On the other hand, in China's current era, in this prosperous city, the people under the imperial roots despise the disadvantaged group of farmers with the strongest sense of glory. They are called out-of-towners, migrant workers, and represent the most inferior group with the least quality. And it is these high-quality groups, the so-called superiors, literati, and occupants of power and public opinion, who make all the tragedies. One day, a fashionable middle-aged woman on the 919 bus held her nose and protested to the conductor: "What the hell is this!" The pure-bred Beijinger female conductor replied: "There are a few migrant workers behind..." I also don't like the taste, but I don't know how to express it, let alone say it. I know that this beautiful city was created by these migrant workers, and the people in the city, it was themselves, that made this lovely city cold and alienated. And they complained: the city is a huge paradox. It seems that the makers of this paradox are precisely those migrant workers.
And Kurosawa's "Seven Samurai" digs deeper into this issue. After the last duel of life and death, the samurai helped the peasants kill all the bandits, the village was preserved, and the peasants resumed their lives in peace and contentment. In the rice fields, they beat their waist drums, danced and worked happily amidst the joy of singing. Outside the village, the solitary mound of the four samurai who died fighting to repel the bandits stood abruptly on the desolate wilderness, tragic and tragic. The three surviving warriors left alone to sacrifice for them, and then left alone. Kanbingwei said with emotion: "We were defeated again. It was the farmers who won. It was not us." The light breeze blew, the yellow sand flew up, and the saber at the head of the samurai was proudly independent. And whether they know the spring, the fate of the samurai is just like this breeze, but it's just a sweep of the loess and sweeping it away; but the earth is always unshakable, and the farmers are its true masters, always with the earth. , Live forever.
People, no matter which class they belong to and which position they stand on, are irredeemable. Because compared with God, we are too small and too narrow. I don't believe in the existence of demons and monsters, the serpents in the Garden of Eden, and Pandora's box, but the evil in the human subconscious. Just like the witch in the spider-hand woods in Kurosawa's "Spider's Nest", she is not the culprit in the tragedy of Spider's Nest, but it is human desires that really cause disasters and tragedies. The unforgivable person is human. Evil thoughts. Since there is material, with the apple in Eve's hand, people have desires. The possession of an apple, the possession of power, the possession of the spirit or even a certain concept and ideology have brewed all the tragedies in the human world. We never give up what belongs to us, no matter whether the interest in the desire is material or spiritual, we even give up life and don’t want to let go; because only in this way can we feel that we exist and that we can feel ourselves. The solid ground belongs to the earth. Thousands of years of wars, deceit and contention, that evil desire is actually just to belong to the earth, to belong to your own sinful soul. For example, the farmers in "Seven Samurai", their possession of the land is at the cost of sacrificing the lives of the samurai. They only know that they hold onto the land. At the center of this incident, they only care about their own safety and seem to be The lives of warriors who have nothing to do with them, and even the safety of other individuals of the same class, are ignored. The survival instinct allowed them to accept the intervention of the samurai and defeat the bandits under their leadership. Once they escaped the danger and belonged to the earth again, they were immersed in their own happiness and ignored or even forgotten the pain of others. Just like the little boy in Jaffa Penahi’s "White Balloon", facing the former suffering people who regained happiness with his own help and happily forgot to forget his gratitude, he faced the sacrifices of helping those suffering people. The tombs of their companions, the samurai had no choice but to leave. Humanitarian appeals for tolerance resounded through the wildest wilderness in our hearts.
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