做一个美国人，左右为难

HZ Tang

2024年旧金山，空气中弥漫着感恩节的火鸡香。

川普胜选的消息，让许多人噎了一口痰 -

吞不下刚出炉的美味火鸡餐。

人们担忧独裁者出现，和法制的崩盘，

也恐惧族群分裂，和种族岐视的疯狂。

白人至上的幽灵在徘徊，注定不眠的夜晚。

川普同情者，心花怒放。

不再担心自家商舖，被零元购清仓，

不再害怕变性男，闯进女儿去的澡堂，

不再恐惧苛捐杂税，榨干中产的血汗。

同事问我有否投票，加入总统选战？

“No !” - 在烂苹果中选苹果？比烂？

没得选的美国人，也只能火中取粟，没有两全的妙方。

同事自娱，说希望在人民的心上。

谁不梦想一场年轻有活力的政府改良？

可是钱权政治，让老人或代理人上场。

媒体叙事，让所有人相信，老朽最强。

曾经，成为美国人是一个美丽的梦想：

平等、自由、多元化，和独立个性风采。

它吸引我跨越太平洋，追寻无与伦比的愿景和光环。

泡沫破灭之前，它闪耀着灿烂的光芒。

何时开始，美国的下坡路走得如此之快？

极右共和党的伊拉克战争，让美国的信誉，一落千丈；

极左民主党给懒人以鱼，让中产买单。

驴象之争，让普通美国人寝食难安。

分裂的美国人，极右一半红，极左一半蓝，再无多彩。

美国人叫我们中国人，中国人叫我们美国人，我们两难！

黑人、西裔、和亚裔，互不理睬，空有40% 的份量。

我们又怎能撬动，美国政治天平的杠杆？

前途渺茫，但三权分立还在，不被一人说了算。

虽然少数民族关系紧张，但我们不在同一个饭盒里分餐;

白人自大，但从幼儿园就知道，亚裔拥有高智商。

所以我们还能在夹缝里，继续打着生活的小算盘。

一年一度的火鸡宴，女儿也让我们看到希望和未来：

她们手牵手的多肤色发小们，还在追求平等自由的理想。

但我也知道，人类的变化不会太快。

达尔文的进化论，没让猴子变成人样；

历史的教训，从不敢打扰列强；

安理会的权威，只让大国心安。

做一个美国人，左右都为难：

红脖子走右，驴子靠左，中间太窄。

何处才是康庄大道，通向美好的未来？

信仰之争的结果如此残酷和悲哀，

意识形态的兼容还有什么希望？

哪里是促进和谐、瓦解分裂的地方？

哪里才是上天应许之地的避风港？

历经欧洲文明几千年的孕育，

美国鹰出世就夺彩。

经历两个多世纪的疯狂，

如今已是遍体鳞伤。

愿苍天告诉我：

是否人间的世态炎凉，

都只是天边飘过的云彩？

……

附：

ChatGPT翻译了我的念想，让我的美国同事也能感受到不一样的观感。AI的英文表达，让我体验到来自不同文化的震撼 -

**To Be an American: A Struggle

Between Left and Right**

2024 in San Francisco, Thanksgiving smells fill the air,

Roast turkey’s fragrance everywhere.

But news of Trump’s victory chokes the crowd,

disrupts their festive meal,

Dread for a dictator, for laws undone,

Fear of division and the madness of hate.

The ghost of supremacy roams,

And countless sleepless nights await.

Trump’s supporters, their hearts leap with joy,

No more fearing stores emptied by the ploy.

No more worries of a trans man in the girls' shower,

No more taxes draining middle-class power.

They no longer fret over political schemes,

Their hopes rise higher, their dreams take steam.

A colleague asks, "Did you cast your vote?

Join the battle for president, take note?"

"No!" I reply, "In rotten apples, I choose

Which one's worse? There’s no winning to lose."

For those in America, the choices are few,

Grasping for grains, with no way to undo.

My colleague laughs, says, "I wish for a change,

A vibrant government, youthful, not strange."

But money and power, control the game,

Old faces lead, it’s always the same.

Media spins, claiming the elderly's might,

Convincing the masses their wisdom's bright.

Once, to be an American was a radiant dream:

Equality, liberty, diversity—a bold, unique spirit.

It lured me across the Pacific,

Toward shimmering visions of possibility.

Before the dream burst,

Its brilliance dazzled like no other.

When did America’s steep descent begin?

The far-right’s war in Iraq left a scar on the face.

The left gives handouts, the middle class pays,

Donkey and elephant clashed,

Leaving ordinary people in ceaseless strife.

A fractured nation:

Half red with the right’s fervor,

Half blue with the left’s zeal,

And none of the promised hues remain.

Americans call us Chinese;

The Chinese call us Americans.

We are torn between worlds.

Black, Latino, Asian—

Though 40% strong, we fail to sway the scales.

The future uncertain, but checks and balances remain,

Minority tensions flare,

But we do not share a plate.

White lingers, But they know from childhood, the Asians' sharp mind.

We weave our small lives in the narrow spaces left.

Thanksgiving’s annual feast brings its quiet gifts:

Our daughters, hand in hand with friends of all colors,

Chasing equality’s enduring dream.

Yet, truth remains:

Change in humanity moves at a glacial pace.

Centuries since Darwin wrote,

The ape still resists becoming man.

History’s lessons dare not disturb the great,

While the Security Council soothes the mighty alone.

To be an American torn between left and right,

The redneck veers right, the donkey left,

The middle is too narrows,

Where lies the golden road,

The path to a brighter tomorrow?

Faith wars cut deep,

Can we still hope for harmony, heart to heart?

Where is the promised land,

The haven in the storm?

Born of Europe’s ancient wisdom,

The American eagle soared brilliant,

But two centuries of frenzy

Leave it battered, scarred, and weary.

Oh, heavens, grant me this answer:

Is the world’s cold chaos

But fleeting clouds on a distant sky?

……