意識到自己可以選擇
伊朗神棍歸西,應該普天同慶的,因為這個神棍體制和天朝體制很像,在觀念中,很希望伊朗變天,伊朗人不會再受到奴役。但是,現實很骨感,很多人衷心擁護這樣的體制。如果是既得利益集團,比如革命衛隊的成員,那也就罷了,底層的那些人,竟然也非常認同,這讓人很沮喪。有時候我想,不管這個想法是自己產生的,還是不知不覺被有意、無意植入的,是否只要是他自己的選擇,就尊重他們的選擇吧。
當然,很多時候這是沒有的選擇的,因爲,在他們的意識中,就沒有「選擇」這個字。如有意識到自己有的選,可以稱為覺醒。
這個說法,並不是代表我是醒著的,你還糊裡糊塗著,我比你厲害。而是,每個人如果能意識到很多時候都是自己的選擇,自己可以選擇,那就會很不一樣。就像今天晚上,如果我順著習慣,百無聊賴的刷刷油管、啁啾會館,晚上兩三個小時的時間就過去了,我心動買下的那些書,心動的主題,對不遠將來的想望,對自己某方面能力的期許,用什麼時候的時間去築成呢?
今天聽到不明白播客,談到劉美賢與谷愛凌兩個人的對比。之前看到有個報導,說北京市在谷愛凌身上一年花了4800萬元。如果大家能意識到,別人獲得一個獎牌帶來虛幻的榮譽感所帶來的快感,與拿這4800萬用在治理北京市公共空間的二手菸以及噪音污染,所帶來的舒適感相較,你願意選哪一個呢?
專制極權帶來的單一敘事,剝奪了大家自由發聲天性,每一個人產生的一個一個念想,無法被保留下來,無法被匯聚起來,行成不了改變社會的能量,久而久之,大部分人的念想就依附在了主流敘事之上。而主流敘事,從來不是站在每一個活生生的人的角度出發,而是站在掌握話語權的那部分人的角度出發的。
Realizing That We Have a Choice
The death of Iran’s religious strongman should, in theory, be something to celebrate. Systems built on religious authority often resemble the kind of political structure we see in China: a supreme narrative imposed over an entire society.
From a moral standpoint, I naturally hope that Iran will one day change, and that Iranians will no longer live under such a system.
But reality is often far less ideal.
Many people genuinely support such a system.
If those supporters belong to vested interests—such as members of the Revolutionary Guard—that is understandable. What is discouraging, however, is that many ordinary people at the bottom of society also sincerely identify with it.
Sometimes I wonder: whether an idea is formed independently, or subtly planted by others intentionally or unintentionally, if it is truly someone's own choice, perhaps it should be respected.
But the deeper problem is that, in many cases, there is actually no real choice.
Because in their consciousness, the very concept of “choice” does not exist.
If someone begins to realize that they do in fact have choices, perhaps that moment can be called an awakening.
This does not mean: “I am awake while you are confused, therefore I am superior.”
The meaning is actually much simpler.
If a person realizes that many things in life are the result of their own choices—and that they are able to choose—then life becomes very different.
Take tonight as an example.
If I simply follow my habits and scroll through YouTube or Twitter out of boredom, two or three hours will pass quickly.
But those books I was excited to buy, the topics that genuinely interest me, the future I imagine for myself, and the abilities I hope to develop—
If I never deliberately invest time in them, when will they ever be built?
Today I listened to an episode of a podcast discussing the contrast between Liu Meixian and Eileen Gu. I was reminded of a report I once saw: Beijing reportedly spends about 48 million yuan a year on Eileen Gu.
If we frame the question differently:
If people were able to realize that the fleeting sense of national pride brought by someone else winning a medal is largely symbolic—while the same 48 million yuan could instead be used to reduce secondhand smoke in public spaces and noise pollution in Beijing, making the city far more comfortable to live in—
which would they choose?
Authoritarian systems often create a single dominant narrative.
This narrative gradually suppresses people’s natural impulse to express themselves freely.
Every individual constantly generates thoughts—questions, suggestions, imagination, creativity, different perspectives.
But if these thoughts cannot be expressed, preserved, or discussed, they cannot accumulate. Without accumulation, they cannot form the social energy needed to change society.
Over time, most people's thoughts begin to attach themselves to the dominant narrative.
And that dominant narrative is almost never built from the perspective of each living individual.
Instead, it reflects the viewpoint of only one group: those who hold the power to define the narrative.
Realizing That We Have a Choice
When a powerful religious figure in Iran dies, many people instinctively celebrate. To them, the fall of a theocratic system represents the possibility of freedom.
From the outside, it is easy to hope that Iran will eventually change—that ordinary people will no longer live under a system where religious authority dominates politics.
But reality is often more complicated.
A surprising number of people sincerely support such systems.
If the supporters belong to powerful institutions—such as members of the Revolutionary Guard—this is not difficult to understand. They benefit from the system. What is more discouraging is that many ordinary people at the bottom of society also identify deeply with it.
This raises an uncomfortable question:
if someone truly believes in such a system, should their belief be respected as their own choice?
The deeper problem, however, is that in many cases there is no real choice at all.
For many people, the idea that they could choose differently simply never appears in their consciousness. When someone begins to realize that they actually have a choice, that moment might be called an awakening.
But awakening does not mean: I am enlightened and others are ignorant.
In its simplest form, it means realizing something very basic: many things in life are the result of our own choices.
Take an ordinary evening as an example.
It is easy to spend two or three hours scrolling through YouTube or social media out of habit. Time passes almost without notice.
But what about the books we once felt excited to buy?
The subjects we genuinely wanted to explore?
The abilities we hoped to develop for the future?
If we never consciously invest time in these things, when will they ever take shape?
I was reminded of this while listening to a podcast discussing the contrast between Liu Meixian and the Olympic champion Eileen Gu. I also remembered a report claiming that Beijing spends roughly 48 million yuan per year supporting Eileen Gu.
Imagine presenting the public with a simple choice.
On one side is the symbolic pride generated when someone wins a medal for the nation. On the other is using the same money to reduce secondhand smoke in public spaces and noise pollution across Beijing, improving the everyday quality of life for millions of people.
Which would people choose?
Authoritarian systems tend to rely on a single dominant narrative.
Over time, this narrative gradually weakens people's natural impulse to speak freely. Individuals still generate countless thoughts—questions, doubts, ideas, criticisms—but these thoughts rarely find a place to exist.
If ideas cannot be expressed, recorded, or discussed, they cannot accumulate. And without accumulation, they cannot form the social energy needed to change anything.
Eventually, many people stop producing their own independent thoughts altogether. Their thinking simply attaches itself to the dominant narrative.
But that narrative rarely reflects the perspective of ordinary individuals.
More often, it reflects the perspective of a much smaller group:
those who control the power to define the narrative.
The Moment You Realize You Have a Choice
When a powerful religious figure in Iran dies, many people instinctively celebrate. From the outside, it seems obvious: if a rigid theocratic system weakens, society might finally move toward freedom.
But reality is rarely that simple.
A striking number of people within such systems genuinely support them. This is understandable when it comes to those who benefit directly—members of powerful institutions, political elites, or security forces. Their loyalty is tied to their interests.
What is more puzzling is that many ordinary people, with little to gain from the system, also support it sincerely.
This raises an uncomfortable question:
if people genuinely believe in such a system, should that belief simply be respected as their choice?
The deeper problem is that, in many cases, the idea of choice itself never truly appears.
People are not choosing between different possibilities. Instead, they live within a single narrative so dominant that alternatives become almost unimaginable. When someone first realizes that things could be otherwise—that they themselves could choose differently—that moment can feel like a kind of awakening.
But awakening does not mean believing that one is wiser than others. It simply means recognizing a basic truth: many things in life are the result of choices, even the small ones.
Consider an ordinary evening.
It is easy to spend two or three hours scrolling through YouTube or social media. The time disappears quickly, almost without notice.
But what about the books we once felt excited to buy?
The subjects we hoped to understand more deeply?
The skills we imagined developing for our future?
If time is never consciously invested in these things, they remain nothing more than vague possibilities.
The same logic applies to societies.
I was reminded of this while listening to a podcast discussing the contrast between Liu Meixian and the Olympic champion Eileen Gu. I also recalled a report claiming that Beijing spends roughly 48 million yuan each year supporting Eileen Gu.
Imagine presenting the public with a simple choice.
One option is the symbolic pride of seeing an athlete win medals under the national flag. The other is using the same amount of money to reduce secondhand smoke in public spaces and noise pollution across the city—changes that would make daily life more comfortable for millions of residents.
Which would people choose?
In open societies, such questions can at least be asked. In more controlled systems, however, a single dominant narrative tends to crowd out alternatives.
Over time, this has a subtle effect. People still have thoughts—questions, doubts, criticisms, ideas—but if those thoughts cannot be expressed, recorded, or discussed, they gradually lose their social existence.
Without expression, ideas cannot accumulate.
Without accumulation, they cannot become a force for change.
Eventually, many people stop producing independent perspectives at all. Their thinking simply attaches itself to the dominant narrative.
But that narrative rarely reflects the perspective of ordinary individuals. More often, it reflects the priorities of a much smaller group:
those who hold the power to define what the story is.
Awakening, in the end, may be something very simple.
It is the moment a person realizes that their attention, their time, and even their thoughts are not predetermined.
They are choices.