From Darkness to Sight - by Ming Wang
Published:
From Darkness to Sight - by Ming Wang
Read: 2024-12-24
Recommend: 8/10
I first learned about him through a movie, and later visited his clinic in Nashville, Tennessee, for a follow-up to my LASIK surgery in January 2024. I’m glad I read his book, which details his struggles to balance career and family life, the unwavering support he received from his parents that fostered diligence and dedication, and his fight for a world with less discrimination. Both China and the United States have taught him valuable lessons about working hard and dreaming big.
Notes
Here are some text that I highlighted in the book:
[臭老九] Just as I was starting elementary school in 1966, universities across China were all shut down. People with knowledge and education were labeled the “stinking ninth class,” the absolute lowest social ranking, beneath even the criminals, prostitutes, and beggars. Education and urban living were believed to weaken the communist cause, so millions of young people who should have been attending colleges were instead forcefully deported to the poorest corners of the country and condemned to a lifetime of poverty and hard labor. To be deported for the purpose of “re-education through labor” meant working in harsh and impoverished conditions, earning only a dollar or two a month for the rest of one’s life. Such meager wages might buy a spot in a room with a dozen other people and a bit of rice to eat every day. Deportation was a life sentence, with no chance of ever being allowed to return to the cities. Many of these bright young people were never seen or heard from again, and some even committed suicide to avoid such heartless deportation.
We couldn’t even choose to be a member of the one ruling party, the Communist Party, as it was a very difficult yet desirable status to earn because of its privilege and the favors bestowed upon its members. As an ordinary citizen, it was dangerous to be considered at odds with the party. Either we supported the ruling party, or our lives would be at stake. Dissent was simply not tolerated, and dissidents were often executed.
If we don’t clear up this misunderstanding, Ming-xu will have a black dot in his file for the rest of his life.” The “file” was the official record of your entire life. You would never be allowed to actually see it yourself, since it was a secret document held by the Communist Party. Its content documented all of your actions in the past and determined your class and status, your eligibility for favors and promotions, and whether you were a threat to the government and the party.
Later on I learned that of course what my father meant by a black dot was not a physical dot, but a statement put in my personal file that would label me a reactionary. As a result, my future would be irrevocably stained. No educational institution would ever accept me, and no company would ever hire me. A black dot in my file in the communist system meant a future of utter darkness. This one accusation, this grave misunderstanding, was set to ruin the rest of my life!
After I was forced to leave school at age 14, I hoped that my prior experience in music and dance could somehow win me a coveted spot in a communist song-and-dance troupe and thus save me from the devastating fate of deportation and a lifetime of poverty and hard labor. Since I’d had a significant amount of previous dance training, I advanced successfully through several rounds of auditions for the Hangzhou Arts School. However, even though the dance moves were the same as those I had often performed as a child many years ago, the circumstances now were totally different. This time, every step I took, every turn I twirled, every movement I made was fueled not by a passion for the art, but by a desperate need to carve out a safe place in the chaos of the times.
My parents urged me to consider studying medicine at their university, even if only for the sake of knowledge. “Why should I study medicine when I have no chance at all of becoming a doctor?” I asked. “Ming, remember that knowledge is good and will always be useful,” Dad said gently. “Study anyway and maybe one day you’ll be able to somehow use what you learn now.” I didn’t really see the purpose of it, but I knew the risks of deportation that I faced by hanging out on the streets, so I agreed. When I asked my parents how I could be allowed to study medicine when I wasn’t even enrolled as a student, they said they would figure out a way. My parents then alerted their colleagues that they planned to smuggle me into school, and asked the professors to look the other way.
Even the eight model plays—the nation’s only entertainment for years—were devoid of any love stories. To be romantically or sexually involved before marriage was considered bourgeois, and not in line with proletarian values. The communist government classified any romance or marriage as a “personal problem” that needed to be “solved” before one could move on and do more important things to serve the Communist Party.
In Chinese, nian means both “monster” and “year.” The monster of my life, the dark years that had devoured my hopes and dreams, had been vanquished at last.
Professor Miller’s constant discriminatory rebuffs only made me more determined to succeed.
I have treasured that photograph with President Reagan ever since that day, and so does my family back in China, where world leaders are esteemed as kings. I sent copies of the photo to Hangzhou, one of which my family framed and hung on the wall, right near the front door where visitors would surely see it. One of my uncles showed his copy of the photo to his manager at work, and was soon promoted for apparently being so well connected. Though I lived so far away, I continued to fulfill the promise I made to my family when I first came to America—to bring great honor to the Wang family name. At the same time, I was indebted to those who had given me the chance to shine, both in China and here in the States.
ut whenever I thought of giving up, I would hear my father’s voice saying, “Don’t give up. Go for it.” Throughout my life, I had been driven to succeed, especially whenever I encountered something dark and oppressive. I wanted to fight, to get as far away as I could from the ghosts that I have encountered in my life—the black dot, the threat of deportation, the corpses in coffins, and now the racial discrimination—and move toward higher ground.
I knew that abandoning my dream would be confirming Dr. Anderson’s prejudice that minority students just don’t have what it takes to succeed in medical-school. I was disgusted at the thought that I might prove him right.
I had lived my life unrooted in faith of any kind, driven by the need to escape constant darkness and ghosts. Now, given all that had happened in my life—much of it beyond my own expectation and capability—I realized that perhaps my life might indeed have a purpose. But if so, what was it?
Dr. Hand gave me a Bible, and in the weeks and months that followed, I read it intently. It wasn’t clear at first whether or not I would find what I was searching for on its pages, but I was open to the possibility that it might hold answers that science hadn’t provided. The idea that life wasn’t fortuitous, that there was a Creator with a purpose for humanity, gave me great relief from all my confusion. The immortality and eternity of such a Being filled the void that science could not.
‘To whom much has been given, from him much will be required.’” Luke 12:48 (NKJV) His words resonated deeply with me. I had been given much more than I could have ever imagined possible, and my hope was to find a way to give back more than I had received.
Perhaps Shu and I had gotten married much too young, or perhaps we were naive to think we could make it work while living so far apart. Regardless of the reasons, I felt terrible despair about not being able to create a family life for Dennis like the one I had enjoyed as a young boy. Years later, I would look back with profound regret at how much of his young life I had missed. To escape the painful emotions I felt about my failed relationships, I poured myself even further into my work.
Whenever people asked what I was doing in Maryland, I would say, “I’m studying on a beautiful university campus with pure air and roads so clean you can lie down on them. I live in a luxury apartment with only two roommates, rather than thirteen like at USTC. I buy clothes for cheap and watch movies for a dollar.” But I didn’t mention to anyone how hard I had to work, nor about the prejudices I faced. My neighbors and family expected me to do well, so I only shared the most glamorous aspects of life in the States. China, the country of my birth, no longer felt like a harsh place that nearly stripped me of a life I longed for, but instead I felt reconnected with my ethnic origins and grateful for the realization that it was my Eastern upbringing, family values, and work ethic that had helped me overcome life’s challenges so I could succeed in America.
I had come from a one-party dictatorial political system that, as the events on June fourth had made clear, tolerated no opposition. To be allowed to walk the halls of Capitol Hill and speak freely to the men and women who represented everyday Americans was empowering. I had experienced profound psychological trauma as a teenager from political oppression during China’s Cultural Revolution, so now that I had tasted the freedom of democracy as a young adult in America, there was no turning back. I had truly become an American. Since this inner transformation occurred over a period of many years, the naturalization process itself was simply a formality.
What other country in the world embraced so many people from foreign lands and allowed them to make that country their home? I had gone from a communist country that had nearly destroyed my future to a free and open nation that enabled me to go to graduate schools with the brightest minds in the world. Thanks to America, my childhood dream of becoming a doctor—like my father and grandfather before me—had finally come true. The U.S. was also the origin of my spiritual nascence and the incubator of my continued quest for faith. My experiences in this country, and the people of faith that I had encountered, had initiated my first awareness of God and the emerging purpose for my life.
I had brought from China a disciplined work ethic, and a character that had been enriched by its cultural roots and shaped by suffering. In the United States, I had received freedom, an education, and a promising career. I felt tremendously indebted to both countries, and particularly to America; so to have the chance to finally become an American meant to me that I now had the duty to serve and to defend this great country, and to help protect the most important foundational concepts of American society, namely that all men and women are created equal, one Nation under God.
But somehow I had crossed a line; I was acceptable as their daughter’s friend, but not as a potential son-in-law, and there was nothing that I could do about it! The blow was devastating. I came to the realization that racial discrimination tends to exist on the deepest and most personal level. Even though one can accept another person as a friend, or sometimes even as a very good friend, one still may not actually be willing to accept another person wholeheartedly into one’s own family through marriage.
Christianity was supposed to be a religion rooted in love, so such blatant prejudice seemed downright ungodly. But when my relationship with Gwen failed, I came to a painful realization that the faith itself—and how people live out that faith—can sometimes be two entirely different things. Just because Gwen’s mother was controlling and unloving didn’t invalidate the Christian faith that the rest of her family and I shared. Learning to separate the faith itself from the behavior of some believers was a slow and painful process, but it also inspired me to live out my own Christian life more honestly, to be more open, and to embrace people different than me. I resolved that I would never treat anyone in such a discriminatory and unloving manner, no matter what a person’s ethnic background was.
My childhood was filled with the traditions of the East. I grew up with loving parents and grandparents who taught me the family value, to work hard and believe in myself. But America has taught me how to look to the future, dream big, and lead. My success in medicine and my ability to impact lives has been uniquely fashioned at the intersection of my Eastern roots and Western education. The combination of these experiences has given me the insight and ability to lead in my medical profession, and to help resolve issues of conflict in our society.
Perhaps God had allowed my personal and professional lives to be so stenuously tested so I would fall to my knees and be humbled enough to realize how much I need Him. Perhaps He wanted me to fully realize that even my best human efforts would not be enough to help these patients . . . or myself. I needed to listen to Him, and submit to His much greater power and will. Only through a combination of hard work and true faith in Him could I have a chance to persevere through these most difficult situations.