One of the lead editorials in today’s edition of Guangdong’s Southern Metropolis Daily newspaper, a bold but indirect call on all Chinese to remember those who perished in the 2008 Sichuan earthquake, has been removed from the paper’s website. It seems plausible that the editorial fell afoul of censors due to its oblique reference to the efforts of activists such as Tan Zuoren (谭作人) and Ai Weiwei (艾未未) to independently investigate the collapse of shoddy school buildings in the quake.
The section in question, which also contains three apparent references to works of art by Ai Weiwei, reads: “In our hearts, we lowered our flags to half-mast for them. On the day of mourning we called them home and wished them peace. We gathered together all the human evidence of them we could. We read their names together. We promised that we would bear them constantly in mind, never forgetting, over and over again. We did so much, and yet we did too little. Those of you who were lost and did not return, where are you? Can the light we kindle shine across your path? We cannot do more.”
The image layout of the lead editorial page is still available at the Southern Metropolis Daily website.

However, try clicking on the space for the Sichuan quake commemoration editorial at lower left and you get a notice that reads: “No such content today.”

Follow search links on Baidu for the editorial and you’ll find that most if not all of them are now unavailable. Interestingly, a video version of the editorial has now surfaced (so quickly!) on 56.com, in which the piece is read out loud by CMP fellow and Chinese scholar Ai Xiaoming (艾晓明) as the text appears in subtitles below and facts about students who died in the quake scroll up on a black background. The video has also been posted to YouTube.

Chinese Twitter users have already shared a link to a Google Docs version of the editorial, which is available by clicking the headline on our full translation below. Please forgive any errors and mistranslations, and offer up your friendly suggestions. This is a tough piece, in prose-poem style, and much is up to the eye and mind of the reader.

“Remembering Them As We Are Borne By the River of Time” (躺在时间的河流上怀念他们)
Lead Editorial (社论)
Southern Metropolis Daily
May 12, 2011
Today is the third anniversary of the Wenchuan earthquake, and you readers are certainly aware of our grief and its causes. That earthquake laid waste to mountains and rivers. It resulted in the loss of some 80,000 lives. So the tapestry of our grief stretches on to the present day. Our grief is for those brethren who are lost and will never return. And May has become, therefore, a month of sorrow. We feel sorrow too because we found ourselves so powerless as they were snatched from us. Again, another year of sacrifices and offerings [to the dead]. Time passes like a river unyielding, and there are so many questions we must face. Who were they? What happened to them? Where are they? What actions do they demand of us?
A few burning joss sticks, and the scent of the smoke curls upwards, rising into the void. They are not cold numbers. They existed, buoyant with life, with real names. They walked into the ruins with the entirety of their lives. They lived happily on this earth for seven years, or for longer or shorter periods of time. They were parents, they were children, they were sisters, they were brothers. They were people of yellow skin. They were residents or passing travelers in these homes. They stalked these mountains and rivers, watching the clouds rise and fall. They all had human emotions. They are human beings you have met or not seen, spirits abiding across the expanse of earth.
Life happens by chance, but death comes of necessity. Three years ago today, at this same time, afternoon, dusk and night fell like stands of rotten trees, choking the river of time [NOTE: This means people were dying steadily after the 3pm quake]. Red the blood, grey the dust, white the vertigo, black the raiments of death. They fell in a current of color, like the standing grain of misfortune cut down by the sharpest of scythes. They lost everything. Their old age, or middle age, youth or childhood, all were ended too early and too quickly. They became a jumble of fragments. As though by a sharp edge, their families were cloven, tears left in the wake. They said farewell to their hometowns.
They came from four directions, and departed in eight directions. We feel regret mingled with self-reproach. They should have had better deaths, with calm and unhurried remembrances, tears permitted to fly like the rain. In such haste, such haste, they departed forever from villages and cities left in sick-heartedness. Now, across mountain slopes where new green rises over the stones, they remain in the schools, on the roads, underground, in the nameless places. They are together with each other, the way wheat grows together. In the summer, in the midst of their final twilight, they went to a place we cannot see. They are the only anguish and the only comfort left to the survivors [NOTE: comfort by virtue of their continued presence in spirit].
In our hearts, we lowered our flags to half-mast for them. On the day of mourning we called them home and wished them peace. We gathered together all the human evidence of them we could. We read their names together [NOTE: This seems to be a reference to Ai Weiwei’s piece “Missing,” in which volunteers read the names of students who died in the Sichuan earthquake]. We promised that we would bear them constantly in mind, never forgetting, over and over again. We did so much, and yet we did too little. Those of you who were lost and did not return, where are you? Can the light we kindle shine across your path? We cannot do more. We can but present steel zodiacs, and offer up porcelain sunflower seeds [NOTE: This is a presumable reference to Ai Weiwei’s exhibit at the Tate Modern, which incorporates sunflowers seeds and the Chinese zodiac heads now on display at London’s Somerset House], symbolic memorials to your lives once so tangible. What else would you wish us to do? [NOTE: Many would read the above passage as a reference to the collapse of school buildings and the work done by Ai Weiwei (艾未未), Tan Zuoren (谭作人) and others to remember the children who died in the quake and understand the underlying causes.]
We know these deaths have already happened, but to forget is to heartlessly hope they endure a second death. If we do not cherish their memory, oblivion [or forgetting] will only grow in strength. The sacrifices of this day are done to spurn forgetting, to avoid losing them all over again. Our future memorials are proof again and again before them: we will never be far from you, we will always be together, even though we meet with death and fear. This is a promise that we must bear firmly in mind. People are eternal, and they are always with us. As citizens of conscience, this is our duty to these [destroyed] villages and cities.
Rising from dust and to dust returning, there is one responsibility we cannot forsake. This is to commemorate them. It is about the schools commemorating their students, about the hills commemorating the farmers, about clay sculptures [commemorating] the witnesses [NOTE: This is a reference, apparently, to a set of sculptures erected at Buwa Village in Weizhou, the seat of Wenchuan County at the epicenter], about families commemorating those who were lost, about fresh flowers commemorating the graves, about life commemorating life. We will never forget. We will ever gaze off to the distance in their direction. They are a part of our lives. We do not live for ourselves alone. The river of time brings us together here, so let us reunite, just as though we never suffered this loss.
Let our amusements cease, and today at that time, let us be borne by the river of time, putting ourselves in their place and searching for understanding, feeling their presence and their requests, being conscious of our exchanges and our promises. Since they departed, no night has permitted us peaceful rest. But these three years, we have remembered and been watchful of our principles. May is a time of sorrow, and a time of clarity. Our attitude towards them is a measure of our distance from the rest of humanity. In bearing our wishes to the spirits, we bless and protect them, just as they watch over us. We offer our prayers to the land on the other side. May you partake of this sacrifice.

The following are the comments on the above editorial left at QQ.com as of 10:46pm, May 12.
QQ Web User in Changde — 8 hours ago
Porcelain sunflower seeds!
We all get it.
QQ Web User WXZ — 2 hours ago
We grieve.
QQ Web User in Beijing SH/WAN — 2 hours ago
Was that steel zodiac, and those porcelain sunflower sees for the sake of remembrance or for making himself rich?
QQ Web User in Shanghai 洛迦王子 — 2 hours ago
It seems the Nanfang [media] group wants a bit of face.
QQ Web User jkrv — 2 hours ago
Thanks to the Nanfang [media] group, China’s media of conscience.
QQ Web User 宝马 — 3 hours ago
This essay really makes one’s balls ache. The writer suffers from more than just the usual brain damage.
QQ Web User 水上飘 — 3 hours ago
[comment on] “Porcelain sunflower seeds!
We all get it.”
Aye, we don’t know where the future is. [NOTE: This is a play on Ai Weiwei’s name (哎，未来不知道在哪里啊)].
QQ Web User in Dongguan 小草 — 3 hours ago
Southern Metropolis Daily has played the hero this time. This article is being deleted all over the internet. If everyone wants to read it they’d better be fast about it. I guarantee that tomorrow you won’t be able to see it!!!
QQ Web User in Inner Mongolia kL#3]jx`<.Vu -- 3 hours ago
We cannot do more. We can but present steel zodiacs, and offer up porcelain sunflower seeds, symbolic memorials to your lives once so tangible. What else would you wish us to do?
QQ Web User 地铁中的我 — 6 hours ago
Southern Metropolis Daily is selling its own goods.
QQ Web User in Chengdu 娃娃脸づ — 6 hours ago
Our conscience calls to us!
QQ Web User in Shijiazhuang 至柔 — 7 hours ago
We give our thanks for the living, and remember the dead.
QQ Web User in Shenzhen Crepusculo — 7 hours ago
The sacrifices of this day are done to spurn forgetting, to avoid losing them all over again.
QQ Web User 老虎 — 8 hours ago
Way to go, Southern Metropolis Daily.
QQ Web User Lefty — 8 hours ago
Natural disaster is difficult to predict, but human disaster we should be able to avoid!
QQ Web User in Xuzhou 高山流水 — 8 hours ago
Thank you, Southern Metropolis Daily.
[Frontpage photo by treasurethouhast available at Flickr.com under Creative Commons license.]
CHINESE VERSION:
[南都社论]躺在时间的河流上怀念他们
[社论]躺在时间的河流上怀念他们
稿源:南方都市报 2011-05-12
作者:南都社论
摘要：哀伤是为同胞一去不还，五月就此成为悲哀的月份；哀伤也因为念及自身无力，不能抵挡决绝的离逝。又一年祭祀重来，躺在时间的河流上怀念他们，实有必要确认诸多问题：他们是谁？他们遇到了什么？他们在哪里？他们想要我们做什么？
今天是汶川地震三周年纪念日，读者诸君一定知道我们的哀悼所在。那场大地震令山河破碎，八万多人罹难失踪，连绵不绝的哀伤延续至今。哀伤是为同胞一去不还，五月就此成为悲哀的月份；哀伤也因为念及自身无力，不能抵挡决绝的离逝。又一年祭祀重来，躺在时间的河流上怀念他们，实有必要确认诸多问题：他们是谁？他们遇到了什么？他们在哪里？他们想要我们做什么？
馨香几枝，烟气袅袅，升腾至虚空。他们不是冰冷的数字，他们也曾顶着百家姓活泼泼地存在过。他们用整整一生，走进五月的废墟。他们开心地在世上生活过七年，抑或更长更短的岁月。他们是父母，是子女，是姐妹，是兄弟，是黄皮肤的人。他们是寨子里的居民和过客，是跋涉山川河流的人，看云起云落，他们是一切真情。他们是你遇见或未见的人类，是住在大地上的灵魂。
生是偶然的，死亡是必然。三年前的今天，同个时刻，下午黄昏黑夜如朽木，纷纷落下，壅塞时间的河流。红色是血，灰色是扬尘，白色是眩晕，黑色是死神的衣袂，他们在颜色横流中倒下，像是不幸的庄稼，被锐利的刀锋杀害。他们失去了所有，他们的老年中年青年或童年时代结束得太早太快。他们成了各种各样碎片，使用尖锐的边缘，把日子割出眼泪，将故乡抛弃。
他们从四方而来，往八方而去。我们悔恨，他们本该有更好的死亡方式，譬如从容悼念，并且允许泪飞成雨。匆匆复匆匆，他们永远离开伤感的村庄和城市，他们现在石头长有新绿的山坡上，他们仍在学校，在路上，在地下，在无名之处。他们和他们在一起，就像麦子与麦子长在一起。在夏天，在他们最后的黄昏去了我们看不见的地方，他们是生者唯一的痛楚，唯一的安慰。
我们在心里为他们降过半旗，我们在哀悼日为他们招魂请安，我们搜集过他们一世为人的证据，我们一起念出过他们的名字。我们答应过要念念不忘，要生生不息。我们做了很多，又做得太少。迷途不返的人，你们在哪里？我们点燃的光能否照亮你们的路？我们无法做得更多，只好摆上铁做的十二生肖，敬上瓷做的瓜子，象征且祭奠你们凝固了的生命。你们还想要我们做什么？
我们知道，死亡已经发生，而遗忘等候一旁，觊觎他们的再一次死亡。如果不怀念，遗忘就会越来越强大。今天的祭祀就是为了拒绝遗忘，拒绝再次失去他们。以后的纪念，目的无他，也是一遍遍证明给他们看：我们从未远离，我们一直在一起，哪怕是遇到死亡和恐惧。这是一种要被记取的承诺，人千古，人又永远在。这是我们对整座村落、整座城市、良知国民的交代。
起于尘土而又归于尘土，可有一种责任无法推卸。这就是我们对他们的纪念，是校园对学生的纪念，山野对农夫的纪念，黄泥雕群对凝视者的纪念，是家庭对逝者的纪念，是鲜花对坟墓的纪念，是生命对生命的纪念。我们始终不忘，始终向着他们的方向眺望。我们的生活里有他们，我们不只是为自己过活。时间的河流联系彼此，让我们重聚在一起，就像是真的没有失去过。
止歇欢娱，今天此时，让我们躺在时间的河流上，采用他们惯常的姿势，感知他们的所在和请求，察觉我们的对话与诺言。在他们走后，没有一个夜晚能让我们安睡。可三年来，我们谨记并警醒我们的原则。五月是悲哀的，又是清醒的。通过对他们的取态，丈量我们与人类的距离。祝愿大地上的神祇同样能保佑他们，就像他们保佑我们一样。祈祷彼岸乐土。伏食尚飨。