In our Gao Mi Northeast Township, there is an old saying: "Those who farm do not respect officials; they would rather starve than climb to high doors." This saying may sound coarse, but the reasoning is not crude. When I was young, I often heard my grandfather say that officials are merely servants managing affairs for the common people. Nowadays, however, everyone is trying their best to squeeze into the government offices, as if putting on an official uniform lightens their bones and sweetens their souls.
I am a novelist and not good at preaching grand principles, but I have seen in recent years that the young people in the villages have their top ambitions not in learning a trade, farming, or doing business, but in taking the civil service exam. Whenever the results are announced, if a child from a family "makes it," the sound of gongs and drums fills the air, and firecrackers explode, causing even the dogs to jump over the walls, more lively than a wedding celebration. Yet, if a child gets into an agricultural college or a technical school, it is met with silence, as if it were a disgrace. Is this world turned upside down?
A healthy society should never allow being an official to become the highest profession. This may sound harsh, but it is something I have slowly come to realize over the years while sitting on the ridge of a field and by the stove, observing the warmth and coldness of human relationships and the harshness of the world.
Officials are supposed to be public servants. In ancient times, they were called "parent officials," as the common people hoped they would care for them like parents do for their children. But what about now? Officials have become "lords," and the common people have become "the served." When I return to my hometown, I often see that the threshold of the village chief's house is nearly worn down, with long lines of people waiting to deliver gifts, seek connections, or request favors, as if they were at a market. Yet, when someone needs help fixing a water channel or a child lacks money for school, no one cares. The more powerful the officials become, the smaller the hearts of the people.
What is even more frightening is that everyone takes pride in being an official and feels ashamed of being without an official position. Graduates prefer to stay home relying on their parents rather than taking the civil service exam; postgraduates finish their studies without entering laboratories or workshops, solely wanting to enter government offices. I once saw a child who studied biological engineering and had excellent grades. His advisor encouraged him to stay and do research, but he shook his head: "What's the use of doing research? It takes ten or eight years to get a title; it's better to take a civil servant exam; at least I have a position." This shocked me. Is the future of a country to be sustained by positions? Fields like science, art, agriculture, and craftsmanship, which truly sustain people, have instead become "second-class choices"?
I remember when I was young, carrying bags in a cotton processing factory. At that time, although the workers suffered, they held their heads high. We often said, "We don't rely on anyone to feed us; we rely on our strength to earn a living." But what about now? Young people, when they meet, do not ask what you do; they first ask, "Do you have a position?" As if without a position, life is inferior. Is this social progress? This is a diminishment of the soul.
Officials are, of course, important. Governing a country requires capable people. But if a society elevates official positions to a pedestal, it becomes dangerous. Just like the old ox in our village, which was originally the main force for plowing, but once everyone in the village surrounds it, adorns it with flowers, and feeds it premium fodder, it stops plowing and spends its days strutting around the village, waiting for people to flatter it. If even an ox can behave this way, what about humans?
I once wrote in an article that power is like wine; a sip invigorates, but too much leads to drunkenness, and drunkenness leads to madness. If officials are elevated too high and become too distant from reality, they will forget who they are. They no longer hear the sound of crops growing, no longer smell the scent of manure, and no longer know that a farmer loses sleep over unpaid tuition. They sit in air-conditioned rooms, signing documents, thinking the world is at peace, while in reality, public grievances are like wildfires, just waiting for a breeze.
What is even more terrifying is that when "being an official" becomes the only respectable path, the soil for corruption becomes fertile. Everyone wants to be an official, making official positions a scarce resource, and scarce resources become commodities. Thus, the buying and selling of positions, backdoor dealings, and nepotism grow like weeds. I have heard that in some places, for a grassroots position, hundreds of people apply; how many truly want to serve the people? And how many are after that little bit of power and benefits?
A healthy society should be one where a hundred flowers bloom. If someone loves farming, let them be a farmer and grow golden wheat; if someone loves teaching, let them be a teacher and illuminate children's eyes; if someone loves fixing machines, let them be a technician and tighten the screws of the era; if someone loves writing novels, let them be a writer and tell the twists and turns of human hearts. Being an official is just one profession among many and should not be the only beacon.
In Gao Mi, there is an old blacksmith named Sun, who has never been an official but has won awards even in county agricultural tool competitions. Yet, when people in the village mention him, they all give him a thumbs up. The hoes he forges are sturdy, and the sickles are sharp; he has even won awards in county agricultural tool competitions. He often says, "I forge iron not for promotion or wealth, but to be worthy of this hammer." This statement is simple, yet it is more genuine than many official words.
But nowadays, such blacksmiths like Sun are becoming increasingly rare. Young people are unwilling to learn trades, finding them dirty and tiring, and deeming them "without prospects." They would rather scribble in an office than sweat in a workshop. The social evaluation system has changed; labor is no longer glorious, and power is what is deemed respectable.
I often think that if one day our children no longer dream of being officials but instead say, "I want to be a good doctor when I grow up, to save more people"; "I want to be a scientist, to make crops grow better"; "I want to be a chef, to make meals that bring happiness"—that would be a truly healthy society.
Officials can be respected, but they need not be worshipped. Power can be used, but it should not be idolized. The dignity of a society does not lie in how many people are officials, but in how many people can peacefully do what they love and be respected for it.
I write novels and never shy away from writing about officials. I have written about honest officials and corrupt ones; I have written about those who plead for the people and those who exploit them. But I always believe that officials are made by humans, not gods. They can make mistakes, be supervised, and be criticized. A society that does not dare to criticize officials is a sick society.
So, let’s stop elevating being an official to the heavens. Let us once again respect those who toil silently: farmers, teachers, road builders, street cleaners, restaurant owners, scriptwriters... They may not have power, but they make this society truly function.
A healthy society should never allow being an official to become the highest profession.
It should let every honest labor shine brightly.
——Mo Yan (adapted)