This reply angered everyone.
“Adventurist,” snorted Little Li. “I knew he’d say that before you told us! And what’s the use of sending the two Party members to Lucheng? If the Secretary fails to solve the problem and, in the end, sends the two men back, we will be in a much worse state than ever before.”
“Well,” said Hou, “let us really search out the people’s opinions. Let us ask them why they are afraid. And as for the Party members, let us tell them that Communists are not afraid of death itself. For the sake of the Party we have risked our lives many times. Why should we be afraid of a few individuals?”
These bold words upset the other team members further.
“You can’t use empty rhetoric on Party members,” said the interpreter Hsieh Hung. “Just telling them they must not fear is no good. They must be helped to understand and think it through.”
“Everyone knows the phrases,” said Little Li, so exasperated that he pulled off his cap and threw it on the floor. “That can solve nothing. If we beat them over the head with the glorious spirit of Party members, the result will be very bad. We’ve got to discuss according to the real facts and find a method.”
In the end Hou made a concrete suggestion. “Let’s call a meeting of the Provisional Peasants’ Association groups, a branch meeting, and a meeting of those who have not passed the gate. Let’s see if we can’t get some opinions from people and find some way out. If we get nowhere, tomorrow morning I’ll go back to Lucheng. But I can’t go back without another try, because if Secretary Chang asks me again what is the matter and I say the people are afraid, it will be no use at all.”
***********
The three meetings held that evening produced some positive results, and a good night’s sleep calmed frayed nerves. In the morning Team Leader Hou had another good suggestion.
“Tackling these men is like eating a bowl of hot soup,” he said. “Whoever tries to swallow such a bowl down in one mouthful will surely scald himself to death. But if you sip it bit by bit from around the edge you can swallow it all in the end. Therefore I say we should set up the second gate right away, but we should leave Yu-lai, Wen-te, Hung-er, and Hsi-yu to the last. We’ll start with the easy ones, first those who have already passed, then those who have not yet passed, and finally those who have never been faced.”
Since no one had a better idea, the whole team agreed with this plan. That very afternoon the second gate began. This time there were no delegates. Instead, all the members of the Peasants’ Association, some 90 percent of the population, met outdoors behind the Church on the grounds of the old orphanage. There only a zigzag slit trench, left over from the days when the compound had been the headquarters of Resistance University and its administration feared bombings, prevented the huge crowd from filling the space from wall to wall.
Cheng-k’uan, chairman of the old Peasants’ Association and Ch’un-hsi, acting village head, led off with very short statements about their work since the last gate. Vigorous discussion then arose among the numerous ke ts’ao groups that had formed spontaneously among the crowd. When the voices died down, group after group reported that they had no opinions and were in favor of passing the two a second time. Ts’ai-yuan, the storekeeper, T’ien-hsi, the militiaman, and Hu Hsueh-chen, suspended leader of the Women’s Association, all passed in the same manner. After that, instead of asking each Communist to make a statement, Little Li simply read off the names, and the people voted to pass or not to pass as they saw fit.
What began as orderly voting soon broke down into mass shouting. When Li read off a name, the people shouted, “Tung yi, t’ung yi” (agree, agree).
“This is no good at all,” said Little Li, raising his voice to a roar in order to be heard above the noise of the gathering. “If anyone disagrees, they have no chance to speak. We had better vote in a more orderly way.”
But just at this moment Ch’un-hsi’s mother stepped backward and fell into the slit trench. Everyone rushed forward to see what had happened. As two men pulled the unfortunate woman out, several by-standers broke into uproarious uncontrolled laughter which soon spread to the whole crowd. Even Ch’un-hsi’s mother, once she got over the shock of her fall, began to laugh.
After that it was hard to take anything seriously. The reading of the names continued and so did the voting, but confusion grew apace. Many people could not even hear what was being voted on. When those whose record was about to be considered raised their hands to say something, only those people standing next to them heard even a syllable. This so amused those who could not hear that they laughed again, and everyone looked around to see who else might have fallen into the gaping trench that divided the crowd.
The whole procedure was a formality. Unprepared to tackle the real problem at hand, the whole village was backtracking through well-known territory and no one took the maneuver seriously. The meeting inevitably degenerated into a farce; yet farcical as it was, it had great positive value. The laughter eased the tension in the public mind and brought the divergent groups closer together. The poor and middle peasants had not often met as a body, and in the past there had been fear and friction between them. This afternoon they rubbed shoulders with an ease and familiarity that could only arise between people who were learning to trust one another. The informality of the proceedings, in its own ridiculous way, united people more than a whole series of more earnest gatherings. In spite of themselves, the peasants became more conscious of their strength than ever before. To fear the revenge of several discredited cadres seemed a little preposterous to anyone who stood out in that warm afternoon sun and watched his fellow villagers milling about, laughing, and shouting for all the world as if they believed themselves to be the true masters of their fate.
In the afternoon the crowd had time to consider only those who had already passed the gate in April. By the time the last of these had been approved, the women were already drifting off to make supper. The meeting had to be adjourned until evening. At that time a much reduced gathering took up the four men who had failed to pass the first gate. This was a more serious matter and the peasants acted accordingly.
Man-hsi, K’uan-hsin, Yu-hsing, and Ch’uan-e had all prepared many days for this second chance. They were determined to win approval. Man-hsi considered it a matter of life and death. Rejection at the first gate had shaken them deeply and all but destroyed Man-hsi. He had lain on his k’ang and wept for several days, and when he finally stopped crying, he was still too ashamed to walk about on the street.
“Why did you weep so much after the first gate?” other Party members had asked as they helped him to prepare for the second round.
“Because I could find no way out. I prepared in the branch for so many days, but when I got before the delegates they were like a brick wall.”
“And why did you stay at home after that and never go out in the daytime?”
“Because when I spoke to people, they did not answer me. They despised me because I could not pass the gate. Whenever they saw me coming they just turned away. So I just stayed home.”
“You had better speak about your future. Have you made up your mind to pass? How will you correct your bad attitude?”
“I can correct every habit of mine except eating,” replied the muscle-bound militiaman in despair. He was ready for any sacrifice, but he was not at all sure that a change on his part would solve the problem. To his listeners, however, his sincere words sounded facetious.
“If you give such an answer to the masses, you will not pass this time either,” said Hsin-fa. “We must analyze the opinions of others. Those things that we cannot accept, we must explain. We must reform our attitude and let people see it clearly.”
When, after this sort of preparation, Man-hsi finally came before the members of the Provisional Peasants’ Association, he detailed every past transgression patiently, but still denied having raped Fu-hsu’s wife and disclaimed any knowledge of the missing salt. This time the people believed him
. A few tried to harass him about beatings that he frankly admitted, but one after another their opinions were rejected by the majority as indecisive. In every case Man-hsi had gone wrong trying to carry out orders. That his methods were crude they all agreed, but that his intent was evil they would not allow. Man-hsi promised that he would never act brutally again. “I know I have hurt many people,” he said. “But if you decide to pass me, I will be grateful. And if you want me to work for you in the future, I will do my best. The only thing I cannot stop is eating.”
The peasants did not consider this remark facetious at all—quite the opposite. “That’s very well spoken,” said Yang Yu-so. “If you had had such an attitude before you could have passed easily.”
They approved him.
Man-hsi’s face lit up with joy. As he walked back through the crowd, many people slapped him on the back and wished him well. “Do your best in the future,” they called out.
It was clear that Man-hsi was regarded with warmth and affection by most of his neighbors. Strong as he was, brave as he was, and terrible as he could be in action, he was no tyrant but only a simple fellow who wanted very much to do the right thing, to win the approval of his peers, and to enjoy the friendship and support of all his fellow countrymen. Ideas of avenging the criticism he had received never entered his head.
The woman Communist Chao Ch’uan-e passed even more quickly. Now that she had been classed as a middle peasant, all the grievances against her seemed to appear less venal. She was not a class enemy boring from within, but a self-centered ally trying to shield her family from an unjustified attack. Viewed in this new light her actions appeared quite ordinary. There was no reason not to pass her.
K’uan-hsin and Yu-hsing were not so lucky. K’uan-hsin could not explain the loss of the sifter screen that had disappeared while he was on guard duty and lost his temper when they pressed him about it. Yu-hsing still misunderstood the damage he had done by eating one piece of steamed bread.
The Provisional Peasants’ Association membership unanimously decided to hold both these Party members over until after the establishment of the Village Congress. Then a final gate could dispose of the whole question. No one disagreed with Old Tui-chin when he said, “It is not proper for us to be in any hurry. If there are difficulties we can leave them to the Congress. With the gate, as with the classification, we have three rounds. Our policy is not to wrong anyone but to let each speak all his opinions. Perhaps there are some who think that we spend too much time on this, but since it is such hard work we should expect to spend a lot of time.” Then he repeated his favorite proverb:
For millet alone we spoke before.
Now it’s reason we rally for.
***********
These apparently inconclusive events, though not decisive in themselves, changed the whole trend of village affairs. Passing the gate for the second time made the Communists realize that in spite of all gripes and grumbles, the people really did support them. It gave them new heart. As a result, the branch meeting that was held the next day got under way with vigor and spirit. Before it was over, many Party members had followed the lead of Ts’ai-yuan and Hsin-fa in-daring to voice grievances before the new gate. It did not take long for the changed situation inside the Party branch to influence the whole Provisional Peasants’ Association. When the Association groups were later called together to register complaints against the four, ideas came as thick and fast as the chaff that falls from a winnowing fan.
The stalemate had at last been broken, but only insofar as evidence was concerned. No rank-and-file peasant had yet agreed to take the lead in voicing charges in public. Since a few bold Party members could not possibly substitute for the action of the people themselves, it was necessary to mobilize still further among the sectional groups of the Association.
51
A Young Bride Leads the Way
In all sections of the masses there are generally to be found the relatively active elements, the intermediate elements, and the backward elements. In the initial stages the active elements are usually in the minority, while the intermediate elements and the backward elements make up the broad masses. In accordance with the mass line, attention must be paid to the majority, that is, the intermediate and backward elements; otherwise the advanced section will become isolated, and nothing can be done satisfactorily.
Liu Shao-ch’i, 1945
JUNE 5TH dawned hot and humid. A haze that blurred but by no means obscured the sun hung over the village and veiled the gaunt hills on both its flanks. This haze was a product of the approaching summer solstice. Over the Shangtang plateau the concentrated summer sunlight heated up a land surface sodden with rain and converted the air into an invisible blotter that sucked up water in superb defiance of the law of gravity. Suck as it would, the air could not dry out the land in a few hours. A thousand puddles still lay on the roads, and countless particles of clay still clung together as gumbo in the fields. In spite of this, the able-bodied men of Long Bow were out hoeing. They had to be. If they waited any longer the weeds would smother the young corn.
Just before the sun reached its scorching zenith Comrade Hou’s voice boomed out from the top of the church tower: “Women’s meeting today! As soon as you finish eating, come to the churchyard. Women of the Peasants’ Association, come to the meeting!”
When I heard Hou’s call I jumped up from the bed where I lay dozing, delighted at the prospect of any action that could divert attention from the insufferable heat.
By the time I reached the street the women were already streaming out of their homes in all the lanes, yards, and back alleys of the settlement. They converged on the Church grounds by way of the main street and the gate of the District Office. It was the biggest turnout of women the village had ever seen. The older ones minced along on their bound feet as if on stilts. Girls with single, braids down their backs to signify that they were not yet married, chased each other through the crowd. Young brides whose hair had only been bound up in a bun for a year or two, sought each other out and held hands as they walked along. They obviously longed to skip and dance as their little sisters were doing, but a strong sense of propriety caused them to maintain instead a demure and dignified gait and content themselves with mischievous side-glances at the few male bystanders who loitered in the open gates along the route.
Inside the mission grounds Hu Hsueh-chen stood on the stone steps of a small outbuilding, welcomed the women, and explained why she had summoned them. “Hsien-e has agreed to accuse her husband and her father-in-law before the gate,” said the leader of the Women’s Association, “but she is afraid to return to their house to live. She will speak if she is granted a divorce. For this she wants our backing.”
With that Hsueh-chen beckoned Hsien-e to join her on the steps. Standing side by side the two women posed a striking contrast. Hsueh-chen was clad in a frayed black tunic that had suffered many fierce poundings at the edge of the village pond. The bobbed hair that hung straight down on both sides of her face accentuated the masculinity of her features. The long nose, the square jaw, the jutting chin were all set in an expression of the utmost seriousness, as if their possessor bore on her shoulders all the cares of a sorely troubled people and had long since forgotten, if indeed she had ever known, frivolity, joy, or even laughter.
Hsien-e, on her part, exhibited the quintessence of youthful femininity—slight of build, breathtakingly beautiful, she wore a new tunic of bright-colored flowered cloth. It fitted very tightly at the shoulders and then belled out toward the waist but not so abruptly as to obscure the firm figure underneath. A pair of baggy slacks concealed her legs but her feet, which were so small it was hard to believe they had never been bound, were set off in a pair of red embroidered slippers, perfect for a lady’s boudoir but out of place on the street. Hsien-e’s lovely face, radiant as a snow apple in high bloom, revealed not the slightest sign of suffering but only a childlike freshness, an innocence of spirit that seemed to belie all that she
had gone through.
Without any urging, Hsien-e began to relate the story of her life. Her voice was high-pitched but steady and clear. “Even before the famine year my parents could not maintain the family. I don’t know how much they got from Yu-lai, but three different people acted as go-betweens and we received grain and money in return for my engagement to Wen-te. During the famine year my father had to go to Taiyuan. There was nothing to eat at home and mother was afraid that I would die of starvation. So she sent me to Yu-lai’s home though I was only ten. I lived a hard life there. I went to the fields every day to find herbs in order to stay alive. They ate millet while I drank the water. They beat me often. Later, when the famine was over, my father came and I went back to live with my parents. But when I was 14 Yu-lai demanded that I return and get married. I wanted to wait until I was 16, but they threatened us. They said our lives were in their hands and accused us of being agents for Chiang Kai-shek. I was afraid and did as they wished. After the marriage I was not allowed out of the house. I never dared join a meeting although I often wished to go. Once Yu-lai locked the gate and Wen-te locked the door so that no one could come in. Then they whipped me, both of them, with a mule whip. Hu-Hsueh-chen heard me screaming and went to the District Office for help. If it hadn’t been for her, I would have died that night.
“A few months ago my mother fell sick, but I didn’t dare return home to see her. My husband said, ‘If you return home, I will divorce you.’ But my uncle came many times to call me. Finally I took a quilt and escaped to my father’s home, and now I dare not return to my husband’s family. I have made up my mind to divorce him because if I return, then I shall be killed surely. If I cannot divorce him, then I shall commit suicide.”
Fanshen Page 59
