56 minute read
Lessons Learned From a Broken Myanmar
from Xiao Hua Issue 24
by Xiao Hua
By Alexander Arnold | Illustration by Rena Wu | Layout by Airla Fan
INTRODUCTION
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On the morning of February 1st, 2021, the Tatmadaw, Myanmar’s military, deposed the democratically-elected National League for Democracy, the ruling party, in a coup d’etat, reinstating a military government not seen since the end of the 20th century. In doing so, they detained state counselor Aung San Suu Kyi and President Win Myint on several indictments, ranging from “violation of COVID-19 guidelines” to “importing walkie-talkies”. Separately, three other members of the NLD died while under police or military custody.
The people were quick to respond: within the span of a few days, unions organized strikes, boycotts were arranged, internet campaigns were formed, and marchers rallied in the streets, all calling for an end to the military junta, the release of Aung Sang Suu Kyi, and a return to democracy. The military took exception to this, refusing to let any resistance off lightly, responding without reservation. Bloody scenes flooded the Burmese internet, as the military worked to suppress protests, with methods that do not fall short of maximum lethal force. A mere three months after the start of the coup, its ensuing bloody crackdown had left in its wake a death toll of over 700 civilians of all ages.
Civil unrest is nothing new to the Southeast Asian region, especially in recent times. 2020 saw an increasingly unpopular monarchy in Thailand, unwelcomed job creation bills in Indonesia, an anti-citizenship bill in India, and encroaching anti-terrorism laws in the Philippines. But recent events in Myanmar and the rest of its bloody history teach us valuable lessons about power and its tenacious relationship with the tendencies of the human mind and nature, and the destruction it wreaks, given the right environment.
UNDEMOCRATIC DEMOCRACY
Military rule is nothing new to Myanmar. In fact, much of the population are quite familiar with it, as Myanmar never saw proper and unimpeded democracy until 2011, having been trapped under rigid military rule for the 50 years before, since 1962. Just a mere decade later, Myanmar once again descended back into military rule. The return to military rule was not sudden, as over Myanmar’s decade of democracy, the military, though incredibly unpopular (as exemplified by humiliating spankings in general elections in 2015 and 2020, courtesy of the NLD), managed to continue to exert their power and influence over the country. In the end, Myanmar’s small stint with political reform was fruitless. Power never truly transitioned to the people as intended with democracy; instead, it remained with the Tatmadaw, who simply had to wait for the perfect excuse to restore their power. A healthy democracy requires checks and balances. These are what keep a government accountable and responsive. More importantly to keep in check though, are departments that inherently retain power because of the nature of their work, for example, law enforcement or military. Full democracy allows the people a say in military and law enforcement in terms of funding and size. This limits the power that these departments can have, thus keeping them in check, and prevents them from exerting power over the people. Not only that, but principles of democracy often filter into constitutions too, inherently contradicting the authoritarian and undemocratic nature of stratocracy. Constitution is also written to limit military power, further keeping them in check.
of Myanmar, written by the military themselves in 2003 as part of their “roadmap to democracy”, ensured that, ironically enough, democracy could not be achieved in practice. Believing that democracy was the key to legitimizing military power, they attempted to set in stone clauses that would ensure their power through elections. For example, legislative bodies were to be 25% Tatmadaw, while Aung Sang Suu Kyi was barred from presidency. As for decision-making, any changes to the constitution required over 75% of the vote of Myanmar’s main legislative body, the Assembly of the
CHAOS OF THE POST-COLONIAL WORLD
In the wake of the destruction of the Japanese occupation of Burma of the Second World War and the accompanying guerilla war, Myanmar was left in tatters, as the British colonial administration struggled to stabilize the region. For the past several years, various factions of Burmese nationalists had fought on both sides, some believing that support for the British would lead to concessions in favour of Burmese demands for independence, others believing that the Japanese would grant them independence. The most significant faction was the Burma Independence Army, founded by Aung San (father of Aung San Suu Kyi), who collaborated with the Japanese occupiers against the British, before later switching sides, after realizing the Japanese would not grant them independence. After the war, Burmese nationalists united to join the Anti-Fascist People’s Freedom League, headed by Aung San. Gradually, their popularity, along with general strikes and armed uprisings around the country, prevented the British from ever properly regaining control. In 1947, the Burma Independence Act was passed in the British Parliament, and Myanmar was independent.
But the exit of the British did not lead to better times. Instead, it washed away the strands of glue that had held Myanmar together: the powerful and unifying Union. This meant that without Tatmadaw compliance, change to the constitution was out of the question, thus legitimizing Myanmar’s military power under the veil of false democracy.
In no way was enough power vested in the people through democracy and constitution to keep the military in check, and democracy sustained. Instead, the Tatmadaw was endowed not just with physical power, but also political power, entirely ruling out any possibility for progress in democracy to occur.
administration that was the British colonial government. The British departure ushered in a new era of instability, as the Anti-Fascist People’s Freedom League fell apart, and Myanmar’s many ethnic groups sought autonomy. Eventually, this all culminated in a coup in 1962, as Tatmadaw general Ne Win looked to consolidate power and crush rebellious minorities. He was relatively successful in politically stabilizing the country, but of course not without a variety of atrocities and human rights violations. His economic policies were not very auspicious either, as he pursued isolationist policies of autarky. At one point, he even nullified all 50 and 100 kyat notes, instead replacing them with 45 and 90 kyat notes. Myanmar’s seemingly eternal struggles eventually lead to its classification by the United Nations as a “Least Developed Country” towards the end of the 20th century.
This political and economic instability is all too characteristic of any other post-colonial state, as seen not just in Myanmar, but also the many other countries that underwent the process of decolonization in the 50s and 60s. Generally, the decolonization processes involved the exit of colonial presence and administration, leaving a large vacuum in power waiting to be filled. This was quite problematic for various reasons: firstly, when colonial powers drew their borders, they often did so arbitrarily without consideration of ethnic groupings. This meant that in many post colonial states, various ethnic groups pitted themselves against each other, each seeking for control over the country as a whole. Secondly, at the time, radical ideologies, such as communism and fascism, were quite popular. Furthermore, with the Cold War in the background, the idea of receiving support to fight a proxy war and gain power was quite lucrative. This was because alignment with communism would mean support and aid from the Soviet Union, while fighting communism would on the other hand turn into support and aid from the United States. As a result, civil war often ensued. Thirdly, those who wanted to secure power in these countries generally had to do so 校話 期刊 24 55
via means of violence. Hence, many post-colonial leaders were generals, who consolidated their power via coup or civil war. Not only did this cause widespread bloodshed throughout these countries, but it also ushered in an era of dictators who ruled by force, brutally cracking down on any resistance. These dictators also almost always lacked economic experience, leading to often feeble and destructive economic policies and rebuilding attempts. Because of this, most post-colonial states became entrapped in poverty and instability as these processes repeated themselves over the years. Few societies have managed to escape since, as war and famine still rage across all of sub-Saharan Africa and some of Latin America.
AUNG SAN SUU KYI: NOBEL PRIZE LAUREATE, OR ACCOMPLICE TO GENOCIDE?
In 1990, the military junta called an election in the wake of widespread civil unrest and a brand-new prodemocracy movement, aimed at forming a constitutional committee to write a new constitution. Aung San Suu Kyi led the National League for Democracy to a landslide win, securing 392 of the 492 seats in the committee. The military government was not happy with the results, immediately declaring them null and throwing the many new opposition figures into jail. Aung San Suu Kyi was one of them, being placed under house arrest for a total of 15 years over a 21 year period before her release in 2010. In 1991, she was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize, for “her non-violent struggle for democracy and human rights”. Her prize was well deserved: since 1988, using Gandhi’s principles of non-violence, she made speeches and led Myanmar’s pro-democracy movement, also founding the National League for Democracy in the process, all of which eventually led to the 1990 election.
After her release from house arrest in 2010, she ran in the 2012 by-elections for the Burmese legislature, intended to fill a handful of vacant seats. Over the next few years, she and her party, the NLD, slowly gained power in the Burmese legislature, until she attained the position of “State Counsellor”, the de-facto leader of Myanmar. At this point, the people of Myanmar viewed her with admiration, as a champion of their long fight for democracy in Myanmar.
But she was not perfect as a leader. In fact, her tenure was filled with controversy, consisting not just of criticism for her struggles in helping the country develop, but ironically enough, because of her inability to speak out against human rights violations in Myanmar. The Rohyingya genocide began in late 2016, when a series of attacks against police outposts in the Rakhine state were perpetrated by a Rohingya insurgency group. In retaliation, but under the guise of counter-terrorism, the Tatmadaw carried out a variety of crimes against humanity. As the crackdown on the Rohingya people continues through today, over 25,000 have been killed, with 700,000 more displaced.
Counterintuitively, Aung San Suu Kyi refused to speak out against the Rohingya genocide, leading many to view her as complicit in such crimes against humanity. Worse, in December 2019, in front of the Interrnational Court of Justice in The Hague, she denied allegations of genocide, calling them “incomplete and misleading”. As a result, her international image was severely tarnished, with many calling for her many accumulated accolades to be revoked.
Yet in the blink of an eye, Aung San Suu Kyi has returned to hero status, after becoming the new victim of the Tatmadaw, in the aftermath of the latest coup. Her moral rollercoaster and accompanying reputation hold greater meaning than just that of an interesting story about an embattled leader, however. Instead, it presents to us humanity’s inherent tendency to forgive and forget a person’s moral lapses purely because they too have become victims, just as much of the world and the people have forgotten about Aung San Suu Kyi’s demise.
Is this a mentality of the human mind that we necessarily want to eradicate, though? The abyss of the human mind is awash with empathy, hence, we intuitively wish to side with our victims, even when they have substantial flaws. Is it worth it to trade-off such ability to stand by the sufferer, in order to avoid accidental alliance with the morally degenerate?
International reaction to the latest coup was lukewarm, to say the least. Responses in the Southeast Asian region ranged from neutral to a position of concern, while responses from the West condemned the coup and called for the release of all those detained. The strongest responses came from the United States, who enacted sanctions for the perpetrators of the coup, but only threatened to freeze assets. On the other hand, New Zealand fully axed its diplomatic relations with Myanmar.
Despite such widespread international disapproval towards the coup, aside from the actions of the United States and New Zealand, none had any potential to force the slightest concession from Myanmar’s new rulers, as non-developed countries in the region likely felt the need to retain economical ties. The failure for any country to cook up any sort of stricter reaction to the coup highlights the dominance of self-interest in government, and its precedence in priority to human rights. This is by no means a positive outlook for the preservation of human rights in coming times.
Similar issues are further reflected in intergovernmental organizations. Just as individual countries have, organizations such as the UN, ASEAN, and the EU have “expressed concern” towards the coup. In an emergency meeting of the United Nations, the United Kingdom drafted a resolution urging the “restoration of democracy”, the release of those detained, along with other things. It failed to receive full support and therefore passed after China and Russia, who are allied with Myanmar, refused to agree to it immediately. In the end, little more was passed save for a statement of condemnation. The problems here extend further than just self-interest, though: intergovernmental organizations have often suffered from bureaucracy, and polarization between superpowers (ie. the United States and China), leading to struggles to effectuate proper change through such organizations in a timely manner.
CONCLUSION
Almost, if not all of the world’s issues are because of power and its ensuing struggles. Wars are fought over land and resources, which are lucrative to governments because they contribute to their power. Discrimination often occurs when someone fears losing their power over a certain group. This idea is further echoed in Myanmar’s conflict: Myanmar’s democracy was flawed because the latest constitution was written by a powerhungry military looking to retain power in supposedly democratically elected legislatures; Myanmar’s conflict is perpetuated as various factions vie for power; Aung San Suu Kyi morphs from victim to oppressor of power as she gains and loses that very power; and intergovernmental organizations fail to summon the power to help solve conflict in Myanmar. Though it is unlikely that there will be a bloodless and fast solution to the Myanmar situation anytime soon, the least we can do is learn more about the mind’s behaviour when it comes to power, and act wiser come the next conflict. 校話 期刊 24 57
《東方紅》
政府的宣傳，然而民人初心的迴響
By Emily Shen | Illustration by Mia Cheng | Layout by Ningjing Huang
How can music be used as a tool for political warfare? This article explores how different musical techniques and folk lyrics are manipulated in creating revolutionary music through analysing the successful effects of the Chinese song “The East is Red.”
1949年10月1日，毛澤東主席站在 天安門城樓上，向全世界宣告「中 華人民共和國中央人民政府成立」 的莊嚴時刻，奏響的背景音樂就是 《東方紅》——事實上取代了中華 人民共和國國歌《義勇軍進行曲》 的位置。文革爆發後，中國大陸很 多廣播電台及有線廣播站的開始曲 被統一改為《東方紅》 。 隨著更多廣播和媒 體的採用，該曲在 中國變得眾所週 知、響徹雲霄。 1966年5月至1976 年10月間，「文 化大革命」在中 國大陸境內發 生，是一場「 由毛澤東發動， 被反革命集團利 用，給黨、國家和 各族人民帶來嚴重災 難 的內亂」（百度百科）。嚴重災 難帶來的內亂，例如代際之間的 衝突、新與舊文化的碰撞、社會階 層的爭論，令中國漸漸地陷入了混 亂。為了帶領中國人團結一致並且 推動自己的目標，毛澤東運用了政 治宣傳。正是因為當時的內亂和人 們生活中普遍的困惑，他的政治宣 傳——如紅寶書和海報——才能影 響全體的群眾，帶領一個運動。而 在所有宣傳中，藝術是傳遞信息最 有效的方法。 藝術不受國家、歷史等背景影響： 無論是來自哪一個國家、說什麼語 言的人， 大家都可以 通 過
藝術 突破障 礙， 解除隔閡，找到共同 點。其中，音樂在文革中可以說是 最普及、最能打動人心的方式。聽 音樂本身為一種很受歡迎的休閒活 動，它因此不像其它宣傳技術一樣 具有威脅性，所以消息通常容易傳 播，不會引起人們的懷疑。音樂和 唱歌在大多數的中國民族文化和生 活中都是重要的一部分。另外，在 文革中，由於大多數的老百姓是文 盲，而戲劇及很多其它藝術形式都 算是陽春白雪，音樂成為了接觸 老百姓最有效的方式。毛澤東曾 於《在延安文艺座谈会上的 讲话》中提出「文艺要为 工农兵服务」。很多老 百姓，特別是下層 階級人民，被毛澤 東的宣言所感動。 於是，音樂變得更 普遍，農夫和民人 紛紛開始為毛澤 東寫讚美歌以及 如《女軍人》、 《瀏陽河》等的 愛國歌曲和革命歌 曲，很快地滲透在社 會之中。整體來說， 音樂宣傳不僅僅可以輕易 和解大家的想法，又給社會帶 來極大的影響。20世紀末的中國共 產黨宣傳歌曲《東方紅》1就是一 個完美的例子。 《東方紅》原本是一首陝北民歌， 依照另一首地道陝北名額《騎白 馬》的曲調和旋律改編而成，由人 民歌手李有源作詞，作曲家李涣
1 當時的宣傳歌有幾百多首，可以分成六個不同的種類：共產黨的經典歌曲；讚美或戰鬥和政治運動中歌 曲；工人、士兵和農民歌曲；民族歌曲；青年革命和外國歌曲。《東方紅》屬於革命民歌，而且由農夫而不 是政府寫成，文章其餘的內容都只能應用於這一種宣傳音樂種類。
之編曲。《東方紅》的歌詞代表著作詞 家李有源對毛澤東的支持：「這首歌的 含意和這首歌作者的社會階層層次是十 分相稱的，雖然當時已接近二十世紀中 葉，而且在最前進的中國共產黨領導之 下，生產落後的中國農民⋯⋯的理想也 只寄託託在『真命天子』身上，如果有 一個『天命所歸』的毛澤東，他竟然領 導農民造反，打天下，那末他當然是東 方升起來的紅太陽了」。那麼，這首歌 為什麼對中國人這麼有效、深刻呢？ 首先，李有源不是完全自己造出這首「 名歌」，而是從政治早期的宣傳得到很 多暗示——他從上級的筆記本里看到了 「東方紅」三個字，又見到了「毛主席 是中國人民的救星」的標語，於是他就 寫下了這首歌——早在他之前，人人已 有意地把毛澤東視為中國的「救星」。 某報雖然將《東方紅》比作《國際歌》2 ，一首同樣響遍了全世界的「名歌」， 但是兩首歌的精神恰恰相反：十九世紀 法國工人創作的《國際歌》表示了共產 主義的鬥爭方向，並且帶著自信而積極 的鬥爭態度；相差一世紀之久，中國貧 農創作的《東方紅》卻表示了一個落後 國家小氣的個人崇拜——毛澤東和共產 黨與「太陽」的連結——但是它同樣是 人民情感的真摯表達。這首歌的歌詞簡 單並琅琅上口：幾乎每句都反覆了至少 兩次，一共只有六個不同的詞句；同 時，它運用的語言通俗易懂，對普羅大 眾來說無比親切。打個比方，歌詞原 本運用了「哪達兒」一詞來突出陝北 民歌的地方特色。後來，為便於在群 眾中傳唱，「哪達兒」恢復為「哪 裏」。這樣的安排讓文盲的民人可以 更容易和真實地發揮對毛澤東及其領 導的中國共產黨的深情。歌詞中也利 用感嘆句「呼儿嗨哟」來突出激動之 情，推進眾人的情緒。不僅如此，歌 詞從最早的「他為人民謀生存」改成 「他為人民謀幸福」，見證的是「以 毛澤東為代表的中國共產黨人領導人 民為中華民族謀復興，要建成一個嶄 新的中國」。
2《國際歌》是最著名的國際共產主 義運動頌歌。原本法語歌詞由巴黎 公社委員歐仁·鮑狄埃於1871年巴黎 公社鎮壓期間創作。歌曲頌讚了巴黎 公社成員們的共產主義理想和革命 氣概，後被翻譯成多種語言，傳遍 全球。 由於中國多種民族如雲，文化中的民歌 和歌唱自然也變化多端，所以對中國人 來說：「偉大的音樂作品，都是從民間 音樂中滋生長出來的」，故《東方紅》 不僅僅是文革時代的產物，更是文化及 歷史文物。社會主義奠基人馬克西姆· 高爾基說過：「民歌——人民的口頭創 作，是社會生活在廣大的藝術概括上的 反映。」又說：「從太古以來，民歌總 是親切地伴著歷史，它們有自己的意 見⋯⋯不知道人民的口頭創作是不了解 人民的真正歷史的。」也就是說，民歌 的音樂形式具有簡明樸實、平易近人、 生動靈活的特點。所以，《東方紅》運 用一首家戶喻曉並擁有歷史背景和中國 獨特風格的民歌為基礎，使歌曲較容易 打動民人的心，又百唱不討厭。其次， 民歌的旋律比較簡單、容易把握，讓任 何人都可以輕易將感情和愛國情懷注入 旋律，把曲目推到高潮。所以，《東方 紅》和很多其他宣傳歌曲都以民歌曲調 和旋律為主，結合愛國精神和民族精 神，使人們團結為一體。 每一首共產黨宣傳歌曲都是人民集體創 作的結晶，表達了人民樸素的心聲。這 些歌曲通過民歌新唱等形式擁有被演繹 為多種版本的能力，唱出了共產黨「為 人民謀幸福」的初心及其帶領中華民族 為實現偉大復興的中國夢而永續奮鬥的 信念和決心，成為了穿越時空的經典作
We’re All Rich. So What?
Written by Mirjana Vujovich| Layout by Zoe Zheng
It’s a fact we hear often: Hong Kong is one of the most “unequal” cities in the world. It’s stated in Bloomberg headlines and evening television segments, discussed in classrooms and essays. We know about the subdivided flats, the cage homes, and the dismal minimum wage ($37.5 an hour). Some of us even know about the Gini coefficient, and that Hong Kong’s figure stood at 0.539 in a 2018 Oxfam report, far higher than that of other developed economies like Singapore and the United States, which both had values below 0.4. (The Gini coefficient measures income inequality in a population: a value of 0 indicates perfect equality, whereas a value of 1 indicates perfect inequality.)
And yet, when I make my way through everyday life, it’s evident that I—and my peers—often forget about the wider reality. We spend our time studying for unit tests and browsing Instagram memes, allowing us to ignore life outside of our “bubble”, one where we are granted immense privilege. To be clear, “we,” here, is Chinese International School (CIS)—not the institution, but rather those that make up the community: students, parents, and likely teachers and alumni too. Although I don’t have perfect insight into every single person’s mindset, our detachment from the typical Hong Kong existence is apparent in our conversations and actions. Such a “typical” existence is one where international school is just not an option, dinners at Sevva are unheard of, and English is spoken
when necessary, not by default.
To us, though, driving up Braemar Hill in a Tesla or dropping a few hundred dollars on lunch in Causeway Bay are simply normal activities. Even when serving the underprivileged, most students make sure to simultaneously log the activity for CAS hours or similar credits, rendering such engagement inorganic, at best. And of course, many of us see Hong Kong not as our permanent home, but as a stepping stone on our way to an expensive university abroad. Our lives are half a world away from most residents of our city, both culturally and socioeconomically.
This may be most easily demonstrated, as before, through figures. According to Statista (in 2019), the median household income is around 330,000 Hong Kong Dollars (HKD) per year. Given that the school fees at CIS stand at around 265,000 HKD per year for Year 12 and 13 students, this would leave the “average” household with about 65,000 HKD to spare. Just over 5,400 HKD per month is nowhere near enough to live on; one only has to check any property website to realize why. But of course, we already know that the majority of CIS families are far above average in terms of income. Extra fees like the Annual Capital Levy (28,000 HKD per year) and those for school trips like camp and CEP raise the total cost of attending CIS even higher. average Hong Kong household. Just how affluent, though? Using statistics from the 2011 Hong Kong census, a monthly income of over 60,000 HKD, enough to live comfortably while paying school fees and rent, would place a household somewhere between the 90th and 100th percentile: in the top 10%. Though this figure is concerning enough on its own, it’s even more alarming given that this income is around 20
times greater than that of households in the bottom 10%. Without getting into a discussion on economic theory, it’s obvious that the disparity between people from low- and higher-income backgrounds is significant.
Moving beyond numbers, though, hallmarks of our everyday lives also demonstrate this divide. Swanky houses on The Peak or the South Side are not uncommon, and every school morning, a barrage of private CISowned cars helps congest Braemar Hill Road, affecting not just each other, but everyone else on the road. (There are about 7 cars for every 100 people in Hong Kong, to put things in context.) After school, students will head down the hill for expensive private lessons (including tutoring at high-end centers that are advertised on the nearby minibuses). When breaks begin, a large proportion of the student body will board flights to vacation destinations like Phuket, Switzerland, or Niseko (in nonCOVID times, at least).
Most students are perfectly willing to spend hundreds of dollars on frivolities—myself included—albeit accompanied by the obligatory “I’m so broke,” which we all know isn’t true; the opposite has already been made apparent.
In addition, it’s imperative to consider the roles of domestic workers in our lives. Their existence can (at least in part) be attributed to the fact that the nuclear family structure assumed one parent would stay home (thus allowing for a family to contain one breadwinner and one housekeeper), but double-income households have become more common, especially in Hong Kong. Thus, the demand for people to complete housework has grown, and domestic workers, often known as helpers, are part of many CIS families. Despite their ubiquity, these helpers, as well as amahs (cleaning staff), security guards, and construction workers, are often ignored by us.
At CIS, staff members do not wear name tags. This is not a problem for teachers, as they interact with students frequently, and their names soon become common knowledge within the community. Administrative staff are known, too, though to a lesser extent, as they mainly stay within their offices. Other workers, though, walk through the halls each day, passing hundreds of students per week, and yet remain nearly anonymous. It seems that, despite a lack of malicious intent, we rarely engage with those dissimilar to us—that is, those who don’t speak English and come from educated backgrounds—and this also occurs outside of the CIS bubble.
On the streets of Hong Kong, I find myself accustomed to seeing elderly women pushing carts of garbage, or domestic workers setting up cardboard fortresses on Sundays, without paying them so much as a second glance. I don’t think I’m alone in this. It’s not inherently bad, of course, to focus on getting from Point A to Point B, but it’s telling how easy it is to filter other people out en masse. Furthermore, this casual indifference is another indicator of a socioeconomic divide: although we interact with our helpers at home and rely on amahs at school, our consideration for them as people is lacking.
None of these elements—the relative affluence, extravagant lifestyles, and unideal treatment of the perceived lower class— are completely unique to CIS, or even to international schools. However, they are noticeably prevalent, and compound with other factors to illustrate the disconnect between international schools like CIS and the greater Hong Kong community. Those other factors can be summarized, generally, as cultural differences; though some students in local schools are similar in their lack of class consciousness, international schools are unique in their culture: one which shies away from its surroundings, fixating on the West (some might say the “international”) instead.
To understand how and why international schools differ, it makes sense to start with the curriculum. After all, school, at its core, is a place for learning, and CIS teaches students from Reception through to Year 13, therefore having a large impact on the lives of young people. For almost 30 years (since 1992), CIS has offered the International Baccalaureate (IB) Diploma Program, an international course of study known for its rigor. Other international schools in Hong Kong use the A Level curriculum of the United Kingdom or Americanbased curricula. On the other hand, all other schools—that is to say, local schools—follow the Hong Kong curriculum, which culminates in the Diploma of Secondary Education (DSE) exam.
The IB focuses on a “holistic” education that develops both “knowledge and skills”, resulting in classroom environments that focus both on concrete knowledge as well as less traditional forms of teaching, like seemingly casual discussions and team-based projects (mainly in the years preceding the Diploma Program). This stands in contrast to the rote learning that pervades the local curriculum, where exam preparation is the main (and perhaps only) priority. Consequently, international schools have gained a reputation for being “happier and [more] chill,” compared to the “traditional school day in [Hong Kong],” which is “like hell every day,” as phrased by one YouTube commenter. Though CIS students are certainly stressed, we rarely experience the same crushing pressure as students at local schools, for reasons to be explained later. contents of these disparate curricula are also noticeable. While the IB is a global curriculum and its humanities subjects thus reflect world history and internationally-relevant topics, the DSE curriculum’s equivalent “Liberal Studies” has modules focusing on Hong Kong and modern China; similar content only appears in Chinese Language B courses to a minimal extent (the topics of “cultural diversity” and “customs and traditions” are somewhat vague).
More importantly, though, are the roles of different languages—namely, English and Chinese—in our school environment. Although Chinese (in the form of Mandarin) is taught “50% of the time” in CIS Primary and remains a part of the curriculum all the way until Year 13 graduation, it is rare to hear CIS students speaking languages other than English with their school friends outside of class. Many students come from nonCantonese speaking backgrounds, and since speaking Cantonese is not officially encouraged by the school, I’ve found that even those who do use the language (or dialect, if you’re the United Nations) do so less and less as their years at CIS pass. The same applies for Mandarin: the students who enter in Year 7, speaking Mandarin at home, form groups but eventually end up primarily speaking English by the onset of the Diploma Program.
As a result, CIS students (not all, but enough) often walk around Hong Kong sticking out like a sore thumb. It’s not that speaking English is necessarily a bad thing—the problems arise when many students simply don’t know how to speak Cantonese (myself included). Again, speaking a certain language is not a requirement for living anywhere, but our acts of “community engagement” and “locally-based service” suffer
from our ignorance. Recently, I needed to contact a charity regarding some logistical issues, so I communicated with the other leaders of our studentrun group, only to find out 0 out of 3 of us spoke enough Cantonese to converse on the telephone. Though we were able to ask someone else for assistance, the experience reminded me that for lots of us, our “internationalism” can prevent us from meaningfully engaging with our local community.
Of course, though, this problem is not exclusive to CIS; rather, it’s a marker of international schools across Hong Kong (and likely other cities too, to be fair). Within our communities, we view such internationalism as valuable but retain undoubtedly Western-centric views of the world. To us, the “international” in our name means anywhere except Hong Kong, which does make some sense, but also pulls our focus away from our real-life surroundings. This isn’t true for every facet of our life, but nevertheless, it’s common to find students who are more knowledgeable about international politics (typically that of the United States) than anything going on in Hong Kong. Recently, I overheard a conversation wherein a student from my year group declared, “I don’t know anything about Hong Kong politics,” with a laugh and what could have been a hint of pride. That was no rare occurrence, though; compare the schoolwide buzz around the 2020 US election to any recent local election, and you’ll see what I mean.
This ostensible indifference towards Hong Kong (again, not for everyone, but for enough) is not entirely our “fault,” so to speak. Firstly, our formal education centers around the West in many ways, as described above. And less obviously, the volume of so-called “third-culture kids” within international schools lends itself to a community where many view their home city as a temporary stopping place, rather than an actual “home”. This ties into the very nature of the international school as a construct: an educational institution offering a curriculum different to “that of the school’s country of residence” (as per Wikipedia), thereby creating an inherent separation between said country and the school’s community—and can the effects of such an essence be negated at all?
Most would agree that schools should engage with their local community— and ideally try to benefit it. This is especially true for a school like CIS (and other well-known international schools), where we should be wellpositioned to help the less fortunate. Despite our best efforts, though, with things like CAS programs and Service & Action Week, the attitudes of students (and their families), as illustrated above, show that this is not the case. It stands that international schools, perhaps, are antithetical to such a notion. There are measurable manifestations of this, too: for the CIS class of 2020, only 4 students of 114 remained in Hong Kong for their studies; compare this to a “top” local school like St. Paul’s Co-educational College, where a minimum of 69 out of 177 students enrolled in a Hong Kong-based university. Admittedly, numerous CIS alumni return to Hong Kong and find employment in the city, and seeking education abroad is not inherently bad. However, it does allow us to look beyond Hong Kong—almost to ignore it, at least for now.
One might note that CIS, in its curriculum and pedagogy, skews towards the latter portion of its name, far more “international school” than “Chinese,” and this is good in some ways, like the grueling nature of the Chinese education system, which is therefore decidedly not great for student wellbeing. And yet, it’s also ironic, given the name of the school. Even within the Diploma Program, only about a third (and that’s a generous estimate) of CIS students acquire a Bilingual Diploma. The defocus on Chinese education is yet another factor in fostering the prevailing culture of students who are notably detached from the CIS bubble. As aforementioned, it comes with the territory (the territory being international schools), but it’s not as if nothing can be done.
As merely one student in the enormous network of individuals that make up the CIS community, I definitely do not have absolute control over what the institution chooses to teach, or how it is governed. Nevertheless, I still play a role in determining the overall atmosphere of the school; I refuse to believe that my presence—or anyone else’s—is insignificant. Even if I plan to leave Hong Kong after graduation, I live here right now. And with all the CAS hours I’ve accumulated, I’d better gain some awareness of my local community as well. We can all call ourselves “global citizens” and other similar terms, but at the end of the day, I believe that we ought not to neglect our home, however temporary it may be.
Sometimes it seems like CIS and its associations—school, upcoming assessments, leadership positions— are the world. It’s not always easy to remember that it’s not. But being aware of my own tunnel vision isn’t enough; actions speak louder than words, and so personally, I’ll try to improve my shoddy Cantonese, buy locally whenever possible, and volunteer sans Instagram infographics, among other things. At the risk of sounding self-righteous, I think it would be great if we all tried to look outside of this CIS bubble as well.
We won’t instantly solve citywide poverty, but I think (and hope) that we can do better for ourselves and the world around us, and I like the sound of that.
不只是為了 “吃”而“吃”
By Joyce Sze | Photography by Evelyn Kwan | Layout by Airla Fan
每個國家都有屬於自己獨特的食文化，而這種食文化的形成恰恰與這個國家的歷史和人文的發展有 關。一些國家的人們因為宗教的原因而不吃某一類食物，而有一些國家或地區由于氣侯與植物生長 等原因而形成了獨特的食物制作方法和飲食習慣。中國人注重親情團圓可在多個節日中體現，就像 中秋節和端午節，家人們在這些節日時都會聚在一起吃飯。而中國人的節日食物，例如湯圓，八寶 飯也有著闔家團圓的寓意。又比如說，在美國，感恩節是一個十分重要的節日。感恩節時，親朋好 友都會聚在一起共進火雞大餐。火雞作為感恩節最傳統的菜也有一個深厚的歷史含義：在17世紀初 期美國新移民為了感謝印地安人一直以來的幫忙，捕捉了當地的火雞，製作成美味佳肴，與他們度 過了有史以來第一次的感恩節。這些不同國家的餐飲習慣反映了不同的習俗。現今，人們不單單能 夠吃到自己文化的食物，也可以品嚐其他文化的食物，更加了解彼此的文化，促進人與人之間的文 化交流和了解。
再者，對很多人來說，某些食物具有屬於個人的特殊含義。首先，食物承載著很多人的回憶，很多 時候，這些都是童年時期的美好回憶：在吃彩虹糖果的時候想起了小時候放學時校外攤子上的五顏 六色棒棒糖；吃餃子時想起小時候過年時一家人熱熱鬧鬧包餃子的情景，那是「家的味道」。這些 由食物而想起的珍貴的童年回憶總在不經意時帶給我們溫暖和幸福的感覺。同時，不同的家庭有着 不同的飲食習慣，而這些食物也是每一個家庭傳承的一部分。小時候過年時奶奶教包的餃子，大了 也會教自己的孩子同樣包餃子的方法，這種祖傳食譜以及過年一大家人吃餃子的習慣也被一代一代 傳承了下去。而一家人有說有笑，一起分工煮飯，然後圍坐在桌前邊吃邊聊的時刻，不僅大大促進 了家人間的親密關係，是我們日後的美好回憶，更是每一個家族一代代飯食習惯和傳統的繼承與延 續。
中學生 的心理 深淵
By Leo Li Photography by Emma Hu Layout by Airla Fan
Summary: Secondary students face many potential stressors in their daily lives, both academically and socially. In this article, Leo (‘22) gives an overview of students’ wellbeing and provides practical coping methods based on scientific research and an exclusive interview with psychology teacher Ms Bullock!
對於所有學生，在高中最後兩年的衝刺必然是人 生中最重要的階段之一。與此同時，在這個時候 更是要保持心理上的健康，以免走上歧途。可想 而知，幾乎所有受訪的學生在這個階段都統一反 應到自己「壓力倍增」。不僅僅要維持著學業， 還要為「申請大學、課外活動、社交」等操心， 一切讓時間變得如此珍貴稀少。2020上半年也 幾乎是全在網上授課的，這對學生的心境都造 成了不同程度的影響。經過訪問，一些高中學生 在學業上並沒有被一屏之隔的距離影響，一部分 則認為長時間坐著學習導致了工作效率大幅度地 降低，還有一些覺得在家裡反而能夠更專注於學 習。即使如此，所有人都一致認為，網上學習在 社交和日常交流上施加了不同層次上的困難，心 理壓力也隨之增大，一天中時常會感到「心不在 焉、不安、焦慮」。嚴重時也偶爾會感到「憂 鬱、壓抑」，出現幽閉煩躁症的病徵。澳洲健康 部門發現，長時間坐著的人患上癌症、焦慮症和 抑鬱症的風險都會提高。對於學生來說，種種的 心理問題在某種程度上比蔓延的新冠病毒更加揪 心。雖然最近漸漸放鬆的隔離措施讓大家有了更 多的面對面交流的機會，而許多學生都反應了自 己「心理素質」和「社交生活」上的提升，但迎 面而來的課業與社區壓力始終纏繞在學生的心頭 上。依然存在的「時間管理問題」和各界的壓力 始終是學生焦慮的源泉。在如此複雜的環境下， 業務只會每天增加的中學生該如何面對自己的心 理深淵？
考」和深呼吸的組合能降血壓、放鬆神經。兩者 的組合，已經能夠有效地為生活解壓，讀者不妨 可以試試。
在與本校的心理老師Ms. Bullock的訪問中*，她 表示「笑容和冥想」對抗壓的效果不等。如果是 在「面臨負面情感時，那麼笑容自然是比較有 效」的解決方案。 人類的神經系統具備著「戰 鬥或逃跑反應」功能，是讓我們生存下去的生理 行為。「冥想」能消減大腦那方面的反應，有效 地保存體力和減輕壓力。但如果壓力的來源不僅 限於負面情緒的話，那麼就必須直接去針對那些 源泉了。對於大多數人，她認為預防過多的壓力 才是重點。對於中學生來說，「良好的時間管 理」是最佳的預防方式，因為絕大多數的學生壓 力來源都是跟時間的緊迫相關。規劃好時間就已 能化解可觀的心理壓力。接下來就是得分析自己 是在經歷那一種壓力。「良性壓力」是常常在運 動中不可缺少的生理功能。這種壓力是許多生物 先天具有的，它讓我們保持警覺，充分地發揮身 體機能。「即刻性緊急壓力」是突然間感到的壓 力，比如遇見突擊測驗，來得快也去得快。「慢 性壓力」則是最需要關注的。最廣泛的例子就是 生活在沒有盡頭的疫情中。世界上許多的人都是 在這幾年來初次體驗到「慢性壓力」，除了持 久性，這種壓力還是極難控制的（只要源頭間 接不斷）。在這種情況下，「笑容」是相當不錯 的解壓方式。這個時代的不確定性也讓人的心理 壓力倍增，畢竟人一直崇向穩定性。人可以在心 態上調整自己，設立計畫和目標，但不要有任何 期望，心態要保持平和柔韌，思想開朗並隨時迎 接變化。在這個時候，「冥想」就是一個良好的 治療方案，它能讓人在精神上清醒，還能修心養 性。總之，在面臨壓力時，學生得先了解預防方 式，再試著用治療方式為自己解壓。
Additional record: An Interview with Ms. Bullock
To what extent would you agree that smiling and meditation are the best remedies for stress? B: To some extent, because you can be stressed with a smile on your face. Stress is a different emotion – it’s a physiological response. It can go either way: if you don’t address what’s stressing you out, and just put a smile on your face, that can be very unhealthy, because you’re just burying it with a smile. It all depends on the behaviour that goes along with it: Why are you stressed? What are the underlying issues? If it’s more pessimistic, then smiling helps, because muscles have memory, and smiling is directly correlated with those happy memories. Smiling is also contagious. If you want to make people uncomfortable, have them look at someone and smile, and try to have the other person not smile. I did this once with Dr. Faunce and it was so uncomfortable. It’s the facial feedback. When you see someone smile, you smile. It does spread that way. Does it help stress? It depends what the stressor is. For meditation, it goes back to what the stress is. Stress is a physiological response to an external stressor or event. And when you have a physiological response that activates your autonomic nervous system, it’s your flight-or-fight. So when your body is going through stress, your body’s flight-or-fight response is activated, your blood pressure is elevated, your pupils are dilated, you get butterflies in your stomach, your palms are sweaty. Meditation lowers those levels. When you take deep breaths, that helps you get back to homeostasis, or your baseline, and that conserves energy.
What’s your opinion on the new timetable implemented after Easter? B: Everyone’s hungry, and then it comes out as “hangry”. Yes, it’s great that we’re back and seeing people, but it’s the time and space of Hong Kong that is challenging. With this, we’re losing time. Our time is very structured, only two 20-minute breaks. It’s very frustrating when that scarce time to meet teachers is being taken away. It makes it all more challenging. And when people don’t have food – let’s look at Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. Kids don’t do well if they are hungry; they cannot focus, as all they can think of is that they are hungry. Compared to the afternoon schedule, it was either a love-or-hate relationship. But I think, overall, we don’t have consistency. We are humans, we need consistency.
Before this new timetable was introduced, we were in a period of long-term online learning. What do you think are some psychological and physical effects of that? B: Blue light. Being on a screen; posture, vision, isolation, loneliness. You can be in a class full of students online and feel incredibly lonely. For teachers, it was incredibly challenging because you get no feedback. It’s exhausting as a teacher to try to perform for a class. You have to smile more to get everyone more involved, to deliver those emotions through electronic means, and it’s just very exhausting. After class, a teacher’s job is on our laptops. So we are on our laptops and on our laptops, marking, lesson planning… all aspects of our jobs are on the computer, and sometimes we are online for 12 hours a day. For the short term, sure; for a week, sure. But for months at a time... even the way I did my grad and PhD online, it wasn’t on Zoom, as it was a blended program, so it was not as exhausting as this. I can do passive learning, but not for class periods, when I have to teach, interact, and do things. I’d say the most challenging part of online learning is Advisory, like, “how are you actually doing?” I had a student who was very honest, he was like, “this sucks.” He went on a rant on how unhappy and lonely he was. That’s the truth and most challenging part of online learning as a teacher.
With everything considered, what do you think are some misconceptions of stress? B: Everyone has stress. Not all stress is bad, some stress is good. Your mindset and how you approach a problem can lead to stress. Do you see it as a challenge? Or a threat? Understand that stress is a physiological response – it has aided human survival up to this point – but, also understand that you don’t have any real big threats. This goes back to the mindset: you don’t have to worry about where your next meal is coming from, your basic needs are met. Everyone has stress, it’s natural, that’s the biggest myth. And some stress is good. If students have questions about stress and don’t know what to do, our counsellors and learning enhancement teachers are all good resources. Please seek help because stress can lead to destructive behaviours. Social support helps a lot, and that’s what makes online learning difficult, because there was little social support.
Written by Querida Lai | Layout by Zoe Zheng Summary: A bus ride and the passing scenery contain endless memories of friendship. In this elegant piece of prose writing, Querida (‘23) leaves readers with an understanding that people will always come and go in our lives.
晨光熹微，穿透窗戶曬在臉上，把我從昏沉的夢裏喚醒，當意識漸漸回籠，我從床上緩緩坐起，揉捏著隱隱 作痛的腦袋，腦海閃過今天是什麼日子，我的心倏地升起一絲惆悵。
在媽媽詫異我今早竟不用她進來河東獅吼一番便已經早早起床的目光中，我咬著麵包背起書包出門了。巴士 站的人潮還是零零落落的，只有一兩個跟我一樣睡眼惺忪的上班族在等候巴士，我抬起頭看向標示著「102 」號的站牌，不由自主地盯著出了神，一直到巴士停靠在路邊，發出巨大的煞車聲響，我才猛然回神，匆忙 上車。
巴士從炮台山地鐵站開出，很快到達興發街，我撇頭看向窗外，看見了一個熟悉的身影急步走向隊伍末端： 她身穿和我一樣的制服，鼻樑掛著一副又圓又大的眼鏡，瘦小的肩膀壓著看來碩大的背包，她緩緩走到我身 旁的位置坐下。
「早安。」她輕聲說道。「早安。」我尷尬地低頭，不去看她的表情。
換了是平日，我們早就已經開始吱吱喳喳的聊天聊個沒完了，從昨晚的電視劇劇情，到班上的八卦，再到會 不會寫老師給的作業——車程相較於我們無邊無際的話題總是顯得短促，但是今天我只是無言，反而轉向窗 外已看過上萬遍的景色。
一切都是從她告訴我她要退學去美國唸書開始變調的，今天就是她最後一天上學的日子了。窗外的風景快速 的略過眼前，如同跑馬燈般轉瞬即逝，就像我們的快樂時光也結束得如此教人措手不及。一思及明天開始我 就不會再看到她在車站等車，我的校園生活也即將不再有她參與，我就生出一股難以言喻的難受和委屈。 接下來的一天我也不記得自己是如何度過的，隱約記得班上其他同學圍著她給她道別，只有我一個人站得遠 遠的，身為好朋友的我卻顯得份外疏離，同學拿著要送她的蛋糕路過時還問我幹嘛愣在這不過去，我只是苦 笑，推搪說裏面的空氣太悶了，我在這兒透透氣。
但是我終究還是默默陪著她留到最後，她慢慢的收拾著抽屜裏的課本和文具，又把儲物櫃內的小飾物還有我 們的合照一一收起。我很想像其他同學一樣說些好聽的話，但是任我費煞思量，我還是想不出來應該說什 麼。
最後她背起沉甸甸的書包，對站在門邊的我笑說：「走吧。」
然後我們又一同走到巴士站，等待著那輛搭乘過不下百次的102號巴士。時間已不早了，我眺望著遠處開始 落下的夕陽，天空也似染上了七彩斑斕顏料的畫布般，好看中又帶著教人鼻酸的悲涼。
一直到她拉拉我的手臂，我才發現自己又再一次因為太入神，連巴士已經到達都沒看到。我們坐下後，又是 一段無言的路程，我低頭撕著自己手指上無辜的死皮，以掩飾自己的難受。
「…喂，」她突然戳了戳我的肩膀。「你記得我們第一次見面的那天嗎？」
我當然記得了。升上中學那天，就在同一個座位上，我靠在窗前打瞌睡，她在她的車站上車後，坐到了我的 身旁，主動和我說話，我們因此而成為了朋友。
「嗯，怎麼了？」
「直覺告訴我你會是一個好的朋友，事實上我的直覺也真的不錯嘛。」她笑道。「謝謝你陪著我到最後。」
「差不多了，很多東西都可以去那邊才買。我最想帶走的東西，都在這兒了。」說到最後一句時，她語重心 長地伸手比了比太陽穴。
「那我呢？」我反問。
她呆住一秒，才苦笑道：「你不是『東西』嘛。」然後伸手拍拍我的頭。
面對她的安撫，我不發一語，把臉轉向了別處。理性上，我知道她說的都沒有錯，但是只剩下我一個人的巨 大失落感仍是把我淹沒。想到即將來到的明天，我就寂寞得想哭泣。
「……我要下車了。」聽見她輕聲吐出的一句話，我才一個激靈的抬起頭，發現巴士已到我們家附近。此時 的天色已徹底暗了下來，昏黃的街燈亮起，開始盡責地照亮途人回家的路。
我看見她把書包的肩帶拉起，這曾經看過無數次的動作此刻卻殘忍得令我鼻酸，我想伸手拉住她，卻最終收 回了手。
我目送著她的背影，突然感到人間的不公：因為我比她先上車之故，無論如何，我始終要看著她離開。
我把臉貼到窗戶上，想要再多看她兩眼，卻意外地發現，先下車的她沒有馬上離開車站，反倒站在原地凝視 著車上的我，笑著對我揮手道別。我也用力的朝她揮手，一直到她的身影越變越小、我的眼前越來越模糊為 止。
我哭到忘記了在自己的車站下車，一直坐到了尾站，才悻悻然的下車。我看著車門在我面前轟然關上，又準 備回到站頭接載新一輪的乘客。我擦擦眼睛，突然明瞭到自己只不過是云云乘客之一，我先上車，她後來上 車，我們曾一起走過一段路，然後她要先下車了，可是最終，我也會下車的。
其實並沒有什麼不公平。
我低頭翻出手機，給她傳了一段訊息：「和你一起看過的風景很美，我也帶走了。」
Minari
By Katrina Poon | Illustration by Grace Xiao | Layout by Ningjing Huang
摘要: 電影《夢想之地》改編自其導演鄭 李爍的真實故事，講述了80年代一個韓裔 美國家庭為了追尋「美國夢」而移居美國 的經歷，受到國際矚目。本篇文章探討了 電影的影響力以及成功背後的原因：它真 實地展現了美國移民對於「美國夢」的執 著和野心以及他們所面臨的文化衝突。
Lee Isaac Cheung’s “Minari” (2020) is a semiautobiographical account of his own childhood, depicting his experiences of growing up in America during the 1980s. “Minari” stars Steven Yuen as Jacob Yi, a South Korean immigrant who relocates his family to a farm in the outskirts of Arkansas from Californian city life in search for a better life. Jacob brings his wife, Monica (Han Ye-ri), with a daughter, Anne (Noel Kate Cho) and son, David (Alan Kim) to settle into their new life moving into a mobile home on a 50 acre plot of land. Both Jacob and Moinca work as chicken sexers (workers who identify and sort baby chicks based on their sex) to get by, though Jacob has dreams to start his own farming business, growing Korean originated crops for other KoreanAmerican immigrants on his new land. Whilst personal to Lee Isaac Cheung, the film is able to resonate with many immigrants, especially those who are Korean, it examines the hardships of assimilating into a new culture and what it means to be a family. The most comforting aspect about Minari is how realistic it feels - as if we are sitting through a documentary on the Yi family, watching as the family finds their way in a foreign culture. All the experiences are drawn from the director’s first-hand account, making each scene, subtle as the conflict is, personal and intimate. It’s the reality in which Jacob and Monica navigate their way through a new culture, figuring out their next steps and what is best for their children. Through the ways in which father and son
interact, the passion and potential Jacob sees in the farm and David and the protectiveness that naturally worries Monica as she watches her son explore their new surroundings are explored. Both parents with completely different expectations for life out in Arkansas - Jacob is eager to start his dreams, while Monica fears the isolation from the urban life they grew accustomed to; what’s more, David’s heart condition causes her to be afraid of being too far from a hospital, and would much rather have stability over whatever life they’re trying to find on a farm. At the heart of the film, we see hope that is passed down through generations, the universality of the Yi family as international immigrants, and the difficulty in putting down roots in a new country.
Not long after they move into their new home, Jacob and Monica arrange for Monica’s grandmother to travel from South Korea in order to take care of their children. Youn Yuh-jung’s performance as grandmother Soonja is compelling as she navigates a generational and cultural gap between her and her grandson. Soon-ja, who doesn’t know the children at all, serves as a tremendous reminder of the Korean culture they left behind, planting her own “Minari” near the creek behind the farm they live in. Their individual understanding of the world is powerfully highlighted - when David complains that “Grandma smells like Korea!” or when he tells her she isn’t a real grandma - often a more familiar scenario to many immigrant kids than expected - immigrant kids “americanized” with little appreciation of their native culture. She brings chili powder and dried anchovies instead of the stereotypical American grandmother David would rather have. Mostly, Minari echoes comfort. From the soft cinematography of the fields and grass to the piano that accompanies many scenes, the staticness of the countryside contrasted against the liveliness and vitality of working towards a dream. The tenderness of the film encapsulates the dreamlike
state of childhood, capturing the memories in a neverending stretch. The childlike friendliness that develops between David and Soonja, both adventurous, curious yet unapologetic about the American world around them.
For many immigrants and their children, settling into a foreign country is often lonely and isolated in an unfamiliar culture. We see Jacob’s loneliness transcending into passion towards starting his own business, in order to provide other Korean immigrants with foods that remind them of home. “Minari” has struck the hearts of many Korean immigrants in America, as many realised how similar the interactions between their own family members were, the insecurity of socializing with those with different cultural backgrounds and the struggle of accomplishing their dreams.
According to the Learning for Justice program, the model minority myth “characterizes Asian Americans as a polite, law-abiding group who have achieved a higher level of success than the general population through some combination of innate talent and pullyourselves-up-by-yourbootstraps immigrant striving.” It bases itself entirely on stereotypes, perpetrating a harmful expectation for many Asian Americans to live up to. Films like Crazy Rich Asians (2018), being the most recent major studio film with a largely Asian cast, has harnessed this stereotype of an ideal minority group, contributing to stereotypes like the nerdy Asian best friend and that asians must be successful. Minari differs by staying grounded towards the reality of the way Korean-Americans and other AsianAmericans have started in America, highlighting the equal universal struggle for immigrants. Ultimately, Minari is a heartwarming story about the hardships of immigrants, and the preservation of one’s own culture in a foreign land, and one that is definitely worth watching in 2021. 校話 期刊 24 75
《蛤蟆先生去看心理医生》
探寻自我，走出深渊
By Michelle Min | Illustrations by Cici Cai | Layout by Alyssa Merwise
导读：
内容简介：
部分一：关于自我
在应对不同事件时，决定我们处事方式 的心理状态其实是在随之变化的。这些自我状 态的背后不仅映射了我们与父母的关系，还能 反映我们心智成熟程度。儿童自我状态可以分 为自然型儿童与适应性儿童。前者包含了人类 与生俱来的基本情感，而后者则是为了生存在 父母身边而根据对方演变出来的依赖模式。例 如，蛤蟆先生的父亲严厉又霸道，导致童年的 蛤蟆先生面对这样的强权只能选择服从，久而 久之，他便丧失了表达愤怒的能力。他一直认 为，让别人知道他生气了他就会受到惩罚，因 为这是蛤蟆从小赖以生存的自我状态。除此之 外，每个人还有“父母状态”，处于这种状态的 我们会像自己的父母般表现，并以从他们身上 学到的价值观与道德观评判对错。或许，你曾 因为“失败”在内心狠狠谴责自己，这时的你就 处在一种“父母状态”，并在以父母的身份惩罚 自己。可是，在孩子与父母状态中的我们，并 不能真正的成长，因为这时的我们是在通过责 怪他人，自我怜悯去逃避问题。能将我们拖出 深渊但只有自己，请始终记得，我们本就有力 量来改变处境，改变自己，只要我们开始为自 己负责，掌握主权。 通过了解这些形态，我们虽然不能立刻学 会正确处理情绪，但是，我们可以通过观察自 己在不同状态下的样子，以一个上帝视角去 审视父母对我们的影响，直面童年留下来的伤 疤。改变的开始是“真诚地回应当下的需求”， 以摆脱过去经历的束缚。当你陷入情绪漩涡 式，不如尝试去区分自己所在的自我状态，进 行有效的调整。若是时常对自己感到不满，厌 恶，不妨问问自己：“你能停止自我批判吗？ 你能对自己好一些吗？也许最重要的问题是， 你能开始爱自己吗？”
部分二：关于心理咨询
在咨询开始之前，蛤蟆曾认为这是一个他 将自己的困境讲给苍鹭听，苍鹭给予安慰与建 议的简单过程。或许你也有类似的想象，可事 实上，这只是咨询的冰山一角。是的，苍鹭用 心聆聽蛤蟆诉说的一切，给予共情，让蛤蟆时 刻感觉自己被重视着。但是，在整个自我重塑 的过程中，为了让蛤蟆真正面对自我，打破他 原有的思维模式，苍鹭也会质疑，拒绝，这让 蛤蟆数次感到困惑，愤怒，沮丧。例如在蛤蟆 初到咨询室时，他说是朋友让他来的，并且他 已经准备好按苍鹭说的话照办，可苍鹭却拒绝 了为他辅导。这让蛤蟆十分愤怒，也打破了我 对心理咨询师的印象。苍鹭说“心理咨询向来是 一个自发的过程，咨询室和来访者双方都得出 于自愿。所以这就意味着，只有你是为自己而 不是为取悦朋友才想咨询的时候，我们才能真 正合作。”这一番话顿时让蛤蟆感到兴奋，因为 他意识到，或许，我们真的可以靠自己摆脱痛 苦，走出深渊。这几次咨询中最让我动容的一 次对话是，蛤蟆问苍鹭“你认为我会 好起来吗”，苍鹭直视着他的眼睛说：“如果我 不相信每个人都有能力变得更好，我就不会做 这份工作了。” 这或许就是心理咨询师的意义 与使命感所在吧。
结语：
On paper, everyone has a distinct personality. Perhaps you see yourself as more extroverted than introverted, more creative than logical, or more of a follower than a leader. The idea of sorting the entire world into less than twenty boxes is both intriguing and absurd. Examples of such “sorting hats” are astrology and the Myers–Briggs Type Indicator. Through your birthday or through a questionnaire, respectively, these mechanisms of determining one’s personality traits, decision-making abilities and interpersonal skills have become a be-all and end-all way for some people to characterise themselves. Those who are believers see astrology or Myers–Briggs types as useful ways to validify their emotions and characteristics. However, there are still skeptics at hand who are quick to dismiss them, seeing them as unreliable and with no real scientific backing behind them.
In Western Astrology, there are 12 signs, each with a different animal and name. The first sign is Aries and the last is Pisces, with each sign covering roughly a month. Flip open a newspaper, scroll through social media, or even do a Google search, and you would see a horoscope based on your zodiac sign, detailing predictions such as a chance encounter, overcoming a struggle, or even a career change.
The predictions of astrology aren’t completely random. In fact, they have a long dated history behind it. It is uncertain where the idea of divination from the stars originated, but Ancient China was one of the earliest cases of using the stars to determine the future, usually an Emperor’s. Sumarians and Bablyionians looked to the sky for answers as well. In fact, the Venus tablet of Ammisaduqa, which is dated to the first millennium BC, is one of the earliest records of astronomical observations. Eventually, the idea evolved into a two part system: calculating the astrological map and reading/analyzing them. While some believe this to be an accurate prediction of one’s future, others scoff in disbelief and are swift to write it off as a hoax, throwing into question the reliability of horoscopes.
Testing the reliability of horoscopes has yielded results that disprove their accuracy. Perhaps the most famous study was done by Shawn Carlson in 1985. He had twenty-eight well-known and experienced astrologers match over 100 natal charts with psychological profiles. The results found that the astrologers were unable to match the charts and profiles accurately, with the final results being no more accurate than flipping a coin. This demonstrates the flawed system of astrology: highly qualified, top of their field astrologers could not use their knowledge to assign these profiles. Another study consisted of tracking over 2000 babies born in March starting from 1958, and their developments were recorded at regular intervals. They tracked over 100 characteristics, from IQ to sociability to ability in different subjects such as art or music. Theoretically, if horoscopes and astrology are accurate, there would have been many similar traits between them. However, the study concluded that there was no distinct evidence of similarities between them. There are countless other experiments with conclusions that tend to cast doubt on the success of astrology. While horoscopes should be read with a grain of salt, astrology has, amazingly, still remained popular even amongst younger generations, proving that people are keen to be validated in their identities, no matter the accuracy of the source.
However, while some see astrology as a meaningless description, others use it as a guidance for big life decisions. India, for example, uses astrology for matchmaking and arranged marriages. The process, known as Kundali in South India or Nakshatram in the North, is typically done with a matchmaker. Using a birth chart with the position of the moon for the possible bride and groom, the matchmaker would then score their compatibility based on eight aspects. These aspects may include mutual attraction, mental compatibility, temperament, intimacy and health. Each aspect has a maximum point value—obtaining 32-36 points is seen as an excellent match, but less than 18 is not recommended for marriage. In China, certain dates and months are not chosen for weddings because it is believed to be bad luck. Couples may choose to not get married in months that clash with their Zodiac signs, or not marry in conflicting years from their Chinese Zodiac sign.
Another popular personality test is the Myers-Brigg Type Indicator (MBTI), created by Kathering Briggs and her daughter Isabel Meyers in the 20th century. It is a self-reporting questionnaire that has you rate statements about yourself from agree to disagree. The test then measures introversion/extroversion, sensing/intuition, thinking/feeling and judging/ perceiving, and in total, there are sixteen possible results. Being more perceiving would mean you were more spontaneous and capricious, whereas being more judging meant you were more of a planner, preferring to weigh all options before making a decision. Being more intuitive might mean you tend to read between the lines, and view decisions in a more abstract way. Being more sensing might mean you live in the present more and take things at face value. One letter from each category is used to create the final result. So if you described yourself as extroverted, intuitive, more logical than emotional and more perceiving, you would be type ENTP. While on the surface, it seems more reliable than horoscopes, with companies even using this test to assess prospective employees to learn more about their personality, they do face similar problems with regards to reliability and accuracy. Firstly, there are only two options for each dichotomy, meaning that there are no in between options. For instance, since most people are not always introverted or always extroverted, it leaves a large middle range that has to be unevenly distributed. Secondly, it being self reported means the results depend entirely on the honesty of participants. Therefore, they would be able to stretch the truth or answer in a manner that may not be entirely what they believe, losing needed objectivity. Thirdly, it’s difficult to get a consistent result. According to Fortune Magazine in 2013, “if you retake the test after only a five-week gap, there’s around a 50% chance that you will fall into a different personality category compared to the first time you took the test.” This means that the results can vary often depending on the mood of the participants, making it unreliable. Furthermore, there is little to no scientific evidence that strongly endorses the validity of the test. It is estimated that between a third to a half of reports backing up and lending credibility to the test are published by companies supported and edited by the test. Tests like the MBTI are judged on a spectrum, meaning you would have characteristics of each dichotomy, no matter your final results. So if you were given an “E” value, it does not mean you have no introverted values at all, but rather having a preference. Viewing your personality through simply the lens of your results may cause you to pigeonhole yourself or others.
One explanation for the popularity of astrology and MBTI is the Barnum Effect, a term first coined by psychologist Paul Meehl. It is a psychological phenomenon where individuals have a tendency to believe personality descriptions to be accurate and tailored towards them, even if the statements are meant to be broad enough to apply to a majority of people. Using vague, overgeneralizing language means that the reader is free to interpret it in a way that fits into their narrative. Phrases such as “at times”, “occasionally” or “generally” are commonly used to make statements less restrictive or concrete and allow for more room for readers to believe the statement applies specifically to them. Common statements that use the Barnum effect include “You have a great need for other people to like and admire you.” or “You have a tendency to be critical of yourself.” Perhaps at first glance, these statements seem very accurate and specific, but they are actually applicable to a large majority of people. Wanting to be liked, admired or self-critical are all part of human behaviour, and 校話 期刊 24 79
general enough that it can suit most people. This effect is often used when writing said personality statements, creating an illusion of hidden knowledge specifically shared and applicable to an individual, when in reality, these blanket statements can be used for a wide range of people.
Similarly, confirmation bias also plays a role in those who believe in these tests. Confirmation bias is defined as a tendency to seek out or interpret information that supports and encourages their current beliefs. The brain’s want to make sense of the world by finding patterns and connections. Confirmation bias eases this by seemingly giving credibility to horoscopes or tests like the MBTI. For instance, if a statement says you are “reliable and dependent” or “charismatic and a team player”, it is natural that you are more likely to believe in it due to its positive nature. Especially with horoscopes, it can make mundane predictions about future events seem impressive and unbelievable. Perhaps your daily horoscope mentions that “You will receive advice from a friend.” While friends often share their opinions, confirmation bias would cause you to connect and
identify your experiences with what your horoscope mentioned. This can then cause further trust and belief in horoscopes, and may leave you actively looking for links and twisting your experiences to fit into these statements, making it hard for a situation to be viewed in an objective manner. It can also cause you to group and make generalized observations about others. Statements such as “All Geminis are dramatic” or “Aries have the worst tempers” are harmful because it causes limited interactions with others to become almost factual statements.
While horoscopes and MBTI may seem all-knowing and scarily accurate, they seem to actually rely on psychological effects and deliberately vague statements to lend them credibility and success. Therefore, it is important to think critically and remain as impartial as possible when reading them. While it may seem fun and meaningless to read these statements or take the test, it is essential to make sure no unwarranted biases or judgements form. At the end of the day, everyone remains unique and should not be grouped based on arbitrary statements that are designed to fit a majority.
Recently I’ve fallen into the rabbit hole that is historical costuming. Sure, it’s fun to scroll Instagram and see people looking like they’ve just stepped out of a painting. But what interests me about historical clothing are not frilly, elaborate confections of dress. Rather, it’s what history can teach us about the concept of beauty and how we view feminine beauty today.
When I say “historical beauty standards”, it’s an almost immediate jump to lead-whitened skin, rib-crushing corsets, and debilitatingly tiny feet. We shudder at the practices people put themselves through to be ‘beautiful’. The idea that exterior beauty equals inner virtue, as the ancient Greeks believed (“Different influences”), seems absurd to us. Contrasted with our modern beliefs, such behaviours and ideas seem extreme, even oppressive, and we pat ourselves on the back for having eliminated these harmful standards.
But it may be too early to start celebrating. After all, the cyclical nature of human history is widely observed, and beauty standards follow this pattern as well.
It’s no question that we’ve made strides towards diversifying our idea of beauty in recent years, at least on the surface (Feldman). We’ve reached a point where statements like “every body is beautiful” and “you are perfect as you are” have become ubiquitous. Of course, we know there’s still much progress to be made in until ‘beauty’ truly envelops all demographics, but as time goes on that goal seems ever closer. Yet perhaps we should stop and ask ourselves whether that is really the goal we should be working towards.
Why do we all want so badly to be beautiful?
Some view beauty through an evolutionary lens, arguing that humans have adapted to find certain traits more attractive because they indicate a higher probability of successful reproduction (Cloud and Perilloux). For example, a 1993 study done by psychology professor Devendra Singh and subsequent recent studies have found that across modern cultures, a figure with a waist to hip ratio (WHR) of around 0.7 and ‘normal weight’ (which in itself is problematic) was found more attractive than figures with higher WHRs (Singh). The proposed explanation for this attraction is that a lower waist-to-hip ratio in people assigned female may result from the fat deposition patterns encouraged by increased estrogen levels, thus signalling that a person is sexually mature as well as able to conceive more successfully. Another example is that some studies have found more symmetrical faces to be more attractive, a finding explained by the fact that a person’s facial symmetry is thought to be an indicator of developmental health and genetic resistance to certain diseases, which may lead to healthier offspring (Lents).
However, these studies proposing evolutionary hypotheses about perceptions of attractiveness focus overwhelmingly on what we, today, consider to be attractive. Any considerations of historical definitions of attractiveness are perfunctory at best. Why should we assume that what we find attractive today is justified because it happens to correlate to some measures of reproductive health? If we truly evolved to find ‘beauty’ in measures of fertility, then our perceptions of beauty throughout time should remain quite constant regarding these measures. Yet this is not the case.
Take the waist-to-hip ratio (WHR) for instance, a measure noted for its consistency across modern cultures. The previously mentioned studies seem to suggest that we find a WHR of 0.7 most attractive because it indicates the highest probability of reproductive success. If such a preference were developed for evolutionary advantage, attraction to low WHRs should remain constant throughout human history. However, even just considering western fashion, there were numerous periods of time where a low WHR was not the ideal. 校話 期刊 24 81 校話 期刊 24 81
In fact, it was sometimes even considered undesirable. In the 1920s, to take a more drastic example, the fashionable figure is one with “an unbroken line from shoulder to knee” and “waists are a negligible quantity; there is rarely a suggestion of one” (Corsets and Crinolines). Magazines of the time wrote that “we must at all cost avoid anything likely to emphasise the waist” (Corsets and Crinolines). If reproductive potential truly guided definitions of attractiveness, the 1920s silhouette should not exist. The waist is also hidden for a full thirty or so years in the directoire and regency era, with the ‘empire’ waist well above the natural smallest point on the torso. How is one meant to judge reproductive fitness from WHR when the waist is not even visible? Countless other fashions obscure the waist as well, such as the ‘houppelande’ garment fashionable in the late middle ages (Newman, Paul B. (2001). Daily Life in the Middle Ages. McFarland. pp. 112–113, 116–117.), the robe a volante in the early 18th century (“Robe Volante”), and the Indian peshwaz (Women’s Costume). Recognising these historical silhouettes quite diminishes the plausibility of the idea that our modern beauty ideals are driven by evolutionary logic.
Or consider facial symmetry, which purportedly indicates health. In fact, it’s been found that ‘fluctuating asymmetry’, or non-extreme asymmetries, in someone’s face is not a reliable indicator of their health in dimensions such as height, weight, or illnesses during development (Pound et. al.). If facial symmetry does not indeed indicate health and superior reproductive fitness, finding it attractive has no evolutionary advantage.
So ‘beauty’ does not always equate to a biological advantage in terms of procreation. However, it does have a social advantage: people want to have children with people they find attractive. It doesn’t matter so much which traits are found attractive, it just matters if you have the current traits that are found attractive. It’s been found that women subjectively rated “attractive” have 16% more children than those rated “moderately” or “not attractive”, while women rated “very attractive” have 6% more children (Jokela). Based on these statistics, it seems that reproductive success and thus evolutionary advantage is correlated with what society deems attractive.
The social benefits of being beautiful extend beyond reproductive success. A 1972 study (Dion K et. al.) demonstrated that “what is beautiful is good”. In other words, people judge facially ‘attractive’ people more positively than ‘less attractive’ people, believing that ‘attractive’ people have “more socially desirable personality traits” and more successful careers and personal lives. ‘Attractive people’ are also “assumed to be more kind, honest, and moral” (Cui). This also works in the reverse, a phenomenon known as “good is beautiful”. When we are told positive personality traits of people, we perceive them to be more aesthetically attractive than when we are told negative personality traits.
Looking at these results, it becomes clear why we crave beauty so badly. We can laugh at the ancient Greeks all we want, but we are no different from them in associating exterior beauty with inner virtue. And we might have scrapped those atrocious practices we believe historical people put themselves through to be ‘beautiful’, but we’ve simply taken on new ones.
To start with one rising technology: cosmetic surgery. In 2016, the global market for cosmetic surgery was worth 27 billion USD. It’s expected to nearly double in value by 2025, reaching 51.6 billion USD (“Medical tourism”). Nearly 1.8 million women globally received women’s most popular surgical procedure, breast augmentation, which is 6.5 times the amount of men undergoing men’s most popular surgical procedure (National Society of Aesthetic Plastic Surgery). That in itself is worth questioning. A significant motivation to undergo cosmetic surgery is “to improve self-esteem and confidence” (“More than”), yet a norwegian study has found that cosmetic procedures don’t actually increase women and girls’ satisfaction with their general appearance (“Mental health”). In fact, mental health may even decline after surgery, especially for those with body dysmorphic disorder, a group four times more prevalent among those who get surgery than in the general population (“Beauty in the eye”). That’s on top of the higher rates of depression and anxiety in women who decide to have the surgery in the first place (Jiang). Even more worrying is the research suggesting that women who underwent cosmetic breast augmentation (the most popular procedure, remember) have higher rates of suicide (Sarwer et. al.). Can we really say that this method of achieving ‘beauty’ is more progressive than historical means?
Let’s not forget the use of “diet” to achieve certain beauty standards either. Along with certain personality traits and genetics (“6 Common”), “sociocultural idealization of thinness” (Culbert) is considered a risk factor for developing eating disorders, and many western cultures certainly do idealize thinness (“Why Do Women”), especially in the U.S. It’s worth noting that this pressure on people to become thinner (even when they are at a healthy weight! (Gallivants)) is not spread evenly: anorexia and bulimia, two of the most common eating disorders, affect significantly more women than men (“Prevalence, incidence”). People of colour, disabled people and LGBTQ+ people are also affected at disproportionately high rates (“Eating disorder”), yet they often are not given access to the healthcare that they need. More than 9% of the global population are affected by eating disorders, and 26% of that subset will attempt suicide. The prevalence of eating disorders, contrary to other mental disorders, is only increasing (van Hoeken et. al.) The physically harmful practices of the past, some of which have been much exaggerated (“Everything You Know”) or misunderstood (“Egyptian Eyeliner”) (though criticism of others is certainly warranted), have been replaced by equally harmful mental health issues exacerbated by the constant comparison enabled by social media (Fardouly). All this leads to the fact that we are still objectifying ourselves and defining our worth by our appearance (“The complicated truth”). Sure, body positivity sounds good, but that’s not achievable for many people (“It’s time”), and it still promotes the idea of equating beauty with ‘goodness’ or personal value. It also saturates the idea of beauty so much that it virtually becomes meaningless - saying everybody is beautiful is as ironic as saying everybody is unique. You might as well say that everyone is a human.
On that note, perhaps we should be aiming for body neutrality instead (“How to Shift”). Body neutrality emphasizes taking care of and being aware of your body’s needs instead of focusing on its appearance as a source of self-worth. That’s not to say we should ignore bodily appearances entirely; that would be dismissing all the societal structures that privilege certain types of bodies over others. But we should take steps towards understanding that we don’t need to source our happiness or self-satisfaction from how our body looks. It can simply be a vessel and tool for our further fulfillment. And for me, for the next few weeks at least, I’ll be finding that fulfillment in my next historical costume.
电影如何污名 化心理疾病
By Rachel Jiang | Illustrations by Mia Cheung | Layout by Maegan Wang
现代社会日益激烈的竞争大大增 加了人们面临心理疾病的普遍 性。根据世界卫生组织 2003年发 布的调查，此刻全球每 4 个人中 有 1 个人受到心理疾病的困扰。 然而，因社会存在的严重心理疾 病污名，很多本能获得治疗的患 者却不愿接受治疗，已治愈的患 者回归社会时也会遭遇巨大的生 活阻碍。之前所提的世界卫生组 织调查同样提出了患者康复的最 大障碍是社会对他们的歧视与排 斥，导致他们错失医疗的良机。 可见心理疾病污名是一个必要解 决的社会问题。 要想有效地消除心理疾病 污名，我们首先要对它形成的原 因进行深入的了解。近几年，电 影针对心理疾病的处理方式成为 了社会心理学家与精神病学家的 研究热点。许多的专家们指出大 银幕上表现心理疾病的方式对大 众对于有关话题的理解与认知有 着重大的影响。这是因为心理疾 病在我们的现代社会中仍是一个 禁忌话题；精神病患者真正的经 历常常被忽略及笼罩，从而促使 电影成为人们唯一接触心理疾病 的来源。然而，多数的电影仍将 票房收入排为第一，将心理疾病 案件过度戏剧化，导致严重的污 名。在下文中，笔者将分析电影 污名化心理疾病的主要因素及其 对心理疾病患者创造的种种困难 与挫折。 大众对于“疯癫”的概念 以及心理疾病的认知仍扎根在荧 幕形象层面上肤浅，带有侮辱性 的刻画。多数电影常常过于强调 心理疾病的负面的刻板化属性， 如同患者暴力，侵略与怪异的行 为。经典电影《闪雷》中显然疯 癫的主角杰克·托伦斯是一个暴力 的狂人杀手，被电影刻画成残暴 野蛮的形象。电影从而映射着心 理疾病普遍的刻板印象。因此， 尽管人们对心理疾病本质的认识 日益深入，但大多数人对心理疾 病患者仍持有刻板化信念。另一 部经典电影《一次飞过杜鹃的 巢》对于心理疾病的描述足以让 观众们得出结论：精神病所是毁 灭心灵的地方。电影里，个性活 跃的罪犯人麦克墨菲为了逃脱监 狱里的苦役假装自己精神失常， 但依然没能逃脱制度的控制。 本电影中对与医院治疗方法戏剧 性的描绘，特别是如此无情，野 蛮的电休克疗法，刻印了相当长 久的社会影响。激烈的电惊厥疗 法的加入使得《一次飞过杜鹃的 巢》的情节更加情绪化。电影中 的电休克疗法导致患者进入如同 僵尸一样，思维迟钝的状态；几 乎没有电影会显示出正面的治疗 效果。因此，心理疾病成为一个 更加疏远的概念。 此外，几十年以来，往往都是恐 怖片子主导着荧幕上对疯癫的刻 画，例如传奇的《猛鬼街》与《 十三號星期五》。著名的万圣节 人物‘迈克尔·迈尔斯’结合了超自 然因素与精神病患者的身份，似 乎是一个不朽的人物。这些电影 从而会凸显各种关于心理疾病的 迷信与污名，如同精神病具有超 自然的成分，是被恶魔附身并需 要藉由驅魔来恢复正常。因此， 令大众对于心理疾病产生深层的 恐惧，从而导致歧视的行为。久 而久之，令心理疾病更加蒙受污 名。 以上的污名使心理疾病患者受到 不可避免的日常阻碍；污名毀坏 了患者的社会身份，社会网络与 自尊，以致他們失去了许多的重 要生活机会。许多的社会调查一 致发现心理疾病患者的就业率比 心理健康者低10-15%，而且超 过60%的心理疾病患者会经历失 业。此外，心理疾病患者租赁房 子也存在加多的困难。因失业， 许多心理疾病患者会成为流浪 者，并产生吸毒的习惯。许多研 究表明，30-35%的流浪者具有着 精神疾病。不仅如此，无处不在 的污名阻碍了患者的求助行为。 为免受歧视，患者会通过隐瞒 病情或不接受治疗来避免公众污 名，从而更加严重化病情。 总而言之，我们可见电影针对心 理疾病的刻画隆重地影响了社会 大众对与心理疾病的观念，它们 刻板化与戏剧性的描写使人们对 与心理疾病产生深层的恐惧，也 因此导致歧视的行为。而污名大 大影响了心理疾病患者的日常生 活，使他们面对种种的阻碍。
讓我們傾聽媽媽的話語， 讓我們亡羊補牢，為時不晚， 我們要讓地球母親 恢復從前那美麗的模樣！
