Red Guards
In China the color red has traditionally represented prosperity or something auspicious. Hence it was the custom at wedding feasts, for example, for the bride to wear a red wedding gown embroidered with flowers.
But today in China, as in many other countries of the world during this twentieth century, the color red, much loved for its brilliance and gaiety, has taken on a new meaning. As soon as the Chinese adopted the ideology of their northern neighbor red came to symbolize revolution and communism. It would not only be seen in the bride's dress or in Chinese lanterns but everywhere.
On October 1, 1949, thousands of red flags fluttered over Peking's Tien An Men Square. The People's Republic of China was born.
Nearly seventeen years later, in the summer of 1966, that same square witnessed another revolution.
Thousands of Chinese youth with red bands on their left arms, marched through the square fanatically shouting, "All proletarian revolutionaries unite! Seize power from a handful of capitalist-roaders in the Party!"
In addition to wearing red arm bands, they held aloft red flags as they marched and waved little red books. Overnight Peking had been transformed into a sea of red.
Our Leader had declared that from then on the red would be brighter, fresher than ever before. We were soon to discover what he meant. No longer was it to signify idealism alone, but rather the red of blood — Chinese blood. Soon not only the streets of Peking but the whole of China was to flow with blood, the color intermingling with the red
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flags and books of Mao's thoughts.
The Red Guards had rallied in support of their country and to defend their beloved leader, Chairman Mao Tse-tung. These were dedicated young people: they were selling out their energy, their strength, indeed their whole lives. And they would spill their blood too for this new political movement. The Proletarian Cultural Revolution. And I was one of them.
All summer long I had been thinking about the Long March and the war of resistance against Japan. Both of these had taken place long before I was born. I had been too young to join in the "war of resisting America and aiding Korea" as it was known. The youth who had joined the Movement of May 4, 1919 and December 9, 1935, had always had my admiration. So my heart's desire had always been to join such a magnificent political movement myself.
And then came the Cultural Revolution. Pulsating, vigorous, and dynamic, it caused my very being to beat to it's rhythm.
Since childhood I had been educated under the Red Flag. I too must act like a hero, just like Hsia Ming-han,1 Lu Hulan,2 and Alex Matrosov,3 my childhood idols. These had all died in the prime of life for the revolutionary cause.
The Great Cultural Revolution was characterized by violence and strife, surpassing in cruelty even the French Revolution of 1789. It must surely be one of the most tragic episodes in all history.
The memory is still fresh in my mind. It was just before sitting for our final examinations in 1966 that the government gave orders to all the schools to suspend
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classes. Their students were all summoned to join the Cultural Revolution.
The first targets in the new campaign were all the teaching staff in the various schools, colleges and educational establishments from kindergarten to university. Their walls were covered with "Big-Character"4 posters carrying such slogans as "Down with capitalistic agents in our schools" or "Support Chairman Mao's educational line" and even carried personal attacks on school principals. Soon their posters spilled over into the streets, the factories, shops and governmental institutions. They were everywhere. Now it was not just a student, or even a "Red Guard" movement, but what the People's Daily described as a "movement that touches everyone at his very soul."
School desks would be shoved together to form a stage and the teachers forced to climb up. Each was given a three foot tall dunce's cap, to humiliate him. It was only later that I discovered why they appeared to be so uncomfortable to wear. Each had an iron dumbbell inside so that the teachers had to hold them with their hands to support the weight.
One day the leaders of our movement gave us names of people on the blacklist. I led my group — some half dozen of us — to the home of the owner of a small bookstore. He was about 60 years old. We started a bonfire outside his house, then took all his books out and burned them. Then we dug up the floor of his house to a depth of perhaps three feet to see if there were any counter-revolutionary documents hidden there. We scolded the owner for poisoning the minds of young people by selling and lending out such books, then we built a stage and set him on it. While we cursed and beat him, his wife was standing there shaking; she was a frail little old lady. When I went to punch her I told myself, "Don't be a coward or ashamed of what you are doing! Don't be nervous about it — hit her hard! We can't show any mercy to class enemies! No, we must defend our proletarian dictatorship
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and our socialist fatherland!"
But in spite of telling myself this, at the instant when my fist made contact with her back, (she was a woman of my grandmother's age), I felt so ashamed and disturbed in my heart.
In those days nearly every family was busy burning books, both classics and modern, foreign and Chinese. All were burned, that is, all except the "Little Red Book" containing the thoughts of Mao. Anyone caught hiding books would be in for trouble. It was especially dangerous to keep a Bible since we were told this book was an opium that poisoned people's minds. It had been imported by the imperialists and anyone found in possession of one was liable to be killed.
Buddhist temples were also a target for the Red Guards who would rush in, burning all the Buddha images.
The Chinese Statue of Liberty in the grave yard of the Seventy-two Martyrs5 was smashed in pieces by angry hoards of Red Guards. The huge emblem atop the Sino-Soviet Friendship Hall was also knocked down from the lofty spire, as was the cross on the church.
"We have the right to make rebellion!" and "To make revolution is no crime!" were just two of Chairman Mao's quotations we were forced to read at that time, throughout the whole of China. The entire country was in a new state of revolution.
The Red Guards were out to purge all revisionist elements. They turned their spears on the one they termed "The top Party leader taking the Capitalist road" — Liu Shao-chi himself, the Chairman of the People's Republic and also vice-chairman of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of China, otherwise known as the "Chinese Khrushchev." It was imperative that all revisionist elements be removed. The system needed purifying and the Red Guards travelled the length of the country to do so, kindling the flame of revolution.
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Millions of young people swarmed into Peking. They paraded outside the Gate of Heavenly Peace — Tien An Men — and were received by their great and beloved leader Mao, himself, and his dearest comrade-in-arms Lin Piao.
Newspapers and radio broadcasts all lauded these "great leaders" and everywhere the slogan "Salute to the Red Guards!" was being shouted. They were the national heroes.
But it was not long before the Red Guards were fighting among themselves. Factionalism developed so rapidly it was hard to believe. "Yesterday they were close comrades-in-arms," people would comment, "but today they are the worst of enemies."
As this controversy grew, out would come daggers, spears or clubs with which they would fight to the death. But later on real guns, cannons, or even armored tanks would appear and engage battle. I still remember very clearly one day when I was caught in the middle of an angry crowd. As we moved along the street we came to a crossroad only to find another similar group converging on us, banners in their hands.
We both came to a halt and confronted each other for a moment. Then suddenly there came the sound of an explosion. Many fell to the ground bleeding. Then came the sound of gunfire and more fell. The roadway was littered with the dying who lay there groaning and cursing as they bled to death.
During the wars of resistance against foreign invasion, had not the Chinese people been more than willing to shed their blood to win back their independence and establish a new China? How much more would they shed their blood now in defense of their great Leader!
But when the Leader saw all that the Red Guards were doing he gave orders for them to return to their classrooms. Little did he realize how much easier it was to kindle a flame than to extinguish it, for we Red Guards had no interest in returning to our classrooms. For us, the revolution was far from over, and that was a fact. Why should we return to
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school while the revolution continued? We could not understand it. But one more thing we could not understand was when an armored force moved into the 29th Middle School in Canton. There the People's Liberation Army shot the students and left.
Those shots were to herald the end of Mao's year of "Saluting the Red Guards." Instead, the great Leader determined that the Red Guards should be re-educated.
All students and Red Guards were then sent out into the country — and I was one of them.
Sitting in my mud hut, with neither door nor windows, I tried to calm down the excitement that had built up inside me over the past three years. I forced myself to try to understand the possibility that perhaps this hut would be the place where I might have to live out the rest of my life. The more I thought about it, the more I came to the conclusion that the time had come for me to give up ever seeing my loved ones again and, instead, work on getting a life-long "re-education."
I used to work hard in the fields, battling with the elements. My skin was sunburnt, my hands blistered, and deep down I was hoping that by enduring all these sufferings I would succeed in washing away all "non-Proletarian" thoughts from my mind.
I tried my hardest to control myself. I endured the cursing and cutting remarks from my team leader. Since his political background and class standards were much higher than mine, no matter what he said or did, he should be considered "right" at all times.
One, two, three, four years passed. Then one day it suddenly seemed to me that I should take time to weigh up all my problems and doubts and consider them seriously.
This I did. It was no easy thing to go over the past years of my life. Where was it all leading me? What was it all for?
Finally, I made my decision. I must escape.
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It sounded totally ridiculous — a Red Guard escaping! But I was only one of thousands! We had all been forced to the same conclusion.
I was one of the few to succeed in reaching the "paradise" of Hong Kong.
Chapter 3 || Table of Contents
1. Hsia Ming-han was a revolutionary hero. He was killed in a concentration camp by the Kuomintang. His poems were taught in schools. One of them ran: "It wouldn't matter if I were beheaded if my doctrine were true, for after my death thousands will march along our road."
2. Liu-Hu-Lan, a girl of 16 who was said to have died a martyr for communism. Mao wrote her epitaph: "She lived a great life, died a heroic death."
3. Alex Matrosov. A Soviet hero who gave his life for his country during World War II.
4. "Big Character Posters" — Posters displaying oversize Chinese characters; these were introduced by Mao Tse-tung for the purpose of exhortation or critique or introducing new ideas.
5. The Seventy-two Martyrs were led by Dr. Sun Yat-sen in 1910 and had given their lives for the cause of the Revolution.
