中国政协主席俞正声访问哈马碧生态城

中国政协主席俞正声访问哈马碧生态城

瑞中桥网报道(记者陈雪霏)--政协主席俞正声6月4日在瑞典贸易大臣
爱娃柏玲的陪同下参观了斯德哥尔摩有名的生态城哈马碧。
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左瑞贸易大臣,中 俞正声 陈雪霏拍摄
瑞中桥网记者陈雪霏报道--6月4日,中国政协主席俞正声参观斯德哥尔摩著名
的哈马碧滨海生态城。参加陪同的有中国驻瑞典大使兰立俊,武官周坚,瑞典贸
易大臣柏玲。

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陈雪霏拍摄
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左:兰立俊大使。 右:俞正声主席6月4日参观哈马碧。陈雪霏拍摄

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陈雪霏拍摄
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陈雪霏拍摄
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瑞典贸易大臣柏玲迎接中国政协主席俞正声。从穿上下来准备参观哈马碧。
陈雪霏拍摄

哈马碧生态城是斯德哥尔摩探索绿色奥运的结果。本来这里是灰色地带,曾经有
很多非法商贩在这里作业,洗车房,灯泡厂等等。土壤污染严重。结合老城改造,
斯德哥尔摩想申请2004年冬奥会,因此连滑雪道都准备好了。这里背靠山坡,山
坡后面是一片森林。而前面也环海。

大约是1996年的时候,斯德哥尔摩市政府决定把这里重建为绿色奥运村。于是采
取了关键步骤,那就是市政府官员,设计师开发商和环保部门的人都来坐到一起
协商,看如何能把这个项目搞好。首先,市政和环保部门提出一定要把污染的土
壤全部清理干净,做无害化处理,才能重新盖房子。增加的费用,市政在批租土
地时适当优惠。于是,污泥被清走了很多。有的地方汞污染厉害,也没办法清理,
他们就用水泥把它埋起来,密封好,不扩散。

然后是开发商在开工时,要集中运输,集中管理原材料,减少运输次数和扰民时
间。设计方面采取招标形式,小区的房子不是一个摸样,而是各具特色。

后来,奥运会申办没有成功,但斯德哥尔摩决定还是要把绿色城市盖起来。于是,
一步一步地按计划进行,同时采取最先进的技术,例如太阳能,玻璃,自动化
垃圾抽吸系统,垃圾全部回收分类利用,可燃垃圾焚烧。污水全部回收处理。
污水处理过程中还可以提取生物燃气,返还客户或者给汽车加油站。

从一开始,就把这一切管道都健在小区内,让人们不用费劲就能节能环保。
在水中加二氧化碳,可以节约用水。因为水里有气泡,流量就大大减少。

交通采取公共交通,私家车有拼车俱乐部。为小区专门修建有轨电车通往市中心。
房前屋后的雨水都在设计过程中就收集了,有水渠,有草坪,有花盆等等。
这样的雨水不用处理就可以放到海里,而主路上的雨水要跑到下水道去处理后
排放。

总之,这些技术如今可以继续优化和改善,但这种理念是值得学习和推广的。
任何时候,都用最新技术,最节能,最环保最好。中国国家主席习近平曾在
2010年3月参观过此小区。很多中国代表团也都来此参观,学习他们的理念。

该小区一期工程2002年完毕,整个工程要到2016年全部完成。

如今,斯德哥尔摩又开辟了一个新的小区就是皇家海港新区,那里的要求更高。
节能降耗更严。首批住户已经入住。工程全部完工要等到2030年。

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瑞典资源节约垃圾回收从娃娃抓起

瑞典资源节约垃圾回收从娃娃抓起

瑞中桥网记者陈雪霏报道:瑞典是循环经济发展比较好的国家。人们的回收
利用意识从儿童时代就开始培养。这个行动体现在一年一度的幼儿园项目上。DSCF0126
纸盒做成的BMW汽车引起孩子的注意。 陈雪霏拍摄
瑞中桥网记者陈雪霏报道:瑞典是循环经济发展比较好的国家。人们的回收
利用意识从儿童时代就开始培养。这个行动体现在一年一度的幼儿园项目上。
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孩子,家长和老师都来观看孩子们用回收的废物做成的产品。陈雪霏拍摄

例如,我女儿所在的童话王国幼儿园,每个年龄段的孩子,从4岁开始都有
一个年度合作计划。例如去年,他们是用废纸,树枝,泡沫板做成一辆汽车。
今年他们5岁的儿童做了一个关于城市交通的项目。
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一般都是5月中下旬,在Normalm地区的儿童都聚集在市图书馆边上的一个水
泥池子里。这里也是多功能娱乐场所。例如,夏季三个月,这里有水,其他
时间,没水,可以作为旱冰或者是滑雪板爱好者玩耍的地方。那么,5月的
聚会也是在这里。

各个幼儿园的项目都拿这里来展现。这个项目是小朋友们半学期的努力,他
们在老师的帮助下,自己想主意,要做什么,怎么做,小朋友们自己商量。
材料都是日常回收的东西,例如可乐瓶子,废纸,泡沫,纸壳,木头,树枝
等都行。
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纸盒做成的人体 陈雪霏拍摄

童话王国幼儿园暑假的项目就是每个小朋友带到学校一块石头,然后,讲解
石头是从哪里来的,为什么拣到那里的石头,石头有什么用处。其他两次活
动是带一瓶水,然后讲水从哪里来的,水有什么用处,水是什么颜色的,为
什么在河里变成了褐色,而在瓶子里是无色透明的等等,还有带树棍到学校,
树棍从哪里来,为什么,有什么用处。更主要的是老师要带孩子们到这些地
方去,然后就地讲解,锻炼孩子们的记忆和表达能力。同时其他小朋友可以
问问题,互相交流。

通过这样的项目,孩子们了解了一些基本物质的属性,增强对自然的认识和
热爱。孩子们就是在这种游戏中学习,锻炼孩子们的想象力和认知能力。
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这位小朋友认真观看牛奶盒子做成的物品。 陈雪霏拍摄

瑞典是个富裕的现代化工业化国家。但是,人们已经认识到新自由主义市场
经济的弊端,逐渐在回归自然,加强创新,尤其是在资源的合理利用和垃圾
回收利用方面确实花了很大力气。
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笔者想借用一位环评专家的话说,中国人从人民公社时期开始,废物回收做
的堪称世界上最好的。废品收购站,采购站到处都有,一切废物都重新回收
利用。即使是现在,中国的垃圾回收,例如报纸,瓶子,金属等的回收也是
最好的。相比之下,中国的垃圾焚烧起来没有西方垃圾产生的热量多。因
此,笔者想说的是中国资源节约和垃圾回收的意识在人们心中并没有泯灭。
只要从奢侈浪费,假大空的意识中转过弯来,还是可以做到最好。中国70年
代以前出生的人几乎都是非常懂得节俭的。
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废品做成的汽车 陈雪霏拍摄
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5岁半的孩子自己设计描绘的城市地图 陈雪霏拍摄

现在又是到了从娃娃抓起的时候,让孩子们多到大自然中体会一下,对成长
也是又好处的。DSCF0147
塑料瓶做成的长筒,废报纸做成的球可以在长筒里滚 陈雪霏拍摄

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专访瑞典华人总会会长叶克清:我只是做了一点实事

专访瑞典华人总会会长叶克清:我只是做了一点实事

瑞中桥网6月28日电(记者陈雪霏)-瑞典华人总会会长叶克清日前在斯德哥尔摩接受记者采访时谦虚而朴实地说,“我只是做了一点实事, 我想的最多的还是能多为国家做点事, 真是实实在在地要对国家尽量多做贡献。”
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瑞典华人总会会长,叶氏集团董事长叶克清 陈雪霏拍摄
瑞中桥网6月28日电(记者陈雪霏)-瑞典华人总会会长叶克清日前在斯德哥尔摩接受记者采访时谦虚而朴实地说,“我只是做了一点实事, 我想的最多的还是能多为国家做点事, 真是实实在在地要对国家尽量多做贡献。”
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瑞典华人总会会长,叶氏集团董事长叶克清 陈雪霏拍摄

提起叶克清会长,只要人们一搜索网站,就可以看到很多媒体对他的专访。 那么,叶克清是怎么走过来的呢?他的经历和经验对我们有什么借鉴意义呢?带着这样的问题,记者对他进行了专访。
弃医从商-从医生到餐馆打工已经古稀之年的叶克清腰板依然很直,家乡的口音依然很浓重。
叶克清是1979年12月5日来到瑞典的。当时是在朋友的邀请下来
瑞典旅游的,但他来到这里以后,决定留在这里工作。他很快就
找到了一个饭馆打工的工作。一干就是10多年。叶克清清楚地
记得,他到警察局办证的时候,警察告诉他,他是第77个来瑞
典的华人。
那么,他是怎么想起来瑞典的呢?这跟浙江青田这个侨乡的背
景有直接关系。因为有华侨朋友在国外,因此也有了出国旅游的
可能。
叶克清于1943年出生在浙江青田的一个下中农家里,父亲是村里
的干部。他是家中六个兄弟姐妹中的老大。在学校里学习一直都
很好。
“我是保送到重点中学,小学学习比较好。中学毕业时有一点儿
挫折。因为1962年,正好是“大跃进”以后,全国正是最困难的
时候,我们1170个中学生就只有110人考中。当时,我接到没被
录取的通知书时,我晕倒了。 ”他说。
尽管没有上成高中,叶克清却谋到一个教书的职位。
“9月1日开学,我教了28天书,县里打电话到公社,公社来人通
知我,说让我到外地去报到,卫生局推荐我去学中医。”叶克清
用浓重的家乡口音介绍说。
“我那时是学的正规中医。我学的中医教材是大学教材,我们都
是90几分。”叶克清自豪地说。
叶克清毕业后当了医生。说到中医对他的影响,他还是朗朗上口。
“中医有几千年的历史,黄帝内经是很了不起的,阴阳者,天地之道
也,万物之纲纪,变化之父母,生杀之本始,神明之府也,治病必求于本。故积阳为天,积阴为地。这里的阴阳是一懂百懂,触类旁通。
懂得了这个道理,不管在哪里都是有用的。我不是知识分子,但我都懂一点。”
虽然说弃医从文对一些人来说,有点儿可惜,但对叶克清来说,
能做事,做成事,尤其是在国外做成一番实业,那也是成功。为此,他下了很大决心,也吃过不少苦。
“我在餐馆打工的时候,一天工作很多个小时,有时站得我腿脚
肿痛,从楼下到楼上要一步一步地用手往上挪。那种时候都有。”
他回忆说。
       从餐馆打工仔到餐馆老板

叶克清工作了六年多,积攒了几十万块钱。他决定自己开餐馆,
给自己当老板。只有给自己当老板,才能多赚一点。
“那个时候,在中国讲万元户,我想在这里嘛,我要赚一百万。”
叶克清做事很认真,脚踏实地。为了开餐馆,他和还在上高中的
大儿子一起跑遍了斯德哥尔摩的大街小巷,看了100多家餐馆。最
后在比较繁华的地段开了第一家餐馆。自己开餐馆以后,很快就
挣到了100万。随后,他的家人,兄弟姐妹陆续都来到了瑞典。家
庭的生意越来越大。
叶克清很讲义气。对好友可以把自己的工资都拿出来帮助别人,
使朋友感动。在朋友中间,都觉得他很慷慨大方,人缘比较好。
他对员工也从来不苛刻。
“我从来没有碰到过开除别人的时候,只有他辞我,不是我辞他。
我从来没有辞掉工人。他辞我呢,基本上都是自己去开店,他们
和我借钱,我都不打条,多的时候借上百万。我说你以前帮了我。”
叶克清很自豪地说。
生意就像滚雪球一样,越滚越大。叶氏集团在瑞典也非常有名气,
是华人当中最大的集团。正当他在瑞典的生意很红火的时候,他
发现国内的市场机遇也到来了。

从餐馆老板到房地产老板

叶克清身在海外,但他时刻关注着祖国的发展。
“我是从大局着想。我在十几年前就开始想,中国改革开放近30
年了,中国的大市场机会来了,如果我们还不到中国去,这个大好的机会就会失去了。所以,我提出来要回国投资,全家人基本上都不支持。”他说。

“我看到商机来了,我要回去,但他们都觉得我们在瑞典搞得也很
好了,没有必要到国内发展了。我开家庭会议的时候,他们说这里已经很好了,没必要去了。后来我说,不管你支持还是不支持,我都想到国内去投资。”
随后,他把生意交给儿子管理。自己在过去八,九年中,基本上
都是在国内。他先在湖北宜昌投资,第一个项目赚钱不多,但获得很多经验。2005年又到内蒙去投资,把瑞典的地产开发经验也应用在那里,成为当地的龙头企业。
赚钱了,叶克清不忘家乡父老。无论是国内有自然灾害,需要捐
款,还是家乡基础设施建设需要资金,他都解囊相助,先后累计
捐助上百万元。

凝聚侨心 把华人华侨组织起来
叶克清多年的经商经验使他不负重望。2009年,在多方准备筹划
下,瑞典华人总会成立,叶克清被推选为第一任会长。此后,华人华侨的各种社团组织象雨后春笋般地发展起来。华人华侨在各种组织下,尤其是在华人总会的旗下,显得更加有主心骨。
叶克清说,华人总会就是要在瑞典侨界和祖国之间发挥桥梁作用。

让青田石雕走出国门
叶克清说,其实,青田本来是个贫困的地方,因为它是九山半水
半分田。到处都是石头,没有地。但是,靠山吃山,靠水吃水,
青田的石雕很有名。青田人走遍世界各地,也把石雕文化带出来
了。
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陈雪霏拍摄

叶克清的老岳父原来是全国著名的石雕工艺美术大师林如奎。他
为青田石雕做出了巨大贡献。
那么,叶克清在房地产业即将完工的时候,已经开始了他新的征
程,那就是收藏石雕,并设法让石雕走出国门。
叶克清正在准备今年八月份在斯德哥尔摩举行的中国节期间在著
名的米勒公园搞青田石雕展览。他已经收藏了上千件作品。五谷
丰登等佳作,都是绝世珍品。
他说,青田是华侨之乡,也是石雕之乡。几万人从事石雕产业。
因此,他首先要搞展览,然后在青田帮助建立一个博物馆,主要
展出石雕作品。
“下一步是把青田石雕介绍到国外。让外国人了解中国的石雕文
化和艺术。”
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总结经验,叶克清表示他有信心做事,不会亏本。“我的关系比
较好,我首先是为人家想,多为别人着想,所以一路走得比较顺。
现在我对家乡都有感情,我要对老家重点做公益事业。不管是自
来水,还是文化站,修公路,旧城改造等都要帮忙,县城两座大
桥都捐款几万块。盖老人公寓等,我捐了很多钱。”他自豪地说。
他对年轻人评价很高,认为中国年轻人提高的很快。“人的素质
很重要。勤劳,资历,提高文化水平,我家族提倡这个。现在年轻人
也很了不起。应该以清华大学的校训-自强不息,厚德载物-来自勉。”
问到他的成功经验时,叶克清说,他希望大家要把劲往一处使。
“我做的都是很平常的事情,我很尊重人家的意见,宁愿反思自
己,人家是对的,我们就听,自己做错了,一定要反思自己,因此在
人生几个大的转折点上,我基本上没有大的挫折。”
虽然今年已经71岁,但是,叶克清表示他还是要继续做下去。今
后会主要关注石雕收藏和展览这类的事情。
“我想的最多的还是能多为国家做点事, 真是实实在在要对国
家尽量多做贡献。”他说。
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第五届瑞典中学生中文比赛在斯大举行

第五届瑞典中学生中文比赛在斯大举行

北欧时报,瑞中桥报道 记者陈雪霏——第五届瑞典中学生中文比赛24日在斯德哥尔摩大学隆重举行。中国驻瑞典大使兰立俊出席并发表讲话。

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北欧时报,瑞中桥报道 记者陈雪霏——第五届瑞典中学生中文比赛24日在斯德哥尔摩大学隆重举行。中国驻瑞典大使兰立俊出席并发表讲话。
他首先祝贺瑞典学生能在学习中文过程中取得骄人的成绩。他说语言是双边交流的重要工具。随着中国的不断发展,中国需要向世界学习,世界也需要了解中国。而学习汉语就是了解中国的一个好方法。
他说,中国是一个美丽的国家,中国人民也非常好客。他欢迎瑞典学生和家长访问中国,就象到自己家里一样。
此次比赛由中国驻瑞典使馆教育处主办,斯德哥尔摩孔子学院、卡尔斯塔德大学孔子学院、布来京厄理工学院孔子学院、吕勒欧孔子学院和博兰高中孔子课堂、法尔肯贝里高中孔子课堂协办。此次比赛继续秉承“鼓励参赛、参加有奖”的宗旨,坚持“友谊第一,比赛第二,参加有奖”的方针。
2013年,共有9个中学生队参加比赛,其中6个队来自斯德哥尔摩地区、其余4个队分别来自哥德堡、乌普萨拉、卡尔斯塔德和卡尔斯克鲁那,此次比赛共有19名女选手和8名男选手,各队均以3人团队的形式参加汉语演讲、集体传话、才艺表演3个环节的比赛。本次比赛设团体一等奖2个,团体二等奖4个,团体3等奖4个,个人一等奖6名,个人二等奖12名,个人优秀奖12名。
瑞典中学生的才艺表演节目包括歌曲《常回家看看》,《茉莉花》和《大约在冬季》等,赢得阵阵掌声。
获得一等奖的索非亚对记者说,她从小就对亚洲文化感兴趣。当学校里开始开设中文课以后,她非常高兴,立即选修。
“汉字是方块字,对我来说,更有意思。我觉得汉字非常美丽,而且,你越学的多,就越觉得有意思,因为文字和文学都是互相联系的,里面有更深的意思,所以非常有趣。”17岁的索非亚说。
瑞典中学生学习汉语,对父母来说,也感觉很骄傲。约翰娜的父母表示,他们的三个孩子都去过中国。女儿选休汉语是自己的决定,同时他们做家长的也表示非常支持,他们很高兴看到女儿能自己作出选择,并努力学习汉语。
为表示对带队教师在中文教学领域的辛勤工作和所取得成绩的感谢、支持和肯定,今年的比赛还特意增设了优秀带队教师奖。
瑞典政府为推广汉语学习,已经规定在所有中学开设汉语课,让学生自己在德语,法语,西班牙语和汉语之间选择第二外语课。英语依然是第一外语。

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瑞典燃气市场运作管理模式

瑞典燃气市场运作管理模式

北欧时报,瑞中桥报道(记者陈雪霏)——南京市住建委朱俊基巡视员率领的南京市
燃气代表团日前访问了瑞典能监局和瑞典燃气协会,对瑞典燃气市场和价格运作管理
模式进行了考察学习。
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瑞典能监局副局长托尼.鲁斯顿亲切地接见了代表团,安德斯.法尔克分析员为代表团进行了认真的讲解,参加接待的还有能监局的霍贝尔女士。

法尔克对瑞典燃气市场运作管理模式进行了介绍。他说,瑞典的天然气是欧洲燃气市场的一部分,主要是在西南部地区只有一条来自丹麦的主要天然气输送管道。瑞典燃气30%用于工业原料,70%用于机动车,家庭供暖和工业生产的能源使用。燃气占总能源市场的5%。

法尔克说,瑞典能监局主要是对天然气主管道输送,天然气储藏和液化天然气的气化价格和安全进行监管。但对市内的燃气使用和燃气贸易并不监管。

鲁斯顿介绍说,瑞典的模式是,燃气管道的修建者和燃气输送者是私营企业垄断,能源价格受政府监管,然后,政府固定收取增值税和消费税。燃气价格的构成是33%是自由市场的燃气价格(分销商),20%是管道输送费用(输送商)受能监局监管,47%是政府收的能源税和增值税(政府)。鲁斯顿强调说,管网输送商只允许输送,不允许买卖燃气。

法尔克说,他们的监管方式是后发式的,根据管网公司的年度报告来复查他们的行为和价格是否合乎规范。2014年,他们将出台新的监管法规,从2015年到2018年输送商的年收入根据公司的申请进行规范,不许他们收入过高。这个规范应该考虑资金成本,包括有能力维护管网和运营获利。

瑞典的燃气是通过丹麦进入的。丹麦也可以通过德国购买俄罗斯的燃气。这样就有跨界的问题。欧盟正在在这方面进行讨论。这需要各国合作,目的是建立欧洲大市场。我们目前已经制定概览,管网的规制。这将有国家规范和欧盟规范双重规范。

欧盟的规范,关税的方法,平衡运输问题,合作运营等是讨论的话题。燃气是特殊的,往低压地方走。例如,燃气从德国到荷兰早上可以到西部,晚上由于低压燃气又返回到东部的德国,那么,燃气哪里去了。燃气要经过一个国家,经过的国家要收多少钱,这都是需要考虑和讨论的。网络运营问题还在讨论。网络规范将适用到每个国家。

关于网络运营安全问题。瑞典采用保证60天供应优先用户的办法,就是保证家庭用户。因为瑞典太冷,所以要优先保证家庭用户使用。
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瑞典燃气协会技术经理瓦塞尔介绍说,燃气协会有权发放管道建设许可。出版发行安装标准和安全手册。他们还要负责培训教育。一种是指令性教育,一种是指导性教育。燃气公司或者汽车公司,或加油站要获得许可必须通过他们的指令性培训。
他们的会员有天然气,液化天然气,液化石油气,机动车燃气,生物燃气等公司,也有汽车公司,例如沃尔沃和大众,还有相关设备公司等。他们为会员服务,提供安全和技术信息,手册,促进天然气的使用,例如轮船用的燃气。

生物燃气负责人斯坦维格介绍说,在瑞典生物燃气被看作是可再生能源,生物燃气也就是沼气含30%的二氧化碳,供热发电都可以。但是,他们把二氧化碳提取出来,提炼成天然气一样的燃气。可以用于机动车和并网。但到目前为止,瑞典的生物燃气主要还是当地生产,当地使用。但瑞典已经建立了一个绿色能源市场,使绿色能源可以在市场上交换,以鼓励人们使用绿色能源和生产绿色能源的积极性。瑞典没有补贴,但绿色能源不用交能源税。也可以说是变相补贴。

生物燃气原料来自污水处理厂,农场,农作物秸秆,垃圾填埋场和厨余等。目前的产量是1.5亿瓦时,有潜力增加十倍以上。生物燃气主要用于汽车和供暖。它的最大好处就是对环境有好处。因此,燃气协会在游说政府给生产生物燃气的公司补贴。同时,瑞典生物燃气车的数量也在不断增加,每五辆汽车就有一辆是用生物燃气的。
沃尔沃卡车和大众汽车就是用生物燃气发动机。

另外,据介绍,瑞典燃气方面的使用比较安全,容易发生的事故是接头不严或者是建筑工地发生泄漏。这种时候,他们会建议立即更换接头,工地公司和燃气公司协商解决纠纷事故,不能协商解决就去法庭。政府不予干预。

在瑞典主要靠能源税来引导公众少用能源。另外是在建筑方面加强对能源效益的鼓励。例如,墙壁的密封要特别好,就可以节约能源的使用。政府一方面鼓励不同的公司来竞争,同时对输送价格进行监管,不能太高。但政府的税收是雷打不动地必须收。另外,管道公司只能输送燃气,不能零售燃气。这也是防止垄断的一个办法。
瑞典能监局相当于中国发改委下属的能源署。

以下是生物燃气和污水处理方面情况的链接。
http://www.lackebywater.se/index3.html
http://biogasportalen.se/In-English

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ABBA博物馆明日起在斯德哥尔摩向公众开放

ABBA博物馆明日起在斯德哥尔摩向公众开放

瑞中桥网报道(记者陈雪霏)——满载世界著名乐队ABBA神话故事的
ABBA博物馆7日将在斯德哥尔摩向公众开放。
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届时Djurgardenvagen 68号将象英国利物浦的Penny Lane成为甲壳虫乐队一个标志性符号一样成为ABBA在斯德哥尔摩的一个标志性地标。就是在这里,人们可以看到ABBA往日的辉煌,她的成长过程和她对现代人的教育。

在6日举行的新闻发布会上,博物馆总经理汉森说,当经理并不总是那么容易,但比较容易的是你不用怎么说话,因为在这里,是用音乐说话,用歌声说话。这里收集了很多ABBA的歌曲,报道,照片,音响,乐器,服装,唱片等一切与ABBA过去有关的东西。

ABBA乐队的老队员于尔瓦沃斯讲述了ABBA博物馆的来龙去脉。他说,五年前有人问他们是否愿意建立一个ABBA博物馆。一开始,他们说不行。但是后来,主要是市政府,旅游局和其他部门极力主张建立博物馆,于是,他们答应了。但之后并没有什么进展,他们首先是到世界各地进行了巡回展出。但这种巡回展最终还是要回到斯德哥尔摩。于是,去年这个时候,他们真的把这件事提到了议事日程。

“我们决定把博物馆建在这里是因为我和班尼(队友)经常在街对面录制唱片,搞演出,我想我以后还要经常出没这里,如果博物馆搞得没有预想得那么好,那就会非常让人心烦。于是,我决定从一年前开始百分之百地参与,使一切都按照我们预想的发生,我们果然做到了。”他对记者说。

“这里讲的就是一些年轻人,他们偶然聚到一起,然后组成了乐队,从此就发生了很多故事,为什么他们这么引人注目,你以为我早知道吗?其实我根本不知道他们为什么那么火。”他这样对记者说。

博物馆开幕吸引了来自世界各地的记者260多人,分好几拨举行新闻发布会和参观。馆外面还站着100多来自世界各地的ABBA粉丝。他们有来自韩国的,也有法国的。

博物馆的设计是现代与传统,自然与高科技充分结合。ABBA博物馆是在地下室二层。进去以后,人们立刻可以感觉到瑞典上个世纪70年代的夏天的感受。一辆那时候的蓝色汽车和小青年在长椅上亲吻的照片给人以清新自然的感受。随身听为你讲解每一幅图画,照片和物件的背景和内容。歌声和音乐一直伴随你。

乐队曾经使用的吉他,钢琴等都在展览之内。为了引起儿童的兴趣,他们专门设置了互动的混音,测验和体验包装ABBA服装的电子服务。

ABBA的服装设计师特意来参加展览,他表示ABBA今年还打算到中国去演出呢。
ABBA的音乐,各种金唱片都在展出之列。最后,恢复瑞典人的常态,一个木质吊桥在夕阳西下之时,把您送出博物馆。

其实ABBA博物馆是和瑞典著名音乐厅坐落在一起的。后者展示的是瑞典从上个世纪20年代至今的所有现代和当代音乐。400多名艺术家的名字显现在这里。因此,来ABBA博物馆可以享受整个瑞典的音乐,从传统到现代都有。另外,人们还可以在这里喝咖啡,吃饭。因此,这里必将也是一个著名的旅游景点。
当有记者问ABBA有什么特点时,于尔瓦沃斯说,如果说甲壳虫是代表英美音乐的话,那么ABBA是以北欧或瑞典传统音乐为基础的,但同时,它又吸收了德国,法国等许多其他国家音乐的风格,因此,它又非常国际化。

ABBA乐队在1973年到1983年10年间非常辉煌,到世界各地演出,出版了很多创纪录的唱片。可贵的是ABBA一直没有完全死去,而是依然在坚持演出或重组演出。2005年的Mama Mia在当时又创造一次轰动。所以,ABBA即使进了博物馆,但它依然活着。

ABBA的成功很多人认为是瑞典政府在后工业化时代积极投入音乐行业的结果。瑞典很多人都懂音乐,都会一种乐器,都很爱唱歌。

更多图片 http://www.scbr.se/files/9d1bbe1a9d6bba25df9a99138d075da5-143.html

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瑞典仲夏节

瑞典仲夏节

瑞中桥网记者陈雪霏报道-瑞典每年在6月22日这天都会庆祝仲夏节。
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瑞中桥网记者陈雪霏报道-瑞典每年在6月22日左右的星期五这天庆祝仲夏节。
一般在几个有名的公园里庆祝。有专门的人组织搭建一个大花柱。然后,
人们穿着传统服装,一起跳集体舞。
仲夏节主要也是孩子们的节日。
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jan Peter Axelsson 拍摄
仲夏节是许多瑞典人一年当中最愉快的日子,这意味着夏季已经到来,为期5周的年度长假即将
开始,是走亲访友、放松自己的好时候。

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瑞典传统服装。

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孩子们钓鱼,结果钓上来的是一包糖果。
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SÖdermalmpark 南城公园庆祝仲夏节。 陈雪霏拍摄
仲夏节前夜永远是星期五,即6月19日到25日之间的星期五,那是一年当中白
昼时间最长的一天。各种聚会将在仲夏节前夜举行。瑞典的庆祝方式带有很浓
的异教色彩。

这个传统节日与乡村有着紧密的联系,所以那天城市会变得空空荡荡,人们纷
纷前往自己的、朋友的或亲戚的乡间度假别墅,几代人欢聚一堂。这也许是一
年当中除圣诞节以外的唯一一次大家庭聚会。当然,现在在城市庆祝的人也很
多,但只能到指定的公园去才有庆祝。

除了名字本身表明的含义,仲夏节还往往意味着多雨,瑞典人在节前热衷于观
看天气预报,渴望阳光明媚温暖怡人的好天气。但其实无论晴雨,人们都会尽
情享用夏季美好时光。人们会摘取花叶装饰五朔节花柱,因为这被认为是富饶
的象征。随后,孩子们会围绕花柱跳舞,也许还会有一两位成年人配合着孩子
们的舞蹈动作,唱起小青蛙之歌。人们脖子上戴着花环,有的还身穿瑞典传统
民族服装。

仲夏节菜单,各种口味的腌渍鲱鱼、熏三文鱼、土豆和其它你能想到的食品,
不过这次配有时令食物,如新鲜的沙拉和草莓。你一定也会猜到成年人在这种
场合将喝些什么吧。

大家会一轮接一轮地喝烈酒,每轮之前会有人先唱一首歌,通常是以幽默的形
式演唱大家都熟悉的曲目,而且一般都与喝酒有关。

如果严格遵守节日传统(瑞典人通常会这么做),女孩在回家的路上会采摘七
朵不同的花,然后把它们放在枕头底下。根据传说,她们未来的夫君将在梦中
与其相会。这也是人们头上花环的由来。

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福建省住房和城乡建设厅代表团考察瑞典小城镇建设

福建省住房和城乡建设厅代表团考察瑞典小城镇建设

瑞中桥斯德哥尔摩记者陈雪霏5月26日报道:由王家祥副厅长带领的中国福建省住房和城乡建设厅代表团25日就小城镇规划和环境建设问题考察了世界上最宜居的城市之一,瑞典的中心城市恩雪平。
瑞中桥斯德哥尔摩记者陈雪霏5月26日报道:由王家祥副厅长带领的中国福建省住房和城乡建设厅代表团25日就小城镇规划和环境建设问题考察了世界上最宜居的城市之一,瑞典的中心城市恩雪平。

恩雪平市政府信息部主任托马斯.弗里斯科向代表团讲解了恩雪平在住房审批,城乡规划,污水处理,水上公园和可再生能源等方面的先进做法。

弗里斯科说,瑞典在城乡规划和住房审批方面有非常严格的规定,哪个部分作为商业区,哪个部分为民宅区,都在政府的网站有公示。任何人或公司需要盖房都必须先获得市政府的批准。在许可中有非常详细的规定,例如房顶是什么样的,尖字房顶的角度必须一致,房顶的颜色,墙壁的颜色每座房子都会有不同颜色,这些都需要盖房前就要规定好。

同时,决策的过程还是比较民主的,即个人或开发商先申请,然后,市政搞一个模型展览会,双方再商议是否哪些地方需要改进,直到双方都满意,再发许可。发了许可以后,个人或开发商都必须严格执行,否则,会面临大量罚款甚至拆除。政府也采取积极措施进行监督,例如,利用直升机或飞机在空中监测看是否有人违章盖房。

佛里斯科还介绍了恩雪平的水上公园。该公园之所以特殊是因为它的目的是用自然的方法来处理污水,改善生态环境,增加娱乐氛围。恩雪平有正常的污水处理厂,污水经过机械,生物,化学,瀑气和沉淀等过程以后,被存到一个大的封闭沉淀池里,经过一年的沉淀和微生物处理,水基本无害,然后,此水由许多小管道以滴灌的方式来浇灌萨利树,萨利树可以吸收很多氮和磷。污水处理过的废渣里边也有很多氮和磷,还有其他一些重金属污染物等都作为萨利树的肥料。经检测,种过萨利树以后,土地变得更干净了。

萨利树的浇灌只有夏季三个月的时间。其他时间污水通过泵站经过管道进入一个水上公园和湿地。这里水的深浅不一,种植各种植物和水草来吃水中的各种污染物,通过一路上几个星期的沉淀和生物处理,最后从入口进来的水是混的,到另一头就变成清的了。但另一端也和雨水收集的水道合并一起再流回源头。这样就形成了从混到清,再和雨水碰头回到源头的循环。公园占地面积有18个足球场大小。造价不高,社会效益是儿童可以在清水处玩儿,生态效益最大,以前这里是农民的麦田,没有任何其他东西。现在这里吸引了100多种鸟类,经常有很多鸟类爱好者到这里来观鸟。

萨利树由于有尾水的浇灌生长期提前了一年。恩雪平60%的用电从这里出,80%的供暖也从这里出。他们的能源99.9%是可再生能源,几乎没有任何温室气体排放。

公司和公园坐落在城镇东部,居民区在西部。这座小城有近4万人口,两万在市中心,两万在乡村。一些农民曾经种植小麦,后来开始种萨利树。农民和能源公司签合同。类似的污水处理设施还有四个,都是就近并综合利用。

王家祥表示,恩雪平这种全面规划,因地制宜地实现循环经济的做法很值得中国学习和借鉴。在国内污水处理的三步骤也都有了,但怎样循环起来,最终消除污水,变害为利,还有待进一步提高。这也是规划建设方面需要综合考虑的深层次问题。此后,代表团还到西格图纳小镇进行了考察。

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中国成为北极理事会永久观察员

中国成为北极理事会永久观察员

瑞中桥消息(记者陈雪霏)-中国和五个其他国家一起被接纳为北极
理事会永久观察员。 http://www.scbr.se/frontpage1.html
这个消息是5月15日在瑞典北部城市基如纳召开
的北极理事会部长级会议时由时任理事会主席国的瑞典外长卡尔比尔
特宣布的。

他说,我们欢迎中国,印度,意大利,韩国,日本和新加坡成为北极
理事会观察员,我们有相应的观察员的责任和义务手册。

有人问观察员太多了,是否影响决策效率呢?比尔特说,我们认为,
这实际上是加强了北极理事会的国际地位,也加强了成员国的主权
地位。

观察员有自动被邀请参加会议的权利,有提意见的权利,但没有表决
权。

政协主席俞正声访问瑞典议会议长

政协主席俞正声访问瑞典议会议长

瑞中桥网消息(记者陈雪霏)中国政协主席俞正声6月3日下午
在斯德哥尔摩访问了瑞典议会议长,培尔韦兰德。
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俞正声在议会前受到欢迎。 陈雪霏拍摄
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议会议长韦兰德
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俞正声和韦兰德走向议会。 陈雪霏拍摄
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中国驻瑞大使兰立俊祝贺瑞典中国节成功举办

中国驻瑞大使兰立俊祝贺瑞典中国节成功举办

瑞中侨网消息(记者陈雪霏)——中国驻瑞典大使兰立俊7日在使馆举行招
待会祝贺2013瑞典中国节成功举办。
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兰立俊大使7日晚在招待会上发表讲话 陈雪霏拍摄

瑞中侨网消息(记者陈雪霏)——中国驻瑞典大使兰立俊7日在使馆举行招
待会祝贺华人总会主办的2013瑞典中国节。
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兰立俊大使7日晚在招待会上发表讲话 陈雪霏拍摄

兰大使说,“我代表中国使馆对2013瑞典中国节成功举办表示热烈的祝贺!
大家辛苦了。本次中国节可以用六个“最”字来概括一下,这次是瑞典华
人华侨有史以来在斯德哥尔摩举办的时间最长,规模最大,观众最多,内容
最全,气氛最好,影响最广的中国节活动。”

兰大使连续两天出现在现场,观看了中国节的进展情况,看到了瑞典人在
这里观看节目,品尝中国菜肴的场景。

“我想这充分证明了中国节受到了各界朋友的支持和肯定。中国节由瑞典
华人总会举办,有瑞典各个华人社团的积极支持和广泛的参与,这充分展
示了旅瑞华人华侨积极进取的精神面貌和团结协作的和谐氛围。”

他说,当前中国正在进行全面建设小康社会的进程,正在努力地实现中华
民族伟大复兴的中国梦。

“我想作为中华民族的一分子,时代赋予我们广大的华人华侨更大的历史
责任,你们是促进中国与瑞典交流与合作的民间使者,我也衷心希望你们
继续发挥自身独特的优势,积极融入主流社会,进一步展示中国人的良好
的形象,为促进瑞典的经济发展,为中国和瑞典友好关系和各领域的合作
和交流的不断发展做出你们新的更大的贡献。”
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瑞典华人总会秘书长中国节组委会执行主任叶沛群 陈雪霏拍摄

2013瑞典中国节组委会执行主任叶沛群借此机会再次向有关各方表示感谢。
“中国节圆满结束了,这样大型的具有中国文化元素的活动在瑞典当属首
次,我们瑞典华人总会在毫无经验的前提下能够成功地完成中国节的工作,
是和中国大使馆,国内外演出团队,中资企业,和其他社团的帮助是分
不开的,因此,我首先要代表瑞典华人总会向中国大使馆的全体成员表
示感谢,向兰大使表示感谢,向国内外演出团队,中资企业和其他社团的
支持和帮助。没有他们的支持,也没有我们的成功。我要向直接或间接参
加中国节的全体人员表示感谢。感谢你们的热情,你们的努力工作,由于
你们的奉献,才会有今天的成功。”

他说,这次中国节开了个好头,希望以后还有第二届,第三届…为更多有
才华的人提供更大的舞台和机会,也为中外更多的企业提供展示的平台,
真正发挥中瑞的桥梁作用。
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中国音乐学院副教授,二胡演奏家梁聆聆演奏《赛马》 陈雪霏拍摄

随后,中国节的演员们又演奏了著名二胡曲目《赛马》,合唱《我和我的
祖国》等。

2013瑞典中国节历时三天从8月2日到8月4日是在斯德哥尔摩市中心的国王
花园大舞台举行的,吸引数万观众和游客。

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Mo Yan gives Nobel Lecture in Stockholm

Mo Yan gives Nobel Lecture in Stockholm

STOCKHOLM, Dec. 7 (SCBR)–Chinese Nobel Laureate in Literature Mo Yan gave his Nobel Lecture in the Swedish Academy to 400
audience on Friday evening. The whole text is as the following.

Nobel Lecture
7 December, 2012

Storytellers
Distinguished members of the Swedish Academy, Ladies and Gentlemen:
Through the mediums of television and the Internet, I imagine that everyone here has at least a nodding acquaintance with far-off Northeast Gaomi Township. You may have seen my ninety-year-old father, as well as my brothers, my sister, my wife and my daughter, even my granddaughter, now a year and four months old. But the person who is most on my mind at this moment, my mother, is someone you will never see. Many people have shared in the honor of winning this prize, everyone but her.
My mother was born in 1922 and died in 1994. We buried her in a peach orchard east of the village. Last year we were forced to move her grave farther away from the village in order to make room for a proposed rail line. When we dug up the grave, we saw that the coffin had rotted away and that her body had merged with the damp earth around it. So we dug up some of that soil, a symbolic act, and took it to the new gravesite. That was when I grasped the knowledge that my mother had become part of the earth, and that when I spoke to mother earth, I was really speaking to my mother.
I was my mother’s youngest child.
My earliest memory was of taking our only vacuum bottle to the public canteen for drinking water. Weakened by hunger, I dropped the bottle and broke it. Scared witless, I hid all that day in a haystack. Toward evening, I heard my mother calling my childhood name, so I crawled out of my hiding place, prepared to receive a beating or a scolding. But Mother didn’t hit me, didn’t even scold me. She just rubbed my head and heaved a sigh.
My most painful memory involved going out in the collective’s field with Mother to glean ears of wheat. The gleaners scattered when they spotted the watchman. But Mother, who had bound feet, could not run; she was caught and slapped so hard by the watchman, a hulk of a man, that she fell to the ground. The watchman confiscated the wheat we’d gleaned and walked off whistling. As she sat on the ground, her lip bleeding, Mother wore a look of hopelessness I’ll never forget. Years later, when I encountered the watchman, now a gray-haired old man, in the marketplace, Mother had to stop me from going up to avenge her.
“Son,” she said evenly, “the man who hit me and this man are not the same person.”
My clearest memory is of a Moon Festival day, at noontime, one of those rare occasions when we ate jiaozi at home, one bowl apiece. An aging beggar came to our door while we were at the table, and when I tried to send him away with half a bowlful of dried sweet potatoes, he reacted angrily: “I’m an old man,” he said. “You people are eating jiaozi, but want to feed me sweet potatoes. How heartless can you be?” I reacted just as angrily: “We’re lucky if we eatjiaozi a couple of times a year, one small bowlful apiece, barely enough to get a taste! You should be thankful we’re giving you sweet potatoes, and if you don’t want them, you can get the hell out of here!” After (dressing me down) reprimanding me, Mother dumped her half bowlful ofjiaozi into the old man’s bowl.
My most remorseful memory involves helping Mother sell cabbages at market, and me overcharging an old villager one jiao – intentionally or not, I can’t recall – before heading off to school. When I came home that afternoon, I saw that Mother was crying, something she rarely did. Instead of scolding me, she merely said softly, “Son, you embarrassed your mother today.”
Mother contracted a serious lung disease when I was still in my teens. Hunger, disease, and too much work made things extremely hard on our family. The road ahead looked especially bleak, and I had a bad feeling about the future, worried that Mother might take her own life. Every day, the first thing I did when I walked in the door after a day of hard labor was call out for Mother. Hearing her voice was like giving my heart a new lease on life. But not hearing her threw me into a panic. I’d go looking for her in the side building and in the mill. One day, after searching everywhere and not finding her, I sat down in the yard and cried like a baby. That is how she found me when she walked into the yard carrying a bundle of firewood on her back. She was very unhappy with me, but I could not tell her what I was afraid of. She knew anyway. “Son,” she said, “don’t worry, there may be no joy in my life, but I won’t leave you till the God of the Underworld calls me.”
I was born ugly. Villagers often laughed in my face, and school bullies sometimes beat me up because of it. I’d run home crying, where my mother would say, “You’re not ugly, Son. You’ve got a nose and two eyes, and there’s nothing wrong with your arms and legs, so how could you be ugly? If you have a good heart and always do the right thing, what is considered ugly becomes beautiful.” Later on, when I moved to the city, there were educated people who laughed at me behind my back, some even to my face; but when I recalled what Mother had said, I just calmly offered my apologies.
My illiterate mother held people who could read in high regard. We were so poor we often did not know where our next meal was coming from, yet she never denied my request to buy a book or something to write with. By nature hard working, she had no use for lazy children, yet I could skip my chores as long as I had my nose in a book.
A storyteller once came to the marketplace, and I sneaked off to listen to him. She was unhappy with me for forgetting my chores. But that night, while she was stitching padded clothes for us under the weak light of a kerosene lamp, I couldn’t keep from retelling stories I’d heard that day. She listened impatiently at first, since in her eyes professional storytellers were smooth-talking men in a dubious profession. Nothing good ever came out of their mouths. But slowly she was dragged into my retold stories, and from that day on, she never gave me chores on market day, unspoken permission to go to the marketplace and listen to new stories. As repayment for Mother’s kindness and a way to demonstrate my memory, I’d retell the stories for her in vivid detail.
It did not take long to find retelling someone else’s stories unsatisfying, so I began embellishing my narration. I’d say things I knew would please Mother, even changed the ending once in a while. And she wasn’t the only member of my audience, which later included my older sisters, my aunts, even my maternal grandmother. Sometimes, after my mother had listened to one of my stories, she’d ask in a care-laden voice, almost as if to herself: “What will you be like when you grow up, son? Might you wind up prattling for a living one day?”
I knew why she was worried. Talkative kids are not well thought of in our village, for they can bring trouble to themselves and to their families. There is a bit of a young me in the talkative boy who falls afoul of villagers in my story “Bulls.” Mother habitually cautioned me not to talk so much, wanting me to be a taciturn, smooth and steady youngster. Instead I was possessed of a dangerous combination – remarkable speaking skills and the powerful desire that went with them. My ability to tell stories brought her joy, but that created a dilemma for her.
A popular saying goes “It is easier to change the course of a river than a person’s nature.” Despite my parents’ tireless guidance, my natural desire to talk never went away, and that is what makes my name – Mo Yan, or “don’t speak” – an ironic expression of self-mockery.
After dropping out of elementary school, I was too small for heavy labor, so I became a cattle- and sheep-herder on a nearby grassy riverbank. The sight of my former schoolmates playing in the schoolyard when I drove my animals past the gate always saddened me and made me aware of how tough it is for anyone – even a child – to leave the group.
I turned the animals loose on the riverbank to graze beneath a sky as blue as the ocean and grass-carpeted land as far as the eye could see – not another person in sight, no human sounds, nothing but bird calls above me. I was all by myself and terribly lonely; my heart felt empty. Sometimes I lay in the grass and watched clouds float lazily by, which gave rise to all sorts of fanciful images. That part of the country is known for its tales of foxes in the form of beautiful young women, and I would fantasize a fox-turned-beautiful girl coming to tend animals with me. She never did come. Once, however, a fiery red fox bounded out of the brush in front of me, scaring my legs right out from under me. I was still sitting there trembling long after the fox had vanished. Sometimes I’d crouch down beside the cows and gaze into their deep blue eyes, eyes that captured my reflection. At times I’d have a dialogue with birds in the sky, mimicking their cries, while at other times I’d divulge my hopes and desires to a tree. But the birds ignored me, and so did the trees. Years later, after I’d become a novelist, I wrote some of those fantasies into my novels and stories. People frequently bombard me with compliments on my vivid imagination, and lovers of literature often ask me to divulge my secret to developing a rich imagination. My only response is a wan smile.
Our Taoist master Laozi said it best: “Fortune depends on misfortune. Misfortune is hidden in fortune.” I left school as a child, often went hungry, was constantly lonely, and had no books to read. But for those reasons, like the writer of a previous generation, Shen Congwen, I had an early start on reading the great book of life. My experience of going to the marketplace to listen to a storyteller was but one page of that book.
After leaving school, I was thrown uncomfortably into the world of adults, where I embarked on the long journey of learning through listening. Two hundred years ago, one of the great storytellers of all time – Pu Songling – lived near where I grew up, and where many people, me included, carried on the tradition he had perfected. Wherever I happened to be – working the fields with the collective, in production team cowsheds or stables, on my grandparents’ heatedkang, even on oxcarts bouncing and swaying down the road, my ears filled with tales of the supernatural, historical romances, and strange and captivating stories, all tied to the natural environment and clan histories, and all of which created a powerful reality in my mind.
Even in my wildest dreams, I could not have envisioned a day when all this would be the stuff of my own fiction, for I was just a boy who loved stories, who was infatuated with the tales people around me were telling. Back then I was, without a doubt, a theist, believing that all living creatures were endowed with souls. I’d stop and pay my respects to a towering old tree; if I saw a bird, I was sure it could become human any time it wanted; and I suspected every stranger I met of being a transformed beast. At night, terrible fears accompanied me on my way home after my work points were tallied, so I’d sing at the top of my lungs as I ran to build up a bit of courage. My voice, which was changing at the time, produced scratchy, squeaky songs that grated on the ears of any villager who heard me.
I spent my first twenty-one years in that village, never traveling farther from home than to Qingdao, by train, where I nearly got lost amid the giant stacks of wood in a lumber mill. When my mother asked me what I’d seen in Qingdao, I reported sadly that all I’d seen were stacks of lumber. But that trip to Qingdao planted in me a powerful desire to leave my village and see the world.
In February 1976 I was recruited into the army and walked out of the Northeast Gaomi Township village I both loved and hated, entering a critical phase of my life, carrying in my backpack the four-volume Brief History of China my mother had bought by selling her wedding jewelry. Thus began the most important period of my life. I must admit that were it not for the thirty-odd years of tremendous development and progress in Chinese society, and the subsequent national reform and opening of her doors to the outside, I would not be a writer today.
In the midst of mind-numbing military life, I welcomed the ideological emancipation and literary fervor of the nineteen-eighties, and evolved from a boy who listened to stories and passed them on by word of mouth into someone who experimented with writing them down. It was a rocky road at first, a time when I had not yet discovered how rich a source of literary material my two decades of village life could be. I thought that literature was all about good people doing good things, stories of heroic deeds and model citizens, so that the few pieces of mine that were published had little literary value.
In the fall of 1984 I was accepted into the Literature Department of the PLA Art Academy, where, under the guidance of my revered mentor, the renowned writer Xu Huaizhong, I wrote a series of stories and novellas, including: “Autumn Floods,” “Dry River,” “The Transparent Carrot,” and “Red Sorghum.” Northeast Gaomi Township made its first appearance in “Autumn Floods,” and from that moment on, like a wandering peasant who finds his own piece of land, this literary vagabond found a place he could call his own. I must say that in the course of creating my literary domain, Northeast Gaomi Township, I was greatly inspired by the American novelistWilliam Faulkner and the Columbian Gabriel García Márquez. I had not read either of them extensively, but was encouraged by the bold, unrestrained way they created new territory in writing, and learned from them that a writer must have a place that belongs to him alone. Humility and compromise are ideal in one’s daily life, but in literary creation, supreme self-confidence and the need to follow one’s own instincts are essential. For two years I followed in the footsteps of these two masters before realizing that I had to escape their influence; this is how I characterized that decision in an essay: They were a pair of blazing furnaces, I was a block of ice. If I got too close to them, I would dissolve into a cloud of steam. In my understanding, one writer influences another when they enjoy a profound spiritual kinship, what is often referred to as “hearts beating in unison.” That explains why, though I had read little of their work, a few pages were sufficient for me to comprehend what they were doing and how they were doing it, which led to my understanding of what I should do and how I should do it.
What I should do was simplicity itself: Write my own stories in my own way. My way was that of the marketplace storyteller, with which I was so familiar, the way my grandfather and my grandmother and other village old-timers told stories. In all candor, I never gave a thought to audience when I was telling my stories; perhaps my audience was made up of people like my mother, and perhaps it was only me. The early stories were narrations of my personal experience: the boy who received a whipping in “Dry River,” for instance, or the boy who never spoke in “The Transparent Carrot.” I had actually done something bad enough to receive a whipping from my father, and I had actually worked the bellows for a blacksmith on a bridge site. Naturally, personal experience cannot be turned into fiction exactly as it happened, no matter how unique that might be. Fiction has to be fictional, has to be imaginative. To many of my friends, “The Transparent Carrot” is my very best story; I have no opinion one way or the other. What I can say is, “The Transparent Carrot” is more symbolic and more profoundly meaningful than any other story I’ve written. That dark-skinned boy with the superhuman ability to suffer and a superhuman degree of sensitivity represents the soul of my entire fictional output. Not one of all the fictional characters I’ve created since then is as close to my soul as he is. Or put a different way, among all the characters a writer creates, there is always one that stands above all the others. For me, that laconic boy is the one. Though he says nothing, he leads the way for all the others, in all their variety, performing freely on the Northeast Gaomi Township stage.
A person can experience only so much, and once you have exhausted your own stories, you must tell the stories of others. And so, out of the depths of my memories, like conscripted soldiers, rose stories of family members, of fellow villagers, and of long-dead ancestors I learned of from the mouths of old-timers. They waited expectantly for me to tell their stories. My grandfather and grandmother, my father and mother, my brothers and sisters, my aunts and uncles, my wife and my daughter have all appeared in my stories. Even unrelated residents of Northeast Gaomi Township have made cameo appearances. Of course they have undergone literary modification to transform them into larger-than-life fictional characters.
An aunt of mine is the central character of my latest novel, Frogs. The announcement of the Nobel Prize sent journalists swarming to her home with interview requests. At first, she was patiently accommodating, but she soon had to escape their attentions by fleeing to her son’s home in the provincial capital. I don’t deny that she was my model in writing Frogs, but the differences between her and the fictional aunt are extensive. The fictional aunt is arrogant and domineering, in places virtually thuggish, while my real aunt is kind and gentle, the classic caring wife and loving mother. My real aunt’s golden years have been happy and fulfilling; her fictional counterpart suffers insomnia in her late years as a result of spiritual torment, and walks the nights like a specter, wearing a dark robe. I am grateful to my real aunt for not being angry with me for how I changed her in the novel. I also greatly respect her wisdom in comprehending the complex relationship between fictional characters and real people.
After my mother died, in the midst of almost crippling grief, I decided to write a novel for her. Big Breasts and Wide Hips is that novel. Once my plan took shape, I was burning with such emotion that I completed a draft of half a million words in only eighty-three days.
In Big Breasts and Wide Hips I shamelessly used material associated with my mother’s actual experience, but the fictional mother’s emotional state is either a total fabrication or a composite of many of Northeast Gaomi Township’s mothers. Though I wrote “To the spirit of my mother” on the dedication page, the novel was really written for all mothers everywhere, evidence, perhaps, of my overweening ambition, in much the same way as I hope to make tiny Northeast Gaomi Township a microcosm of China, even of the whole world.
The process of creation is unique to every writer. Each of my novels differs from the others in terms of plot and guiding inspiration. Some, such as “The Transparent Carrot,” were born in dreams, while others, like The Garlic Ballads have their origin in actual events. Whether the source of a work is a dream or real life, only if it is integrated with individual experience can it be imbued with individuality, be populated with typical characters molded by lively detail, employ richly evocative language, and boast a well crafted structure. Here I must point out that in The Garlic Ballads I introduced a real-life storyteller and singer in one of the novel’s most important roles. I wish I hadn’t used his real name, though his words and actions were made up. This is a recurring phenomenon with me. I’ll start out using characters’ real names in order to achieve a sense of intimacy, and after the work is finished, it will seem too late to change those names. This has led to people who see their names in my novels going to my father to vent their displeasure. He always apologizes in my place, but then urges them not to take such things so seriously. He’ll say: “The first sentence in Red Sorghum, ‘My father, a bandit’s offspring,’ didn’t upset me, so why should you be unhappy?”
My greatest challenges come with writing novels that deal with social realities, such asThe Garlic Ballads, not because I’m afraid of being openly critical of the darker aspects of society, but because heated emotions and anger allow politics to suppress literature and transform a novel into reportage of a social event. As a member of society, a novelist is entitled to his own stance and viewpoint; but when he is writing he must take a humanistic stance, and write accordingly. Only then can literature not just originate in events, but transcend them, not just show concern for politics but be greater than politics.
Possibly because I’ve lived so much of my life in difficult circumstances, I think I have a more profound understanding of life. I know what real courage is, and I understand true compassion. I know that nebulous terrain exists in the hearts and minds of every person, terrain that cannot be adequately characterized in simple terms of right and wrong or good and bad, and this vast territory is where a writer gives free rein to his talent. So long as the work correctly and vividly describes this nebulous, massively contradictory terrain, it will inevitably transcend politics and be endowed with literary excellence.
Prattling on and on about my own work must be annoying, but my life and works are inextricably linked, so if I don’t talk about my work, I don’t know what else to say. I hope you are in a forgiving mood.
I was a modern-day storyteller who hid in the background of his early work; but with the novelSandalwood Death I jumped out of the shadows. My early work can be characterized as a series of soliloquies, with no reader in mind; starting with this novel, however, I visualized myself standing in a public square spiritedly telling my story to a crowd of listeners. This tradition is a worldwide phenomenon in fiction, but is especially so in China. At one time, I was a diligent student of Western modernist fiction, and I experimented with all sorts of narrative styles. But in the end I came back to my traditions. To be sure, this return was not without its modifications. Sandalwood Deathand the novels that followed are inheritors of the Chinese classical novel tradition but enhanced by Western literary techniques. What is known as innovative fiction is, for the most part, a result of this mixture, which is not limited to domestic traditions with foreign techniques, but can include mixing fiction with art from other realms.Sandalwood Death, for instance, mixes fiction with local opera, while some of my early work was partly nurtured by fine art, music, even acrobatics.
Finally, I ask your indulgence to talk about my novel Life and Death Are Wearing Me Out. The Chinese title comes from Buddhist scripture, and I’ve been told that my translators have had fits trying to render it into their languages. I am not especially well versed in Buddhist scripture and have but a superficial understanding of the religion. I chose this title because I believe that the basic tenets of the Buddhist faith represent universal knowledge, and that mankind’s many disputes are utterly without meaning in the Buddhist realm. In that lofty view of the universe, the world of man is to be pitied. My novel is not a religious tract; in it I wrote of man’s fate and human emotions, of man’s limitations and human generosity, and of people’s search for happiness and the lengths to which they will go, the sacrifices they will make, to uphold their beliefs. Lan Lian, a character who takes a stand against contemporary trends, is, in my view, a true hero. A peasant in a neighboring village was the model for this character. As a youngster I often saw him pass by our door pushing a creaky, wooden-wheeled cart, with a lame donkey up front, led by his bound-foot wife. Given the collective nature of society back then, this strange labor group presented a bizarre sight that kept them out of step with the times. In the eyes of us children, they were clowns marching against historical trends, provoking in us such indignation that we threw stones at them as they passed us on the street. Years later, after I had begun writing, that peasant and the tableau he presented floated into my mind, and I knew that one day I would write a novel about him, that sooner or later I would tell his story to the world. But it wasn’t until the year 2005, when I viewed the Buddhist mural “The Six Stages of Samsara” on a temple wall that I knew exactly how to go about telling his story.
The announcement of my Nobel Prize has led to controversy. At first I thought I was the target of the disputes, but over time I’ve come to realize that the real target was a person who had nothing to do with me. Like someone watching a play in a theater, I observed the performances around me. I saw the winner of the prize both garlanded with flowers and besieged by stone-throwers and mudslingers. I was afraid he would succumb to the assault, but he emerged from the garlands of flowers and the stones, a smile on his face; he wiped away mud and grime, stood calmly off to the side, and said to the crowd:
For a writer, the best way to speak is by writing. You will find everything I need to say in my works. Speech is carried off by the wind; the written word can never be obliterated. I would like you to find the patience to read my books. I cannot force you to do that, and even if you do, I do not expect your opinion of me to change. No writer has yet appeared, anywhere in the world, who is liked by all his readers; that is especially true during times like these.
Even though I would prefer to say nothing, since it is something I must do on this occasion, let me just say this:
I am a storyteller, so I am going to tell you some stories.
When I was a third-grade student in the 1960s, my school organized a field trip to an exhibit of suffering, where, under the direction of our teacher, we cried bitter tears. I let my tears stay on my cheeks for the benefit of our teacher, and watched as some of my classmates spat in their hands and rubbed it on their faces as pretend tears. I saw one student among all those wailing children – some real, some phony – whose face was dry and who remained silent without covering his face with his hands. He just looked at us, eyes wide open in an expression of surprise or confusion. After the visit I reported him to the teacher, and he was given a disciplinary warning. Years later, when I expressed my remorse over informing on the boy, the teacher said that at least ten students had done what I did. The boy himself had died a decade or more earlier, and my conscience was deeply troubled when I thought of him. But I learned something important from this incident, and that is: When everyone around you is crying, you deserve to be allowed not to cry, and when the tears are all for show, your right not to cry is greater still.
Here is another story: More than thirty years ago, when I was in the army, I was in my office reading one evening when an elderly officer opened the door and came in. He glanced down at the seat in front of me and muttered, “Hm, where is everyone?” I stood up and said in a loud voice, “Are you saying I’m no one?” The old fellow’s ears turned red from embarrassment, and he walked out. For a long time after that I was proud about what I consider a gutsy performance. Years later, that pride turned to intense qualms of conscience.
Bear with me, please, for one last story, one my grandfather told me many years ago: A group of eight out-of-town bricklayers took refuge from a storm in a rundown temple. Thunder rumbled outside, sending fireballs their way. They even heard what sounded like dragon shrieks. The men were terrified, their faces ashen. “Among the eight of us,” one of them said, “is someone who must have offended the heavens with a terrible deed. The guilty person ought to volunteer to step outside to accept his punishment and spare the innocent from suffering. Naturally, there were no volunteers. So one of the others came up with a proposal: Since no one is willing to go outside, let’s all fling our straw hats toward the door. Whoever’s hat flies out through the temple door is the guilty party, and we’ll ask him to go out and accept his punishment.” So they flung their hats toward the door. Seven hats were blown back inside; one went out the door. They pressured the eighth man to go out and accept his punishment, and when he balked, they picked him up and flung him out the door. I’ll bet you all know how the story ends: They had no sooner flung him out the door than the temple collapsed around them.
I am a storyteller.
Telling stories earned me the Nobel Prize for Literature.
Many interesting things have happened to me in the wake of winning the prize, and they have convinced me that truth and justice are alive and well.
So I will continue telling my stories in the days to come.

Thank you all.

Translated by Howard Goldblatt

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I Hope the World Becomes A Village: Nobel Laureate Mo Yan

I Hope the World Becomes A Village: Nobel Laureate Mo Yan

2012-12-10 13:37:27    CRIENGLISH.com      Web Editor: Hai Peng
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Related: Nobel Laureate Mo Yan Gives Lecture-Storytellers

Mo Yan talks about his mother, hometown and controversy surrounding his selection as a Nobel winner on Friday. [Photo: Agencies]
By CRI’s Chen Xuefei

2012 Nobel Laureate in Literature Mo Yan said that he hopes language will not hinder communication.
“I have always been an optimist. I feel, after hundreds or a thousand years, the borders between countries on earth will be more obscure, the links between ethnic groups will be weaker, mankind will create a more tolerant and more harmonious culture, so that our earth will really become a village. Then, I think, when we come to Sweden, we won’t need to bring interpreter. Maybe by then, people can invent a device that can facilitate communication without any language barriers.”
He made the remarks at a lunch reception held by the Overseas Chinese Federation of Industry and Commerce on Saturday in Stockholm.
He hopes overseas Chinese will help invent such a device so that the Chinese who cannot speak a foreign language can use it.
Mo also praised overseas Chinese for their contribution to both the Chinese motherland and the countries in which they live.
“I used to say that there are places in the world where the birds cannot fly, but there is no place in this world where there is no Chinese. Whether it is in South Pole, the tribes of Africa or small islands in the Pacific Ocean, one can always find Chinese footprints.”
Mo said overseas Chinese go abroad to open a new life. They also create a new culture and make contributions to the local community.
He stressed that going abroad is both an economic activity and a cultural one; it is a kind of progress symbolizing the future of mankind.
“With the rapid progress of science and technology, our globe is becoming smaller and smaller. No matter where you are abroad, you can always hear the Chinese voice and see Chinese or Asian faces.”
Chinese Ambassador to Sweden Lan Lijun congratulated Mo Yo at the reception.
“Mr. Mo Yan has published 11 novels and other novellas. His works are rooted in people’s lives and tradition, close to life and close to the people,” Lan said.
“Mo Yan’s works witnessed great changes in contemporary Chinese society. His winning of Nobel Prize is worthwhile. He deserves it. This is an embodiment of the progress made in Chinese literature, Chinese comprehensive strength and international influence,” Lan said. Lan said this also shows that China has made great progress in economic fields and in literature.
James Wang, Chairman of Swedish Chinese Federation of Industry and Commerce also spoke at the reception.
“As you know, this is also one of the former residences of Alfred Nobel. He might not have imagined that one day we would hold a grand party to celebrate the Nobel Prize in Literature for a Chinese writer,” Wang began.
“Mo Yan’s winning of Nobel Prize is a source of pride. It is also our Chinese people’s pride, also the pride of all the people who have the Chinese language as mother tongue. We would like to hear more stories from Mo Yan, and we also look forward to more Chinese winning Nobel Prizes in various fields,” Wang said.
About 100 overseas Chinese attended the celebration.
On Monday, Mo will receive the Nobel Prize from the hands of the Swedish King Carl XVI Gustaf in the Concert Hall together with eight other laureates in Physiology or Medicine, Physics, Chemistry and Economics in memory of Alfred Nobel.
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城镇化到底应该怎么搞值得深思

城镇化到底应该怎么搞值得深思

在新一轮城镇化过程中,有很多问题值得研究,值得探索。西方城镇化有
50年到100年的时间,而中国真正搞基础设施建设和房地产主要是从2000
年以后停止福利分房允许住房市场购买开始的。
瑞中桥陈雪霏
在新一轮城镇化过程中,有很多问题值得研究,值得探索。西方城镇化有
50年到100年的时间,而中国真正搞基础设施建设和房地产主要是从2000
年以后停止福利分房允许住房市场购买开始的。

就像招商引资从南向北,从中央到地方一步步地经历了10年的发展,造房
运动也搞了10年了,现在开始从大城市向中小城市扩展。中小城市开始向
农村扩展。在这个过程中,圈地现象明显。

首先,以对于小凌河水库建设为例,到底有没有科学的可行性研究?到底
水库应该建多大,不是靠科学测量,而是看钱多少。这样在建设过程中会
有浪费资源的嫌疑。

在这里需要改进的是,不应该以项目来给钱,全国上下都是一个模式,只
要是基础设施建设就给钱,否则什么都没有。是不是可以想想,如果农村
愿意搞文艺活动,或者是其他社会活动,文明活动,环境保护活动,也应
该给钱。

很多人批评薄熙来种银杏树花钱多。笔者并不这么认为,银杏树寿命长,
它可以活很多年,为老百姓留下美好的环境。如果他花很多钱只种杨树,
那是生长快,但就比较单调。瑞士的生物钟,每半年,甚至是一个季度
就换一次,那也是浪费,但它吸引很多游客,也让瑞士保持一个世界上
最美的城市的声誉。

中国人为什么不能把自己的环境搞得更好一些呢?我知道铺张浪费是不对
的。但良好的环境对人身心健康和社会治安都有利,可以节省医药费,增
加幸福感。

但是,这方面的事情没人做,尤其是在农村,人们更是被垃圾包围着。
另一种现象也值得深思。那就是有钱的人向没钱的人借钱买山买地。很
快公共的山就变成个人的山了。从30年前承包山的情况是有利于绿化环境。

但是,在这种迅速的大片山地变为个人的私有财产的过程中,还会出现很
多问题。穷的更穷,富的更富。而且富的是少数。

在瑞典城镇化过程中,也是有很多痛苦的过程,主要发生在50年代。虽然
其工业化过程从1860年就开始了。农民觉得种地赔钱,过不下去了,只好
卖地到城里打工。或者种一半地,打一半工。或者把农业科研与种田结合
起来,农民既是农场主,也是农业工人,再卖种子或者农具,农药等。

但总的来说,瑞典现在已经是90%城镇化了。而且新一轮的趋势也是人口
向大城市集中。这种趋势的背后是成本。环境部门官员说,人口集中,在
节约能源方面有好处,可以集体供暖,或供冷。与分散的住房相比,肯定
节约。

但同时,很多城里人都在乡下有夏天度假的房子。就是说,平时住在城里
不太宽敞的房子里,平均75平米。夏天到乡下房子里度假,不用很多能源。
冬天有的房子不能住。这样,满足了人们不同的需求。很多人还是渴望有
时间到乡下去清静一下。据笔者了解,瑞典人均住房75平米,大多数人都
是以满足需求为目标。在城里,住大房子的还是少数。只有那些曾经拥有
很多房地产的人,和一些高官,房子比较大一些。年轻人都住的是小房子。

如果有钱了,或者是从父母那里继承农村的房子。夏天还需要到那里去打
理。不爱打理的人,基本上就卖掉,拿到一笔钱了之。

瑞典人口增长稳定,在过去100年中,增长也比较缓慢,到现在有950万
人口。瑞典是一个小国,中国是一个大国,可比性不大,但经济和社会
发展都是有规律可寻的。不能从规模上比,但有些想法和做法还是可以
借鉴的。

雪霏观察:北京为何再现雾霾?

雪霏观察:北京为何再现雾霾?

瑞中桥网-雪霏观察:北京再现雾霾天,其形式与年初没什么
两样。再度引发笔者的思考。

早在一到三月份,记者回国两次,都赶上雾霾。以记者观察,北京
已经已经形成隔三差五的雾霾天态势。只要空气稍微有湿度,就会
有雾霾。可以想见,与70年代的雾都伦敦极其相似。
北京多年来一直是春秋多风。因此,年初我也一直在脑海里有一首
《北风颂》:
北风啊北风,
你吹的更猛烈些吧,
把雾霾吹到太平洋去吧,
北风啊北风,
我赞美你的凶悍,
我赞美你的强大,
扫除一切害人的雾霾,
我曾经讨厌你,害怕你,
因为你让我们感觉到冷得要命,
可现在,雾霾让我们呼吸有毒得空气,
比冷更有害,
现在,我们喜欢你,北风,
吹的更猛烈些吧,
吹走一切雾霾,
还我们蓝天。

然而,北风也很无奈,它本来很强大,在没有遮拦的时候,它
可以一下子从北方吹到南方,然而现在,遍地开花,到处是工
厂,到处是工地,不是扬尘就是烟尘,其实风在这种背景下,风
力即使没有减速,但由于阻力太大,也显得不如以前那么厉害。
再说,如果我们单靠风,而不采取措施,关闭工厂或者是封闭
施工,恐怕还是隔三差五。

大自然的生态一旦被破坏了,就容易出现逆转,这种逆转是
人类无法预测的。而可怕就可怕在这里。例如波罗地海,污染
了,目前已经花了很多钱治理。但里边的鱼在瑞典孕妇依然禁止
吃。

北京最有效得办法就是2008年奥运会期间,北京真得出现了奇迹。
蓝天重现。尽管某些西方人还不满意,但是,毕竟有蓝天。本来
北京应该保持有效得良好得结果。但是,北京没有这样做,而是
把汽车保有量提高了一倍,从250万辆增加到500万辆。就是说
有得三口之家已经有两辆车,每三个人就有一辆车。

汽油质量也不是完全合格,质量不一致,车得质量也不一样。
北京依然烧煤,煤炭自然放烟。
北京周边得工厂,北京已经没有多大空间,从中南海到五环六环
都已经布满了建筑。每个建筑都需要取暖。由于高层,必须使劲
烧。据说,单是人口呼吸得空气都可以排除大量得二氧化碳,更
不用说取暖。

假如气候真的因为工业发展而改变,那么,这一切都加在一起,
就怎么都不容乐观了。

去年春节,我强烈呼吁不要放鞭炮了,结果,三环放鞭炮得都不
少,人们根本不把雾霾与自己得生命和生活联系在一起。总认为
这是别人得事情。殊不知,每个人都贡献一点儿 2000多万人,
贡献就非常大了。春节期间,很多农村人回家了,城里交通大大
缓解,但雾霾依然存在,这说明什么?

说明无论哪个方面单方行动都无法解决这个问题,必须每个人,
每个单位,每个机关每个领导,每个家庭都把这件事放在心上,
能走路,不坐车,能坐车,不开车。能减少外出就减少外出,
尽量在家庭附近活动。北京如果不进行战略准备得话,我看这
问题都难解决。

最后一个非常重要得办法就是广开言路,让人们讨论这个问题,
一起寻找解决问题得办法,只有让所有得老百姓都明白,并自觉
参与,才能解决这个问题。

两会期间我提出这个问题,引起哗然,说明老百姓都是关注自己
生存得环境得。我们不能因为喜欢金子,就把什么都变成金子,
如果连空气,水和土壤都变成了金子,那我们怎样生存呢?

这才是可持续发展之根本利益所在。2005年得时候,我说可持续
发展,很多人就以为是两位数经济发展,连续发展,事实上,
可持续发展就是指空气,水和土壤基本要素不要被破坏。一旦
被破坏了,需要很多年才能恢复,生命如果不复存在,那自然
是不可持续了。

因此,希望各级政府从中央到地方必须立即把这个问题重视起来,
否则,我们中华民族危在旦夕!!!我们得亲人得生命危在旦夕。
即使移民了,也是少数人移民,大部分亲朋好友都在国内,人人
都要呼吸空气。

作为个人,我建议,这年头微博微信都非常发达,没电脑得赶紧
买电脑,没手机得赶紧买手机,利用微博微信和互联网在家里
办公。单位领导也不要太死心眼。只要员工把工作做了,在家里
也没关系。这样慢慢地建立起诚信,估计交通可以缓解,员工也
不会太累。这需要领导和员工商量好绩效和工作量等。

此时,斯德哥尔摩得天也是阴阴得,没有一丝活力,失去了蓝天
白云天气给人得愉悦。但是,我们不担心空气质量。雾本来是
冷热空气交接形成得自然现象,但如果有霾,是否是有害,有关
部门应该立即对空气质量进行监测,检测,并告诉公众注意事项。