As the year draws to a close, the same argument returns almost on schedule: should fireworks and firecrackers be allowed during the Spring Festival?
Those in favor usually say the same thing: setting them off is part of tradition, and without that noise and flare, the New Year feels thin and incomplete. Those against them are just as firm. Firecrackers pollute the air, disturb everyone around them, and make it necessary to think about different, more modern ways of celebrating.
I understand both sides because I have stood in both places myself.
Years ago, Spring Festival really did arrive in the roar of firecrackers and the heavy smell of gunpowder. The old line about bidding farewell to the year amid exploding firecrackers and greeting spring in the warmth of new wine never felt abstract then; it was simply how the holiday existed. For children, the best parts of the New Year were food and firecrackers, and sometimes the second nearly rivaled the first. We would go around collecting the lucky duds that had failed to explode at other people’s houses, tear long strings of firecrackers apart, stuff them into our pockets, and call our friends out to play. We compared whose stash was bigger and whose firecrackers were louder, and that alone was enough to make a day feel glorious.
Even now, I still feel that a New Year’s Eve sky without the crack of firecrackers is a little too quiet, a little too pale. A Spring Festival morning without red scraps scattered everywhere seems to be missing a taste, like dumplings made for New Year’s Eve with no salt in them, or going to a wedding and never getting any celebratory candy.
And yet I also genuinely dislike hearing firecrackers go off in waves all night long, one after another with no end in sight. I dislike opening the door early in the morning and getting hit in the face by that burnt, powdery smell. The contradiction is obvious enough: wanting the festive feeling, but not wanting the noise and smoke that come with it. It is a familiar kind of dilemma, choosing between atmosphere and freshness.
If I had to choose, I would still take the cleaner, quieter option.
And if you asked me whether I would personally set off firecrackers if restrictions were loosened, my answer would be a very clear no. When it is freezing outside, sitting on a heated brick bed watching TV, or staying under the blankets scrolling on a phone, is far more appealing. During the holiday, it is enough for me to hear other people spending money in explosive bursts. Let other people light them; I will celebrate the New Year just fine. Then, after daybreak, I can pass by their doorways carpeted with red paper scraps, think briefly about the past and the present, smack my lips a little at the memory, and that is enough.
Which is why I sometimes think that treating firecrackers as an essential flavor of the New Year may be little more than a private attachment for people like me. Whether younger children even care that much is doubtful. Back when we were young, entertainment was scarce. A string of popping firecrackers could send happiness soaring. In the age of endless information, words, images, and videos compete constantly for everyone’s attention and fill everyone’s minds. Even many of the loudest defenders of firecrackers are themselves immersed in that world and hardly able to pull away, let alone children who never experienced the old kind of scarcity.
So on the question of whether fireworks and firecrackers should be allowed during the New Year, my own view is this: on paper, the rules should be clear in restricting them, while public guidance should encourage cleaner, more civilized ways of celebrating. But in actual enforcement, there should still be some sense of proportion. The New Year does not need to become so thoroughly controlled that dawn arrives in complete and unnatural silence.