by Cheng Nien
In the following days, I observed a marked change in the behavior of the guards. They neglected their duties and were often absent from their posts. Frequently there was no sight or sound of any of them for hours at a time. Fortunately the woman from the kitchen continued to bring the prisoners their food and hot drinking water, and the girl doing Labor Reform gave out cold water for washing as usual. When the guards did come on duty, they gathered in the little room, holding excited discussions. From the occasional word I overheard, I concluded that they were being drawn into the Proletarian Cultural Revolution and were forming their own revolutionary organizations so that they too could join the ever swelling ranks of the Revolutionaries. For the prisoners, the relaxed interest of the guards was like the lifting of an enormously heavy weight. Sometimes I heard the whispering voices of the inmates rise to the normal tone of conversation, and occasionally I even heard giggles.
When the newspaper stopped coming on December 2, I started to make light scratches on the wall to mark the passing days. By the time I had made twenty-three strokes, I knew it was Christmas Eve. Though the usual bedtime hour had passed, the guards were not yet on duty to tell the prisoners to go to sleep. While I was waiting in the bitter cold, suddenly, from somewhere upstairs, I heard a young soprano voice singing, at first tentatively and then boldly, the Chinese version of “Silent Night.” The prison walls resounded with her song as her clear and melodious voice floated in and out of the dark corridors. I was enraptured and deeply moved as I listened to her. I knew from the way she rendered the song that she was a professional singer who had incurred the displeasure of the Maoists. No concert I had attended at Christmas in any year meant more to me than that moment when I sat in my icy cell listening to “Silent Night” sung by another prisoner whom I could not see. As soon as she was confident that the guards were not there to stop her, the girl sang beautifully without any trace of nervousness. The prison became very quiet. All the inmates listened to her with bated breath.
Just as the last note of her voice trailed into space, the guards’ footsteps echoed on the cement floor. They rushed from cell to cell asking, “Who was that? Who was singing? Who was breaking the rules?” None of the prisoners replied.
A few days after the New Year, the loudspeaker in the corridor was switched on, and all the prisoners were told to sit still to listen to an important announcement.
A man’s voice read a proclamation by the Shanghai Workers Revolutionary Headquarters. It stated that the Red Guards and the Revolutionaries in the city, acting with the approval of the Cultural Revolution Directorate in Beijing, had seized power in Shanghai on January 4 and had overthrown the “reactionary” Party Secretariat and municipal government, which for a long time had “opposed the correct policy of our Great Leader Chairman Mao and pursued a revisionist line in order to revive capitalism in China.”
It was subsequently revealed in newspaper articles that the “hero” of this coup was a former security chief of a textile factory, Wang Hongwen, who had succeeded in affiliating all mass revolutionary organizations that had sprung up all over the city into one organization called the Shanghai Workers Revolutionary Headquarters, with himself as its head. He was backed by Zhang Chunqiao, longtime associate of Mao’s wife Jiang Qing and representative of the Beijing Cultural Revolution Directorate in Shanghai. Eventually, Jiang Qing, Zhang Chunqiao, Wang Hongwen, and the well-known left-wing writer Yao Wen-yuan were to form a tightly knit political faction, the notorious “Gang of Four.”
It seemed that while anyone who was not a class enemy could join a revolutionary organization and become a Revolutionary, the leadership of such organizations was now firmly in the hands of approved Maoist activists.
The man also read a document from the State Council giving approval to the rebels’ action but urging the workers not to neglect production. This statement by the State Council, the office of the prime minister, gave the unprecedented revolutionary action by the Maoist radicals a semblance of legality. That Prime Minister Zhou Enlai should have given the rebels his support and approval shocked me. I simply could not believe he truly agreed with their action. However, I thought his call for the workers not to neglect production was at least a note of sanity in the atmosphere of madness. It wasn’t until after my release from prison that I learned of the tremendous pressure put on Zhou Enlai by the radicals, who persistently tried to dislodge him from his position as prime minster. It was only by skillful and subtle handling of the situation and by always identifying himself with Mao’s designs that Zhou Enlai managed to survive the Cultural Revolution and give protection to a few of the old guard in the Party.
A few days after the announcement of the coup, the guards handed me a copy of the Shanghai Liberation Daily, which reappeared under new revolutionary publishers. Under banner headlines printed in red ink, it reported that on December 2 the Red Guard and the Revolutionaries had seized the newspaper after a prolonged struggle, as a preliminary to the overthrow of the municipal government.
Reading the news items and reports carefully, I learned that final victory for the Revolutionaries was made possible only when two senior officials of the Shanghai municipal government were persuaded to switch allegiance. At a public rally to indict the former chief secretary of the Party and the mayor of the city, the two turncoats, anxious for their own acceptance by the Maoists, had demonstrated their firm stand on Mao’s side by slapping the faces of their former colleagues, to the loud and prolonged cheers of assembled Red Guards and Revolutionaries. (These two officials, Ma Tianshui and Xu Jingxian, were to rule Shanghai on behalf of the Gang of Four until Mao’s death and the Gang’s arrest. In 1982, both were sentenced to long terms of imprisonment for crimes, including murder, committed at the order of the Gang of Four. Subsequently Ma Tianshui went mad.)
The overthrow of the Shanghai municipal government by the radicals shattered any hope I had of a quick solution to my own predicament. I realized that my case would have to wait for the reorganization of all the departments of the new Shanghai government, including the Public Security Bureau, which held jurisdiction over the No. 1 Detention House. This process would take time, especially if there was overt and covert resistance to the new officeholders. I also thought the viability of the new Shanghai government and its smooth functioning depended on how quickly the rest of the country could be taken over by the Revolutionaries. From the numerous articles denouncing officials in other cities of China, I could see that elsewhere the Revolutionaries and the Red Guards were meeting stronger resistance than they had encountered in Shanghai.
In the spring of 1967, the Liberation Daily published Mao Zedong’s call for the army to support the leftists. It included a quotation of Mao stating that the People’s Liberation Army was not only a military organization but a political one as well. From the statement, it seemed obvious to me that the Red Guards and the Revolutionaries had been unable to take over many local governments in other parts of China by their efforts alone. However, intervention by the military did not immediately produce the desired result. In many instances, the military was quite unable to distinguish between the Red Guard and Revolutionary organizations led by Maoist activists and those organized by Party officials whom Mao wished to topple, since both sides claimed to be dedicated to Mao’s policy. Furthermore, many military commanders were concurrently local administrators, as in Tibet and Xinjiang. They simply declared themselves the true leftists and turned their troops on the Red Guards and the Revolutionaries. In the bitter struggle that ensued there was much bloodshed. In many regions, fearful of committing a political error, the military turned a blind eye when different factions of self-styled leftists raided their arsenals. However, when the dust settled, it appeared that in most parts of the country the aid given by the military substantially helped one or another group of rebels to seize power.
The prominent part played by the military in assisting the Red Guards and the Revolutionaries to seize power raised the prestige of the army and its c
ommander in chief, Defense Minister Lin Biao. Numerous photographs of him walking with or standing beside Mao appeared in the press, a sure sign of enhanced status. He was referred to as “the close comrade-in-arms of our Great Leader Chairman Mao,” a phrase elevating him to second place in the Party hierarchy, after Mao and before Premier Zhou Enlai, who was now caught by the photographer’s camera walking behind Lin Biao in third place. Lin Biao lost no time in purging the army command of his possible opponents and replacing them with his cronies. The newspaper reported the successful exposure of an anti-Mao group of officers in the former army high command. A list of new names appeared for the posts of chief staff officer of the army, navy, air force, and logistics. Lin Biao was heartily congratulated by the rebel-controlled press for the change.
In Shanghai, the Red Guards and the Revolutionaries began taking over subsidiary organizations one by one. Daily the newspaper revealed not only that they had to contend with stiff resistance and sabotage by those they wanted to overthrow, but also that they themselves broke into conflicting factions struggling for the spoils of office. Actual fighting took place in every district of the city. Control of organizations changed hands frequently. The city was in a constant state of upheaval. The noise of yelling mobs reached my cell from the streets. In the exercise yards, I could hear the broadcast speeches of denunciation clearly. The sound of mob fury conjured up terrible scenes of death and destruction, and I greatly feared for the safety of my daughter.
Instead of trying to control the violence and bloodshed, the rebel leaders seemed to be encouraging it. One day I read a newspaper article entitled, “It’s an honor to have our hands stained with the enemy’s blood.” Another day there appeared a statement attributed to Lin Biao: “There are casualties in all revolutions, so let us not exaggerate the seriousness of this situation. Many people have committed suicide or been killed. But these deaths are fewer than those incurred during the war of resistance against Japan or the Civil War, or even during natural disasters. Thus, our gains are greater than our losses.” These callous words made me sick with apprehension for the safety of my daughter. I could no longer eat or sleep normally.
One evening, after I had again refused the rice, a guard came to the small window and pushed it open.
“What’s the matter with you? Are you sick?” she asked.
“I’m worried about my daughter. Could she be brought here to stay in this cell with me?”
“Of course not! She hasn’t committed any crime. Why should she be locked up in prison?” the guard replied.
“I haven’t committed any crime either, but I’m locked up in prison just the same,” I told her.
“I have no time to argue with you about that. Whether you have committed any crime or not, I don’t know. In fact, I don’t know anymore what’s a crime and what’s not a crime. But since you are here already, you must just wait. Someone will deal with you one day. You’re not so badly off. You get eight hours’ sleep every night and have rice to eat. We have to attend meetings after work and don’t get eight hours’ sleep.” She banged the window shut and walked away.
The behavior of the guard astonished me. This was the first time a guard had revealed herself to me as a normal human being. She certainly sounded discouraged and grumpy. I concluded that the struggle within the Party leadership was having a demoralizing effect. To work in such sensitive jobs, the prison guards must have been firm believers in the Party and its leadership. It must be disheartening, if not downright shattering, for them to learn that according to Mao Zedong so many of their superior officers were no more devoted to the ideals of Communism than the man in the street and some of them were in fact working to revive capitalism in China. They lost interest in their work. The prison gradually degenerated into a disorderly place, with prisoners shouting, crying, fighting with each other, and banging the floor when the guards were not in evidence. One night I was awakened by low hysterical laughter coming from another solitary cell in the dark recess of the long corridor. The guard on duty, if there was one, made no effort to stop the prisoner.
I began to observe the guards more closely and to see them as individuals. I noticed that many looked unhappy and subdued. A few younger ones appeared wearing the red armband of the Revolutionaries, and these swaggered in and out insolently, full of self-importance. They assumed an air of authority, not only shouting orders to the prisoners but also speaking in a commanding voice to the other guards.
During 1967, while anarchy ruled the city of Shanghai, control gradually disintegrated in the No. 1 Detention House. By autumn the guards, split into rival factions, were fighting among themselves. When the prisoners were allowed outdoor exercise, I saw their civil war slogans scribbled on the walls and the paved walks of the courtyard. From my cell, I would often hear the familiar voices of the guards at the women’s prison shouting with other voices in argument, and once or twice even the sound of scuffling. The points of contention seemed to be what constituted Mao Zedong’s policy and who among the officials were “capitalist-roaders” to be overthrown.
Often guard duty was taken over by prison administrators and interrogators, who, because they were considered “intellectuals,” were excluded from revolutionary organizations. During the Cultural Revolution, all intellectuals, whether Party members or not, were denounced as “the stinking ninth category.” The eight other categories of enemies were landlords, rich peasants, counterrevolutionaries, bad elements, rightists, traitors, foreign agents, and “capitalist-roaders.” The ninth category, the intellectuals, included not only people with degrees working as professors or research fellows but also schoolteachers, technicians, and white-collar office workers. The word “stink” used as a Chinese slang word also meant “unjustified pride.” Because intellectuals were often thought to be arrogant and proud of their superior knowledge or training, and because they enjoyed positions of honor in traditional Chinese society, the Revolutionaries called them the “stinking” ninth category to show their contempt for both the intellectuals and the Chinese tradition.
At the beginning of my second winter at the detention house, I again developed a bad cold, which refused to clear up in spite of aspirin tablets the young prison doctor gave me. When my cold turned to bronchitis, my body shook with spasms of coughing, particularly severe during the night when the cell became extremely cold. One night, lying under my quilt almost fully dressed, with two sweaters and a pair of knitted long johns to keep warm, I could not control persistent fits of coughing. It was after midnight. The prison had long ago settled down to complete silence. No matter how I lay on that hard bed in the cold room, I coughed and sneezed continually. To ease the irritation in my throat, I drank some of the water left in my mug. The cold liquid actually made me worse. I covered my head to muffle the sound of coughing and hoped the warmth of the quilt would give me some relief.
I heard the small window being opened. The sound was different from the usual loud bang made by the guards. I then heard a man’s voice saying quietly, “Come over here!”
I got out of bed, pulled on my slacks, and threw my padded jacket over my shoulders, wondering what the man wanted of me in the depth of night. When I walked to the small window and looked out, I was astonished to see my former interrogator standing there, holding a thermos flask in his hand.
“Have you a mug? Bring it over,” he said.
I took the mug to the window, and he poured some hot water into it.
I had been waiting for over a year for him to continue the interrogation. This seemed a good opportunity to ask him, so between fits of coughing I said, “When are you going to clarify my case?”
After a moment’s hesitation he said, “When the Revolutionaries are ready, they will call you. More important issues are at stake right now. You must be patient. Now drink the hot water. That should ease your cough. Tomorrow, report to the doctor. He’ll give you some medicine.”
He seemed to be saying that he was no longer dealing with my case. I wondered if
he still thought I was guilty or indeed if he had ever really thought I was guilty. Suddenly I thought, How perfectly ghastly to have to work as an interrogator in such circumstances, when you knew a person was innocent and yet it was your job to find the person guilty. I drank the hot water quickly but was seized with another fit of coughing and vomited.
“Never mind, never mind! I’ll give you some more hot water.” The interrogator opened the small window again. He was joined by another man with dark-rimmed glasses whom he addressed as Director Liang.
“May I borrow a mop to clean the floor?” I asked between coughs.
“You can clean it tomorrow. Is it dirty? Is there anything else besides water?” Director Liang asked.
I looked down at the floor. Indeed there was only water, which was already being absorbed by the cement. Certainly Director Liang was in an excellent position to know how empty the stomach of a prisoner was. After all, he had been the director of the No. 1 Detention House before the Red Guards and the Revolutionaries reduced him to guard duty.
They both remained there until I drank more water. Then they closed the small window and went away.
I got back into bed and reflected that the Cultural Revolution was certainly producing some strange phenomena. For the director and interrogator of the detention house to give a prisoner hot drinking water from their own thermos must be one of them. Such humane behavior had to be in direct contravention of their belief that the No. 1 Detention House was “an instrument of repression used by one class against another,” as I had been told by the interrogator. Perhaps as the Red Guards and the Revolutionaries expanded the scope of their revolutionary action, they were alienating potential supporters and pushing Party intellectuals into the enemy camp.
