Wild Swans: Three Daughters of China (37 page)

This absurd situation reflected not only Mao's ignorance of how an economy worked, but also an almost metaphysical disregard for reality, which might have been interesting in a poet, but in a political leader with absolute power was quite another matter.  One of its main components was a deep-seated contempt for human life.  Not long before this he had told the Finnish ambassador, "Even if the United States had more powerful atom bombs and used them on China, blasted a hole in the earth, or blew it to pieces, while this might be a matter of great significance to the solar system, it would still be an insignificant matter as far as the universe as a whole is concerned."

Mao's voluntarism had been fueled by his recent experience in Russia. Increasingly disillusioned with Khrushchev after his denunciation of Stalin in 1956, Mao went to Moscow in late 1957 to attend a world Communist summit.

He returned convinced that Russia and its allies were abandoning socialism and turning 'revisionist."  He saw China as the only true believer.  It had to blaze a new path.

Megalomania and voluntarism meshed easily in Mao's mind.

Mao's fixation on steel went largely unquestioned, as did his other obsessions.  He took a dislike to sparrows they devour grain.  So every household was mobilized.  We sat outside ferociously beating any metal object, from cymbals to saucepans, to scare the sparrows off the trees so they would eventually drop dead from exhaustion.  Even today I can vividly hear the din made by my siblings and me, as well as by the government officials, sitting under a mammoth wolfoerry tree in our courtyard.

There were also fantastic economic goals.  Mao claimed that China's industrial output could overtake that of the United States and Britain within fifteen years.  For the Chinese, these countries represented the capitalist world.

Overtaking them would be seen as a triumph over their enemies.  This appealed to people's pride, and boosted their enthusiasm enormously. They had felt humiliated by the refusal of the United States and most major Western countries to grant diplomatic recognition, and were so keen to show the world that they could make it on their own that they wanted to believe in miracles.  Mao provided the inspiration.  The energy of the population had been eager to find an outlet.  And here it was.  The gung-ho spirit overrode caution, as ignorance triumphed over reason.

In early 1958, shortly after returning from Moscow, Mao visited Chengdu for about a month.  He was fired up with the idea that China could do anything, especially seize the leadership of socialism from the Russians.  It was in

Chengdu that he outlined his "Great Leap Forward."  The city organized a big parade for him, but the participants had no idea that Mao was there.  He lurked out of sight.

At this parade a slogan was put forward, "Capable women can make a meal without food," a reversal of a pragmatic ancient Chinese saying, "No matter how capable, a woman cannot make a meal without food." Exaggerated rhetoric had become concrete demands.  Impossible fantasies were supposed to become reality.

It was a gorgeous spring that year.  One day Mao went for an outing to a park called the Thatched Cottage of Du Fu, the eighth century Tang poet.  My mother's Eastern District office was responsible for the security of one area of the park, and she and her colleagues patrolled it, pretending to be tourists.  Mao rarely kept to a schedule, or let people know his precise movements, so for hours and hours my mother sat sipping tea in the teahouse, trying to keep on the alert.  She finally grew restless and told her colleagues she was going for a walk.  She strayed into the security area of the Western District, whose staff did not know her, and was immediately followed.  When the Party secretary of the Western District received reports about a 'suspicious woman' and came to see for himself, he laughed: "Why, this is old Comrade Xia from the Eastern District!"  Afterward my mother was criticized by her boss, district chief Guo, for 'running around without discipline."

Mao also visited a number of farms in the Chengdu Plain.  Thus far, peasant cooperatives had been small.  It was here that Mao ordered them all to be merged into bigger institutions, which were later called 'people's communes."

That summer, all of China was organized into these new units, each containing between 2,000 and 20,000 households.  One of the forerunners of this drive was an area called Xushui, in Hebei province in North China, to which Mao took a shine.  In his eagerness to prove that they deserved Mao's attention, the local boss there claimed they were going to produce over ten times as much grain as before.  Mao smiled broadly and responded: "What are you going to do with all that food?  On second thought, it's not too bad to have too much food, really.  The state doesn't want it.  Everybody else has plenty of their own.  But the farmers here can just eat and eat.  You can eat five meals a day!"  Mao was intoxicated, indulging in the eternal dream of the Chinese peasant-surplus food.  After these remarks, the villagers further stoked the desires of their Great Leader by claiming that they were producing more than a million pounds of potatoes per mu (one mu is one-sixth of an acre), over 130,000 pounds of wheat per mu, and cabbages weighing 500 pounds each.

It was a time when telling fantasies to oneself as well as others, and believing them, was practised to an incredible degree.  Peasants moved crops from several plots of land to one plot to show Party officials that they had produced a miracle harvest.  Similar "Potemkin fields' were shown off to gullible or self-blinded agricultural scientists, reporters, visitors from other regions, and foreigners.

Although these crops generally died within a few days because of untimely transplantation and harmful density, the visitors did not know that, or did not want to know.  A large part of the population was swept into this confused, crazy world.

"Self-deception while deceiving others' (~ioqiqi-ren) gripped the nation.  Many people including agricultural scientists and senior Party leaders Said they saw the miracles themselves.  Those who failed to match other people's fantastic claims began to doubt and blame themselves.  Under a dictatorship like Mao's, where information was withheld and fabricated, it was very difficult for ordinary people to have confidence in their own experience or knowledge.  Not to mention that they were now facing a nationwide tidal wave of fervor which promised to swamp any individual cool headedness  It was easy to start ignoring reality and simply put one's faith in Mao.  To go along with the frenzy was by far the easiest course.  To pause and think and be circumspect meant trouble.

An official cartoon portrayed a mouse like scientist who was saying “A stove like yours can only boil water to make tea."

Next to him stood a giant worker, lifting a huge sluice gate releasing a flood of molten steel, who retorted, "How much can you drink?"  Most who saw the absurdity of the situation were too frightened to speak their minds, particularly after the Anti-Rightist Campaign of 1957. Those who did voice doubts were immediately silenced, or sacked, which also meant discrimination against their family and a bleak prospect for their children.

In many places, people who refused to boast of massive increases in output were beaten up until they gave in.  In Yibin, some leaders of production units were trussed up with their arms behind their backs in the village square while questions were hurled at them:

"How much wheat can you produce per mu?"

"Four hundred fin' (about 450 pounds a realistic amount).

Then, beating him: "How much wheat can you produce per mu?"

"Eight hundred fin."

Even this impossible figure was not enough.  The unfortunate man would be beaten, or simply left hanging, until he finally said: "Ten thousand fin."  Sometimes the man died hanging there because he refused to increase the figure, or simply before he could raise the figure high enough.

Many grass-roots officials and peasants involved in scenes like this did not believe in the ridiculous boasting, but fear of being accused themselves drove them on.  They were carrying out the orders of the Party, and they were safe as long as they followed Mao.  The totalitarian system in which they had been immersed had sapped and warped their sense of responsibility.  Even doctors would boast about miraculously healing incurable diseases.

Trucks used to turn up at our compound carrying grinning peasants coming to report on some fantastic, record breaking achievement.  One day it was a monster cucumber half as long as the truck.  Another time it was a tomato carded with difficulty by two children.  On another occasion there was a giant pig squeezed into a truck.  The peasants claimed they had bred an actual pig this size.  The pig was only made of papier-maiche, but as a child I imagined that it was real.  Maybe I was confused by the adults around me, who behaved as though all this were true.  People had learned to defy reason and to live with acting.

The whole nation slid into doublespeak.  Words became divorced from reality, responsibility, and people's real thoughts.  Lies were told with ease because words had lost their meanings and had ceased to be taken seriously by others.

This was entrenched by the further regimentation of society.  When he first set up the communes, Mao said their main advantage was that 'they are easy to control," because the peasants would now be in an organized system rather than being, to a certain extent, left alone.  They were given detailed orders from the very top about how to fill their land. Mao summed up the whole of agriculture in eight characters: 'soil, fertilizer, water, seeds, dense planting, protection, tending, technology."  The Party Central Committee in Peking was handing out two-page instructions on how peasants all over China should improve their fields, another page on how to use fertilizers, another on planting crops densely.  Their incredibly simplistic instructions had to be strictly followed: the peasants were ordered to replant their crops more densely in one mini-campaign after another.

Another means of regimentation, setting up canteens in the communes, was an obsession with Mao at the time.  In his airy way, he defined communism as 'public canteens with free meals."  The fact that the canteens themselves did not produce food did not concern him.  In 1958 the regime effectively banned eating at home.  Every peasant had to eat in the commune canteen.  Kitchen utensils like woks and, in some places, money were outlawed.  Everybody was going to be looked after by the commune and the state.

The peasants filed into the canteens every day after work and ate to their hearts' content, which they had never been able to do before, even in the best years and in the most fertile areas.  They consumed and wasted the entire road reserve in the countryside.  They filed into the fields, too.

But how much work was done did not matter, because the produce now belonged to the state, and was completely unrelated to the peasants' lives.  Mao put forward the prediction that China was reaching a society of communism, which in Chinese means 'sharing material goods," and the peasants took this to mean that they would get a share anyway, regardless of how much work they did.  With no incentive to work, they just went to the fields and had a good snooze.

Agriculture was also neglected because of the priority given to steel. Many of the peasants were exhausted from having to spend long hours finding fuel, scrap iron, and iron ore and keeping the furnaces going. The fields were often left to the women and children, who had to do everything by hand, as the animals were busy making their contribution to steel production.  When harvest time came in autumn 1958, few people were in the fields.

The failure to get in the harvest in 1958 flashed a warning that a food shortage was on its way, even though official statistics showed a double-digit increase in agricultural output.  It was officially announced that in 1958 China's wheat output had overtaken that of the United States.  The Party newspaper, the People's Daily, started a discussion on the topic "How do we cope with the problem of producing too much food?"

My father's department was in charge of the press in Sichuan, which printed outlandish claims, as did every publication in China.  The press was the voice of the Party, and when it came to Party policies, neither my father nor anyone else in the media had any say.  They were part of a huge conveyor belt.  My father watched the turn of events with alarm.  His only option was to appeal to the top leaders.

At the end of 1958 he wrote a letter to the Central Committee in Peking stating that producing steel like this was pointless and a waste of resources; the peasants were exhausted, their labor was being squandered, and there was a food shortage.  He appealed for urgent action.

He gave the letter to the governor to pass on.  The governor, Lee Da-zhang, was the number-two man in the province.  He had given my father his first job when he had come to Chengdu from Yibin, and treated him like a friend.

Governor Lee told my father he was not going to forward the letter. Nothing in it was new, he said.

"The Party knows everything.  Have faith in it."  Mao had said that under no circumstances must the people's morale be dampened.

The Great Leap Forward had changed the psychological attitude of the Chinese from passivity to a can-do, get-up and-go spirit, he said, which must not be imperiled.

Governor Lee also told my father that he had been given the dangerous nickname "Opposition' among the provincial leaders, to whom he had voiced disagreements.  It was only because of his other qualities, his absolute loyalty to the Party and his stern sense of discipline, that my father was still all right.