[Life] Our Generation: Contemporary Youth in China, Hong Kong, and Taiwan's "Mobility Anxiety"
bellala 央廣7h agoEdited
Outside the window, Taipei is shrouded in continuous plum rain. Inside the room, besides a desk and a few books by Camus, there is only a suitcase that has been left unpacked for a long time, as if ready to depart at any moment. Exile and crossing borders are not just political terms in the news; they are the reality I face every morning. Setting aside the identity of an exile, the youth in contemporary Chinese-speaking societies seem to be collectively trapped in an unprecedented psychological drift.
The migrations of the previous generation often had clear coordinates – for wealth, for the education of the next generation, or to escape actual warfare. Their movements were often highly purposeful, with a desire to "put down roots" in new lands. However, our generation faces an era of immense change where material goods seem abundant, culture is entertainment-driven to the point of death, yet spiritual space is being drastically compressed. The pressure of political systems, ideological conflicts, and the solidification of economic structures have made the concept of "home" incredibly fluid and fragile.
Compressed Space
In this state of spiritual and physical drift, we experience a dual anxiety of "rootlessness" and "floating roots." One is the spiritual fragmentation after losing our original culture and soil of freedom, the tragedy of having our subjectivity stolen. The other is the powerlessness of trying to rebuild life in a foreign land, only to find ourselves like duckweed on the water, unable to deeply anchor our roots in unfamiliar soil, no matter how hard we try. As mobility becomes the norm and security becomes a luxury, a "psychological map of diaspora" collectively drawn by the youth of China, Hong Kong, and Taiwan is slowly unfolding in the cracks of power.
From the perspective of cultural studies, space has never been merely a physical concept but a battleground for power games. The psychological pressure currently borne by the youth in mainland China, Hong Kong, and Taiwan stems from three distinct yet equally suffocating spatial systems.
China: The Dual Cage of Authoritarianism and "Involution"
In China, the survival of young people is characterized by an absurdly narrow path. The system, a conspiracy between highly centralized political will and rampant capital, forces them into a state where their already limited spiritual space is precisely segmented and quantified, from performance evaluations in kindergarten to the "996" work system that treats people like assembly lines in the workplace.
Their deeper oppression comes from the absolute monopoly of ideology. Dissent is systematically silenced, and the state apparatus's "grand narrative" compels them to dissolve their own suffering into the illusion of "national rejuvenation." When personal efforts cannot lead to social mobility, and even expressing fatigue is seen as disloyalty, Chinese youth's psychological defenses move in direct opposition to what the authorities advocate. "Sang culture" (sang culture), "lying flat," and "letting it rot" – these seemingly self-deprecating popular terms are essentially the passive ideological resistance of the powerless within an airtight system. When even the posture of "lying flat" is corrected by the authorities, the "runology" (run xue) of physically leaving the system becomes their last glimmer of hope.
Hong Kong: The Destroyed Golden Age and the Grief of Lost Subjectivity
The anxiety of Hong Kong youth is a mixture of physical pressure and the deepest imprints of the era. Under the long-standing monopoly of capital supremacy and real estate hegemony, "coffin homes" (劏房) and "nano flats" (納米樓) have long shattered the dignity of young people. Every morning, we face four walls, take the subway, sit in offices as cogs in a vast financial system, and return home to dedicate most of our income to the cramped spaces of a systemically broken city. This is, in itself, a beautifully crafted cage, both physically and ideologically.
And after 2019, the city's spiritual space has undergone a devastating reshaping. The rule of law, freedom, internationalism, and the local Hong Kong culture that we once prided ourselves on are being systematically purged by an external "family law" system. The familiar streetscapes of Nathan Road remain, but the air is filled with an indescribable sense of suffocation. This pain of "homeland disappearing before our eyes" is known in psychology as solastalgia. Extreme physical crowding, coupled with the disappearance of our spiritual homeland, forces countless souls to leave their homes and embark on a path of exile and diaspora with an unknown destination.
Taiwan: A Haven of Freedom and Gentle Chronic Stagnation
For me and many exiles, Taiwan is a gentle haven. It has a deep democratic soil and a diverse, inclusive civil society, allowing our wounded souls to find respite here. However, as an observer, I also see the invisible cage that Taiwanese youth themselves face.
Taiwan's predicament lies in its long-term stagnant low-wage structure and high housing prices, forcing young people's perspectives back into a defensive mechanism of "small, certain happiness" (小確幸). An exquisite cup of coffee, an indie band performance, becomes a painkiller against the hopelessness of the macroeconomy. The inescapable geopolitical crisis further encourages the free spirits on the island to drink until they drop. The authoritarian regime across the strait looms constantly. Taiwanese youth enjoy freedom of speech unimaginable in Hong Kong and China, yet they must painstakingly piece together their vision of the future amidst economic stagnation and the threat of war.
Conclusion: Reconstructing Spiritual Coordinates in an Era of Drift
Whether it's Chinese youth choosing to "run" out of the system, Hong Kong youth drifting in spiritual ruins, or Taiwanese youth pausing between "small, certain happiness" and geopolitical shadows, the younger generations of China, Hong Kong, and Taiwan are collectively experiencing an unplaceable spiritual overload. Past migrations were about "putting down roots" in new lands, while our current movements are more about snatching a breath of freedom within suffocating systems and spaces.
This "psychological map of diaspora" is indeed filled with the pain of rootlessness and the powerlessness of floating duckweed, but it is precisely this collective drift that allows us to resonate across borders in the cracks of power. The suitcase by the window, perhaps no longer just a symbol of exile and unease, represents a spiritual stance of refusing to be completely domesticated by the system, always ready to depart. In an era destined for diaspora, we may find it difficult to find a permanent physical sanctuary, but by collectively guarding freedom, subjectivity, and dignity, we will ultimately piece together a new spiritual homeland for our generation through mutual mobility and connection.
Author: A'duo, a university student from Hong Kong. Participated in the anti-extradition bill movement, currently in Taiwan.
Source Link: https://www.rti.org.tw/news?uid=3&pid=215016
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