by Zoë S. Roy
Nina and her ten fellow Red Guards had joined the Revolutionary Networking crowds, yearning to see Chairman Mao. In a fern-green uniform with a red armband, Nina had reached Beijing by train.
Received by the Red Guards from the middle school affiliated with Peking University at the station, Nina and her group had been accommodated in a classroom on the university campus. Red Guards from various cities and towns had occupied almost every corner of the campus. Tables, benches, floors, and even lawns became the visitors’ beds. Everything was free including food, drink, and classrooms. It seemed communism had become a reality — everybody shared things with one another. Many Red Guards had even adopted the same name: “Yaowu,” which meant, “seeking armed conflict.” At his first meeting with the young revolutionists, Mao told the Red Guard leader, Song Binbin, that “Yaowu” was a better name than “Binbin,” since “Binbin” indicated civilization and gentleness, so Song Binbin had promptly changed her name to Song Yaowu. Afterwards, many young students had followed suit. So many names in common had sprouted like new buds in spring: “Weidong,” which stood for “defending Mao Zedong”; “Weihong,” which implied “to protect the red”; and, “Weige,” which meant “one intended to fight for the revolution.” Some of Nina’s fellow Red Guards had criticized her name for being too foreign, so Nina had considered adopting a new name but had not been sure which one she should use.
On August 31, Mao was to show up in Tiananmen Square for the second time. The news, like alcohol, had run in the blood of the Red Guards, and everyone across the campus was drunk. Flustered, Nina had tossed and turned on the table bed in the classroom. The night breeze had come through the open windows and cooled her a little bit. And just when she had fallen asleep, whistles blew and shouts spread across the campus. Nina had jumped out of the makeshift bed, followed the others, and hastened to Tiananmen Square. A green canvas handbag over her shoulder, her hair uncombed, and her face unwashed, she had been among the thousands of thrilled Red Guards from various parts of China. Most of them had been high-school students while some were from colleges and universities.
The swarm of people ahead of Nina had arrived at an alley, unable to move forward since the road was jammed. Apart from her schoolmates, Nina had been with a different crowd on the dimly lit street. She wondered where she was. A girl near her had said, “We’re in a corner of Tiananmen Square.” After standing for a while, Nina had sat down on the ground like some of the others. Fatigued and sleepy, she had leaned on the girl next to her and dozed off.
A couple of hours later, the melody of the song, “The East Is Red,” had blasted from the high-volume speakers. Shouts and screams had forced Nina awake. The waiting youth had pulled one another up from the ground. Nina had stood on her toes and rubbed her eyes. The sea of students with their red-banded arms had moved like currents up and down, though the platform at the Tiananmen Tower was empty, and Mao was seen nowhere. The human waves had still moved forward. As one of those half a million little dots, Nina had inched her way in the throng toward Tiananmen Tower. Some people had tripped and fallen onto the ground because they were pushed by others who were fervent to get even closer to the Tower. The cries of “Help” from those who had been pushed down in the moving crowds mixed with wild cheers and shouts of “Long live Chairman Mao!” Frenzy and commotion surrounded Tiananmen Square.
Hold on. Don’t fall! Nina had told herself. She had not wanted to die before seeing Chairman Mao. Her knees had been so weak that she had to hold onto the arms of others to remain standing. An hour later, a few vehicles in a line inched along in the distance. One man in an army uniform had stood in an open Jeep and waved his red-banded arm to the roiling crowds. Overwrought and overwhelmed with joy, all the Red Guards had blubbered. Like the others, Nina’s tears, mixed with sweat, had cleaned her unwashed face. She had been hungry and weary, and yet, she shouted in a husky voice filled with revolutionary enthusiasm. She had been willing to devote her own life to the revolution, never expecting that in two weeks’ time, she would be outcast from the Red Guards because her father would be branded as an enemy of the revolution.
Now, here she was once more at Peking University. She got directions for the Department of Law and then made her way around the campus till she found the right building. Classes were currently in session, so she simply waited outside until she caught sight of Rei among a throng of students emerging from one classroom. “Rei!” Nina raised her arm and waved.
Rei had arranged for her to stay in a dorm room furnished with eight bunk beds. All the girls were law majors, and half of them were sent-down youth from the countryside. The oldest one, Luja, had already turned thirty. After so many tough years, she had finally become a student in one of the top universities of China. Nina enjoyed talking with her and admired her experience and knowledge.
Nina asked Luja how it came to be that she aspired to study law and recorded what she said: “During the Cultural Revolution, like many other people working in the justice system, my father lost his job as a lawyer. He was subsequently jailed as he’d been labelled a ‘rightist’ because of his open opinions in 1958. Sent down from Beijing to Xinjiang Province, I lived in the rural area until I recently got accepted by the university.
“My father’s case made me wonder why expressing one’s beliefs was considered a crime. According to our constitution, a Chinese citizen has the freedom of speech. Anyway, because of my father’s plight, I became interested in everything related to law and crime. In the countryside, I saw and heard too many horrible stories from my co-workers or from the local peasants. One thing that happened in the village really scared me.
“The newly appointed Party Secretary to my commune, a forty-year-old bachelor, raped a fifteen-year-old girl in his office. But the girl dared not to tell it to anyone because her grandfather was a former landowner, the enemy of the revolution. Besides, even if she had told someone, she was certain nobody would have believed her. The only thing the girl could do was to avoid him, but she failed. One day, the girl was assigned to cut hay in a field. The Party Secretary found her. He pushed her down into the bush and started raping her again. At that moment, some people walked by. They heard the girl’s scream, so they ran over and the rapist was caught on the spot. The three witnesses reported it to the commune committee. Guess what? The Party Secretary wrote self-criticism in the form of a letter to his supervisor, admitting his guilt. Then, the authorities transferred him to a new position in another brigade. He received no punishment at all.
“Another day, the same girl who had been raped by the Party Secretary was beaten to death by some poor peasants. Their reason was that she had seduced the revolutionary leader. The girl’s parents, at the same time, were forced to confess their crime as they did not stop their daughter from seducing the leader at a denunciation meeting. So they dared not even bury their poor daughter. We sent-down girls found her body and wrapped her in a used bedsheet. On a starless night, we dug a hole and buried her under a tree. If anyone had found out what we’d done, we would’ve been labelled as the ‘enemy.’ The anti-revolutionary hat would’ve then been ours.
“I read many books in secret: history, philosophy, and literature. It seemed the word ‘revolution’ covered all the violence and crime, but punished innocence. A real criminal could go free during the revolution. A victim deserved death because her grandparents committed a so-called political crime. What crime? Was it because her grandparents owned some land before the communists’ takeover in 1949? This thought has haunted me. I was scared by my own ideas, which could make me a political criminal since my conclusions were opposite to that of Mao’s ruling class.
“Why did I choose to study the law? For all of these reasons. My personal interests are criminal law, family law, and land law, but the compulsory courses include the History of the Chinese Communist Party and Current Politics with the Documents of the Central Party are compulsory courses. We have to waste a lot of time on them.
”
Nina also met other undergraduates and talked with many of them. She learned that some students from the Department of Chinese Language and Literature planned to start their first literary magazine. At that time, in 1978, all the magazines were still under the management of the government. Sick and tired of the monopolistic voice in the media, directed and controlled by the Communist Party, those students aspired to express their true feelings and opinions. They yearned to share their life experiences through creative writing. The pioneers planned to launch an underground literary magazine in September, which they had decided to call, Our Generation.
Students in Law, Political Science, History, and Literature initiated several after-class discussions, which Nina attended with avid interest. As she listened, she thought, The ten-year Cultural Revolution has ended. But it will take many years to clean up its mess and for people to recover from all the damage it has caused.
Nina wrote in her notebook that the “peaceful evolution” had begun. The passionate and committed students she met at the university helped her envision an enlightened sunshine illuminating China. She recalled years earlier that the newspapers and radio had repeated Mao’s directive: “Basing themselves on the changes in the Soviet Union, the imperialist prophets are pinning their hopes of ‘peaceful evolution’ on the third or fourth generation of the Chinese Party. We must shatter these imperialist prophecies.” As she thought about Mao’s words now, she smirked. Human evolution may be interrupted, but it cannot be halted by any dictator.
One afternoon, Nina and Rei decided to revisit Yuanmingyuan Garden located to the north of Peking University. After passing through a campus side gate, they then wound their way along a path that cut through fields and blooming vegetable gardens. They enjoyed the expanse of clear blue sky above and the bees and dragonflies that accompanied them as they walked in companiable silence. Nina linked her arm to Rei’s, then turned and asked, “Do you enjoy your studies at the university?”
“Very much. I have time and a chance to reflect on my past,” answered Rei. “Twelve years ago, I was an eighth grader. When school was cancelled because of the Cultural Revolution, I was quite happy.”
“Twelve years ago I came to Beijing for Mao’s meeting with the Red Guards. I was so excited at that time,” said Nina. “I had no idea about what really was going on.”
Rei had also been a member of the Red Guard. He remembered one day when he joined others to arrest the principal who had been branded as a reactionary and an academic authority, thus unquestionably against the revolution. The Red Guards had taken the headmaster to the auditorium to denounce him. When the captive refused to confess his crime, the student leader had asked Rei to kick him in order to test whether Rei was loyal to the revolution. Rei had closed his eyes and raised one leg to kick the headmaster. Suddenly, his grandmother’s words had rung in his ears: “Teachers and headmasters are like your parents. You should always listen to and respect them.” Also, the memory of receiving a Student Award for Excellence had run through his mind. His standing leg had started to shake, and then his lifted foot stamped on the floor instead of the headmaster. As a result, Rei had lost his balance and fell down. The lead Red Guard had pushed him off the stage. “Get out of here! You coward!” he had shouted with palpable disgust. Other Red Guards had lifted their legs or raised their arms to hit the principal. Unable to stand any longer, the captive had collapsed onto the stage.
“I’m glad I was kicked out. Or I would’ve done more stupid things,” said Rei. “I might’ve even been forced to capture your father.”
“Luckily, we both got thrown out of the Red Guards at that time,” Nina said with a grin.
When they reached the Yuanmingyuan Garden, the European-style Imperial Palace, built in 1709, Nina stopped to admire the stone arch of the palace’s wreckage. “Look at this graceful structure. I like this part best.”
“Don’t you think these ruins are evidence of the historical crimes of the Western imperialist invaders?” asked Rei.
“Yes, I agree, Nina said. “But, do you remember in June, 1966, students from the middle school affiliated with Qinghua University gathering here? It was here that they took a serious oath to protect Mao’s red regime. That started the Red Guards’ movement.”
“Yes, they were patriots with hatred against Western imperialists. This was why they thought these ruins were the shame of Red China. In terms of patriotism, they weren’t wrong,” Rei responded.
“In my point of view, Mao used the Red Guards to defeat his political rivals solely to ensure his grip on absolute power.”
“Well, I am not sure I totally agree with you about that.” Rei pointed at the stone arch. “In 1860, the Anglo-French Allied Armies occupied the area. You know they set fire to the Garden. Forty years later, the Eight-Power Allied Forces destroyed the Garden completely. Maybe eating too much beef in America has made you forget these facts,” he said with a chuckle. “I have mixed feelings whenever I visit here.”
“Don’t you mean Eight-Nation Alliance?” said Nina. “I hope someday you can read history from a different source and angle; you may find something opposite to what you were taught to believe.” Sitting down on a stone, Nina wiped the sweat on her face. “For the damages to Yuanmingyuan Garden, we can put the blame on the imperialist powers. But we also have many heritage sites that have been damaged by our generation.” She reminded Rei that the Red Guards had burned the cemetery of Emperor Yan built in 967 in Hunan Province. In Shanxi Province, they had desecrated the tomb of Emperor Yao, which though originally built between 713 to 741, had subsequently been reconstructed during different dynasties. Other Red Guards had also vandalized Confucius’s tomb, built in 1331, and crushed his statue in the temple at Shandong. She looked at Rei. “Rampant vandalism took place all across China during the Cultural Revolution. Should we blame the imperialists?”
“I need to think about that,” Reid nodded. “Tell me why you think North America is better than China.”
“The people in North America have a better life because of the democratic system,” Nina said. “I think their political system is a key factor.”
“I will admit there are big gaps in our legal system,” Reid responded. “If we can improve it, maybe fewer people will go to jail because of their political beliefs. All in all, expressing one’s opinion or beliefs shouldn’t be considered a criminal act.”
Nina was glad that Rei’s concerns lay with how to amend current laws. She felt certain that something constructive would come out of the destructive storms of the Cultural Revolution. At the moment, she sat back and enjoyed the gentle rays of the sunset shining golden on the ruins of Yuanmingyuan Garden, while the cool breeze from the fields caressed her skin.
Some day, will the term, “political crime,” finally disappear from Chinese criminal legal system? Nina wondered.
21.
FROM SANDRA’S CHIPS TO CHICKEN SOUP
AS THEY HEADED BACK to the university, Nina asked, “How about if I take you to a supper?”
“Why not?” Rei said. “There’s an American fast-food diner near the campus. It opened a couple of months ago.”
Nina smiled. “That sounds interesting. Let’s go, then. What do they serve?”
“French fries and chicken drumsticks.”
Rei led the way along a laneway paved in flagstone to an older building. An entrance with a red banner that announced “Sandra’s Chips.” “Here it is,” Rei said.
Nina followed him inside to the counter. The small room was filled with square, black tables and benches. On each table was a bamboo container with chopsticks. Most of the customers looked like students. The aroma told Nina it was authentic American fast food.
She joined Rei at the counter and ordered. On an unoccupied table, they laid their plates of fries and drumsticks and sat down. Nina picked up a French fry with her fingers and dipped it into the tiny ketchup cup. “Hm
mm, these are good,” she said, licking her fingers. A plastic fork in his hand, Rei caught three fries but had trouble dipping them in ketchup. “I’ll follow your wild American table manners,” he said, pinching a few fries together with his fingers to dip in the ketchup.
“Americans have good table manners when they eat fancy dinners. When they eat fast food they just use their fingers,” Nina said, grinning. “But note, please, making noise when you chew food is considered bad table manners to Americans, even though to us it means the food is delicious.”
“Really? So Americans have opposite notions of eating etiquette?”
“Oh, yes,” Nina said, nodding. She remembered that she had seldom used her fingers to pinch food from bowls since she had been instructed not to do so as a little girl. My habits have changed. She picked up a drumstick in her hand. I even enjoy iced water instead of warm water.
“Excuse me,” a woman said in Chinese with a strong American accent when she placed a glass on the table. “My server said you’d asked for iced water. You’re the first customer I’ve had who asked for that.”
“Thanks so much,” said Nina, smiling at the blonde woman in a Chinese outfit. “You must be the owner,” she said, admiring the woman’s silk blouse with mandarin collar and pants with floral embroidery on the hems. Then, in English, she added, “You can speak English if you wish.”
“I only own a half,” the blonde grinned. When she noticed the puzzled look on Nina’s face, she continued in English. “My husband owns the other half. By the way, where did you learn to speak English so well?”
“In America.” Nina smiled. “It’s amazing to eat American fast food in Beijing. Your restaurant must be the first one here in the city?”
“Maybe. If we do well, some day we might even be able to buy a license to open a Kentucky Fried Chicken.”