Ai Weiwei
Today, there are many prisoners of conscience in jails around the world. To me, these people are the heroes of our time. They have lost their freedom simply for trying to improve their conditions through peaceful writing and nonviolent protest. Now, as a result, they remain imprisoned by their governments. Without intervention, many of them might stay in jail for the rest of their lives, forgotten by the public. Hidden in dark corners, in unknown places, these prisoners’ names may never be celebrated like the names of those considered to be the founders of our civilizations. But while their work is less visible, it will never be less important. We must understand that if we are able to live peacefully within a civilized society, it is through their efforts.
Yours Truly was intended to create the possibility for people to develop their feelings about these issues and then to get involved through the act of writing a postcard. To someone jailed or living in exile, a postcard can be an essential form of communication. My father, the poet Ai Qing, was part of a generation of writers, poets, and artists who could not liberally express their ideas without losing their freedom. They were punished for having different ideals, different attitudes, and different characters, and the punishment could include losing their lives. My father was jailed and then exiled. From the late 1950s onward, I grew up in a remote and impoverished area in Xinjiang Province, in westernmost China, where my family was forcibly relocated. I still remember this time, when we were living in the Gobi Desert. The conditions there were very difficult and did not support life. It was as if nobody knew where we were. One day, my father received a postcard. It simply read, “Today is the anniversary of the publication of your poem Dayanhe—My Nurse,” one of his most famous works. The card was unsigned, because at that time, people were scared to reach out to us, but this fear didn’t cause them to forget my father or his writing.
My father was deeply touched by the card. He had been living in the middle of the desert, thinking that no one could possibly remember him. He often mentioned this card to me, and it helped me to understand the weight of art and literature, which remains in people’s hearts.
In 2011, I was detained by the Chinese government in an almost hostage-like situation for eighty-one days. I felt like a miner trapped in a collapsed mine, not knowing if anyone up top was looking for me or if there were any other miners trapped down there with me. The soldiers stood by my bed all night long, in two-hour shifts. They stood silent and ramrod straight, next to the bed, their eyes not leaving me for a second, even when I closed my own. Every time I made a request, they had to look at their watches before giving permission. I would say, “Squad leader, sir, I want to scratch my head.” And I couldn’t scratch my head until he said I could. Then he would look at his watch again. I would say, “I need the toilet” or “I want to stretch my legs.” Everything required their explicit permission. Yet, during my detention, it was the feeling of isolation that was the hardest to bear. My detainer told me that he had not seen anyone who had not been broken down, or in his words “finished,” after two years. Knowing that someone else appreciates and shares your values can be the most rewarding thing for those who endure such hardship, which oftentimes can be extreme.
As an artist, I live in a society where freedom is a most precious quality. Through Yours Truly, I hope to encourage others to send postcards to prisoners of conscience, so that they will know that people still care about their condition. I want us to show these prisoners that they are not forgotten, and to remind the authorities that these people in jails represent a larger ideology that is shared by the society.
Ai Weiwei, S.A.C.R.E.D. (Accusers), 2011–2013.
Unfortunately, I don’t think the world will ever be a place where we can live without fear. There always seems to be a need to fight for our basic human rights. Each day, we must struggle—and sometimes even make sacrifices—in our efforts to protect these values. For those freedom fighters and activists who have been imprisoned, one of the most important things is knowing that their efforts have been worthwhile, that there are others who share their beliefs and who can extend their efforts. For me, the overwhelming success of Yours Truly comes from the fact that we have started a dialogue between people living in a peaceful democratic society and those who have paid with their lives and their freedom to protect those basic values. When people write these postcards, share such messages, and show care for those in dire conditions, it proves that we believe that if even one person’s human rights have been violated, we all suffer. We have to see humanity as one.
