T’ien-ming finally challenged them to action. “Now, the only question is, do we dare begin? The Eighth Route Army and the Liberated Areas Government stand behind us. Already in many places the landlords have been beaten down. We have only to follow the example of others. We have only to act with our own hands. Then we can all fanshen.”
“There are not enough of us,” said one.
“Then we have to find more members. Each one here should go out and find others. All the poor are brothers together. If we unite no one can stand in our way.”
Each of the 30 went home, visited with neighbor and friend, and each found two or three more peasants who could be approved by the whole group. Soon over 100 families had joined the Peasants’ Association. Most of them were poor, but among them were scattered a few middle peasants. Kuo Cheng-k’uan, the poor Catholic who had led the attack on Father Sun, a man who had worked all his life as a laborer, and whose wife had died of starvation in the famine year, was elected chairman.
Another Catholic, Wang Yu-lai, was elected vice-chairman. He came originally from Lin County, high in the Taihang range. He had once been a member of the local Kuomintang army, had later taken up banditry as a way of life, and was said to have joined the “Red Rifle” secret society as a young man. He had always been poor. Throughout the ten years he had lived in Long Bow he had worked as a hired laborer. During the Anti-Traitor Movement, and especially in the struggle against Father Sun, Yu-lai and his 18-year-old son, Wen-te, were noted for their courage and energy.
Several days of intense activity followed the establishment of the new Association. Many active members neglected all their regular work in order to mobilize the majority of the people for the struggle to come. And so, toward the end of January, the campaign to “settle accounts” with the landlords finally began.
The committee of the Peasants’ Association decided to tackle Kuo Ch’ung-wang first. He was not the richest man in the village but he was one of the meanest. His close association with the puppet Chief-of-Staff Chou Mei-sheng tarred him with the collaborationist brush. More important was the fact that while his tenants died of starvation during the famine year, he seized grain and hoarded it for speculation. The cadres, having learned from the failure of their first big meeting, held small group meetings ahead of time in order to gather opinions against Ch’ung-wang. Those with serious grievances were encouraged to make them known among their closest neighbors and were then mobilized to speak out at the village-wide meeting to come.
While the small meetings were in progress, the militia arrested Kuo Ch’ung-wang, searched his house and unearthed tons of grain. Much of it was rotten. On the day of the big meeting, the grain, which could have saved the lives of dozens of people, lay in the courtyard in a stinking mildewed heap. The people who crowded in to accuse walked over the grain and, as the courtyard filled up, some of them sat down on it. The smell and the sight of it reminded them of those who had died for want of a few catties and filled them with anger. Next to the grain stood two jars of salt water—salt that had been hoarded so long it had undergone hydrolysis. While the landless and the land poor went weeks without salt, Ch’ung-wang had let salt go to waste.
At this critical meeting, Fu-yuan, the village head, was the first to speak. Because he was a cousin of Ch’ung-wang, his words carried extra weight with the rest of the village. When a man was moved to accuse his own cousin, the provocation had to be serious.
“In the famine year,” Fu-yuan began, talking directly to Ch’ung-wang, “my brother worked for your family. We were all hungry. We had nothing to eat. But you had no thought for us. Several times we tried to borrow grain from you. But it was all in vain. You watched us starve without pity.”
Then Ho-pang, a militiaman, spoke up. His voice shook as he told how he had rented land from Ch’ung-wang. “One year I could not pay the rent. You took the whole harvest. You took my clothes. You took everything.” He broke down sobbing as a dozen others jumped up shouting.
“What was in your mind?”
“You took everything. Miao-le and his brother died.”
“Yes, what were your thoughts? You had no pity. Didn’t you hound P’ei Mang-wen’s mother to her death?”
“Speak.”
“Yes, speak. Make him talk. Let’s hear his answers!”
But Ch’ung-wang had no answers. He could not utter a word. When the peasants saw that he could not answer them they realized that they had him cornered, that they had already won a victory. Many who had been afraid to open their mouths found themselves shouting in anger without thought of the consequences.
The meeting lasted all day. In the evening, when the committee reckoned up all the charges against Ch’ung-wang, they found that he owed one hundred bags of grain. That night, under a full moon, the militia went to the fields with measuring rods and measured Ch’ung-wang’s land. They found that he had three acres more than were listed in his deeds and that for 20 years he had evaded taxes on that land while others had paid and paid. When they added this to the other damages claimed against him they realized that all his lands, all his houses, his grain, his clothes, his stock, and everything else that he owned would not be enough to settle the debt. Yet when they looked in his storeroom they found not hundreds, but only a paltry six bags of grain that could be seized.
The next morning when the people met again to carry on the campaign against Ch’ung-wang excitement ran high. Women even went so far as to bring food with them so that they and their families could stay right through the day and not miss a single minute. Liang, the district leader, opened the attack. He said, “This is our only chance to settle the blood-and-sweat debt of the landlord. Even if you take all his property it will never be enough. Ask him where he has hidden his gold and silver. Make him give up his precious things.”
“Yes, speak out. Where are the coins? Where have you buried the money?” came the shouts from the crowd. But Kuo refused to say anything beyond the fact that he had no silver and never had had any. Since nobody believed him, the militia were ordered into his house to make a search. They were joined by more than 60 peasant volunteers. They dug up the floors, ripped the mud bricks off the tops of the k’angs, tapped the walls. It was all in vain. They found nothing.
When the search proved fruitless, a few of the cadres took Ch’ung-wang aside. They told him that it was no use trying to hide his wealth. Since all his ordinary property was not enough to settle his account with the people, they would surely find his hidden wealth sooner or later. It would therefore be much safer and wiser for him to hand this over voluntarily than to face their wrath once they found it on their own. After several people had talked to him in the same vein Ch’ung-wang finally gave in. He told them where to dig. They found 50 silver dollars in an earthen crock.
When this money was brought before the people at the meeting, they became very angry. Here was proof that Ch’ung-wang had lied to them. Scores of people jumped up, ran forward, and began to beat him with whatever came to hand.
“Tell us where the rest is. You know that is not all,” they shouted.
Someone struck him a blow in the face. Ch’ung-wang held his bleeding mouth and tried to speak.
“Don’t hit me. I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you right away. There is another 80 dollars in the back room.”
The meeting adjourned immediately while the militia and their enthusiastic helpers again went to search. They very soon found another cache of coins, but this only whetted their appetites and angered them still further. Ch’ung-wang was playing with them as a cat plays with a mouse in spite of the fact that he was their prisoner. First grain, then salt, now silver dollars—the bastard was richer than they thought! When they got back to the courtyard, they beat him again.
That day he gave up more than 200 silver dollars.
In the evening they let him go home but, unknown to him, set several militiamen to watch his house and listen in, if possible, on the conversations that went on inside it.
&nb
sp; Landlord Sheng Ching-ho, the richest man in the village, sat at home all that day and listened to the angry shouts of the people as they accused Ch’ung-wang and swarmed over his house. After dark he crept out onto the street and stole to Ch’ung-wang’s door hoping to learn something about what had happened. Perhaps some plan could be worked out to counter this new offensive. He knocked quietly on the wooden door that was the sole entrance to Ch’ung-wang’s courtyard, but before anyone appeared to open it he was seized from behind by several militiamen and dragged off to the village lockup. It was then two days before the Chinese New Year. The wealthy families had planned all sorts of good things to eat and their wives and servants had been preparing and cooking for days. The leaders of the Peasants’ Association decided not to let Ching-ho pass such a happy holiday. They set the attack on him for the next day, even though that meant they had no time to mobilize opinions against him. As it happened, a blunder on the part of Ching-ho’s brother, Sheng Ching-chung, aroused the people more than several days of mobilization could possibly have done.
As soon as Sheng Ching-chung heard that his brother Ching-ho had been detained, he took a bag of wheat flour on his shoulder and went calling. He found the assistant village head, Kuei-ts’ai, at home talking with San-ch’ing, the village secretary. He set his bag of flour by the door, greeted them both warmly, and sat himself down to have a friendly chat. It did not take him long to get to the point. “I know your life is hard,” he said. “Since we are people of one village please do not stand on ceremony but help yourselves to this flour and pass a happy New Year. Later on, if you should meet with any difficulties, you should know that my door is always open and I am always ready to help.”
The two young cadres could hardly believe their eyes and ears. What did he take them for—rats who could be bought with a bag of flour? They drove him and his burden out of the house and went immediately to T’ien-ming. The next afternoon Kuei-ts’ai and San-ch’ing told a village-wide meeting how Ching-chung had tried to bribe them. Their story aroused a storm of protest and a flood of accusations.
“In the famine year he gave us nothing. He even drove beggars away from his door, but now suddenly he weeps for our hard life—now we are ‘people of one village,’” said one.
“It is clear he only wants to buy off the leaders and undermine our ranks. We should never be taken in by such tricks,” added another.
“This should be a lesson to all of us,” said T’ien-ming. “Never trust a landlord; never protect a landlord. There is only one road and that is to struggle against them.”
The cadres had been afraid that the people might hold back their accusations against Ching-ho, but Kuei-ts’ai’s report broke the dam. There was no holding back. Over 100 grievances were registered at that one meeting. So vicious had been Ching-ho’s practices and so widespread his influence that more than half of the families in the village had scores to settle with him.
What happened on the following day was told to me by Kuo Cheng-k’uan, Chairman of the Peasants’ Association:
When the final struggle began Ching-ho was faced not only with those hundred accusations but with many many more. Old women who had never spoken in public before stood up to accuse him. Even Li Mao’s wife—a woman so pitiable she hardly dared look anyone in the face—shook her fist before his nose and cried out, “Once I went to glean wheat on your land. But you cursed me and drove me away. Why did you curse and beat me? And why did you seize the wheat I had gleaned?” Altogether over 180 opinions were raised. Ching-ho had no answer to any of them. He stood there with his head bowed. We asked him whether the accusations were false or true. He said they were all true. When the committee of our Association met to figure up what he owed, it came to 400 bags of milled grain, not coarse millet.
That evening all the people went to Ching-ho’s courtyard” to help take over his property. It was very cold that night so we built bonfires and the flames shot up toward the stars. It was very beautiful. We went in to register his grain and altogether found but 200 bags of unmilled millet—only a quarter of what he owed us. Right then and there we decided to call another meeting. People all said he must have a lot of silver dollars—they thought of the wine plant, and the pigs he raised on the distillers’ grains, and the North Temple Society and the Confucius Association.
We called him out of the house and asked him what he intended to do since the grain was not nearly enough. He said, “I have land and house.”
“But all this is not enough,” shouted the people. So then we began to beat him. Finally he said, “I have 40 silver dollars under the k’ang.” We went in and dug it up. The money stirred up everyone. We beat him again. He told us where to find another hundred after that. But no one believed that this was the end of his hoard. We beat him again and several militiamen began to heat an iron bar in one of the fires. Then Ching-ho admitted that he had hid 110 silver dollars in militiaman Man-hsi’s uncle’s home. Man-hsi was very hot-headed. When he heard that his uncle had helped Sheng Ching-ho he got very angry. He ran home and began to beat his father’s own brother. We stopped him. We told him, “Your uncle didn’t know it was a crime.” We asked the old man why he had hidden money for Ching-ho and he said, “No one ever told me anything. I didn’t know there was anything wrong in it.” You see, they were relatives and the money had been given to him for safekeeping years before. So Man-hsi finally cooled down. It was a good thing for he was angry enough to beat his uncle to death and he was strong enough to do it.
Altogether we got $500 from Ching-ho that night. By that time the sun was already rising in the eastern sky. We were all tired and hungry, especially the militiamen who had called the people to the meeting, kept guard on Ching-ho’s house, and taken an active part in beating Ching-ho and digging for the money. So we decided to eat all the things that Ching-ho had prepared to pass the New Year—a whole crock of dumplings stuffed with pork and peppers and other delicacies. He even had shrimp.
All said, “In the past we never lived through a happy New Year because he always asked for his rent and interest then and cleaned our houses bare. This time we’ll eat what we like,” and everyone ate his fill and didn’t even notice the cold.
That was one of the happiest days the people of Long Bow ever experienced. They were in such a mellow mood that they released Ching-ho on the guarantee of a relative, let him remain at home unguarded, and called off the struggle for the rest of the holiday season.
But Ching-ho did not wait around to see what would happen when action resumed. He ran away the very next day. So did Kuo Ch’ung-wang. He and his wife fled to another county where they found temporary employment as primary school teachers. Later they fled that school and disappeared altogether. Nobody in Long Bow heard of their whereabouts thereafter.
In Ch’ung-wang’s absence, his brother and partner in business, Fu-wang, was brought before the Peasants’ Association. He was beaten so severely that he died a few days later, but in spite of this violent treatment he gave no hint as to where any further wealth might be found.
14
Wang Lai-hsun Is Next
A revolution is not the same as inviting people to dinner, or writing an essay, or painting a picture, or doing fancy needlework; it cannot be anything so restrained and magnanimous. A revolution is an uprising, an act of violence whereby one class overthrows another.
Mao Tse-tung
WANG CH’UNG-LAI’S WIFE returned to Long Bow late in 1945. Driven out by the family that bought her as a child wife and forced into beggary, she and her husband had lived in another village for 20 years. When they heard that the landlords would be brought to account and old debts repaid, they hurried home only to be met by a stone wall of hostility from the local cadres. T’ien-ming, Fu-yuan, Kuei-ts’ai, and Cheng-k’uan had never heard of the couple. They were reluctant to let them join the struggle for they didn’t want to share the “fruits” with outsiders. When Ch’ung-lai’s wife went to the district office and protested, Fu-yuan was directed t
o call in Wang Lai-hsun’s mother for questioning.
The old lady denied that Ch’ung-lai was her son. “I only borrowed him,” she said. “He lived here half a year and then he ran away. I never ill-treated him.”
“Then why did you buy a wife for him?” cried Ch’ung-lai’s wife in anger. “And why, if he was not your adopted son, did I live in your family and suffer six years of beatings? Everyone in this village knows how Ch’ung-lai worked hard for more than ten years like a hired laborer in your family. Can you cover the sky with your hand?”
Fu-yuan believed her then, but since she and her husband were still strangers to most of the younger people, the Peasants’ Association gave them no property. They were allowed to live in part of Lai-hsun’s house and to farm one and one-half acres of Lai-hsun’s land, but nothing was turned over to them as their own. Ch’ung-lai and his wife had waited a long time; they could wait some more. They moved into their borrowed quarters and looked forward to the day when the struggle against Lai-hsun would come. They did not have long to wait.
Wang Lai-hsun followed Kuo Fu-wang to the tribune. When he appeared before his tenants and laborers, Ch’ung-lai’s wife was standing in the front row. She was the first to speak.
“How was it that you stayed at home while we were driven out?” she asked, stepping in front of the astounded landlord on her small bound feet.
“Because Ch’ung-lai had a grandfather. He had another place to live,” said Lai-hsun looking at the ground. He did not have the courage to look her in the face.
“But you too had in-laws. You too had a place to go. Why did you drive us out and make beggars of us? During the famine year we came to beg from you, our own brother, but you gave us nothing. You drove us away with a stick and beat me and the children with an iron poker.”
Fanshen Page 19
