A humble translation

DA YE

By CHIP TSAO

In 21st century Greater China, there is an up-and-coming class called da ye (the lord).

One Hong Konger puts down another with – “Aren’t you cocky, are you a da ye?” Mainland free-and-easy tourists have been panned by Hong Kong media for pooing and peeing in Disneyland and Chinese netizens wilfully come back with – “Da ye has spent the money, I’ll do as I please.”

China’s da ye and his ilk have wreaked havoc in Europe, speeding on Germany’s roads and roaring with laugher as they shop in Paris’s designer stores. Da ye has the money, you’ll do as you please? Sure. But you have disturbed the order and harmony of world civilisations; you have provided the best proof of the Yellow Peril; you are the basis for the China Threat theory; you and your ilk have sowed the seeds of the next rash of anti-Chinese outbreaks in the world.

How does one say da ye in English? In English, king and beggar alike refer to themselves as I; in Chinese, an emperor refers to himself as zhen (the sovereign). Even zhen is not as ruthlessly oppressive and insufferably arrogant as da ye, though his mandate is from Heaven and he is the most da ye of all under Heaven. The Chinese emperor never referred to himself as da ye. He sometimes spoke of himself as gu jia (my humble self) or gu wang (the humble monarch). The empress dowager and other palace-bound, unhappy women followed his lead and referred to themselves as ai jia (my mournful self). It was all self-effacement. What they meant was: Grand as it is the palace, it is cold at the top, nobody knows of my misery.

So in Chinese culture, a modicum of modesty was the most important in references to the self: a civil official such as the prime minister, who wielded administrative might, referred to himself as bei zhi (your meek servant); a military marquis such as the commander-in-chief of the Nine Gates[1], who commanded three thousand armoured soldiers, referred to himself as mo jiang (your inferior general). Scholars announced themselves as wan sheng (your junior); rich men and landowners referred to their wives as zhuo jing (my humble wife) or jian nei (my lowly wife); the most proper universal designation was bi ren (your lowly servant) or zai xia (my lowly self). This was the Chinese civilisation.

Bandits and pirates alone referred to themselves as ye every time they opened their mouths. “If ye is not wanted here, ye will be wanted elsewhere, if ye is not wanted anywhere, ye will enlist in the Eighth Route[2],” – if one did not thrive as a thief, there was the army, if the Nationalist Army did not take one, there was the Communist Party. Forest and mountain bandits alone oft had the word ye on their lips; their business was pillage and rape; they referred to themselves as da ye and they were not mistaken. Once upon a time in Beijing, luminaries, too, were addressed as ye. A son of a rich family who roamed the brothels was hailed from afar by tea boys and doormen in the eight hutong – “Welcome, San Ye.” This San Ye, Er Ye, Ba Ye or whatnot would be wearing brocade and jade, with fan in hand, and he would be smiling as he walked to the door and cast a name card. This was yesteryear’s cultured China.

In today’s mainland, the “get rich first” crowd have become the da ye class, with civilian Lai Changxing[3] as their economic ambassador and military man Zhu Chenghu[4] as their foreign-affairs spokesman. Looking northwards, there is no Divine Land, only a reptile park crawling with da ye. Is this still China? How in the world would I know?

[1] The city wall of Beijing had nine gates.
[2] The Communist Party of China led the Eighth Route Army during the Chinese Civil War and the Sino-Japanese War.
[3] Mr Lai is called the most-wanted man in China for his alleged involvement in a multibillion-dollar smuggling operation and is now in Canada.
[4] Major General Zhu has caused a controversy for saying that if the United States attacked China while defending Taiwan, Beijing would respond with nuclear weapons.