【專題訪問 Interview Feature】2019年度香港大學學生會周年大選中央幹事會候選内閣蒼傲訪問(內務篇) | Interview with Prism, the Proposed Cabinet of Executive Committee, The Hong Kong University Students’ Union of Annual Election 2019 (Internal Affairs)
(Please scroll down for English version.)
中央幹事會候選內閣蒼傲就內務議題接受本台訪問,就內閣理念、參選原因、及政綱如增設中央幹事會席位專注管理國際生事務等發/表意見。
訪問節錄如下:
1. 你們可否簡單自我介紹?
鄭鎮熙(下稱鄭):大家好我是鄭鎮熙(候選會長), 來自理學院五年級。 今次參選學生會因為對學生會有一些意見、 一些改進空間、 自己一直以來都希望為學校和學校未來的發展而發出一些聲音。
張信一(下稱張):Hi, so I am Shaun, studying Economics and Finance Year 3. The main reason why I have nominated myself to be the executive committee of the HKUSU is because, I have been a little bit unhappy with the way it has been running in the last few years I have been here. I want to see if I could make a difference.
李鎔津(下稱李):我是李鎔津, 候選大學事務秘書, 現就讀文學士及法學士二年級,參選中央幹事會的原因與其他兩位一樣希望令港大變得更加好, 我們有意見想提出和改進。關於議題參與率低的問題,若果我們有很幸當選, 便會為各個議題製作簡介, 希望讓同學知道怎樣從議題入手,從而提高參與率。 第二個原因是希望學生會會作為橋樑與校方討論大學事務,大學事務與每一個同學息息相關, 於各種議題同學都會想提出意見。
2. 你們可否解釋莊理念?
鄭:我們內閣名字是蒼傲, 分開八個字便是「蒼茫大地,傲骨依然」,頭四字是我們認為今屆學生會選舉只有四個人出選,反映出港大學生投入讀書以外活動有很大的疑問。蒼汒大地、傲骨依然正正代表了學校現在的情況、社會現在的情況、甚至整體香港的未來其實都是一個大問號。至於「傲骨依然」四個字我們認為作為港大學生應有一份榮譽感,畢竟港大是最高學府,所以每一個在港大學習的學生都是十分有能力,所以傲字不單是自我的鼓勵,亦是向所有的學生說面對不如意或逆境時,都希望能有一份永不放棄、倔強的精神,去迎接當下的困難,因為我們相信困難過後必會雨過天晴,會看見彩虹,所以這也是我們選擇Prism為我們英文閣名的原因。
張:What we think Prism represents is simple. We want to act like a prism, and we think everybody in HKU is like a light. We have a lot of potential in all of us and we want to use your light and turn the campus into a more vibrant environment for all of us. Hence, Prism, we think is pretty good symbol of what we intend to do.
3. 你們為何於重開提名期後才報名參選?
鄭:我們在(12月)24、25日左右收到重開提名期的電郵,剛好我跟一大班的朋友舉行聖誕派對,期間我們就這問題(重開提名期)進行討論。剛好認識到Shaun和 Kelly,我們三人想法上十分接近,就是認為既然沒有人參選,我們或者可以試一試,所以最後參選今屆的學生會。
4. 為何沒有人競逐外務副會長一職?
鄭:其實我們希望將視線放在會務及校務上。當然我們並非將外務議題全面拋棄,只是我們認為就校內參選氣氛、學生關注的事情等,都是在提醒我們今年學生會認該將更多的時間放在內務常務的議題上。
5. 你們於政綱提出「是時候做不同的事」,是什麼意思?
張:The thing we want to do differently, is to provide a more positive atmosphere that I think is more reflective of the student body in HKU as a whole. Because, if you look around, a lot of the posters and and lot of notices put out by the Student(s’) Unions of the past have been predominantly negative, I think they are right to be upset about some of the issues, but I think it’s a bit overboarded and a bit dramatic, and it turns a lot of students off. So, we acknowledge that there are issues but we will face them in a positive manner.
6. 近年學生會就社會時事(如DQ議員事件) 出聲明 ,若果來年當選會否出聲明?
鄭:我們認為學生會代表了全學校的學生去發聲,所以學生會應該絕大部份的時候保持中立,因為它只是一個連接外界及學生的橋樑。
7. 你們可否解釋就國際生議題上與往年學生會有何分別
張:First thing is, we are going to consider opening a new seat in the executive committee that is dedicated to non-local students' affairs. And of course we are going to have a series of activities that we hope to be more effective (in the issue of international students). For example, we are considering hosting a non-local orientation camp and some other cultural immersion activities, for example a mahjong class for non-local students, and also some cultural heritage tours. We hope to invite students of different nationalities to take part in it.
Campus TV has interviewed with Prism, the Proposed Cabinet of Executive Committee, The Hong Kong University Students’ Union, Session 2019, with regards to their treatment of internal affairs. Prism has expressed their opinions on internal affairs, which include: the Cabinet’s mission statement, the reasons for running as candidate, and details on their platform such as increasing the seats in the Students’ Union, and focusing on international students’ affairs.
The interview excerpts are as follows:
1. Could you please introduce yourselves?
Andrew Cheng Chun Hei (Cheng): Hello, I am Andrew Cheng Chun Hei (Proposed President), from the Faculty of Science Year 5. I am running for the Students’ Union because I have some opinions about the Union, I think there is some room for improvement. All along, I have wished to voice my opinions regarding the school and the school’s future development.
Shaun Cheung Shun Yat (Cheung): Hi, so I am Shaun, studying Economics and Finance Year 3. The main reason why I have nominated myself to be the executive committee of the HKUSU is because, I have been a little bit unhappy with the way it has been running in the last few years I have been here. I want to see if I could make a difference.
Kelly Li Yung Chun (Li): I am Kelly Li Yung Chun, the Proposed University Affairs Secretary, I am a Year 2 pursuing the Bachelor of Arts and Bachelor of Laws. The reason why I am running as candidate in the Annual Election 2019 is in line with the other two candidates in a sense that I wish to see the University of Hong Kong become better; we have comments we wish to raise and matters we wish to improve on. The first reason (of running as candidate) is due to the (students’) low participation rate in (social) issues. If we have the honour to be elected, we will make an introduction for each issue or topic, so that students know how to understand these issues, thus increasing (their) participation rate. The second reason is (we) wish to act as a bridge between students and the school in discussing about university affairs. Since each and every student are related to university affairs, they would want to express their opinions on various issues.
2. Could you explain your Proposed Cabinet’s vision/ mission statement?
Cheng: Our (Proposed) Cabinet’s name is Prism, in a non-abbreviated form (of the Chinese name of the Cabinet), it means “in face of the boundless land, remain a lofty and unyielding character”. The former part of the phrase reflects how we view Annual Election 2019, it shows a problematic lack of extra-curriculars for the University's students outside of academics. The whole phrase precisely represents the school’s current situation, the society’s current situation, even the whole of Hong Kong’s future, which is actually a huge question mark. The former part of the phrase means that the students of the University definitely has a sense of pride and honour, nevertheless it is the elitist of educational institutions, every student of the University must have superb abilities. Therefore, the words “lofty” and “unyielding” are not only a form of self-encouragement, they are to tell students to always have a persevering spirit in face of predicaments. Because we believe after tribulations, there is always rainbow after rain, which is why we chose “Prism” to be the English name of our Cabinet.
Cheung: What we think Prism represents is simple. We want to act like a prism, and we think everybody in HKU is like a light. We have a lot of potential in all of us and we want to use your light and turn the campus into a more vibrant environment for all of us. Hence, Prism, we think is pretty good symbol of what we intend to do.
3. Why did you run as candidate only after the reopening of nomination?
Cheng: We received the email about the Notice of Reopening Nomination (of Annual Election 2019) on around the 24th or 25th (of December). Coincidentally, me and a group of friends were having a Christmas celebration, during which we discussed about the matter (of reopening of nomination). Coincidentally, I met Shaun and Kelly, the three of us shared similar thoughts, that if nobody was running as candidate, perhaps we could give it a try, and so we nominated ourselves as the candidates.
4. Why is nobody running for the position of the Vice-President (External)?
Cheng: Actually, we wish to focus on affairs of student societies and organisations, and university affairs. That being said, we are not neglecting all of the external issues, we just believe that in view of the school’s participation atmosphere, and students’ awareness to issues, all of these (situations) are reminding us as the (Proposed) Students’ Union that we should spend more time in dealing with internal affairs and general affairs.
5. In your platform you raised that “it is time to do something different”, what does that mean?
Cheung: The thing we want to do differently, is to provide a more positive atmosphere that I think is more reflective of the student body in HKU as a whole. Because, if you look around, a lot of the posters and and lot of notices put out by the Student Unions of the past have been predominantly negative, I think they are right to be upset about some of the issues, but I think it’s a bit overboard and a bit dramatic, and it turns a lot of students off. So, we acknowledge that there are issues but we will face them in a positive manner.
6. The Students’ Unions of recent years have always issued statements in response to social issues. If you are elected for the coming session, will you do the same?
Cheng: We think that the Union represents and speaks on behalf of the whole of student community. Therefore, the Union should for the most part stay neutral on matters, because it is merely a tool that bridges the outside world and the students.
7. Can you explain what are the differences of your Proposed Cabinet compared to last year’s regarding the issue of international students?
Cheung: First thing is, we are going to consider opening a new seat in the executive committee that is dedicated to non-local students' affairs. And of course we are going to have a series of activities that we hope to be more effective (in the issue of international students). For example, we are considering hosting a non-local orientation camp and some other cultural immersion activities, for example a mahjong class for non-local students, and also some cultural heritage tours. We hope to invite students of different nationalities to take part in it.
___________________________________
二零一九年度香港大學學生會周年大選其他候選人包括候選常務秘書麥嘉晉、校園電視候選內閣、學苑候選編輯委員會及候選普選評議員。
2019年度周年大選中央諮詢大會將於一月二十一日至一月二十五日在中山廣場舉行,時間為下午十二時半至二時半。
Other candidates for the Annual Election 2019 include the Proposed General Secretary Mak Ka Chun Eugene, the Proposed Cabinet of Campus TV, the Proposed Editorial Board of Undergrad, and the Proposed Popularly Elected Union Councillor.
The Central Campaign for Annual Election 2019 will be held from the 21st to 25th of January at the Sun Yat-sen Place, from 12:30 to 14:30.
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Paul’s English oddities: systems of government
Given the political turmoil in Thailand, you might like to brush up on some English terms for different types of government. Some of them you will know already; some are quite obscure. This is not a complete list so, if the one you are looking for is not here, feel free to ask me!
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Part One: Ideas relevant to the political debate in Thailand at the moment.
Democracy: rule by the people, normally via elected representatives.
Absolute monarchy: direct rule by the monarch.
Constitutional monarchy: a system in which the monarch is the head of state but limited by a constitution, normally as part of a democracy.
Autocracy: rule by a single person.
Oligarchy: rule by a small but powerful group, who are often rich.
Plutocracy: rule by the rich.
Kleptocracy: rule by thieves (in other words, rule by a totally corrupt government).
Note: Plutocracy and kleptocracy are quite obscure words; most people don’t know them. But perhaps it’s time they got used more!
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Part Two: Some other systems.
Theocracy: rule by a god or gods (which in practice means rule by religious leaders).
Communism: a system of absolute equality, normally enforced by the state.
A republic: a country with no monarchy.
Anarchism: self-determination with no overall government. Note: The word ‘anarchy’ is also used to describe chaos, but the political idea of anarchy is not the same thing!
Capitalism: an economic system based on private ownership and the pursuit of personal or corporate profit.
Socialism: a political and economic system based on shared ownership and the pursuit of collective benefit.
Social Democracy: the gradual, gentle introduction of socialist values through democratic processes.
Eco-socialism: a form of socialism that links social issues to environmental issues.
Liberalism: belief in liberty and equality, with state intervention kept fairly minimal.
Libertarianism: belief that liberty is the most important thing and that the state should be kept to an absolute minimum.
Fascism: extreme authoritarianism and nationalism, often linked to a belief in racial superiority and generally imposed by violence.
Totalitarianism: complete subjugation of the people by the state. Communism and Fascism have historically tended to be totalitarian.
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Part Three: Right, Left and Centre!
Right-wing: a general belief in hierarchy and competition. Fascism is an extreme form of right-wing thought. Capitalism is also right-wing.
Left-wing: a general belief in equality and cooperation. Communism is an extreme form left-wing thought. Social Democracy is a non-extreme form.
Centrist: neither right-wing nor left-wing. Liberalism is an example of centrism.
Note: Some people find the right-left axis useful to describe politics; others find it too simplistic.
Interesting fact: The terms left-wing and right-wing were first used during the French Revolution, and originally referred to the seating arrangements of the French government.
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If there’s anything you don’t understand, please ask me!
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Nobody’s Fool ( January 2011 )
Yoshitomo Nara
Do people look to my childhood for sources of my imagery? Back then, the snow-covered fields of the north were about as far away as you could get from the rapid economic growth happening elsewhere. Both my parents worked and my brothers were much older, so the only one home to greet me when I got back from elementary school was a stray cat we’d taken in. Even so, this was the center of my world. In my lonely room, I would twist the radio dial to the American military base station and out blasted rock and roll music. One of history’s first man-made satellites revolved around me up in the night sky. There I was, in touch with the stars and radio waves.
It doesn’t take much imagination to envision how a lonely childhood in such surroundings might give rise to the sensibility in my work. In fact, I also used to believe in this connection. I would close my eyes and conjure childhood scenes, letting my imagination amplify them like the music coming from my speakers.
But now, past the age of fifty and more cool-headed, I’ve begun to wonder how big a role childhood plays in making us who we are as adults. Looking through reproductions of the countless works I’ve made between my late twenties and now, I get the feeling that childhood experiences were merely a catalyst. My art derives less from the self-centered instincts of childhood than from the day-to-day sensory experiences of an adult who has left this realm behind. And, ultimately, taking the big steps pales in importance to the daily need to keep on walking.
While I was in high school, before I had anything to do with art, I worked part-time in a rock café. There I became friends with a graduate student of mathematics who one day started telling me, in layman’s terms, about his major in topology. His explanation made the subject seem less like a branch of mathematics than some fascinating organic philosophy. My understanding is that topology offers you a way to discover the underlying sameness of countless, seemingly disparate, forms. Conversely, it explains why many people, when confronted with apparently identical things, will accept a fake as the genuine article. I later went on to study art, live in Germany, and travel around the world, and the broader perspective I’ve gained has shown me that topology has long been a subtext of my thinking. The more we add complexity, the more we obscure what is truly valuable. Perhaps the reason I began, in the mid-90s, trying to make paintings as simple as possible stems from that introduction to topology gained in my youth.
As a kid listening to U.S. armed-forces radio, I had no idea what the lyrics meant, but I loved the melody and rhythm of the music. In junior high school, my friends and I were already discussing rock and roll like credible music critics, and by the time I started high school, I was hanging out in rock coffee shops and going to live shows. We may have been a small group of social outcasts, but the older kids, who smoked cigarettes and drank, talked to us all night long about movies they’d seen or books they’d read. If the nighttime student quarter had been the school, I’m sure I would have been a straight-A student.
In the 80s, I left my hometown to attend art school, where I was anything but an honors student. There, a model student was one who brought a researcher’s focus to the work at hand. Your bookshelves were stacked with catalogues and reference materials. When you weren’t working away in your studio, you were meeting with like-minded classmates to discuss art past and present, including your own. You were hoping to set new trends in motion. Wholly lacking any grand ambition, I fell well short of this model, with most of my paintings done to satisfy class assignments. I was, however, filling every one of my notebooks, sketchbooks, and scraps of wrapping paper with crazy, graffiti-like drawings.
Looking back on my younger days—Where did where all that sparkling energy go? I used the money from part-time jobs to buy record albums instead of art supplies and catalogues. I went to movies and concerts, hung out with my girlfriend, did funky drawings on paper, and made midnight raids on friends whose boarding-room lights still happened to be on. I spent the passions of my student days outside the school studio. This is not to say I wasn’t envious of the kids who earned the teachers’ praise or who debuted their talents in early exhibitions. Maybe envy is the wrong word. I guess I had the feeling that we were living in separate worlds. Like puffs of cigarette smoke or the rock songs from my speaker, my adolescent energies all vanished in the sky.
Being outside the city and surrounded by rice fields, my art school had no art scene to speak of—I imagined the art world existing in some unknown dimension, like that of TV or the movies. At the time, art could only be discussed in a Western context, and, therefore, seemed unreal. But just as every country kid dreams of life in the big city, this shaky art-school student had visions of the dazzling, far-off realm of contemporary art. Along with this yearning was an equally strong belief that I didn’t deserve admittance to such a world. A typical provincial underachiever!
I did, however, love to draw every day and the scrawled sketches, never shown to anybody, started piling up. Like journal entries reflecting the events of each day, they sometimes intersected memories from the past. My little everyday world became a trigger for the imagination, and I learned to develop and capture the imagery that arose. I was, however, still a long way off from being able to translate those countless images from paper to canvas.
Visions come to us through daydreams and fantasies. Our emotional reaction towards these images makes them real. Listening to my record collection gave me a similar experience. Before the Internet, the precious little information that did exist was to be found in the two or three music magazines available. Most of my records were imported—no liner notes or lyric sheets in Japanese. No matter how much I liked the music, living in a non-English speaking world sadly meant limited access to the meaning of the lyrics. The music came from a land of societal, religious, and subcultural sensibilities apart from my own, where people moved their bodies to it in a different rhythm. But that didn’t stop me from loving it. I never got tired of poring over every inch of the record jackets on my 12-inch vinyl LPs. I took the sounds and verses into my body. Amidst today’s superabundance of information, choosing music is about how best to single out the right album. For me, it was about making the most use of scant information to sharpen my sensibilities, imagination, and conviction. It might be one verse, melody, guitar riff, rhythmic drum beat or bass line, or record jacket that would inspire me and conjure up fresh imagery. Then, with pencil in hand, I would draw these images on paper, one after the other. Beyond good or bad, the pictures had a will of their own, inhabiting the torn pages with freedom and friendliness.
By the time I graduated from university, my painting began to approach the independence of my drawing. As a means for me to represent a world that was mine and mine alone, the paintings may not have been as nimble as the drawings, but I did them without any preliminary sketching. Prizing feelings that arose as I worked, I just kept painting and over-painting until I gained a certain freedom and the sense, though vague at the time, that I had established a singular way of putting images onto canvas. Yet, I hadn’t reached the point where I could declare that I would paint for the rest of my life.
After receiving my undergraduate degree, I entered the graduate school of my university and got a part-time job teaching at an art yobiko—a prep school for students seeking entrance to an art college. As an instructor, training students how to look at and compose things artistically, meant that I also had to learn how to verbalize my thoughts and feelings. This significant growth experience not only allowed me to take stock of my life at the time, but also provided a refreshing opportunity to connect with teenage hearts and minds.
And idealism! Talking to groups of art students, I naturally found myself describing the ideals of an artist. A painful experience for me—I still had no sense of myself as an artist. The more the students showed their affection for me, the more I felt like a failed artist masquerading as a sensei (teacher). After completing my graduate studies, I kept working as a yobiko instructor. And in telling students about the path to becoming an artist, I began to realize that I was still a student myself, with many things yet to learn. I felt that I needed to become a true art student. I decided to study in Germany. The day I left the city where I had long lived, many of my students appeared on the platform to see me off.
Life as a student in Germany was a happy time. I originally intended to go to London, but for economic reasons chose a tuition-free, and, fortunately, academism-free German school. Personal approaches coexisted with conceptual ones, and students tried out a wide range of modes of expression. Technically speaking, we were all students, but each of us brought a creator’s spirit to the fore. The strong wills and opinions of the local students, though, were well in place before they became artists thanks to the German system of early education. As a reticent foreign student from a far-off land, I must have seemed like a mute child. I decided that I would try to make myself understood not through words, but through having people look at my pictures. When winter came and leaden clouds filled the skies, I found myself slipping back to the winters of my childhood. Forgoing attempts to speak in an unknown language, I redoubled my efforts to express myself through visions of my private world. Thinking rather than talking, then illustrating this thought process in drawings and, finally, realizing it in a painting. Instead of defeating you in an argument, I wanted to invite you inside me. Here I was, in a most unexpected place, rediscovering a value that I thought I had lost—I felt that I had finally gained the ability to learn and think, that I had become a student in the truest sense of the word.
But I still wasn’t your typical honors student. My paintings clearly didn’t look like contemporary art, and nobody would say my images fit in the context of European painting. They did, however, catch the gaze of dealers who, with their antennae out for young artists, saw my paintings as new objects that belonged less to the singular world of art and more to the realm of everyday life. Several were impressed by the freshness of my art, and before I knew it, I was invited to hold exhibitions in established galleries—a big step into a wider world.
The six years that I spent in Germany after completing my studies and before returning to Japan were golden days, both for me and my work. Every day and every night, I worked tirelessly to fix onto canvas all the visions that welled up in my head. My living space/studio was in a dreary, concrete former factory building on the outskirts of Cologne. It was the center of my world. Late at night, my surroundings were enveloped in darkness, but my studio was brightly lit. The songs of folk poets flowed out of my speakers. In that place, standing in front of the canvas sometimes felt like traveling on a solitary voyage in outer space—a lonely little spacecraft floating in the darkness of the void. My spaceship could go anywhere in this fantasy while I was painting, even to the edge of the universe.
Suddenly one day, I was flung outside—my spaceship was to be scrapped. My little vehicle turned back into an old concrete building, one that was slated for destruction because it was falling apart. Having lost the spaceship that had accompanied me on my lonely travels, and lacking the energy to look for a new studio, I immediately decided that I might as well go back to my homeland. It was painful and sad to leave the country where I had lived for twelve years and the handful of people I could call friends. But I had lost my ship. The only place I thought to land was my mother country, where long ago those teenagers had waved me goodbye and, in retrospect, whose letters to me while I was in Germany were a valuable source of fuel.
After my long space flight, I returned to Japan with the strange sense of having made a full orbit around the planet. The new studio was a little warehouse on the outskirts of Tokyo, in an area dotted with rice fields and small factories. When the wind blew, swirls of dust slipped in through the cracks, and water leaked down the walls in heavy rains. In my dilapidated warehouse, only one sheet of corrugated metal separated me from the summer heat and winter cold. Despite the funky environment, I was somehow able to keep in midnight contact with the cosmos—the beings I had drawn and painted in Germany began to mature. The emotional quality of the earlier work gave way to a new sense of composure. I worked at refining the former impulsiveness of the drawings and the monochromatic, almost reverent, backgrounds of the paintings. In my pursuit of fresh imagery, I switched from idle experimentation to a more workmanlike approach towards capturing what I saw beyond the canvas.
Children and animals—what simple motifs! Appearing on neat canvases or in ephemeral drawings, these figures are easy on the viewers’ eyes. Occasionally, they shake off my intentions and leap to the feet of their audience, never to return. Because my motifs are accessible, they are often only understood on a superficial level. Sometimes art that results from a long process of development receives only shallow general acceptance, and those who should be interpreting it fail to do so, either through a lack of knowledge or insufficient powers of expression. Take, for example, the music of a specific era. People who lived during this era will naturally appreciate the music that was then popular. Few of these listeners, however, will know, let alone value, the music produced by minor labels, by introspective musicians working under the radar, because it’s music that’s made in answer to an individual’s desire, not the desires of the times. In this way, people who say that “Nara loves rock,” or “Nara loves punk” should see my album collection. Of four thousand records there are probably fewer than fifty punk albums. I do have a lot of 60s and 70s rock and roll, but most of my music is from little labels that never saw commercial success—traditional roots music by black musicians and white musicians, and contemplative folk. The spirit of any era gives birth to trends and fashions as well as their opposite: countless introspective individual worlds. A simultaneous embrace of both has cultivated my sensibility and way of thinking. My artwork is merely the tip of the iceberg that is my self. But if you analyzed the DNA from this tip, you would probably discover a new way of looking at my art. My viewers become a true audience when they take what I’ve made and make it their own. That’s the moment the works gain their freedom, even from their maker.
After contemplative folk singers taught me about deep empathy, the punk rockers schooled me in explosive expression.
I was born on this star, and I’m still breathing. Since childhood, I’ve been a jumble of things learned and experienced and memories that can’t be forgotten. Their involuntary locomotion is my inspiration. I don’t express in words the contents of my work. I’ll only tell you my history. The countless stories living inside my work would become mere fabrications the moment I put them into words. Instead, I use my pencil to turn them into pictures. Standing before the dark abyss, here’s hoping my spaceship launches safely tonight….
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