Prof. Simon Shen
International relations scholar
If you haven’t read the story of Animal Farm, I suggest you skip this preface and come back after you’ve finished the book. Mind you, the English original came out more than seventy years ago; anyone who hasn’t read the story yet but ignores the spoiler warning in the previous sentence shouldn’t blame me for being heartless.
To me, Animal Farm isn’t about warning people against the evils of dictatorship; it’s a story of “whoever has the language wins the world”. Language has different parts: the symbols you see now, printed on paper; the tones we speak with; the Seven Commandments on the wall; even the farm’s anthem, “Beasts of England”. Although the symbols here are in Cantonese, they are in fact the language of the animals on the farm. Only animals who have overthrown the humans can truly feel the meaning behind these symbols.
The reason the farm has Seven Commandments on its wall is that, in the animals’ eyes, humans are the embodiment of evil and greed, and the animals use these seven commandments to set themselves apart from humans. The “four legs good, two legs bad” (四腳好，兩腳壞) that the sheep keep bleating means the same. Later the commandments were rewritten by the leaders headed by Napoleon, and the slogan became “four legs good, two legs better” (四腳好，兩腳更好). Besides making it convenient for the revolutionary leaders to enjoy themselves, a bigger effect was to blur the line between humans and animals, and between justice and evil.
When the farm’s anthem went from the spirit-raising “Beasts of England” step by step to being doctored into “Long Live Napoleon”, the animals’ revolution had already degenerated from the passion of tearing down the old and building the new, braving knives and boiling oil, into the collective madness of a personality cult.
For an individual, language is the vehicle of thought and a bridge to the outside. For a community, language is not only a tool for communication between individuals and a boundary of identity but, most importantly, it overlaps time, joining the myths and legends of the past to our imagination of the future. Passing on the past and thinking about the future: this is the most important function of language for a people.
That the animals’ language is altered and twisted doesn’t only wipe out their identity and history; more importantly, it makes them unable to imagine their own future. If they forget the promises made before the revolution, they cannot imagine the good life that should follow. If they forget the heroes of the farm, they cannot imagine the absolute corruption of their leaders.
The only one who sees through the lies of Animal Farm is the old donkey, Benjamin, but he only dares to be angry and not to speak. Each time he hears a lie, he lets slip a word or two of resentment through his teeth, and after venting carries on watching from the sidelines. He hates Squealer for twisting right and wrong, but to protect himself he doesn’t dare argue openly. The other animals can hardly read, have seen little of the world, and cannot be blamed for not knowing; but Benjamin knew and said nothing. If not an accomplice, he is at least not innocent. As the revolution degenerates, he is one of the guilty, and his punishment is to be a walking corpse, without any passion.
A person without dreams is no different from a salted fish; likewise, a community with no imagination of the future is no different from a row of salted fish. To guard your own stories and dreams, you have to start from your own language. Language without thought becomes tasteless; without action it becomes hollow. I believe the translator made this book not so that you finish it and then put it on the shelf to gather dust, but so that you take it out and talk about it with others, and think about what we can do together. The road ahead is uncertain, but don’t let that make you give in. Don’t become another Benjamin. Let us encourage one another.