Red Scarf Girl

  RED SCARF GIRL

  A MEMOIR OF THE

  CULTURAL REVOLUTION

  JILI JIANG

  FOREWORD BY

  DEVID HENRY HWANG

  To my dearest Grandma,

  who would be so happy if she

  could see this book

  “Now, you have to choose between two roads.” The man from the Revolutionary Committee looked straight into my eyes. “You can break with your family and follow Chairman Mao, or you can follow your father and become an enemy of the people.” His voice grew more severe. “In that case we would have many more study sessions, with your brother and sister too, and the Red Guard Committee and the school leaders. Think about it. We will come back to talk to you again.”

  He and the woman left, saying they would be back to get my statement. Without knowing how I got there, I found myself in a narrow passageway between the school building and the school-yard wall. The gray concrete walls closed around me, and a slow drizzle dampened my cheeks. I could not go back to the classroom, and I could not go home. I felt like a small animal that had fallen into a trap, alone and helpless, and sure that the hunter was coming.

  Contents

  Note to the Reader

  Note on Pronunciation

  Foreword

  Prologue

  The Liberation Army Dancer

  Destroy the Four Olds!

  Writing Da-zi-bao

  The Red Successors

  Graduation

  The Sound of Drums And Gongs

  The Propaganda Wall

  A Search in Passing

  Fate

  Junior High School at Last

  Locked Up

  An Educable Child

  Half-City Jiangs

  The Class Education Exhibition

  The Rice Harvest

  The Incriminating Letter

  Sweeping

  Epilogue

  Glossary

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  NOTE TO THE READER

  In China people are usually called by their surnames first. Thus, in this book you will see Ji-li Jiang called Jiang Ji-li by her teachers and friends. Usage of the first name is reserved for close friends and family.

  There are only one hundred surnames in Chinese, so it is not unusual for people who are not related to have the same name. Chinese women do not change their surnames when they marry, although they may sometimes be addressed by a married name as a sign of respect.

  A more detailed explanation of some of the words, ideas, and people in this book may be found in the glossary at the back.

  NOTE ON PRONUNCIATION

  Most Chinese words written in English are pronounced as they are written, with some exceptions:

  The letter “c” when followed by a vowel is pronounced “ts.”

  The letter “q” is pronounced “ch.”

  The letter “x” is pronounced “sh.”

  The letter “z” is pronounced “dz.”

  The letter combination “zh” is pronounced “j.”

  FOREWORD

  When I was a small boy, my grandmother told me about a distant uncle who was living in China during the Cultural Revolution. He promised to send a picture of himself to his relatives in America. If conditions were good, he said, he would be standing. If they were bad, he would be sitting. In the photo he sent us, my grandmother whispered, he was lying down!

  As a Chinese American born in Southern California, my perception of China’s Cultural Revolution was limited to stories that filtered out from the few relatives who had stayed behind. As I grew older and China opened up to the West, I learned more. A friend who went to China to teach English returned with a raft of tales from survivors, each more horrible than the last.

  The seeds of the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution had been planted many years before it burst forth in 1966. Seventeen years earlier, in 1949, the charismatic revolutionary Mao Ze-dong led the Communist Party to power as the new leaders of China. Some, including my own grandparents with their children, feared the Communists and fled to the small offshore island of Taiwan. Many privileged Chinese chose to stay, however, motivated by a sincere belief that Mao Ze-dong would bring great changes to a nation weakened by centuries of corrupt government and foreign invasion.

  And the Communists did alter China in many positive ways. Before Mao’s liberation, my father remembers as a boy in the city of Shanghai seeing corpses of beggars lying in the streets while the wealthy drove by in chauffeured limousines. The Communists worked for the benefit of the poor, and united a nation shattered for decades into warring factions. Increasingly, however, it became clear that Mao Ze-dong, though an inspiring leader and brilliant revolutionary, was less skilled in the practical affairs of managing a country. Upon deciding that sparrows were harmful to the rice crop, for instance, Mao ordered the Chinese to hunt and kill them. While his directive did succeed in reducing the sparrow population, he had neglected to consider that birds also eat bugs; suddenly, the nation was besieged by a plague of insects.

  By 1966 rivals such as President Liu Shao-qi were gaining power and influence within the Communist Party. At the same time, Mao himself had become disillusioned with some of the revolution’s failures in transforming the nation. So the Cultural Revolution was born out of both Mao’s genuine frustration and his desire to regain the upper hand in a power struggle that threatened his position. His call for “perpetual revolution” mobilized young people into Red Guards who would wage class war against remnants of traditional society, both native and foreign. Mao’s strategy, however, ended up bringing untold suffering to those very masses in whose name the battle was waged, as well as disabling an entire group of young people who are now known as the “lost generation.” Ironically, had Mao died before launching the Cultural Revolution, he would surely be remembered today as a much more positive historical figure.

  Ji-li’s story made me experience the Cultural Revolution on a gut level. Had I been born in China, I would have been nine years old in 1966, just a year younger than Ji-li’s sister, Ji-yun. I too would have faced many of the same impossible choices: to slander a good teacher, or be labeled an enemy of the people? To reveal the location of a forbidden document, or risk its being discovered by the Red Guards? To betray my parents with lies, or ruin my own future?

  Reading Ji-li’s book, I believe I understand more deeply now what my distant uncle must have felt the day he lay down, thinking of his relatives in America, and snapped that photo. I can only hope I would have shown the same decency and courage exhibited by Ji-li Jiang. Her actions remind me that, even under unbearable circumstances, one can still believe in justice. And above all, love.

  —David Henry Hwang

  PROLOGUE

  I was born on Chinese New Year.

  Carefully, my parents chose my name: Ji-li, meaning lucky and beautiful. They hoped that I would be the happiest girl in the world.

  And I was.

  I was happy because I was always loved and respected. I was proud because I was able to excel and always expected to succeed. I was trusting, too. 1 never doubted what I was told: “Heaven and earth are great, but greater still is the kindness of the Communist Party; father and mother are dear, but dearer still is Chairman Mao.”

  With my red scarf, the emblem of the Young Pioneers, tied around my neck, and my heart bursting with joy, I achieved and grew every day until that fateful year, 1966.

  That year I was twelve years old, in sixth grade.

  That year the Cultural Revolution started.

  THE LIBERATION ARMY DANCER

  Chairman Mao, our beloved leader, smiled down at us from his place above the blackboard. The s
ounds and smells of the tantalizing May afternoon drifted in through the window. The sweet breeze carried the scent of new leaves and tender young grass and rippled the paper slogan below Chairman Mao’s picture: STUDY HARD AND ADVANCE EVERY DAY. In the corner behind me the breeze also rustled the papers hanging from the Students’ Garden, a beautifully decorated piece of cardboard that displayed exemplary work. One of them was my latest perfect math test.

  We were having music class, but we couldn’t keep our minds on the teacher’s directions. We were all confused by the two-part harmony of the Young Pioneers’ Anthem. “We are Young Pioneers, successors to Communism. Our red scarves flutter on our chests,” we sang over and over, trying to get the timing right. The old black pump organ wheezed and squeaked as impatiently as we did. We made another start, but Wang Dayong burst out a beat early, and the whole class broke into laughter.

  Just then Principal Long appeared at the door. She walked in, looking less serious than usual, and behind her was a stranger, a beautiful young woman dressed in the People’s Liberation Army uniform. A Liberation Army soldier! She was slim and stood straight as a reed. Her eyes sparkled, and her long braids, tied with red ribbons, swung at her waist. There was not a sound in the classroom as all forty of us stared at her in awe.

  Principal Long told us to stand up. The woman soldier smiled but did not speak. She walked up and down the aisles, looking at us one by one. When she finished, she spoke quietly with Principal Long. “Tong Chao and Jiang Ji-li,” Principal Long announced. “Come with us to the gym.” A murmur rose behind us as we left the room. Tong Chao looked at me and I looked at him in wonder as we followed the swinging braids.

  The gym was empty.

  “I want to see how flexible you are. Let me lift your leg,” the Liberation Army woman said in her gentle voice. She raised my right leg over my head in front of me. “Very good! Now I’ll support you. Lean over backward as far as you can.” That was easy. I bent backward until I could grab my ankles like an acrobat. “That’s great!” she said, and her braids swung with excitement.

  “This is Jiang Ji-li.” Principal Long leaned forward proudly. “She’s been studying martial arts since the second grade. She was on the Municipal Children’s Martial Arts Team. Their demonstration was even filmed.”

  The Liberation Army woman smiled sweetly. “That was very good. Now you may go back to your classroom.” She patted me on my head before she turned back to test Tong Chao.

  I went back to class, but I could not remember the song we were singing. What did the Liberation Army woman want? Could she want to choose me for something? It was too much to contemplate. I hardly moved when the bell rang to end school. Someone told me that the principal wanted to see me. I walked slowly down the hall, surrounded by my shouting and jostling classmates, seeing only the beautiful soldier, feeling only the electric tingle of her soft touch on my head.

  The office door was heavy. I pushed it open cautiously. Some students from the other sixth-grade classes were there already. I recognized Wang Qi, a girl in class two, and one of the boys, You Xiao-fan of class four. I didn’t know the other boy. The three of them sat nervously and respectfully opposite Principal Long. I slipped into a chair next to them.

  Principal Long leaned forward from her big desk. “I know you must be wondering about the Liberation Army soldier,” she said. She sounded cheerful and excited. “Why did she come? Why did she want you to do back bends?” She looked at us one by one and then took a long sip from her tea mug as if she wanted to keep us guessing, “She was Comrade Li from the Central Liberation Army Arts Academy.”

  I slowly took a deep breath.

  “She is recruiting students for the dance training class. She selected you four to audition. It’s a great honor for Xin Er Primary School. I’m very proud of all of you, and I know you’ll do your best.”

  I did not hear the rest of her words. I saw myself in a new Liberation Army uniform, slim and standing straight as a reed, long braids swinging at my waist. A Liberation Army soldier! One of the heroes admired by all, who helped Chairman Mao liberate China from oppression and defeated the Americans in Korea. And a performer, just like my mother used to be, touring the country, the world, to tell everyone about the New China that Chairman Mao had built and how it was becoming stronger and stronger.

  I couldn’t help giving Wang Qi a silly smile.

  “Mom! Dad! Grandma!” I panted up the steep, dark stairs, in too much of a hurry to turn on the light, and tripped over some pots stored on the steps. I couldn’t wait to tell them my news. 1 knew they would all be as excited as I was.

  Our apartment was bright and warm and welcoming. Burgundy curtains shut the darkness outside and made the one big room even cozier. In front of the tall French window our square mahogany table was covered with steaming dishes and surrounded by my family, who were laughing and chattering when I rushed in. They all looked up expectantly.

  “Everybody, guess what! Today a Liberation Army woman came to school and she tested me and she wants me to audition for the Central Liberation Army Arts Academy. Just think! I could be in the Liberation Army! And I could be a performer, too! Isn’t it great?” I picked up our cat, Little White, and gave her a big kiss.

  “It’s lucky I studied martial arts for so long. When the Liberation Army woman saw my back bend, she just loved it.” I twirled around on my toes and snapped my heels together in a salute. “Comrade Grandma, Jiang Ji-li reporting!”

  My younger brother, Ji-yong, jumped up from the table and saluted me. My little sister, Ji-yun, started to twirl around as I had done, but she slipped and fell. We jumped to the floor with her and rolled around together.

  “Ji-li,” I heard Dad call. I looked up. Mom and Dad and Grandma were looking at each other solemnly. “It might be better not to do the audition.” Dad spoke slowly, but his tone was serious, very serious.

  “What?”

  “Don’t do the audition, Ji-li.” He looked straight at me this time, and sounded much more forceful.

  “Don’t do the audition? Why not?”

  Dad shook his head.

  I grabbed Mom’s arm. “Mom, why not?”

  She squeezed my hand and looked at me worriedly. “Your father means that the recruitment requirements are very strict.”

  “Wow. You really scared me, Dad.” I laughed with relief. “I know that. Principal Long told us it would be very competitive. I know it’s just an audition, but who knows? I might be lucky, right?” I picked up a steamed bun and took a bite.

  “I’m not just talking about talent,” Dad said. “There are more important requirements, political considerations…”

  “Oh, Dad, that’s no problem.” I took another big bite of the bun. I was an Outstanding Student, an Excellent Young Pioneer, and even the da-dui-zhang, the student chairman of the whole school. What more could they want? My mouth was full, so I stretched out my arm to show Dad my da-dui-zhang badge, a plastic tag with three red stripes.

  I saw a pain in Dad’s eyes that I had never seen before.

  “The problem isn’t with you yourself, Ji-li. What I mean is that the political background investigations at these academies are very severe.”

  “Political background investigation? What’s that?”

  “That is an investigation into the class status of your ancestors and all members of your family.” He leaned back in his chair, and the lampshade put his face in shadow. “Ji-li, the fact is that our family will not be able to pass these investigations,” he said slowly. “And you will not be allowed to be a member of a Liberation Army performing troupe.”

  For a long time I did not speak. “Why?” I whispered at last.

  He started to say something but stopped. He leaned forward again, and I could see the sorrow on his face. “It’s very complicated, and you wouldn’t understand it now even if I told you. Maybe we should wait until you’re grown up. The point is that I don’t think you’ll be admitted. So just drop it, all right?”

  I
did not say anything. Putting down the half-eaten bun, I walked to the mirror on the big wardrobe that divided the room and pressed my forehead against its cool surface. I could not hold back any longer. I burst out crying.

  “I want to do it. I want to try. What will I tell Principal Long? And my classmates?” I wailed.

  “Maybe we should let her try. She probably won’t be chosen anyway.” Grandma looked at Dad.

  Dad stood up, heaving a deep sigh. “This is for her own good. Her classmates and teachers will just be surprised if she says that her father won’t let her go. But what if she passes the audition and can’t pass the political background investigation? Then everybody will know that the family has a political problem.” Dad’s voice grew louder and louder as he went on.

  Ji-yong and Ji-yun were looking up at Dad, wide-eyed. I bit my lip to force myself to stop crying and went to bed without saying another word.

  The hallway outside the principal’s office was very quiet. It was noon, and nearly everyone was home for lunch. The big red characters PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE made me nervous. I put my hand on the knob, hesitated, and lowered it. I walked back to the stairs, trembling and covered with sweat.

  I rehearsed the words I was going to say one more time. Then I rushed back to the office door and pushed it open.

  Principal Long was reading a newspaper. She raised her head and peered through her glasses to see who had interrupted her. “Principal Long, here is a note from my father.” Hastily I gave her the note, damp with sweat from my palm. I hurried out of the office before she could look at it or ask me any questions. I ran down the hallway, colliding with someone and running blindly on, thinking only that she must be very disappointed.

  At one o’clock when the bell finally rang to start class, I heaved a long sigh and walked out of the library. My best friend, An Yi, and our homeroom teacher were standing outside the main building. As soon as they saw me, An Yi shouted, “Where have you been? Aren’t you supposed to go to the audition at one? Hurry up! You’re going to be late.”