Nothing would be easier than to caricature China’s golden water closets as symbols of a civilisation in decline. But that’s not what I see in them. Because development is always, when it comes right down to it, about just such everyday intimacies: is the loo half a football field away or right next to the bedroom? Does it reek or sit there quietly conserving water? Does it open automatically, play music and let you trade stocks from the comfort of its heated surface? Proper pundits mutter darkly about rule of law and universal suffrage, shadow banking and debt defaults. But I prefer to tell a tale of toilets.
将中国的金色抽水马桶讥讽为文明衰落之象征,是一件再容易不过的事情,但我却不这么看。因为真正说起来,发展总是要落实到这类日常生活的舒适感受上:厕所是离卧室有半个足球场那么远,还是紧挨着卧室?是臭气熏天,还是静音又节水?能否自动翻盖,播放音乐,让你舒服地坐在加热马桶垫圈上炒股?真正的专家们严肃地讨论着法治和普选、影子银行和债务违约,我却宁愿讲一个关于马桶的故事。
When I first came to live in China in 2008, mainland loos said “developing country” loud and clear. On our first train journey, to the home town of my then eight-year-old adopted Chinese daughter Grace, the rail car’s potty ponged so much that we could not stomach our picnic.
2008年,我第一次来到中国内地生活时,内地的厕所响亮而清楚地宣告着自己“发展中国家”的身份。我们第一次乘火车去我的中国养女(当时8岁)格雷丝(Grace)的老家时,列车上的厕所臭到我们连盒饭都吃不下去。
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