肢解中国正当时 Dissolution of China: The Time Is Ripe

By Timothy Huang

“统一的多民族国家”这一概念，几乎深深印刻在每一个中国人的脑海中。共产党的反对者、中国的反对者、乃至中华民族的反对者们，几乎毫无保留地接受这一概念；即使是当中最极端的“支黑”，也在逻辑基础上将全体中国人当作一个整体进行批判和攻击。人们似乎从未怀疑过，在这片被称为“中国”的土地上，生活的人民、建立的政权、传承的文化，是否真如他们所默认的那样，都是一回事。甚至，就连长期以来关注和支持中国人权状况和民主发展的西方政客们，也仅仅将港澳台和少数民族地区的独立当作可以讨论的政治议题。“一个中国”不仅仅是中国在台湾问题上所宣扬的政策，更是刻在中国人民乃至全世界人民脑海中的既定现实。台湾、香港、西藏、内蒙等地的独立运动，无一不是基于中国这一既有背景而展开的，他们是要从“中国”独立出去，而不是在寻求民族认同的过程中建立属于自己的民族国家。

但是，这一预设是正确的吗？

在中国有考古证据的三千六百年历史中，分裂的时期远远长于大一统的时期。无论是部落联盟形态的殷商，封邦建国的两周，还是乱世风流的三国两晋南北朝和唐末五代十国，其相比于大一统的汉唐明清不仅丝毫不逊色，甚至还占据了主流。真正大一统的中央王朝累计存在时间不足1200年，仅占所谓中华文明生命史的三分之一，更是不足中国所宣扬的“五千年文明”的四分之一；“统一的多民族国家”首先从事实上就是一个错误描述。中国历史上，统一从来不是主流，分裂才是主流，多民族国家从来不是主流，各民族、各地区与中央政权的对抗才是主流，主体民族——不论是汉族还是满族——对其他民族的压迫才是主流。这是一个简单的数学问题。

而中国各地区，即使经历了明、清、中共三代大一统王朝的残酷镇压和同化，依然保持着彼此迥异的语言、习俗和血统。他们在中共的口中，是统一的多民族国家百花齐放的旺盛生命力，但是在真正冷静的人看来，他们就是肢解中国、诸夏独立的原动力。

在汉语中，“统一”早已被塑造成了褒义词，“分裂”则成为了贬义词。这是完全错误的，也是政治宣传和洗脑的结果。“统一”与“分裂”这组概念，除了用来形容国家的疆域外，清一色地是一组对立的中性词：“核聚变”与“核裂变”、“合兵”与“分兵”、“合餐制”与“分餐制”、“一致性”与“多样化”、“纪律性”与“能动性”、“单一制”与“联邦制”、“汇流”与“分流”……凡此种种，“统一”与“分裂”在任何学科、任何场景，均未有任何褒贬的价值取向，而仅仅是描述了事物或概念的一组对立状态，何以用来形容国家疆域，就成了大一统压倒四分五裂呢？

肢解中国不仅是一种理念的祛魅，也为中国民主化的暗淡前景提供了另一束微光。长期以来，各派学者对于中国民主化进程的最大担忧便是，一旦中国共产党倒台，取而代之的或许是更暴戾、更疯狂的独裁者，中国将再一次堕入历史的治乱循环。然而，如果中国随着共产党的覆灭而依据语言、历史和文化传统肢解为十数个小国家呢？他们之间的彼此竞争配合接近但迥异的文化背景，是否会创造出更美好的生活呢？百家争鸣的景象是否会在肢解中国后重现？或许正如某些批评家所指出的那样，百家争鸣实际上是百家争宠；然而，争宠亦好过独宠。肢解中国，正是为了创造这一局面。而如果，二十个独立国家清一色地拥立了比中国共产党还要差的统治者，那我们便可以宣称，这片土地就是人类文明的“洼地”，“中国人不值得被拯救”。

我们衷心不希望出现后者的结局。

刘晓波曾希望，中国被西方殖民数百年，以清除文化的劣根性。然而，殖民主义早已被尘封在上个世纪，现如今的世界，再无文明国家愿意花费时间、金钱和精力去殖民其他国家，而仅剩下俄罗斯这样的流氓国家一心扩张领土。然而，文明的发展也带来了新的契机，那就是各个国家之间为了领土争夺而陷入长达数十年甚至数百年的战争的条件也不再具备了，即使是中东乱局也不过爆发了几次持续数年甚至数周的小规模战争。肢解后的中国不必担心陷入近代以来的欧洲那样长达数百年的相互战争，大家各凭本事讨好自由流动的人民，甚至在有朝一日，能够像欧盟那样，几个价值观和文明程度都相近的国家，重新拆除边境，再次亲如一家。

因此，不仅台湾、香港、澳门、西藏、南蒙古、新疆等地，应该依照其自古以来的权利独立于中国，上海、满洲、南粤、巴蜀乃至任何愿意在华夏大地上发出独立声音的政治实体，都可“愿独尽独”，强迫这片土地上的人民在分裂、竞争和选择中加速步入文明，而非沉浸在大一统的美梦中，幻想世界各地自古以来都是中国领土不可分割的一部分。中国唯一不可分割的一部分，就是它留给这个世界的文明的遗产，以及发出所谓“中国声音”的一个个具体的人；如果这些人是胡锡进、金灿荣之流而非牛顿，那我们便只能摔下这顶帽子，向世界宣告，我们不是中国人。

Dissolution of China: The Time Is Ripe

By Timothy Huang

The concept of a ‘unified multi‑ethnic state’ is so deeply ingrained in the psyche of every Chinese individual that opponents of the Communist Party, foes of China, and even adversaries of the Chinese nation alike have embraced it without reservation. Even the most virulent China‑haters base their critiques and attacks on the assumption of a monolithic Chinese people. Few ever question whether the people who live on this land called ‘China’, the regimes that have arisen here, and the cultures that have been handed down are truly a seamless whole, as everyone presumes. Even Western politicians long concerned with Chinese human rights and democracy have confined their debates about independence to Hong Kong, Macau, Taiwan, and the autonomous regions—never to the very idea of China itself. The doctrine of ‘One China’ is not merely Beijing’s policy on Taiwan; it is a given in the minds of Chinese people and the wider world. Every independence movement—from Taiwan and Hong Kong to Tibet and Inner Mongolia—seeks to break away from ‘China’, rather than to establish a distinct nation of its own, as they once were.

But is this presumption justified?

Over the 3,600 years of Chinese history substantiated by archaeology, eras of disunity have far outlasted periods of unity. Whether it was the tribal looser federation of the Shang, the feudal states of the Zhou, the fractious Three Kingdoms through to the Northern and Southern Dynasties, or the tumult of the Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms following the Tang, these epochs rival—and, in aggregate, vastly eclipse—the Han, Tang, Ming and Qing dynasties commonly lauded as China’s golden unifications. In truth, truly unified central dynasties lasted barely 1,200 years—just one‑third of what is often called the lifespan of Chinese civilisation, and under one‑quarter of the vaunted ‘five thousand years of civilised history’. The notion of a ‘unified multi‑ethnic state’ is, in fact, a misrepresentation. Disunity has always been the norm in China; unity, on the other hand, is the exception. A multi‑ethnic polity has never been the norm, and resistance between regions, peoples, and the central authority has been the prevailing dynamic. Whether Han or Manchu, the dominant ethnic group has historically oppressed others more often than it has embraced them. This is simply a matter of historical arithmetic.

Even after three successive ‘unifying’ dynasties—the Ming, the Qing and the CCP—crushed and assimilated vast regions, local peoples still preserve striking differences in language, custom and bloodline. Where the Chinese Communist Party portrays this diversity as the thriving vitality of a united multi‑ethnic nation, the detached observer sees the raw material for dismembering China and the impetus for the revival of distinct polities.

In Mandarin, ‘unity’ (tǒng yī 统一) has long been tinted with virtue, while ‘division’ (fēn liè 分裂) bears the taint of vice—a wholly artificial dichotomy wrought by propaganda and brainwashing. In reality, ‘unity’ and ‘division’ are neutral, descriptive opposites in every discipline and scenario: nuclear fusion versus nuclear fission; combined arms versus detached detachments; communal dining versus separate plates; uniformity versus diversity; discipline versus initiative; unitary state versus federal system; convergence versus divergence. Why, then, should these neutral terms—apt to describe a range of phenomena—be loaded with such moral weight when applied to national borders, favouring a single vast empire over a mosaic of smaller states?

To advocate the dissolution of China is not merely to disenchant an idea of unity, but also to cast a new glimmer of hope on China’s otherwise dim democratic prospects. Scholars of all stripes have fretted that a post‑CCP China might simply yield to another tyrant even more bloodthirsty and fanatical, plunging the nation once more into the cyclical whirlpool of order and disorder. But what if, upon the collapse of the CCP, China split along linguistic, historical and cultural lines into a dozen or more small nations? Could their competition and cooperation—rooted in related but distinct traditions—foster better lives? Might a new Hundred Schools of Thought flourish? Critics might retort that such a renaissance would merely become a scramble for patronage rather than genuine intellectual ferment. Yet is jockeying for approbation not preferable to monopolised favour? Dissolution of China aims precisely to create such a landscape. And if, by misfortune, those twenty or so nascent states uniformly embraced rulers even worse than the CCP, then we could despondently declare that these lands are nothing more than a civilisational ‘lowland’ unworthy of rescue.

We sincerely hope the latter does not come to pass.

Dr. Liu Xiaobo once imagined China subjected to centuries of Western colonial rule to purge its cultural malaise. But colonialism is a relic of the last century; no civilisation-state today has the appetite to pour blood and treasure into colonising another—only rogue powers such as Russia seek territorial expansion. Yet modernity also offers fresh opportunities: conditions that once spawned decades or centuries of European war over territory no longer obtain. Even the Middle East has seen only brief, limited conflicts. Post‑dismemberment China need not dread interminable wars but, instead, could compete to attract free‑roaming citizens, perhaps one day forming an EU‑style union of like‑minded civilisations, dismantling borders to forge new bonds of kinship.

Thus, not only Taiwan, Hong Kong, Macau, Tibet, Southern Mongolia and Xinjiang, but Shanghai, Manchuria, Guangdong, Sichuan—indeed, any region on this vast land that dares to voice an independent claim—should be free to go. Let the peoples of this terrain quicken civilisation’s pace through division, competition and choice, rather than slumber in the grand dream of unity, imagining the world has always recognised these territories as inseparable. The one truly indivisible legacy China can offer the world is its civilisational heritage—and the concrete voices that profess a ‘Chinese’ perspective. If those voices belong to the likes of Hu Xijin and Jin Canrong rather than Newton, then we must cast off that mantle and proclaim to the world: we are not Chinese.