Shades of Mao: The Posthumous Cult of the Great Leader (53 page)

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Authors: Geremie Barme

Tags: #History, #Asia, #China, #Literary Criticism, #Asian, #Chinese, #Political Science, #Political Ideologies, #Communism; Post-Communism & Socialism, #World, #General, #test

BOOK: Shades of Mao: The Posthumous Cult of the Great Leader
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the Agricultural Museum [, our billet,] that some Central leaders would see us on August 31. When we heard this, everyone exploded in excitement. Speculation was rife: Which leader or leaders would be there? Would Chairman Mao come? The result of our group deliberations was that Chairman Mao was sure to be too busy to come. Since we were not from Beijing, there was even less reason for him to see us. But there was a small and adamant group who were sure that Chairman Mao would appear. Naturally, I wanted to believe them. Truth, after all, is often the prerogative of the minority.
It was 6:00 A.M., August 31. We all woke with a start. Although we were all at the age when it is impossible to wake up in the morning, everyone had been really excited the night before. People had woken at the slightest noise and looked around to see that nothing was going on, before drifting off to sleep again. But this time it was for real. We all got dressed in record time and, armed with the food and water we had set aside the night before, ran into the courtyard.
Once assembled, we climbed into our bus and were driven to Tiananmen Square. We lined up and sat in ranks; the Square was turned into a massive sea of green. We waited wide-eyed and expectant. Morning broke slowly, and we saw the majestic outline of Tiananmen Gate. As the sun rose, we began to get hot. But we waited and waited. Our eyes were popping out of our heads. The sweat trickled down our brows and into our eyes. Everyone was constantly wiping the sweat away with their hands. We took out our food and water and started chatting as we ate. Some people nodded off to sleep, heads cushioned on their knees. As a person nodded, his or her head might slip off the knee and they'd awake with a shock, look around, and then nod off again. This happened repeatedly. Some people simply lay down to sleep, using their caps and satchels as a pillow. I stood up and looked out over the Square, a massive expanse occupied by an army of battle-weary Red Guards. I sat down and was overcome by drowsiness myself and, despite my best efforts to keep awake, I was exhausted and fell asleep.
Suddenly drums could be heard, a weak sound at first that grew louder. After the drum roll, all the loudspeakers on the Square resounded with the opening chords of "The East Is Red," followed by the tumultuous sound of the orchestral arrangement of the song. The very earth shook with the volume of the sound. Everyone jumped to their feet. My heart was in my throat; I could feel my pulse around my lips, in my head and neck. The eyes of a million Red Guards were riveted on Tiananmen Gate.
The leaders of Party Central had appeared! But who was behind them? It was Chairman Mao himself!! Everyone threw down their hats, satchels,

 

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bread, water flasks, and began shouting as we surged toward Tiananmen. All those acres of green-clad bodies that had been sitting passively only a moment before turned into a solid wave of human flesh, like a wall of football players. We all shouted "Long Live Chairman Mao!" At first it was an uncoordinated cry, but slowly the chant issued forth in unison. The love that tens of thousands of Red Guards felt for their leader burst forth like lava flowing from Mount Vesuvius. It was a torrent, an explosion of liquid steel. Without a second thought, I joined in and tears streamed from my eyes. I hated the people in front of me who blocked my line of vision and kept Chairman Mao from me. I resented the fact that I was nearsighted, that at this most precious moment I could not see the Chairman clearly. I begged a Red Guard in front of me to lend me his telescope. He was staring into it looking intently at the rostrum on the Gate. Tears had flowed down his cheeks to the corners of his mouth and were dripping onto his clothes. His face was ecstatic. I pleaded with him to let me have one, quick look. "Just for a minute or even only a second. I'll give it back immediately, I swear. I swear by Chairman Mao." He finally gave in and handed me the telescope. I put it up to my eye as quickly as possible but I could not find the Chairman anywhere. What was wrong? He wasn't there. Then suddenly the human wave surged in my direction and I was thrown to the ground. I was held down by a mass of hysterical Red Guards. I pressed down with both my arms to keep myself from being crushed, still the breath was squashed out of me. I struggled for all I was worth, but I could feel my strength being sapped away. I could not keep myself up and my face was being forced against the ground, my cheek crushed downward. I could hear my bones creaking, but I could not scream out because the breath had been knocked out of me. I was afraid I would die without ever having seen Chairman Mao. What a wasted life! But my instinct for self-preservation took over and I started fighting my way out, regardless of the cost. Miraculously, the crowd in front of me parted and a wide road appeared. In that instant I saw Chairman Mao. He was in an open limousine that was moving slowly in our direction. He was like a statue, as tall as the heavens. He was dressed in military uniform, and he waved at us. Tens of thousands of eyes turned toward us, saw our faces, our bodies, and saw into our hearts. I went limp, but I was held up by the mass of other Red Guards. I felt warm all over; I was drunk with happiness. My tears soaked the front of my army-green uniform. I forgot everything, my studies, my future. Life seemed so unimportant, irrelevant. Nothing could compare with this instant, because I had seen him!
I did nonetheless have one major regret. I did not get a chance to shake Chairman Mao's hand. How I wished I could have become a spirit or a

 

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martial arts expert and flown over the crowd to sit next to Chairman Mao! But I couldn't. The people who shook Chairman Mao's hand that day were our heroes. We all rushed up to them so we could hold them by the hand, reluctant to let go. We nearly tore them to pieces.
Even today, whenever I hear "The East Is Red," that incredibly familiar tune, my heart beats faster. It is because that moment was so profound, so exciting and happy. I have only felt like that once in my whole life. I am sure I will never, ever feel like that again. . . .
Some years later, I went to Beijing with my mother. One day, we visited the Chairman Mao Memorial Hall. Over the years people have ceaselessly gone to see the Chairman's corpse. Our line was like a coiled dragon that wound around the center of the Square.
We entered the stately and solemn foyer of the Mausoleum. The stream of people made a slow circumambulation. This was the second time I had seen Chairman Mao. He was the undying idol of my heart, the man who possessed and ruled me throughout my adolescence and youth. If the truth be told, I had lived solely for him for two decades.
Mao Zedong was lying there so still and quiet, at repose in his crystal sarcophagus. The flag of the People's Republic was draped over his body, his face had a peaceful expression on it. I experienced a strange cocktail of emotions: bitter, sweet, sour, and hot. I could not take my eyes off him, my leader.
In my mind's eye, I saw him make the announcement: "The People's Republic of China is hereby established. The people of China have stood up!"
I saw him dressed in a military uniform waving a cap in his hand as he said: "Long live the People!"
I saw him in his limousine driving toward the hysterical Red Guards.
I saw him standing there with that expression on his face that I was so familiar with from all the photographs, extending his massive hand in my direction. . . .
I could not help reaching out for his hand in return, just as I had so many times before in my dreams. But there was nothing there. The Chairman was still lying there, and we inched forward with the rest of the crowd. We moved past the bier that was surrounded by fresh flowers and made our way slowly to the exit.
I bid farewell to Chairman Mao. I bid farewell also to twenty years of my life, the most precious, enthusiastic, and impressionable time of my youth.
We walked out into Tiananmen Square, which was bathed in bright sunlight, in the direction of Tiananmen Gate where we could see [the portrait of] Chairman Mao, although Chairman Mao was not there himself.

 

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Even now the songs I most often sing, the songs I am most familiar with, that I can sing from beginning to end, are ones written in praise of Chairman Mao. The works I can still recite by heart are Chairman Mao's poems. And I still quote Chairman Mao at the drop of a hat. I know and hold it to be true that Mao Zedong will live on in my heart forever.
This year I am in Shenzhen for Spring Festival. During the holiday I happened to take taxis a number of times. None of the taxis had the usual talismans for good fortune hanging from their rear-view mirrors. What hung there instead was Chairman Mao's portrait. I asked the drivers about it and they all said that they hung the Chairman because he could ward off evil.
Dear Chairman Mao, people throughout China miss you.
4
6 February 1992, Shenzhen
Notes
1. See Stephen Kinzer, "`Love Letters' to Hitler, a Book and Play Shocking to Germans."
2. Subsequent to the publication of Li Zhisui's memoirs in 1994, one Beijing-based writer questioned whether Liu Xiaoqing had re-evaluated her innocent view of the Chairman. See Xue Yu, "Zhide pengMaozhe renzhen yidu," p. 39.
3. "Sister Jiang" (
Jiangjie
) is a pre-1966 opera about the Sichuan revolutionary martyr Jiang Zhuyun. It is based on the novel
Red Crag
(Hongyan).
4. Liu was far from being the only screen personality to express such sentiments. Jiang Wen, her actor-boyfriend and one of China's leading actors, made his directorial debut in the summer of 1995 with a CultRev nostalgia film "Under the Radiant Sun" (
Yangguang canlande rizi
). Mao Zedong is prominent
in absentia
in this highly popular movie, one that was based on the 1991 Wang Shuo story "Wild Beasts" (
Dongwu xiongmeng
). See, for example, Sandrine Chenivesse, "For Us, Mao Was a First Love."

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