NTU Graduate’s Speech Goes Viral in Mainland China, Outshining Wuhan University’s Scripted Reading

A female graduate from National Taiwan University delivers a speech that has gone viral in mainland China, surpassing the scripted reading from Wuhan University (video).

[People News] It’s graduation season once again, and a video comparing graduation speeches from top universities across the Taiwan Strait has taken the internet by storm, prompting countless late-night reflections among overseas Chinese communities and on social media platforms in mainland China.

The video is titled: 'National Taiwan University Off-the-Cuff Speech vs Wuhan University Scripted Speech'.

These two prestigious universities symbolise the highest level of higher education on both sides of the Taiwan Strait, representing some of the brightest minds. However, when the graduation speeches from both institutions are juxtaposed, the stark differences in style and the completely contrasting mindsets leave many netizens astonished. After watching, numerous young people in mainland China expressed their frustration in the comments section, asking, 'Why is their graduation ceremony teaching us how to live, while ours feels like a year-end political report meeting? Why is it so different from ours?!'

Rather than discussing lofty theories, let’s analyse the deep disparities in education, thought processes, and even civilizational standards that are revealed in these two graduation speeches, following the viral video.

National Taiwan University vs Wuhan University

Now, let’s examine the essence of these two graduation ceremonies and explore the different life directions these speeches offer to young people on the brink of entering society.

We will first focus on Lin Jiawei, a student from National Taiwan University, which is regarded as the highest institution of free thought in Taiwan.

Lin Tongxue, a student, greets the audience with a bright smile and immediately connects with campus life by discussing her struggles to enrol in popular general education courses, her difficulty in making friends, and even her frustrations about her bicycle being towed twice in the Rainbow District. This vividly illustrates the everyday experiences of university life. Her language is soft and conversational; for example, she expresses 'dreams with light in the eyes, growing into the person I want to be,' which feels like a senior gently chatting with you, creating a warm sense of familiarity.

Lin Tongxue also openly shares that she did not prepare for the traditional national examination but instead moved between government departments and NGOs. She acknowledges that this is quite a risk but believes that 'life is long, taking a few more detours and being a few years behind others is not a problem,' reflecting a gentle acceptance of the times.

When Lin Jiawei took the stage, she radiated a confidence and ease that were completely free from constraints. She spoke almost entirely without notes, sincerely engaging with the students, parents, and professors in the audience. Rather than relying on grand political slogans, she humorously joked about shared experiences among National Taiwan University students in a relatable manner.

Lin Jiawei's speech became a sensation online because she made everyone feel that she is a real, living person capable of independent thought. The education she received at National Taiwan University was not about conforming to anyone or praising anyone; instead, it presented her with an essay question that has no standard answer. We also wish her the courage to sincerely answer her own life.

However, when we shift our focus to the representative graduate from Wuhan University, Yan Shudong, the atmosphere suddenly becomes incredibly heavy and oppressive.

Yan Shu stood at the podium, her eyes frequently scanning her notes, using a broadcasting style that had been rigorously trained within the mainland system—emotionally flat yet strikingly high-pitched—as she read aloud with precise articulation.

She spoke with a grand vision, addressing topics like the surge of digital education and the complexities of great power competition, emphasising that 'every step of personal development must align with the rhythm of the nation's progress.' This raises the question: is she delivering a graduation speech or acting as a spokesperson for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs?

Yan Shu's expression was serious, and her demeanour was extremely assertive, promoting the idea of 'overcoming anxiety through hard work and responding to confusion with resolve.' She elevated the choice to remain in school as a sincere call to the times, willingly enduring the discomfort of being sidelined. The dictionary has no entries for 'lying flat' or 'taking a detour,' and this constant stream of positive energy can create a stifling collective pressure.

Furthermore, her speech was replete with four-character idioms and parallel phrases, such as 'giving wholeheartedly,' 'seeking knowledge diligently,' and 'grand blueprint,' showcasing a level of polish that would earn a perfect score in college entrance exam essays. However, after a while, one might wonder: 'Is this intended for the students in the audience or for the leaders in the front row?'

A clip of Lin's speech from National Taiwan University went viral on mainland social media, igniting enthusiastic discussions among netizens from various provinces. They praised Lin for speaking extemporaneously, presenting a clear structure and humorous language, free from empty slogans and clichéd openings, radiating sunshine and confidence.

Netizens also criticised that university speeches in the mainland often come off as 'fake, grandiose, and empty,' characterised by 'official tones' and 'stale rhetoric,' starting with slogans that sound very rigid.

Yan Shu's serious expression and extremely hardcore attitude advocate for 'using struggle to break through anxiety and responding to confusion with determination,' elevating the act of staying in school to a sincere call of the times, willingly sitting on the sidelines. The dictionary contains no terms like 'lying flat' or 'taking a detour,' and this ever-burning positive energy can create a collective pressure that feels suffocating.

The Chinese Genius 'Welded' by the Script

This leads us to ponder: Is Yan Shu not intelligent? As a representative speaker for Wuhan University graduates, her IQ and resume are undoubtedly among the best in the mainland. But why does such a top elite, standing on the most important stage of her life, lose the ability to 'speak candidly without a script'? Once she steps away from those few scripts, it seems as if she loses the support of her very soul.

What causes the starkly different 'styles' of Lin and Yan?

Our analysis suggests that the first reason is the differing nature of the occasions:

Graduation ceremonies in the mainland are serious political and administrative events, with the principal and senior officials seated in the audience, along with official live broadcasts. In an atmosphere where 'political security comes first,' reading from a script is the safest option. If a student were to mistakenly utter sensitive words off-script, not only would their future be at risk, but even the reviewing instructors and college leaders would have to write self-criticisms.

In contrast, graduation ceremonies in Taiwan resemble a party of blessings and farewells, where the school does not strictly review the content of speeches. Even if a student publicly complains about high tuition fees or a lack of parking spaces, the principal and elders in the audience would simply perceive it as youthful humour and laugh along.

Mainland students undergo training in recitation competitions from an early age, automatically adopting a 'broadcaster mode' when they take the stage, striving for a sense of solemnity and grandeur. Consequently, their speeches function as a 'report to superiors and a demonstration to peers,' effectively serving as a report card for their thoughts and research.

In Taiwan, the TED-style speech format has been celebrated over the past decade, focusing on 'storytelling,' self-deprecation, and emotional connection. Speeches are delivered from the perspective of 'peers who have spent four years together,' creating an emotional farewell with classmates, which encourages speakers to go off-script and maintain eye contact.

The most crucial and significant factor is the difference in educational systems.

Consider this: children in mainland China, starting from age 7 when they enter elementary school and begin writing essays, are stripped of authentic expression. To achieve high scores, they must learn to lie and fabricate, conforming to the system's expectations. They are required to extol the 'prosperity of the motherland and the rise of a great nation.'

This rigid discipline continues for a full fifteen years. When a gifted individual, from age 7 to 22, is trained daily on 'how to lie artfully, how to conceal their true self to safely navigate the system and earn high marks,' their thought processes become deeply ingrained.

Therefore, when standing at the graduation ceremony podium, the only instinct of student Yan Shu (严殊) is to craft an absolutely safe, politically correct speech that cannot afford a single error, and then recite it word for word. This script serves as the 'safety certificate' provided by the system. If he strays from the script or reveals his genuine confusion and feelings, he risks not only losing points from the system but also facing potentially severe political repercussions.

Let’s examine a Chinese debate competition featuring top universities from both sides of the Taiwan Strait. Contestants from Taiwan’s National Chengchi University (Zhèngdà) and National Taiwan University (Tàidà) showcased their skills on stage with remarkable fluidity, delivering their arguments entirely from memory. In contrast, the elite students from Tsinghua University (Qīnghuá) in mainland China struggled to debate without a script.

Is this merely a matter of eloquence? No. Many netizens from mainland China expressed their pain in comments after watching: 'Our proud representatives on stage resemble puppets reciting political reports.'

Furthermore, do mainland students tend to interrupt their opponents, change topics, and engage in forced arguments? This behaviour stems from their mindset, which focuses solely on 'winning and losing, and standard answers,' lacking the understanding that 'the rational truth becomes clearer through debate.'

Under the assembly-line education system of the Chinese Communist Party, they have effectively transformed once-vibrant and free-spirited talents into 'the most precise and obedient puppets.'

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Who has stolen the soul of genius?

The stark contrast observed at a graduation ceremony superficially highlights eloquence and scripts, but it also reveals the profound disparity in civilizational standards between the two sides of the Taiwan Strait.

When Yan Shu, a student at Wuhan University, resorts to grand narratives to mask his inner confusion, it is certainly not him who should feel ashamed. This is not a reflection of Yan Shu's personal capabilities.

In the system of the Chinese Communist Party, the nature of the leaders directly influences the kind of next generation that is nurtured!

If one were to identify the person in China who is most inclined to read from a script and most hesitant to deviate from it, it is well understood that the highest leader in Zhongnanhai serves as the ultimate example and benchmark for 'sticking to the script and making numerous errors.'

From 'opening up trade and relaxing restrictions' to various grand clichés personally orchestrated, the highest authority struggles to function without a script. When the ruler of an entire nation leads by 'reading from the book,' treating rigid script recitation as the sole political stance, the bureaucratic system below inevitably mirrors this behaviour. The president of Wuhan University does not dare to deviate from the script, and under layers of scrutiny, how could Yan Shu, as the representative of the graduates, possibly dare to step out of line?

In the educational environment of mainland China, the first lesson everyone learns from a young age is that 'you must accurately memorise the standard answers of the highest leader; otherwise, you risk being politically incorrect.'

Thus, the one who should truly feel ashamed is the rigid system that resides in Zhongnanhai, Beijing, where the leader reads from a script daily, while simultaneously stifling the independent spirit of the next generation of the entire nation.

The most alarming aspect of society is not the lack of intelligence among young people. Instead, it is that these young individuals, who are undoubtedly smart, are gradually losing the courage to speak the truth, ask questions, and think independently. When everyone seeks standard answers, innovation fades away; when everyone fears making mistakes, civilisation stagnates. Perhaps this is the most significant lesson we can draw from the two graduation speeches.

Having viewed the two impactful graduation speeches that have captivated the internet today, what are your reflections?

How do you believe this top-down, 'scripted' culture, led by 'exemplary figures,' will affect China's future creativity?

(Forbidden News Decoded)
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