课，可是工厂作坊却时常停产关门。“共产主义者、流浪汉、冒险家、骗子”，各色人等，蜂拥而至；一千二百多居民里，脑力劳动者多过体力劳动者。欧文对宗教信仰自由的排斥，也赶跑了很多潜在的合作伙伴。两年之后，欧文入不敷出，“新和谐镇”难以自给自足，在一个极寒的冬季过后，无以为继，宣告破产。站在当年的教室里，我倒是突然清醒地明白了中学政治课上的另一句话：上层建筑必须建立在经济基础之上，而不是相反。

图注：新和谐镇街景，右边是欧文时期建造的市民议事厅，摄于2015年4月12日。A street view of New Harmony; on the right is the public meeting hall built in Owen’s time. April 12, 2015.

“长桥寂寞春寒夜，只有诗人一舸归”，欧文最后终老英伦。有意味的是，欧文的乌托邦社会主义实践失败了，但是由此带来的科学家、艺术家将“新和谐镇”建成了美国自然科学尤其是地质学的中心，直接或间接地引导了美国教育和科学未来发展的道路。特别是欧文留在美国的几个儿子对印第安纳州影响甚大。大儿子罗伯特·戴尔·欧文（Robert Dale Owen）在代表印第安纳州出任美国议员期间，签署了建立史密森学会的协议，这是美国最重要的博物馆机构，造就了华盛顿特区盛大的博物馆群；他还成功助推了离婚自由的法律。三儿子大卫·戴尔·欧文（David Dale Owen）是地质学家，在美国西北做了大量的地质普查。小儿子理查德•戴尔•欧文（Richard Dale Owen）在美国内战中做过上校，还是普渡大学的第一任校长。

今天“新和谐镇”历史街区的赞助人是慈善家简·布莱弗·欧文（Jane Blaffer Owen），这位老欧文的曾曾孙媳希望两代“和谐公社”的历史遗产能够持续激励人们将乌托邦从乌有之乡建设成现实天堂。她资助了很多建筑师、景观设计师来这里修复古建，并新建了极富当代创意的公共空间和多座教堂，以待“新和谐镇”成为当代的“精神乌托邦”。镇上的无顶教堂仿佛是她心愿的标识，在这座没有屋顶、没有坐席的教堂里，人和天空离得很近，脚下草根深埋，鲜花遥远。如今，九百多人的小镇上大部分是认同乌托邦理念的知识分子、艺术家和手工艺者；街道上颇多艺术装置、街心公园和公共雕塑；迎面所见的都是神色悠闲、装束得体的中老年者；街角的“黄色酒馆”几经重建，还可以买到当年的德式“炸猪脑汉堡”，那是第一代清教徒物尽其用、节俭生活的遗迹；当年欧文公社的议事厅现在变成了社区活动室，人们正在为晚间一对新人的婚礼忙碌；画廊、餐厅、酒吧和艺术家工作室散布在静谧的绿荫中。当然，据说每年的文化遗产周，这里也会人潮汹涌，热闹非凡。

这就是所谓的乌托邦吗？是那么多人倾家荡产，甚至献出生命的事业所在吗？是我们的父辈曾经为之骄傲为之奋斗为之死伤无数，如今不被理解甚至被嘲笑的那个梦想吗？游客中心的黑板上，写满各种文字的缅怀和感想，我在上面迟疑地加上了四个汉字：“天下为公”（注：源自《礼记》，后被孙中山用作政治口号）。我们这一代人有被规训了的记忆，装着很多未必真正理解了的真理。

于我，乌托邦仍旧是个难解的谜。

我无法生活在“宗教乌托邦”里，我有七情六欲，也不确定会有来世；我无法生活在“社会乌托邦”里，我觉得人人都有选择信仰方式和生活方式的自由；不愿意生活的每个细节都被某个机构统一规划；我也无法生活在“精神乌托邦”里，我怀疑这是有钱有闲阶层的生活样态，更担心所有人整天都在清谈的社会最终会饿肚子。但是，我确实觉得一个“没有剥削、没有压迫”的社会是多么地美好，我确实每次听到《国际歌》都心潮澎湃，希望“英特纳雄耐尔就一定要实现”。

“新和谐镇”上有两个好玩的迷宫，一模一样的。一个在城南，是1939年重建的有四个入口的篱笆围城，走进森然的冬青树丛，我有点迷茫和胆怯，但沿着走，很顺利地就到达了中心，看见一个六角形的小屋，内壁画着圣母像。据说当年“和谐镇”的人们在劳作一天后，会跟在神父的背后，跟读背诵经文，一圈一圈地走一遍这个迷宫。早在十二世纪，走迷宫就是基督徒象征性的冥想仪式，欧洲的沿海渔民在出海前都会郑重其事地走走迷宫来祈祷平安。

另一个迷宫在镇图书馆的旁边，当代风格的石面上划出行走的轨迹。来镇上的人，多喜欢在这个时尚的新迷宫上玩耍。孩子们在中心点四周奔跑嬉闹，嘻嘻哈哈地跨过所有的界限；倒是很多大人，按照旁边的指引，默念着心里的爱人与疑惑、挣扎与纠结、大秘密与小确幸，虔诚绕行。与其他地方的迷宫不同，“新和谐镇”的是单轨迷宫。你只要沿着它的轨迹走，尽管绕过来绕过去，要花一些时间走不少的路，但是，一定没有歧路，一定不会碰壁，然而，也不存在任意选择的道路，只有沿着这唯一的路，才能达到终点。

图注：新和谐镇上的当代迷宫，摄于2015年4月12日。The contemporary labyrinth in New Harmony. April 12, 2015.

这个迷宫是“新和谐镇”的镇徽，实际上它是十二世纪建造的法国沙特尔主教座堂（Chartres Cathedral）里迷宫的复制品。年近半百的我，站在异国他乡的“和谐”土地上，若有所思：儿时游艺的迷宫，确实有某种宗教性的人生隐喻在——那些犹豫和弯路、那些期冀和目标，那些最终引领我们的平安、救赎和圆满，那些道路、真理和生命。

迷宫的中心就是乌托邦吗？

历史上与欧文齐名的空想社会主义者还有法国的圣西门和傅立叶，但只有欧文尝试过实践，他的成与败因而闪烁别样的光辉。记得“新和谐镇”迷宫不远处有个大喷泉，基座上写着哲学家奥古斯丁的名言：It is solved in the walking。（唯前行，乃解答。）

写于2016年8月1日

收入拙作《那是风》（上海书店出版社，2019年版）

The Labyrinth of Utopia:

New Harmony, Indiana, and the Utopian Question

In middle-school politics class, we had to memorize the definitions of terms like “Robert Owen” and “utopian socialism.” In those days, even little monks were chanting scripture. More than thirty years have passed, and calm waters have stirred up waves. I do not know whether today’s textbooks still leave students such recitation assignments. But I remember clearly that the moment my feet touched “New Harmony,” built by Owen, my middle-aged heart still had the impulse to sing The Internationale: “We have been naught, we shall be all.”

This belongs to our generation; it is part of our generation’s emotional inheritance.

New Harmony is in the outskirts of Evansville, Indiana. Driving through the rolling hills along the Wabash River, past vast, undulating cornfields and a sparsely inhabited wilderness, you come at last to this little town of just over nine hundred people—and it actually exists.

I no longer remember the politics teacher, but I do remember his constant refrain: utopian socialism failed because the relations of production had outstripped the development of the productive forces. At ten or so years old, still in that haze of confusion, the only two characters I truly understood in the whole sentence were “failed.” The teacher never told us that Owen had in fact suffered a complete defeat, and that this utopia, lodged in the minds of generations of philosophers, politicians, and innocent students, had lasted only two springs.

What we memorized may only have been the riddle, not the answer.

In 1824, Robert Owen (1771–1858), together with his children, his friend William Maclure, and a group of followers, crossed the Atlantic. Owen, already a successful industrialist and social reformer in Britain, had introduced humane management at his factory in New Lanark, turning it into a “New Harmony community” with a high quality of life—today a UNESCO World Heritage Site. There were workers’ canteens, evening recreation centers, an Institution for the Formation of Character, kindergartens, workers’ housing, and consumer cooperatives. Working hours were reduced from thirteen or fourteen hours to ten, and systems for medical care and pensions were established. New Lanark became a pure land amid the rampant evils of capitalism and gained fame far and wide; even Grand Duke Nicholas of Russia made a special visit. The Industrial Revolution led Owen to think about the relationship between public ownership and large-scale production, and these measures undoubtedly accorded with the historical trend of replacing individual handicraft workshops with mass factory production. Looking back at Britain two hundred years ago, one still feels familiar ripples stir within. Who among those who once lived through life in large state-owned factories could forget the open-air movies on summer nights at the floodlit athletic grounds, the cheap popsicles made in the communal dining hall, the smoke from coal briquettes in apartment blocks assigned by seniority, or the blaring loudspeakers broadcasting “The Helmsman Guides the Voyage” day after day as the dialect-speaking homeroom teachers came and went? (Note: a representative political song from China’s Cultural Revolution.) Could Owen in heaven have known that his ideal would be so enduringly and vividly inscribed in the life memories of several generations in the distant East?

Owen crossed the ocean hoping to put into practice in the New World his “New Moral World,” and to correct the shortcomings of the community he had built at New Lanark, hoping through education, science and technology, and public life to create a society that would remain happy, enlightened, and prosperous. He chose Harmony because it was ready-made: the houses and workshops already stood in order. And he thought that spiritually, too, it was ready-made, for it had already been a commune. In 1814, German Pietist immigrants led by George Rapp came here to open up the land. At the then price of two dollars an acre, they bought twenty thousand acres and built the second of the three “Harmony communities” they would establish in America. Over the course of ten years, they lived in a primitive communal way, dividing labor and working cooperatively, selling textiles and horticultural products, and building churches, shops, schools, streets, and 180 houses, with the population reaching 850. They believed themselves to be God’s chosen people, embraced millenarianism, and firmly believed that Christ would soon descend again, leading them from this earthly kingdom into God’s heavenly one. Family life was therefore ascetic: unmarried men and women treated one another as brothers and sisters and lived separately in communal dormitories divided by sex.

Walking into the restored log cabins today, one sees a bakery, where designated individuals took turns baking an entire week’s bread for the whole community; one sees weaving workshops, mills, and distilleries, everyone divided by task, laboring collectively, with distribution according to need. In the living quarters, the wooden beds are narrow, and there is almost no decoration in the rooms: entirely Puritan in style. What catches the eye is that beneath each bed there is a small leather suitcase. In this community, all property belonged to the collective; only this little suitcase could hold personal belongings. If one did not abide by the principle of communal property, one had to pick up this suitcase and leave the community.

I find it impossible to imagine that world.

Could one suitcase hold all my desires? I suspect only someone who deeply believed in God, and believed that every word and deed was a necessary task on the way to becoming one of God’s chosen and entering heaven, could have possessed such inner steadiness. Behind an earthen wall, rather like the rammed-earth walls of northern China, is carved a farewell note left by residents of Harmony: “May 24, 1824, departure is at hand. O God, in Your greatness and mercy, bless our bodies and our souls.” On that day they set out to return to Pennsylvania, selling Harmony to Owen for the then price of $150,000.

Yet when Owen renamed it New Harmony, what he wanted to build was not such a “religious utopia,” but rather a “social utopia” without exploitation, without oppression, in which everyone worked and property was held in common. He advocated reform in social theory, the educational system, and scientific discovery. He emphasized the shaping of character through education, building a theater and schools; he required all members of the commune to engage in useful study and labor according to age. But compared with the earlier Harmony commune, New Harmony had neither the pious loyalty and powerful spiritual leader of the Pietists, nor their diligent skilled craftsmen and abundant labor force. The theater staged performances every week, and the students all attended classes, but the factories and workshops frequently stopped production and shut down. “Communists, drifters, adventurers, swindlers”—people of every kind flocked in. Among the more than 1,200 residents, there were more intellectual workers than manual laborers. Owen’s rejection of freedom of religious belief also drove away many potential partners.

Two years later, Owen’s income could no longer cover his expenses. New Harmony was unable to sustain itself. After an extremely severe winter, it could no longer continue and declared bankruptcy. Standing in one of the old classrooms, I suddenly understood another sentence from my middle-school politics class: the superstructure must be built upon the economic base, not the other way around.

“On the lonely bridge, on a spring-cold night, only the poet rows home in a single skiff.”(“长桥寂寞春寒夜，只有诗人一舸归”, quoted from two lines of poetry by the Southern Song dynasty poet Jiang Kui.) Owen ended his days back in Britain. What is meaningful is that although Owen’s experiment in utopian socialism failed, the scientists and artists who came in its wake turned New Harmony into a center of American natural science, especially geology, and in direct and indirect ways guided the future course of education and scientific development in the United States. Owen’s sons who remained in America had an especially great impact on Indiana. His eldest son, Robert Dale Owen, while serving as a congressman from Indiana, signed the legislation establishing the Smithsonian Institution—the most important museum institution in the United States, which gave rise to the grand cluster of museums in Washington, D.C. He also successfully promoted legislation liberalizing divorce. His third son, David Dale Owen, was a geologist who carried out extensive geological surveys in the American Northwest. His youngest son, Richard Dale Owen, served as a colonel in the American Civil War and was also the first president of Purdue University.

Today, the patron of the New Harmony historic district is the philanthropist Jane Blaffer Owen, the wife of Owen’s great-great-grandson. She hoped that the historical legacy of the two Harmony communes might continue to inspire people to build utopia from nowhere into a real paradise. She funded many architects and landscape designers to restore old buildings here, and also to construct public spaces of striking contemporary imagination and several churches, in the hope that New Harmony might become a contemporary “spiritual utopia.” The Roofless Church in the town seems to stand as the emblem of her wish. In that church, with no roof and no pews, human beings are very close to the sky; grass roots lie deep underfoot, flowers far away. Today, most of the more than nine hundred people in the town are intellectuals, artists, and craftspeople who identify with the utopian ideal. There are many art installations, small parks, and public sculptures along the streets. Most of the people one encounters are middle-aged or elderly, leisurely in expression and neatly dressed. At the corner, the Yellow Tavern, rebuilt several times, still sells the old German-style “fried pork brains sandwich,” a relic of the first generation of Puritans making full use of everything and living frugally. The meeting hall of Owen’s commune has now become a community room, where people were bustling about preparing for the wedding of a young couple that evening. Galleries, restaurants, bars, and artists’ studios are scattered in the quiet shade. Of course, I am told that during the annual heritage week, the place also fills with crowds and becomes full of excitement.

Is this what is called utopia? Is this the place for which so many people lost all they had, even gave up their lives? Is this that dream for which our parents’ generation once took pride, once struggled, once suffered countless wounds and deaths, and which today is misunderstood and even mocked? On the blackboard at the visitors’ center were written all kinds of memorial messages and reflections. I hesitated, then added four Chinese characters: 天下为公—“All under Heaven belongs to the public.” (Note: from the Liji*, later used by Sun Yat-sen as a political slogan.)* Our generation carries memories formed by discipline and instruction, filled with many truths we may never really have understood.

For me, utopia remains a difficult riddle.

I could not live in a “religious utopia”: I have human desires, and I am not even sure there is an afterlife. I could not live in a “social utopia”: I believe everyone has the freedom to choose their own faith and way of life; I would not want every detail of life to be uniformly planned by some institution. Nor could I live in a “spiritual utopia”: I suspect it is a way of life for the leisured and well-off classes, and I worry even more that a society where everyone spends all day in elegant talk will eventually go hungry. And yet I truly feel how beautiful a society “without exploitation and without oppression” would be. I really do feel my heart surge every time I hear The Internationale, hoping that “the Internationale will surely be realized.”

There are two delightful labyrinths in New Harmony, identical to each other. One is in the south of town: a hedge maze with four entrances, rebuilt in 1939. Walking into the darkly dense holly bushes, I felt a little lost and timid, but following the path, I reached the center quite smoothly, where I saw a small hexagonal structure with an image of the Virgin Mary painted on the inner wall. It is said that in those days the people of Harmony, after a day’s labor, would follow behind the priest, reciting scripture as they went, walking this labyrinth round and round. As early as the twelfth century, walking a labyrinth was already a symbolic Christian ritual of contemplation; fishermen along the coasts of Europe would solemnly walk labyrinths before going to sea, praying for safety.

The other labyrinth is beside the town library, its walking path traced out in a contemporary-style stone surface. Visitors to the town mostly enjoy playing on this fashionable new labyrinth. Children run and shout around the center point, laughing as they step across all the boundaries. Many adults, by contrast, follow the instructions at the side, silently reciting in their hearts their loved ones and their doubts, their struggles and entanglements, their great secrets and small joys, as they devoutly walk the circuit. Unlike labyrinths elsewhere, New Harmony’s is a unicursal labyrinth. As long as you follow its path, though it twists and turns and takes time and many steps, there is certainly no wrong turn and no dead end. Yet there is also no road of free choice. Only by following this single path can one reach the end.

This labyrinth is New Harmony’s town emblem. In fact, it is a copy of the labyrinth in Chartres Cathedral in France, built in the twelfth century. Standing there on this “harmonious” ground in a foreign land, approaching fifty, I found myself thinking: the labyrinths of childhood play really did contain a kind of religious metaphor for life—those hesitations and detours, those hopes and goals, those things that ultimately guide us toward peace, redemption, and fulfillment, those ways, truths, and lives.

Is the center of the labyrinth utopia?

Among the utopian socialists of history who were as famous as Owen were the French thinkers Saint-Simon and Fourier. But only Owen actually tried to put his ideals into practice, and so his success and failure shine with a different kind of light. I remember that not far from the New Harmony labyrinth there was a large fountain, and on its pedestal was written a line from Saint Augustine: It is solved in the walking.

Written on August 1, 2016
Included in my collection Go with the Wind: Anthropological Notes Overseas (Shanghai Bookstore Publishing House, 2019)

For English readers: the full English version appears below the Chinese text, and English explanations for the photo captions appear beneath the Chinese captions.

《第五大道1143号》是我正在写作中的非虚构项目，记录纽约第五大道1143号这幢历史建筑自2014年至2026年的重建过程。凡援引公开发表的媒体内容，涉及人名、地名、价码等信息，均照实录出；除公务部门及愿意公开姓名与相关事实者外，其余人物与公司信息均作必要处理。此次发布的是第2章《纸上过关》第 4节（中英文版），记录第五大道1143号开工前移动一棵小树的周折。前序内容，请参见之前的发布。

“1143 Fifth Avenue” documents the more than decade-long reconstruction of a historic building at 1143 Fifth Avenue in New York (2014–2026). Following basic anthropological practice, when I cite publicly available media sources, details such as names, places, and prices are reproduced as recorded. With the exception of government bodies and individuals who have explicitly agreed to make their names and relevant facts public, all other individuals and companies have been anonymized to protect their names and privacy. On Substack, this project will be released as a selective serial (with both free and paid posts).

This installment presents Chapter 2, Clearing It on Paper, Section 4 (Chinese–English edition). This section recounts the difficulties of relocating a small tree before construction could begin at 1143 Fifth Avenue.For earlier context, please refer to previous posts.

2.4 一棵小树

2017年5月，允许动土的施工许可证已经拿下来，但迟迟未能开工，除了申报各类许可证，尤其是左邻右舍故意阻拦访问协议的签署而导致耗时大半年的诉讼外，一棵小树成了活生生的绊脚石，却在意料之外——而且被冠以很多的名义，而小树本身绝对是无辜的。

这是一棵有身份的树。2014年秋天，一棵只有一米高的树苗种在了第五大道1143号的大门口，上面挂着“纽约市公园与娱乐局”（DOP,下面简称“公园局”）制作的铭牌，不仅萌萌哒地写着“我是你的树苗”，而且还有一个二维码，这是它的身份证，记录有树种、种植时间、种植机构和保养须知，还特别申明这棵编号为7666000的红枫树是“纽约百万树”（MillionTreeNYC）项目中的一员。纽约市府从2007年开始，联手多家非政府组织一同开展城区植树计划，到2015年纽约市公园局骄傲地宣布完成了第一百万棵树木种植的目标。纽约公园局网站上有一张全世界最全面的城市活树电子地图，从图上找到部分市属树木的信息。

图注：2015年10月9日，第五大道1143号楼前的小围栏里，这棵小枫树刚站了一年，它还不知道自己要经历怎样繁复的手续，才能搬到十几米外的新家。

October 9, 2015, in the small fenced area in front of 1143 Fifth Avenue, this little maple tree had just stood there for one year; it had no idea what complicated procedures it would have to go through in order to move to its new home a dozen meters away.

纽约人才济济，而树木稀稀，尤其是在曼哈顿，简直树不敌楼。在纽约，破坏、移除或者伤害属于市政财产的树木（例如行道树）是违法的，可被处以不超过1.5万美元的罚款或者是不超过一年的监禁。在对偷窃、抢劫和人身攻击等刑事违法行为难以有真正作为的所谓“宽容”的纽约，树的命恐怕是比人贵的。

在属于纽约市政树木的50英尺（大约15米）范围内作业，申领“树木作业许可证”是必不可少的程序。工地附近的树木，要做足保护功夫，要用半人多高的原木栅栏围住，有的还要架设橘黄色的塑料护网，但这些一般都是针对树龄较长的大树。这棵枫树还是幼苗，刚种下去没多久，并未真正扎下根来，而且就在第五大道的街沿，如果按常规做法加装围栏，会堵住工程车辆的必经之路，而小树长期处在工程产生的污水和粉尘中，也绝没有好日子可过。其实2016年5月地标保护委员会的批件到手，斯蒂芬就琢磨起了这棵树的去处，他去咨询了公园局，得到了明确的指引：要么砍掉这棵小树，但要承诺在别处补种十倍以上的树苗；要么将这棵树移至他处，以后再原地补种，最近的可能是东95街18号门前，那里有一个行道树的空位。第二个方案相对简便，但斯蒂芬并不能自作主张，自行解决。

因为移树要有资质，而且移到哪里去、怎么移都要申报公园局核准。按照公园局的规定，开展作业的公司必须有保险，有些情况下还要提前缴纳保证金；斯蒂芬忙不迭地给小枫树买好了保险。公园局还强制要求，执行树木作业的公司中至少要有一名成员是国际植物学会（ISA）认证的植物学家，或者持有公园局认证的同等证书；如果要打农药，还需要额外的执照。另外，树木只能在春季的3月到5月以及秋季的10月到12月这6个月之内移栽；移栽后的树木必须存活2年，否则申请方还要负责更换新树。尤为重要的是，公园局毫不客气地明文规定，“公园局有权拒绝任何与本机构关系不佳的承包商或实体的申请。若要保持良好信誉，就必须遵守本部的标准，否则园林绿化公司或者养护机构将被暂停获得本机构许可证的资格，为期12个月”。斯蒂芬太清楚这些规定意味着什么，他决定不去竞价，直接去找“市镇与园林”（Town and Garden LDT），这家绿化公司执照齐全，业务熟练，而且他们常年与公园局打交道，人头熟、信息多，程序门清。

2016年9月，他正式联系了东95街联排别墅的业主，表示愿意把这棵枫树送给他，并且移栽相关的费用全包；豪宅主人自然是何乐而不为。斯蒂芬当即把这个预案报给了公园局，夏天不是允许移栽的时候，但他希望能启动申报许可证的流程，毕竟文件来文件去，有时候会耗掉不止一个季节。当时他想，这简直是天作之合，从第五大道往南五六米的第一个路口左转，走10米就到了。走过去，不过三四分钟！

但小树不会走路。

公园局所谓的许可证，即“树木作业许可证”。申请这份许可，需要提交写明项目意图的信函，从而获得一个独立的施工单号；一份树木现有位置条件和布局的说明书，树木移动的方案图纸和建筑工程路面规划图；实景照片，以及最重要的，要提交解释市政树木与项目之间存在冲突的说明书。这些信函、图纸和说明，只能由具有资质的建筑师出具，斯蒂芬为此给皮拉建筑事务所另付了编写这些材料的费用。

“市镇与园林”公司果然有经验，很快集齐各式材料，11月初办下了许可证，这一步当然不是免费的，包含许可证的申办在内的整个移栽作业需要支付给绿化公司3785美元（不含税）。许可证的有效期是11月7日到12月底，公园局要求移栽时要把原有树坑扩大到宽5英尺、长10英尺，也就是要切割掉人行道上的部分水泥路面，这不仅需要增加1250美元的费用（不含税），而且要征得东95街18号业主的同意。卡内基山上的业主，非富即贵，或者，非贵即富。斯蒂芬再去联络，豪宅主人说没问题，但“费用要你们出”，斯蒂芬说“好，没问题”；豪宅主人又说，“你们还要免费为我装上铸铁小围栏”，这句话让斯蒂芬有点不舒服了。

很多事情，与钱有关，又与钱无关。

图注：2016年11月3日第五大道1143号收到了移除门前小枫树的“树木作业许可证”。

November 3, 2016, 1143 Fifth Avenue received the “Tree Work Permit” for the removal of the small maple tree in front of the building.

11月21日上午，正当准备移树的时候，斯蒂芬的电脑上突然跳出来两封公园局发给“市镇与园林”公司的电邮，他收到的是抄送件：

请注意，在施工现场进行的任何工作申请均需向中央林业许可证和规划审查小组提交规划审查申请。在这些施工现场申请许可证时，必须在申请中提供与工作申请相关的BIS编号。此外，所有在施工现场的树木移植工作均由树木信托基金处理。

请注意，上述地点的种植许可证申请，在收到公园批准的场地规划图之前，将不会获得种植许可证和施工单。第五大道1143号的申请必须通过许可证和规划审查小组提交给中央林业局。在许可证申请中，必须提供与此工作申请相关的BIS编号，以便进行规划审查，之后任何其他许可证申请才会被确认或授权。

由于该地点是规划审查地点，曼哈顿林业局不会为该地点签发任何额外的许可证，请勿在未遵循正确的规划审查程序的情况下向林业局提出申请。

任何语言中的官腔对平民而言都是外语。斯蒂芬知道“BIS”，这是建筑局管理的“建筑信息系统”（Building Information System）的缩写，可以在线查询纽约市所有不动产记录在案的信息；但那些“小组、基金、局、规划审查程序”，看得他一头雾水。“市镇与园林”公司的负责人倒是很淡定，许可证和施工单明明已然在手，知道这一定是出了什么乌龙，“您定定心心的，让我们来搞定”。

图注：第五大道1143号的翻新工程历时10年，开工前才2层楼高的树苗，完工时已经长到5层楼高了——这棵树无意间成了活的光阴的尺，成了不说话的见证人。（左）2016年11月21日，“市镇与园林”公司工程车的后面，是刚移栽到新址东95街18号门前的小枫树。（右）2025年5月6日东95街18号门前的那棵枫树，树下的小围栏应该是业主自行解决的。

The reconstruction of 1143 Fifth Avenue lasted ten years. The sapling, which had been only two stories tall before construction began, had grown to the height of five stories by the time the project was completed—unintentionally, this tree became a living measure of time, a silent witness. (Left) November 21, 2016, behind the truck of Town and Garden is the small maple tree newly transplanted to its new location in front of 18 East 95th Street. (Right) May 6, 2025, the same maple tree in front of 18 East 95th Street; the small fence beneath it was likely installed by the homeowner.

下午，“市镇与园林”公司的车开到第五大道，跳下来一名壮汉，一把铁锹，三下五除二，这棵小小的枫树，就搬到了东95街18号前的新址。师傅给它挖坑、施肥、移植、打桩、修枝、浇水，左右还绑上了2根支撑条，最后清理好四周，前前后后也就一个多小时；而与这个干净利落的体力劳作相关的其他，却花费了3个多月，外加接近1万美元的真金白银。

在纽约办事，没有钱是万万不能的。

更让人抓狂的是，钱在纽约，又不是万能的。

2.4 The Little Tree

In May 2017, the work permit allowing ground-breaking had already been obtained, yet construction did not begin for a long time. Aside from the need to apply for various permits, and especially the half-year of litigation caused by the neighbors’ deliberate obstruction of the signing of the access agreement, a small tree unexpectedly became a very real stumbling block—and it was burdened with many justifications, while the tree itself was entirely innocent.

This was no ordinary tree. In the fall of 2014, a sapling only one meter tall was planted at the entrance of 1143 Fifth Avenue. Hanging on it was a plaque produced by the New York City Department of Parks and Recreation (DOP, hereafter “Parks Department”), which not only charmingly read “I am your tree,” but also carried a QR code—its identification—recording the species, planting date, planting organization, and maintenance instructions. It also specifically stated that this red maple, numbered 7666000, was part of the “MillionTreesNYC” initiative. Beginning in 2007, the New York City government, in collaboration with multiple non-governmental organizations, launched an urban tree-planting program. By 2015, the Parks Department proudly announced that it had achieved the goal of planting one million trees. On the Parks Department website, there is a comprehensive global digital map of urban living trees, through which information on some municipally owned trees can be found.

New York is full of talented people, but trees are scarce—especially in Manhattan, where trees are no match for buildings. In New York, damaging, removing, or harming trees that are municipal property, such as street trees, is illegal and can be punished by a fine of up to $15,000 or imprisonment of up to one year. In a city often described as “tolerant” when it comes to crimes such as theft, robbery, and assault, where enforcement is often ineffective, the life of a tree can seem more valuable than that of a person.

Within 50 feet, or about 15 meters, of a municipally owned tree, applying for a “Tree Work Permit” is an indispensable procedure. Trees near construction sites must be carefully protected: they are typically enclosed with wooden barriers more than half a person’s height, and sometimes orange plastic protective netting is installed. These measures are generally intended for older trees. This maple, however, was still a sapling, newly planted and not yet firmly rooted, and it stood right at the curb on Fifth Avenue. If enclosed according to standard practice, it would block the essential path of construction vehicles; moreover, if left in place, the tree would have no easy life amid the wastewater and dust generated by construction. In fact, once the LPC approval was obtained in May 2016, Stephen had already begun to consider what to do with the tree. He consulted the Parks Department and received clear guidance: either cut down the tree and commit to planting more than ten saplings elsewhere, or relocate the tree and later replant at the original site. The nearest possible new location was in front of 18 East 95th Street, where there was an empty tree pit. The second option was the simpler one, but Stephen could not resolve it on his own.

Relocating a tree requires proper qualifications, and both the destination and the method must be submitted to the Parks Department for approval. According to the Parks Department’s regulations, the company carrying out the work must have insurance, and in some cases must also pay a deposit in advance; Stephen promptly arranged insurance for the little maple tree. The Parks Department also mandates that at least one member of the company performing tree work must be certified by the International Society of Arboriculture (ISA), or hold an equivalent certification recognized by the Parks Department; if pesticides are to be used, an additional license is required. In addition, trees can only be transplanted during six months of the year: March through May in the spring, and October through December in the fall. After transplantation, the tree must survive for two years; otherwise, the applicant is responsible for replacing it. Most importantly, the Parks Department clearly stipulates that “the Department reserves the right to deny any application from contractors or entities with whom it does not maintain a good relationship. To maintain good standing, compliance with the Department’s standards is required; otherwise, landscaping companies or maintenance entities will be suspended from obtaining permits from the Department for a period of 12 months.” Stephen understood very well what these regulations meant. He decided not to seek competitive bids, but instead went directly to Town and Garden LTD. This landscaping company had all the necessary licenses, was experienced in its operations, and had long dealt with the Parks Department; they knew the people involved, had access to the necessary information, and were thoroughly familiar with the procedures.

In September 2016, he formally contacted the owner of the townhouse, offering to give him the maple tree and to cover all costs associated with its relocation; the owner of the luxury residence naturally saw no reason to refuse. Stephen immediately submitted this plan to the Parks Department. Summer was not a permitted season for transplantation, but he hoped to initiate the permit application process as early as possible, since the back-and-forth of paperwork could consume more than one season. At the time, he thought this arrangement was a perfect match: from Fifth Avenue, turning left at the first intersection five or six meters to the south, then walking ten meters, one would arrive. The walk would take no more than three or four minutes.

But the tree could not walk.

The permit required by the Parks Department was the “Tree Work Permit.” To apply for this permit, one must submit a letter stating the intent of the project in order to obtain a separate work order number; a written description of the tree’s existing conditions and layout; drawings of the relocation plan and the construction site’s street plan; photographs; and, most importantly, a statement explaining the conflict between the municipal tree and the project. These letters, drawings, and descriptions could only be prepared by a qualified architect. For this purpose, Stephen paid additional fees to Pira Architectural Office for preparing these materials.

Town and Garden, as expected, was experienced and quickly assembled all the necessary materials. In early November, the permit was obtained. This step, of course, was not free: the entire relocation operation, including the permit application, required payment of $3,785, excluding tax, to the landscaping company. The permit was valid from November 7 to the end of December. The Parks Department required that the original tree pit be expanded to a width of 5 feet and a length of 10 feet, which meant cutting part of the concrete sidewalk; this not only added an additional cost of $1,250, excluding tax, but also required the consent of the owner of 18 East 95th Street. The homeowners in Carnegie Hill were either wealthy or distinguished—or both. When Stephen contacted him again, the owner said there was no problem, but “you will cover the cost.” Stephen replied, “All right, no problem.” The owner then added, “You will also install a cast-iron fence for me free of charge.” This made Stephen somewhat uncomfortable.

Many things have to do with money, and yet have nothing to do with money.

On the morning of November 21, just as preparations were underway to relocate the tree, two emails from the Parks Department suddenly appeared on Stephen’s computer, copied to him:

“Please note that any work applications at this construction site must be submitted to the Central Forestry Permit and Plan Review Unit. When applying for permits at such sites, the application must include the BIS number associated with the work. In addition, all tree relocation work at construction sites is handled by the Tree Trust.”

“Please note that the planting permit application for the above location will not be issued a planting permit or work order until the Parks Department has approved the site plan. The application for 1143 Fifth Avenue must be submitted through the Permit and Plan Review Unit to the Central Forestry Division. The application must include the BIS number associated with this work in order to proceed with plan review, after which any other permit applications may be confirmed or authorized.”

“Because this location is a plan review site, Manhattan Forestry will not issue any additional permits for this location. Do not submit applications to the Forestry Division without following the proper plan review procedures.”

Official language, in any language, is a foreign tongue to ordinary people. Stephen knew what “BIS” was—the Building Information System managed by the Department of Buildings, where records of all real properties in New York City can be searched online—but all those “units,” “funds,” “divisions,” and “plan review procedures” left him completely bewildered. The person in charge at Town and Garden, however, remained calm. With the permit and work order already in hand, he knew that something must have gone wrong. “Just relax,” he said, “let us handle it.”

In the afternoon, the truck from Town and Garden drove up to Fifth Avenue. A burly worker jumped down, shovel in hand; in a matter of minutes, the small maple tree was moved to its new location in front of 18 East 95th Street. The worker dug the pit, fertilized, transplanted, staked, pruned, watered, tied two support braces, and finally cleaned up the surrounding area. The entire process took just over an hour, yet everything behind this efficient physical labor had taken more than three months and nearly ten thousand dollars.

In New York, nothing gets done without money.
What is even more maddening is that money, in New York, is not omnipotent.

写在后面 ｜

至此，《第五大道1143号》在 Substack上的连载暂告一段落。

第一章《城市地标》和第二章《纸上过关》，记录的是这项重建工程如何被设想、论证并最终获得开工许可。它们是一个漫长故事的序幕。

后续章节将保留给未来书稿。但这并不意味着这个项目将在这里结束。

在过去十余年的重建过程中，我积累了大量未能进入正文的材料：往来的邮件、工作日志、照片、图纸、访谈记录，以及许多关于纽约建筑、城市管理、邻里关系、移民经验和日常生活的观察与思考。

未来，我会继续在这里不定期分享这些补充材料与写作札记。它们没有直接进入最终书稿，却同样是这座建筑重生过程的宝贵记录。

对于一栋建筑而言，图纸之外还有工地；对于一本书而言，正文之外也还有档案、反思及其他。

A Note at the End

This concludes the portion of 1143 Fifth Avenue that will be serialized publicly on Substack.

Chapter One, A City Landmark, and Chapter Two, Clearing the Paper Trail, trace how this reconstruction project was conceived, debated, and ultimately granted permission to begin. They serve as the prologue to a much longer story.

The chapters that follow will be reserved for the future book. That does not mean, however, that the project itself ends here.

Over the course of more than a decade of reconstruction, I have accumulated a vast body of material that could not be included in the main narrative: correspondence, work logs, photographs, drawings, interview transcripts, and countless observations on New York architecture, urban governance, neighborhood relations, immigrant experience, and everyday life.

In the future, I will continue to share some of these supplementary materials and writing notes here from time to time. They may not find their way into the final manuscript, but they remain valuable records of this building’s long journey back to life.

For a building, there is always a construction site beyond the drawings. For a book, there are also archives—and much else—beyond the text.

For English readers: the full English version appears below the Chinese text, and English explanations for the photo captions appear beneath the Chinese captions.

【写在前面】

这篇旧文写于 2018 年 9 月，2024 年底在收入拙作《破坏实验》时补了一段后记。它写的是纽约一位民间画家斯科特·勒贝多和他画的星条旗，也写纽约这座城市内部长期存在、并不断加剧的分歧。

我把它放在 6 月 14日重发，不是为了节日应景，而是因为美国国旗日大概正是重读这篇文章的合适时刻：当星条旗在纽约、美国乃至世界范围内再次成为争议之物时，人们也许应该问一句，这面旗帜在今天究竟意味着什么。

A Note Beforehand

This old essay was written in September 2018. At the end of 2024, when I included it in my nonfiction book Wounded New York NY (2017-2023), I added a short postscript. It is about a New York folk painter, Scott LoBaido, and the Stars and Stripes he paints; it is also about the long-standing and ever-deepening divisions within this city.

I am republishing it on June 14 not for holiday effect, but because Flag Day is probably precisely the right moment to reread it: when the Stars and Stripes once again become an object of contention in New York City, in America, and even across the wider world, perhaps people should ask what this flag means today.

纽约的异见者与他的星条旗

哦，晨曦初现时，你可看见，我们作别夕阳，骄傲欢呼。
谁的阔条亮星，冒着炮火险象，依然迎风招展，在我们的碉堡上？
火箭闪闪红光，炸弹空中作响，它们彻夜见证，我旗依然无恙。
你看那星光灿烂的旗帜，是否仍在飘扬？在这自由的国土，勇士的家乡！

——弗朗西斯·斯科特·基（《保卫麦克亨利堡》,1814）

纽约仲夏的傍晚，我斜跨在“达诺义”（Da Noi）餐馆的吧凳上等人。在很多有些戏谑的报道里，我都读到那个叫斯科特·勒贝多的美国民间画家，是很有点特别的：“哥们就一直男，抽万宝路、喝马蒂尼、爱女人们。我就画星条旗，碍着谁了？那是世界上最性感的作品，我心里的蒙娜丽莎。”

勒贝多是第四代意大利裔美国人，这家意式家庭餐馆是他的据点，墙上挂着他的两幅画作，明码标价。其中一幅4500刀，美国国旗图案被六列新闻照片连缀起来，从独立战争、内战到一战、二战直至朝鲜战争和越战，题目比较抒情——《为奶和蜜而献的血》。几乎相同的画面、材质和手法，不能不让我想起贾斯培·琼斯（Jasper Johns）1945年画的《旗帜》，在现代艺术博物馆攒动的人头之后，不露声色的，是艺术家酷酷的炫技之作；相比之下，勒贝多是有倾诉欲和情绪的。这个53岁的男人，驾着雪佛兰越野车，美国50个州跑过画过好几遍。2010年的7月4日，在休斯敦霍比机场旁的一家公司的屋顶，勒贝多献上了1.5万平方英尺的“昔日辉煌（old glory，美国人对国旗的昵称）”，两个足球场那么大的国庆献礼让休斯敦热情满怀。

美国很多地方一如德州，国旗都是爱国主义和文化认同的象征，总归是高尚的，至少是安全的。但在纽约，情形微妙了起来。勒贝多画星条旗二十多年，主要是在史泰登岛上，画了几百幅的墙画，他也因此小有声名，是“最知名的岛民”；但也备受争议，甚至十多次被拘捕，而让他最恼火的还是至今进不了纽约的正规画廊。

走进来的勒贝多，确实比较荷尔蒙，结实健硕，远远地伸出手来狠握了两下，但不是媒体里一贯见到的怒发冲冠的样子，并且拒绝了我为他点马蒂尼酒，“今天哥不在状态，我不喜欢自己这样忒干净地和人闲扯。还有，我的狗走了，花了3万还是永别了。”这个母亲和女友都是自由党人的共和党支持者，这个没有孩子把小狗当孩子的纽约人，莫不是有些寂寥？

一条蓝色的裂痕

握手的时候，我一眼瞥见他右掌心里用碳水笔写着“22”。“美国每天平均有22位老兵自杀。每天早晨我都写一次，提醒自己有多幸运，而这个数字又是多么可悲和可怕。我太理解这种压力了，这个国家和它的媒体热衷报道悲剧，却不屑于给我们时代的真英雄三个字。”不难理解，为什么退伍老兵、现役警察和消防队员会是勒贝多数百万捐款的主要受益人，也是他画国旗最多致敬的对象。但如此明确的表态在纽约会有向权力献媚的嫌疑，会因为与《纽约时报》为代表的主流文化中类似反战等“政治正确”的观念相左而招致批评。

2016年7月5日至6日，美国路易斯安那州和明尼苏达州接连发生两起白人警察枪杀黑人男子的案件。7日，全国性的示威游行爆发，得克萨斯州的达拉斯市也在晚间举行了近千人的抗议活动，当时有100名警察维持治安。在示威进行中退伍军人（黑人）迈卡·约翰逊（Micah X. Johnson）向白人警察开枪，造成5名警官死亡，后被遥控炸弹机器人炸死。

2016年7月10日，勒贝多在史泰登岛闹市中心绘制了一幅巨大的《细蓝线》（the thin blue line），倒置的旗帜上旋转的线条代表着连绵不绝的泪水。中间深蓝色的“细蓝线”相当醒目——“细蓝线”原是执法用语，象征性地表明执法是在秩序与失范之间、犯罪与受害之间的壁垒，后来常被警察用来自指或表达对警察的支持，成为警察和消防队员的视觉代号。23日，勒贝多在环游50个州的路上发布脸书，征集在达拉斯可用于作画的墙面并得到积极回应，30日就完成了一幅更大的作品。8月1日晚，当地警察开着警车列队，在蓝色国旗的墙画前点燃了蜡烛——“警察的命也是命(Blue lives matter)”！

“警察的命也是命”是“细蓝线”的旗语，是用2014年被一名黑人惯犯枪杀的两名无辜纽约警察的命（其中一位是华裔警官李文健）换来的，套用了2013年发起的“黑人的命也是命（Black lives matter，汉语也有译为‘黑命贵’、‘黑命攸关’）”的运动口号。但是在纽约，这样公开的表达是要担风险的，因而勒贝多的墙画甚至有些悲壮的意味。难道不是所有的命都是命吗？一项抗议美国司法中的种族歧视和执法过度的运动，演化成这样的对立，让人怎不唏嘘？

图注：《细蓝线》，斯科特·勒贝多作于2016年。（2018年7月17日摄于史泰登岛奥提斯大道257-317号外墙）

The Thin Blue Line, painted by Scott LoBaido in 2016. (Photographed July 17, 2018, on the exterior wall at 257–317 Otis Avenue, Staten Island.)

达拉斯事件是本世纪美国发生的针对执法人员死伤最大的单一案件。集会人群中有二三十人携带了步枪和手枪，案犯枪响后，敌我难辨，警方动用机器人杀死嫌犯，这在美国历史上是第一次。德州当年早些时候公开持枪刚刚合法化，合法持枪的州升至45个；年中即遭遇惨案，“公民的持枪权”成为吊诡辩题。翻阅当年的报纸，可在11日的《纽约时报》上找到时任总统奥巴马的悼词，“我们并没有所见的如此撕裂”（新闻标题），本质上是“疯狂的暴力和种族仇恨”，暴露了“美国民主的断层线”。这些说法还是太修辞了，既然裂痕已然看得见，又如何佯装亲密无间？

鲍勃·迪伦唱了五十多年：“答案在风中飘摇，答案在风中飘摇。多少人死后人们才能知道，无数的性命已抛？”

不要踩着我

车停在纽约布鲁克林高架线下的巨大阴影里，街对面，塔吊和砂砾堆生硬地袒露在盛夏的烈日里。前面是纽约孟加拉国穆斯林清真寺，门外聚着一群套着素色袍子的男女在叙谈，数名哈西迪犹太教徒穿着棉袍戴着厚圆毛帽低头急行。我略略有些时空恍惚，好在几个塞着耳机绷紧着细腿裤的白人青年，盯着手机像越过路障一般越过了我；而让我确知自己是在当下的纽约和纽约的当下的，却是面前的墙画《不要踩着我》（Don’t tread on me）。

图注：《不要踩着我》，斯科特·勒贝多于2010年首绘，2012年修复，2016年后再遭涂鸦。（2018年7月29日摄于布鲁克林区麦克唐纳德大道677号亚麻仓库外墙）

“Don’t Tread on Me”, first painted by Scott LoBaido in 2010, restored in 2012, and vandalized again after 2016. (Photographed July 29, 2018, on the exterior wall of a linen warehouse at 677 McDonald Avenue, Brooklyn.)

真蒂莱（Gentile）先生有一处亚麻仓库，也许是觉得这个街区太过老旧沉闷，他请勒贝多在外墙上画了星条旗，差不多12米长7米高

2012年5月14日凌晨1点，监控显示一名穿着套头衫的年轻人在国旗上喷上了黑字：“爱国主义让我恶心（Patriotism Makes Me Sick）。”《布鲁克林日报》23日发了配图新闻，下面的跟帖纷杂，大致两派：反对派说“这该不是占领华尔街的那帮家伙派出的游击队吧？他们太热衷反对国家了。那些‘白左’怎么就那么讨厌祖国非要搞什么全球化呢？”支持者也义正词严：“这个涂鸦干得好！他‘破坏’什么了？我的国满世界地轰炸妇孺、屠杀平民，屁民还在允许政府通过国防授权法案这样的荒唐大单，这就‘爱国主义’了？”

在纽约，“爱国主义”的确是个有争议的词语。比如纽约是美国数量众多的“庇护城市（Sanctuary City）”之一。所谓“庇护城市”，是指这些州、县、市制定了本辖区的法律法规，阻止美国移民与海关执法局（ICE）针对嫌疑人员的任何执法。认为“非法移民是个非人道的概念”“国境线的存在是不合理的”“移民是人身自由的天赋人权”的纽约客，在这个观念激荡的大都市里不乏其人。既然地理的国界线是荒谬的，那么思想中的爱国主义自然就相当愚昧了。

然而，也有纽约百姓，比如这座亚麻仓库的老板，他的爱国几乎是本能的；也有勒贝多这样觉得爱国是责任和义务的“斗士”。污损他的国旗激怒了他，两周以后，勒贝多在墙画的左上角添上了“不要踩着我”，在右上角加上了进攻中露出毒牙的巨型响尾蛇。这两笔颇有来历：“不要踩着我”曾是美国海军陆战队的格言，它压在一条盘曲着准备袭击的响尾蛇身下，印在正黄色的旗帜上，那是以加兹登（Gadsden）将军之名命名的美国最早的军旗。

“人若犯我，我必犯人”，但响尾蛇还是没有起到震慑作用，它的身下又被人涂上了黑字，从所写的“卡佩尼克”推断，应该出现在2016年后。卡佩尼克是现年31岁的橄榄球运动员。他在2016赛季的第三场季前赛前的演奏国歌《星条旗》环节，被发现没有站立致敬；第四场他改为跪下而不是像之前那样坐着：“我不会起立向一面压迫黑人和有色人种的旗帜敬礼。”需要说明的是，卡佩尼克本人的生母是白人，生父是黑人，他从小被一对白人夫妇领养长大，卡佩尼克就是养父的姓氏。对卡佩尼克发起的“国歌抗议活动”，评价高度分化：2018年大赦国际组织授予他“良心大使奖”，更多的橄榄球星开始效仿他，号衫热销；同时，看到效仿者跪下和举起拳头，有观众离开赛场，电视直播的收视率下滑，包括勒贝多倡议的针对国家橄榄球联盟的抵制活动激增。

“风雷动，旌旗奋，是人寰”。在各种讲法、说辞、组织和运动的人间风暴里，不少美国人惊觉，对这面旗帜公开而明确的憎恨开始流行；而宣泄着同样炽烈的爱与恨的，都是美国人民。

第四十五任美国总统

在欧美国家，教育水平较高、生活在大城市的优渥青年多少都有些理想主义，比较容易认同全球主义乃至向往社会主义；而文化精英和主流媒体又乐于将其立场过度投射，以致舆论虚幻高蹈；而对很多老百姓而言，自家的柴米油盐和自己国家的事情才更关痛痒。纽约作为美国的教育文化之都，理所当然是蓝色（代表民主党）的大本营，有趣的是，史泰登岛却是一块红色（代表共和党）飞地，满大街的星条旗就是纽约别处看不到的景致。

8月里，因为勒贝多，我接受了一次美国人民的“再教育”。6日下午我突然收到勒贝多的电邮，“快来，6点半我要搞个艺术装置，你一定会更感兴趣的！”等我赶到这个以白人工人阶层为主的街区时，一个差不多7米高的特朗普画像已经被竖起来了，他环抱双臂，T恤上写着“第四十五任美国总统”，勒贝多标志性的国旗图案赫然勾勒出“2020”字样。“这就是哥的意思，他必须成为下一任美国总统！”勒贝多的这种做派很多人看不惯，里士满历史古镇博物馆的哈里馆员就当面对我说：“他的政治表达走得太远了，画也算不上艺术，走过路过心不跳。”不过，这边的邻居似乎心跳了，都赶来帮忙，两位光着膀子赤着脚从泳池边跑过来。“我觉得还应该再大些，太酷了。”“他是啥党我不管，反正他的推特我都看得懂，不像那些家伙尽玩些虚活儿。”一问，一个是开垃圾车的清洁工，一个是修下水道的。

一名中年白人戴着海军帽从街对面走过来。“失业率不是降低了吗？我才不管他们要造多少种厕所呢？我只管我要付多少种账单！我就是愿意‘让美国更强大’。”他指着特朗普脚下小丑式的人像，“这丫脑子被打坏了吧？”因出演《愤怒的公牛》而获得过奥斯卡奖的罗伯特·德尼罗，在6月美国戏剧界托尼奖颁奖仪式上，高举双拳，“现在不是要打倒特朗普，而是要操他妈的。”后半句的粗口被他重复了两遍，不少同行起立欢呼。老实说，当时在互联网上欣赏盛大典礼的我，是有难以名状的尴尬的。

勒贝多和德尼罗以及我遇到的大多数美国人，都认为自己是“言论自由”的捍卫者和践行者。一众德尼罗式的美国精英和主流媒体把特朗普说成是美国所有不幸的罪魁祸首，而我更愿意相信事实很可能是美国种种的衰败以及非理性争斗，促成了特朗普当选总统。与其说是勒贝多们选了特朗普，不如说是特朗普加入了他们；你再去问问纽约的白领和公务员，有多少人投票给了特朗普却说投了希拉里，就会明白这座城里有多少双料确凿的虚伪与猥琐、激情与撕裂。

正巧读到刘擎教授的新作，请允许我抄录在这里：“有人想消除身份政治来建构公民政治的共识，有人想避开民族主义来重申世界主义，这些思路用心良苦，但在理论和实践上都可能事与愿违，不是化解分歧而是加深了裂痕。”

你看星条旗是否还在飘扬？

图注： 勒贝多于2008年前后，受邀在达利亚兄弟修车行（D’Elia Bros.）的后墙画上了星条旗。这个修车行整天人来人往，被大家戏称为史泰登岛上的民间“情报站”。（2018年6月26日摄于史泰登岛格里夫斯巷道【Greaves Ln】145号铁路沿线）

Around 2008, LoBaido was invited to paint the Stars and Stripes on the back wall of D’Elia Bros. Auto Repair. The shop sees a constant flow of people all day long and is jokingly known as Staten Island’s unofficial “intelligence station.” (Photographed June 26, 2018, along the tracks at 145 Greaves Lane, Staten Island.)

修车对阿方斯·达利亚（Alphonse D’Elia）而言，爱好多于生意。这个第三代意大利裔美国人，高中一放学就跑到修车行兼加油站做帮工，等老板退休，他索性把铺子盘了下来，一晃已经六十多岁了。十年前，他叫勒贝多在车行的后墙了画国旗，那是这个信誉极佳的车行仅有的整块固定墙面，因为靠着铁轨，来修车和加油的人其实完全看不见它。“管他呢，我就是喜欢。”他的弟弟汤姆在不远处看管着一家洗车行，8月里，阿方斯又给勒贝多打电话：“来，再给画一个。都画上，多少钱我无所谓。”我过去一看，哇，因为装有自动喷淋洗刷系统，那面墙足有五十米长，酬金相当于中学老师一个月的薪水！“管他呢，我就是喜欢。”勒贝多在墙上画好虚线，夏雨断续，等到天晴，他站在扶梯上刷子滚筒轮番上，干了两三天，汤姆时不时跑出来：“你想喝个啥？”

图注: 2018年8月10日，勒贝多（左）在助手的帮助下，在汤姆洗车行的外墙上绘制星条旗。前面是勒贝多标志性的越野车，周身都被他涂上了星条旗，后窗上写有他的官网主页，还有“爱国艺术家斯科特·勒贝多”字样，车顶装置有他环游美国50个州时收集的兽角和头骨。

On August 10, 2018, LoBaido (left), with help from an assistant, painted the Stars and Stripes on the outer wall of Tom’s car wash. In front is LoBaido’s signature SUV, painted all over with the Stars and Stripes. On the rear window is the address of his website, along with the words “Patriotic Artist Scott LoBaido.” Mounted on the roof are antlers and skulls he collected while traveling through all fifty states.

阿方斯热情直爽，邀我到办公室喝杯咖啡，“不是冒犯你哈，咱美国人的加油站都有这标配”，我一看，墙上两大件：壳牌石油的大壁钟和大幅的裸女挂历，还有他儿子毕业时送他的诺曼·洛克威尔（Norman Rockwell）的插图画《离家而去》，怀旧、热辣、美国！“你问我为啥画那些国旗？我就是喜欢。喜欢干啥就干啥，不喜欢别人也拿你没辙，这就是美国！那愣头青就愿意画个旗子，也能活得杠杠的。”始终闯不进纽约主流文化圈的勒贝多，在平民百姓这里倒是很有人缘。

史泰登岛的东南海岸有一座洛雷托山，一百多年前，德拉古戈尔（John Drumgoogle）神父在那里创建了纽约最大的孤儿院兼农场，现在仍是史泰登岛天主教慈善会所在地。旷辽的原野中间是当年《教父》的拍摄地圣约阿希姆和圣安妮（Saint Joachim-Saint Ann）教堂，当我转到后山时，发现了一个标准集装箱，一眼就认出上面的星条旗是勒贝多的手迹。后来问到他，说是2012年10月，桑迪飓风掀着5米多高的浪头肆掠史泰登岛，岛上遇难者人数超过纽约遇难总人数的一半。慈善会当即募集救援食品和衣物，装在那个集装箱里运往受灾社区。“我是个艺术家，我得做点儿啥，我给风雨中的人们画了阳光下的国旗。” 最是柔情催人泪，洛雷托山像泊在拉里坦湾里的古早驳船，教堂的尖顶是它高耸的桅杆，完成了使命的集装箱披着旌旗，静卧在荒草丛中，仿佛压舱石一般。

图注： 2012年末，勒贝多在为桑迪飓风受灾者募集救济物资的集装箱上，画满了星条旗。（2018年6月24日摄于史泰登岛洛雷托山天主教慈善会营地）

At the end of 2012, LoBaido covered the container used to collect relief supplies for victims of Hurricane Sandy with Stars and Stripes. (Photographed June 24, 2018, at the Catholic Charities grounds on Mount Loretto, Staten Island.)

这个夏天我总在想，勒贝多为什么要那么纠结于进不进得去纽约的画廊呢？他的星条旗在屋顶，在街道，在风雨中，在阳光下，与街坊邻居在一起，与生活故事在一起。画廊本就不是民间艺术生长出生命的地方，而纽约本身也不只有一种生命。纽约不只有《纽约时报》和《纽约客》，美国也不只有纽约，尽管它们很多时候代表着美国。

只要走进平民百姓，你就会察觉，美国其实有很多人朴素地喜爱着他们的国旗。在阿迪朗达克山区的一家农家乐，收银台上挂着星条旗，旁边写着：“我们的旗帜是自由与解放的标志。”人身自由与思想解放，作为意志的旗帜，自然是人人心向往之的；但它们的具体含义，每个人的理解则未必相同，实现它们的路途很可能南辕北辙。在这个只有两百多年历史的年轻国度，人们为之有过论辩与征伐，有过实验与牺牲，直至当下的很多时候我都会感到，尽管是在相同的旗帜下，美国不同社群之间仍有着痛彻的撕裂乃至残酷的斗争，但这也是新大陆奉献给人类历史的值得珍视的教训与经验。历史学者弗朗索瓦·维耶（Francois Weil）在《纽约史》中写道：“纽约城的多元化滋养并刺激了城市文化的发展，有时它带来剧烈的冲突，但它为纽约物质土壤之上城市文化方面的自我意识成长做出了很大贡献。而多元化也让纽约拥有了重要的象征意义——成为传说中的自由之港。”

今天，“自由之港”会只剩下传说吗？这是一个很现实的问题，像美国国歌一直在追问着的：“在这自由的国土，勇士的家乡”，“你看那星光灿烂的旗帜，是否仍在飘扬？”

2018年9月6日完稿于纽约史泰登岛里士满镇图书馆

补记

2024年10月27日，共和党总统候选人特朗普回到老家纽约市，在曼哈顿市中心的麦迪逊广场花园（Madison Square Garden）举办了一场竞选集会。19500 名观众坐满了每个座位，还有海量人群在外面观看大屏幕。本书（即《破坏实验》）写到的新科技巨头埃隆·马斯克、前纽约市长鲁迪·朱利安尼（Rudolph Giuliani）和时事评论人塔克·卡尔森，都在特朗普演讲前后作为支持者出场讲话。住在史泰登岛上的斯科特·勒贝多是29名受邀演讲者之一，他登上舞台，快速完成了一幅以星条旗为背景的画作，中间是拥抱着帝国大厦的特朗普。

在特朗普正在演讲时，作为竞选对手的民主党全国委员会在麦迪逊广场花园的外墙上投射了若干数字信息，包括“特朗普称赞过希特勒”，但特朗普申明“从来没有这么说过”。希拉里·克林顿在（Hillary Clinton）2024年10月24日接受美国有线电视新闻网 (CNN) 采访时表示，特朗普“实际上是在重演 1939 年麦迪逊广场花园的集会”，意欲将这次集会与第二次世界大战前在该场馆举行的支持希特勒和纳粹党的集会相提并论。有意味的是，她的丈夫比尔·克林顿（Bill Clinton）1992 年也是在同一地点集会并接受了民主党总统候选人的提名。

9天以后，也就是2024年11月5日，特朗普当选第47届美国总统，选举人票和普选票全面赶超2024年7月替代拜登参加竞选的对手卡马拉·哈里斯（Kamala Harris）。

纽约市是民主党大本营，但此次特朗普获得约80万张选票，比2020年增加了10万多张，其中在亚裔和拉丁裔移民社区的得票率增长得最为明显。

2024年11月9日记于纽约市史泰登岛

New York’s Dissenter and His Star-Spangled Banner

New York in These Years Under the Stars and Stripes

O say can you see, by the dawn’s early light,
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight,
O’er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?
And the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
O say does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?
— Francis Scott Key, “Defence of Fort M’Henry” (1814)

On a midsummer evening in New York, I was perched sideways on a barstool at Da Noi, waiting for someone. In a number of half-teasing reports, I had read that the American folk painter Scott LoBaido was quite a character: “I’m just a straight guy—Marlboros, martinis, women. I paint the Stars and Stripes. Who am I bothering? It’s the sexiest image in the world, my Mona Lisa.”

LoBaido is a fourth-generation Italian American. This family-style Italian restaurant is one of his bases. Two of his paintings hang on the wall, each with a clearly marked price. One of them, priced at $4,500, strings together six columns of news photographs beneath the image of the American flag, from the War of Independence and the Civil War to World War I, World War II, the Korean War, and the Vietnam War. Its title is somewhat lyrical: Blood for Milk and Honey. The nearly identical composition, materials, and technique inevitably reminded me of Jasper Johns’s Flag, painted in 1945: behind the shifting crowd at the Museum of Modern Art lies a cool, understated display of artistic virtuosity. By contrast, LoBaido’s work is full of the urge to speak and of visible emotion. This fifty-three-year-old man has driven a Chevrolet SUV through all fifty states, painting and repainting them again and again. On July 4, 2010, on the roof of a company building near Houston Hobby Airport, LoBaido presented a 15,000-square-foot “Old Glory”—Americans’ nickname for the national flag. A Fourth of July offering the size of two soccer fields filled Houston with patriotic excitement.

In many parts of America, Texas among them, the flag is a symbol of patriotism and cultural identity. Whatever else it may be, it is lofty—at the very least, it is safe. But in New York, things grow more complicated. LoBaido has been painting the Stars and Stripes for more than twenty years, mainly on Staten Island, where he has painted hundreds of murals. This has brought him a certain fame—he is “the island’s best-known local”—but also a great deal of controversy. He has even been arrested more than a dozen times. What infuriates him most, however, is that he still cannot get into a proper New York gallery.

When LoBaido walked in, he was, sure enough, very much all testosterone—solidly built, reaching out from a distance to crush my hand twice. But he was not in the fiery, hair-on-end mood the media usually presents. He also refused the martini I offered to order for him. “I’m not in shape today. I don’t like talking to people when I’m this damn clean. And my dog’s gone. Spent thirty grand and still lost her.” This New Yorker, a Republican supporter whose mother and girlfriend are both liberals, this man with no children who treated his little dog like a child—was he, perhaps, a little lonely?

A Blue Fracture

When we shook hands, I caught sight of the number “22” written in marker on his right palm.

“On average, twenty-two veterans in America kill themselves every day. Every morning I write it down once, to remind myself how lucky I am—and how sad and terrifying that number is. I understand that kind of pressure too well. This country and its media love reporting tragedy, but can’t spare even three words for the real heroes of our time.”

It is not hard to understand why retired veterans, active-duty police officers, and firefighters have been the chief beneficiaries of LoBaido’s donations, totaling in the millions, and also the people to whom he most often dedicates the flags he paints. But such explicit positioning in New York easily invites suspicion of currying favor with power. Because it runs against forms of “political correctness” common in mainstream culture, represented by The New York Times, including antiwar sentiment, it also attracts criticism.

On July 5 and 6, 2016, in Louisiana and Minnesota, two white police officers shot and killed two Black men in separate incidents. On the 7th, nationwide demonstrations broke out, and that evening Dallas, Texas, held a protest attended by nearly a thousand people, with one hundred police officers present to maintain order. During the protest, Micah X. Johnson, a Black military veteran, opened fire on white police officers, killing five. He was later killed by a bomb robot operated remotely.

On July 10, 2016, LoBaido painted a huge mural in the center of Staten Island titled The Thin Blue Line. On the inverted flag, swirling lines represented unending tears. Most striking was the dark blue “thin blue line” running through the center. Originally a law-enforcement term, the phrase symbolically suggests that law enforcement is the barrier between order and disorder, between crime and victimhood. Later it came to be used by police to refer to themselves or to express support for police, becoming a visual code for police officers and firefighters. On the 23rd, LoBaido posted on Facebook while traveling through all fifty states, asking for a wall in Dallas he could paint on, and received an enthusiastic response. By the 30th, he had completed an even larger work. On the evening of August 1, local police cars lined up in front of the blue flag mural and lit candles—“Blue lives matter”!

“Blue lives matter” was the slogan encoded in The Thin Blue Line. It was paid for with the lives of two innocent New York police officers murdered in 2014 by a Black repeat offender—one of them the Chinese American officer Wenjian Liu. It borrowed the slogan of the 2013 movement “Black Lives Matter.” But in New York, such an open statement carries risk, and there was therefore something almost tragic about LoBaido’s mural. Are not all lives lives? How can one help feeling a sense of sorrow at the way a movement protesting racial discrimination and excessive force in the American justice system evolved into this kind of opposition?

The Dallas attack was the single deadliest assault on law-enforcement officers in the United States in this century. Two or three dozen people in the crowd were carrying rifles and handguns. Once the shooting began, it was impossible to tell friend from foe. The police used a robot to kill the suspect—the first time this had happened in American history. Earlier that year, Texas had only just legalized open carry, making it the forty-fifth state to do so; then, by midyear, it was hit by this tragedy, and “citizens’ gun rights” became a bitterly paradoxical subject of debate. If one looks back through the newspapers of the time, one finds President Obama’s remarks in the July 11 New York Times, under the headline “We Are Not as Divided as We Seem.” At bottom, he said, it was “vicious, calculated, despicable violence,” revealing “the fault lines of our democracy.” Such language still felt too rhetorical to me. Once the crack is plainly visible, how can one pretend intimacy is intact?

Bob Dylan has been singing for more than fifty years: “The answer is blowin’ in the wind, the answer is blowin’ in the wind. How many deaths will it take till he knows that too many people have died?”

Don’t Tread on Me

I parked under the vast shadow of an elevated line in Brooklyn. Across the street, cranes and piles of gravel lay harshly exposed under the blazing midsummer sun. Ahead stood a Bangladeshi Muslim mosque, where a group of men and women in plain robes were talking outside, while several Hasidic Jews in long coats and thick round fur hats hurried past with their heads lowered. I felt momentarily disoriented in time and space. Fortunately, a few white youths in skinny pants, earbuds plugged in, staring at their phones as if crossing a barricade, brushed past me. What finally anchored me in New York as it exists now—and in the now of New York—was the mural in front of me: Don’t Tread on Me.

Mr. Gentile owned a linen warehouse. Perhaps he found the neighborhood too old and too dreary, so he asked LoBaido to paint the Stars and Stripes across the outer wall, roughly twelve meters long and seven meters high.

At one o’clock in the morning on May 14, 2012, surveillance footage showed a young man in a hoodie spray-painting black words across the flag: “Patriotism Makes Me Sick.” The Brooklyn Daily ran a photo with the story on the 23rd, and the comments below it fell roughly into two camps. Opponents said: “Could this be some guerrilla sent out by that Occupy Wall Street crowd? They’re obsessed with opposing the country. Why do those ‘white leftists’ hate their own country so much and insist on globalization?” Supporters were equally righteous: “Great graffiti! What exactly did he ‘vandalize’? My country bombs women and children all over the world, massacres civilians, and its little people still allow the government to pass grotesque monstrosities like the National Defense Authorization Act—and that’s called ‘patriotism’?”

In New York, “patriotism” truly is a contested word. New York, for example, is one of America’s many “sanctuary cities.” So-called sanctuary cities are states, counties, and cities that have passed local laws or regulations preventing U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement from carrying out enforcement actions against suspected undocumented immigrants. In this metropolis of clashing ideas, there is no shortage of New Yorkers who believe that “illegal immigrant” is an inhumane concept, that the existence of national borders is unreasonable, and that migration is a natural human right. If geographical borders are absurd, then patriotism as an idea naturally begins to seem equally foolish.

And yet there are also ordinary New Yorkers—like the owner of this linen warehouse—whose patriotism is almost instinctive; and there are “fighters” like LoBaido, who believe patriotism is a responsibility and an obligation. The defacement of his flag enraged him. Two weeks later, he added the words “Don’t Tread on Me” to the upper left corner of the mural, and in the upper right he painted a giant rattlesnake baring its fangs in attack. These two additions have a long pedigree. “Don’t Tread on Me” was once the motto associated with the U.S. Marines. It appeared on a yellow flag with a coiled rattlesnake poised to strike—the earliest American military flag, known by the name of General Gadsden.

“If someone offends me, I will offend them back.” But the rattlesnake did not succeed in intimidating anyone. Later, more black letters were sprayed across its body. Judging by the word “Kaepernick,” this probably happened after 2016. Kaepernick, now thirty-one, is a football player. Before the third preseason game of the 2016 season, during the playing of “The Star-Spangled Banner,” he was seen not standing in respect. By the fourth game, he had shifted from sitting, as he had before, to kneeling: “I am not going to stand up to show pride in a flag for a country that oppresses Black people and people of color.” It is worth noting that Kaepernick’s birth mother is white and his birth father Black; he was adopted and raised by a white couple, and Kaepernick is his adoptive father’s surname. Reactions to the protest he launched during the national anthem were sharply divided: in 2018 Amnesty International awarded him its “Ambassador of Conscience” prize, more football stars began imitating him, and his jersey sold briskly; at the same time, when viewers saw others kneeling or raising their fists in imitation, some left the stadium, television ratings fell, and campaigns like the boycott of the NFL promoted by LoBaido rose sharply.

“Wind and thunder roil, banners whip—such is the human world” (A line from Mao Zedong’s lyric “Shuidiao Getou: Reascending Jinggangshan” ,1965). In the storm of arguments, rhetoric, organizations, and movements, many Americans came to realize that open and explicit hatred of this flag had become fashionable; and yet the people venting such equally fierce love and hate were all Americans.

The Forty-Fifth President of the United States

In Europe and America, educated, comfortable young people living in big cities often have a streak of idealism and are relatively inclined to identify with globalism, even to yearn for socialism. Cultural elites and the mainstream media, meanwhile, happily overproject that position, making public opinion seem elevated and unreal. For many ordinary people, by contrast, what matters more are the daily expenses of their own households and the affairs of their own country. New York, as America’s capital of education and culture, is naturally a blue stronghold, blue standing for the Democratic Party. What is interesting is that Staten Island is a red enclave, red standing for the Republican Party. The Stars and Stripes flying down its streets are a sight one does not see elsewhere in New York.

Because of LoBaido, I received a kind of “re-education” from the American people that August. On the afternoon of the sixth, I suddenly got an email from him: “Come quick—I’m doing an art installation at 6:30. You’ll definitely be interested in this one!” By the time I reached this neighborhood, populated mainly by white working-class residents, a nearly seven-meter-tall portrait of Trump had already been erected. Trump stood there with arms folded, his T-shirt reading “The 45th President of the United States,” while LoBaido’s signature Stars and Stripes motif clearly outlined the numerals “2020.”

“This is what I mean—he has to be the next president of the United States!”

A lot of people could not stand LoBaido’s style. Harry, a curator at the Historic Richmond Town museum, said to me directly: “His political expression goes too far. And the painting itself doesn’t really count as art. You walk past it and your pulse doesn’t even change.” But the neighbors here seemed to feel something. They all came over to help. Two shirtless, barefoot men ran over straight from the swimming pool. “I think it ought to be even bigger. This is too cool.” “I don’t care what party he belongs to. At least I can understand all his tweets. Unlike those other people, he doesn’t just play empty games.” I asked what they did. One drove a garbage truck. The other repaired sewer lines.

A middle-aged white man in a navy cap walked over from across the street. “Didn’t unemployment go down? I don’t care how many kinds of bathrooms they want to build. I care how many kinds of bills I’ve got to pay! I’m perfectly willing to ‘Make America Great Again.’” Pointing at the clownish figure under Trump’s feet, he added: “What the hell happened to that guy’s brain?”

In June, at the Tony Awards, Robert De Niro, who won an Oscar for Raging Bull, raised both fists and declared: “It’s no longer down with Trump. It’s fuck Trump.” He repeated the obscenity twice, and many in the audience stood and cheered. To be honest, as I watched the grand ceremony online at the time, I felt a kind of embarrassment that is hard to put into words.

LoBaido, De Niro, and most Americans I have met all see themselves as defenders and practitioners of “free speech.” The American elites and mainstream media of De Niro’s sort portray Trump as the source of every American misfortune. I am more inclined to believe that it was the many forms of decline in America, together with irrational struggles, that helped bring Trump to the presidency. Rather than saying that people like LoBaido chose Trump, it may be more accurate to say that Trump joined them. Ask New York’s white-collar professionals and civil servants how many voted for Trump while claiming they voted for Hillary, and you will understand how much double-layered hypocrisy and meanness, passion and tearing-apart this city contains.

By chance I had just been reading a new work by Professor Liu Qing, and allow me to copy down a line here: “Some want to eliminate identity politics in order to build consensus around civic politics; others want to bypass nationalism in order to reaffirm cosmopolitanism. These lines of thought are well-intentioned, but in both theory and practice they may well backfire, deepening the rift rather than resolving it.”

Does that star-spangled banner still wave?

For Alphonse D’Elia, repairing cars is more passion than business. A third-generation Italian American, he started working after school in high school at an auto repair shop and gas station. When the owner retired, he simply took the place over, and in a flash he was already past sixty. Ten years ago he asked LoBaido to paint a flag on the shop’s rear wall. It was the only large fixed wall on this highly reputable garage, and because it faced the railroad tracks, the people who came for repairs and gas could not actually see it at all.

“So what? I just like it.”

His brother Tom managed a car wash not far away. That August, Alphonse called LoBaido again: “Come on, paint another one. Paint the whole thing. I don’t care what it costs.” When I went over and saw it, I was stunned. Because the wall belonged to a building equipped with an automated spray-wash system, it was nearly fifty meters long, and the fee was equivalent to a middle-school teacher’s monthly salary.

“So what? I just like it.”

LoBaido chalked out the dashed lines on the wall. Summer rain came and went. When the weather cleared, he stood on a ladder, alternating brush and roller, and worked for two or three days. Tom would come out from time to time and ask, “You want something to drink?”

Alphonse was warm and direct and invited me into the office for coffee. “No offense,” he said, “but this is standard equipment at American gas stations.” I looked around. Two big items hung on the wall: a giant Shell Oil clock and a large nude pinup calendar, along with Norman Rockwell’s illustration Breaking Home Ties, which his son had given him at graduation. Nostalgic, hot-blooded, American.

“You ask me why I paint those flags? I just like them. You do what you like. If other people don’t like it, there’s not a damn thing they can do about it. That’s America! That kid wants to paint a flag, and he can still live just fine doing it.”

LoBaido, who has never managed to break into New York’s mainstream cultural circles, is in fact quite popular among ordinary people.

On Staten Island’s southeastern shore there is a place called Mount Loretto. More than a century ago, Father John Drumgoole founded there New York’s largest orphanage and farm. It is still the site of Staten Island Catholic Charities. In the middle of that vast open ground stands the Church of Saint Joachim and Saint Ann, used in the filming of The Godfather long ago. When I made my way around to the back hill, I discovered a standard shipping container, and at a glance recognized the Stars and Stripes painted on it as LoBaido’s work. Later, when I asked him about it, he said that in October 2012, Hurricane Sandy had driven waves more than five meters high against Staten Island. More than half of all those killed in New York died on the island. Catholic Charities immediately raised relief food and clothing and shipped them in that container to the affected neighborhoods.

“I’m an artist. I had to do something. I painted a flag in the sunlight for the people in the wind and rain.”

Nothing moves people like tenderness. Mount Loretto looked like some ancient barge moored in Raritan Bay, the church spire its towering mast. The container, its mission complete, lay draped in the flag amid the wild grass like ballast. (Fig. 3-5)

All that summer I kept thinking: why is LoBaido so hung up on whether he can get into a New York gallery? His Stars and Stripes are on rooftops, on streets, in wind and rain, in sunlight, with neighbors, with the stories of everyday life. Galleries were never the place where folk art grew a life of its own. And New York itself does not have just one kind of life. New York is not only The New York Times and The New Yorker, and America is not only New York, even if they often stand in for America.

As soon as you step among ordinary people, you begin to notice that many Americans truly do love their flag in a plain, unadorned way. At a family-run inn in the Adirondacks, a Stars and Stripes hung above the cash register, beside a line that read: “Our flag is the symbol of freedom and liberty.” Personal freedom and liberation of thought, as a banner of will, are naturally things everyone longs for. But what they concretely mean, each person may understand differently, and the roads toward realizing them may point in completely opposite directions. In this young country with only a little more than two hundred years of history, people have argued, struggled, experimented, and sacrificed in its name. Even now, I often feel that although America’s different communities live under the same flag, there remains between them a painful tearing-apart, even a cruel struggle. Yet this too is a lesson and an experience offered by the New World to human history, one worth cherishing.

The historian François Weil writes in A History of New York: “New York City’s diversity has nourished and stimulated the development of urban culture. At times it has produced violent conflict, but it has also greatly contributed to the growth of the city’s cultural self-awareness above its material ground. Diversity has also given New York an important symbolic meaning—that of the legendary port of freedom.”

Today, will the “port of freedom” remain only a legend? It is a very real question, like the question the American national anthem has always been asking: “O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave”—“does that star-spangled banner yet wave?”

Written on September 6, 2018,

at the Richmond Town Library, Staten Island, New York

Postscript

On October 27, 2024, Republican presidential candidate Trump returned to his home city of New York and held a campaign rally at Madison Square Garden in midtown Manhattan. All 19,500 seats were filled, and huge crowds watched on giant screens outside. Elon Musk, the new technology tycoon discussed in this book ,Wounded New York NY 2017–2023, whose Chinese title is Breaching Experiment (Guangdong People’s Publishing House, 2025) , former New York mayor Rudolph Giuliani, and commentator Tucker Carlson all appeared before or after Trump’s speech as supporters. Scott LoBaido, who lives on Staten Island, was one of the twenty-nine invited speakers. He went onstage and quickly completed a painting with the Stars and Stripes as its background and Trump embracing the Empire State Building at the center.

While Trump was speaking, the Democratic National Committee, his opponent in the election, projected a series of digital messages onto the outer wall of Madison Square Garden, including “Trump praised Hitler,” though Trump declared that “I never said that.” In an interview with CNN on October 24, 2024, Hillary Clinton said that Trump was “basically reenacting the 1939 rally at Madison Square Garden,” intending to compare this event to the pro-Hitler, pro-Nazi rally held at the same venue before World War II. Interestingly, her husband Bill Clinton had also rallied there in 1992 and accepted the Democratic presidential nomination at that same location.

Nine days later, on November 5, 2024, Trump was elected the 47th president of the United States, surpassing Kamala Harris—the candidate who replaced Biden in July 2024—in both the Electoral College and the popular vote.

New York City is a Democratic stronghold, yet Trump received about 800,000 votes there this time, more than 100,000 more than in 2020. The increase was most visible among Asian and Latino immigrant communities.

Written on November 9, 2024, on Staten Island, New York.

For English readers: the full English version appears below the Chinese text, and English explanations for the photo captions appear beneath the Chinese captions.

《第五大道1143号》是我正在写作中的非虚构项目，记录纽约第五大道1143号这幢历史建筑自2014年至2026年的重建过程。凡援引公开发表的媒体内容，涉及人名、地名、价码等信息，均照实录出；除公务部门及愿意公开姓名与相关事实者外，其余人物与公司信息均作必要处理。此次发布的是第2章《纸上过关》第 3节（中英文版），本节写第五大道1143号为搭建脚手架取得邻楼访问协议的诉讼过程，以及这场法律胜利如何使工程真正进入现场。前序内容，请参见之前的发布。

“1143 Fifth Avenue” documents the more than decade-long reconstruction of a historic building at 1143 Fifth Avenue in New York (2014–2026). Following basic anthropological practice, when I cite publicly available media sources, details such as names, places, and prices are reproduced as recorded. With the exception of government bodies and individuals who have explicitly agreed to make their names and relevant facts public, all other individuals and companies have been anonymized to protect their names and privacy. On Substack, this project will be released as a selective serial (with both free and paid posts).

This installment presents Chapter 3, Clearing It on Paper, Section 3 (Chinese–English edition). This section recounts the legal process through which 1143 Fifth Avenue secured access agreements from the neighboring buildings for scaffolding, and how that victory allowed the project to truly enter the construction site. For earlier context, please refer to previous posts.

2.3 访问协议

脚手架，是建筑行业的信号弹。枪声一响，一个新的建筑工地就启动了。

在斯蒂芬的早期议程中，除了申请地标保护委员会的核准，完成建筑工程、土木工程以及室内设计外，正式开工前还要提前准备就绪的，就是要制定并完成“现场安全计划”，即在建筑物四周安装好“人行道防护棚架”（也叫“行人保护脚手架”），以确保住户和行人免受工地可能发生的高空坠物的伤害。纽约市建筑局很快就批复了这张许可证。

由于1143号在第五大道的门面上与1148号和1140号紧贴，南北两侧也有局部相连，在后部即东面也与这两幢大楼靠得很近，部分脚手架就不得不在邻近物业的庭院内搭建。要兑现这样的强制性要求，邻居配合签署“访问协议”（Access Agreement）是先决条件。斯蒂芬三番五次登门或者写电邮，想找两边的物业公司经理和居委会主席协商，对方要么拒不见面，要么视而不见，要么笑而不答。

2年来，1143号与纽约市地标保护委员会的博弈，某个意义上也是在与卡内基山社区尤其是邻居的南北夹击中的“血拼”，不是吗？在经济活动中，时间与金钱就是血肉之躯。斯蒂芬后来通过他们内部的人打听到，在这个战略性的一步即将变现的关口，是北侧第五大道1148号率先发难，反对搭建脚手架，试图以此阻止整个工程的第一步“拆旧”的发生，这个“带头大哥”还带上第五大道1140号，两边联手拒不签署访问协议。

斯蒂芬去找THSH律师事务所的利维律师，两人在这一项目上合作已久，颇有默契，商议之后决定，于2017年1月1日新年之际，向纽约县（也就是曼哈顿行政区）地方法院提起诉讼，将南北两幢楼的法人代表同时告上法庭，并开始回应法院的取证环节。

8月3日，纽约县最高法院举行听证会，九点不到，斯蒂芬已经到现场，利维带着助手阿曼达也几乎同时到达。皮拉咨询工程公司作为土木工程的设计方，派出刚刚参加工作不久的年轻建筑师莎拉（Sarah Murray）到庭审现场，她将接手这一工程后续的具体工作，看得出来她有点紧张。客观地讲，第五大道项目的复杂性对新手而言是过大的挑战。快到9点半时，1140号和1148号的物业公司代表也陆续到场，他们共带来了4名律师。当天主持审理的是在民事纠纷领域有三十多年经验的老法官罗伯特·卡利什先生（Hon. Robert D. Kalish），他用了一个小时听取了三方的陈述，然后明确表达了自己的意见：1143号搭建脚手架的诉求合法，但需要回应1140号和1148号关于拆除与之紧邻墙体对隔壁一楼到七楼以及其他住户墙面损坏的关切。卡利什法官随即宣布休庭。

8月7日上午9点半，第五大道1143号诉1140号和1148号的公开庭审再次举行。卡利什法官让1143号陈述解决方案。利维刚对莎拉做了一个“请”的手势，斯蒂芬就拉了下他的衣角，“让我来”。他站起来，“我们决定并保证，在拆除整个大楼的工程中，将保留与1140号和1148号相连的全部隔墙，包括原计划拆除的两小段。”莎拉瞪大了眼睛，她不知道斯蒂芬什么时候冒出来这样的想法，因为原计划只保留正立面和与南北两幢建筑相邻隔墙的大部分，而超出原建四分之一的都可以彻底拆除，这样可以给新建移除障碍。1140号与1148号的律师立即开始交头接耳并要求发言。卡利什法官抬起双手示意大家安静。

“你们做得到吗？”

“是的，法官大人。”

“我来裁决。我不需要再听其他的讲法了。”

图注：第五大道1143号人行道防护棚架的原有安装方案，其中“Z”形区域为脚手架。2块米色阴影部分为与1140号和1148号相贴的隔墙，不在必须保留的四分之一原建的范围内，原计划拆除。2017年8月7日庭审时，斯蒂芬当庭决定保留这两个部分的墙体。

Original installation plan of the sidewalk protection scaffolding at 1143 Fifth Avenue. The “Z”-shaped area indicates the scaffolding. The two beige shaded sections represent the partition walls adjoining Nos. 1140 and 1148; they are not within the one-quarter of the original structure that had to be retained and were originally planned for demolition. At the hearing on August 7, 2017, Stephen decided in court to retain these two sections of wall.

2017年8月7日上午11时许，第五大道1143号分别与1140号和1148号在纽约县最高法院，签署了“访问与补偿协议”（Access and Indemnification Agreement），并由公证员做了公证，书记员记录存档。

两份协议各有27页，其中关于人行道防护棚架的条款写明：“本公司（1143号）正在毗邻物业（1148号或1140号）上进行施工，并已经请求许可对该物业上的建筑物进行特定的现场调查，以确定该物业及其周围的现有状况。本物业的拆除、挖掘和施工可能对毗邻物业产生影响，可能会因为安装人行道防护棚架或其他保护设施的原因需要进入毗邻物业”。

“访问协议”在建筑领域是常规动作，对行人、住户和工人而言，是安全的必要保障措施，所以，施工方与相关方都会友好协商解决，一般而言，施工方还会支付几千美金的补偿费，用于对方支付通告、协调和清洁等事项的需要，拒绝签署访问协议的情形是罕见的。由于此次的访问协议是通过诉讼仲裁获得的，按照法院的裁决，1143号只需要支付1美元象征性的补偿费。1140号和1148号都有点懵，他们高薪聘请的律师这次话都没有机会说，就必须依法开放门户了。

在纽约，法律就是法律，这座城市的真实动脉不是政府机关，而是法律系统。

当月的晚些时候，珠穆朗玛峰脚手架公司（Everest Scaffolding）的大卡车就开到了1143号前面的第五大道上，车上装满了将被焊接组装成脚手架主体结构的钢管。“珠峰”是一家位于布朗克斯区的本地家族企业，他们参建过帝国大厦的整修，获得过贝氏（AM Best）颁发的A+（优秀）证书，贝氏成立于1899年，是世界上第一家也是目前最大的专门从事保险信用评估的机构，创始总部就在纽约，它的评级在建筑业也是管用的。不过， 珠穆朗玛峰脚手架公司在2020年出现一起安全事故，一名工人跌落身亡，在美国劳工部调查诉讼后被罚16.9万美元才达成和解。这是后话。建筑行业，安全第一，但凡有一丝轻慢，都会以生命为代价——这也是1143号起诉1140号和1148号必胜的信心所在。

图注：2017年8月，珠峰公司开始为第五大道1143号搭建管状焊接框架脚手架。

August 2017, Everest Scaffolding began erecting tubular welded frame scaffolding at 1143 Fifth Avenue.

为了确保相邻住户的房屋不会因为拆建受到损失，1143号还需要进入1140号和1148号相关住户的家中对现有房屋情况进行勘查取证。考虑到这些住户通常拥有价值昂贵的艺术收藏，同时对隐私权有强烈的敏感以及有超级自觉的法律保护意识，协议上的这些条款就格外意味深长：“测量工作所拍摄的照片和视频，不得记录物业内或者单个公寓内的个人财产，包括任何艺术品，任何人员不得拍摄特定艺术品的照片和小视频”；且“调查期间制作的照片和视频需交给1140号和1148号的律师，副本交付给THSH律师事务所暨1143号的的律师，以严格保密的方式托管”。

图注：2017年8月7日，第五大道1143号与第五大道1140号签署的“访问与补偿协议”中的第14页，最左侧黑框中是纽约县书记员登录这份文件的具体时间。图中心位置上的黑色粗线部分为将要保留的墙体，西面为有四扇窗户的正里面，南北两条黑线分别代表与1048号和1040号相贴的隔墙。

Page 14 of the “Access and Indemnification Agreement” signed between 1143 Fifth Avenue and 1140 Fifth Avenue on August 7, 2017. The black box on the far left indicates the specific time at which the New York County clerk recorded the document. The thick black lines at the center of the drawing indicate the walls to be retained; to the west is the main façade with four windows, and the two black lines to the north and south represent the partition walls adjoining Nos. 1048 and 1040.

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For English readers: the full English version appears below the Chinese text, and English explanations for the photo captions appear beneath the Chinese captions.

写在前面

这篇文章写于2015年，当时我在印第安纳大学访学一年。对于一个长期生活在中国的人来说，那是我第一次在美国中西部长期居住，也是第一次有机会持续地与美国人的日常生活发生交集。

很多年后回头看，我越来越觉得，这篇文章的重要性并不在于它写的是 INDY500，而在于它记录了我认识美国的一种方式。

我对美国的理解，并不是从华盛顿开始，也不是从纽约开始，而是从印第安纳开始。从赛车场、农场、校园、城镇和普通人的生活开始。

后来我来到纽约，开始长期观察这座城市，并陆续写下《破坏实验》以及正在写作中的《第五大道1143号》。纽约给了我许多新的经验，但它也不断提醒我：纽约并不代表美国。纽约之外，还有许多不同样子的美国。

最近，印第安纳当地华文媒体《亚美导报》因今年 INDY500 赛事再次转载此文。我重新读了一遍，决定将它收入《纽约非虚构》的“美国档案”栏目。

作为一份十一年前的记录，它未必能够反映今天的美国；但它记录了我最初如何走近美国，以及为什么始终愿意从具体的人性经验出发理解这个国家。

李明洁，纽约，2026年5月

Before You Read

This essay was written in 2015, during my year as a visiting scholar at Indiana University. For someone who had spent most of her life in China, it was my first extended stay in the American Midwest and my first sustained encounter with the everyday lives of Americans.

Looking back many years later, I have come to feel that the significance of this essay lies not so much in its subject—the Indianapolis 500—as in the way it records my first attempts to understand the United States.

My understanding of America did not begin in Washington, nor did it begin in New York. It began in Indiana: at a racetrack, on farms, on a university campus, in small towns, and in the lives of ordinary people.

Years later, I moved to New York and began observing the city over the long term. Those observations eventually led to books such as Wounded New York NY 2017-2023 and my ongoing nonfiction project 1143 Fifth Avenue. New York has given me many new experiences, but it has also reminded me of something important: New York is not America. Beyond New York are many other versions of America, each with its own history, landscape, and way of life.

Recently, this essay was republished by Asian American Today, a Chinese-language newspaper in Indiana, in connection with this year’s Indianapolis 500. Rereading it, I decided to include it in the “American Archives” section of New York Nonfiction.

As a record written eleven years ago, it cannot fully explain the America of today. What it does preserve is the path by which I first approached this country—and the reason I have continued to believe that the best way to understand America is through concrete human experience.

Mingjie Li，New York，May 2026

一路狂飙过百年：ＩＮＤＹ５００随想

想象一下，以均速每小时227英里的时速，开车疾驰500英里；或者这么说，每小时365公里，把汽车开到飞机起飞的节奏，一路狂飙，从印第安纳波利斯直到亚特兰大。如果你想象不出这有多疯狂，你就想：从上海自驾到武汉，大家都遵守交规，旅游指南还建议你开9小时；而现在车况极其凶险，四周各色豪车，玩命抢道。但是你，除却巫山不是云，艺高而且人胆大；目中就是无人，猛进还要高歌。2个半小时！杀出一条血路，活着，搞定！这、这、这，够不够酷、炫、狂、霸、拽？

这，还真不是想象，印第安那波利斯500英里大赛（Indianapolis500，又叫INDY500），北美最高规格的开轮式赛车比赛暨美国冠军方程式锦标赛中最高级别的比赛，每年阵亡纪念日（Memorial Day，五月的最后一个周末），都在印第安纳州首府印第安那波利斯市极速上演。“酷”以类聚，这项赛事与F1摩纳哥大奖赛和勒芒24小时耐力赛并列世界三大汽车大奖赛，但它既要像F1一样比拼速度，又和勒芒拉力赛一样考验耐力。赛事的物质基础强大到“炫”，奖金奇高，今年即使未能完赛的车队都可获得数目可观的30万美金，而第一名更是高达2449055美金的犒赏。印地赛车场占地2.27平方公里，相当于整个梵蒂冈，是目前世界上观众容量最大的单体体育设施，可达40万人。这也使得INDY500成为世界上单日观赛人数最多的体育赛事，还不包括花车日游行、传统日音乐会等活动时的巨量粉丝。老大的气场可谓相当地“狂”。

图注：博格华纳奖杯（Borg-Warner Trophy of Indy500)（摄影：Richard Bryant）

The Borg-Warner Trophy of the Indy 500 (Photo: Richard Bryant)

然而，最最“霸”气，“拽”出竞争对手无数条横马路的，是貌似年轻气盛的INDY500，实际上已经狂飙猛进，过了百年。

从第一场比赛开始，INDY500的每辆赛车都是科学创新和技术进步的历史书页。1911年5月30日首战，Ray Harroun驾驶着自己设计的32号赛车“黄蜂”夺得头筹。很多人都认为Harroun的驾驶是危险的，比赛中只有他的身边没有坐着机械师，没有人可以帮他检查油压、提醒赛道状况。但是Harroun成竹在胸，他在车上安装了一块小小的镜子。这历史上第一块“后视镜”减掉了一个人的载重，将他轻松送上冠军宝座。1930年，美国工程师Harry Arminius Miller设计了四缸2.47升的米勒发动机，创造了当时新的世界陆地速度纪录144.895英里每小时（233.186公里/小时）。1934年，Miller的前雇员Fred Offenhauser和Leo Goosen开发了声名大噪的4缸奥芬豪瑟（Offenhauser）发动机，除了允许更高的气缸压力，还避免了盖垫密片和汽缸螺栓的磨损问题，由此，奥芬豪瑟发动机开轮式赛车主导赛场直至70年代，赢得了27场的赫赫战功。然而，逆水行舟，1963年福特公司入赛，取而代之。目前INDY500的发动机制造商则是 “雪佛兰”和“本田”，“火石”是独家轮胎供应商。各领风骚数百年，赛车本质上就是“高科技奥运会”。一辆赛车，是一家公司乃至一个国家高科技最新水平的代言人。当今科技，谁执牛耳，一“赛”了然。

INDY500是强者的赛场，最刺激的是它不可思议的速度，车手成绩乃至维修站换胎、加油的计时系统都精确到1/100秒，这在全世界赛车界中绝无仅有。1996年Arie Luyendyk跑出了385.052公里/时的极速；相比F1大奖赛，历史上的最高平均速度是Peter Gethin在Monza赛道上创下的242.615公里/时。然而，这样的速度要车手在2.5英里的椭圆形弯道带有倾斜角度的赛道上完成，一气疾驰200圈，确是实实在在的生死考验，尤其是椭圆赛道上的弯道对于赛车、车手都有致命的危险性。2011年两届INDY500的冠军，年仅33岁的英国车手Dan Wheldon就在这条赛道的弯道上被卷入15车连撞事故，瞬间丧生。驾驶技术、天赋智慧、斗志和勇气，还有运气和天命，决定了赛车是离死神最近的运动。

INDY500历史上第一位女车手Janet Guthrie的头盔和驾驶服，如今存放在华盛顿的史密斯森协会，她在自传《踩大油门去生活》中说：“赛车的关键是精气神，而不是所谓力气。你必须每一瞬间都做到最好，绝不可稍息。你必须怀有渴望，非常强烈的前进的渴望”。人在渴望中而不是在极限中，爆发的是巨大的潜能，唤醒的是超越本能的勇气。

加拿大车手Jacques Villeneuve与他同名的叔叔都获得过INDY500的冠军，不要忘记，他在11岁的时候，父亲Gilles Villeneuve（加拿大大奖赛的赛道以他命名）就在比利时大奖赛上遇难。这个家族在至亲的死别中，比谁都能体味与死神赛跑的恐惧和灾难，但也许正是这样极速前进的渴望，带领他们，直面死亡的记忆，碾压过命运的阴影，颠覆了死神的威胁；他们全力以赴，从死神手中，生生地赢回了尊严的奖杯。博格华纳奖杯顶端，站立着挥动方格旗的古希腊裸身运动男子；纯银的杯身上，雕刻着的正是这样的赢得最后冲刺的勇敢者；胜利者的花环上，33朵象牙白兰花和33面小方格旗，敬献的正是这种人类纯洁的精神胜利和无畏的生命勇气。

104岁而又康健有为的长者是足以傲视群雄的。世界拉力锦标赛（WRC）始于1973年，世界F1一级方程式始于1950年，北美纳斯卡NASCAR始于1948年，法国勒芒24小时耐力赛始于1923年，派克峰登山赛始于1916年。INDY500始于1911年，是赛车中历史最悠久的比赛。

一百年间，风云际会，世事沧桑。政治的影响首当其冲，印地赛车场曾因战事荒芜，1917年至1918年（一战）、1942年至1945年（二战）期间两度停办。所以，到今年，INDY500才是第99届。两次世界大战无数男儿走上了战场，纯粹的前进的渴望变成了复杂的人性的厮杀。车赛也是经济的晴雨表。一般报名的车队会超过一百，但是2004年初时，因为美国经济萧条的影响，组委会曾一度担心参赛的车辆不会超过33辆，最终报名者降为67辆，其中还包括备用车辆。女性车手的参赛无疑是INDY500最凸现文化意义的事件。在长达一个甲子的岁月里，女性是不允许涉足这一赛事的。直到1971年，女性记者才被允许进入维修区域进行采访。但是，女性进入这一历史的起点很高，表现也相当卓越。1978年获得第九名的首位完赛女车手Janet Guthrie毕业于密执根大学物理系，曾是航空工程师。传奇女车手Danica Patrick在2009年取得了第三名。2005年，在全部20圈中有19圈处于领先位置，这是历史上第一次由女车手领跑；到2011年，这位身高只有1米57看似文弱的女子总共领跑了29圈！这不禁让人想起由于女性参赛而改变了的INDY500的发令传统：二战以后，Tony Hulman先生总是从西服口袋掏出卡片走向麦克风，抑扬顿挫地拖着长调号令33位男性车手“先生们，发动你们的引擎吧（Gentlemen, start your engines!）”；直到1978年， Mary Fendrich Hulman太太接替去世的先生发令：“女士和她的伙伴们——先生们，发动你们的引擎吧”，她对现实的尊重里洋溢着女性的通融和聪慧，仿佛整个世界一下子都是为了陪伴女性才奔跑，其中的善意和进步，溢于言表。

INDY500，一路狂飚过百年。这一百年，有太多可以咀嚼回味的细节。很多中国人并不熟悉这一赛事，甚至会感觉很惊奇，在印第安纳这么纯朴的中西部地区怎么会有这样拉风的赛事呢？

INDY500其实仍然是很乡土的，开赛前还是会合唱不是州歌的“州歌”《印第安纳（Indiana）》，歌唱“红色的谷仓、新割的干草、印第安纳的农场”。人们为印州骄傲，印州人更是为自己是“Hoosier（印地乡巴佬）”而自豪，觉得这是个爱称而不是戏谑，就像中国人叫“江西老表”一样。开赛前，车队一众人马都俯身亲吻仅存的砖道，颇似国人大战前的燃香祭拜。INDY500获胜的车手要喝冰镇牛奶而不是狂喷香槟。1936年Louis Meyer第三次胜利之后饮下了一罐牛奶，他的照片被刊登在第二天的报纸头条。当地乳制品公司的总裁一下子抓到了商机。于是，从1937年开始，所有获胜的车手都会以喝牛奶作为庆祝的标志。与其说这些都是迷信俗仪或者商业操作，不如说是一方水土养一方人。印州广袤的原野和农耕传统以及印州人朴实无华的性格才是使得这些风俗至今喜闻乐见、长久不衰的根本原因。

图注：2015年4月21日，我受邀到赛道上亲吻“金字招牌一码砖”，即起跑/终点线处特意保留的这条 3 英尺（约 1 码）宽的原生红砖道。

On April 21, 2015, I was invited onto the track to kiss the Speedway’s iconic “Yard of Bricks”—the original red-brick band, 3 feet (about 1 yard) wide, deliberately preserved at the start/finish line.

INDY500在印州，看似意料之外，实则情理之中。印地赛车场建于1909年，当初320万块红砖铺就的跑道是汽车制造商的测试车道，当年的观众中不少是导购和潜在的客户。印州的汽车制造历史悠久，从十九世纪初手工制造的汽车到二战时期，印州40多个城市生产的汽车种类就有160多种。可倾斜的方向盘、恒速操纵器和液压制动器等都在印州试制成功。汽车制造业至今仍是印州的支柱产业。

说起来，印州与中国的关系恐怕也和汽车有关。1904年，爱新觉罗·溥伦率清帝国代表团离京出席美国圣路易斯世界博览会，其间专程到印州，就是为了试开汽车。INDY500至今还没有中国车手参赛，今年，16岁的罗玉峰（音译）出现在USF2000的赛场上，希望小荷初露，前程在望。

站在印第安纳波利斯赛车场的红砖起点，徜徉在赛车场名人堂博物馆，百年入眼，光阴似梦。这一百年，是科技进步的百年，是见证勇气的百年，是历史沧桑的百年。无数的赛车，从历史的风尘中疾驰而来，病树前头、沉舟侧畔，百年风云里，时光倒撤；而INDY500，却一骑绝尘，永葆青春的飒爽英姿。

注：印第安纳波利斯赛车场公司公关部媒体主任Tom Surber先生为采访提供了大力帮助，照片由该公司授权友情使用。

Flat Out for More Than a Century: Notes on the Indy 500

Written by Mingjie Li in Bloomington, Indiana, in 2015.

Imagine driving 500 miles at an average speed of 227 miles per hour. Or, to put it another way, imagine taking a car up to 365 kilometers per hour—at something like the speed of an airplane taking off—and blasting all the way from Indianapolis to Atlanta. If you still cannot picture how insane that is, try this instead: driving from Shanghai to Wuhan. Under normal road conditions, with everyone obeying traffic rules, travel guides say it takes about nine hours. Now imagine the road conditions are extremely dangerous, luxury cars of every kind are all around you, and everyone is fighting for position with their life on the line. But you are fearless and supremely skilled, with nothing and no one in your sight except the road ahead. You charge forward, singing as you go—two and a half hours! You carve a path through blood and danger, come out alive, and get it done. Is that cool enough? Flashy enough? Wild enough? Dominating enough?

And this is not imagination. The Indianapolis 500—also known as the Indy 500, “the Indy Five Hundred”—the premier open-wheel race in North America and the highest-level event in the IndyCar championship, erupts in extreme speed every year over Memorial Day weekend in Indianapolis, the capital of the state of Indiana. Birds of a feather flock together: alongside the Formula One Monaco Grand Prix and the 24 Hours of Le Mans, it is one of the world’s three great automobile races. Yet it demands both the speed of Formula One and the endurance of Le Mans. Its material base is dazzlingly strong. The prize money is enormous: even teams that fail to finish still receive substantial sums. This year (Editor’s note: 2015), the amount was US$300,000, while first place took home as much as US$2.45 million. The Indianapolis Motor Speedway covers 2.27 square kilometers—about the size of the entire Vatican—and is the largest single sporting venue in the world by seating capacity, able to hold 400,000 spectators. That also makes the Indy 500 the sporting event with the highest single-day attendance in the world. Its aura of dominance is, one might say, truly wild.

And yet the thing that makes the Indy 500 most overbearing—most untouchable, far beyond countless other races—is this: though it may look young and hot-blooded, it has in fact been racing full throttle for more than a century.

From the very first race, every Indy 500 car has been a page in the history of scientific innovation and technological progress.

In the inaugural race on May 30, 1911, Ray Harroun took first place driving the No. 32 car he designed himself, the Wasp. Many people considered Harroun’s method of driving dangerous, because unlike everyone else, he had no mechanic seated beside him during the race—no one to help check oil pressure or warn him about track conditions. But Harroun knew exactly what he was doing. He installed a small mirror on the car. That first “rearview mirror” in history eliminated the weight of one passenger and carried him easily to victory.

In 1930, American engineer Harry Arminius Miller designed the 2.47-liter four-cylinder Miller engine, setting what was then a new world land speed record: 144.895 miles per hour, or 233.186 kilometers per hour. In 1934, Miller’s former employee Fred Offenhauser, together with Leo Goosen, developed the now-famous four-cylinder Offenhauser engine. It allowed higher cylinder pressure while avoiding wear problems involving head gaskets and cylinder bolts. As a result, the Offenhauser engine dominated open-wheel racing until the 1970s, winning an astonishing twenty-seven races. But rowing upstream is always hard. In 1963, Ford entered the competition and eventually replaced it. Today, the engine manufacturers for the Indy 500 are Chevrolet and Honda, while Firestone is the exclusive tire supplier. Each leads the field for a time. At bottom, motor racing is a “high-tech Olympics.” A race car stands for the latest level of high technology reached by a company, even by a nation. In today’s world, who leads the field becomes obvious the moment the race begins.

The Indy 500 is a race for the strong. Its most thrilling quality is its unbelievable speed. Drivers’ results—and even pit-stop timing for tire changes and refueling—are measured to one-hundredth of a second, something unmatched anywhere else in the world of racing. In 1996, Arie Luyendyk reached a top speed of 385.052 kilometers per hour. By comparison, the highest average speed in Formula One history was Peter Gethin’s 242.615 kilometers per hour at Monza. Yet in the Indy 500, that kind of speed must be sustained for 200 laps around a 2.5-mile oval track with banked turns. It is, quite literally, a test of life and death. On an oval course, turns are lethally dangerous for both car and driver. In 2011, the British driver Dan Wheldon, a two-time Indy 500 champion, died instantly in a 15-car crash on one of those turns. Driving skill, natural talent, intelligence, fighting spirit, courage—and luck, and fate: these are what make motor racing the sport nearest to death.

The helmet and racing suit of Janet Guthrie, the first woman driver in Indy 500 history, are now housed at the Smithsonian Institution in Washington. In her autobiography Janet Guthrie: A Life at Full Throttle, she wrote: “The key to racing is spirit, not so-called strength. You have to be at your very best every moment. You can never let up. You have to feel desire—a very powerful desire to go forward.” It is in desire, not merely at the limit, that human beings unleash immense potential and awaken a courage that surpasses instinct.

Canadian driver Jacques Villeneuve and the uncle who shared his name both won the Indy 500. One should not forget that when Jacques was eleven years old, his father Gilles Villeneuve—after whom the Canadian Grand Prix circuit is named—was killed at the Belgian Grand Prix. This family, more than most, understood the terror and devastation of racing against death through the loss of one of their own. And perhaps it was precisely that desire to keep moving at extreme speed that led them to face the memory of death head-on, crush the shadow it cast over fate, and overturn death’s threat. Giving everything they had, they wrested a trophy of dignity back from the hands of death itself.

Atop the Borg-Warner Trophy stands a nude male athlete from ancient Greece, waving a checkered flag. All around the sterling silver body of the trophy are carved the faces of just such brave victors who won the final sprint. The wreath awarded to the winner—thirty-three ivory-white orchids and thirty-three small checkered flags—pays tribute to precisely this pure spiritual triumph and fearless courage of human life.

A 104-year-old elder who remains vigorous and capable has every right to look down on the rest. The World Rally Championship began in 1973, Formula One in 1950, North America’s NASCAR in 1948, the Le Mans 24 Hours in 1923, and the Pikes Peak Hill Climb in 1916. The Indy 500 began in 1911. It is the oldest race in motorsport.

Across that hundred-year span, the winds shifted and the world changed. Politics made its mark first. The Indianapolis Motor Speedway fell silent twice because of war: from 1917 to 1918 during World War I, and from 1942 to 1945 during World War II. That is why this year’s race was only the 99th running. In both world wars, countless men went to the battlefield, and the pure desire to move forward was transformed into the far more complicated slaughter born of human nature.

The race is also a barometer of the economy. Normally, the number of entries exceeds one hundred, but in early 2004, because of the American economic downturn, organizers once worried that the number of cars might not even reach thirty-three. In the end, the total dropped to sixty-seven, including backup cars.

The participation of women drivers is surely the event through which the Indy 500 has shown its cultural significance most clearly. For sixty years, women were not allowed anywhere near the race. It was not until 1971 that female reporters were permitted to enter the pit area to conduct interviews. But once women entered this history, they entered it at a high level, and their performances were remarkable. Janet Guthrie, the first woman to finish the race, placed ninth in 1978. She had graduated from the University of Michigan with a degree in physics and had worked as an aerospace engineer. The legendary female driver Danica Patrick finished third in 2009. In 2005, she led for 19 of the total 20 laps she was out front—the first time in history that a woman driver had led the Indy 500. By 2011, this seemingly slight woman, only 1.57 meters tall, had led a total of 29 laps.

One cannot help but think here of how women’s participation changed the race’s starting tradition. After World War II, Tony Hulman would always walk to the microphone with a card in hand, pull out his words with deliberate cadence, and command the 33 male drivers: “Gentlemen, start your engines!” But in 1978, after her husband’s death, Mrs. Mary Fendrich Hulman took over the honor and said: “In the company of ladies and their gentlemen—gentlemen, start your engines!” In that response to reality there was a woman’s tact, generosity, and intelligence, as if the whole world had suddenly begun racing in order to accompany women. The goodwill and progress contained in that moment spoke for themselves.

The Indy 500 has been racing full throttle for more than a century. There is so much in that century worth savoring and looking back on. Many Chinese readers are unfamiliar with the event, and may even find it surprising that such a flamboyant race would take place in a plainspoken Midwestern state like Indiana.

Yet the Indy 500 remains deeply local. Before the race begins, people still sing Indiana—not the official state song, but effectively the state song—praising “red barns, new-mown hay, and Indiana’s farms.” People are proud of Indiana, and Hoosiers are especially proud to be called “Hoosiers.” They see it as a term of affection, not mockery—rather like the Chinese nickname “laobiao” for people from Jiangxi. Before the race starts, members of the teams bend down and kiss the remaining strip of brick track, much like incense offerings before a great battle in China. The Indy 500 winner drinks iced milk, not sprayed champagne. In 1936, after winning for the third time, Louis Meyer drank a bottle of milk, and his photograph appeared on the front page of the newspaper the next day. The president of a local dairy company immediately saw a business opportunity. So from 1937 onward, all winning drivers have celebrated by drinking milk. Rather than saying these are simply commercial arrangements, it may be more accurate to say that every region produces its own customs. Indiana’s broad fields, its agricultural traditions, and the plain and unadorned temperament of its people are the deeper reasons these rituals remain beloved and have endured for so long.

The Indy 500 being in Indiana may seem unexpected, but in fact it makes perfect sense. The Speedway was built in 1909. At the time, its track of 3.2 million bricks served as a testing ground for car manufacturers, and many of the spectators were salesmen or potential customers. Indiana has a long history of automobile manufacturing. From hand-built cars in the early nineteenth century to the World War II era, more than forty Indiana cities produced over 160 different types of automobiles. The adjustable steering column, cruise control, hydraulic brakes, and other innovations were all successfully developed in Indiana. To this day, automobile manufacturing remains a pillar industry in the state.

Come to think of it, Indiana’s connection to China may also have something to do with the automobile. In 1904, Aisin Gioro Pujun led a Qing imperial delegation to the St. Louis World’s Fair in the United States, and during that trip he made a special stop in Indiana for one reason: to test-drive an automobile.

The Indy 500 still has no Chinese driver in the field. This year, however, sixteen-year-old Luo Yufeng (phonetic transliteration) appeared on the USF2000 circuit, and one can hope this small lotus has only just begun to show above the water, with a promising future ahead.

Standing on the brick starting line at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, wandering through the Hall of Fame Museum, one takes in a hundred years at a glance, and time feels like a dream. That century has been a century of technological progress, a century bearing witness to courage, a century of historical upheaval. Countless racing cars have come hurtling through the dust of history. Before sick trees and beside sinking ships, amid a hundred years of changing skies, time itself retreats; yet the Indy 500 goes on surging forward, forever keeping the brightest posture of youth.

Author’s note: Tom Surber, Media Director of Public Relations at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway Corporation, provided great assistance for this interview, and the photograph was provided by the company.

For English readers: the full English version appears below the Chinese text, and English explanations for the photo captions appear beneath the Chinese captions.

《第五大道1143号》是我正在写作中的非虚构项目，记录纽约第五大道1143号这幢历史建筑自2014年至2026年的重建过程。凡援引公开发表的媒体内容，涉及人名、地名、价码等信息，均照实录出；除公务部门及愿意公开姓名与相关事实者外，其余人物与公司信息均作必要处理。此次发布的是第2章《纸上过关》第 2节（中英文版），本节记录第五大道1143号开工前必须穿越的纽约许可证系统，以及两张关键施工许可证到手后工程进入MEP设计与审批的新一轮程序。前序内容，请参见之前的发布。

“1143 Fifth Avenue” documents the more than decade-long reconstruction of a historic building at 1143 Fifth Avenue in New York (2014–2026). Following basic anthropological practice, when I cite publicly available media sources, details such as names, places, and prices are reproduced as recorded. With the exception of government bodies and individuals who have explicitly agreed to make their names and relevant facts public, all other individuals and companies have been anonymized to protect their names and privacy. On Substack, this project will be released as a selective serial (with both free and paid posts).

This installment presents Chapter 2, Clearing It on Paper, Section 2 (Chinese–English edition). It traces the New York permit system that 1143 Fifth Avenue had to pass through before construction could begin, and the new round of MEP design and approval that followed once the two key Work Permits were secured. For earlier context, please refer to previous posts.

2.2 施工许可证

纽约是永远都无法完工的大工地。

绿色的木制围栏随处可见，上面都醒目地钉着“建筑项目信息标志”，规格统一：宽2英尺4英寸、长4英尺，写着建设单位、工期、联系人等。围栏上还会贴满五花八门的许可证。围挡若侵占人行道或车道，往往还要满足交通局（DOT）的占道许可要求——因为围挡通常会占用公共空间，而每个工程又不得不需要一个缓冲区来放置大型铁制建筑垃圾箱、脚手架构件等体量不小的装备和临时物料。

大不敬地说，纽约市政府简直是许可证的专卖店。向市政府申报许可证的行政费用看上去并不高，但每一份申请都要附上图纸与情况说明；复杂的表格催生了专门负责填报、递交、追踪进度的项目跟催公司。更不要说相关的设计费与出图费了——于是许可证申报常常膨胀成一个纸面上的庞然大物：楼还没长高，文件先堆成了一座小山。谁都难以否认，这是一个由政府启动、由行业接力的巨型产业链。

要命的是，建筑工程是综合性的，需要同时面对多个系统。建筑局（DOB）当然是核心，发放的许可证名目繁多，不同的施工类型乃至同一类型中不同的作业状态，都必须申请单独的许可证。消防局（FDNY）有自己的要求, 在拆旧与重建过程中必须配备灭火器，并设置施工期间临时使用的消防用水管道，且要通过验收。历史街区里的建筑，所有作业还要经得起地标保护委员会（LPC）的审视。几十张许可证、批文、检查与签字像一串串节点，缺一个，工程就可能被叫停——不是技术上不能做，而是法律上不能做。

有些项目的申请还是“俄罗斯套娃”，一环套一环。就说脚手架吧：先要由项目团队提交相关图纸与申请，脚手架公司再据此请注册工程师完成具体的搭建设计与计算方案，递交建筑局审批，才能拿到许可；与此同时，脚手架往往还涉及占用人行道或道路，又必须去交通局办理相应手续。第五大道1143号的工程，交通局相关许可就有几十张：各类施工活动许可、街道施工许可与受保护街道施工许可、人行道施工许可、遮篷授权证与许可证、商用垃圾箱许可，以及与地下室、变电箱室等相关的核准与许可……名目繁多，跑起来像一条没有尽头的传送带。

这些许可证，多数有不言自明的硬道理，但也有一些属于“规则就是规则”——不管你理解不理解或者怎么理解，都必须执行。斯蒂芬拿到手的第一张施工许可证是2016年5月建筑局颁发的“内部拆除”（Interior Demolition）许可：在保证房屋基本使用功能的前提下，允许对建筑物内部进行拆除。于是，直到一年之后拿到整幢建筑的拆除许可，第五大道1143号都不得不维持着这样一种奇异场景——外墙完好无损，内部的墙体和橱柜却被拆得七零八落，但每一层楼还得留下一个可用的厕所和一个厨房。怪得像一幅半截的画，却又像蒙娜丽莎的微笑，谁也不敢轻易下判词。

图注：2016年5月9日，第五大道1143号门前的围栏。当时改建方案还在纽约市地标保护委员会审核中，就已经贴上了这么多张许可证。左边一列带有“DOB”字样的是建筑局许可证，右边带有“DOT”字样的是交通局许可证，上方白底红字的标牌和黄色标志是工地必须佩戴安全帽的醒目提示。

May 9, 2016, the fence in front of 1143 Fifth Avenue. At that time, the redevelopment plan was still under review by the New York City Landmarks Preservation Commission, yet so many permits had already been posted. The column on the left marked “DOB” consists of Department of Buildings permits, while the column on the right marked “DOT” consists of Department of Transportation permits. The white sign with red lettering above and the yellow sign are conspicuous reminders that hard hats must be worn at the construction site.

2016年5月拿到地标保护委员会（LPC）的批件，意味着开工成为真实的可能。皮拉团队在建筑设计终稿的基础上，开始着手设计这幢大楼的结构工程和土木工程的施工细则。与“一张白纸可以画最新最美的图画”相比，既要保留四分之一的原建，又要安全拆除其他的部分，难度系数增加了不止一个级别，是一项如履薄冰的作业。好在皮拉团队擅长这类工程的设计，厚厚一叠图纸交到纽约市建筑局（DOB），因为属于“改建一级申报”（ALT1, 即Alteration Type 1），是涉及改变用途和占用率的重大改建工程，所以比常见的小型改造的申报（ALT2）严格得多，涉及更多部门和审查。所以也只能苦苦等待，再等待。

2017年春夏之交，与第五大道1143号再建工程至关重要的2份施工许可证正式下达。5月26日的施工许可证（Work Permit），允许整体拆除和土方工程开工，但上面的核心要求赫然写着：现有结构的25%必须保留，第一至第七层以及后院的改建必须符合相应的法规。6月6日的施工许可证允许“垂直加建整体”，且证书上又再次强调了同样的要求。这两道施工许可证在握，工程总算可以实质性地启动了。

图注：2017年5月26日，第五大道1143号拿到了允许整体拆除和土方工程开工的施工许可证，实质性工程正式启动。

May 26, 2017, 1143 Fifth Avenue obtained the Work Permit allowing demolition and earthwork to begin, and the substantive phase of the project officially commenced.

这两张施工许可证在纽约是非常值钱的，是的，非常值钱。建筑局的网上刚一公布，斯蒂芬的电话就没有停下来过。各类建筑公司的电话不断，询问合作的可能性，“电工要吗？水暖工要不？”。这都还在情理之中，不过有点意料之外的是，每天不止4家房屋中介公司来电询问是否会在拿到施工许可证之后，出售第五大道1143号。这提醒了斯蒂芬，他转告马利安，这是个极佳的转手倒卖的机会，不动一兵一卒，就可立地盈利。马利安断然否定，“不卖！不可能出售！我不需要它赚钱。这是我做的家族投资，你明白吗？长期家族投资，是要留给后代的。”好几个中介报上来的价目有十二分的诱惑力，转手就净赚2000万美金这类的机会唾手可得，斯蒂芬出于尽职的态度再三与马利安确认，老先生在欧洲的回复始终岿然不动，有一次甚至在电话里动了气，“够了，不要再说了！我不卖！”。

如果不被倒卖，这些施工许可证就是一场硬仗即将开始的宣战书。战争先从指挥部里的沙盘推演开始，开工前必须先拿到MEP许可证。MEP是英文Mechanical, electrical, and plumbing的首字母缩写，也就是“机械、电气和管道”，是指建筑设计和建造中与机械、电气和管道系统相关的各个方面，具体而言，“机械”即暖通空调，包括加热、冷却、通风和排气等关键领域以及与电气和水暖工程的合作，这涉及对环境因素的控制，以确保住户和机器能始终处于一个相对舒适的环境内；“电气”主要与整个建筑的供电系统和信息技术系统相关，后者涉及的范围如今不断拓展，像互联网、电话、电视、安保系统、音频系统等；“管道”的范围通常包括饮用水、加热水、天然气和污水和雨水处理等。MEP设计对于准确的建筑决策、性能和成本估算以及施工的计划和管理都非常重要，通常由专业的工程公司来通盘设计。

一名相熟的工程师向斯蒂芬推荐了一家叫做“普乐斯”的工程咨询公司（Plus group consulting engineering），这家公司有多名消防、管道、机械等不同专业领域的工程师，能提供一揽子的工程解决方案；他们也做过像西奥多·罗斯福故居修复项目中的全套工程设计，对历史保护建筑的要求不陌生。在曼哈顿中城的西39街，印度裔的老板穆拉与斯蒂芬见面后，很快就拍板，签下了这单20万美元的合同。

公司的合伙人白俄罗斯裔的索洛夫丘克（Solovchuk）女士是土木工程的专家，对纽约市建筑局颁发的各类法规了如指掌。她到现场勘看时，对着维托里奥的室内设计概念图问斯蒂芬，“这些房间具体有多大？住多少人？还有，你能确定卫生间的确是在这个位置？这么小？”斯蒂芬哭笑不得，他回答不了，尽管他明白索洛夫丘克女士问得有道理，MEP设计的前提是室内设计方案的确定，这是业内的常识。工程师必须根据房间的大小和住户的多少等具体情况，来匹配空调、上下水管道等具体设备的种类和型号。斯蒂芬请她宽限几日，他再去跟维托里奥确认。然而，维托里奥总在世界的某处旅行，而且他脑子里还有好几种想法，都好到让他难以取舍；加上马利安也有自己的希望，过几天还会又冒出来一个新的希望……一圈问下来，斯蒂芬就感觉到欧洲人和美国人做事情的习惯差异了；至少，纽约人做决定的速度要快很多。

斯蒂芬不得不自己做决定了，他不能再这么一直问一直等了；况且，将在外军令有所不受嘛。机械、电气和管道的工程设计本就相当繁复，加上纽约的相关法规多到让人怀疑人生，这是格外费神、耗时的硬碰硬的技术活儿，客户的需求不明确，工程师就会无所适从；设计完成后，还都需要递交到建筑局去申请三份独立的许可证。要是再这样拖下去，不知道什么时候才能拿到许可，更别提开工了。于是，他对索洛夫丘克女士说：“这样吧，我们做一个最简版的通用方案，拿到许可证后，我们根据实际情况再做调整，好吧？就这样。”

索洛夫丘克女士皱着眉头答应的时候，并无缘见到维托利奥，而且事实上最终也没碰过面，她也并不知道他们后来要改多少遍的图纸。

2.2 Work Permits

New York is a construction site that can never be completed.

Green wooden fences are everywhere, with “Construction Project Information Signs” prominently posted on them, all in the same size: 2 feet 4 inches wide and 4 feet long, listing the developer, construction period, contact person, and so on. The fences are also covered with all kinds of permits. If the fencing encroaches on sidewalks or roadways, it often must also meet the Department of Transportation’s (DOT) requirements for street-occupancy permits—because fencing usually takes up public space, and every project inevitably needs a buffer zone for large iron construction dumpsters, scaffolding components, and other sizable equipment and temporary materials.

Bluntly speaking, the New York City government is practically a permit shop. The administrative fees for applying to the city may not look high, but each application must be accompanied by drawings and explanatory materials; the complex forms have given rise to specialized expediting companies responsible for completing, submitting, and tracking applications. That is not even to mention the related design fees and drawing costs—so permit applications often swell into a massive paper entity: before the building rises, the documents have already piled up into a small mountain. It is hard to deny that this is a gigantic industrial chain initiated by the government and carried forward by the industry.

What makes it worse is that construction is a comprehensive undertaking, requiring simultaneous engagement with multiple systems. The Department of Buildings (DOB) is, of course, the core authority, issuing a wide array of permits; different types of construction work, and even different stages within the same type of work, each require separate permits. The Fire Department (FDNY) has its own requirements: during demolition and reconstruction, fire extinguishers must be provided, temporary fire water lines must be installed for use during construction, and these must pass inspection. For buildings located in historic districts, all work must also withstand scrutiny from the Landmarks Preservation Commission (LPC). Dozens of permits, approvals, inspections, and signatures form a chain of nodes; if even one is missing, the project may be halted—not because it cannot be done technically, but because it cannot be done legally.

Some applications are like Russian nesting dolls, one layer inside another. Take scaffolding as an example: the project team must first submit the relevant drawings and applications; the scaffolding company then engages a licensed engineer to complete the detailed erection design and structural calculations, which are submitted to the DOB for approval before a permit can be issued. At the same time, scaffolding often involves occupying sidewalks or roadways, requiring separate procedures with the DOT. For the project at 1143 Fifth Avenue, there were dozens of related DOT permits alone: various construction activity permits, street work permits and protected street work permits, sidewalk construction permits, canopy authorizations and permits, commercial dumpster permits, as well as approvals and permits related to basements, transformer rooms, and more. The categories were so numerous that running through them felt like an endless conveyor belt.

Most of these permits have their own self-evident rationale, but some fall into the category of “rules are rules”—whether one understands them or not, and however one understands them, they must be followed. The first construction permit Stephen obtained was the “Interior Demolition” permit issued by the Department of Buildings in May 2016: it allowed demolition of the building’s interior on the condition that its basic functions remained intact. Thus, until a year later, when the permit for demolition of the entire building was obtained, 1143 Fifth Avenue had to remain in a peculiar condition—the exterior walls were intact, while the interior walls and cabinetry had been dismantled into fragments, yet each floor still had to retain a usable bathroom and kitchen. It was as strange as a half-finished painting, yet also like the smile of the Mona Lisa—no one dared to render an easy judgment.

Obtaining approval from the Landmarks Preservation Commission (LPC) in May 2016 meant that the start of construction became a real possibility. Based on the finalized architectural design, the Pilla team began working on the detailed structural and civil engineering plans for the building. Compared with “drawing the newest and most beautiful picture on a blank sheet of paper,” the task here—retaining one quarter of the existing structure while safely demolishing the rest—raised the level of difficulty by more than one order; it was an operation carried out as if walking on thin ice. Fortunately, the Pilla team specialized in this type of engineering design. A thick stack of drawings was submitted to the New York City Department of Buildings (DOB). Because it was filed as an Alteration Type 1 (ALT1), involving changes in use and occupancy, it was far more stringent than the more common minor alteration filing (ALT2), involving more departments and more layers of review. Therefore, there was nothing to do but wait, and wait again.

At the turn of spring to summer in 2017, two construction permits crucial to the redevelopment of 1143 Fifth Avenue were officially issued. The Work Permit dated May 26 allowed full demolition and earthwork to begin, but its core requirement was stated prominently: 25% of the existing structure had to be retained, and alterations to the first through seventh floors and the rear yard had to comply with the relevant regulations. The Work Permit dated June 6 authorized the “overall vertical enlargement,” and the same requirement was again emphasized on the certificate. With these two construction permits in hand, the project could finally move forward in a substantive way.

These two Work Permits were extremely valuable in New York—yes, extremely valuable. As soon as they were posted online by the Department of Buildings, Stephen’s phone did not stop ringing. Calls from various construction companies came one after another, asking about the possibility of cooperation: “Need electricians? Plumbers?” This was to be expected. What was somewhat unexpected, however, was that more than four real estate brokerage firms called every day to ask whether 1143 Fifth Avenue would be put up for sale after obtaining the Work Permits. This reminded Stephen that this was an excellent opportunity for resale. He told Marianne that one could make an immediate profit without lifting a finger. Marianne flatly rejected the idea. “No sale! Absolutely not! I do not need it to make money. This is a family investment, do you understand? A long-term family investment, to be passed down to future generations.” The prices quoted by several brokers were extremely tempting—opportunities to make a net profit of twenty million dollars at a stroke were within easy reach. Out of professional responsibility, Stephen confirmed it repeatedly with Marianne. The old gentleman’s reply from Europe remained unwavering; on one occasion, he even grew irritated over the phone. “Enough. Don’t bring it up again. I’m not selling!”

If the property was not to be resold, then these construction permits were effectively a declaration that a hard battle was about to begin. The battle would first begin with sand-table exercises at headquarters. Before construction could begin, MEP permits had to be obtained. MEP stands for Mechanical, Electrical, and Plumbing, referring to all aspects related to mechanical, electrical, and plumbing systems in building design and construction. Specifically, “mechanical” refers to heating, ventilation, and air conditioning, including key areas such as heating, cooling, ventilation, and exhaust, as well as coordination with electrical and plumbing systems. It involves the control of environmental factors to ensure that both occupants and equipment remain in a relatively comfortable environment. “Electrical” mainly relates to the building’s power supply system and information technology systems, the latter of which now encompasses an ever-expanding range, including the internet, telephones, television, security systems, and audio systems. “Plumbing” typically includes potable water, hot water, natural gas, sewage, and stormwater systems. MEP design is extremely important for accurate building decisions, performance and cost estimation, and the planning and management of construction, and is usually carried out as an integrated design by specialized engineering firms.

An engineer Stephen knew recommended a firm called Plus Group Consulting Engineering. This company had multiple engineers specializing in fire protection, plumbing, mechanical systems, and other fields, and could provide a comprehensive set of engineering solutions. They had also handled the full engineering design for projects such as the restoration of the Theodore Roosevelt Birthplace, and were familiar with the requirements of historic-preservation buildings. On West 39th Street in Midtown Manhattan, Stephen met with the Indian-born owner, Mulla, and they quickly reached a decision, signing a $200,000 contract.

One of the firm’s partners, Ms. Solovchuk, of Belarusian origin, was an expert in civil engineering and thoroughly familiar with the various regulations issued by the New York City Department of Buildings. During her site visit, she looked at Vittorio’s conceptual interior design drawings and asked Stephen, “What are the exact dimensions of these rooms? How many people will live here? And can you be sure the bathroom is really located here? It’s so small?” Stephen could only smile awkwardly; he could not answer, although he understood that Ms. Solovchuk’s questions were reasonable. The premise of MEP design is a finalized interior design scheme—this is common knowledge in the industry. Engineers must match specific equipment, such as air-conditioning and plumbing systems, based on concrete factors such as room size and occupancy. Stephen asked her to give him a few days so he could confirm with Vittorio. However, Vittorio was always traveling somewhere in the world, and he had several ideas in his mind, all so good that he found it difficult to choose among them; moreover, Marianne also had his own preferences, and every few days another new one would emerge… After making the rounds of inquiries, Stephen began to feel the difference in working habits between Europeans and Americans; at the very least, New Yorkers made decisions much more quickly.

Stephen had no choice but to make the decision himself; he could not go on asking and waiting like this. Besides, when the general is in the field, orders from afar may not always be followed. The engineering design for mechanical, electrical, and plumbing systems was already highly complex, and combined with the overwhelming number of related regulations in New York, it became an especially demanding and time-consuming technical task. If the client’s requirements were unclear, the engineers would be at a loss. After the design was completed, three separate permits would need to be submitted to the Department of Buildings. If the process continued to drag on, there was no telling when the permits would be obtained, let alone when construction could begin. Therefore, he said to Ms. Solovchuk, “Let’s do this: we will make a simplified, general plan. After we obtain the permits, we will make adjustments based on actual conditions. All right? That’s what we’ll do.”

Ms. Solovchuk agreed with a frown. She never had the chance to meet Vittorio, and in fact, she had no idea how many times the drawings would later be revised.

For English readers: the full English version appears below the Chinese text, and English explanations for the photo captions appear beneath the Chinese captions.

《第五大道1143号》是我正在写作中的非虚构项目，记录纽约第五大道1143号这幢历史建筑自2014年至2026年的重建过程。凡援引公开发表的媒体内容，涉及人名、地名、价码等信息，均照实录出；除公务部门及愿意公开姓名与相关事实者外，其余人物与公司信息均作必要处理。此次发布的是第2章《纸上过关》第 1节（中英文版），本节写欧洲建筑师维托里奥进入第五大道1143号项目后，与纽约建筑法规及上东区语境之间发生的错位与摩擦。前序内容，请参见之前的发布。

“1143 Fifth Avenue” documents the more than decade-long reconstruction of a historic building at 1143 Fifth Avenue in New York (2014–2026). Following basic anthropological practice, when I cite publicly available media sources, details such as names, places, and prices are reproduced as recorded. With the exception of government bodies and individuals who have explicitly agreed to make their names and relevant facts public, all other individuals and companies have been anonymized to protect their names and privacy. On Substack, this project will be released as a selective serial (with both free and paid posts).

This installment presents Chapter 2, Clearing It on Paper, Section 1 (Chinese–English edition). This section follows the arrival of European architect Vittorio at 1143 Fifth Avenue, where aesthetic ambition begin to collide with New York building codes and the Upper East Side context. For earlier context, please refer to previous posts.

2.1 维托里奥来了

2016年的夏天来得比前面一年早，气温也似乎高一点，斯蒂芬从第五大道1143号的5楼西窗望出去，对面中央公园的大树亭亭如盖，只听得到树下游乐场孩童的嬉闹声。他在自己的临时办公桌旁，添置了一张更大的崭新的办公桌，摆上了新买的绘图纸和24色彩笔，还有一本2008年出版的16开大画册《维托里奥·西蒙尼：情境架构》（Vittoria Simoni: Situational Architecture）。这本书是这位叫维托里奥的建筑师的作品集，里面有彩色的概念草图、设计细节和实景照片，这些是斯蒂芬主动安排的；但像订酒店、接送机这些小事情，他觉得维托里奥工作室的秘书本都可以在网上安排妥当，但临了都没有落实。马利安关照斯蒂芬“接待好这位艺术家”，斯蒂芬多少感觉有点摆谱，但还是应允下来。一切就绪，就等“真佛”大驾光临了。

维托里奥（Vittoria Simoni，1954-）是常驻比利时的意大利建筑师，在布鲁塞尔颇有声名，马利安做地产项目的时候与他相识。意大利现代建筑家卡洛·斯卡帕（Carlo Scarpa, 1906-1978）被誉为“欧洲的弗兰克·赖特”， 维托里奥年轻的时候给他做过助手，至今还受斯卡帕家族的委托负责他建筑遗产的维护工作。马利安非常看重维托里奥的才华，聘请他做纽约新楼的室内设计顾问，这其实是维托里奥在做建筑师之前的老本行，他在比利时、意大利、西班牙、迪拜和日本等很多国家，做过不少酒店、博物馆、商店和办公楼的室内设计项目。他们俩都说法语，在布鲁塞尔不仅常见面，而且红酒喝起来，一相谈就甚欢。

斯蒂芬从飞机场接到维托里奥，看上去只比自己大两三岁，并不是盛气凌人的样子，甚至很有些孩子气——带着大大的黑框眼镜，一头浓密的银发翻卷着支棱着，和眼神一起活泼泼地抖动。“来纽约，那要听爵士哦！我告诉你呀，我爱爵士。你们纽约当地人都去什么场子玩耍？”斯蒂芬想当年也是搞过小乐队的，至今也不否认自己是文艺老青年；何况是建筑师兼室内设计顾问的需求，那必须安排好。当晚两人就直奔百老汇大道靠近西106街上的烟雾（Smoke）爵士乐俱乐部,这家俱乐部1999年开业，爵士钢琴乐手哈罗德·马伯恩（Harold Mabern,1936-2019）生前在那里驻场演出，他曾断言：“烟雾是世界上最伟大的爵士乐俱乐部。”不管这算不算偏爱，但在这里露脸的还真都是全球当红的爵士高手；而且红丝绒帷幕、古董吊灯和颇有年代感的长吧台，确实给人相当有获得感的纽约夜总会体验，时尚又经典。当晚斯蒂芬陪着维托里奥，美酒加咖啡，一杯又一杯。正式表演结束后，过来串门的各路神仙有一时兴起上台玩即兴组合的，维托里奥见状也一个箭步扑向架子鼓，斯蒂芬拉都拉不住，结果被台上的乐手呵呵着婉拒了。斯蒂芬是不好意思说，咱可不敢拿自己的业余爱好跟人家吃饭的本事叫板啊。

好在第二天维托里奥的心情丝毫不受影响，他兴致勃勃地在第五大道1143号空置的楼层里逛了一圈，然后走到他的办公桌前，看到自己的画册很高兴，“我还有一本影集马上就要出版了，都是我在旅行的时候拍的建筑。我是狂热的旅行者，旅行能磨练观察力，也能重燃对事物的好奇心。好，我要工作了，让我把我的感觉画下来。”他站在绘图纸前沉吟片刻，然后以极快的速度笔走龙蛇，不一会儿，七八张用勾线笔完成的草图就呈现在斯蒂芬的眼前，而且图上还有彩色晕染。在这幢已然衰败的空楼里，这些蓝图像窗外孩子们的笑声，有一种无拘无束甚至不管不顾的愉悦。斯蒂芬面对这样的才气，钦佩之情油然而生，“哇，哇哦，这简直就是魔术啊！”第三天，维托里奥就飞回了比利时，斯蒂芬这才缓过劲来，“可是，这是什么？这个房间到底有多大？我怎么才能把它做出来？这上面没有说用什么材料呀……”

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For English readers: the full English version appears below the Chinese text, and English explanations for the photo captions appear beneath the Chinese captions.

这篇访谈经授权转载，原载《南方人物周刊》。此前，我已转载过《新京报书评周刊》对我的一次访谈；两篇文章都围绕我2025年出版的两本新书展开。

如果说上一篇更侧重我为何持续以纽约为观察美国社会的入口，那么这一篇则更集中地谈到这两本书背后的研究路径：从哥伦比亚大学“中国纸神专藏”的追索，到纽约田野、疫情日记与《破坏实验》的写作，它更关心的是：什么是相对正常的社会，社会撕裂之后又如何可能弥合。

This interview is reprinted here with permission and originally appeared in “Southern People Weekly”. I previously reposted an interview from Beijing News Book Review Weekly; both pieces discuss my two recent books published in 2025.

If the earlier interview focused more on why I continue to use New York as a point of entry for observing American society, this one is more concentrated on the research path behind the two books: from tracing Columbia University’s “Chinese Paper Gods Collection” to New York fieldwork, pandemic diaries, and the writing of Breach Experiment. At its core is a question that has continued to preoccupy me: what makes a society relatively normal, and how, after social rupture, might repair still be possible?

何为正常社会、社会撕裂后怎样弥合？

本文首发于《南方人物周刊》， 2026年3月29日，发自北京。

文 /南方人物周刊记者：孟依依 ，实习记者：郭思航 ，编辑： 周建平

“破坏实验”是社会学家哈罗德·加芬克尔提出并实践的研究方法，通过引入微小的破坏，违反某种社会规范，来观察人们的反应，并进一步分析背后的社会建构和秩序规律。

新冠疫情期间和后疫情时代，身在纽约的李明洁感到极化和裂隙在不断加剧，眼前是一场巨大的“破坏实验”。她花了很多时间做田野调查、写日记，寻找社会撕裂之后弥合的可能。

寻找大都会

不同类型的学者有不同的乐趣，有的热衷创造理论，以揭示万物的存在状态、运行法则，有的热衷传播，像导游一样给游客在知识地图上锚定新地标，还有的则热衷发现。

“发现本身已经是足够大的奖赏，是超过所有奖励的奖励。”学者李明洁属于第三种。她已经58岁了，2023年年底从华东师范大学退休，长住纽约。其间她仍笔耕不辍，2025年交付了两本书。一本是民俗学专著《神交》，研究哥伦比亚大学的“中国纸神专藏”；另一本是人类学札记《破坏实验》，一半是在纽约城做的田野，一半是在新冠疫情时写的日记。它们是她过去八年劳作的结晶，是她对何为正常社会、社会撕裂之后如何弥合的寻找和实践。

李明洁原本是语言学专业出身。从1987年被保送到华东师大至2015年，她学生时代在这所大学的老牌学科中文系学习，毕业后留在中文系执教，社会语言学、话语分析是她的专长。她研究过2007至2013年之间的网络流行语大爆发——“普大喜奔”与“细思恐极”齐飞，“无厘头”与“文青愤青”一色——通过社会上流行的语言应用现象来发现来自民间的热切、解构或虚无。

“当代中国的改变首先是从偶然事件开始的，是从网民对这些偶然事件的底层写作开始的——是从流行语成为网络‘国风’开始的。”她在专栏文章中这样写道。时至今日，她都自觉“关心最大多数的民众”，比如，他们在想什么、他们怎么生活。学生们喜欢她，很长一段时间里，她是华东师大中文系的人气教授。

到了2015年，华东师大社会发展学院的民俗学研究所独立建制的第三年，为了支持新系所设立博士点，李明洁被调到那里。从那时开始，她的研究从语言学延伸到了更广泛的层面，打开了另外一半的空间，直接走入语言背后的现实。

华东师大的社会发展学院以城市研究为主体。一方面，李明洁认同随着城市化的进程，在21世纪，城市已经是很多人的原乡，包括她自己；另一方面，都市人类学在20世纪60年代兴起之后，许多研究者将目光投向的是英美发达国家城市中的单一社区，尤其是“关心城市里的边缘人”，或者聚焦越南和墨西哥等发展中国家的城市化。她觉得这些还不够：“那大城市里普通人的生活是不是也需要被关注和研究呢？”

从语言学步入民俗学，好比走路时把重心从左脚移到右脚，李明洁要先找到一个支点——寻找一个放在全球来看都饱满繁荣的大都会。

与此同时，另一个巧合的事情出现了。经由上海书店出版社原副社长唐晓云介绍，李明洁在一次饭局上认识了哥伦比亚大学东亚图书馆馆长程健，后者提到馆内的一套纸马藏品，“一直就没有人研究。” 程健问她，这属于民俗学范畴吗？李明洁说，当然，如果有机会，她一定去纽约看看。

于是，在2017年夏天，李明洁自费去了纽约。

“那时候纽约就是纽约，是上紧了发条的巨兽，壮实、性感、赤裸裸。最成熟的文化人类学者，恐怕也难以招架它的耍酷、易变、炫目和癫狂。”她在《破坏实验》中写道。

很快，李明洁意识到自己找了个难题。哥大的藏品质量欠佳，研究难以推进——“太普通，品相平平，完全不在藏家的水平，你一看就知道这个人是业余的。”纽约的生活成本很高，她住在东哈莱姆街区，房租每个月2000美元，在曼哈顿岛上不算贵，但已经高于她当时工资的税后净收入。

有一天傍晚，李明洁去超市买东西，路过东11街和第一大道的街口，忽然看到一幅巨大的墙画，画着“拉丁裔和非裔美人儿，还有墨西哥的亡灵，带着绯红玫瑰的表情比无辜还无辜”。她的脑中忽然响起一首流行了几十年的歌，《西班牙哈莱姆》，因为歌曲的第一句词“there is a rose”就飘荡在墙上。她灵光乍现，意识到原来西班牙哈莱姆就是她身处的东哈莱姆。这个纽约最大的拉丁族裔社区之一，几经帮派混战，深受贫穷困扰，但它的历史从未中断，一直保留着“原真性”。眼前的墙画就是社区巨大的心灵档案。

▲2018年2月26日，李明洁在“东哈莱姆的精神”墙画前采访修复者与原绘制者之一曼纽尔·维加 图/受访者提供

On February 26, 2018, Li Mingjie interviewed Manuel Vega—one of the original artists and a restorer—in front of the mural *The Spirit of East Harlem*.

李明洁当即转身回住所，开始搜索更多东哈莱姆的资料。她终于在纽约找到了田野的入口，以至于后来想起来还感叹命运的感召：“学者只是一个载体，一些学术思想借助你的肉身、经验、记忆来焕发。这里面有自己的努力，但也许更多的是天命。当你被呼召的时候，你应该去完成它。”

绕不开的特朗普

从东哈莱姆进入纽约像是打开潘多拉魔盒。

它是纽约移民史的缩影——17世纪初，荷兰人从印第安人手中“买”下曼哈顿岛，将北部辟作农业区，命名为“新哈莱姆(New Harlem)”；19世纪末，大量欧洲移民到来，意大利人涌入，这里又被称为“小意大利”或“意大利哈莱姆(Italian Harlem)”；两次世界大战后，意大利裔迁移，波多黎各人和非裔移民成为这里的主要居民，于是意大利哈莱姆成了“西班牙哈莱姆(Spanish Harlem)”。种族矛盾、毒品交易使东哈拉姆积重难返。

东哈莱姆的文化原真性某种程度上体现在社区的墙画上。李明洁走访并研究了大量东哈莱姆的墙画，将庞大丰富的墙画分门别类，发现它们是关于“现实的公众想象和集体欲望”：拉丁裔为亡者绘制的安息画是民众而非精英的叙事、社会问题类的墙画是一种进行中的反抗、民俗风情类墙画再现着“既丑陋难堪又愉悦怡人”的市井味道。这些与政府急切想要重述地方起源和中产阶级带来的绅士化迥然不同。

是墙画把李明洁拉到了一个最贴近当地人的视角，也让她在移民环境日趋复杂之前得以窥见“美国梦”的往日风情。

沿此轨迹，李明洁找到了一个意大利裔美国人、民间艺术家，斯科特·勒贝多。勒贝多热衷画星条旗。他的画一直很难进入画廊和主流艺术圈，但常出现在民居、修车行、农场集装箱等等地方。他结实健硕，握手用力，捐过数百万美元给退伍老兵、现役警察和消防队员，是一个美国主流媒体上少见的“爱国斗士”。有一天，李明洁收到勒贝多的邮件，让她去史泰登岛，他要搞一个艺术装置。等李明洁赶到，她看到了一个接近七米高的特朗普画像。

▲2018年8月6日，李明洁采访刚完成艺术装置作品“第45任美国总统”的民间艺术家斯科特·勒贝多 图/受访者提供

On August 6, 2018, Li Mingjie interviewed folk artist Scott Labaido, who had just completed his art installation, “The 45th U.S. President.”

那是2018年，特朗普的第一个任期还未结束。那些支持者朴素地爱着国旗，不明白某些地方的厕所为什么要区分成不止两种性别。有的白人家长困惑自己养了十多年的孩子在去藤校读了两年书之后，回来说“全家都犯了罪”。

六年后，特朗普再次当选美国总统。“美国优先”成为政府话语，全球化和多元主义的提法第一次遭遇重大冲击。

李明洁把当时那些人的感受和举止记录在书中，像是给当下许多荒唐事提前写好的注脚。有人读过书之后问她，你是不是在替特朗普说话？她这样回答：“如果你观察美国，不观察特朗普，你觉得合适吗？如果你观察这名两届民选总统，但只看大报头条，只在所谓精英小圈圈里转来转去，你觉得合适吗？”

“沉下来，和普通的纽约人在一起，理解人类为什么是同一个‘命运共同体’，而不是把纽约当成所谓的‘审美对象’。”李明洁花了很多时间做田野调查，希望在贴近观察之后再下笔。

在她看来，知识分子某种意义上是“特权的阶层”，有更大的义务为民众解释许多事情的原委，去辨析语言背后的真实意思。“人类文明遭遇了很多挫折，很多时候知识分子是要负责任的，因为有些知识分子常常自诩为民众的代言人，但其实大多数时候他们脱离群众，只在象牙塔里，创造那些由民众去付出代价的乌托邦概念。”李明洁说，阐述或是复述他人的想法时，如果不把它放到历史的原境去理解，就只是“张冠李戴或是自说自话”。只有在具体的体验中间，它们才最有生命力、最真切。

综观《破坏实验》的前半本，李明洁的每一篇文章都有具体的问题意识——写东哈莱姆，是讨论其叙述性和记忆的自传体；写画星条旗墙画的勒贝多，是想讨论公共表达与身份认同、国族认同之间的关系；她还写皮影戏、华美协进社，想做中国民间艺术的海外传播，或讲跨文化交流如何能达成；以及通过高档饭店里的壁画，讲社会区隔、阶层区隔与艺术品位之间的关系。

李明洁认为，“相对正常”的社会状态，是有区隔、有阶层、有身份认同，也有公共表达和私人表达的。没有所谓绝对完美和十足健康的社会，成熟的城市一定有伤。

连问题都没有了

2020年春天开始，所有问题都消失了。

“当（新冠）疫情发生的时候我并不知道问题会出在哪里，社会变成什么样子。它是未知的，是一个巨大的惊恐。”李明洁说，“就是连问题都没有了。”问题没有了，意味着到处都是问题，每个人都焦虑，都在寻求一套解释。

2020年3月4日，哥大师生的宿舍区有人确诊感染新冠病毒，学校马上启动防疫预案。两天后，哥大东亚图书馆通知，李明洁的讲座招待会要取消，因为学校不鼓励分享食物。8日，学校新规称，不鼓励超过25人的聚会，讲座又延期至秋季学期。接着“突然宣布停课”。到了4月13日，特朗普宣布国家进入紧急状态，“山雨欲来。”

“疫情一百天之后，巨大的纽约像一头搁浅在北美大陆东岸的死鲸。”眼前是一场巨大的“破坏实验”——社会学家哈罗德·加芬克尔提出并实践的研究方法，通过引入微小的破坏，违反某种社会规范，来观察人们的反应，并进一步分析背后的社会建构和秩序规律——李明洁的学术调研中止，但书写并未停下。她开始写日记了。

▲2020年4月15日下午三时许，纽约，无人的时代广场，李明洁身后的巨型广告牌上是美国疾控与预防中心的广告： “生病者，请居家禁足。” 图/受访者提供

Around 3:00 p.m. on April 15, 2020, in New York, on a deserted Times Square, a giant billboard behind Li Mingjie displayed an advertisement from the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention: “STAY HOME WHEN YOU ARE SICK.”

她尽量出门看看，虽然曼哈顿越来越空荡荡，堂食禁止，闭市停工，“失业、酗酒、吸毒、自杀的人数攀升”。她感到人们的交流意愿在降低，从民主党与共和党的分歧，到日常的公共议题，共识近乎崩塌。尽管李明洁对人性保持着乐观，但她不得不承认，疫情之后，极化和裂隙在加剧。

书写开始变成一种焦虑的纾解，“这不是我着意要写的，完全是一种创作的冲动。”她甚至不去预设写什么，而是在参与式的观察中再思考，要记下什么事、不要记下什么事。

在这样的观察和书写中，另一些事情显现了。比如式微的宗教带来了焦虑缓冲，在殡葬业暂停的时期为因疫情亡故的人祝祷；比如彩虹旗获得了一种新的意义，它们原本是性少数群体的标识，但疫情横行的时期，人们在自己的门窗上画上了彩虹，向一线的工作人员表达感谢，也寄予了雨过天晴的期盼。

夏天的时候，李明洁去老龄社区“林地公寓”的泳池游泳，每次出现，救生员都要给她测体温、登记、消杀。有一回，她特意游到这个年轻人身边说谢谢，年轻人取下口罩，朝着她说：“应该是我要谢谢你。你不来，我每天实在是太无聊了。”年轻人已经厌倦了只有网课的学校、组不了乐队的生活，以及为了所谓公平而不断向下兼容的学业。他们在游泳池边，因为眼前的陌生人感到了一丝抚慰，人与人之间靠切实的连接活着。

现在这些事情已经全都过去，生活看似步入正轨，重提那些慌张会不会显得不合时宜？“作为一个人文社会科学学者，很大程度上是需要自觉肩负‘史记’这个功能的。”李明洁说。

破坏实验之后

让李明洁仍旧对人性保持乐观的，是贯穿她过去八年的另一项研究，哥伦比亚大学的珍档“中国纸神专藏”。

最初，她意识到那些藏品的质量堪忧。但就在离开之前，她得知这套藏品的主人是富平安。

富平安女士的丈夫是富路特，美国现代汉学家、哥大东亚系的创始人之一；而富路特的父亲，又是《圣经》中文和合本翻译的主持人富善神父。这么连起来看，“与中国的渊源、关系和影响，就不太一样了。”富平安的背景，反而为其“有些业余”的收藏行为提供了藏家不能提供的价值。

可是哥大的资料很少。“除了这份特藏，他们只能给我提供一张富平安夫人和富路特先生的合影，而且这个合影上还有第三人，这是他们能给我的所有材料。”

李明洁的做法是，重走富平安的生命路线——去出生地弗罗里达，在美国老牌女子学院瓦萨学院、哥大神学院和教育学院翻看学生档案，到缅因州寻访富平安的子女，去北京东四牌楼、东岳庙、协和医院等等留下过她足迹的地方。李明洁在瓦萨学院的教堂里坐了很长时间。她想，“富平安曾和我坐在同样的位置，百年以前，她是第一批参加美国总统选举的女性。历史的过程有了一个真切的载体。”

然后富平安到了北京，她是以传教士的身份和背景来到中国的，却在居留中国的七年里做了中国民间信仰的研究和传播。她热衷探访寺庙，尤其是东岳庙，并且在1931年北京销售祭祀纸品的旺铺“人和纸店”一次性集中采购，不挑选、无遗漏地购买了一批老百姓日常使用的门神纸马，“原真性极高”，且“很少有人做这样的傻事”，李明洁写道，它们集中反映了民国初年北京地区民间信仰的真实状态，是某种意义上的全景实录。富平安还为其中146件纸神逐一写下解说，并结集成书。

▲2020年3月2日，李明洁在美国缅因州采访富平安的儿女，左一至左三分别为富平安的女儿Anne Goodrich Jones、儿媳Kathy Goodrich和儿子Hubbard Carrington Goodrich 图/受访者提供

On March 2, 2020, Li Mingjie interviewed Anne Goodrich’s children in Maine, USA. From left to right are Anne Goodrich’s daughter, Anne Goodrich Jones; daughter-in-law, Kathy Goodrich; and son, Hubbard Carrington Goodrich.

重走的工作最后呈现在文字上的并不多，“万分之一吧”，但在这样的过程中，“这个人就从一个空洞的名字变成了一个活生生的人。”

笔名“一把青”的专栏作家李青，十几年前曾经上过李明洁的课。李青在《人类学者在纽约：诚实比正确更难》一文中曾提到李明洁的这种方法：“她说要掌握维特根斯坦、索绪尔，必须先读其生平，‘真实地活过一遍，走过一遍才算理解’。”

“这会让你下笔坦荡，知道我写的是原创的，是没有人写的，是有必要的。”李明洁说，而最重要的是，她从富平安身上看到了一种跨越种族、信仰和文化达成交流的可能性，“她践行了人类最大的善意，在今天日渐残酷的现实中，这种善意是一团篝火。它让你相信，宗教之间、国族之间、人与人之间可以有深刻的理解。”

“对我来说，她始终是活生生的教材，来告诉我怎么做一个更好的人。”富平安如何理解中国的民俗文化，李明洁就如何理解经富平安之口所传达的庸常岁月里每个人的神性瞬间。

2024年之后，李明洁开始长时间生活在纽约。2025年秋季学期的每个星期，她在纽约大学教四节中级汉语课，去新学院大学教一节中国流行文化课，都是兼职。退休之后，“名利不再有意义了，我在纽约就是 nobody，什么都不是，抹平了”“变老，真的是件好事情啊”，进一步地，“变老使我明志。”

李明洁觉得，自己在某种意义上自由了，但同时她也知道这段时间是很短暂的，因为“年过半百，时不我待”。所以她去上课，保持与外部打交道，保持思考，也开始在公众号写下自己的思考。

“服务当地这个想法有没有？也有，就是你在一个地方，你不能只是使用它、消耗它，你也要贡献于它，对吧？”她笑了一下，像又变回了那个大冬天穿风衣、神采奕奕站在讲台上的教授，“当然，老实说，我也需要赚一点咖啡钱的。”

How can societal rifts be healed once they have emerged?

“Breaching experiment” is a research method proposed and practiced by sociologist Harold Garfinkel. It involves introducing minor disruptions or violations of certain social norms, observing people’s reactions, and then analyzing the underlying social constructions and rules of order.

During and after the COVID-19 pandemic, Li Mingjie, who was living in New York, felt that polarization and social fissures were constantly intensifying. What she saw before her was a massive “breaching experiment.” She spent a great deal of time conducting fieldwork and keeping diaries, searching for ways to heal these social ruptures.

Southern People Weekly reporter Meng Yiyi and intern reporter Guo Sihang
From Beijing，March 29, 2026
Responsible Editor | Zhou Jianping

01 In Search of the Metropolis

Different kinds of scholars take pleasure in different things. Some are passionate about constructing theories that reveal the conditions of existence and the operating laws of all things. Some enjoy dissemination, acting like tour guides who mark new landmarks for visitors on the map of knowledge. Others are devoted to discovery.

“Discovery itself is already reward enough—a reward that surpasses all others.” Scholar Li Mingjie belongs to the third type.

At 58, she retired from East China Normal University at the end of 2023 and now lives in New York on a long-term basis. During this period, she has continued writing tirelessly. In 2025, she published two books. One is a folklore studies monograph titled Sacred Understanding, which examines Columbia University’s “Chinese Paper Gods Collection.” The other is an anthropological book titled Breach Experiment (Wounded, New York NY), half of which consists of fieldwork conducted in New York City and half of which consists of diaries written during the COVID-19 pandemic.

These are the result of her eight years of labor—her search for, and practice of, what constitutes a normal society and how it might be repaired after social rupture.

Li Mingjie originally majored in linguistics. From 1987, when she was admitted to East China Normal University, until 2015, she studied in the university’s long-established Chinese Department, first as a student and later as a faculty member. After graduation, she stayed on to teach in the Chinese Department, specializing in sociolinguistics and discourse analysis. She researched the explosion of internet slang in China between 2007 and 2013—when phrases like “普大喜奔” (“universal celebration”) and “细思恐极” (“terrifying upon reflection”) spread together, and “无厘头” (“nonsense” or “absurdity”) mixed with “文青愤青” (“literary youth” and “angry youth”). Through these popular linguistic phenomena, she uncovered the fervent, deconstructive, or nihilistic expressions of ordinary people.

“Contemporary China’s changes often begin with accidental events, and with grassroots writing by internet users about those accidental events—they begin when popular slang becomes the internet’s ‘national style.’” She wrote this in one of her columns.

To this day, she remains consciously concerned with “the overwhelming majority of ordinary people”—what they are thinking and how they are living. Students liked her. For a long time, she was a popular professor in the Chinese Department at East China Normal University.

In 2015, in the third year after the Folklore Institute at East China Normal University’s School of Social Development became an independent entity, Li Mingjie was transferred there to help the new institute establish its doctoral program. From then on, her research moved from linguistics to a broader level, opening up another half of the field and stepping directly into the reality behind language.

East China Normal University’s School of Social Development focuses primarily on urban studies. On the one hand, Li Mingjie agrees that with the process of urbanization, cities in the twenty-first century have become the “original homeland” of many people, herself included. On the other hand, since urban anthropology emerged in the 1960s, many researchers have focused on single communities in cities in developed English-speaking countries, especially on “caring for the marginalized in cities,” or on urbanization in developing countries such as Vietnam and Mexico. She felt that this was not enough: “Don’t the lives of ordinary people in big cities also deserve attention and study?”

Moving from linguistics to folklore studies was like shifting one’s center of gravity from the left foot to the right foot while walking. Li Mingjie first needed to find a foothold—a metropolis that, viewed globally, was rich, vibrant, and prosperous.

At the same time, another coincidence occurred. Through Tang Xiaoyun, former deputy director of Shanghai Bookstore Publishing House, Li Mingjie met Jim Cheng, director of the East Asian Library at Columbia University, over dinner. Cheng mentioned a collection of Paper Gods, held by the library that “had never been studied by anyone.” Cheng asked her whether it fell within the scope of folklore studies. Li Mingjie replied that of course it did, and that if she had the chance, she would definitely go to New York to see it.

Thus, in the summer of 2017, Li Mingjie went to New York at her own expense.

“At that time, New York was New York—a tightly wound giant beast, robust, sexy, and stark naked. Even the most mature cultural anthropologist would probably find it hard to deal with its coolness, volatility, dazzling brilliance, and madness.” She wrote this in Breach Experiment.

Soon, Li Mingjie realized that she had taken on a difficult task. The quality of Columbia’s collection was poor, making the research hard to push forward. “Too ordinary, mediocre in condition, nowhere near the level of a serious collector. You could tell at a glance that the person was an amateur.” The cost of living in New York was very high. She lived in East Harlem, where rent was $2,000 a month—not expensive by Manhattan standards, but already higher than her after-tax salary at the time.

One evening, while shopping at a supermarket, Li Mingjie passed the corner of East 11th Street and First Avenue and suddenly saw a huge mural depicting “Latinos and African Americans, along with Mexican Day of the Dead figures, with expressions more innocent than innocence itself, adorned with crimson roses.” In her mind, a song that had been popular for decades suddenly began to play—Spanish Harlem—because the first line of the lyrics, “there is a rose,” seemed to float across the wall. In a flash of insight, she realized that Spanish Harlem was exactly the East Harlem where she lived. This was one of New York’s largest Latino communities. It had gone through gang wars and was plagued by poverty, yet its history had never been interrupted and had always retained its “authenticity.” The mural before her was the community’s vast spiritual archive.

Li Mingjie immediately turned back to her residence and began searching for more information about East Harlem. She had finally found an entry point for her fieldwork in New York.

Later, reflecting on it, she sighed at the call of fate: “A scholar is merely a carrier. Some academic ideas are revitalized through your body, experience, and memory. Personal effort is certainly involved, but perhaps destiny is even more so. When you are called, you should answer.”

02 The Unavoidable Trump

Entering New York through East Harlem was like opening Pandora’s box. It is a microcosm of New York’s immigration history. In the early seventeenth century, the Dutch “bought” Manhattan Island from Native Americans and turned the northern part into an agricultural area, naming it “New Harlem.” At the end of the nineteenth century, large numbers of European immigrants arrived, and Italians in particular flooded in, so the area became known as “Little Italy” or “Italian Harlem.” After the two World Wars, Italian residents moved out, and Puerto Rican and African American migrants became the main residents. In this way, Italian Harlem became “Spanish Harlem.”

Racial conflicts and drug dealing left East Harlem with deep-seated problems. The cultural authenticity of East Harlem is reflected, to some extent, in the community’s murals. Li Mingjie visited and studied a large number of East Harlem murals. She classified this vast and rich body of murals and found that they represented “public imaginings of reality and collective desires”: murals painted by Latinos for the deceased served as narratives of the people rather than the elite; murals about social issues represented ongoing resistance; and murals depicting folk customs reproduced the “ugly yet delightful, embarrassing yet pleasant” flavor of everyday street life. These were completely different from the government’s urgent desire to retell local origins and from the gentrification brought by the middle class.

The murals drew Li Mingjie into a perspective closest to local people and allowed her to glimpse the former charm of the “American Dream” before the immigrant environment became increasingly complex. Following this path, Li Mingjie found an Italian American folk artist named Scott Lobaido.

Lobaido was passionate about painting the American flag. His paintings had always struggled to enter galleries and the mainstream art world, but they often appeared in homes, auto repair shops, farm containers, and other such places. He was sturdy and strong, with a firm handshake. He had donated thousands of dollars to veterans, active police officers, and firefighters. He was a rare “patriotic fighter” seldom seen in mainstream American media.

One day, Li Mingjie received an email from Labaido asking her to come to Staten Island because he was installing an artwork. When she arrived, she saw a nearly seven-meter-tall portrait of Trump.

It was 2018, and Trump’s first term had not yet ended. His supporters loved the flag in a simple way and did not understand why some places needed bathrooms with more than two genders. Some white parents were confused that their children, whom they had raised for more than twenty years, would return from two years at an Ivy League school saying that “the whole family had committed crimes.”

Six years later, Trump was elected president of the United States again. “America First” became the language of government, and globalization and pluralism experienced their first major shock. Li Mingjie recorded the feelings and behavior of those people at the time in her book, as if providing footnotes in advance for many absurd events of the present. After reading the book, some people asked her: “Are you speaking for Trump?” She replied: “If you observe America without observing Trump, do you think that is appropriate? If you observe this president, who has been elected twice, but only read big newspaper headlines and move only within so-called elite circles, do you think that is appropriate?”

“Go down into the city, stay with ordinary New Yorkers, and understand why human beings are part of the same shared destiny, rather than treating New York as a so-called ‘aesthetic object.’”

Li Mingjie spent a great deal of time doing fieldwork, hoping to write only after close observation. In her view, intellectuals are, in a sense, a “privileged class” with a greater obligation to explain the origins of many things to the public and to discern the true meaning behind language.

“Human civilization has suffered many setbacks, and intellectuals often bear responsibility. Some intellectuals frequently claim to be spokespersons for the people, but in reality, most of the time they are detached from the masses, creating utopian concepts in ivory towers for which ordinary people end up paying the price.”

Li Mingjie said that when elaborating or repeating others’ ideas, if they are not understood within their historical context, it is merely “putting Zhang’s hat on Li’s head,” or speaking only to oneself. Only through concrete experience do such ideas become most alive and most authentic.

Looking at the first half of Breach Experiment (Wounded), every article by Li Mingjie has a clear sense of inquiry. Writing about East Harlem is a way of discussing its narrative and autobiographical memory; writing about Labaido, who paints American flag murals, is a way of discussing the relationship between public expression, identity, and national identity; she also writes about shadow puppetry and the China Institute, exploring the overseas circulation of Chinese folk art and how cross-cultural communication can be achieved; and through murals in high-end restaurants, she discusses social and class divisions in relation to artistic taste.

Li Mingjie believes that a “relatively normal” social state involves divisions, classes, identity recognition, and both public and private forms of expression. There is no such thing as an absolutely perfect or completely healthy society. A mature city is bound to have scars.

03 There aren’t even any questions left

When problems can no longer be clearly recognized, everything begins to look like a problem.

“When the COVID-19 pandemic broke out, I didn’t know where the problems would emerge or what society would become. To me, it was an unknown, enormous terror,” Li Mingjie said. “It was as if even problems themselves no longer existed.”

When problems no longer existed, it meant that problems were everywhere. Everyone was anxious and searching for a set of explanations.

On March 4, 2020, a student in Columbia University’s dormitory area was confirmed to have COVID-19, and the university immediately activated its epidemic prevention plan. Two days later, Columbia’s East Asian Library informed Li Mingjie that the reception for her lecture would be canceled because the university discouraged sharing food. On the 8th, new school regulations stated that gatherings of more than 25 people were discouraged, and the lecture was postponed to the fall semester. Then classes were suddenly suspended. By April 13, Trump declared a national emergency—“the storm was coming.”

“One hundred days into the pandemic, the once mighty New York was like a dead whale stranded on the eastern shore of North America.”

What lay before her was a massive “breaching experiment”—the research method proposed and practiced by Harold Garfinkel, which involves introducing minor disruptions and violating certain social norms in order to observe people’s reactions and further analyze the underlying social constructions and rules of order. Li Mingjie’s academic fieldwork was suspended, but her writing did not stop. She began keeping a diary.

She tried to go out as much as possible, even as Manhattan became increasingly empty, indoor dining was banned, and businesses were closed. “Unemployment, alcoholism, drug use, and suicide rates climbed.” She felt that people’s willingness to communicate was decreasing. From the divide between Democrats and Republicans to ordinary public issues, consensus had nearly collapsed.

Although Li Mingjie remained optimistic about human nature, she had to admit that after the pandemic, polarization and fissures were intensifying. Writing became a way to relieve anxiety.

“This was not something I deliberately set out to write; it was entirely a creative impulse.”

She did not even decide in advance what to write about. Instead, in participant observation, she reflected on what to record and what not to record. In such observation and writing, other things emerged.

For example, the decline of religion created a buffer for anxiety, offering prayers for those who died of the pandemic at a time when funeral services were suspended. Rainbow flags also took on a new meaning. They were originally symbols of sexual minorities, but during the height of the pandemic, people painted rainbows on their doors and windows to thank frontline workers and to express hope that the storm would pass.

In the summer, Li Mingjie went swimming at the pool in the “Woodland Apartments.” Every time she appeared, the lifeguard had to take her temperature, register her, and disinfect the area. One time, she deliberately swam over to the young man and thanked him. He took off his mask and said to her: “I should be the one thanking you. If you don’t come, I’m really too bored every day.”

The young man was tired of online-only classes, of being unable to form a band, and of constantly lowered academic standards in the name of fairness. At the edge of the swimming pool, because of the stranger before him, he felt a trace of comfort. People live through real connections with one another.

Now all these things have passed, and life seems to have returned to normal. Would bringing up those moments of panic again seem inappropriate?

“As a scholar in the humanities and social sciences, one largely needs to consciously shoulder the task of recording history,” Li Mingjie said.

04 After the Breaching Experiment

What still keeps Li Mingjie optimistic about human nature is another research project that has run through her past eight years: Columbia University’s “Chinese Paper Gods Collection.”

At first, she realized that the quality of the collection was worrying. But just before leaving, she learned that the owner of the collection was Anne Swann Goodrich. Anne Goodrich’s husband was Luther Carrington Goodrich, a modern American sinologist and one of the founders of Columbia University’s East Asian Department. Luther Goodrich’s father was the Reverend Chauncey Goodrich, who presided over the translation of the Chinese Union Version of the Bible.

Once these connections were made, “the connections, relationships, and influence involving China became completely different.” Anne Goodrich’s background, in turn, gave value to her somewhat “amateur” collecting behavior in a way that a professional collector could not.

However, Columbia University had very little documentation. “Aside from this special collection, they could provide me only with one photo of Mrs. Anne Goodrich and Mr. L.Carrington Goodrich, and there was even a third person in that photo. That was all the material they could give me.”

Li Mingjie’s method was to retrace Anne Goodrich’s life journey—going to her birthplace in Florida, consulting student records at Vassar College, Columbia’s Divinity School, and Teachers College, visiting her children in Maine, and going to places in Beijing such as Dongsi Pailou, Dongyue Temple, and Peking Union Medical College where she had left her footprints.

Li Mingjie sat for a long time in the chapel at Vassar College. She thought, “Anne Goodrich once sat in the same place as me. A hundred years ago, she was among the first women to participate in a U.S. presidential election. The movement of history suddenly had a tangible bearer.”

When Anne Goodrich arrived in Beijing, she came to China as a missionary. Yet during her seven years there, she conducted research on and promoted Chinese folk beliefs. She loved visiting temples, especially Dongyue Temple, and in 1931 she made a one-time bulk purchase at Renhe Paper Store, a popular Beijing shop selling paper offerings. Without selection or omission, she bought a batch of Paper Gods that ordinary people used in daily life. These had “extremely high authenticity,” and “few people would do something so foolish,” Li Mingjie wrote. Together they reflected the real state of folk belief in the Beijing area in the early Republican period—a panoramic record. Anne Goodrich also wrote explanations for each of the 146 Paper Gods and compiled them into a book.

The retracing work ultimately produced very little text—“one ten-thousandth, perhaps”—but in the process, “this person changed from an empty name into a living human being.”

More than a decade ago, columnist Li Qing, writing under the pen name “Yi Ba Qing,” mentioned this method of hers in the article “On Language, Wounds, and New York：Why Honesty Is Harder Than Correctness”: “She said that to master Wittgenstein and Saussure, one must first read their biographies—‘only by truly living it once and walking it once can one understand it.’”

“This allows you to write with confidence, knowing that what I write is original, unwritten by others, and necessary,” Li Mingjie said.

Most importantly, through Anne Goodrich she saw the possibility of communication that transcends race, faith, and culture.

“She practiced the greatest goodwill of humanity. In today’s increasingly harsh reality, this goodwill is like a bonfire. It makes you believe that profound understanding is possible between religions, between nations, and between people.”

“To me, she has always been a living textbook, teaching me how to become a better person.”

Just as Anne Goodrich came to understand Chinese folk culture, Li Mingjie, through Anne Goodrich’s voice, came to understand the sacred moments of every ordinary person in those seemingly mundane years.

After 2024, Li Mingjie began living in New York for extended periods. During the fall 2025 semester, she taught four sections of intermediate Chinese each week at New York University and one course on Chinese popular culture at The New School University, all on a part-time basis.

After retirement, “fame and profit no longer have any real meaning.” In New York, “I am nobody, nothing at all—everything is leveled.” Further, “getting old is really a good thing.” And more than that, “getting old has helped me clarify my aspirations.”

Li Mingjie feels that, in a sense, she has become free, but she also knows this period is very short, because “once past fifty, time waits for no one.” So she continues to teach, to remain connected with the outside world, to keep thinking, and to write down her thoughts on her public WeChat account and Substack.

“Is there any idea of serving the local community? Yes, there is. When you are in a place, you cannot simply use it and consume it; you also need to contribute to it, don’t you?”

She smiled, once again looking like the energetic professor standing at the podium in a trench coat on a cold winter day.

“Of course, to be honest, I also need to earn a little coffee money.”

For English readers: the full English version appears below the Chinese text, and English explanations for the photo captions appear beneath the Chinese captions.

《第五大道1143号》是我正在写作中的非虚构项目，记录纽约第五大道1143号这幢历史建筑自2014年至2025年的重建过程。凡援引公开发表的媒体内容，涉及人名、地名、价码等信息，均照实录出；除公务部门及愿意公开姓名与相关事实者外，其余人物与公司信息均作必要处理。此次发布的是第1章《城市地标》第 4节（中英文版），记录五大道1143号在多轮听证中的反复博弈与推进。方案在邻里、专家与地标保护委员会的拉锯中数度被否，最终以附加条件获得通过。前序内容，请参见之前的发布。

“1143 Fifth Avenue” documents the more than decade-long reconstruction of a historic building at 1143 Fifth Avenue in New York (2014–2025). Following basic anthropological practice, when I cite publicly available media sources, details such as names, places, and prices are reproduced as recorded. With the exception of government bodies and individuals who have explicitly agreed to make their names and relevant facts public, all other individuals and companies have been anonymized to protect their names and privacy. On Substack, this project will be released as a selective serial (with both free and paid posts).

This installment presents Chapter 1, Urban Landmark, Section 4 (Chinese–English edition). It follows the repeated negotiations surrounding 1143 Fifth Avenue through multiple hearings. The proposal was rejected several times amid pushback from neighbors, experts, and the Landmarks Preservation Commission, and was ultimately approved with conditions. For earlier context, please refer to previous posts.

1.4 听证会啊听证会

斯蒂芬不是第一次和地标保护委员会打交道，三十多年里一旦有老旧的联排别墅改建，就免不了要往这里跑。尽管人事变动很大，这次看到的是一色新面孔，但规矩还是老规矩，大会之后还有小会。工作人员在正式的听证会后，会在另一间小办公室，把大会上委员们冠冕堂皇的发言翻译成人话：“您也是老纽约了，这个地界，这么大动干戈，谁都不好交代嘛；不如做些让步，加点社区服务之类的；再提点小要求，比如加盖一层两层的，也不是完全没有可能哦。你懂的？”

照理说，地标保护委员会只是一个监管部门，并不能规定业主如何处置自己的物业，但斯蒂芬明白，权力关系中，“建议”一词的概念意义等于“要求”。笑里一般会藏把刀。

过不了审查，物业空置，每一分钟都是在烧钱。

如何快速、务实地完成这个作业，再做设计竞标恐怕太费周章。斯蒂芬想，合作过的建筑师中有谁做过类似的工程？最好是兼有注册建筑师和专业工程师的执照，特别是要擅长做结构工程，且是历史结构的适应性应用改造……多米尼克·皮拉（Dominick R. Pilla）的名字冒出来，就是他了。

斯蒂芬从纽约开车一个多小时，到皮拉在纽约上州纳亚克（Nyack）的事务所。纳亚克是曼哈顿的后花园，这座哈德逊河边安逸的小镇，出过一位大画家爱德华·霍珀（Edward Hopper，1882-1967）。主街上有不少雅致的小餐厅，斯蒂芬和皮拉再次见面。对皮拉而言，能在第五大道上做工程，当然会有更多的挑战，但这也是很多建筑师的梦想；而对斯蒂芬来说，要克服复杂的设计障碍，提供施工的便利性，负责必要的工程监理，这些事如果都能在一家公司内部解决，则会方便很多。午餐的气氛很愉快，斯蒂芬很快折返，一路上，哈德逊河都在一边跳跃着闪着光。

皮拉咨询工程公司（DRPILLA Consulting Engineers）以最快的速度，按照地标委员会的授意，完成了一套拆旧建新的提案。之后，就是磨人的审核流程，还要再走一遍，而且是全套的，建筑部的批件必不可少，前期的暖场活动也不可以有闪失。斯蒂芬作为业主代表，有知会社区所有人改建方案的义务。所以，他再次雇人到社区四处散发听证会的传单，包括到左邻右舍大楼里的信箱塞通知，在各个路口的树上、柱子上贴海报，当然最大的通告贴在1143号的外墙上。花钱已经不是一个问题，劳神的是，事无巨细不能有任何遗漏，周边有无数的眼睛盯着呢；同时也不要忘了，地标保护委员会的听证会并不是免费的，而且出场的专家们也是需要车马费的，不是吗？

2016年2月8日，皮拉的提案先行提交到社区委员会第8分会地标委员会审议。斯蒂芬到场解释说，新方案不再要求增高六层，而是顺应了地标保护委员会和邻居的关切，只会在顶部加建一套复式顶层公寓，建筑的高度仅增加近3米；但会按照《美国残疾人法案》增加无障碍通道并增加符合市府要求的消防通道，另外，将在一楼配置诊所，服务社区。皮拉则具体说明了他的改建计划，包括拆除现有部分建筑、扩建侧院和底层、修复外立面等，“保证会保留原有建筑的四分之一”。

话音未落，地标委员会的埃文斯就坐不住了，“只保留原有建筑的25%？这太让人担忧了。”大多数委员都点头，表示新设计仍然不适合这座“独特的历史建筑”，唯有戴维斯（Christina Davis）不以为然，她说：“第五大道1143号只是一幢不错的建筑，但不是卡本特作品中的精品。再说了，地标保护委员会在全市范围内已经批准了不少皮拉这类的申请。”

然而，参加听证会的邻居们，态度都相当强硬。“卡本特之友”挤满了会场，这次他们让受聘顾问梅尔文（Walter Melvin，1944-2022）直接发言，梅尔文一直从事建筑文物保护工作，创办了一家建筑保护咨询公司，主业之一是帮人到地标保护委员会答辩。在场很多人都认识这位老先生，2008年和2016年他得到过“历史街区委员会”和“纽约建筑师协会”的表彰。他称这一版方案仍然“与建筑应有的设计和外观完全不和谐”，特别是只加一层“是一种误导，因为舱壁会增加高度，从而改变该建筑的特色。”在1140号住了18年的科尔曼随即举手，称他常带孩子们在中央公园玩，“阳光从1140号和1148号中间的间隙里穿过，给公园营造了美好的氛围”，所以，1143号想“长高”，“会破坏纽约的独特城市景观”。另一名邻居马上附和，他是为小有名气的建筑师，“你不会把一幅罗斯科（Mark Rothko,1903-1970）的大作拉伸变形，对吧？” 似乎1143号 的联邦风格（Federal style）外立面不仅是一件艺术品，而且属于罕见的“压轴之作”。

尽管皮拉在纽约城市学院兼任建筑学的终身副教授，是善于答辩的，但理科男还是在“阳光和罗斯科”前愣了一下，“作为建筑师和专业人士，我们试图让这座建筑再存世一百年”，他顿了一下接着说，“一百年前设计它的建筑师在营造当年最当代的建筑，如今一百年过去了，我们希望它始终是与时俱进的。”邻居的喧哗声盖住了他。

8分会地标委员会最终投了票，否决了新提案，随后提交8分会全体董事会审议。2月17日全体董事会再议，2月19日发布公告，34票发对，2票弃权。这就意味着1143号缩小版的改建方案被再次否决。公告一共有24条，很多人注意到了最后的2条。一条是关于加盖的顶层公寓：若批准在历史街区内的重要建筑顶部，采取如此显眼且与（历史）背景不符的玻璃设计，为历史建筑的未来发展开了一个危险的先例。另一条是关于水塔：增加的部分会显著降低第五大道1143号标志性屋顶水塔的可见度，水塔以雕塑的形式出现在第五大道1143号的屋顶上，夹在它两侧的两幢更高的公寓楼之间（北边为1148号，南边为140号），是第五大道上半段的街道景观中一个明确的组成部分。

图注：2016年2月18日，斯蒂芬安排工人在第五大道1143号的顶层搭建钢架标志，以回应地标保护委员会对于顶层公寓以及舱壁高度的质疑。两块红色的网布分别代表舱壁和顶层公寓顶部将要达到的高度，而委员们则会在下一次听证会前到中央公园里去观察、拍照、取证。

February 18, 2016. Stephen arranged for workers to erect a steel-frame marker on the rooftop of 1143 Fifth Avenue in response to the Landmarks Preservation Commission’s concerns about the height of the penthouse and the bulkhead. Two pieces of red mesh represented the projected heights of the bulkhead and the penthouse, while commissioners would observe, photograph, and document them from Central Park before the next hearing.

根据8分会董事会的决议，皮拉团队修订了方案，2016年3月8日提交到纽约市地标保护委员会。也许是皮拉一再强调“不会对正面造成太大影响”，这个缩小版的方案，似乎没有激起像上次“依法扩建13层楼的申请”那样的不满，但委员们仍旧异议纷呈。布兰德仍旧觉得增加的顶层公寓“太显眼”，查普林依然觉得扩建对于知名老建筑而言“不合乎常理”，而古斯塔夫森（John Gustafsson）则直言不会投票批准任何扩建。斯里尼瓦桑会长则总结说，任何增加的部分都务必“缩小规模”。打鼓听声，虽然被再次否决，但斯蒂芬和皮拉的心里倒是更有数了。某个意义上说，他们与地标保护委员会，是知己知彼的。后者要的，或者说，看重的，不恰当地说，是一个态度。屡战屡败之后，业主一方要做的，就是乖乖地，屡败屡“战”。

皮拉的设计团队2016年4月12日，再次现身地标保护委员会，提交修订方案，将顶层公寓的整体高度降低2.5英尺，并将材料从石灰石改为与原有建筑的主体材料一样的红砖。该方案还包括扩建大楼的后部，以及拆除一楼二楼窗户上的铁栅栏。但后者似乎无人问津。

委员们把注意力集中在加盖的顶层公寓上。查普林还是坚持对可见度和砖块的颜色感到不安。但弗兰德的口风有变，他称这是一座“非常漂亮的建筑”，可见度和加盖都不是问题，但表示设计“还不够好”，窗户不能那么大，“要有优雅的比例”；另一名委员沃斯（Kim Vauss）马上附和了比例的疑议。哥德布鲁姆（Michael Goldblum）也盯住了新建楼层的窗户，“不伦不类”，还不如真正与原有建筑区别开。等到斯里尼瓦桑会长发言，斯蒂芬听着一喜一惊。会长说，鉴于目前的情形，扩建的工程，哪怕是可见的部分，是可以接受的了；不过，投票表决的时机还不成熟，还要继续修改。她还说，委员会近期收到了6封反对信，其中一封来自美国众议员卡罗琳·马洛尼（Carolyn J. Maloney）。斯蒂芬没想到，这么一幢小楼，竟然惊动了政坛名流，马洛尼是民主党党员， 2013年到2023年她担任纽约第12国会选区的代表，上东区是这名职业政客的重要票仓。此人2019至2023年做到了美国众议员监督委员会的主席。马洛尼的公益筹款晚会，斯蒂芬也是去过的，递上过一张500美金的支票，喝了一杯葡萄酒。

图注：2016年5月，皮拉团队提交到纽约市地标保护委员会听证会的第三版修订方案的概念效果图。在右侧注明了此次改建的三项任务：复原历史上原有的人行道花园并更换现有的入门天蓬，修复并维护历史上原有的外墙、改建现有的顶层公寓并加建电梯和舱壁。

May 2016. Concept rendering of the third revised proposal submitted by Pilla’s team to the Landmarks Preservation Commission. The right side indicates the three tasks of the renovation: restoring the original historic sidewalk garden and replacing the entrance canopy, repairing and preserving the original façade, and reconstructing the existing penthouse while adding an elevator and bulkhead.

2016年5月10日，皮拉团队修订方案的第三版提交到地标保护委员会。回应敏感议题，顶部电梯前厅（也就是舱壁）的高度已经降低，顶层公寓的墙面改回米色建材，以明显区别于原建筑所使用的红砖。这一次，古斯塔夫森和查普林仍旧拒不让步，并最终投了反对票。哥德布鲁姆则表示修改后的方案是“适度”的了，沃斯也认为比前期方案“有所改进”。刚刚入职地标保护委员会的鲁特菲（Jeanne Lutfy）则夸赞改版方案“非常简洁”，另有几位委员也同意她的意见，并对水塔的拆除乐见其成。尽管卡本特之友、卡内基邻里会和公园大道历史协会等民间组织继续到场反对，但风向已变。

图注：2016年5月10日，皮拉团队提交到纽约市地标保护委员会听证会的第三版修订方案中的扩建实景效果对比图，左为现有状态，右为改建后的将要呈现的面貌。该方案最终被表决通过，但带有附加条款。

May 10, 2016. Comparative rendering from the third revised proposal submitted by Pilla’s team, showing the existing condition on the left and the projected appearance after renovation on the right. The proposal was ultimately approved, but with an additional condition.

斯里尼瓦桑会长宣布投票结果，经过四次博弈，地标保护委员会终于通过了第五大道1143号的改建方案，他们将允许在现有的建筑上增加一层，同时建筑横向略为扩展，而一楼被允许扩展到地块的边界，多出来的面积务必用于社区设施（如医疗机构等）。但有一条重要的附加条款：必须继续与地标保护委员会的工作人员保持合作。

这是管束孙悟空的紧箍咒，这个中国神话《西游记》中的猴王，头上被带戴了一个箍，一旦戴上就取不下来，随时都会被念咒，随时就会头痛欲裂。斯蒂芬是懂的，可是，这是你不愿意戴就可以不戴的吗？

1.4 Hearings, Hearings

Stephen was not dealing with the Landmarks Preservation Commission for the first time. Over more than thirty years, whenever an old townhouse was altered, one inevitably had to come here.

Although personnel had changed substantially, and this time all the faces he saw were new, the rules were still the same old rules: after the big meeting, there would still be a small meeting.

After the formal hearing, staff members would, in another small office, translate the commissioners’ grand and formulaic remarks from the big meeting into plain speech:

“You’re an old New Yorker too. In this neighborhood, with such a major undertaking, it’s difficult for anyone to answer for it. It would be better to make some concessions, add some community services and the like; then make a few small requests in return—for example, adding one or two floors is not entirely impossible, you know?”

In principle, the Landmarks Preservation Commission is only a regulatory body and cannot prescribe how an owner disposes of his own property. But Stephen understood that, within relations of power, the word “suggestion” is conceptually equivalent to “requirement.”

Behind a smile, there is usually a hidden knife.

If approval cannot be obtained, the property remains vacant, and every minute burns money.

How to complete this task quickly and pragmatically? Holding another design competition would probably be too cumbersome. Stephen thought: among the architects he had worked with, who had done similar projects? Ideally, this person would hold both a registered architect’s license and a professional engineer’s license, be especially skilled in structural engineering, and understand the adaptive reuse and renovation of historic structures… Dominick R. Pilla’s name emerged—this was the one.

Stephen drove for more than an hour from New York City to Pilla’s office in Nyack, in upstate New York. Nyack is Manhattan’s backyard; this quiet small town by the Hudson River produced a great painter, Edward Hopper (1882–1967). There are quite a number of refined small restaurants along its main street, and Stephen met Pilla there again.

For Pilla, undertaking a project on Fifth Avenue would certainly bring more challenges, but it was also the dream of many architects. For Stephen, if the complex design obstacles, construction convenience, and necessary engineering supervision could all be resolved within a single firm, it would be much more convenient.

The atmosphere at lunch was very pleasant. Stephen soon set off back, and along the way, the Hudson River leapt and shimmered beside him.

DRPILLA Consulting Engineers completed, at the fastest possible speed and in accordance with the guidance of the Landmarks Commission, a proposal for demolition and new construction.

After that came the grinding review process, which had to be gone through again, and in full. Approvals from the Department of Buildings were indispensable, and the preliminary “warming-up” work could not afford any mistakes.

As the owner’s representative, Stephen had the obligation to notify everyone in the community of the renovation plan.

So he again hired people to distribute hearing flyers throughout the neighborhood, including stuffing notices into the mailboxes of neighboring buildings, posting flyers on trees and poles at various street corners, and of course placing the largest notice on the façade of 1143.

Spending money was no longer the issue. What exhausted one was that nothing, however small, could be overlooked—countless eyes were watching all around. At the same time, one must not forget that hearings before the Landmarks Preservation Commission are not free, and that the experts who appear must also be paid for their time and travel, is that not so?

On February 8, 2016, Pilla’s proposal was first submitted to the Community Board 8 Landmarks Committee for review.

Stephen explained on site that the new plan no longer requested an addition of six stories, but instead responded to the concerns of the Landmarks Commission and the neighbors: only a duplex penthouse would be added at the top, and the height of the building would increase by less than three meters. However, accessible entrances would be added in accordance with the Americans with Disabilities Act, and fire egress routes meeting city requirements would also be added. In addition, a clinic would be installed on the ground floor to serve the community.

Pilla then explained his renovation plan in detail, including partial demolition of the existing building, expansion of the side yard and the base, restoration of the façade, and so forth, “guaranteeing that one quarter of the original building would be retained.”

Before he had finished speaking, Evans of the Landmarks Committee could no longer remain seated:

“Only 25 percent of the original building retained? This is very worrying.”

Most of the commissioners nodded, indicating that the new design was still not suitable for this “unique historic building.” Only Christina Davis disagreed, saying:

“1143 Fifth Avenue is only a good building, but not among Carpenter’s finest works. Besides, the Landmarks Preservation Commission has already approved quite a number of applications of Pilla’s type across the city.”

However, the neighbors attending the hearing were all quite firm in their attitudes. “Friends of Carpenter” filled the meeting room. This time they had their hired consultant, Walter Melvin (1944–2022), speak directly. Melvin had long been engaged in architectural preservation work and had founded a consulting firm; one of its main businesses was to represent clients in hearings before the Landmarks Preservation Commission. Many people present knew this elderly gentleman; in 2008 and 2016 he had received commendations from the Historic Districts Council and the American Institute of Architects.

He described this version of the proposal as still “completely incompatible with the proper design and appearance of the building,” and said in particular that adding only one floor was “misleading, because the bulkhead would increase the height, thereby altering the character of the building.”

Coleman, who had lived in 1140 for eighteen years, immediately raised his hand and said that he often took his children to play in Central Park:

“Sunlight passes through the gap between 1140 and 1148, creating a wonderful atmosphere in the park,”

and therefore, if 1143 were to “grow taller,” it “would damage New York’s unique urban landscape.”

Another neighbor immediately chimed in—he was a somewhat well-known architect:

“You wouldn’t stretch and distort a major work by Mark Rothko (1903–1970), would you?”

It seemed that the Federal-style façade of 1143 was not only a work of art, but also a rare “crowning piece.”

Although Pilla, who held a tenured associate professorship in architecture at the City College of New York, was skilled in argument, this man of science still paused for a moment when confronted with “sunlight and Rothko.”

“As architects and professionals, we are trying to let this building continue to exist for another hundred years,” he paused, then continued,

“One hundred years ago, the architect who designed it was creating the most contemporary architecture of that time; now that one hundred years have passed, we hope it will continue to keep pace with the times.”

The noise of the neighbors drowned him out.

The Community Board 8 Landmarks Committee ultimately voted to reject the new proposal and submitted it to the full board of Community Board 8. On February 17, the full board deliberated again; on February 19, an announcement was issued: 34 votes against, 2 abstentions.

This meant that the scaled-down renovation plan for 1143 had once again been rejected. The announcement contained a total of 24 points, and many people noticed the last two.

One concerned the penthouse addition: if approval were granted to add such a prominent and contextually incompatible glass design atop an important building within a historic district, it would set a dangerous precedent for the future development of historic buildings.

The other concerned the water tower: the added portion would significantly reduce the visibility of the iconic rooftop water tower of 1143 Fifth Avenue; the water tower appears in sculptural form atop the building, positioned between the two taller apartment buildings on either side (1148 to the north and 1140 to the south), and constitutes a clear component of the streetscape of upper Fifth Avenue.

Based on the decision of the Community Board 8 full board, Pilla’s team revised the proposal and submitted it to the New York City Landmarks Preservation Commission on March 8, 2016. Perhaps because Pilla repeatedly emphasized that “there would not be too great an impact on the front façade,” this scaled-down proposal did not provoke the same level of dissatisfaction as the earlier “as-of-right application for a thirteen-story expansion,” but the commissioners still raised many objections.

Bland still felt that the added penthouse was “too conspicuous”; Chapin still believed that expansion was “not reasonable” for a well-known historic building; Gustafsson stated bluntly that he would not vote to approve any expansion. Chair Srinivasan summarized that any addition must “be reduced in scale.”

Reading the tone behind the words, although the proposal was again rejected, Stephen and Pilla felt they now had a clearer understanding. In a certain sense, they and the Landmarks Preservation Commission had come to know each other. What the latter wanted—or rather, what it valued, to put it bluntly—was an attitude. After repeated defeats, what the owner’s side needed to do was simply, obediently, continue to “fight” after defeat after defeat.

On April 12, 2016, Pilla’s design team again appeared before the Landmarks Preservation Commission and submitted a revised proposal, lowering the overall height of the penthouse by 2.5 feet and changing the material from limestone to the same red brick used in the original building. The proposal also included expanding the rear portion of the building and removing the iron grilles from the windows on the first and second floors. However, the latter point seemed to attract little attention.

The commissioners focused their attention on the added penthouse. Chapin still expressed unease about visibility and the color of the brick. Bland’s tone, however, had changed; he described the building as “very beautiful,” and said that visibility and the addition itself were not problems, but that the design was “not yet good enough”—the windows could not be so large, “they must have elegant proportions.” Another commissioner, Kim Vauss, immediately echoed the concern about proportions. Michael Goldblum also focused on the windows of the new floor, calling them “incongruous,” and suggesting that it would be better to distinguish them more clearly from the original building.

When Chair Srinivasan spoke, Stephen felt both delight and alarm. She said that, given the current situation, the expansion—even its visible portions—could be acceptable; however, the timing for a vote was not yet mature, and further revisions were required. She also noted that the Commission had recently received six letters of opposition, one of them from U.S. Representative Carolyn J. Maloney.

Stephen had not expected that such a small building would attract the attention of a political figure. Maloney, a Democrat, represented New York’s 12th congressional district from 2013 to 2023; the Upper East Side was an important voter base for this career politician. From 2019 to 2023 she served as Chair of the House Committee on Oversight. Stephen had also attended her fundraising events, had handed over a $500 check, and had drunk a glass of wine.

On May 10, 2016, the third revised proposal was submitted to the Landmarks Preservation Commission. In response to sensitive issues, the height of the rooftop elevator lobby (that is, the bulkhead) had been reduced, and the wall surface of the penthouse had been changed back to a light-colored material, clearly distinguishing it from the red brick of the original building.

This time, Gustafsson and Chapin still refused to yield and ultimately voted against the proposal. Goldblum, however, stated that the revised proposal was now “moderate,” and Vauss also believed that it was “an improvement” over earlier versions. Jeanne Lutfy, newly appointed to the Commission, praised the revised scheme as “very clean,” and several other commissioners agreed with her and even welcomed the removal of the water tower.

Although Friends of Carpenter, Carnegie Hill Neighbors, and the Park Avenue Historic Association and other civic organizations continued to appear to oppose the proposal, the direction of opinion had shifted. Chair Srinivasan announced the result of the vote: after four rounds of contest, the Landmarks Preservation Commission finally approved the renovation plan for 1143 Fifth Avenue.

They would permit one additional story to be built on the existing structure, allow a slight horizontal expansion of the building, and allow the ground floor to be extended to the lot line, with the additional area required to be used for community facilities (such as medical institutions).

But there was one important additional condition: continued cooperation with the staff of the Landmarks Preservation Commission was required.

This was the tightening spell used to control Sun Wukong, the Monkey King from the Chinese myth Journey to the West: a circlet placed on his head that, once put on, could not be removed; at any moment the incantation could be spoken, and at any moment his head would split with pain. Stephen understood. But is this something you can simply refuse to wear if you do not want to?

For English readers: the full English version appears below the Chinese text, and English explanations for the photo captions appear beneath the Chinese captions.

《第五大道1143号》是我正在写作中的非虚构项目，记录纽约第五大道1143号这幢历史建筑自2014年至2025年的重建过程。凡援引公开发表的媒体内容，涉及人名、地名、价码等信息，均照实录出；除公务部门及愿意公开姓名与相关事实者外，其余人物与公司信息均作必要处理。此次发布的是第1章《城市地标》第 3节（中英文版），记录了第五大道1143号扩建方案进入听证程序后的遭遇：历史档案、邻里反对、保护组织与地方政治同时登场，扩建念想第一次真正撞上卡内基山的社区力量。前序内容，请参见之前的发布。

“1143 Fifth Avenue” documents the more than decade-long reconstruction of a historic building at 1143 Fifth Avenue in New York (2014–2025). Following basic anthropological practice, when I cite publicly available media sources, details such as names, places, and prices are reproduced as recorded. With the exception of government bodies and individuals who have explicitly agreed to make their names and relevant facts public, all other individuals and companies have been anonymized to protect their names and privacy. On Substack, this project will be released as a selective serial (with both free and paid posts).

This installment presents Chapter 1, Urban Landmark, Section 3 (Chinese–English edition). It follows the fate of the 1143 Fifth Avenue expansion plan after it entered the public hearing process: historical records, neighborhood opposition, preservation groups, and local politics all took the stage, as the expansion idea met the community power of Carnegie Hill for the first time. For earlier context, please refer to previous posts.

1.3 卡本特之“友”

2015年10月21日，住在第五大道1143号附近的几十名住户，傍晚6点半前匆匆赶到纽约血液中心，曼哈顿社区委员会第8分会租用那里的礼堂举行全体董事会会议，8分会下属的地标委员会将提交建筑提案供董事会表决，任何居民提前报名后，都可以在会议上发言三分钟。

社区委员会（Community Boards）是纽约市政府下辖到具体社区的咨询机构，他们的主要工作是就辖区内土地的使用与区划提供建议，同时参与城市预算流程并监督政府服务，等等。纽约市共有59个社区委员会，曼哈顿岛上有12个，“卡内基山”属于曼哈顿的第八分会（简称CB8），这个分会管辖着上东区和罗斯福岛，超过八成的居民为非西班牙裔的白人，亚裔约占6%，非裔美国人为3%左右，接受公共援助的人口极少，居民大多是法律、金融、外交、教育界和医疗行业的翘楚。八分会由50名无薪自愿者担任社区委员，都是居住、工作或者拥有该社区特定权益的成员，他们以顾问的身份行事。说白了，这就是纽约最尖端白领的自治区。

斯蒂芬事先已经知道在全体董事会之前的两天，也就是10月19日，八分会的地标委员会已经以10票反对、1票弃权的结果否决了他们依法扩建的提案，这是他们的典型反应，并不出人意料，只是这会给董事会的决议增加更多的变数，所以他再三斟酌，十分谨慎地敲定了代表业主陈述的人选。建筑设计师萨尔兹曼亲自陈述了她的设计意图和最终效果，尽管她的口头表达方式不那么具有鼓动性，但她出场就已然表明了第五大道1143号与纽约建筑保护行业的人脉关系。斯蒂芬代表业主发言，他试图用“保护与可持续性相关”的乖巧说法去打动董事会和邻居，“该建筑目前的结构已经丧失了自我进化和维持的功能，它需要帮助。”

这一次斯蒂芬聘请了另一家律师行的律师凯伦·米拉（Karen Meara）来陈述这一个案的特殊性。这是马利安的主意，他知道这个大胆的方案将地标保护委员会推到了忍受力的极限，所以他要求用一位更激情、更乐观的陈述人来替换掉谨慎的瓦莱丽·坎贝尔，尽管坎贝尔声名在外，但她对结果已有预期，并不看好，这与马利安的想法背道而驰。

米拉是环境与土地使用领域的金牌诉讼律师，曾长期在市政府任职，她用了很难被驳倒的反问句：“有多少其他建筑与两边的另外两个更高的建筑拥有完全相同的建筑风格和背景暨完全相同的历史呢？”“在这个社区或者附近社区，我们都看不到有任何一个其他建筑具有所有这些因素。”她用洪亮的嗓音提醒委员们注意，1143号最初是根据一项限高75英尺的法规建造的，但该法规很快就被推翻了，该分区的层高被改为150英尺。“1143号代表了一种非常独特的情况，如果地标保护委员会批准该建筑的申请，不可能成为一个坏的先例。”八分会地标委员会的联席主席哈尔彭似乎被说服了，2天前他在分会地标委员会商议时投了反对票，但这次他建议董事会成员“客观看待这个体面的建筑”，或者他对来到现场看似文弱的萨尔兹曼心生了同情，“我们讨论的是第五大道，建筑师在那里挣扎，她只是努力去设想一个符合设计初衷的方案而已”。

“卡内基山邻里会”是个有五十年历史的非盈利机构（NGO），会长范德瓦尔克明确反对扩建，“当你走在中央公园，放眼望去，天际线起起伏伏，这是卡内基山的特色。”他表示，不同高度的建筑凸显了该社区“从简朴公寓到奢侈豪宅的历史转变”。董事会以及听众中很多人都在频频点头，唯有米拉听了，大为惊诧，“他真的读过这个区域的发展史吗？”——后一句的观点显然是“想当然”， 卡内基山上就从来没有过什么简朴公寓；而前一句的写景也与事实严重不符，实际上，地标保护委员会手册上登录的第五大道上的建筑，几乎都是一般高的。但这就是民主程序，提交给地标保护委员会的申请都必须先完成所在社区委员会的意见征集。

曼哈顿社区委员会八分会董事会最终以29票反对、14票支持和2票弃权的投票结果，否决了第五大道1143号依法扩建到13层的提案。尽管社区委员会的表决是建议性的，之后将提交给纽约市地标保护委员会，后者的决定才具有约束力；但前者的意见代表着所谓社区“民意”，必然影响到舆论风向。

2015年11月10日，依法扩建的提案正式上交到地标保护委员会并举办听证会。萨尔兹曼不得不再次披挂上阵，她以拟议的设计“保持了对建筑历史清晰的视觉叙述”为结语完成了设计方案的介绍，萨尔兹曼的演说老实到有些书呆子气。为了这次听证会，斯蒂芬聘请了多家咨询公司进行前期调研，准备了充足的档案材料，并重金聘请了夸斯巴特伙伴有限公司（Higgins Quasebarth & Partners）来做申辩陈述，这家公司专业提供保护和修复历史建筑的咨询服务，汇集了不少有影响力的历史保护主义者、建筑历史学家和建筑保护从业人员；公司负责人施塔赫尔贝格因为担当了第五大道1143号项目的历史顾问，亲自对收集到的大量材料提前做了甄别和整理，试图通过文字和图像档案精要地表明，1143号被限制在75英尺以内，完全是由于那个后来被裁定为非法的分区法规。他的演讲资料翔实，表达稳健有力，果然是这一领域响当当的职业宣讲者。

图注：2015年11月10日，建筑师萨尔兹曼在纽约市地标保护委员会听证会上提交的陈述中的一页，对比了第五大道1143号当时的状态（左，有水塔者）和依法扩建至13层后的效果图（右）。

November 10, 2015. A page from architect Saltzman’s submission to the hearing of the New York City Landmarks Preservation Commission, comparing the state of 1143 Fifth Avenue at the time (left, with water tower) and the rendering of the as-of-right expansion to 13 stories (right).

在施塔赫尔贝格的陈述中，有两份资料格外引人注目。一份是纽约市建筑局（Bureau of Building，也就是今天的建筑局DOB）曼哈顿分局的原始档案，该档案显示，1919年9月与1921年11月，该局发放了2张准建证，允许在第五大道1143号建一幢高150英尺的12层建筑；辅助的档案显示，如今在1143号附近高度为150英尺的14幢建筑都是在大致相同的时间获得的准建证，比如紧邻的第五大道1148号以及近在咫尺的第五大道1134号、958号、951-952号、810号、804号、803号、801-802号、800号，等等。另一份是《纽约时报》1922年1月29日发表的一篇新闻特写，题为“第五大道上端的建筑高度被限制在75英尺”，导语写到：“评估委员会的决定阻止了13幢公寓楼的建造，这些楼盘估计耗资约为8500万美元。业主团体抗议这一决定，并将在必要时向最高法院提起诉讼。”一场法律纠纷随后确实发生了，而领头人正是当年的开发商J.E.R.卡本特本人，他代表业主团体将评估委员会告上法庭；最终发现评估委员会收受利益相关方的贿赂，没有经过投票程序就宣布了这一决定，被判定为行政欺骗及权力腐败。卡本特作为代表的原告一方胜诉，75英尺的限制被推翻，150英尺高的大楼被允许在第五大道上端建造。随即，商业奢华公寓雨后春笋般长高到被允许的最高尺度，一改这一街区在泥土路上仅有若干大型豪宅的旧貌，更多的新贵和暴富阶层入住新式豪华商业公寓，周边的水泥马路等市政基础设施也随即跟进。

图注：2015年11月10日，建筑历史学家施塔赫尔贝格引用的1919年和1921年与第五大道1143号相关的2张准建证。

November 10, 2015. The two building permits from 1919 and 1921 relating to 1143 Fifth Avenue cited by architectural historian Stachelberg.

这一诉讼因此是具有相当的历史意义的，它在很大程度上决定了第五大道上半段今天的城市风貌，特别是居民构成和生活业态。这些恢复了原有准建证，被允许建到150英尺的大楼中，就包括卡本特本人主持建造的第五大道1148号；然而，对于墙贴墙的1143号的业主来说，这一耗时18个月的“胜利的消息”来得却不是时候，他们1922年秋天开工，按“最新分区法规”限高75英尺，1923年夏天7层公寓封顶——生米已煮成了熟饭。施塔赫尔贝格发言的最后，声音响亮：“让我们承认历史，拨乱反正吧！尊重历史悠久的原有分区法规，为纽约创造更多的住房，增加更多的税收，会出什么问题呢？”听众一阵哗然。不知道是不是由于这些历史档案连地标保护委员会的委员们恐怕也是第一次见到，他们内部居然有了不同的看法，有人觉得“75英尺的规定还是要遵守”，有人反问“您难道没听到这个决定当年就被判定为非法了吗？”

萨尔兹曼和施塔赫尔贝格坐下来听接下来的讨论，参加听证会的人当中，不少熟面孔，目光相接时，还要不时微笑点头示意。委员布兰德（Frederick Bland）和德文郡一起称赞刚才的演示“有理有据，有说服力”，地标保护委员会是一事一议，无所谓“先例之虞”，但“扩建对于知名建筑恐不适用”。委员查普林（Diana Chapin）觉得这个设计若是新建是可以接受的，但扩建则不妥。

旁听席中是来参加听证会的公众，其中多数是一些非赢利组织的代表，这个街区似乎特别盛产这类保护组织，前后有20人报名发言，且都自称是建筑师。率先发言的是“城市建筑协会”的高夫，这是一个成立于1983年的志愿者组织，以“监督地标保护委员会”为己任，高夫称卡本特是“城市景观的终极定义者”，而且当75英尺高度限制被推翻时，他并未尝试扩建高层。“历史街区委员会”成立于1970年，它的代表卡罗尔明确表示发对，但表示可以拆除入门雨棚以及更换窗户。莱维是1982年成立的“上东区历史街区之友”的发言人，他称赞提案呈现了“深思熟虑的构图”，但这座建筑比其他建筑矮小并不是需要被纠正的异常现象。阿什比代表成立于2003年的“上东区历史捍卫者”发言，她认为扩建会“损耗”整座建筑，只有在纽约上州某个类似于波基普西（Poughkeepsie）的地方才有可能扩建。参加过CB8听证会的“卡内基山邻里会”会长范德瓦尔克也赶过来，这一次他带来了570封反对信函。

会场不大，最多50平方米，里面挤满了人，动都动不了；走廊里还站着几十个人，粗略估计，该有150人左右，他们胸前都贴着一张黄色的圆形贴纸，上面有环形黑字写着“卡本特之友”，中间一行红字“请抗议第五大道1143号”。这是一个绝对新鲜出炉的非赢利机构，聘请了专业的建筑顾问，唯一的宗旨是——“抗议第五大道1143号”。发言的人中间，有住在南边1140号的古德曼，他说“1143号的规模和魅力”很别致，要保留；而住在北边1148号的马扎尔只管激动地喊，“反对者请举手”，黄贴纸们齐齐地举起手来。这些“高贵的芳邻”平日里或深居简出、或来去匆匆，没想到用这样的方式打了个照面。

图注：2015年11月10日，纽约市地标保护委员会关于第五大道1143号扩建听证会现场，“卡本特之友”提供给参会者取用的贴纸。

November 10, 2015. At the hearing on the expansion of 1143 Fifth Avenue before the New York City Landmarks Preservation Commission, stickers provided for attendees by Friends of Carpenter.

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For English readers: the full English version appears below the Chinese text, and English explanations for the photo captions appear beneath the Chinese captions.

如何处理现实主义的凝视和解释的欲望？这是个难题。

曼哈顿公园大道东70街口，亚洲协会（Asia Society, NY）地下一层，258座的专业放映厅，观者近百，亚裔约半。王小帅上台，说谢谢大家来看《中国肖像》，专门为他策划的回顾展中唯一的纪录片，没有台词，没有剧情，但2019年底在纽约放过，动态影像博物馆，据说当时没人睡着。

观众会心笑笑，知道这是中国的所谓第六代导演，在中国以外活动的机会多过在中国大陆，会用英文礼貌致意，身段轻松。改革开放都过去四十多年了，像3月8日的纽约，春风昂扬着过来，恨不得只穿衬衣；但乍暖还寒时候，三杯两盏淡酒，大家也是懂的。

79分钟的片子，4分钟一节，一群人或站或坐，有人行动如常，但一定有人面对镜头，不动。乡村居多，北方为主，土地干裂、羊群懒散；也有北京和汶川，雾霾和地震后的标语，都很坦白。王导本人间或出境，面无表情，静若处子，又像段落大意。

镜头持续着停滞不前。半小时以后开始有人坐不住，我也从包里翻出手机来看时间。

不过，有三个片段，我还是有印象的：片名前的矿工群像，摄像机的站位可圈可点；钢缆长到4分钟的长镜头都没有拉到头，这矿井到底有多深啊。中场王导亲自站上天安门广场，城楼上的毛爷爷模糊不清；对谈时他说站了一分钟警察就围上来，其中有人认出了他是名导，录像才没被删。接近尾声，大型挖掘机，拆毁一座钢筋水泥的庞然大物，粗暴到不要命，这是整部片子我看得最投入处，2名操作者总算从漫天烟尘里露出来，我才缓下一口气。

终于，王导再次上台，他首先强调：这部“纪录片”，完全没有选材，是自己随时随地随意的记录；是刻意解构，就是不想要有叙事和情节，故此专门请了不熟悉中国的法国剪辑师；而且而且，一定没有影射或者批判。究竟是公共表述的自我“消毒”、自我澄清，还是对解构主义思潮的自觉实践、绝对维护？假亦真时真亦假，这些话让人糊涂。

倒是其他话，很有些意思。比如，他交代这原本是被上海民生美术馆资助并定制的作品，在展厅四面墙上同时错序轮放——Then, make sense（那就对了嘛）。这么明显的摆拍要是叫做纪录片，是不是要改变“纪录片”的定义了呢？另外，他说，这个想法是受了“我的朋友刘小东”的启发（刺激？），“为什么画家的画可以一直挂在博物馆供人欣赏，而电影放完就完了呢？”那就更对了嘛，这部片子非常“刘小东化”或者“刘小东类”，人物、构图、气象，乃至与世界对话的方式。作为一种代际现象，以第六代导演为例，中国当代视觉实践与国际艺术体系对“中国当下”的想象之间，存在一种相互塑形的关系——究竟是谁在塑造谁，并不总是分得清。

所以，回看这部片子首次来美得到的褒贬，似乎依然成立。2019年底，徐匡慈在《好莱坞报道》上曾撰文赞其是一部“有力且全景式地审视转型期社会的影片”，这句话太满，但他指出它是理解第六代导演对中国观照之关键，倒是一语中的。2020年1月《旧金山纪事报》的资深影评人艾伦·约翰逊（G. Allen Johnson）撰文批评《中国肖像》类似艺术装置，直言其是“艺术院线的傲慢失控”。估计当时没有映后谈，影评人可能也不了解亚洲协会对这类装置的偏爱，在我有限的观展经验里，该场地在2024年举办过《冰+煤》影像大展，我为那些多屏装置影像写过展评《不合时宜的知识考现学：冰+煤》，发表在2024年5月30日的“澎湃新闻·思想市场”。

图注：2026年3月8日下午，王小帅导演（左二）在纽约亚洲协会《中国肖像》映后谈中。

Caption: On the afternoon of March 8, 2026, director Wang Xiaoshuai (second from the left) at the post-screening talk at Asia Society New York following “Chinese Portrait”.

我们不宜轻率地揣测他人的动机，但作为公共文化产品，尤其是现实主义的（王小帅多次表明这是部非虚构的“纪录片”），创作者究竟要如何凝视现实、洞悉现实，并将解释的欲望实现为作品，且是艺术的呢？

是所谓爱深责切。

指对艺术家，对艺术作品。说到底，艺术家对其创作的对象，恐怕也是如此。

所以，自然就联想到新编话剧《伊万诺夫》（Ivanov），两者都涉及被观看、被道德化分类以及对现实的解释。

2月7日，纽约发布今年最危险的严寒警报，晚间体感温度降至零下摄氏二十几度。傍晚时分，强风顶着人要跑起来，割到脸上直接就是痛，但百老汇附近的室内停车场还是爆满，好不容易在西46街找到停车位，“活动价35美元”，剧院区停车已是传统产业。

皇家剧院（Royal Family Theater）名字很奢华，但其实是与圣玛利亚堂共用一个地址，踏着细木条地板上去，到三楼的一间空房，就能看到破损墙面里面的细木条，从建筑肌理看，似乎是老教堂的老结构。在建于19世纪末的教堂建筑群楼上，看1887年的剧本，有一种古早的搭调，倒是到场的观众有生动的反衬——毕竟到正宗百老汇（Broadway）大剧院看戏，是为了欣赏艺术；而顶着朔风冽冽，到“百老汇外围”（off-off-Broadway）看实验小剧场，更像是一种社群仪式。

图注：2026年2月7日晚，曼哈顿皇家剧场《伊万诺夫》演出前。墙面破损，场地朴素，舞台设计极简。

Caption: On the evening of February 7, 2026, before the performance of Ivanov at the Royal Family Theater in Manhattan. The venue was unadorned, and the stage design starkly minimalist.

原著的故事并不复杂：陷入债务与精神耗竭的地主伊万诺夫，面对病重的妻子无力照顾，却在与年轻女子的社交欢场寻求出口；外界（尤其一位自诩正直的医生）不断把他的困境道德化定罪，最终伊万诺夫在妻子亡故后的婚礼日，在被公开羞辱中自杀。

台词是真干净：滑稽的社交礼数、闲话和闹剧感，与病痛、破产、死亡并置，喜剧语气把悲剧推得更为冷酷。时间站在了契诃夫一边。

新版《伊万诺夫》，导演叫劳拉（Laura Strausfeld），以研究契诃夫见长，这是她改编并执导的快进版本，100分钟。她没有把这部戏定位成“渣男”道德戏，而是聚焦“激情如何质变为耗竭”，抓住了伊万诺夫这个“俄罗斯的哈姆雷特”，从能量耗尽、无法行动、被外界道德化解释、自我接受并自我吞噬的精神塌方。“无用的人，无用的话……把我折磨得筋疲力尽，甚至病了。”这很聪明，它把契诃夫式的耗竭感，径直接入了当下的精神语境。

缺憾也有，就是套近乎的用意有点明显，三次转场用了三首美国流行歌曲，亲切感有了，但也出戏了；另外宣传单页有点用力过猛：“这部作品涉及精神疾病，不建议12岁以下儿童观看。演出后的交流主题：2月1日为‘男性特质与心理健康’，2月8日为‘契诃夫时代的反犹主义’”。这多少让人不适，不妨严肃地想一想，这些字里，多少是话语的时髦包装，多少是过度营销的标签？剩下的，多少只是下意识的身份表演？

契诃夫是“中国人民的老朋友”，《变色龙》和《装在套子里的人》，在我的中学语文课本里。他的“日常生活的现实主义”是把刀，没有宏大叙事，人物被琐碎场景、及时反应、社会关系中的小动作，钉在现实里，让人看见日常里的结构性困境。

非常莫名的，《中国肖像》和《伊万诺夫》这些天一直在脑子里转来转去。王小帅更像把现实陈列出来，让你自证理解；而契诃夫则用日常把你钉进文化的牢固框架中，并让你看见它。在两场不同的观看里，创作者如何应对凝视，社会如何道德化凝视，答案已经敞开给了所有的观众，连同对答案优劣的评判。

凝视不可避免，解释也不可避免；要紧的是，别急着把复杂的现实贴上单一的标签。
这大概就是我理解的健康社会：经得住凝视，也经得住讽刺。

2026年3月15日于纽约

Chekhov and Wang Xiaoshuai

How should one respond to a glimpse of reality—and the urge to explain what one sees? That is the question.

At the corner of East 70th Street and Park Avenue in Manhattan, on the basement level of Asia Society New York, there is a professional screening room with 258 seats. Nearly a hundred people were present; about half were Asian. Wang Xiaoshuai (王小帅) came onstage and thanked everyone for coming to see the film Chinese Portrait （《中国肖像》）, the only documentary in a retrospective exhibition curated specifically for him. There is no dialogue and no plot. When it screened in New York at the end of 2019, at the Museum of the Moving Image, it was noted by the film maker that no one fell asleep.

The audience smiled knowingly. Everyone understood that he is one of China’s so-called Sixth Generation directors—someone who has had more opportunities to work outside China than on the mainland—and that he can offer a polite greeting in English, relaxed and at ease. Reform and Opening-up has been underway for more than forty years; and on a New York March 8, spring arrives with such force that one wants to wear only a shirt. In that kind of weather—warm one moment, gone the next—a few light drinks, and hardest of all, the feeling of being fully at ease, one step forward and two steps back—everyone understood that too.

The film runs 79 minutes and is divided into four-minute segments during which groups of people stand or sit; some move as usual, but there is always at least one facing the camera, motionless. Most scenes are in the countryside, mostly the north: images of cracked earth, a languid flock of sheep tip off the location. There is also Beijing and Wenchuan: smog and post-earthquake slogans, all presented without embellishment. Wang himself appears from time to time, expressionless—still as a shy young girl, yet also like the closing sentence of a paragraph.

The camera continues in a kind of suspended stillness. Half an hour in, some people began to fidget; I too rummaged in my bag for my phone to check the time.

Still, there are three passages I remember. At the very beginning, the group portrait of miners: the camera angle is remarkable. The steel cable is so long that even in a four-minute shot it does not reach the end—how deep is that mine? Midway through, Wang himself stands on Tiananmen Square; Chairman Mao up on the gate tower is blurred and indistinct. In the talkback, he said that after he had stood there for one minute the police surrounded him; one of them recognized him as a famous director, and that was why the footage was not deleted. Near the end, a huge excavator demolishes a reinforced-concrete behemoth with a brutality that seems almost indifferent to life itself. This was the moment when I was most absorbed in the whole film. Only when the two operators finally emerged from the billowing dust did I allow myself to breathe again.

Finally, Wang came onstage again. He first emphasized that this “documentary” involved absolutely no selection of material—that it was simply his casual recording, done whenever and wherever he pleased; that it was a deliberate act of deconstruction, precisely because he did not want narrative or plot, and so he specifically hired a French editor unfamiliar with China; and that, moreover, there was certainly no insinuation and no criticism. Was this the kind of self-sanitizing and self-clarification typical for public speech, or was it a self-conscious practice of deconstructionist thinking—indeed, an absolute defense of it? When falsehood can appear true and truth can appear false, such words leave one puzzled.

Other things he said, though, were quite interesting. For example, he explained that the work was originally commissioned and funded by the Shanghai Minsheng Art Museum, to be projected in a gallery on all four walls simultaneously in an intentionally scrambled order—in this application the project makes more sense. If the staging is this obvious and it is still called a documentary, does that mean we need to change the definition of “documentary”? He also said the idea was inspired (or provoked?) by “my friend Liu Xiaodong（刘小东）”: “Why can a painter’s work hang in a museum for people to admire, while a film is over the moment it finishes screening?” This motivation makes more sense. This film is very much in the manner of Liu Xiaodong—in its figures, composition, atmosphere, even in the way it converses with the world.

As a generational phenomenon—taking China’s Sixth Generation directors as an example—there is a mutually shaping relationship between contemporary Chinese visual practice and the international art system’s imagination of “China in the present”: it is not always easy to tell who is shaping whom.

So, looking back, both the praise and the criticism the film received on its first trip to the United States still seem valid. At the end of 2019, Clarence Tsui wrote in The Hollywood Reporter, praising it as “a powerful and panoramic survey of a society in transition.” That line is too full, too sweeping; but when he pointed out that the film is key to understanding how Sixth Generation directors project China, he hit the mark. In January 2020, the veteran film critic G. Allen Johnson wrote in the San Francisco Chronicle that Chinese Portrait was akin to an art installation, bluntly calling it “art house arrogance run amok.” Presumably there was no post-screening talkback then; the critic may also not have understood Asia Society’s preference for this kind of installation. In my limited experience of seeing exhibitions there, the venue hosted the large-scale moving-image show Coal + Ice in 2024. I wrote a review of those multi-screen installation videos, “An Untimely Evidential Philology: Coal + Ice,” published on May 30, 2024, in The Paper in Shanghai.

We should not lightly speculate about other people’s motives. But as a public cultural product—and especially a realist one (Wang repeatedly stated that this is a non-fiction “documentary”)—how, exactly, should the creator look at reality, grasp it, and turn the urge to explain it into a work of art?

This is what people mean by caring deeply and therefore criticizing seriously.

Toward the artist, toward the artwork. And ultimately, perhaps, this is also how the artist feels toward the object of creation.

So it is natural to think of the newly adapted stage play Ivanov, which likewise involves being watched, being morally categorized, and the interpretation of reality.

On February 7, New York issued its most dangerous extreme-cold alert of the year; at night the windchill dropped to the low negative twenties Celsius. At dusk, the gale drove people into a run; it struck the face with immediate pain. Yet the indoor parking garages near Broadway were still full. A space was finally found on West 46th Street—“event rate $35.” Parking in the theater district has long been a traditional business.

The name Royal Family Theater sounds lavish, but in fact it shares an address with the Church of St. Mary the Virgin. You climb a narrow wooden staircase, and on the third floor, in an empty room, you can see the thin wooden laths inside a damaged wall. From the building’s texture, it appears to be an old structure belonging to an old church. Watching a play written in 1887, upstairs in a church complex built in the late nineteenth century, feels oddly apt in its old-fashioned harmony. And the audience, by contrast, provided a vivid counterpoint: after all, going to a big Broadway house is to appreciate art; but braving a bitter north wind to see an experimental Off-Off-Broadway show feels more like a kind of community ritual.

The original story is not complicated. Ivanov, a landowner sunk in debt and mental exhaustion, is unable to care for his gravely ill wife, yet seeks an outlet in the social whirl with a young lady; the outside world (especially a doctor who prides himself on righteousness) continually moralizes his predicament as guilt; and in the end, on the day of his wedding after his wife’s death, Ivanov kills himself amid public humiliation.

The lines are truly clean. Absurd social manners, gossip, and farce are set alongside illness, bankruptcy, and death; the comic register makes the tragedy colder and crueler. More than a hundred years have slipped by in a blink; Time has taken Chekhov’s side.

In this new Ivanov, the director is Laura Strausfeld, known for her work on Chekhov. This is her fast-paced version, 100 minutes long, adapted and directed by her. She does not frame the play as a moral drama about a “scumbag” adulterer; instead, she focuses on “how passion turns into exhaustion.” She presents Ivanov as “the Russian Hamlet”: a spiritual collapse in which energy is depleted, action becomes impossible, the outside world offers moralized explanations, and the self accepts them and devours itself. “Useless people, useless talk… have wearied me so… that I am ill.” This is clever: it plugs a Chekhovian sense of burnout directly into today’s psychological climate.

There are shortcomings too. The effort to ingratiate is a bit too obvious: three scene changes used three American pop songs. The friendliness is there, but it also pulls you out of the play. And the program leaflet tries a bit too hard: “Ivanov deals with mental illness and isn’t recommended for children under 12. Post-show discussion topics: February 1, ‘Masculinity and mental health’; February 8, ‘Antisemitism in Chekhov’s time.’” This is somewhat unsettling. It is worth thinking seriously: in these words, how much is fashionable discursive packaging, and how much is the over-labeling of marketing? And of what remains, how much is simply unconscious identity performance?

Chekhov is “an old friend of the Chinese people.” “The Chameleon” and “The Man in a Case” were, at least, in my middle-school Chinese textbooks. His “realism of everyday life” is a blade: no grand narrative. Characters are nailed to reality by trivial scenes, immediate reactions, and small gestures within social relationships—so that one can see the structural predicaments embedded in the everyday.

Strangely, these past few days Chinese Portrait and Ivanov have kept circling in my mind. Wang Xiaoshuai is more like someone who puts reality on display and asks you to confirm your own understanding; Chekhov, by contrast, uses the everyday to nail you within a solid cultural framework—and makes you see it. In two different acts of viewing, how the creator responds to the gaze, and how society moralizes the gaze—the answers have already been laid open for all viewers, together with the judgment of their merits and flaws.

The gaze is unavoidable; so is interpretation. What matters is not rushing to paste a single label onto complex reality.

This, perhaps, is the healthy society as I understand it: one able to withstand the gaze, and able to withstand satire too.

New York, March 15, 2026

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For English readers: the full English version appears below the Chinese text, and English explanations for the photo captions appear beneath the Chinese captions.

《第五大道1143号》是我正在写作中的非虚构项目，记录纽约第五大道1143号这幢历史建筑自2014年至2025年的重建过程。凡援引公开发表的媒体内容，涉及人名、地名、价码等信息，均照实录出；除公务部门及愿意公开姓名与相关事实者外，其余人物与公司信息均作必要处理。此次发布的是第1章《城市地标》第 2节（中英文版），记录了第五大道1143号在产权、法规与现实条件的推动下，一度产生了依法扩建的想法，并被认真论证，形成了具体方案。前序内容，请参见之前的发布。

“1143 Fifth Avenue” documents the more than decade-long reconstruction of a historic building at 1143 Fifth Avenue in New York (2014–2025). Following basic anthropological practice, when I cite publicly available media sources, details such as names, places, and prices are reproduced as recorded. With the exception of government bodies and individuals who have explicitly agreed to make their names and relevant facts public, all other individuals and companies have been anonymized to protect their names and privacy. On Substack, this project will be released as a selective serial (with both free and paid posts).

This installment presents Chapter 1, Urban Landmark, Section 2 (Chinese–English edition). It records how, under the combined pressure of property rights, regulatory frameworks, and practical realities, the idea of an as-of-right expansion for 1143 Fifth Avenue once took shape, was seriously examined, and developed into a concrete proposal. For earlier context, please refer to previous posts.

1.2 依法扩建的念想

辞退了最早介入改建第五大道1143号的建筑师格里尔，马利安拥有了自由，不过，“自由”还有个名字叫“空白”。斯蒂芬很快意识到，业主代表不仅有执行业主意志的权利，而且似乎还冒出来了回应业主疑问的义务。斯蒂芬问他想“大动”还是“小动”。

“小动怎么说？”

“有两个选项。第一，简单地把公寓内部做一次全面翻新。第二，扩建该物业的北部区域，我发现那里有块地皮在产权范围内，但目前这些区域还空着。”

马利安对两个选项都有兴趣。斯蒂芬找来好几位建筑师和工程师来制定概念框架、施工方案以及建筑预算，一番比较筛选之后，斯蒂芬认为莱纳夫事务所比较靠谱，那时这家建筑事务所只有建筑师莱纳特（William Lenart）和一名女职员，非常适合做这类小型的设计，动作快，方案也务实。看到报价、工期和效果图后，马利安犹豫了一段时间，然后问：

“如果大动呢？”

“根据1143号所在第五大道的分区法规，这幢楼被允许的高度限制为150英尺，是目前高度的两倍。由于该地区被列入‘历史街区’，所有建筑改建都必须得到地标保护委员会（Landmark Preservation Committee，简称LPC）的核准，而且要先行经过建筑部（Department of Building，简称DOB）的审核并拿到批复。”

“150英尺？可以多出几层楼吗？我们有扩建的法律权限？”

“是的，符合第五大道我们所在区段的分区法规。我之前咨询过纽约建筑史专家格雷先生，他证实过这一点。我后来又聘请了卡拉汉咨询公司（J. Callahan Consulting）的专家，他们对各类政府监管部门的法规要求以及需要填报的相关表格都非常清楚，也确定此地可以建到150英尺。但实际操作怕有风险，要闯过2个部门的关口，不能确保成功。”

“为什么不试试呢？”这一次马利安的决定果断不含糊，而且坚持要通过竞标来决定由谁来设计他的第五大道的“面子”，斯蒂芬立即回头再次进行遴选建筑师的议程。把头埋进图纸、报价单的文山会海好一阵子之后，斯蒂芬意识到，“依法扩建”是项大工程，莱纳特的设计所太小了。他找到莱纳特当面解释，“马利安想扩建到150英尺高，你们两个人恐怕扛不下了。他前几天给我打了电话，说在巴黎见到一位著名建筑师，应该是叫拉扎维（Razavi），事务所在巴黎，在伦敦和纽约有办事处，想让他试试。”“拉扎维？”拉纳夫瞪大了眼睛，“他是我的合作伙伴！”

几乎不可能的几率仿佛是道指令，莱纳特和拉扎维就这样顺理成章地成为扩建方案候选团队中的有力竞争者。拉扎维受到自身伊朗和巴黎背景的影响，所做的设计相当个性化，草图弹眼落睛——在原有7层建筑物上端，他设想出5截连体的巨型玻璃幕墙，像清风吹佛的蔚蓝海面，起伏荡漾。“除非地标保护委员们的脑子都被惊呆了！从外面看，确实会成为第五大道上的独特风景；但住户住在里面看中央公园，和看哈哈镜差不多！而且这样弯曲的玻璃墙面定制要多少成本？建筑工艺上能确保安全吗？”斯蒂芬几句话，很快就与马利安达成了共识。

巴黎罗浮宫前，贝聿铭做成了玻璃金字塔；而第五大道上的“玻璃幕墙之波”，涛声遁去，这是又一次2万美金的了结。其实2015年初，还有一次2万美金的设计费，不情不愿地给了一位女设计师，她拍了不少新楼的实景图作为参考样式，堆砌成一份30页的展示文件给斯蒂芬，拿着这份像建筑系一年级新生的调研报告的所谓设计图，他有点哭笑不得，这是想叫马利安自己做选择题兼拼图游戏吗？至于更多公司报来的概念草图，也不是免费的，但都没有逃脱看了几眼就被化为灰烬的命运。建筑师们多半有自诩为艺术家的癖好，其实也对，不食人间烟火起来，他们是可以用自己的脑电波直接烧别人家钱的。

图注：拉扎维和莱纳特2015年1月完成的扩建方案效果图。骑马的男士和骑自行车的女士的剪影，增加了这项建筑设计原本就格外浪漫的情味。

Rendering of the expansion scheme completed by Razavi and Lenart January 2015. The silhouettes of the man on horseback and the woman on a bicycle added to the especially romantic quality that this architectural design already possessed.

马利安不怕烧钱，但斯蒂芬舍不得。他想到了在纽约历史保护建筑领域非常知名的注册建筑师朱迪斯·萨尔兹曼（Judith Saltzman）女士。她在哥伦比亚大学完成了历史保护硕士课程，1982年与另一位女建筑师创办了“李·萨尔兹曼”（Li·Saltzman）事务所，专注于历史背景下的建筑保护、修复及其适应性翻新使用，事务所实施的多个案例得到过美国建筑师协会、纽约地标保护委员会和上东区历史街区之友等机构的嘉奖。马利安对所谓头衔和奖项都无所谓，他担心的是这种保护主义的设计风格会不会因为相对保守以至于死板，斯蒂芬则考虑萨尔兹曼曾是纽约市政艺术协会保护委员会的联席主席，是业务对口的内行专家，更是保护建筑行业内部的“自己人”，对相关政策法规烂熟于心，对行内的人际关系也心知肚明；如果她的设计过不了关，就遑论其他人了。

斯蒂芬心里明白这样宏大的方案，将要面临怎样严苛的审核，他不得不重组自己的团队，其中有城建法规顾问杰克·卡拉汉（Jack Callahan），他创建了一家专业的项目跟催公司，负责填报和跟踪所有政府机构需要的林林总总的表格；还有历史顾问施塔赫尔贝格（Cas Stachelberg），他参与过不少与纽约市地标相关的审查工作。另外，斯蒂芬还特意聘请了克莱默·莱文（Kramer Levin）律师行的合伙人瓦莱丽·坎贝尔（Valerie Campbell）担任项目的法律顾问，这家律所有三百名左右的律师，业务全面，在房地产领域有特殊优势；坎贝尔本人在业界颇有信誉，而且曾担任过纽约市地标保护委员会的会长一职，这是斯蒂芬格外看重的。斯蒂芬陪马利安一起去过这家律所，萨尔兹曼也应邀一同前往。坎贝尔是位干练、坦率的女士，她并不掩饰自己的担忧，“这个扩建项目是符合分区法规的，法律上讲是可以造到150英尺高。但我们也不能忽视地方上的‘政治现实’吧？不要忘了，卡内基山可是曼哈顿‘江湖’中的‘江湖’哦。稍微扩建一层两层也许有戏，但增加一倍几乎是不可能的。”马利安显然不喜欢这个说法。

于是，萨尔兹曼接受了委托，提出了一套包括新旧楼体共13层的建筑设计概念，她的想法相对简洁：将地面一楼改为大堂，将上面改建为6个复式单元，屋顶线从83英尺升高到149英尺；建筑后方靠北面的部分，拓展出去；删除一二楼窗户原有的安全铁栅栏，并将老式的入门天棚改为简约的玻璃和钢结构。新泽西“马萨多媒体建筑公司”（Massa Multimedia Architecture）的专业工程师，将萨尔兹曼的这些设计意图落实为全套施工文件，包括图纸和其他材料约几十张，递交到了纽约市建筑部。

建筑部负责依据纽约市的建筑法规、分区决议和纽约州的居住法，审查并批准建筑计划、发放许可以及监管工程安全，也包括审核所有项目参与者的专业资质，而这些人的从业资格证书一般都由行业协会颁发。

图注：2015年3月，萨尔兹曼完成的第五大道1143号13层的扩建计划效果图草稿。

March 2015. Draft rendering of Saltzman’s thirteen-story expansion plan for 1143 Fifth Avenue.

2015年7月初提交的申请，不久就按部就班地得到了“建筑核准章”，斯蒂芬在核准证上签上自己的名字，然后深吸了一口气才走出大楼，布鲁克林大桥就在不远处，这座百年老桥当年在争议声中耗时长达13年才完成，付出了巨大的代价，如今是纽约不可移易的象征。斯蒂芬朝那个方向眺望了一会儿，东河不舍昼夜，不响。

嗅觉灵敏的房地产媒体在几天内就发布了多条类似的新闻，“上东区第五大道沿线的新建筑很难找到，但卡内基山闲置地段上的一小块地皮可能正在酝酿中，这是一个罕见的开发前景！”卡内基山是上东区最奢华但刻意低调的一角，没有大都会博物馆附近那样蜂拥的国际游客，也没有约克维尔（Yorkville）那样密集的当地居民，本身就是一个与喧嚣隔绝的“世外桃源”，夏日常见的无非是被职业遛狗者牵着的四五条名犬，隔着街口一簇一簇，人狗两恹。7月底，1143号扩建核准证被通过的消息不胫而走，歇夏的住户们似乎被触碰到某根神经，一个个都支棱了起来，并且，走动了起来。

1.2 An Idea of Expansion by Right

After dismissing Greer, the architect who had first become involved in the renovation of 1143 Fifth Avenue, Marian gained freedom. But “freedom” has another name: “blankness.” Stephen soon realized that the owner’s representative not only had the right to carry out the owner’s will, but also seemed to have acquired the obligation to answer the owner’s questions. Stephen asked whether he wanted to make a “major move” or a “minor move.”

“What would a minor move mean?”

“There are two options. First, simply carry out a comprehensive renovation of the interiors of the apartments. Second, expand the northern part of the property. I discovered there is a parcel of land there within the property line, but that area is currently vacant.”

Marian was interested in both options. Stephen brought in several architects and engineers to formulate conceptual frameworks, construction plans, and construction budgets. After a round of comparison and selection, Stephen thought the Lenart firm was the most reliable. At that time the firm consisted only of the architect William Lenart and one female employee. It was very well suited to this kind of small-scale design work: quick-moving and practical in its proposals. After seeing the price, construction schedule, and renderings, Marian hesitated for a while and then asked:

“What if we made a major move?”

“According to the zoning regulations for this stretch of Fifth Avenue where No. 1143 is located, the permitted height limit for this building is 150 feet, which is twice its current height. Since the area has been designated a ‘historic district,’ all alterations to the building must be approved by the Landmarks Preservation Committee (LPC), and before that they must be reviewed by the Department of Building (DOB) and receive its authorization.”

“One hundred and fifty feet? Could we add several more floors? Do we have the legal right to expand?”

“Yes, it complies with the zoning regulations for the section of Fifth Avenue where we are located. I previously consulted Mr. Gray, the expert in New York architectural history, and he confirmed this. Later I also hired experts from J. Callahan Consulting. They are very familiar with the regulatory requirements of various government agencies and the related forms that have to be filed, and they also confirmed that this site can be built up to 150 feet. But there is risk in the actual process. We have to get through two departments, and success cannot be guaranteed.”

“Why not try?” This time Marian’s decision was firm and unambiguous, and he insisted that the designer of the Fifth Avenue front of his building be chosen through a competitive process. Stephen immediately turned back to the task of selecting architects again. After burying himself in mountains of drawings and cost estimates for quite a while, Stephen realized that “expansion by right” was a major undertaking, and Lenart’s office was too small. He found Mr. Lenart and explained it to him face to face. “Marian wants to expand up to 150 feet. I’m afraid the two of you can’t handle it. A few days ago he called me and said he had met a famous architect in Paris, I think his name was Razavi. His office is in Paris, with branches in London and New York. He wants to try him.” “Razavi?” Lenart widened his eyes. “He is my partner!”

Against nearly impossible odds, as though by a command, Lenart and Razavi thus naturally became strong competitors among the candidate teams for the expansion scheme. Influenced by his Iranian and Parisian background, Razavi’s design was highly individualistic, and the sketches were striking at first glance: above the original seven-story building he imagined five connected segments of giant glass curtain wall, like the blue surface of the sea stirred by a breeze, undulating in waves. “Unless the Landmarks commissioners have all had their minds blown! Seen from outside, it would indeed become a unique sight on Fifth Avenue; but for the residents inside, looking out at Central Park would be like looking into a fun-house mirror! And how much would it cost to custom-make such curved glass walls? Can the construction guarantee safety?” In just a few sentences, Stephen quickly reached agreement with Marian.

I. M. Pei succeeded in creating a glass pyramid in front of the Louvre in Paris; but the “wave of glass curtain wall” on Fifth Avenue receded before it could roar. That was the end of yet another twenty thousand dollars. In fact, in early 2015 there had been another twenty-thousand-dollar design fee, reluctantly paid to a female designer. She took a great number of field photographs of new buildings as reference examples and piled them into a thirty-page presentation for Stephen. Holding this so-called design scheme, like the research report of a first-year architecture student, he did not know whether to laugh or cry. Was this meant to make Marian do multiple-choice questions and a jigsaw puzzle by himself? As for the conceptual sketches submitted by more companies, those were not free either, but none escaped the fate of being glanced at a few times and then turned to ashes. Architects mostly have a habit of fancying themselves artists. In fact, that is fair enough: once they cease to eat the dust of the human world, they can burn through other people’s money directly with their brain waves.

Marian was not afraid of burning money, but Stephen hated to part with it. He thought of the highly renowned registered architect Judith Saltzman in New York’s historic-preservation field. She completed a master’s degree in historic preservation at Columbia University and in 1982 founded Li/Saltzman with another female architect, specializing in preservation, restoration, and adaptive reuse in historical settings. A number of the firm’s projects had won awards from the American Institute of Architects, the New York City Landmarks Preservation Commission, and Friends of the Upper East Side Historic Districts. Marian did not care about such titles and prizes. What worried him was whether this preservationist design style might be conservative to the point of stiffness. Stephen, however, considered that Saltzman had once served as co-chair of the preservation committee of the Municipal Art Society of New York. She was an expert in exactly the right line of business and, more importantly, one of the “insiders” within the historic-preservation world itself. She was thoroughly familiar with the relevant laws and regulations and knew perfectly well the relationships among the people in the profession. If her design could not get through, there was no point in mentioning anyone else.

Stephen understood in his heart what kind of severe scrutiny such a grand scheme would face, and he had no choice but to reorganize his team. Among them was the zoning consultant Jack Callahan, who had created a specialized expediting company responsible for filing and tracking the countless forms required by all government agencies; there was also the historical consultant Cas Stachelberg, who had participated in quite a number of reviews relating to New York City landmarks. In addition, Stephen specifically hired Valerie Campbell, a partner at Kramer Levin, to serve as legal counsel for the project. The firm had around three hundred lawyers, with a comprehensive practice and particular strength in real estate. Campbell herself had an excellent reputation in the industry and had once served as chair of the New York City Landmarks Preservation Commission, which Stephen especially valued. Stephen had gone with Marian to this law firm, and Saltzman had also been invited to go along. Campbell was a capable and frank woman, and she did not conceal her concerns. “This expansion project complies with the zoning regulations; legally speaking, it can be built to 150 feet. But we can’t ignore local ‘political realities,’ can we? Don’t forget, Carnegie Hill is Manhattan’s Manhattan. Expanding by one or two floors might perhaps have a chance, but doubling it is almost impossible.” Marian clearly did not like that statement.

So Saltzman accepted the commission and put forward a thirteen-story architectural concept combining the old and new building. Her idea was relatively simple: convert the ground floor into a lobby; convert the floors above into six duplex units; raise the roofline from 83 feet to 149 feet; extend the rear northern portion of the building; remove the original security grilles from the windows on the first and second floors; and replace the old entrance canopy with a simple glass-and-steel structure. Professional engineers at Massa Multimedia Architecture in New Jersey translated these design intentions into a full set of construction documents, including dozens of drawings and other materials, and submitted them to the New York City Department of Buildings.

The Department of Buildings is responsible for reviewing and approving construction plans, issuing permits, and supervising construction safety in accordance with New York City building regulations, zoning resolutions, and New York State housing law; it also examines the professional qualifications of all project participants, whose licenses are generally issued by industry associations.

The application submitted in early July 2015 soon received an approval stamp in due course. Stephen signed his name on the approved set and then took a deep breath before walking out of the building. The Brooklyn Bridge was not far away. This century-old bridge had taken as long as thirteen years to complete amid controversy, at tremendous cost, and today it is an unshakable symbol of New York. Stephen gazed in that direction for a while. The East River flowed on day and night, soundless.

Real-estate media with keen noses published a number of similar reports within a few days: “New construction along Fifth Avenue on the Upper East Side is hard to find, but a small parcel of vacant land on Carnegie Hill may be stirring—this is a rare development prospect!” Carnegie Hill is the most luxurious but deliberately low-key corner of the Upper East Side, without the swarms of international tourists near the Metropolitan Museum and without the dense local population of Yorkville. It is itself a “secluded paradise” cut off from the noise, where in summer one commonly sees nothing more than four or five pedigreed dogs led by professional dog walkers, gathered cluster by cluster at street corners, human and dog equally weary. By the end of July, news that the approval for the expansion of No. 1143 had been granted spread quickly by word of mouth. The summering residents seemed to have had some nerve touched; one by one they stiffened, and then they began to move.

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For English readers: the full English version appears below the Chinese text, and English explanations for the photo captions appear beneath the Chinese captions.

《第五大道1143号》是我正在写作中的非虚构项目，记录纽约第五大道1143号这幢历史建筑自2014年至2025年的重建过程。凡援引公开发表的媒体内容，涉及人名、地名、价码等信息，均照实录出；除公务部门及愿意公开姓名与相关事实者外，其余人物与公司信息均作必要处理。此次发布的是第1章《城市地标》第1节（中英文版），简介第五大道1143号的历史。此前刊出的“引子”，可参见3月发布。

“1143 Fifth Avenue” documents the more than decade-long reconstruction of a historic building at 1143 Fifth Avenue in New York (2014–2025). Following basic anthropological practice, when I cite publicly available media sources, details such as names, places, and prices are reproduced as recorded. With the exception of government bodies and individuals who have explicitly agreed to make their names and relevant facts public, all other individuals and companies have been anonymized to protect their names and privacy. On Substack, this project will be released as a selective serial (with both free and paid posts). What is published here is Chapter 1 “An Urban Landmark”, Section 1 (in Chinese and English), offering an introduction to the history of 1143 Fifth Avenue; the “Prologue” was published in March 2026.

1.1 1143 号简史

第五大道1143号坐落在曼哈顿上东区的“卡内基山”上，这个名字最早是指东91街和第五大道拐角处的一小片区域。1903年，安德鲁·卡内基（Andrew Carnegie，1835-1919）在这里建造了他的私宅，单枪匹马地开发了纽约豪宅的新地界。卡内基是20世纪初的世界钢铁大王，他是企业家，也是慈善家，美国古典音乐与流行音乐界的标志性建筑卡内基音乐厅（Carnegie Hall）就是他出资兴建的。

如今的“卡内基山”，西起第五大道，东至第三大道（不含），南以86街为界，北边以第五大道和公园大道之间的东98街以及公园大道和第三大道之间的东96街为界。1974年，纽约市地标保护委员会将该街区认定为“卡内基山历史街区（扩展版）”。卡内基本人的豪宅现在是库珀·休伊特国立设计博物馆（Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum）。三个街口以外，就是纽约古根汉姆博物馆。第五大道从东82街到东110街又称为“博物馆一英里”，卡内基山可谓独揽了半壁江山,大都会艺术博物馆、犹太博物馆、新艺廊（Neue Galerie NY）等艺术机构一字摆开，风情万种。20世纪初，卡内基山就被称为“百万富翁街”，至今仍是纽约老钱（old money）的聚居区，绝对的谈笑有鸿儒，往来无白丁，有着某种只可意会的隐形边界。

所谓物是人非，作为地理实在，这个矩形区域在一百年的浪奔浪流后，地上建筑的原貌几乎荡然无存。绝大多数与卡内基故居同样在镀金时代建造的低层豪华宅邸，后来都被更高的商业公寓楼所取代，它们大多建于20世纪20年代到30年代，上东区和曼哈顿西边的多数豪华公寓楼，大都是第二次世界大战前的产物；那是纽约地产大开发、大跃进的年代，纽约很多引以为豪的建筑，包括帝国大厦（Empire State Building）和克莱斯勒大厦（Chrysler Building）等地标，都是在这一时期开工并建成的。第五大道1143号是这些建筑的“同代人”，难能可贵的是，它至今仍是私有的百年建筑——这样单幢独立产权的楼房，在整个第五大道上仅有5席，而在卡内基山上则是独一无二的——30英尺的门面，正对着中央公园，站在客厅窗边，抬眼就看得见到公园里的杰奎琳·肯尼迪水库，铁栅栏外是永远绕圈跑步的纽约客，而一泓浩大的静水，波澜不惊。

图注：1924年的第五大道1143号，可见面向第五大道的每扇窗户上都装有罩篷（awning）。在没有空调的时代，罩篷在遮阳、降温同时保证了通风的效果，也带有一定的装饰性，在当年还兼有时尚审美的功能。

1143 Fifth Avenue in 1924. One can see that every window facing Fifth Avenue was fitted with an awning. In the era before air conditioning, awnings provided shade and cooling while ensuring ventilation; they also served a decorative function and, at the time, carried a certain fashionable appeal.

2008年，纽约曼哈顿上东区位于“卡内基山”的居委会，出版了一本《卡耐基山建筑指南》，介绍社区内每座建筑的风格特色和历史沿革，对于1143号的下列描述可谓简明扼要——建筑师卡本特框定了这幢豪宅的基本样貌，1993年后为法国驻纽约总领事馆所有，当年法国政府卖下这幢楼的消息还登上过《纽约时报》。当然，第一句带着俏皮的文采，借用《圣经》中年轻的牧羊人大卫（David）与巨人歌利亚（Goliath）决斗的故事，形象地解说1143号与左右两边大楼的层高之差，仿佛夹在两个巨人中间的一个小孩。“大卫和歌利亚”这个短语有更流行的语义，表示在一场较量中，弱小者面对强悍者，初看处于劣势——这冥冥中是个寓言。

第五大道1143号（95-96街）

建筑师：詹姆斯·卡本特（James Edwin Ruthven Carpenter）

时间：1923年

像大卫被歌利亚包围着，这座瘦削的新联邦风格的大楼，最初设计为六套单层公寓和一套两层公寓。两层石灰石基座的顶部是用红砖砌成的方框形楼层。石带图案是第二层的标记，窗户装饰有凹进的砖拱和玫瑰花。木头和玻璃结构的入口处两侧是纤细的饰有凹槽的壁柱，上方有铁格槽和横梁。第七层（也就是曾经的最高层）上是蛋形和箭形的饰条以及砖砌的护墙。

1953年，这幢建筑被房地产家族波斯纳（Posners）接管，他们将整层的公寓改造成医疗办公室。随后出现了家庭不和，这幢建筑在1989年被腾空，任由它衰败。1993年，法国政府购买了这幢建筑，将其用作领事馆和文化服务人员的住所。内外的大规模翻修包括：增加了一层，但因为是在后缩的位置上，只有从中央公园的街面位置才能看到，有品位地复制了最初的六层六户窗户，并恢复了大约70年前建筑师所设想的三个卧室的布局。

（Carnegie Hill Neighbors, Carnegie Hill Architectural Guide, Carnegie Hill Neighbors, New York NY 2008, p.35.）

图注：2015年2月，从纽约曼哈顿中央公园一角所见第五大道与东96街的交叉路口。照片正中较大的高楼为第五大道1148号，右侧较小的高楼为第五大道1140号，夹在中间的建筑即为第五大道1143号。

In February 2015, the intersection of Fifth Avenue and East 96th Street as seen from a corner of Central Park in Manhattan. The taller building in the center of the photograph is 1148 Fifth Avenue; the smaller high-rise on the right is 1140 Fifth Avenue; the building sandwiched in between is 1143 Fifth Avenue.

下面这段文字完整翻译自《罗萨里奥·坎德拉和詹姆斯·卡本特的纽约公寓楼》。书中聚焦的两位建筑师大名鼎鼎，是纽约豪华公寓楼的定义者，尤其是后者卡本特（James Edwin Ruthven Carpenter Jr.，1867-1932），以名字的首字母缩写“J.E.R.”行走江湖。

第五大道1143号

第95街和第96街之间，1507街区，4号地块

建筑师：詹姆斯·卡本特

营造商：第五大道1143号（董事长：詹姆斯·卡本特）

秘书/财务主管：Bertrand Capps

开工时间：1922年10月9日

完成时间：1923年7月31日

位于两条街道的中间，占地宽为37英尺6英寸。最初是7层楼，可容纳8个家庭，典型的公寓有6个房间和3个浴室。按照当年75英尺的分区层高新规建成，但该规定不到一年就被推翻。1953年，哈罗德·波斯纳（Harold Posner）买下了这座建筑，他住在7楼的公寓里，而他的遗孀住在那里，直到1989年去世。大部分建筑被改建为精神病学家的办公室，但1989年被腾空。法国政府1993年购买并重建了这幢建筑，将其还原成公寓，并增加了一个内缩的顶楼，为法国文化随员创建了一个复式顶层公寓。

(Andrew Alpern，The New York Apartment House of Rosario Candela and James Carpenter，Acanthus Press, New York NY 2001, p.95.)

图注：2015年11月10日，第五大道1143号提交纽约市地标保护委员会听证会的陈述文件中有关历史档案的一页。左图来自《罗萨里奥·坎德拉和詹姆斯·卡本特的纽约公寓楼》一书，摄于1924年。中图和右图来自纽约市市政档案馆“20世纪40年代税务局照片”专档，由当时的工程项目管理局和纽约市税务局拍摄，时间约在1940年前后。

On November 10, 2015, a page of historical archival materials from the presentation submitted by 1143 Fifth Avenue to the hearing of the New York City Landmarks Preservation Commission. The image on the left comes from The New York Apartment House of Rosario Candela and James Carpenter, photographed in 1924. The middle and right images come from the New York City Municipal Archives’ “1940s Tax Department Photographs” collection, taken by the Works Progress Administration and the New York City Department of Taxation around 1940.

《纽约时报》1987年到2014年有个“街景”专栏，作者克里斯托弗·格雷（Christopher Stewart Gray, 1950-2017）是纽约城建史专家，格雷认为卡本特是“型塑了第五大道上端的建筑师”，他在2007年8月26日以此为题的文章中，引用了该报在1930年刊登的一则公寓楼的广告，称卡本特设计的“这些公寓给人一种安静、安逸的感觉——房间宽敞，天花板很高，细节装饰精致、服务熟练但不唐突。”

这则颇有纽约上流社会矜持格调的广告以及这篇专栏文章，斯蒂芬到2024年底才看到，站在3米多挑高的客厅里，面对着4扇大窗，他觉得这些话就是为他的最终作业量身定制的，“这种跨越时空的心会神交相当奇异，不是吗？”其实，2017年初，斯蒂芬与格雷通过电话，“这个人比互联网靠谱，几乎是纽约建筑的真人版搜索引擎”。斯蒂芬向他创办的公司“大都会历史办公室”（Office for Metropolitan History）支付了4000美元的咨询费，格雷提供了第五大道1143号的若干历史档案，包括卡本特当年获得的准建证以及很多老照片。2017年3月，格雷去世。

1.1 A Brief History of 1143 Fifth Avenue

1143 Fifth Avenue is located on “Carnegie Hill” on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. The name originally referred to a small area at the corner of East 91st Street and Fifth Avenue. In 1903, Andrew Carnegie (1835–1919) built his private residence here, single-handedly opening up a new territory for New York’s luxury houses. Carnegie was the world’s steel magnate in the early twentieth century. He was both an entrepreneur and a philanthropist. Carnegie Hall, an iconic venue for American classical and popular music, was financed by him.

Today, “Carnegie Hill” stretches from Fifth Avenue on the west to Third Avenue on the east (not including Third Avenue), bounded by East 86th Street on the south, and by East 98th Street between Fifth and Park Avenues and East 96th Street between Park and Third Avenues on the north. In 1974, the New York City Landmarks Preservation Commission designated the area the “Carnegie Hill Historic District (Expanded).” Carnegie’s mansion is now the Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum. Three blocks away stands the Guggenheim Museum. Fifth Avenue from East 82nd Street to East 110th Street is also known as “Museum Mile,” and Carnegie Hill occupies nearly half of it, with institutions such as the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Jewish Museum, and Neue Galerie New York lined up in succession. In the early twentieth century, Carnegie Hill was already known as “Millionaires’ Row.” To this day, it remains an enclave of New York old money, a place where the learned converse and no common visitors are seen, marked by a kind of invisible boundary that can only be sensed.

As the saying goes, things remain while people change. As a geographical reality, after a century of upheaval, this rectangular area has almost entirely lost the original appearance of its buildings. Most of the low-rise luxury houses built in the Gilded Age, like Carnegie’s own residence, were later replaced by taller commercial apartment buildings, most of them constructed in the 1920s and 1930s. Most luxury apartment buildings on the Upper East Side and Manhattan’s West Side date from before the Second World War; that was the era of large-scale real-estate expansion in New York. Many of the buildings New York prides itself on, including landmarks such as the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building, were begun and completed during this period. 1143 Fifth Avenue is a contemporary of those buildings. What makes it particularly rare is that it remains, to this day, a privately owned century-old building. Along the entire length of Fifth Avenue, there are only five such independently owned single-building properties, and on Carnegie Hill it is unique: a 30-foot frontage directly facing Central Park. Standing by the living-room window, one can look up and see the Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis Reservoir. Beyond the iron fence are New Yorkers endlessly running in circles, while a vast expanse of still water remains calm and undisturbed.

In 2008, the neighborhood association of Carnegie Hill on Manhattan’s Upper East Side published Carnegie Hill Architectural Guide, introducing the stylistic features and historical development of each building in the neighborhood. The following description of No. 1143 is concise and to the point—the architect Carpenter defined the basic appearance of the building; after 1993 it belonged to the French Consulate General in New York, and news of the French government’s purchase of the building that year appeared in The New York Times. The opening sentence, of course, has a playful literary tone, borrowing from the biblical story of the young shepherd David and the giant Goliath to illustrate the difference in height between No. 1143 and the buildings on either side, as though a child were wedged between two giants. The phrase “David and Goliath” also has a more common meaning, referring to a contest in which the weaker party faces a stronger one and appears disadvantaged at first glance—an implicit allegory.

1143 Fifth Avenue (95th–96th Streets)
Architect: J.E.R. Carpenter
Date: 1923

A David surrounded by Goliaths, this slim neo-Federal building was originally designed with six one-floor apartments and one story containing two apartments. The two-story limestone base is topped with red brick, framed with brick quoins. Stone band courses define the second story; windows have recessed brick arches and rosettes. Slender fluted pilasters flank the wood-and -glass main entrance, which has an iron grille and transom. An egg-and-dart molding and a brick parapet cap the seventh, once terminal, story.

In 1953 the building was taken over by the Posners, real-estate family, who converted the floor-through apartments into medical offices. Family discord ensued, and the building was vacated in 1989 and allowed to deteriorate. In 1993, it was purchased by the French government as a residence for its consular and cultural services staff. Extensive renovations, both inside and out, included the addition of another floor, set back and at street level only from Central Park; a tasteful replication of the original six-over-six windows; and a return to the three-bedroom layouts envisioned by the architect some 70 years earlier.

(Carnegie Hill Neighbors, Carnegie Hill Architectural Guide, Carnegie Hill Neighbors, New York NY 2008, p. 35.)

The following passage is quoted from The New York Apartment House of Rosario Candela and James Carpenter. The two architects featured in the book are both renowned figures, definers of New York’s luxury apartment buildings, especially the latter, Carpenter (James Edwin Ruthven Carpenter Jr., 1867–1932), who was known by the initials “J.E.R.”

1143 Fifth Avenue
Between 95th and 96th Streets, Block 1507, Lot 4
Architect: James E.R. Carpenter
Builder: 1143 Fifth Avenue Corporation
James E. R. Carpenter, president.

Bertrand Capps, Secretary/Treasurer

Filed: August 15,1922

Begun: October 9, 1922
Completed: July 31, 1923

Mid-block site, 37-feet-6-inches wide. Originally seven stories, eight families, with typical apartment six rooms and three baths. It was built within the then-new 75-foot zoning height restriction, which was repealed less than a year after the building was complected. In 1953, the building was bought by Harold Posner, who occupied the seventh floor apartment and whose widow remained until her death in 1989. Most of the building was converted to psychiatrists’ offices, but after 1989 it was vacant. In 1993 the building was bought and reconstructed by French Government, which restored the apartments and added a set-back roof story to create a duplex penthouse apartment for the French cultural attaché.

(Andrew Alpern, The New York Apartment House of Rosario Candela and James Carpenter, Acanthus Press, New York NY 2001, p. 95.)

From 1987 to 2014, The New York Times ran a “Streetscapes” column written by Christopher Stewart Gray (1950–2017), an expert in New York architectural history. Gray believed Carpenter was “the architect who shaped Upper Fifth Avenue.” In an article under that title on August 26, 2007, he quoted an apartment advertisement published by the paper in 1930, describing apartments designed by Carpenter:

“There is a quiet, restful feeling about these apartment—in their large, high-ceiling rooms, the careful finish of detail, the skilled but unobtrusive service.”

Stephen did not see this advertisement, with its restrained tone of New York high society, or this column until the end of 2024. Standing in a living room with a ceiling over three meters high, facing four large windows, he felt that these words had been tailor-made for his final project. “This kind of communion across time is rather strange, isn’t it?” In fact, in early 2017 Stephen spoke with Gray by telephone. “This man is more reliable than the internet, almost a human search engine for New York architecture.” Stephen paid a consulting fee of $4,000 to Gray’s company, Office for Metropolitan History. Gray provided several historical materials on 1143 Fifth Avenue, including the original building permits Carpenter had obtained and many old photographs. In March 2017, Gray passed away.

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免费文章将持续发布，付费订阅已于 2026 年 4 月开放。

感谢支持，敬请分享。推荐3人订阅，赠阅1个月的付费文章；推荐5人订阅，赠阅3个月；推荐25人订阅，赠阅半年。鸣谢每一位愿意分享、阅读与理解的读者。

For English readers: the full English version appears below the Chinese text, and English explanations for the photo captions appear beneath the Chinese captions.

本文曾于4月1日在微信公众号发表。因平台限制，文中关于2022年4月回国经历的一段实录未能保留，个别词语和图片被删改。4月4日全文被平台删除。此处刊出原始版本，并同步附英文版。

Published first in Chinese on April 1, Shanghai time, this essay begins with a bench in Central Park and returns to a darker hour: 3 a.m. in Shanghai on April 1, 2022. It is written in memory of Dr. Wenliang Li, but also as a record of pain that, at the time, could often only be preserved through plain factual notation. Because of platform constraints, the WeChat edition of the Chinese original had to omit the factual record of my return journey to Shanghai in April 2022, and some words and images have been deleted or altered. On April 4, it was completely deleted by the platform . The full original version is preserved here.

世界上没有谁像她那样，身上带着全世界的伤。

2026年3月31日下午三点，我走到纽约中央公园的一把长椅前。一名白人老者坐在一侧，我问他：“您介意我在旁边坐一会儿吗？”长者和善客气，告诉我他就住在马路对面的老公寓里，不下雨的话都会来坐坐。

椅背上有一块铭牌，我把带来的书翻到346页，上面有这把椅子的照片。我站起来拍照的时候，老人家对我说：“你从哪里来？你知道吗？他是一位中国医生，在疫情中去世了。这两个月很多人来这里拍照。”

我不知道说什么好。早春下午的阳光温煦又明艳。

上海还是夜里，算时差的话，是4月1日的凌晨三点。2022年4月1日的凌晨3时，上海进入了“全域静默管理”状态，这是上海开始长达两个月封城的历史时刻。

图注：2026年3月31日下午三时，纽约中央公园。Caption: 3 p.m., March 31, 2026, Central Park, New York.

我给李医生带来我的《破坏实验》。318页到319页，是2022年5月1日写下的日记，那时许多苦痛尚不能明言。容我原文照录如下：

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