A Star Reflects on the Sun by Liu Xiaoqing
Introduction by Geremie R. Barmé
Liu Xiaoqing is an actress from Sichuan. Although her fame was
eclipsed in the early 1990s by Gong Li, Liu remained one of
China's most popular leading ladies. She was also remarkable for
her brash and outspoken personality--something with which few of
her rivals could compete, and she was denounced during the 1983
Anti-Spiritual Pollution Campaign for producing an autobiography
entitled I Did It My Way (Wode lu). Among her numerous screen
roles her portrayal of the Empress Dowager Ci Xi, in particular
in Tian Zhuangzhuang's film "Li Lianying" (1990) was, perhaps,
most noteworthy.
Liu's memoir, from which this excerpt is taken, was written at
the height of the Mao Cult. Its sentiment was shared by many
of Liu's generation as they looked back a youth spent in the
thrall of Cultural Revolution zealotry. Regardless of the
horrors of those years--and there is no dearth of material
concerning the devastation wrought by Mao's rule--for many his
was an age of passion, excitement and social engagement.
Maoism was suffused with religiousity and it catered for young
idealists yearning for sincerity and altruism, things unknown
and unthinkable in Deng Xiaoping's China. This memoir shows
that Liu's longing for a lost moment of "beauty" had grown
more intense with the passage of time and stronger in the
atmosphere of the cynicism that enveloped the People's
Republic now that it was bereft of anything other than a faith
in economic might. It also reveals a level of objectification
of Mao that brings to mind the German book Love Letters to
Adolf Hitler.(1)
I've only seen Mao Zedong twice. On the first occasion he was
standing, the second time he was flat on his back. The first time
he was on Tiananmen Gate to review the Red Guards who, like me,
had travelled to Beijing to see him. The second time was at the
Chairman Mao Memorial Hall where I lined up to view his body.
Everyone says that you never forget your first love. I can't
really say that I ever had a first love, for in my childhood and
youth the man I loved and admired most of all was Mao Zedong. I
gave him everything I had: my sincerest love, as well as all my
longing and hopes. He was an idol I worshipped with all my heart.
Chairman Mao, you were my first object of desire!
The first song I learnt to sing was "The East is Red". I knew what
Chairman Mao looked like from the time I could recognize my
parents. When I was a Red Guard I could recite all of his
quotations word perfect. My brain was armed with Mao Zedong
Thought. During the unprecedented Cultural Revolution I used
Chairman Mao's words as my weapon to parry with opponents. My
prodigious memory and quick tongue always meant that my "enemies"
would retreat in defeat.
If I ever had any problems I would search Chairman Mao's writings
for an answer. When we lost one of our chicks I looked for help in
his works. When, not long after, the chick reappeared, I knew it
was due to the intercession of our Great, Wise and Correct
Chairman Mao.
When, as a child, I played games with my friends our pledge of
honour was: "I swear by Chairman Mao". If someone said that, even
if they prefaced it by claiming that they'd just come from Mars,
we'd believe it without question. Naturally, no one ever took this
oath lightly.
I worshipped and loved Chairman Mao so utterly that there was
absolutely nothing extraneous or impure in my feelings for him.
When I grew a bit older and learnt the secret of how men and women
make babies I had the most shocking realization: "Could Chairman
Mao possibly do that as well?" Of course, I immediately banished
this sacrilegious thought from my head...2
Then Chairman Mao set the revolutionary blaze of the Cultural
Revolution alight. It also ignited our youthful enthusiasm. We
were like moths drawn to a flame and we threw ourselves into the
inferno en masse. We were in a frenzy and utlized every ounce of
energy at our disposal.
We would give anything to protect Chairman Mao, including our very
lives. Our love for the Chairman consumed us body and soul. If
anyone had dared to try and harm our beloved Chairman we would
have pounced on him, bitten his hand off, gouged out his eyes,
screamed in his ears until he was deaf, spat on him until he
drowned in a lake of spittle and would have happily died in the
effort just like [the revolutionary martyr] Dong Cunrui.
On 18 August 1968, Chairman Mao reviewed the Red Guards for the
first time. I was too young to become a Red Guard, but I spent all
my time dreaming of joining the organization that was sworn to
protect Chairman Mao. After making extraordinary efforts I was
finally allowed to take part in a peripheral grouping called the
"Red Brigade". They gave me a red armband too. It was like a dream
come true. Although it wasn't the same as the Red Guards, but the
difference was only one word. I wore it so the word "Brigade" was
hidden under my arm. I stuck out my chest and, just like a real
Red Guard, strutted around the school yard increadibly proud of
myself.
Soon after that, Chairman Mao called on the Red Guards to travel
around China on Revolutionary Link-ups. Our group of Red Brigade
members decided to respond to Chairman Mao's call too. Without a
penny to our names, and each carrying a yellow-green PLA napsack
that we had all done our darndest to get a hold of (including some
who had dyed their own bags), we set out. I had cut off my beloved
pigtails so I looked like the revolutionary Sister Jiang.3 At the
train station, we fought our way past all the people who tried to
pursuade us to "return to the classroom and continue the
revolution there". Pushing them aside with determined urgency we
got onto the train. With a great clamour the train moved out of
the station. We were in very high-spirits, our hearts throbbing
with revolutionary ardour. Then one of my classmates asked: "Where
are we going?" I was stunned and asked the others: "Where's this
train headed?" We took out a map of China and put our heads
together and, doing our best to put the basics of geography we'd
just acquired in class to use, we scrutinized the map and finally
worked out that we were on the Baocheng line. There would be a
change of locomotive at Baoji and the train would then head for
Beijing.
Beijing! The city where Chairman Mao lived! We went wild.
Over the next few days, we were so excited about going to Beijing
that we didn't sleep a wink. But where would Chairman Mao be?
Would we be able to see him. We all stood atop the "Gold Mountain
of Beijing" which we had dreamed of for so long tormented by these
questions.
We imitated the Red Guards of Beijing scrupulously, literally
aping their every move. When we got on a bus we would take out
Quotations from Chairman Mao and start reading in really loud
voices. "Revolution is not a tea party. It is not like writing an
essay, painting or embroidering flowers,... revolution is an act
of violence, it is the violent overthrow of one class by
another..." We did our best to make our heavily-accented Sichuan
voices sound as much like Beijing dialect as we could. We'd read
one quotation after another right to the end of the trip...
I will never forget August 31, 1966. On that day I joined all the
Red Guards who had come from throughout China to be in Beijing to
see him, to see Chairman Mao, the leader we dreamt of and thought
of 24 hours a day.
A few days earlier we had been told by the Revolutionary Committee
of the Agricultural Museum [, our billet,] that some Central
leaders would see us on August 31. When we heard this everyone
exploded in excitement. Speculation was rife: which leader or
leaders would be there? Would Chairman Mao come? The result of our
group deliberations was that Chairman Mao was sure to be too busy
to come. Since we were from out of Beijing there was even less
reason for him to see us. But there was a small and adamant group
who were sure that Chairman Mao would appear. Naturally, I really
wanted to believe them. Truth, after all, [as Chairman Mao taught
us] is often the prerogative of the minority.
It was 6:00 am, August 31. We all woke with a start. Although we
were all at the age when you find it impossible to wake up in the
morning, everyone had been really excited the night before. People
had woken at the slightest noise and looked around to see that
nothing was going on before drifiting off to sleep again. But this
time it was for real. We all got dressed in record time and, armed
with the food and water we had set aside the night before, we ran
into the courtyard.
Once assembled we got into our bus and were driven to Tiananmen
Square. We lined up and sat in ranks; the Square was turned into a
massive sea of green. We waited wide-eyed and expectant. Morning
broke slowly and we saw the majestic outline of Tiananmen Gate. As
the sun rose we began to get hot. But we waited, and waited. Our
eyes were popping out of our heads. The sweat trickled down our
brows and into our eyes. Everyone was constantly wiping the sweat
away with their hands. We took out our food and water and started
chatting as we ate. Some people nodded off to sleep, heads
cushioned on their knees. As a person nodded their head might slip
off their knee and they'd wake with a shock, look around and then
nod off again. This happened repeatedly. Some people simply lay
down to sleep using their caps and satchels as a pillow. I stood
up and looked out over the Square, a massive expanse occupied by
an army of battle-weary Red Guards. I sat down and was overcome by
drowsiness myself and, despite my best efforts to keep awake, I
nodded off.
Suddenly, drums could be heard, a weak sound at first that grew
louder. After the drum roll all the loudspeakers on the Square
resounded with the opening chords of "The East is Red" followed by
the tumultous din of the orchestral arrangement of the song. The
very earth shook with the volume of sound. Everyone jumped to
their feet. My heart was in my throat, I could feel my pulse
around my lips, in my head and neck. The eyes of a million Red
Guards were riveted on Tiananmen Gate.
The leaders of Party Central had appeared! But who was behind
them? It was Chairman Mao himself!! Everyone threw down their
hats, satchels, bread, water flasks and began shouting as we
surged towards Tiananmen. All those acres of green-clad bodies
that had been sitting passively only a moment before turned into a
solid wave of human flesh, like a wall of football players. We all
shouted "Long Live Chairman Mao!" At first it was an uncoordinated
cry but slowly we began chanting in unison. The love that tens of
thousands of Red Guards felt for their leader burst forth like a
lava flow from Mount Vesuvius. It was like a torrent, like an
explosion of liquid steel. Without a second thought I joined in
and tears streamed from my eyes. I hated the people in front of me
who blocked my line of vision and kept Chairman Mao from me. I
hated the fact that I was shortsighted, that at this most precious
moment I couldn't see the Chairman clearly. I begged a Red Guard
in front of me to lend me his telescope. He was staring into it
looking intently at the rostrum on the Gate. Tears had flowed down
his cheeks to the corners of his mouth and were dripping onto his
clothes. His face was ecstatic. I pleaded with him to let me have
one, quick look. "Just for a minute or even only a second. I'll
give it back immediately, I swear. I swear by Chairman Mao." He
finally gave in and handed me the telescope. I put it up to my eye
as quickly as possible but I couldn't find the Chairman anywhere.
What was wrong? He wasn't there. Then suddenly the human wave
surged in my direction and I was thrown to the ground. I was held
down by a mass of hysterical Red Guards. I pressed down with both
arms to keep myself from being crushed, still the breath was
knocked out of me. I struggled for all I was worth, but I could
feel my strength being sapped away. I couldn't keep up and my face
was being forced against the ground, my cheek crushed downwards. I
could hear my bones creaking, but I couldn't scream out. I was
afraid I would die without ever having seen Chairman Mao. What a
wasted life! But my instinct for self-preservation took over and I
started fighting my way out, regardless of the cost. Miraculously,
the crowd in front of me parted and a wide road appeared. In that
instant I saw Chairman Mao. He was in an open limousine that was
moving slowly in our direction. He was like a statue, as tall as
the heavens. He was dressed in military uniform and he waved at
us. Tens of thousands of eyes turned towards us, saw our faces,
our bodies and saw into our hearts. I went limp but I was held up
by the mass of other Red Guards. I felt warm all over; I was drunk
with happiness. My tears soaked the front of my army-green
uniform. I forgot everything, my studies, my future. Life seemed
so unimportant, irrelevent. Nothing could compare with this
instant, because I had seen him!
I did, nonetheless, have one major regret. I didn't get a chance
to shake Chairman Mao's hand. How I wished I could have become a
spirit or a martial arts expert and jumped over the crowd to sit
next to Chairman Mao! But I couldn't. The people who shook
Chairman Mao's hand that day were our heroes. We all rushed up to
them so we could hold them by the hand, reluctant to let go, we
nearly tore them to pieces.
Even today, whenever I hear "The East is Red", that incredibly
familiar tune, my heart beats faster. It's because that moment was
so profound, so exciting and happy. I've only felt like that once
in my whole life. I'm sure I will never, ever feel like that
again....
Some years later, I went to Beijing with my mother. One day, we
visited the Chairman Mao Mausoleum. Over the years people have
ceaselessly gone to see the Chairman's corpse. Our line was like a
coiled dragon which wound around the centre of the Square.
We entered the stately and solemn foyer of the Mausoleum. The
stream of people made a slow circumambulation. This was the second
time I had seen Chairman Mao. He was the undying idol in my heart,
the man who possessed and ruled me throughout my adolescence and
youth. If the truth be told, I had lived solely for him for two
decades.
Mao Zedong was lying there so still and quiet, at repose in his
crystal sarcophagus. The flag of the People's Republic was draped
over his body, his face had a peaceful expression on it. I felt an
odd mixture of emotions: bitter, sweet, sour and hot. I couldn't
take my eyes off him, my leader.
In my mind's eye, I saw him make the announcement: "The People's
Republic of China is hereby established. The people of China have
stood up!"
I saw him dressed in a military uniform waving a cap in his hand
as he said: "Long live the People!"
I saw him in his limousine driving towards the hysterical Red
Guards.
I saw him standing there with that expression on his face that I
was so familiar with from all the photographs, extending his
massive hand in my direction...
I couldn't help reaching out for his hand in return, just as I had
so many times before in my dreams. But there was nothing there.
The Chairman was still lying in his coffin and we inched forward
with the rest of the crowd. We moved past the bier which was
surrounded by fresh flowers and made our way slowly to the exit.
I bid farewell to Chairman Mao. I bid farewell also to twenty
years of my life, the most precious, enthusiastic and
impressionable time of my youth.
We walked out into Tiananmen Square which was bathed in bright
sunlight. We could see [the portrait of] Chairman Mao on Tiananmen
Gate, although Chairman Mao was not there himself.
Even now the songs I most often sing, the songs with which I am
most familiar, which I can sing from beginning to end, are songs
written in praise of Chairman Mao. The works I can still recite
off by heart are Chairman Mao's poems. And I still quote Chairman
Mao at the drop of a hat. I know and hold it to be true that Mao
Zedong will live on in my heart forever.
This year I'm in Shenzhen for Spring Festival. During the holiday
I happened to take taxis a number of times. None of the taxis had
the usual talismans for good fortune hanging from their
rear-vision mirrors. What hung there instead was Chairman Mao's
portrait. I asked the drivers about it and they all said that they
hung the Chairman because he could ward off evil.
Dear Chairman Mao, people throughout China miss you.
6 February, 1992, Shenzhen
Notes
1. See Stephen Kinzer, "'Love Letters' to Hitler, a Book and Play
Shocking to Germans", The New York Times, 25 May, 1995.
2. Subsequent to the publication of Li Zhisui's memoirs in 1994,
one Beijing-based writer questioned whether Liu Xiaoqing had
re-evaluated her innocent view of the Chairman. See Xue Yu, "Zhide
pengMaozhe renzhen yidu", Kaifang zazhi, 1994: 12, pp. 38-40, at
p. 39.
3. "Sister Jiang" (Jiangjie) is a pre-1966 opera about the Sichuan
revolutionary martyr Jiang Zhuyun. It is based on the novel Red
Crag (Hongyan).
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