The Cultural Revolution 1966-1976By Cynthia

XIAO MIAO JOURNAL

August 19th, 1966A Hero Rises

I stood with the large crowds at Tiananmen Square, where Chairman Mao would make an appearance. I imagined him, waving and smiling, while clapping in sync with the crowd. As I thrust my Little Red Book toward the vibrant blue sunny sky like the others did, I cheered and piped songs of praise to Mao Ze Dong, for he is China’s Hero. This day marked the start of a series of rally’s Mao hosted. We were all jumbled together like peas in the pod at Tiananmen Square. I’d say millions of Red Guards, stood keen, all anxious to catch a glimpse of Mao’s godlike stature. Like a choir we chanted melodiously in sync, “Long Live Chairman Mao!” “Long Live Chairman Mao!” I pulled back my two braids that whistled with the wind, and eagerly waited for the moment he would appear.

Events unfolded about three months back when a young teacher at Beijing University created the very first Marxist Dazibao. It was a big character poster criticizing professors and administrators classifying them as “black, anti-party gangsters.” Soon the universities students I heard began forming groups, calling themselves The Red Guards. This idea spread faster than lightning. Soon my whole school began creating these amazing large posters, forming mini groups. I missed lots of my classes in order to attend political study meetings like most of the other students in my school Sizhong. I should be content because I have a clear family background. Many students, including a guy named Ming were rejected from the Red Guards groups because his parents were high intellectuals, one of the Bad Elements. He tried so hard to hide his little secret he even declared that his parents have died in an accident. However when his background came into light even though he showed loyalty to the group, Ming was shamed and banished. Although, sometimes I wish having a bad family background could give me an excuse to be ousted like Ming. I do not enjoy missing class, and deeming people reactionaries and leftists. But I have to stay, because it is my duty, because everyone else did it, I have stay and take responsibility for Mao.

I left my family, as do all the other Red Guards. The Peoples Liberation Army has been taking care of us so far. They dressed us in khaki uniforms, gave us food, and a place to stay. I honestly have to be quite thankful for these kind people, giving th us so much. It has been quite awhile since I’ve seen my Ma and Ba, not that I miss them. Okay to tell you the truth, I do miss my family, a lot! In the beginning I was pretty excited to earn my own freedom and experience a sense of true power as a woman (for once.) But all that is lost now. It seems like a lifetime ago since I was back at my family farm. I miss how I woke up to the sound of the roosters and hens crazily squawking for their morning meal, I miss the little squeals and swindles my baby brother made, I even miss nursing the no good wilted crops. Now all I hear day and night are the rumbling grunts of tires spitting dirt. Though, my complaints can never be said out loud, for the fear at others would publicly shame the image of who I am and oust me like I’ve seen happen to people deemed “weak” before.

Today at the square Mao greeted us Red Guards, and he personally came and met most of us. Most would shake his hand and scream, “Long Live Mao!” When he reached me, I gently gripped his firm hand and looked him eye-to-eye. A great leader stood before me, and yet no words spilled out of my mouth, I remained silent, dumbfounded. As Chairman Mao started walking away, he paused and looked back in my direction (I can’t believe it!) he thenpersonally thanked me for all my dedication and sincerity, a little part of me died. My head spun, and finished in conclusion that what Mao had in plan for me was best. Nothing could stop me from walking in the steps of Mao, not my family, not my friends, or I.

Us Red Guards at Tiananmen Square.

March 3rd 1967“Sweep Away All Monsters and Demons”

A beautiful home lie before me, a fine cut wooden door, unscratched glass windows gowned in red satin curtains. A few seconds later that beautiful piece of architecture would turn into a heap of trash. The leader of our group Wei smashed the fragile window with a hunk of metal and the rest of the assembly bolted behind him. A fire was already prepared just outside the estate. I ripped a painting of some elderly lady of the wall and threw it into the blazing flames. A thick book based on this family lines genealogy lay upon the broken stained floor, it must had been ancient therefore bad, so I tore out each page one by one savoring each sharp sound it made. For each tear was a tear for Mao. Behind the noises of burning and destruction a shriek of a young boy was heard. A boy was being dragged away from his father. “Xiaoniao, xiaoniao.” the father cried out to his son. Little Bird, I translated. I looked at what I had done and snapped back into reality. Should a little boy really suffer because his father was a counter-revolutionary? I watched in horror as those tigers ripped apart the connection between father and son, its prey. Have I become a tigress myself?

After Mao gave his blessing to us Red Guards, he initiated us with a set of new instructions to destroy the Four Olds consisting of old ideology, customs, culture, and habits. Telling us to annihilate everything with a symbol from the past. My friends ended up being put in other Red Guard groups than I but I heard in these past few weeks they have been roaming across Beijing burning down all Buddhist temples, churches, and mosques. “Sweep Away All Monsters and Demons,” we would all holler out. Expressing our main goal to rid China of all bad elements, including the bad people.

One of the most highlighted and talked about events amongst the Red Guards were the struggle sessions. I recognized Xiaoniao’s father, his unforgettable face. He had his boy’s eyes. Except for the fact that all around his auburn eyes were a various dark shades of lavender from bruises that covered his entire body much like the other Seven Kinds of Black. I witnessed all the action. The counter-revolutionaries were all lined up in a single file shackled in blood stained chains for all to humiliate and abuse. An ocean of Red Guards flooded into the area and the feast for blood started. A woman’s body was bent over. Two boys came in from behind held her arms stiff and straight behind her back. This position was famous amongst Red Guards known as “doing the airplane”. Around her neck hung a dense chain with a dark blackboard, stolen from her very own classroom, with all the bad crimes she committed written in bleached chalk. I watched from the sideline, afraid to even touch the battlefield. I saw Wei thrust punches at an already lifeless man. Everyone just kept on pounding, pounding, pounding. I viewed other girls spitting phrases criticizing and shaming the boy’s father, forcing him to fall down on his knees and kneel before them. I wanted to stop watching but couldn’t take my eyes off the action. Bitter tears slowly leaked out of his eyes, with all energy he had left, his mouth worded “I love you, Xiaoniao.” And then collapsed to the ground.

The question kept on coming back, why have I gotten myself into this? So many, no, too many bodies piled up one after another. From the look on the older boys’ ruthless faces, they enjoyed every moment of this blood bath. Everything in my body at that time was telling me to just scream “STOP!” But something held me back. Last year, Mao had looked me in the eye and commemorated me. I made a commitment that day that I cannot break. Mao is my leader whom I have to keep fighting for. I am not weak. I am not weak. I am not weak.

The older boys pushing the counter-revolutionary into “airplane position”

December 15th, 1968Off to Jiangxi With Reason

One, Two, Three, Four… a hundred and one, a hundred and two…. With a gentle jerk and yank my crude blistered hand pulled out each weed one by one.

I do not have time to write much anymore, I have been at this farm for a few weeks and I can already feel my body weakening. Mao’s intentions were that all Zhishi Qingnian or educated youth had to be “reeducated” with work of agrarian. We were told that people who lived in the city never move a limb and could not distinguish different crops. I can tell that most red guards are now finally striding away from the urges, feelings, and habitual routines of disorder and destruction. This is what I am most happy about. The shaming of the bourgeois and other frightening revolutionary activities are now over also thanks to Mao. But I do question why I have to go to the countryside because since I was born I had been working at a farm, I know lots of skills already! I worked so hard to get into a great school, and now I get pulled out of school and sent to another farm?

Two weeks ago was when I first heard that our red guards group was being relocated Down to the Countryside, I didn't know what to think. I had mixed feelings. But posters of propaganda were posted on every street projecting how happy and welcoming the countryside peasants were, which gave me comfort. But it ended out to be a great façade. Conditions at this place were the complete opposite in fact.

Farm tasks and manual labor here in Jiangxi are tougher more tiresome. They are so unalike farm life in Shunyi. Conditions are harsh, rough, especially in this frigid weather. There is hardly anything to eat at this relocation farm, for many days little scraps of wheat were my daily meal. Every bite into food had to be savored and relished. To be honest, right now I do not know what Mao was thinking. Okay, I’m sorry, that was impulsive. I did not mean to write those words of doubt to the mighty chairman. Especially after all he has done for us, for China. If others saw, I would be deemed a counter-revolutionist. However, it feels like anywhere is better than right here and now, in these dull days. If I were to go to jail at least I wouldn’t have to work as hard and food wouldn't have to be earned.

I heard Mao’s own daughter Li Na was also sent to Jiangxi like me for work. I have not seen her so far. She probably worked at a different village. I think Jiangxi is the place for special workers, workers with experience, it was perhaps my skill level in farming was high, so they expected more from me, and for that Mao I am honored. I have always felt that I had a deep connection to Mao. He heard my cries of fear and distress in those dark bloody days, and instead of shame me or make me a target of abuse, he created a gift to quell all chaos that had been roaming and burning down all the streets.

Don't get me wrong Mao, but even if your intentions were good, I’m too young to leave my family, I already had many years of my life planned out ahead, my road was all carved out (i. Graduate College, ii. Marry a Nice Man, iii. Find a Job and start a family.) Home is where I belong, yet why am I so far away, letters can’t even be sent back to Beijing. Not a soul lives within sight from where I am. Mao, if you are listening, and have time, can you please send my regards to Ma and Ba. All I can do now is have hope. I hope that from these reeducation camps, all red guards can start learning how to be like you, instead of fighting for you.

(Pictured Left) is one of the propaganda posters posted on my home street.

September 13th, 1972 I Am the Master of My Fate

As I write this very moment my fingers burn of numbness, work has been harder than ever especially during the horrendous harvest season again. Sometimes we would work for 12 hours straight, no food, no rest in between. I’ve had a nasty fever for quite a while so I apologize for not writing lately. An abysmal disease has spread amongst us farmers like wildfire, one by one another person lies sick, one by one another person dies. Wei the leader of my old Red Guards group died quietly last night in his slumber, he had been battling when I awoke at dawn the typical routine was put into action, where a group of fellow farmers tossed his body out like a garbage bag to the gloomy bug-infested far field dump where all the other crow sustenance lay. It seems as though all of us are just waiting for the day when it is our turn to be tossed out.

I have been trying all my life to make up excuses for why the communist party has done what they’ve done. The news received last week is still settling in my mind. Our group was informed that Lin Biao, had died along with his family in a plane crash, a tragedy. Lin Biao was a respected official and was becoming such a great vice chairman for CCP. It was said by the Chinese government that Lin had attempted a coup d’etat of assassinating Mao, why do I find that hard to believe? Lin was Mao’s biggest supporter and best student. He even organized the Little Red Book full of Mao’s greatest quotes! Why would Lin do such a thing? I do not know if I feel more betrayed by Lin Biao or if I am beginning to have doubts on the communist party. And have I neglected to mention that his real death was actually a year ago! What else is the government hiding from us, when will this madness end?

Following Lin’s death, all hope has been shredded. I was counting on Lin bringing us country folks back to Beijing. Mao has been ignoring us workers in the countryside lately. All past connections I thought I shared with Mao have been lost. I haven’t seen my family in seven years now. My baby brother is probably already grown up. Hope is frail especially at a time like this. But after the sudden announcement of Lin Biao’s death, so many questions have been answered. Expecting others to do something or make a change is something a foolish man would believe. To make a difference, I have to make my own changes. I will fight death, beat life, and I will overcome all obstacles until I find my way back to the city, for my family, and myself, not Mao.

Lin Biao and his family who died in a plane crash.

October 31st, 1976Stepping into a New Era

Today I sing a song of joy, a song of celebration. I am finally leaving this hole of torture and going back home. After this past decade of pure terror, I am excited to move on, I can’t wait to find out what my future holds. I’d say the revolution is coming to an end now. Many workers are going back home, in fact, many of my friends left for Shanghai yesterday.

The Gang of Four was arrested a few weeks ago, and they deserve it after all the crimes they committed. I remember back in January when Zhou Enlai died. Zhou was a moderate leader who was highly respected and loved by all of China. I loved him, even if he did not know me personally, he felt like family. I read in the newspaper that about a million people went to Tiananmen Square to mourn his death. All my blocked letters from home updating on life back in Beijing were given me just a few days ago. One of the most recent letters was dated back to January from Ba. He called that day the Tiananmen Incident. A section Ba wrote in the letter, “I stood along side other angry men denouncing the Gang of Four, while others requested more openness in the government. I was among many people who wanted an end to dictatorship, and a return to Marxism-Leninism!”

Ba then went on to write, “The evil will be taken down sooner or later.” As Ba predicted, the Gang of Four led by Mao’s wife Jiang Qing has fallen from power. Two years ago they usurped the power of the communist party. I have disliked them since the start, Ba too. The devious gang, consisting of Jiang Qing, Zhuan Chunqiao, Yao Wenyuan, and Wang Hongwen were arrested a few weeks ago. Hua Guofeng after Mao’s death authorized the arrest and was the person that dubbed these criminals the “Gang of Four.” Many now say this is the end to our revolution. I hope it is.

Mourning for Mao has gradually stopped, few are still crying. I still look back to the day when his death was announced to the people here in the countryside. When I heard this news, I was devastated but I still felt rage towards Mao who dumped me here in this confinement of torture. Tears rolled down my cheeks day-by-day, hour-by-hour. However, to this day I still can't figure out if they were genuine tears or false. Real or not I had an excuse to stop working for the first time in years. It was the first day to have gone by without any work getting done.

Pa told me that back in Beijing even babies who couldn’t talk yet, had to cry upon Mao’s death or else they would be deemed unlucky or misfortunate. My brother, in elementary school had to gown himself in all shades of black. Pa sent me a picture of his little head planted on a desk, his schoolbooks were aside untouched, and on his jacket pinned a white paper flower.

Even though I know the revolution was the Gang of Four’s fault, I still am wondering why Mao couldn't bring us back to the city, knowing he had so much power. Had he forgotten that he laid us here in the countryside in the first place? Don’t you think after seven years of manual labor we have gotten the deal of “hard work?” We were Mao’s rightists, his fighters and we were paid back in a form of agony. I am not afraid to say that after Mao’s death, life has been made easier. I am coming home, and I am coming home strong. Mao cannot and will not alter my future decisions. I am my own woman of power. No one can take that away from me. The last words on Ba’s letter penned, “I have a feeling all of this will end soon, hang in there, I love you Xiao Miao, you soon will be home. -Take Care, Ba” I am coming home Baba, I love you.

One of the Posters posted saying, "Decisively Throw Out the Wang-Zhang-Jiang-Yao Anti-Party Clique!"