She was part of the Chinese landscape, sur- rounded by Chinese people, and yet
separated
by special schools and special status, and ultimately by her face and the color of her skin.
Lifton-Robert-Jay-Thought-Reform-and-the-Psychology-of-Totalism
Born in China of Cana- dian Protestant missionary parents, she had spent more than half of her life there.
She looked back very critically on her childhood attitudes toward the Chinese people: "I don't think I had any real feeling for them per se.
.
.
.
I liked living in China because life was comfortable"; and she emphasized the "satisfying sense of su- periority," and the "gunboat psychology" which she, as a Westerner in China, had known.
Yet this attitude was far from the whole story, since a little later she told me of her deep affection for these same Chinese people: "I loved them tremendously.
" When shewas sent to Canada for her secondary school and university education, however, she avoided mentioning her Chinese past, and tried to "hide from my background" in order to find "identity [the word was hers] with the group there.
" But whether the foreigner in China or the "Chinese" girl in Canada, she felt she was different from those around her, and when later she returned to China as a teacher, and a student of Chinese culture, she began to be un- comfortably aware of her "lack of roots.
"
She spoke of "serious tensions" in her family life; she usually found herself allied with her strong-willed and opinionated mother in a mutual impatience with her well-meaning, but ineffectual
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father. She had, early in life, rebelled against austere and dogmatic Protestant religious teachings. She always had difficulty coming to terms with the "iron-clad honesty" which her parents demanded, believing herself to fall far short of this ideal: "I bordered on cheat- ing and was not above the use of a lie. " Her legacy of susceptibility to guilt was, as one might expect, a strong and painful one; "I have always been very quick to feel guilty. " This reached the point where she let letters from her parents lie unopened for several months, because "every letter was a stab , . , and I did not want to read the reprimands. "
Always bright and much interested in the world about her, Jane became deeply concerned with social reform in both China and the West. She felt that missionary influences, as well as lifelong financial difficulties, affected her militant liberalism.
With my missionary background, I've always felt that something should be done to better the world. . . , My lack of economic security has been a driving force in my life. . . . I thought that society was man- made, and should be regulated in the interests of man.
When she returned to China as a teacher after the war, she was highly critical of the Nationalist regime, but at the same time had "an anti-Communist orientation. " She shared these views with Western and Chinese friends, and was in fact more comfortable in such intellectual and ideological matters than in purely social situations. She felt that a tendency to be too outspoken and critical had interfered with many friendships. In her relationships with men, in particular, she believed her forceful intellect to be a disadvantage, and sometimes wished she were "more of a powderpuff. " Always restrained in sexual matters, she was long aware of both discom- fort and unfulfilled longing in her response to masculine overtures.
During the period preceding her imprisonment she found her- self--along with a few other Westerners--leading a beleaguered existence. Increasingly cut off from Chinese friends, she was aware her movements were being observed, and she was not completely surprised when her arrest finally occurred.
Miss Darrow's prison treatment was virtually identical with that described for men. At the beginning she was subjected to the physical and emotional pressures of prolonged interrogations, in- cessant "struggles," chains and handcuffs, and enforced standing
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for as long as thirty-six hours. She resisted for a while, and made up a false story which was not accepted; but within a few days she had produced an "espionage" confession which was a dis- torted reinterpretation of her actual behavior. She did not at the time inwardly accept its validity, but did feel extremely troubled ("I hated myself! ") for having so quickly made this confession and for having supplied detailed information about Chinese ac- quaintances.
This sense of shame and guilt was heightened by her experiences among other women in her cell. A well-educated, Westernized Chinese girl, with whom she closely identified herself, came to the cell apparently fully convinced of the Communist position, and critical of Miss Darrow for her "backwardness. " Cell relationships were highly charged and highly personal; she referred repeatedly to a hated cell chief as "the bitch" and another person as "the fiery woman. "
During these early stages, she felt a number of conflicting emo- tions: initial resentment; embarrassment at being a prisoner and at being in such a low-level all-Chinese environment; guilt ("I had curious regrets at not having written the family"); a "grim curi- osity"; a sense of opportunity ("I thought it might be grist for rny mill and that I would write a book about it"); and perhaps most important, a sense of surrendering herself to the inevitable ("You have the feeling that you are being pushed through something you can't control . . . it breeds a sort of lightheadedness").
But at the same time, she applied herself to the study of the "rhythms" of her environment, and soon concluded that "every- thing I believed about the world was not acceptable. " Then, during a self-examination, she was surprised at the extremely enthusiastic acceptance of her statement that she had been leading a "parasitic life. " Thus encouraged, she continued to express this kind of highly critical judgment on her entire past--an approach which she found came quite naturally to "a guilt-ridden person like myself. " In this and in her general views, she "tried to put on a convincing act of being progressive. . . . and a good show of being honest. " But this "act" became extremely uncomfortable for her, not only be- cause her "veneer" and "lack of sincerity" were criticized by the others, but primarily because she herself found it difficult to tolerate her own "dishonesty. "
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I was a cracked bowl. I didn't ring true. . . . I was inferior to people who really tried to reform . . . they really felt guilty. I was superficial. . . . And I respond to the ideal of being good.
As she felt worse and worse about the "double game" which she was playing (or thought she was playing), she began to look upon herself in general with ever-increasing contempt:
I realized that my professed feeling for liberals was not very deep. I was a scheming, small person . . . with a basically opportunistic phi- losophy. . . . When I reached the bottom, there was nothing more.
She began to not only say, but really feel, that she had been, and was then, evil: in her attitude of "superiority" toward Chinese, and in her "recognition" that she had (despite economic difficul- ties) really been a member of the "upper class," and had unfairly enjoyed all of its advantages. More and more her "tactic"--"I was always trying to establish the fact that I was sincere"--became her reality.
Her change was furthered by much that she saw and "learned": the "proof" of American use of germ warfare--especially when this was "confirmed" by the report of a missionary whom she felt must be reliable, because "I know my father would not tell a lie"; the United Nations "procrastinations" in the truce negotiations of the Korean War; and the progress of the "completely planned" Chinese society ("social and economic accomplishments and getting things done that other governments had promised but never delivered. ") She was especially struck by the realization that what was happen- ing to her was related to the broad Chinese scene: "I had viewed thought reform as a punishment--restricted to prisoners--but here was the reform of all society. " All of this made her feel more com- fortable, as "it gave me the intellectual basis for some things I had already accepted on an emotional basis. "
Yet over the years of her reform, and despite her continuing "progress," she could not get herself to believe fully in her con- fessed "espionage" activities. "I never accepted this as me. " She found it always necessary to make a distinction between her "per- sonal predicament" and "the broad social facts. " While conscious that "there was a discrepancy," she sought to get around it by giv- ing less importance to her own situation: "I did more thinking
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about society than about myself. . . . I worked from outward-in- ward rather than inward-outward. " Using this device, she could begin to accept "the general logic of their position" in viewing her "passing of information" to people who could use it in a way harmful to the Communist regime as "espionage. "
As with other prisoners, her relations with the government dur- ing the last month of her imprisonment were characterized by mutual frankness and co-operation. Miss Darrow found herself able to admit that she could not completely view herself as a spy, and after so doing was praised for her honesty. Transferred to a new cell where her "dark past" was unknown, she had what she considered to be a new opportunity to "make good. " She was even briefly appointed as cell chief, in her view a mixed blessing: "I didn't want it because I was afraid of muffing it, but I was flattered because I had come up from the bottom. " She retained the job long enough to "help" a new prisoner (one with a background of missionary education) to her confession; but because she found herself "feeling guilty" in carrying out the duties of the cell chief, she was unable to be decisive with other prisoners and was finally, at her own request, replaced.
At this time, she was also impressed by the dedication of many of the prison ofEcials (both male and female), by their willingness to extend themselves to solve all problems, their readiness to admit past mistakes, and their "growth as human beings"--which she felt she could recognize over the course of her imprisonment. She was especially influenced by one male prisoner-official assigned to her case, a highly cultivated Westernized Chinese with whom she felt much in common--and who reminded her of a man she had once been fond of,
She was struck by the kindness and patience with which young prisoners were treated after the general improvement in prison conditions, and by the consideration for children, some of whom lived for periods of time with their mothers in the cells. She was grateful for special rations of hot water for the women to wash their hair, and for the issue of new uniforms; she noted the officials' concern with the prisoners' diet and medical care and felt that there was a great effort made to "permit us a sense of dignity. " Finally, Miss Darrow rounded out her re-education through ex- tensive reading of Marxist texts, some of which she had asked for
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as her interest developed.
Shortly before her release, she struggled with the problem of
whether or not she wished to remain in China. She considered stay- ing (or trying to stay) both because of her admiration for the new regime and her love for China:
Lots of things made me generally in admiration of this society. I felt very warmly toward it and couldn't bear the thought that I would always be cut off from it. . . . It seemed right, the way of the future. . , . And after all, I had lived there most of my life, and I adored Peking.
She also felt closer to the Chinese people than ever before: "I had found the real person. " And she believed that, should she re- main, the years spent in prison "would count" and she would be appreciated ("in that society you don't have to be apologetic about having ideas")--while at the same time she felt certain that she would be "out of step" back in the West.
On the other hand, she also thought frequently of her parents and of an older woman who had been like a parent to her. "If my mother and father were dead I would not have come home--but when I thought of the three of them, I decided I would return. " She also remembered things like Christmas in Canada, and in the end it was the West and family ties which prevailed.
At the time of her trial, she could not rid her mind of the feeling that it was all "rigged," and felt greatly embarrassed at be- ing seen as a "spy" by the Chinese spectators, because "I didn't want them to feel this about me. " She was "amazed" at the "light" sentence (expulsion rather than additional time in prison), and at the same time was concerned about the problems of the future. In a last "moving" discussion with her judge, the difficulties of returning were frankly discussed; the judge expressed the hope that she would retain a "realization of what the world was about," and pointed to the example set by a friend of hers, another West- erner who had taken a strong "stand" in favor of his re-education after his release. Prison officials had kept them informed about each other, and this information about his "stand" impressed Miss Darrow very greatly.
It made me feel that I could be as good as he. We felt it together--he put across his case--I could too.
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Upon her arrival in Hong Kong, she was aware of the ordeal she had been put through; but her allegiance to her captors was so great that she was determined to present only their position, and to suppress any material which would undermine it. Her at- titude was reinforced by a letter she was handed when she crossed the border, written by the friend who had been previously released, offering advice and encouragement. Her anticipation of difficulty with the press only increased her resolve.
I didn't want to say anything to a hostile press against a group getting such a fine deal for a large section of humanity. . . . I had made up my mind I would not mention the chaining. . . . This showed my identification with the Communists. . . . I asked myself how much they would want me to say.
The more her words were questioned, the more she defended her captors ("I was like a fighting lion"); but the entire experience was deeply disturbing to her ("It was hell! ").
Feeling uncomfortable with consular officials who met her, she elected to stay with old missionary associates of her family in Hong Kong, a decision she had thought about before her release. There she was made comfortable, was not challenged, and felt "reassured/* In thinking about her situation in this more relaxed setting, she began to feel that what she had said at the press conference might not have been completely accurate, and she determined "to put the facts on the table with no distortions. " But she did nothing to carry out this resolve, and when some of the missionaries asked her how she had been treated, her answer was, "Perfectly well. " Moreover, she even felt guilty for considering such a change of policy, viewing it again through the eyes of the prison officials: "I felt that this was my first retreat--the first thing I would have toexplaintothem . . . ifIweretogoback. "
When she arrived home and faced the conflicted emotions of her family relationships, she was unable to discuss her imprisonment with her parents; but she did talk about it at great length with two friends. These discussions were sometimes very helpful to her, and at other times confusing, since her feelings about her reform varied greatly and depended largely on which friend she was talk- ing to.
Her closest friend--the older woman whom she recognized as
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a substitute for her mother--exerted the greater influence; she lived in the same city, and spent many hours listening sympathetically to Miss Darrow's story. She was never judging or critical; but as an anti-Communist liberal close to Miss Darrow's former position, she would occasionally gently point out some of the Communist inconsistencies and abuses. This relationship was of immense im- portance to Miss Darrow, and her friend's words had great impact on her. However, her more infrequent visits with the other friend --the man who had emerged from a Communist prison with an even more completely reformed attitude and a more rigid ad- herence to the Communist position--left her disturbed: "I felt guilty because I thought that maybe he was better than I was/' At the same time, she shared many opinions with him about their experiences.
She began to read a great deal, saw many liberal friends whose sympathy affected her, and became increasingly willing to question her experience: "Certain doubts have been allowed to arise. " In her personal relations, always difficult for her in the past, she felt "easier, more in control of myself"; she retained certain fears and taboos in her relationships with men, but fewer than before, and she looked toward marriage in her quest for "emotional security. " She returned to secondary school teaching, and at the same time maintained her strong interest in China.
She remained greatly troubled and preoccupied with her personal sense of guilt. She felt guilty toward Communist prison officials and toward their entire society whenever she expressed (or even felt) anything critical about them; toward her own government be- cause she still held views in some ways favorable to Communism, although this guilt was mixed with feelings of gratitude toward Canadian officials for negotiating her release; and toward her parents because of her inability to be more warm to them. As she summed it up: "I am full of guilt complexes. . . . I feel guilty almost about the rain. "
Near the end of our talks, she asked me questions about guilt feelings, and began to recognize the important part these had played in her own imprisonment: "Your attitude is a creature of your own guilt. " But she continued to speak contemptuously of herself as she described her inner struggle between "the urge to adapt" (to her own culture) and "the compulsion to hold on" (to
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the Communist views), ever ready to denounce her own "selfish- ness" and "opportunism. " As far as her political beliefs were con- cerned, she predicted to me that she would revert to being a "left- wing liberal/' at the same time expressing the opinion that intel- lectual seeking had its limitations in finding the truth, and that one had to combine it with an "intuitive" approach as well.
Miss Darrow, unlike those people in the obviously confused category, continued, after she had crossed the border into Hong Kong, to present herself to the world as a reformed person. Dr. Vincent, Professor Castorp, and a large number of other subjects had so presented themselves to their captors; but for them the change from the Communist to the non-Communist world was a signal for the portions of themselves which had remained apart from thought reform influence to reappear. In Miss Darrow's case, it was as if nothing but her thought reform identity survived the ex- perience--and herein lay her "conversion. " But the "as if" is im- portant; the contending elements were very much there, even if temporarily stilled, and this is why I refer to her conversion as "ap- parent. "
Still, we must ask ourselves, why did Miss Darrow experience such a conversion, even an incomplete one? What strikes us im- mediately is the Communists' manipulation of her conflicts over honesty and goodness, and over incomplete "Chineseness. " These are once again problems of identity and guilt; and Miss Darrow's background encompasses many such problems in relationship to religion, ideology, and cultural conflict, and to historical, racial, and personal sensitivities.
Miss Darrow's early and tenacious identity of the missionary's daughter included a near-absolute approach to good and evil, to guilt and sin. Her parents, and especially her mother, as individual carriers of the Protestant tradition sought to make their daughter "iron-clad," a bastion of honesty and goodness impregnable to the dishonesty and evil ever threatening from both without and within herself.
In her rebellion against her origin, Miss Darrow struggled to find a more moderate course--a compromise identity which would neither violate the "ideal of being good" of her missionary back- ground nor perpetuate the narrowness which she came to see in it.
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In becoming the militant liberal (both in her character and her policies), she achieved a compromise which enabled her to swim with some of the most respected ideological currents around her. This, her most positive identity, embodied her accomplishments as an energetic but open-minded reformer, a member of a China-born intellectual and cultural 61ite, and an experienced cosmopolite con- versant with both East and West.
But from the beginning, her struggle was accompanied by many disruptive forces which shaped a negative identity of unusually large dimensions. On both a personal and an ideological level, her parents' inordinate stress upon "iron-clad honesty" produced in Miss Darrow--as it inevitably does--an attraction to honesty's opposite, to beating the game through the hidden maneuver, or the "use of the lie. " This attraction had limited importance as a mode of action, for Miss Darrow could bring to bear upon it the powerful conscience of the missionary's daughter: but for this at- traction she was forced to pay a terrible price in guilt. At the same time, the tyrannical judgments of her conscience ("negative con- science," as Erikson has called it) *could at any moment so magnify this pattern of guilt and self-condemnation that she would see her- self as nothing but a "selfish person," a "cheat" and a "liar. "
These personal sensitivities were fed by her historical situation, about which she was also guilt-prone: a privileged Westerner, who owed her position to imperialistic policies of questionable moral standing, living among poverty-stricken Chinese peasants and ar- ticulately resentful Chinese intellectuals. Closely related to this historical guilt was her racial guilt, a sense of evil which the more egalitarian representatives of any dominant race experience in relationship to any ambivalent feelings they may hold toward members of the dominated race. The stronger one's libertarian con- science, the greater the guilt. Miss Darrow could believe herself evil and insincere because she perceived her own sense of repulsion
(itself partly a product of guilt) at the idea of becoming a Chinese and having to share personally the disadvantages of an oppressed race. The problem is insoluble as long as situations of racial dis- crimination or dominance persist, since guilt begets resentment, which in turn begets guilt; both emotions then cause suffering, as they did in Miss Darrow, in direct proportion to the amount of love felt for certain members (if not for the more abstract whole)
? APP ARENT CONVERTS 12Q
of the dominated race. And everything is magnified when the problem occurs in the oppressed race's native environment.
Miss Darrow's identification with China had still deeper identity dimensions as well. Part of her did want to become entirely Chinese, to achieve complete union with the country of her birth-- just as another part of her wished to be completely Western. She was a cultural outsider, belonging entirely to neither world, feeling guilty about both.
She was part of the Chinese landscape, sur- rounded by Chinese people, and yet separated by special schools and special status, and ultimately by her face and the color of her skin. She faced similar problems as a Westerner: biologically she belonged, but she was separated by the most profound differences of background experience. Her identity as the China-born West- erner was a compromise; but in any crisis, the feeling of being a cultural outsider could reappear and further feed her negative identity.
In the face of this broad negative spectrum, it is not surprising that the usual problems of guilt about parents and biological identity were intensified. Unable to open letters from home be- cause of the guilt they stimulated, Miss Darrow found herself pre- occupied with her "badness" as a daughter. Burdened at so many levels, she felt conflict about her identity as a woman. The "bad daughter" and the "inadequate woman" thus joined the array of her negative identities formed from a combination of early sus- ceptibilities to guilt, later difficulties in the control of anger, and-- perhaps most important of all--a fear of and desire for total sub- mission. 2
For an element of totalism --a tendency toward all-or-nothing emotional alignments--seems ever-present in Miss Darrow, working against the more moderate aspirations of her liberalism. It began with the ethos of absolute honesty and goodness bequeathed to her by her parents. It again appeared in her efforts to solve her adolescent identity crisis by becoming, at the expense of her com- plex cultural background, totally the Canadian girl. And at the onset of thought reform, the girl who had placed great emphasis upon controlling so much of her own behavior experienced a not entirely unpleasant "light headedness" at the moment of giving herself up to a force assuming complete power over her. To be sure, she fought against this tendency during the thought reform strug-
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gle; but hers was the type of vulnerability which can lead to the total plunge of the convert.
And this is what happened--or almost happened. Thought re- form exploited each of these aspects of her negative identity, made conscious what was previously latent, and built into grotesque dimensions what had previously been held in balance. The core of her negative identity, the self-image of the "schemer," was a crucial factor in depriving her of a more moderate response to thought reform. Most of my subjects could think themselves reasonably clever and ingenious in playing the double game of acting "progressive" while retaining old beliefs, but Miss Darrow could only castigate herself for being a "cracked bowl. " She could not permit herself the usual form of adaptation without experi- encing the most derogatory view of herself, since in so adapting an inner voice would accuse her of being "the schemer" which in early life she had been warned against becoming.
Thus deprived of the usual defense against thought reform, she was at the mercy of her own totalism. As a response to her historical and racial guilt feelings, she saw herself as having lived not only a "parasitic" life, but a totally parasitic one. Similarly, she came to think herself totally removed from and unconcerned about the Chinese people, rather than maintaining (as did Father Luca, for instance) a more moderate view of a complex situation. On all of these issues, the reformers' totalism made contact with her own, as well as with the other features of her negative identity.
Once the affirmative elements within her liberal identity had been undermined, she could be made to feel at one with the Com- munist--and, more importantly, with the Chinese--world. For a person so long and so painfully the cultural outsider, this sense of belonging had a good deal to do with the outcome of thought re- form,
When she was ready for rebirth, she was able to see in Com- munism many of her own liberal aspirations: dedicated people working "to better the world," regulating society "in the interests of man/' She felt she was among gentlemanly and humane people, to whom submission would be justified. Their society appeared to offer fewer challenges to her problems of femininity, and more op- portunity for her old intellectual and newly-acquired ideological prowess. She emerged more a communist liberal than a true con-
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vert.
The element of totalism in her new identification with the
Chinese Communists made her misrepresent her own inner feel- ings, and present only her reformed side. Still afraid of the negative identity of the "schemer," she viewed any criticism of the Com- munists or any reconciliation with her own society as selfishness and betrayal. These emotions were intensified by the reformed sentiments of her friend, since she was able to share with him one of the few identities left open to her, that of the reformed West- erner. But like everyone else, Miss Darrow felt the pull of old ties and old identities; in Hong Kong she turned to the missionaries for comfort and for an ideological moratorium. Once back in Canada, she felt the old appeal of her liberal identity, an appeal reinforced by those liberal friends who offered emotional security. Her liberal identity turned out to have been much stronger than one might have suspected: within it, the search for truth and careful reality- testing were both possible and necessary. At the time I spoke with Miss Darrow, the emotions of her negative self-image were still supplying fuel for her identity crisis. She gave me the feeling none- theless that whatever her eventual beliefs, she was emerging from totalism, and reaffirming the more moderate parts of herself.
"Conversion" Trends
In all cases of apparent conversion (the two I studied in detail, the two I met briefly, and two others I heard of) similar emotional factors seemed to be at play: a strong and readily accessible negative identity fed by an unusually great susceptibility to guilt, a tendency toward identity confusion (especially that of the cultural outsider), a profound involvement in*a situation productive of historical and racial guilt, and finally, a sizable element of totalism.
It should be stressed, however, that I dealt with a very special group of subjects: any Westerner living in China over many years is likely to have experienced some form of profound identity search, and many had missionary ties which enhanced their susceptibility to guilt. This deep involvement with China makes the conversion as much cultural as political.
In Miss Darrow's case, her apparent conversion was associated with the identity struggles of the liberal. But an apparent con-
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version can also occur in a more authoritarian person. Guilt, identity conflict, and especially totalism are the important psychological factors, and these are not confined to any one kind of character structure.
It is also important to keep in mind that individual traits, al- though immensely important, are just one side of the coin; the circumstances of imprisonment are the other. These were essentially similar in all cases; but the length of time which people were held and the intensity with which the Communists pursued their reform measures varied. Since vulnerabilities to conversion are to some extent present in everyone (no one is free from susceptibility to guilt, confusion over identity, and some degree of totalism), the variations in the circumstances of imprisonment have a special significance.
There is a good deal of evidence--and European subjects fre- quently expressed this opinion to me--that American prisoners have been subjected to more severe pressures because of the inter- national political situation. There is no doubt that they have been held longer than other Westerners. If there is a slightly higher per- centage of apparent converts among American prisoners than among Europeans (this was not true for my subjects, but there have been some well-publicized cases of Americans who did fall into this group), these particularly difficult circumstances may have played an important part. Released Americans, when they re- turn home, also face very great pressure to abandon their reform identities--although this pressure has acted on some as an incen- tive to hold on to their reform.
In any case, underneath any apparent conversion there is likely to be (as there was with Miss Darrow) an identity search no less profound, if not nearly as overt, as oecurs among the obviously confused. The search is all the more difficult because so much of it must be hidden--from other people, and, to some extent, from the prisoner himself. Yet hidden doubts are very likely, after a period of time, to come to the surface, as they did with Miss Dar- row; and at this point, the apparent convert comes close to joining the ranks of the obviously confused. In becoming apparent con- verts in the first place, however, these people experience the most profound personal upheavals of any of the three groups.
? C H A P TE R 8
V ARIETIES OF RESPONSE: APPARENT RESISTERS
Apparent resisters are the people who cross the
border denouncing the cruelties of prison thought reform. At first encounter, many of them appear to be little affected by their ordeal, other than showing a certain amount of physical and mental strain; ideologically, they are bitterly anti-Communist, if anything, more so than they had been before imprisonment. They are received by the Western world with both admiration and relief --admiration for their strength, and relief for the proof which they convey that "brainwashing" can be resisted after all.
In talking with them, I too was impressed with their courage and endurance. As I probed more deeply, however, I found that their inner resistance was not nearly so complete as their external expression suggested. Eight of the people I interviewed fell into this category. The following case best illustrates the diverse psycho- logical factors which influence resistance, the complicated mean- ings behind the later condemnation of the Communists, and the way in which reform influences come to the surface at unexpected moments.
13?
? I J 4 THOUGHT REFORM
Hems Barker: Priest, Doctor, Soldier
One of the first subjects I interviewed was an elderly, goateed Belgian Bishop, a man who had lived in the interior of China for more than forty years prior to his three years of imprisonment. When I first saw him, he had already been in Hong Kong for three months, but he was still deeply preoccupied with his three-year reform experience. He immediately launched into his own analysis of the Communist approach, describing it in fundamentalist Cath- olic theological language. The evil and the power of the Communist behavior could only be explained, he felt, through the influence of demons--the evil counterpart of angels who have equally great power. His explanation, enthusiastically rendered, combined Bib- lical and modem history:
The Old Testament says that the demons are the murderers of mankind. The Communists have killed off fantastic numbers of people. The de- mons seek to further the idea of people without God, as do the Com- munists. Both try to make the human being happy without God and against God. The demons are the mortal enemies of mankind. The demons make use of the Communists in order to kill as many human beings as is possible. . . . Therefore, in the long run, it is a religious question, only thoroughly understood through religion.
Born in a predominantly Catholic community, Bishop Barker was brought up under the strong influence of his deeply religious mother. But even in these surroundings, his response to the Church was unusual: at the age of four he attempted to "convert" one of his brothers to a more religious life; at the age of five he became fascinated with the lives of the saints and particularly those who had been martyred; at the age of seven he was impressed by the story of Daniel in the lion's den. During these early years he donated his spare money to Church collections for missionary work "to redeem the heathen child. " And by the time he was eight years old, he had already determined to do missionary work in China. He was influenced in part by an older brother who was studying for the priesthood, and even more strongly by the stories he had read and heard about saints and martyrs in China: "The Chinese were one of the peoples in the world who could make you a martyr . . . there I could have great hope to become a martyr. "
? APPARENT RESISTERS 1 3 5
He was a weak and sickly child, but in children's games he loved to play the part of the military officer: "I liked to show bravery, in contrast with my body, because I was so weak/' Although he never wavered from his early ambition to become a priest and missionary, his childhood imaginings included the wish to be a doctor and a military hero as well; and, as he proudly explained to me, he had managed in his work in China to be all of these.
During his primary and secondary school days, from about the age of eleven through seventeen, his path was not easy. He had difficulty sleeping at night ("I could never have soft, deep sleep") and was troubled by disturbing dreams in which "I was not free. . . . I could not do as I liked. . . . I washindered even in the dreams. " During the day he would often feel weak and tired; he would fall asleep in class during lessons, and in chapel during prayers. He remembers being told that he had "circulatory dif- ficulties," although their exact nature was never made clear. But he remained active, a leader among other children; and as far as his infirmity was concerned, "I tried to ignore it, to do the same work as the strong. " These difficulties subsided somewhat during the long years of seminary training, but they never disappeared completely.
In China, he called forth great energies for his missionary work: he studied Chinese music and religious rituals in order to in- corporate some of them into his Catholic services; he dispensed medicine, treated wounds, and offered assistance during the famines, droughts, floods, and civil wars; he arranged special meet- ings with bandit chiefs in order to safeguard "my Christians/7 in return serving as a guarantor and go-between for the bandits in their negotiations with the government. He often suffered from fatigue and insomnia, and on one occasion, after a brief visit to Europe, he requested that he be transferred to a different area (a request which was granted) in order to avoid the "nervous strain:' of the negotiations. But he otherwise carried on his work without interruption, avoiding any outward shqw of weakness, and refusing many opportunities for periods of rest and temporary replacement. He became widely known in his inland province, according to other Westerners, as a colorful, courageous, able, and dogmatic representative of the Catholic faith.
Bishop Barker divided his imprisonment into two main phases:
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the first six weeks of pressures, directed at "personal factors"; and the remaining time, "when I realized that the Communist program was not against me, but against my religion. " During the first phase, his captors emphasized "real facts/' These included: a de- scription of Communist policies in his mission area which he had written at the request of an American officer (while he was strongly anti-Communist, much of what he described in this report had been far from unfavorable, and he felt that it would have been better for him if the Communists had actually seen the report rather than just hearing about it); and his presence at a meeting organized by Japanese occupiers in their attempt to obtain co- operation from the missionaries (his sympathies were always with the Chinese, and he emphasized the many risks he had taken in helping them against the Japanese). Although he felt that these incidents were misinterpreted and distorted, he nonetheless re- gretted the two actions greatly, and they contributed to a strong personal sense of guilt.
He also took the next step, and began to view himself in rela- tionship to the Communist doctrine:
I said that imperialism is the parent of pride and acquisitiveness, and that I would fight it. I thought that maybe there was imperialism in me.
But during the second phase, as he began to get a better grasp of the prison world (he had known very little about Communist doctrine or reform methods), he realized that his captors were indicting his mission society and his Church as part of an "espi- onage network," At this point the trend was reversed, and "I mobilized all of my strength for resistance. " As he "learned what play was going on," he consciously substituted within his mind the Catholic religious equivalents of the subjects under discussion:
This saving thought came to me: for the state I substitute God; for the people, my Christians; the imperialists' failings, greed and pride, are aptly represented by uncharitable self-love and love of pleasure, and the "helping" more than takes the place of fraternal admonition. . . . It was necessary for me to find the proper standpoint in relationship to God.
He began to view his imprisonment as a personal religious trial:
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I suffered . . . because my self-love had to give way to the love of God. . . . One time when the warden spit in my face, I felt pain, but it was instantly suppressed. The pain meant I still had self-love . . , when you lose self-love, there is almost instant disappearance of pain. . . . In the struggle between the selfish I and God, the selfish I causes pain, uncertainty, insecurity, and a troubled heart. When you are wholly relying on God, you calm down and there is a quietude and peace that you feel. , . . When this happened I could feel my inner happiness increasing. . . . I was thankful to them for a rare occasion to live my religion.
Meditating whenever he could, he thought of the early Roman martyrs and of Christ himself on the Cross, reconstructing in his own way the New Testament passage which applied to his situation:
You will be persecuted. People will kill you like a dog, but do not be afraid. They can kill your body but not your soul. When they press you with arguments . . . give them the answer. The Holy Spirit will give you the answer.
He sought to retain this reversal in symbols throughout his im- prisonment; "I would agree to personal shortcomings because I had many shortcomings regarding God. "
At the same time, he attempted to avoid involvement in the re-education program as much as he could, pleading poor eyesight (his glasses had been broken soon after his imprisonment and were never replaced), difficulty in hearing (also partially true), and an
incomplete knowledge of written Chinese.
He also tried to maintain his sense of the humorous and the
human, as the following incidents suggest. Once an intelligent fellow-prisoner, after subjecting Bishop Barker to a grueling in- dividual session of "informal help" shook his head and said, quoting a Chinese proverb, "Talking to you is like playing a violin before a cow. " Back in the group, Bishop Barker was asked about the session, and whimsically reported, "He has been playing music to a horse"--stimulating in his helper the response which he had hoped it would bring out--"I must be making some progress. " For, as Bishop Barker explained to me, "A horse is more sensitive to music than a cow. "
Similarly, he reported on the efforts of a cellmate with a strong but brief argument: "He played a big drum, but he ran away. " And
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at a lighter moment, his cellmates temporarily joined the game and asked him "Which instrument? " another less forceful cellmate had "played/' to which Bishop Barker replied, "He played a small drum. "
When pressed for his "thoughts," his humor was tinged with the poignancy of the prisoner's position: "I am a man who does not exist. I cannot have any thoughts. " And frequently, when he was being abused by his cellmates, he would appeal to their sense of personal ethics: "I can endure this, but I wonder how you can endure it. Does your conscience allow this evil treatment? " This last approach especially would sometimes bring at least temporary relief. Bishop Barker also felt that his advanced age was responsible for a certain amount of moderation, sometimes expressed in the backhanded prison vernacular as an admonishment for his stub- bornness: "You have no pity for your old bones. "
The occasional presence of other Westerners, including priests, was also of great importance to him, although he had little op- portunity for direct exchange with them. Once, however, after a particularly difficult day, he recited a German poem to a fellow- European in the cell: "The day was hot, the battle was fierce, the evening quiet--it will be cool in the night. " This poem helped him to express his feelings and rally his strength; but since he was overheard, it also resulted in severe criticism for "cursing us in a foreign tongue. "
Despite his friendly, personal approach to other prisoners, Bishop Barker was careful to avoid real intimacy with them:
They would say, "This Number Four is not a good comrade. He remains separate from us. It must be because of his imperialist pride. " They wanted me to sit down with the other prisoners and to have them as comrades. But I was afraid that if I did this, my resistance would grow weaker.
Although he made many concessions, his imprisonment--con- trary to most cases--ended on a note of resistance. During his last five months, he received his most severe treatment, including handcuffs and chains--which he referred to as "decorations"-- directed toward extracting a final "espionage" confession: "my repentance and witness letter. " He doggedly refused to follow the judge's suggested version, insisting that untrue accusations involving
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his colleagues and his Church be left out; he finally agreed to a compromise version consisting only of "facts"--somewhat exag- gerated, but mainly concerned with his own behavior. The prison officials, rather than hold him longer to extract a more desirable confession, were apparently determined to release him at this time for reasons of their own. He left with the feeling that he had forced the government to back down and had successfully de- fended the integrity of the Church.
He arrived in Hong Kong, gaunt but confident, expressing to his friends the conviction that he had successfully met a severe trial. He experienced much less fear and suspiciousness than most, and the physician who first examined him described him as a "superior person," much more composed than others he had examined im- mediately after the same ordeal.
When he spoke to me three months later, he retained this ex- pressed feeling of victory: "In the long run, I have won. " He was strongly critical of the "diabolical" Communist world he had seen, and specifically condemned its manipulation of people:
The Communists drop a net all over the country, closing the frontiers. Then the net is dropped over an individual person, and he loses his freedom of movement and must follow their wishes.
But as we talked more, it became clear that he had some inner doubts about the completeness of his victory. He spoke whimsically of being "almost converted" during the early period of imprison- ment, criticized himself for having then gone "too far/' and gave me the general impression that he felt very uncomfortable about whatever concessions he had made.
This impression was confirmed when he showed me a summary of his prison experiences which he had prepared. In attempting to convey, in characteristic tongue-in-cheek style, the full impact of Communist arguments upon missionaries, he revealed perhaps more than he meant to:
And now, like a monster from out of the abyss, the most fearful realiza- tion dawned: you, a missionary, the herald of the Gospel, are not you a messenger of the imperialistic conquerors, their pioneer, on account of your ethnological and industrial reports on your mission land? And after the occupation of your mission land, you go on rendering the conquer- ors many different services. And take your mission work as a whole: does
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it not now prove to be a big, long, and heavy sin? And the question whether your mission activity has been of more harm or good to the people answers itself. But because you grew up in imperialistic ideolo- gies, it'has never until now occurred to you how much you have been of help in the enslaving and the exploitation of a people which for- merly enjoyed liberty. Yes, the scope of your corrupting activities is en- larged: what you do, your colleagues do. Thus you cannot escape the fact that your society and your mission ought to be regarded as spy centers, sending out reports to both headquarters, and that Rome be- comes the world center, from where imperialist governments draw their perverting information. . . . as proof that you now condemn this process, you must at once give full information about the spy activities of your society, of your mission, as of Rome. By doing this you acquire the mentality of the new regime, which alone will make you realize the sins of your past life, and those of your comrades. Only this men- tality will give you true guidance for your future work.
She spoke of "serious tensions" in her family life; she usually found herself allied with her strong-willed and opinionated mother in a mutual impatience with her well-meaning, but ineffectual
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father. She had, early in life, rebelled against austere and dogmatic Protestant religious teachings. She always had difficulty coming to terms with the "iron-clad honesty" which her parents demanded, believing herself to fall far short of this ideal: "I bordered on cheat- ing and was not above the use of a lie. " Her legacy of susceptibility to guilt was, as one might expect, a strong and painful one; "I have always been very quick to feel guilty. " This reached the point where she let letters from her parents lie unopened for several months, because "every letter was a stab , . , and I did not want to read the reprimands. "
Always bright and much interested in the world about her, Jane became deeply concerned with social reform in both China and the West. She felt that missionary influences, as well as lifelong financial difficulties, affected her militant liberalism.
With my missionary background, I've always felt that something should be done to better the world. . . , My lack of economic security has been a driving force in my life. . . . I thought that society was man- made, and should be regulated in the interests of man.
When she returned to China as a teacher after the war, she was highly critical of the Nationalist regime, but at the same time had "an anti-Communist orientation. " She shared these views with Western and Chinese friends, and was in fact more comfortable in such intellectual and ideological matters than in purely social situations. She felt that a tendency to be too outspoken and critical had interfered with many friendships. In her relationships with men, in particular, she believed her forceful intellect to be a disadvantage, and sometimes wished she were "more of a powderpuff. " Always restrained in sexual matters, she was long aware of both discom- fort and unfulfilled longing in her response to masculine overtures.
During the period preceding her imprisonment she found her- self--along with a few other Westerners--leading a beleaguered existence. Increasingly cut off from Chinese friends, she was aware her movements were being observed, and she was not completely surprised when her arrest finally occurred.
Miss Darrow's prison treatment was virtually identical with that described for men. At the beginning she was subjected to the physical and emotional pressures of prolonged interrogations, in- cessant "struggles," chains and handcuffs, and enforced standing
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for as long as thirty-six hours. She resisted for a while, and made up a false story which was not accepted; but within a few days she had produced an "espionage" confession which was a dis- torted reinterpretation of her actual behavior. She did not at the time inwardly accept its validity, but did feel extremely troubled ("I hated myself! ") for having so quickly made this confession and for having supplied detailed information about Chinese ac- quaintances.
This sense of shame and guilt was heightened by her experiences among other women in her cell. A well-educated, Westernized Chinese girl, with whom she closely identified herself, came to the cell apparently fully convinced of the Communist position, and critical of Miss Darrow for her "backwardness. " Cell relationships were highly charged and highly personal; she referred repeatedly to a hated cell chief as "the bitch" and another person as "the fiery woman. "
During these early stages, she felt a number of conflicting emo- tions: initial resentment; embarrassment at being a prisoner and at being in such a low-level all-Chinese environment; guilt ("I had curious regrets at not having written the family"); a "grim curi- osity"; a sense of opportunity ("I thought it might be grist for rny mill and that I would write a book about it"); and perhaps most important, a sense of surrendering herself to the inevitable ("You have the feeling that you are being pushed through something you can't control . . . it breeds a sort of lightheadedness").
But at the same time, she applied herself to the study of the "rhythms" of her environment, and soon concluded that "every- thing I believed about the world was not acceptable. " Then, during a self-examination, she was surprised at the extremely enthusiastic acceptance of her statement that she had been leading a "parasitic life. " Thus encouraged, she continued to express this kind of highly critical judgment on her entire past--an approach which she found came quite naturally to "a guilt-ridden person like myself. " In this and in her general views, she "tried to put on a convincing act of being progressive. . . . and a good show of being honest. " But this "act" became extremely uncomfortable for her, not only be- cause her "veneer" and "lack of sincerity" were criticized by the others, but primarily because she herself found it difficult to tolerate her own "dishonesty. "
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I was a cracked bowl. I didn't ring true. . . . I was inferior to people who really tried to reform . . . they really felt guilty. I was superficial. . . . And I respond to the ideal of being good.
As she felt worse and worse about the "double game" which she was playing (or thought she was playing), she began to look upon herself in general with ever-increasing contempt:
I realized that my professed feeling for liberals was not very deep. I was a scheming, small person . . . with a basically opportunistic phi- losophy. . . . When I reached the bottom, there was nothing more.
She began to not only say, but really feel, that she had been, and was then, evil: in her attitude of "superiority" toward Chinese, and in her "recognition" that she had (despite economic difficul- ties) really been a member of the "upper class," and had unfairly enjoyed all of its advantages. More and more her "tactic"--"I was always trying to establish the fact that I was sincere"--became her reality.
Her change was furthered by much that she saw and "learned": the "proof" of American use of germ warfare--especially when this was "confirmed" by the report of a missionary whom she felt must be reliable, because "I know my father would not tell a lie"; the United Nations "procrastinations" in the truce negotiations of the Korean War; and the progress of the "completely planned" Chinese society ("social and economic accomplishments and getting things done that other governments had promised but never delivered. ") She was especially struck by the realization that what was happen- ing to her was related to the broad Chinese scene: "I had viewed thought reform as a punishment--restricted to prisoners--but here was the reform of all society. " All of this made her feel more com- fortable, as "it gave me the intellectual basis for some things I had already accepted on an emotional basis. "
Yet over the years of her reform, and despite her continuing "progress," she could not get herself to believe fully in her con- fessed "espionage" activities. "I never accepted this as me. " She found it always necessary to make a distinction between her "per- sonal predicament" and "the broad social facts. " While conscious that "there was a discrepancy," she sought to get around it by giv- ing less importance to her own situation: "I did more thinking
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about society than about myself. . . . I worked from outward-in- ward rather than inward-outward. " Using this device, she could begin to accept "the general logic of their position" in viewing her "passing of information" to people who could use it in a way harmful to the Communist regime as "espionage. "
As with other prisoners, her relations with the government dur- ing the last month of her imprisonment were characterized by mutual frankness and co-operation. Miss Darrow found herself able to admit that she could not completely view herself as a spy, and after so doing was praised for her honesty. Transferred to a new cell where her "dark past" was unknown, she had what she considered to be a new opportunity to "make good. " She was even briefly appointed as cell chief, in her view a mixed blessing: "I didn't want it because I was afraid of muffing it, but I was flattered because I had come up from the bottom. " She retained the job long enough to "help" a new prisoner (one with a background of missionary education) to her confession; but because she found herself "feeling guilty" in carrying out the duties of the cell chief, she was unable to be decisive with other prisoners and was finally, at her own request, replaced.
At this time, she was also impressed by the dedication of many of the prison ofEcials (both male and female), by their willingness to extend themselves to solve all problems, their readiness to admit past mistakes, and their "growth as human beings"--which she felt she could recognize over the course of her imprisonment. She was especially influenced by one male prisoner-official assigned to her case, a highly cultivated Westernized Chinese with whom she felt much in common--and who reminded her of a man she had once been fond of,
She was struck by the kindness and patience with which young prisoners were treated after the general improvement in prison conditions, and by the consideration for children, some of whom lived for periods of time with their mothers in the cells. She was grateful for special rations of hot water for the women to wash their hair, and for the issue of new uniforms; she noted the officials' concern with the prisoners' diet and medical care and felt that there was a great effort made to "permit us a sense of dignity. " Finally, Miss Darrow rounded out her re-education through ex- tensive reading of Marxist texts, some of which she had asked for
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as her interest developed.
Shortly before her release, she struggled with the problem of
whether or not she wished to remain in China. She considered stay- ing (or trying to stay) both because of her admiration for the new regime and her love for China:
Lots of things made me generally in admiration of this society. I felt very warmly toward it and couldn't bear the thought that I would always be cut off from it. . . . It seemed right, the way of the future. . , . And after all, I had lived there most of my life, and I adored Peking.
She also felt closer to the Chinese people than ever before: "I had found the real person. " And she believed that, should she re- main, the years spent in prison "would count" and she would be appreciated ("in that society you don't have to be apologetic about having ideas")--while at the same time she felt certain that she would be "out of step" back in the West.
On the other hand, she also thought frequently of her parents and of an older woman who had been like a parent to her. "If my mother and father were dead I would not have come home--but when I thought of the three of them, I decided I would return. " She also remembered things like Christmas in Canada, and in the end it was the West and family ties which prevailed.
At the time of her trial, she could not rid her mind of the feeling that it was all "rigged," and felt greatly embarrassed at be- ing seen as a "spy" by the Chinese spectators, because "I didn't want them to feel this about me. " She was "amazed" at the "light" sentence (expulsion rather than additional time in prison), and at the same time was concerned about the problems of the future. In a last "moving" discussion with her judge, the difficulties of returning were frankly discussed; the judge expressed the hope that she would retain a "realization of what the world was about," and pointed to the example set by a friend of hers, another West- erner who had taken a strong "stand" in favor of his re-education after his release. Prison officials had kept them informed about each other, and this information about his "stand" impressed Miss Darrow very greatly.
It made me feel that I could be as good as he. We felt it together--he put across his case--I could too.
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Upon her arrival in Hong Kong, she was aware of the ordeal she had been put through; but her allegiance to her captors was so great that she was determined to present only their position, and to suppress any material which would undermine it. Her at- titude was reinforced by a letter she was handed when she crossed the border, written by the friend who had been previously released, offering advice and encouragement. Her anticipation of difficulty with the press only increased her resolve.
I didn't want to say anything to a hostile press against a group getting such a fine deal for a large section of humanity. . . . I had made up my mind I would not mention the chaining. . . . This showed my identification with the Communists. . . . I asked myself how much they would want me to say.
The more her words were questioned, the more she defended her captors ("I was like a fighting lion"); but the entire experience was deeply disturbing to her ("It was hell! ").
Feeling uncomfortable with consular officials who met her, she elected to stay with old missionary associates of her family in Hong Kong, a decision she had thought about before her release. There she was made comfortable, was not challenged, and felt "reassured/* In thinking about her situation in this more relaxed setting, she began to feel that what she had said at the press conference might not have been completely accurate, and she determined "to put the facts on the table with no distortions. " But she did nothing to carry out this resolve, and when some of the missionaries asked her how she had been treated, her answer was, "Perfectly well. " Moreover, she even felt guilty for considering such a change of policy, viewing it again through the eyes of the prison officials: "I felt that this was my first retreat--the first thing I would have toexplaintothem . . . ifIweretogoback. "
When she arrived home and faced the conflicted emotions of her family relationships, she was unable to discuss her imprisonment with her parents; but she did talk about it at great length with two friends. These discussions were sometimes very helpful to her, and at other times confusing, since her feelings about her reform varied greatly and depended largely on which friend she was talk- ing to.
Her closest friend--the older woman whom she recognized as
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a substitute for her mother--exerted the greater influence; she lived in the same city, and spent many hours listening sympathetically to Miss Darrow's story. She was never judging or critical; but as an anti-Communist liberal close to Miss Darrow's former position, she would occasionally gently point out some of the Communist inconsistencies and abuses. This relationship was of immense im- portance to Miss Darrow, and her friend's words had great impact on her. However, her more infrequent visits with the other friend --the man who had emerged from a Communist prison with an even more completely reformed attitude and a more rigid ad- herence to the Communist position--left her disturbed: "I felt guilty because I thought that maybe he was better than I was/' At the same time, she shared many opinions with him about their experiences.
She began to read a great deal, saw many liberal friends whose sympathy affected her, and became increasingly willing to question her experience: "Certain doubts have been allowed to arise. " In her personal relations, always difficult for her in the past, she felt "easier, more in control of myself"; she retained certain fears and taboos in her relationships with men, but fewer than before, and she looked toward marriage in her quest for "emotional security. " She returned to secondary school teaching, and at the same time maintained her strong interest in China.
She remained greatly troubled and preoccupied with her personal sense of guilt. She felt guilty toward Communist prison officials and toward their entire society whenever she expressed (or even felt) anything critical about them; toward her own government be- cause she still held views in some ways favorable to Communism, although this guilt was mixed with feelings of gratitude toward Canadian officials for negotiating her release; and toward her parents because of her inability to be more warm to them. As she summed it up: "I am full of guilt complexes. . . . I feel guilty almost about the rain. "
Near the end of our talks, she asked me questions about guilt feelings, and began to recognize the important part these had played in her own imprisonment: "Your attitude is a creature of your own guilt. " But she continued to speak contemptuously of herself as she described her inner struggle between "the urge to adapt" (to her own culture) and "the compulsion to hold on" (to
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the Communist views), ever ready to denounce her own "selfish- ness" and "opportunism. " As far as her political beliefs were con- cerned, she predicted to me that she would revert to being a "left- wing liberal/' at the same time expressing the opinion that intel- lectual seeking had its limitations in finding the truth, and that one had to combine it with an "intuitive" approach as well.
Miss Darrow, unlike those people in the obviously confused category, continued, after she had crossed the border into Hong Kong, to present herself to the world as a reformed person. Dr. Vincent, Professor Castorp, and a large number of other subjects had so presented themselves to their captors; but for them the change from the Communist to the non-Communist world was a signal for the portions of themselves which had remained apart from thought reform influence to reappear. In Miss Darrow's case, it was as if nothing but her thought reform identity survived the ex- perience--and herein lay her "conversion. " But the "as if" is im- portant; the contending elements were very much there, even if temporarily stilled, and this is why I refer to her conversion as "ap- parent. "
Still, we must ask ourselves, why did Miss Darrow experience such a conversion, even an incomplete one? What strikes us im- mediately is the Communists' manipulation of her conflicts over honesty and goodness, and over incomplete "Chineseness. " These are once again problems of identity and guilt; and Miss Darrow's background encompasses many such problems in relationship to religion, ideology, and cultural conflict, and to historical, racial, and personal sensitivities.
Miss Darrow's early and tenacious identity of the missionary's daughter included a near-absolute approach to good and evil, to guilt and sin. Her parents, and especially her mother, as individual carriers of the Protestant tradition sought to make their daughter "iron-clad," a bastion of honesty and goodness impregnable to the dishonesty and evil ever threatening from both without and within herself.
In her rebellion against her origin, Miss Darrow struggled to find a more moderate course--a compromise identity which would neither violate the "ideal of being good" of her missionary back- ground nor perpetuate the narrowness which she came to see in it.
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In becoming the militant liberal (both in her character and her policies), she achieved a compromise which enabled her to swim with some of the most respected ideological currents around her. This, her most positive identity, embodied her accomplishments as an energetic but open-minded reformer, a member of a China-born intellectual and cultural 61ite, and an experienced cosmopolite con- versant with both East and West.
But from the beginning, her struggle was accompanied by many disruptive forces which shaped a negative identity of unusually large dimensions. On both a personal and an ideological level, her parents' inordinate stress upon "iron-clad honesty" produced in Miss Darrow--as it inevitably does--an attraction to honesty's opposite, to beating the game through the hidden maneuver, or the "use of the lie. " This attraction had limited importance as a mode of action, for Miss Darrow could bring to bear upon it the powerful conscience of the missionary's daughter: but for this at- traction she was forced to pay a terrible price in guilt. At the same time, the tyrannical judgments of her conscience ("negative con- science," as Erikson has called it) *could at any moment so magnify this pattern of guilt and self-condemnation that she would see her- self as nothing but a "selfish person," a "cheat" and a "liar. "
These personal sensitivities were fed by her historical situation, about which she was also guilt-prone: a privileged Westerner, who owed her position to imperialistic policies of questionable moral standing, living among poverty-stricken Chinese peasants and ar- ticulately resentful Chinese intellectuals. Closely related to this historical guilt was her racial guilt, a sense of evil which the more egalitarian representatives of any dominant race experience in relationship to any ambivalent feelings they may hold toward members of the dominated race. The stronger one's libertarian con- science, the greater the guilt. Miss Darrow could believe herself evil and insincere because she perceived her own sense of repulsion
(itself partly a product of guilt) at the idea of becoming a Chinese and having to share personally the disadvantages of an oppressed race. The problem is insoluble as long as situations of racial dis- crimination or dominance persist, since guilt begets resentment, which in turn begets guilt; both emotions then cause suffering, as they did in Miss Darrow, in direct proportion to the amount of love felt for certain members (if not for the more abstract whole)
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of the dominated race. And everything is magnified when the problem occurs in the oppressed race's native environment.
Miss Darrow's identification with China had still deeper identity dimensions as well. Part of her did want to become entirely Chinese, to achieve complete union with the country of her birth-- just as another part of her wished to be completely Western. She was a cultural outsider, belonging entirely to neither world, feeling guilty about both.
She was part of the Chinese landscape, sur- rounded by Chinese people, and yet separated by special schools and special status, and ultimately by her face and the color of her skin. She faced similar problems as a Westerner: biologically she belonged, but she was separated by the most profound differences of background experience. Her identity as the China-born West- erner was a compromise; but in any crisis, the feeling of being a cultural outsider could reappear and further feed her negative identity.
In the face of this broad negative spectrum, it is not surprising that the usual problems of guilt about parents and biological identity were intensified. Unable to open letters from home be- cause of the guilt they stimulated, Miss Darrow found herself pre- occupied with her "badness" as a daughter. Burdened at so many levels, she felt conflict about her identity as a woman. The "bad daughter" and the "inadequate woman" thus joined the array of her negative identities formed from a combination of early sus- ceptibilities to guilt, later difficulties in the control of anger, and-- perhaps most important of all--a fear of and desire for total sub- mission. 2
For an element of totalism --a tendency toward all-or-nothing emotional alignments--seems ever-present in Miss Darrow, working against the more moderate aspirations of her liberalism. It began with the ethos of absolute honesty and goodness bequeathed to her by her parents. It again appeared in her efforts to solve her adolescent identity crisis by becoming, at the expense of her com- plex cultural background, totally the Canadian girl. And at the onset of thought reform, the girl who had placed great emphasis upon controlling so much of her own behavior experienced a not entirely unpleasant "light headedness" at the moment of giving herself up to a force assuming complete power over her. To be sure, she fought against this tendency during the thought reform strug-
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gle; but hers was the type of vulnerability which can lead to the total plunge of the convert.
And this is what happened--or almost happened. Thought re- form exploited each of these aspects of her negative identity, made conscious what was previously latent, and built into grotesque dimensions what had previously been held in balance. The core of her negative identity, the self-image of the "schemer," was a crucial factor in depriving her of a more moderate response to thought reform. Most of my subjects could think themselves reasonably clever and ingenious in playing the double game of acting "progressive" while retaining old beliefs, but Miss Darrow could only castigate herself for being a "cracked bowl. " She could not permit herself the usual form of adaptation without experi- encing the most derogatory view of herself, since in so adapting an inner voice would accuse her of being "the schemer" which in early life she had been warned against becoming.
Thus deprived of the usual defense against thought reform, she was at the mercy of her own totalism. As a response to her historical and racial guilt feelings, she saw herself as having lived not only a "parasitic" life, but a totally parasitic one. Similarly, she came to think herself totally removed from and unconcerned about the Chinese people, rather than maintaining (as did Father Luca, for instance) a more moderate view of a complex situation. On all of these issues, the reformers' totalism made contact with her own, as well as with the other features of her negative identity.
Once the affirmative elements within her liberal identity had been undermined, she could be made to feel at one with the Com- munist--and, more importantly, with the Chinese--world. For a person so long and so painfully the cultural outsider, this sense of belonging had a good deal to do with the outcome of thought re- form,
When she was ready for rebirth, she was able to see in Com- munism many of her own liberal aspirations: dedicated people working "to better the world," regulating society "in the interests of man/' She felt she was among gentlemanly and humane people, to whom submission would be justified. Their society appeared to offer fewer challenges to her problems of femininity, and more op- portunity for her old intellectual and newly-acquired ideological prowess. She emerged more a communist liberal than a true con-
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vert.
The element of totalism in her new identification with the
Chinese Communists made her misrepresent her own inner feel- ings, and present only her reformed side. Still afraid of the negative identity of the "schemer," she viewed any criticism of the Com- munists or any reconciliation with her own society as selfishness and betrayal. These emotions were intensified by the reformed sentiments of her friend, since she was able to share with him one of the few identities left open to her, that of the reformed West- erner. But like everyone else, Miss Darrow felt the pull of old ties and old identities; in Hong Kong she turned to the missionaries for comfort and for an ideological moratorium. Once back in Canada, she felt the old appeal of her liberal identity, an appeal reinforced by those liberal friends who offered emotional security. Her liberal identity turned out to have been much stronger than one might have suspected: within it, the search for truth and careful reality- testing were both possible and necessary. At the time I spoke with Miss Darrow, the emotions of her negative self-image were still supplying fuel for her identity crisis. She gave me the feeling none- theless that whatever her eventual beliefs, she was emerging from totalism, and reaffirming the more moderate parts of herself.
"Conversion" Trends
In all cases of apparent conversion (the two I studied in detail, the two I met briefly, and two others I heard of) similar emotional factors seemed to be at play: a strong and readily accessible negative identity fed by an unusually great susceptibility to guilt, a tendency toward identity confusion (especially that of the cultural outsider), a profound involvement in*a situation productive of historical and racial guilt, and finally, a sizable element of totalism.
It should be stressed, however, that I dealt with a very special group of subjects: any Westerner living in China over many years is likely to have experienced some form of profound identity search, and many had missionary ties which enhanced their susceptibility to guilt. This deep involvement with China makes the conversion as much cultural as political.
In Miss Darrow's case, her apparent conversion was associated with the identity struggles of the liberal. But an apparent con-
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version can also occur in a more authoritarian person. Guilt, identity conflict, and especially totalism are the important psychological factors, and these are not confined to any one kind of character structure.
It is also important to keep in mind that individual traits, al- though immensely important, are just one side of the coin; the circumstances of imprisonment are the other. These were essentially similar in all cases; but the length of time which people were held and the intensity with which the Communists pursued their reform measures varied. Since vulnerabilities to conversion are to some extent present in everyone (no one is free from susceptibility to guilt, confusion over identity, and some degree of totalism), the variations in the circumstances of imprisonment have a special significance.
There is a good deal of evidence--and European subjects fre- quently expressed this opinion to me--that American prisoners have been subjected to more severe pressures because of the inter- national political situation. There is no doubt that they have been held longer than other Westerners. If there is a slightly higher per- centage of apparent converts among American prisoners than among Europeans (this was not true for my subjects, but there have been some well-publicized cases of Americans who did fall into this group), these particularly difficult circumstances may have played an important part. Released Americans, when they re- turn home, also face very great pressure to abandon their reform identities--although this pressure has acted on some as an incen- tive to hold on to their reform.
In any case, underneath any apparent conversion there is likely to be (as there was with Miss Darrow) an identity search no less profound, if not nearly as overt, as oecurs among the obviously confused. The search is all the more difficult because so much of it must be hidden--from other people, and, to some extent, from the prisoner himself. Yet hidden doubts are very likely, after a period of time, to come to the surface, as they did with Miss Dar- row; and at this point, the apparent convert comes close to joining the ranks of the obviously confused. In becoming apparent con- verts in the first place, however, these people experience the most profound personal upheavals of any of the three groups.
? C H A P TE R 8
V ARIETIES OF RESPONSE: APPARENT RESISTERS
Apparent resisters are the people who cross the
border denouncing the cruelties of prison thought reform. At first encounter, many of them appear to be little affected by their ordeal, other than showing a certain amount of physical and mental strain; ideologically, they are bitterly anti-Communist, if anything, more so than they had been before imprisonment. They are received by the Western world with both admiration and relief --admiration for their strength, and relief for the proof which they convey that "brainwashing" can be resisted after all.
In talking with them, I too was impressed with their courage and endurance. As I probed more deeply, however, I found that their inner resistance was not nearly so complete as their external expression suggested. Eight of the people I interviewed fell into this category. The following case best illustrates the diverse psycho- logical factors which influence resistance, the complicated mean- ings behind the later condemnation of the Communists, and the way in which reform influences come to the surface at unexpected moments.
13?
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Hems Barker: Priest, Doctor, Soldier
One of the first subjects I interviewed was an elderly, goateed Belgian Bishop, a man who had lived in the interior of China for more than forty years prior to his three years of imprisonment. When I first saw him, he had already been in Hong Kong for three months, but he was still deeply preoccupied with his three-year reform experience. He immediately launched into his own analysis of the Communist approach, describing it in fundamentalist Cath- olic theological language. The evil and the power of the Communist behavior could only be explained, he felt, through the influence of demons--the evil counterpart of angels who have equally great power. His explanation, enthusiastically rendered, combined Bib- lical and modem history:
The Old Testament says that the demons are the murderers of mankind. The Communists have killed off fantastic numbers of people. The de- mons seek to further the idea of people without God, as do the Com- munists. Both try to make the human being happy without God and against God. The demons are the mortal enemies of mankind. The demons make use of the Communists in order to kill as many human beings as is possible. . . . Therefore, in the long run, it is a religious question, only thoroughly understood through religion.
Born in a predominantly Catholic community, Bishop Barker was brought up under the strong influence of his deeply religious mother. But even in these surroundings, his response to the Church was unusual: at the age of four he attempted to "convert" one of his brothers to a more religious life; at the age of five he became fascinated with the lives of the saints and particularly those who had been martyred; at the age of seven he was impressed by the story of Daniel in the lion's den. During these early years he donated his spare money to Church collections for missionary work "to redeem the heathen child. " And by the time he was eight years old, he had already determined to do missionary work in China. He was influenced in part by an older brother who was studying for the priesthood, and even more strongly by the stories he had read and heard about saints and martyrs in China: "The Chinese were one of the peoples in the world who could make you a martyr . . . there I could have great hope to become a martyr. "
? APPARENT RESISTERS 1 3 5
He was a weak and sickly child, but in children's games he loved to play the part of the military officer: "I liked to show bravery, in contrast with my body, because I was so weak/' Although he never wavered from his early ambition to become a priest and missionary, his childhood imaginings included the wish to be a doctor and a military hero as well; and, as he proudly explained to me, he had managed in his work in China to be all of these.
During his primary and secondary school days, from about the age of eleven through seventeen, his path was not easy. He had difficulty sleeping at night ("I could never have soft, deep sleep") and was troubled by disturbing dreams in which "I was not free. . . . I could not do as I liked. . . . I washindered even in the dreams. " During the day he would often feel weak and tired; he would fall asleep in class during lessons, and in chapel during prayers. He remembers being told that he had "circulatory dif- ficulties," although their exact nature was never made clear. But he remained active, a leader among other children; and as far as his infirmity was concerned, "I tried to ignore it, to do the same work as the strong. " These difficulties subsided somewhat during the long years of seminary training, but they never disappeared completely.
In China, he called forth great energies for his missionary work: he studied Chinese music and religious rituals in order to in- corporate some of them into his Catholic services; he dispensed medicine, treated wounds, and offered assistance during the famines, droughts, floods, and civil wars; he arranged special meet- ings with bandit chiefs in order to safeguard "my Christians/7 in return serving as a guarantor and go-between for the bandits in their negotiations with the government. He often suffered from fatigue and insomnia, and on one occasion, after a brief visit to Europe, he requested that he be transferred to a different area (a request which was granted) in order to avoid the "nervous strain:' of the negotiations. But he otherwise carried on his work without interruption, avoiding any outward shqw of weakness, and refusing many opportunities for periods of rest and temporary replacement. He became widely known in his inland province, according to other Westerners, as a colorful, courageous, able, and dogmatic representative of the Catholic faith.
Bishop Barker divided his imprisonment into two main phases:
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the first six weeks of pressures, directed at "personal factors"; and the remaining time, "when I realized that the Communist program was not against me, but against my religion. " During the first phase, his captors emphasized "real facts/' These included: a de- scription of Communist policies in his mission area which he had written at the request of an American officer (while he was strongly anti-Communist, much of what he described in this report had been far from unfavorable, and he felt that it would have been better for him if the Communists had actually seen the report rather than just hearing about it); and his presence at a meeting organized by Japanese occupiers in their attempt to obtain co- operation from the missionaries (his sympathies were always with the Chinese, and he emphasized the many risks he had taken in helping them against the Japanese). Although he felt that these incidents were misinterpreted and distorted, he nonetheless re- gretted the two actions greatly, and they contributed to a strong personal sense of guilt.
He also took the next step, and began to view himself in rela- tionship to the Communist doctrine:
I said that imperialism is the parent of pride and acquisitiveness, and that I would fight it. I thought that maybe there was imperialism in me.
But during the second phase, as he began to get a better grasp of the prison world (he had known very little about Communist doctrine or reform methods), he realized that his captors were indicting his mission society and his Church as part of an "espi- onage network," At this point the trend was reversed, and "I mobilized all of my strength for resistance. " As he "learned what play was going on," he consciously substituted within his mind the Catholic religious equivalents of the subjects under discussion:
This saving thought came to me: for the state I substitute God; for the people, my Christians; the imperialists' failings, greed and pride, are aptly represented by uncharitable self-love and love of pleasure, and the "helping" more than takes the place of fraternal admonition. . . . It was necessary for me to find the proper standpoint in relationship to God.
He began to view his imprisonment as a personal religious trial:
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I suffered . . . because my self-love had to give way to the love of God. . . . One time when the warden spit in my face, I felt pain, but it was instantly suppressed. The pain meant I still had self-love . . , when you lose self-love, there is almost instant disappearance of pain. . . . In the struggle between the selfish I and God, the selfish I causes pain, uncertainty, insecurity, and a troubled heart. When you are wholly relying on God, you calm down and there is a quietude and peace that you feel. , . . When this happened I could feel my inner happiness increasing. . . . I was thankful to them for a rare occasion to live my religion.
Meditating whenever he could, he thought of the early Roman martyrs and of Christ himself on the Cross, reconstructing in his own way the New Testament passage which applied to his situation:
You will be persecuted. People will kill you like a dog, but do not be afraid. They can kill your body but not your soul. When they press you with arguments . . . give them the answer. The Holy Spirit will give you the answer.
He sought to retain this reversal in symbols throughout his im- prisonment; "I would agree to personal shortcomings because I had many shortcomings regarding God. "
At the same time, he attempted to avoid involvement in the re-education program as much as he could, pleading poor eyesight (his glasses had been broken soon after his imprisonment and were never replaced), difficulty in hearing (also partially true), and an
incomplete knowledge of written Chinese.
He also tried to maintain his sense of the humorous and the
human, as the following incidents suggest. Once an intelligent fellow-prisoner, after subjecting Bishop Barker to a grueling in- dividual session of "informal help" shook his head and said, quoting a Chinese proverb, "Talking to you is like playing a violin before a cow. " Back in the group, Bishop Barker was asked about the session, and whimsically reported, "He has been playing music to a horse"--stimulating in his helper the response which he had hoped it would bring out--"I must be making some progress. " For, as Bishop Barker explained to me, "A horse is more sensitive to music than a cow. "
Similarly, he reported on the efforts of a cellmate with a strong but brief argument: "He played a big drum, but he ran away. " And
? 1 3 8 THOUGHT REFORM
at a lighter moment, his cellmates temporarily joined the game and asked him "Which instrument? " another less forceful cellmate had "played/' to which Bishop Barker replied, "He played a small drum. "
When pressed for his "thoughts," his humor was tinged with the poignancy of the prisoner's position: "I am a man who does not exist. I cannot have any thoughts. " And frequently, when he was being abused by his cellmates, he would appeal to their sense of personal ethics: "I can endure this, but I wonder how you can endure it. Does your conscience allow this evil treatment? " This last approach especially would sometimes bring at least temporary relief. Bishop Barker also felt that his advanced age was responsible for a certain amount of moderation, sometimes expressed in the backhanded prison vernacular as an admonishment for his stub- bornness: "You have no pity for your old bones. "
The occasional presence of other Westerners, including priests, was also of great importance to him, although he had little op- portunity for direct exchange with them. Once, however, after a particularly difficult day, he recited a German poem to a fellow- European in the cell: "The day was hot, the battle was fierce, the evening quiet--it will be cool in the night. " This poem helped him to express his feelings and rally his strength; but since he was overheard, it also resulted in severe criticism for "cursing us in a foreign tongue. "
Despite his friendly, personal approach to other prisoners, Bishop Barker was careful to avoid real intimacy with them:
They would say, "This Number Four is not a good comrade. He remains separate from us. It must be because of his imperialist pride. " They wanted me to sit down with the other prisoners and to have them as comrades. But I was afraid that if I did this, my resistance would grow weaker.
Although he made many concessions, his imprisonment--con- trary to most cases--ended on a note of resistance. During his last five months, he received his most severe treatment, including handcuffs and chains--which he referred to as "decorations"-- directed toward extracting a final "espionage" confession: "my repentance and witness letter. " He doggedly refused to follow the judge's suggested version, insisting that untrue accusations involving
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his colleagues and his Church be left out; he finally agreed to a compromise version consisting only of "facts"--somewhat exag- gerated, but mainly concerned with his own behavior. The prison officials, rather than hold him longer to extract a more desirable confession, were apparently determined to release him at this time for reasons of their own. He left with the feeling that he had forced the government to back down and had successfully de- fended the integrity of the Church.
He arrived in Hong Kong, gaunt but confident, expressing to his friends the conviction that he had successfully met a severe trial. He experienced much less fear and suspiciousness than most, and the physician who first examined him described him as a "superior person," much more composed than others he had examined im- mediately after the same ordeal.
When he spoke to me three months later, he retained this ex- pressed feeling of victory: "In the long run, I have won. " He was strongly critical of the "diabolical" Communist world he had seen, and specifically condemned its manipulation of people:
The Communists drop a net all over the country, closing the frontiers. Then the net is dropped over an individual person, and he loses his freedom of movement and must follow their wishes.
But as we talked more, it became clear that he had some inner doubts about the completeness of his victory. He spoke whimsically of being "almost converted" during the early period of imprison- ment, criticized himself for having then gone "too far/' and gave me the general impression that he felt very uncomfortable about whatever concessions he had made.
This impression was confirmed when he showed me a summary of his prison experiences which he had prepared. In attempting to convey, in characteristic tongue-in-cheek style, the full impact of Communist arguments upon missionaries, he revealed perhaps more than he meant to:
And now, like a monster from out of the abyss, the most fearful realiza- tion dawned: you, a missionary, the herald of the Gospel, are not you a messenger of the imperialistic conquerors, their pioneer, on account of your ethnological and industrial reports on your mission land? And after the occupation of your mission land, you go on rendering the conquer- ors many different services. And take your mission work as a whole: does
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it not now prove to be a big, long, and heavy sin? And the question whether your mission activity has been of more harm or good to the people answers itself. But because you grew up in imperialistic ideolo- gies, it'has never until now occurred to you how much you have been of help in the enslaving and the exploitation of a people which for- merly enjoyed liberty. Yes, the scope of your corrupting activities is en- larged: what you do, your colleagues do. Thus you cannot escape the fact that your society and your mission ought to be regarded as spy centers, sending out reports to both headquarters, and that Rome be- comes the world center, from where imperialist governments draw their perverting information. . . . as proof that you now condemn this process, you must at once give full information about the spy activities of your society, of your mission, as of Rome. By doing this you acquire the mentality of the new regime, which alone will make you realize the sins of your past life, and those of your comrades. Only this men- tality will give you true guidance for your future work.
