Fanshen

by Hinton, William ; Magdoff, Fred;

  Thus began a strange, halting meeting that lasted until twilight, broke briefly for a meal of boiled millet and cabbage, and then continued in my room until well after midnight. To dig beneath the surface, to expose what one truly thought about oneself and about others was always difficult, often extremely painful; yet it had become as necessary as breathing. The cadres talked in subdued tones, approached problems, dropped them, and took them up again, each time probing deeper. Sometimes they succeeded in laying bare the heart of the matter. More often they fell short, but even when they failed they struck closer to the truth than before.

  The meeting plunged first into a problem that was, in the main, objective and easy to define—the problem of the team members’ own livelihood. Secretary Chang’s statement about the situation in the cadres’ home villages was confirmed in a most concrete way by Han Chin-ming. His moon-round face assumed the solemnity of a stone Buddha as he revealed the problems that beset him. To begin with, he was sick, had been sick for several months, with chronic dysentery. Though this sickness did not prevent him from working, it tired him, worried him, and made him far less effective than he aspired to be. Far harder to bear than any sickness, however, was the political attack which had been launched against him by self-appointed “poor peasants” in his home village. When he took leave for a week in order to overcome his dysentery by resting at home, these peasants immediately started a rumor that he had been fired from his job as a county cadre. They said he had been sent home in disgrace. When a neighbor, a man with whom he had long shared a cow, called on him, the members of this clique took the visitor aside and asked, “Why do you help Han? Are you still trying to flatter the cadres?” After that his neighbor dared not return to Han’s courtyard, sold his share of the cow, and tried to pull out of the mutual-aid group to which they both belonged. When Han’s mother went to the mutual-aid group for help with the spring sowing, a former Japanese puppet reprimanded her. “From now on nobody will help you. If you want anything, you must employ hired labor.” The old lady returned home in tears. A few days later Han opened an underground pit to get out the last millet that his family had stored as insurance against the “spring hunger.” He was accused of digging out grain in order to sell it and thereby avoid confiscation. It was just as if he were a landlord. On top of all this, his taxes went up ten points. The harassment was so great that Han could not face it. He returned to work in Long Bow before he had fully regained his health. As a result he suffered frequent relapses and often had to stop work in the middle of the day.

  “I don’t understand all this,” Han said. “I don’t understand why my taxes went up. I know that during the distribution I exchanged one acre of poor land for less than an acre of fertile land, and that last year although I got ten days help with the crops, I wasn’t able to return the labor. Yet when I offered to give back the land and pay off the debt with money, the new cadres wouldn’t listen to me. Since then I have carried a great weight on my shoulders. I don’t think that my debt to the village and my land exchange are such great crimes. Under the guns of the puppet forces I worked hard and risked my life eountless times. But now I am treated worse than a landlord. When my mother wept, I felt as if a great knife were turning in my heart. What I want to do is to return to the village, speak out everything, and settle this problem. If it goes on like this, I cannot work.”

  With that Han heaved a deep sigh.

  At first nobody said anything in reply. What answer could there be? I, for one, was appalled by his story. A wife, a child, and a mother at home, very little left to eat, and nobody willing to plant his crops. Yet he was supposed to work full time away from home. He was supposed to help other peasants solve their problems. He was supposed to lead them in reforming their own officials. No wonder the morale of the cadres was low.

  Team Leader Hou finally spoke. “It is no use being so depressed,” he said, himself the very picture of depression. “Such a mood can only hurt your body. It can certainly never solve any problems. I myself have had such thoughts as yours. I too have been attacked at home. I don’t know how my land will be planted. I thought to myself, ‘If I cannot pass the gate at home, still I am better than a landlord. If the masses don’t want me as a year-round hired laborer, still I can be a seasonal laborer for my family.’ But later I realized that this was a pretty sorry attitude for a Communist. A distant journey tests the strength of a horse, and a long task proves the character of a man. The only way out is to work hard and serve the people. When I thought about that, the wind drove away the clouds.”

  Those who spoke after Hou had finished all took the same view. They agreed that dishonest peasants in many communities were making things hard for the old cadres. But this was not the policy of the Communist Party. In time all this would be corrected. In the meantime, Communists must not waver. They must go on with their work, maintain their faith in the Party and the people, and not worry too much about rumors and unjust criticism.

  But Han was not so easily cheered. It was all very well to counsel steadfastness, but would that put grain in the pot or seeds in the ground?

  “During the first week here I thought of nothing but my family,” he said. “Later I decided—anyhow, I am better than a landlord. But even a landlord can get his share; why not I? They are our enemies. Yet we pardon them. Why should I be punished so severely for a small debt owed to the people?”

  One colleague who offered no advice to Han was Little Ch’uer. When he finally did speak up it was not to criticize or encourage; it was to tell of his own plight. It turned out that Little Ch’uer was no better off than Han or Hou. The attempt on his life had so damaged him that he lay for two weeks in the Lucheng County Hospital. After he recovered sufficiently to walk, he returned home; but his convalescence in the village was far from peaceful. He found that the mutual-aid group had thrown his family out. “Better wait and see if he can pass the gate,” said his neighbors. The refusal of the mutual-aid group to help meant that the family had to hire labor to get its work done. Several dispossessed landlords were available for hire, but the village ordered the family to pay high wages to the village office for the landlords’ labor.*

  “Now I am puzzled,” said Little Ch’uer. “How will the government treat the cadres? After the beating I found that my lungs were damaged. The medicine the doctor gave me is very expensive. Who will pay for it? When I asked help from the mutual-aid group they said, ‘Cadres must serve the masses like good oxen. Why do you ask help from us?’ My sister-in-law had nothing left to eat. She decided to sell her cart and donkey. But the leader of the poor peasants’ group said, ‘Why are you selling your animal? Do you want to oppose the land reform program?’ Whenever I go home my aunt and uncle weep and complain to me. I don’t know how to console them. Also all our taxes have been raised ten points. But I haven’t grafted anything or tried any rascal tricks. My neighbors are sympathetic. They say, ‘We ought to help him but unfortunately he is a cadre, so what can we do?’ “

  What could anyone tell Ch’uer? Simply to have faith, to report his problems to the county leaders, to keep working? This seemed pitifully inadequate.

  Only in regard to taxes did the discussion answer any of the questions posed by these men. It turned out that their taxes had increased in 1948 because land received the year before had been taxed lightly in order to help the recipients establish themselves as producers. Now all the land, both original holdings and newly acquired plots, were taxed at the same rate.

  “Then why did my taxes go up?” asked Liang. He was an old middle peasant. He had received no land in 1947. Yet his taxes had also been raised in 1948. No one had an answer to that. Perhaps, suggested Ch’i Yun, it was part of an attack on him as an old cadre. If that were so, it was the only form the attack took. Through an old acquaintance from his home village who was also attending the County Conference, Liang had learned that day that all was going well with his family. His father and his wife were both in good health. His wife had borne him a son a
nd the mutual-aid group had agreed to prepare his land for spring sowing.

  Here at least was one cadre who had no serious domestic problems to worry about. His relative peace of mind had shown up in the quality of his work. From the beginning he had been conscientious and steady. The only fault anyone could find with Liang was that he did not speak out enough. He did not make suggestions or criticize his colleagues, but concentrated on his own work and did it well.

  A second member of the team whose morale had held up through the six weeks of work in Long Bow was Li Wen-chung. The reason for this was not hard to find. Assignment to the Long Bow Team had brought Li the greatest boon of his life—a wife. In the village he had met, been properly introduced to, and then married the daughter of a fanshened widow. His head had been in the clouds ever since. For ten years he had sought a bride in vain. Now within a few weeks he had his heart’s desire. But all this had not helped his work.

  “Ever since you found this girl it has been very hard to find you,” said Hou, gently but firmly. “You never ask leave. You just disappear. Often, during meetings, your bride can be seen wandering around outside the building trying to catch a glimpse of you. And you, you seem to be very absent-minded. Now that you have solved the wife problem I think it is time for you to get down to business. All this has influenced your work too much.”

  43

  Unity Through Struggle

  I sent out invitations to summon guests.

  I collected together all my friends.

  Loud talk and simple feasting:

  Discussion of philosophy, investigation of subtleties.

  Tongues loosened, and minds at one.

  Hearts refreshed by discharge of emotion!

  Sui Ch’eng-kung

  (died, 273 A.D.)

  THE HUMAN consciousness may be compared to an artichoke. Its tender core is enclosed in layer upon layer of defenses, excuses, rationalizations, approximations. These must be peeled off if one is to discover the true complex of motives driving any individual. Such a process would hardly be possible if an individual’s acts, as distinct from his words, did not reveal in a multitude of unconscious ways something of the core of his thought. Even then, with acts serving as guides to motivation, no progress can be made unless the individual is willing to co-operate. What made self-revelation possible for the work team members that day was the deep commitment every one of them had to the success of the land reform movement. They freely examined themselves and their comrades, not for partisan advantage, not for the sake of exposure, not as an exercise in mea culpa, but in order to remove obstacles in the way of more effective work. This was the objective framework around which the unfolding of the subjective attitudes revolved. And this, not coercion, not curiosity, not some narcissistic self-torture made self-and-mutual criticism viable and grounded it in necessity.

  By first taking up some of the objective problems that weighed on the cadres’ minds and slowly moving from there to subjective reactions, the Party Day meeting began to pull the group together. I could feel that this was happening but could not find any decisive reason for it. No major problem had been solved. It seemed as if the mere exposure of trouble had brought about a changed relationship between these people. As they gained insight into the background of each others’ weaknesses, they felt a growth of mutual sympathy, of common ground. Still, the most important barrier to trust and cooperation had not been touched. This was the question of the relationship between Team Leader Hou and the rest of the group. It was not until Hou began to criticize his own outlook and examine his own motives that the incipient change of atmosphere that had begun to penetrate the consciousness of the group crystallized into something new.

  The discussion came around to Hou obliquely, by way of Li Wen-chung’s wife. Everyone knew that Li’s new-found happiness had distracted him from his work, but only Little Li knew that shortly before Team Leader Hou came to Long Bow, his wife had left for her home village alone. According to local custom, a bride that went back to her mother’s home unescorted rarely returned. Hence, those who knew Hou best thought his marriage had come to an end. Little Li, as was his wont, brought up the subject in the form of a joke. He asked Hou how he liked being a bachelor.

  This brought a response far too vigorous to be taken at face value.

  “We married of our own free will,” said Hou. “I told her when she left for home to do as she liked. If she doesn’t want to come back that is all right with me. That doesn’t worry me at all.”

  Did this self-assurance cover up hurt pride, perhaps even a broken heart? It was hard to tell. Hou did not discuss the matter further. He launched instead into an over-all appraisal of his own work. Looking intently at his large feet clad in outsized cotton shoes and now propped against a broken brick, he spoke in the slow deliberate manner that had become his trademark. Clearly it was not easy for so proud a man to reveal what he proposed to talk about.

  “When I arrived in Long Bow I put everything aside. I was very proud and confident at that time and made light of the job we had to do. I thought that with so many members we would easily fulfill our task. But as soon as we began to work I ran up against many difficulties. I began to hesitate and worry. I began to realize that this work was more difficult than anything I had ever tried before. Then I went to the other extreme. I feared the dragon in front and the tiger behind. I got timid and dared not fix a plan. I depended on the other members of the group and sometimes followed the people blindly, but the other members of the group kept silent a good deal of the time, and everyone worked on his own. This upset me and made me even more timid. I found I could not draw a proper conclusion at a meeting or make clear and definite decisions to help guide the others. I found I was very green and I felt the other cadres were much better qualified than myself, since many of them had worked as cadres for eight years or more. I dared not criticize them even when I found fault. I was unable to sift our good experiences from our bad ones, and before each meeting I found I didn’t know where we were going or what to say. We began the meetings blindly and closed them blindly.

  “All this made me sensitive. I thought the vice leader (Little Li) was just standing aside and waiting for me to lose face. I thought he was cracking jokes to show me up. But later I understood his character better. I know now that he was only joking and making fun with everyone. At night I couldn’t sleep. I tried to estimate the comrades one by one. Finally I concluded that I myself must be the one to be blamed because I had no ability. So I wanted the authorities to relieve me of my position. I wanted to join the army, or at least ask that another leader be chosen and let me become just an ordinary member. Ever since I heard Secretary Ch’en’s report I have felt this even more strongly. I have been very depressed.

  “I hope you will all give me a lot of help in the future, but still I wish you would choose another leader. I am very reserved. I don’t know how to relax and fool around with others. I was once given the nickname Ta Kung Niu (The Great Ox) because I carry such a long face, such a serious face, and this long face is easily misunderstood. People thought I was angry with them. Of course I am crude and impatient. I wish you would give me more opinions.”

  I was impressed by the frankness of Hou’s statement and with the humility which he projected. Hou seemed to take on stature as he made this first attempt at self-analysis. But it was just this humility that the others criticized most sharply. They told Hou that he should not underestimate his own ability. In fact, from the way he worked, it was obvious that he made all important decisions himself and didn’t sufficiently trust the rest of the group.

  “You are too sensitive,” said Little Li. “You lack confidence in others. Instead of criticizing them to their face you criticize them to the Party Secretary. I am thinking of that time when you told Ch’en that we didn’t have any material on the village. It made us all so angry. Why didn’t you consult with us? Actually you have a streak of individual heroism. You want to be a hero; therefore any failure is your perso
nal failure. I remember once when we went to the County Office to report. The Secretary did not take any notes of what we said. You were very unhappy. You said, ‘It seems as if we had done nothing, for our report made no impression.’ Your criticism was correct. They should have taken notes of our report, but in the back of your mind what you were really thinking was that the authorities would know nothing about our merits.

  “As for your relations with me,” Li continued, “I was afraid you would think I wished to take the spotlight from you, so I always hesitated when I thought we ought to work in some new way. But you thought I was just standing aside to wait for you to lose face.”

  This opinion broke the ice. In its wake other team members began to say the things they had long suppressed.

  “You always emphasize your lack of ability,” said Ch’i Yun. “But in fact you don’t trust the rest of us, so you always think of trifling things; you are sensitive beyond reason and don’t pay sufficient attention to basic principles.”

  “Lying awake at night, thinking things over, that is a very subjective way to make decisions,” said another. “It is much better to talk with others and judge from reality. Take the accounts meetings, for instance. Many comrades told you they ought to be stopped. But you neglected their opinions. You were so busy with the branch that you didn’t have time to think it over. Your working style is not democratic enough. You are timid about criticizing others but at the same time you don’t like to be criticized either. You think the investigation of our work from above, by the county leaders, is sufficient. But because you work blindly you were always busy, even worn out, but still the results were not so good.”

  Hou’s offer to step down and find someone else to lead aroused even more opposition than his self-deprecation.