The themes of fear and unhap- piness which appeared first in these recollections recurred frequently throughout his
reconstruction
of his childhood.
Lifton-Robert-Jay-Thought-Reform-and-the-Psychology-of-Totalism
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The secret was always something that was trying to escape from me.
Part of Hu's "secret" was his growing disillusionment and despair:
I had thought that by entering the revolutionary university I could make a new start. Instead of this it had brought me mainly the loss of personal liberty. . . . I felt disappointed . . . infuriated a n d disgusted. , . . I had little hope for the future.
Observing the other students around him, Hu felt that all were tense and agitated, without necessarily sharing his own response. In fact, many of the younger ones--those in their teens and early twenties--seemed to be throwing themselves fully, even ecstatically, into the reform process, thriving upon their activist frenzy. Others a bit older made a great public display of their progressiveness in what Hu considered an opportunist fashion, some of them seek- ing to compensate for incriminating ties with the old regime in the past. But Hu felt that almost everyone in his section who was over
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twenty-five was in conflict about how much of himself to surrender to the process.
Students' attitudes toward one another had changed greatly from the idyllic togetherness of the earliest days. The sense of common purpose had by no means completely disappeared; but the pres- sures which everyone was experiencing had converted the small group sessions into a complicated blend of eager analysis, cautious orthodoxy, covert personal antagonism, and beleaguered co-opera- tion.
Hu's own position grew steadily worse. His suppressed resent- ment was always just beneath the surface, and on one occasion, when he intervened on behalf of a female student in an argument with school guards, this resentment exploded openly. Hu was then required to make a special self-examination to condemn his mis- conduct, his lack of full faith in the Party's representatives, and the "individualism" at the bottom of it all. Cadres were no longer gentle and therapeutic in their approach to him, but made it clear that they considered him stubborn and unco-operative. One of them (his old nemesis) began to make indirect threats, implying that if his attitude did not improve, his case would be dealt with at a public gathering. Hu knew well what this meant; he had witnessed three such mass meetings. Two of these had been revivalist-like gatherings at which a student with a particularly evil past had been given a dramatic (and well-staged) opportunity to redeem him- self. Before an audience of 3,000 fellow students, this offender gave a lurid description of his misdeeds--political work with the Nationalists, spying for the Japanese, anti-Communist activity, stealing money from his company, violating his neighbor's daughter --followed by an expression of relief at "washing away all of my sins" and of gratitude to the government for "helping me to be-
come a new man. " The effect of the meetings had been an inten- sification of confession pressures and a widespread feeling that whatever one had done was mild by comparison and might as well be revealed.
Aware that he was not a likely candidate for this type of display, Hu worried about another kind of public exposure: the ultimate humiliation of the mass "struggle. " He had seen a student con- sidered to be a hopelessly "backward element" face an equally large audience to be denounced rather than redeemed; faculty members,
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cadres, and fellow students had embellished upon his "reactionary tendencies/' his stubborn refusal to change his ways, his failure to respond to repeated offers of "help" which all claimed to have made. It had been made quite clear that this young man's future in Com- munist China was quite precarious, and the ceremony had been a grim warning to Hu and other students of questionable standing.
Hu received one additional warning. A Youth Corps member personally sympathetic to him told him that his case had been critically discussed by cadres at Youth Corps meetings, and that he had better be more careful in the future. Hu was moved by this show of compassion, realizing that the other student had acted at considerable personal risk.
He did become more cautious, and tried to make a better reform showing. One of the ways he did this, at the same time finding some escape, was to spend as much time as possible alone in the library, immersing himself in the only reading material available--Com- munist literature. What he learned gave him added authority in the group; and the cadre's threats of public exposure were never carried out. Hu felt he had also been protected by his progressive past, his letter of recommendation from a high Communist official, his favorable standing among many of the students, his knowledge of Communism, and, perhaps most important, something in his character which made the cadres feel that he might be still salvaged as an effective Communist worker.
But his added readings, especially of Lenin's works, were also a source of anxiety. For he began to realize that what he was ex- periencing in thought reform was not, as he had preferred to be- lieve, a misapplication of Communist principles, but was in every respect consistent with Leninist teachings. He found himself ques- tioning the entire Communist structure. He achieved better external control; but his inner feelings of hostility, suffocation, and con- fusion were more intolerable than ever:
I had a very strong hatred for the Communists and for the whole sys- tem. But it was a general kind of feeling and I wasn't sure of its exact source. It wasn't directed exclusively against the Communists--but was rather vague and diffuse. I was very unhappy about the surroundings; everything from all directions was pressing upon me. I couldn't stand this pressure and wanted only to get rid of it. It was not a feeling of resistance--I just wanted to escape, I felt persecuted and depressed.
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He began to have nightmares and thought he was talking in his sleep; he would wake up anxiously, fearing that he might have re- vealed his "secret. " He was also greatly upset by a suicide which occurred during this stage of the reform program (a young student had apparently jumped into a well); this student had been a Youth Corps member and outwardly an activist, and his death led Hu to believe that "he too must have had some hidden secret. " Two other students had to be sent to mental hospitals, having apparently become psychotic. Many other students (Hu estimated their number as high as one-third of the student body) by this time had visible psychological or psychosomatic symptoms--fatigue, insomnia, loss of appetite, vague aches and pains, and upper respira- tory or gastrointestinal symptoms. 3 Hu himself suffered from fatigue and general malaise. He visited the school doctor, who gave him a reform-oriented and psychologically sophisticated diagnosis: "There's nothing wrong with your body. It must be your thoughts that are sick. You will feel better when you have solved your prob- lems and completed your reform. " And indeed, he shared with many other students a state of painful inner conflict. Yet the contagious cacophony of enthusiasm, tension, and fear was still, after five months, very much in crescendo.
Find Thought Summary: Submission and the New Harmony
The announcement that it was time to begin work on the over- all thought summary (or final confession) implied that relief was in sight, but it also made clear that this last effort would be the crucial one. At a mass meeting, faculty members emphasized the importance of the summary as the crystallization of the entire re-
form experience, the final opportunity for each student to resolve his thought problems. For the next two days, small group sessions were devoted almost entirely to discussions of the form of the summary. It was to be a life history, beginning two generations back and extending through the thought reform experience, de- scribing, candidly and thoroughly, the development of one's thoughts and the relationship of these to actions. It was also to analyze the personal effects of thought reform, on one's character as well as one's view of the world, including but going beyond what
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had already been written and discussed in previous thought summaries. It would require anywhere from five to twenty- five thousand Chinese characters (roughly equivalent to the same number of English words); but content was much more important than length. And each man's summary had to be approved before he could graduate. Rumors circulated among the students of "backward elements" having been asked to repeat the entire thought reform course, and of "reactionaries" or "enemies of the people" sent to prison for reform by labor.
After a ten-day writing period, students read their summaries to the small group. They encountered even more prolonged and pene- trating criticism than before, since everyone was now required to sign each confession read, to signify his approval and his respon- sibility for letting it pass. In Hu's group, some students were kept under critical fire for several days and wrote many revisions. As usual, the students themselves worked upon each other, but cadres and faculty members had the final say; they later added their own evaluative comments to the thought summaries. The final docu- ment then became a permanent part of the student's personal rec- ord, and (in the possession of his superiors) accompanied him throughout his future career.
Hu, determined to surmount this final hurdle, concentrated upon using his theoretical knowledge to produce an acceptable final con- fession. He knew that two special emphases were required. The first, an analysis of class origin, gave him little difficulty: he could readily place his family in the "landlord" or "rural ruling class" category, and attribute to this circumstance his own evil character traits and false ideas. He called himself an "exploiter," and accused himself of "having adopted a stand diametrically opposed to that of the people," and having been in the past "actually . . . an enemy of the people. "
But the second requirement was not quite as simple, for it was the denunciation of his father, both as an individual and as a representative of the old order. This was the ultimate symbolic act in the thought reform of young Chinese, and many found it to be extremely painful. A cadre noticed that Hu was particularly reluctant to criticize his father, and began to prod him about it at every opportunity: "He said that the most important part of the reform of an intellectual was the denunciation of his father--since
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the intellectual almost invariably comes from a wealthy family which must have been anti-Communist, and if he does not de- nounce his father he cannot be a faithful citizen of the new regime. " Hu tried to beg off, claiming that he had retained no clear im- pressions because he and his father had been separated during much of his childhood. The cadre insisted however that "the father is a hero to every small boy/' and demanded that Hu take a stand for or against him.
Two letters which Hu received from his family home at about this time suddenly gave the problem a new tragic dimension. The first letter, written by his uncle, carried the disturbing news that his father had been publicly "struggled" and then imprisoned dur- ing the land reform campaign in Hupeh, and asked Hu to use his influence with the Communists to secure his father's release. A day or two later, Hu received a second letter, from his father, telling that he had been released from prison, but that all of the family holdings had been taken from him, and that the family situation was still very dangerous. Hu had difficulty describing to me his feelings at this time, which were compounded of shock, guilt, and anger. At the beginning of land reform, Hu had written to his father to urge him to surrender voluntarily most of his land holdings to the surrounding peasants, and to co-operate fully with the Com- munists in the manner of an "enlightened landlord. " The father had followed his son's advice; and now Hu felt that they both had been deceived. He recalled his last meeting with his father, when he had refused to follow his father's advice. He had decided to enter the distant University of Nanking, contrary to his father's wishes that he choose an institution closer to home; now he kept hearing the words of his father's parting admonition:
You young people no longer think of the older generation. Your affec- tions towards us must be very light. You do not understand how an old man feels about his son. Our affection for you is beyond your compre- hension.
We shall see later that these words were less than fair; but this did not save Hu from his sense of remorse, and from castigat- ing himself for disobeying his father and for not remaining close enough to him to be a help in a time of crisis. He began to imagine --from descriptions he had heard of land-reform "struggle" meet-
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ings in the north--the picture of his father being insulted, spat upon, beaten, and stoned at the hands of a "people's court. " He pictured his father imprisoned in chains; he remembered a sordid prison he had visited years before, and even more vividly his own experience of having been briefly imprisoned by the Nationalists because of his anti-government activities as a university student: "I relived all of my sufferings through this vision of my father meet- ing the same fate. " Soon grief gave way to resentment: "I over- came my sorrow with my desire for vengeance. " He identified him- self closely with his father, and saw in both their maltreatment evidence of basic Communist hypocrisy and evil:
I began to feel that my father and I, each of us in his own way, were enemies to the Communists. My father was old and useless, and was therefore persecuted by them. I was young and useful and so the Com- munists were still trying to win me. . . . I was considered by the other students to be an able man. My father enjoyed great respect among the peasants of the countryside, and was always generous to them in time of need, never the greedy, cruel, heartless landlord, which the Com- munists always spoke about. . . . Both my father and I had tried very hard to work with the new regime; yet both of us were being victimized. I realized that the Communists had no sense of fairness or justice. They insisted upon beating down any person who held prestige among those around him outside of Party circles, and they would do whatever they thought necessary to accomplish this, no matter how "enlightened" such people might be concerning Communism. . . . I thought of the old model I had developed in my mind in the past of a Communist ideal state which would give land to the poor, and offer a new solution for a corrupt society. But I realized that Communism did not fit this ideal, and that the Communist is a very cruel man who uses the poor and their resentment against the rich for the purpose of furthering his own power.
As he told me these things (and especially when he referred to his father) Hu lost his usual composure, sometimes turning troubled eyes to the floor, at other times pacing restlessly about the room. He seemed more anxious than at any other time during our interviews; and at the next session I was told that he had remained agitated after our meeting and had insisted upon spending several hours alone with the interpreter discussing these same experiences.
Hu said nothing about the two letters to anyone around him in the revolutionary university. He found a compromise solution to the cadre's demand that he denounce his father by using a tortuous
? 2JO THOUGHT REFORM
form of Communist reasoning: after mentioning his father's benevolence to the peasants, he went on to condemn his acts as "even more reactionary than the ruthless abuse . . . by the vicious landlords" because "these good deeds helped to render the posi- tion of the ruling class even more unassailable" (a statement which echoes Father Luca's remark that, "What you do that is good-- is bad--precisely because it is good! ").
In presenting his own life history, Hu was careful to play down his leftist student activities, and even related them critically to the "individualism" which was a central theme of the document. Only later did he realize how much an expression of personal submission this summary was:
It is a report very much against my own will. If you put this final thought summary before me now, I could write a new summary contra- dictory to it in each sentence. If it isn't fear, what else could push one to do something so completely against his own will? If I had not been so fearful I should have refused to write something like this.
He could not tell me how much of the summary he believed at that time. It included ideas which he did not believe even then, others which he believed then but subsequently discarded, and still others--as he explains in an eloquent testimony to the power of language--so enmeshed in Communist patterns of thought and speech as to defy evaluation:
Using the pattern of words for so long, you are so accustomed to them that you feel chained. If you make a mistake, you make a mistake within the pattern. Although you don't admit that you have adopted this kind of ideology, you are actually using it subconsciously, almost automatically. . . . At that time I believed in certain aspects of their principles and theories. But such was the state of confusion in my own mind that I couldn't tell or make out what were the things that I did believe in.
Hu noticed that after the thought summaries were completed (all in his group, and apparently in the other groups as well, were even- tually accepted), most of the students seemed to experience a great sense of relief. They had passed through their trial and made their symbolic submission; and many--especially among the young-- seemed to feel that a closer bond had been established between themselves and the government.
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But for Hu there was no great relief and little or any feeling of bond. Still depressed and disappointed, his strongest desire was to leave the environment as soon as possible. He had previously de- cided to return to Nanking--the past scene of happy and success- ful days--and seek a job and a way of life (possibly as a school teacher) outside the main currents of politics. He had already written friends there who had sent him money for the journey. Therefore, when students were given cards to fill out to state their job preference, Hu paid little attention, and left his card blank-- preferring to make his own arrangements. His action was con- sidered an unfriendly one; it would have been quite different if he had indicated no choice and had added a note, as some students did, saying that he left the matter entirely up to the govern- ment's discretion. A cadre called him in for a talk, and when he defended his action on the basis of wishing to become a school- teacher in Nanking, he was told, "We can assign you to a school- teacher's job, but it would do you good to work in the countryside. You have been too long in the big cities, and maybe that is why you have not been so activist. "
When the job assignment did come through, however, it was as a political workerand teacher in an obscure North China militaryarea --a kind of assignment generally considered highly undesirable. No one was required to accept the job offered him, although most stu- dents had little choice, since they were unlikely to find an alternative position and they knew that a job refusal would not look well on their records. But Hu, without too much logical consideration, did de- cide to refuse the assignment--at least at first. Three days later, after constant visits from cadres and activists, he reversed himself and once more succumbed to the wishes of the authorities. He could not say just why he did this, but the implication was clear that he wished to make one last effort to fit in with the new regime, and hoped that life outside of the revolutionary university might be less oppressive. He also stated that the idea of actively fighting Communism in the future was already taking shape in his mind, and that he considered the job a good opportunity to obtain greater firsthand knowledge of Communist procedures. While this second
'reason might well have been an attempt to justify that which he felt emotionally impelled to do, it is quite possible that, confused and fearful as he was, ideas of adapting himself to Communism and of
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fighting Communism existed simultaneously within him.
All that was left was the graduation ceremony. The first part of this was devoted to an admission ritual for new Party members:
facing a huge photograph of Mao, nine faculty cadres solemnly took their oaths, suggesting to the 3,000 students in the audience (according to Hu) "the honor, the great difficulty, and the im- portance of becoming a Party member. " Hu felt that the students were almost forgotten in the excitement surrounding the new Party members, although faculty representatives and visiting officials (there to recruit personnel from among the graduates) did con- gratulate the students upon the completion of their thought reform, and urge them to continue to follow its principles in their future
work.
When Hu arrived at his assignment in North China, he was re-
quired to undergo a two-month training period whose routine, except for more rigorous physical training, was not too different from that of the revolutionary university. At the end of this train- ing, when he was faced with the prospect of accepting a permanent assignment with the army, Hu was unwilling to go through with it and requested that he be permitted to leave. He had been no hap- pier there than at the revolutionary university; he had, in fact, found the new cadres under whom he worked to be, if less devious, more crude and unpleasant than those he had dealt with during his re- form. The antagonisms he had observed between older and younger cadres, and between the military authorities and the rural peasant population, had confirmed his critical feelings toward the regime. In addition, he feared the possible outbreak of war with the West, and believed that should this happen his own position would become much more dangerous. But most important of all perhaps was his reluctance to become involved in any commitment to the regime that would make it impossible for him to get away in the future.
Communist authorities made strong attempts to get Hu to change his mind, but he pleaded failing health and inability, as a south- erner, to tolerate the extreme cold (from which he actually did suffer). He was finally permitted to depart, although he was given virtually no travel credentials. He headed for Nanking, selling some of his belongings to finance the trip. There he found only a few positions available, all of which he felt would involve him too
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closely with the regime. He wished to visit his father in Hupeh; but from all he could learn> he decided that it would be much too dangerous. After a few weeks in Nanking, he was called for question- ing by the police because of his idleness; and he felt it was unsafe to remain there. Through friends with whom he was staying he discovered that it was possible to leave China by way of the Hong Kong border (during early 1950, such travel was still not too diffi- cult). He quickly decided to do this; and even an expression of affec- tion from a girl he met in Canton (of whom he had been very fond during his middle-school days) could not deter him from leaving his country and entering the British Crown Colony.
? CHAPTER 15 A CHINESE ODYSSEY
Many of Hu's emotional experiences have a familiar
ring, since the psychological pressures at a revolu- tionary university closely resemble those in a prison. There is the assault upon identity, although without any physical brutality; the establishment of guilt and shame; a form of self-betrayal; alter- nating leniency and harshness; a compulsion to confess; the logical dishonoring of re-education; a final confession, elaborate and in- clusive rather than terse; and an even greater emphasis upon the experience of personal rebirth. There are also important differences, such as the development of group intimacy ("the great together- ness") before the emotional pressures. But these differences, sig- nificant as they are, do not warrant a new step-by-step analysis.
To get at more basic contrasts and more basic underlying prin- ciples, we must, as with the Westerners, turn from the process to the individual, and follow Hu beyond his thought reform, first back over his early years and then through his Hong Kong life. Al- though the program which Hu encountered at the revolutionary university was typical enough (the other fourteen Chinese sub- jects, especially those four who had attended a revolutionary univer- sity, confirmed this), his responses were obviously unusual. Why was this so? What was there in his background and his character which led him to feel as he did? What can his experiences teach us of the reform conflicts and life struggles of Chinese intellectuals in general?
274
? A CHINESE ODYSSEY 275 Childhood and Youth: Background for Reform
Symbolically enough, Hu's life began in exile. His father had been a high-ranking Nationalist official during the early years of the Chinese Revolution, and had spent many years in distant assign- ments or in flight from his enemies. One of these flights (from the forces of Yuan Shi-k'ai, a powerful general who sought to restore the monarchy and place himself on the throne) took him to Kansu, a remote province in the northwest. There he married Hu's mother, a relatively uneducated woman of undistinguished family back- ground; and it was there that Hu was born and spent the first four years of his life. His only memories of that period were of the frightening folk tales which his maternal grandmother told him (of owls who carried off bad little boys, and of devils disguised as men who, simply by looking at little boys, caused them to disappear) and of that same grandmother's unhappiness when Hu and his parents left their Kansu home.
The themes of fear and unhap- piness which appeared first in these recollections recurred frequently throughout his reconstruction of his childhood.
When Hu was six years old (the family had spent two years in more or less temporary dwellings) Hu was moved to his father's family home in Hupeh Province, and he remained there or nearby for the next thirteen years. But this move, rather than uniting the family, marked the beginning of long separations; his father was away most of the time, appearing only on rare occasions, and then briefly and often unannounced. Hu senior belonged to a faction of the Kuomintang (Nationalist Party) which had come into active conflict with Chiang Kai-shek, so that he was almost a fugitive.
Hu held a special position in this fatherless household (there was an uncle nearby but not in the same compound). He was the "young master" being groomed for family leadership, the only direct male heir (an older brother and one or two sisters had died in infancy). Moreover, Hu's father too had been an oldest son, and this placed Hu in the main line of family authority. His family's long prominence in the area (his paternal grandfather had been an important provincial official during the Ch'ing dynasty), its heri- tage of scholarly attainment, the importance of preserving the "family name"--all this was impressed upon him. It was a situa-
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tion which in every way encouraged the development within him of precocious self-assertion.
But this celebrated little boy (and no culture has ever made a greater fuss over its male children) had a strange rival for power within the family: a woman two generations his senior. This "step- grandmother" was the bete noire of his childhood, and indeed of much of his life. Originally his paternal grandfather's second wife
(she was not a concubine, as his first wife had died before she came into the family), she was the only surviving member of her generation. Possessing seniority as well as the ability and will to rule, she took full advantage of the family's power vacuum and full charge of its affairs. Yet her leadership placed her in a complicated position (nothing is ever simple in a Chinese family)--because she was a woman, and, more important, because she was unrelated by blood to any of the other family members, which, as Hu explained, made them regard her as little more than a concubine. She had borne a male child--always a matter of great prestige for a Chinese woman--who had been kidnapped by bandits and never returned. This, according to Hu, was another source of tension, as she had become embittered by this incident, and resented "the family" for not making strong enough efforts (possibly not paying a large enough ransom) to get the child back. Hu felt that she extracted her revenge through her tyrannical reign over the household, to the point where she became "a saboteur of the family. " Although the others chafed under her domination, she was acting within Chinese tradition, and no one had the courage or the sanction to contest her. Indeed, Hu's uncle (his father's younger brother), the only person around who might have offered resistance, preferred to move out from her control at the time of his marriage rather than follow the more conventional pattern of bringing his bride back to the main family home.
Hu believed that, as the "young master/7 he was the special target of her abuse. She became for him a symbol of the "old," and a special object of his hatred, a hatred which was not, however, devoid of respect:
She was a woman of the old China. She was tall, very tall and impres- sive looking. She had bound feet. She was a very able and intelligent woman. . . . She could be very eloquent, convincing to others, but she was stubborn and couldn't be talked into anything herself. . , .
? A CHINESE ODYSSEY 277
She never liked me, and was very jealous of my position in the family. I could always feel her antagonism in the atmosphere, but she was much too shrewd to mistreat me in a direct manner. She never beat me physically. . . . It was in a glance or a phrase directed at me that I could feel it. . . . I hated her so much that at times I felt that I could not stand her.
The conflict between the old woman and the boy reached its climax when he was ten years old through what began as a seem- ingly inconsequential incident but grew into an event of major proportions:
One day someone was telling a story before a gathering of our family members. The story was very unfavorable to the head of the household. It described how he had misused family funds and cheated the other members of the family. After listening for a while I said, "That man is a thief! " My grandmother then spoke up with great emotion and said, "He is saying this about me, that I am not honest, that I am corrupt. " She immediately called all the family members into the hall of the an- cestors, the family shrine, and in a very dramatic fashion she lit up all of the candles that were in the room. Then she said, "The young master has accused me of being dishonest. I will pray to my ancestors to be more honest. " Other relatives attempted to calm her down, saying that I was only a boy and that she should accept an apology from me. But she refused to do this, saying, "No, I am not worthy of his apology. I am just a poor old servant of the family. " She maintained this attitude very stubbornly, and nothing that anybody said to her could convince her to change her mind.
Her actions, in effect, forced Hu to leave the family home, since this kind of conflict within a Chinese family cannot remain openly unresolved. As Hu explained:
This was really a skillful way to squeeze me out of the household. W ith her refusal to accept my apology, my only recourse was to leave. But it was done so cleverly within the framework of tradition that no one could accuse her of acting wrongly. . . . She was not treating me as a grandson or as a little boy, but rather as the legal heir, as if she were dealing with my father.
It is quite possible, of course, that Hu did more to provoke these actions than his version of the story suggests. Or even if he did not, it is likely that the step-grandmother accurately perceived that Hu was expressing indirect hostility toward her. In any case, his out- burst could have been considered a sign of disrespect for his elders.
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In most situations like this, an apology from the youthful offender would have ended the matter--and Hu is right in perceiving that his step-grandmother's show of humility was really a highly-charged form of aggressiveness. Although cleverly correct in her forms, however, she could have been criticized for a lack of spirit of com- promise, an important virtue in traditional Chinese culture. Such bitter animosity, kept well beneath the surface, occurred in many Chinese families.
In Hu's family, external forms were still maintained. Although he went to live in his uncle's house nearby and visited his family home infrequently, it was still necessary for him to appear on special occasions--for instance, the Chinese New Year celebration --to pay his respects to his step-grandmother through the tradi- tional symbol of submissive reverence, the fe'o-t'ou. He dreaded these visits long in advance, but it was made clear to him that he had no choice in the matter because "if I did not, I would be con- demned by all society. " His step-grandmother, on each such occa- sion, maintained her "humility" and perpetuated the conflict by declaring herself "unworthy" of the salutation.
Hu's mother, rather than offering him protection against the step-grandmother, was herself another victim. Cowed and power- less before her elder, she was so looked down on as a "common woman" from a backward province, that even the servants treated her badly. Sickly, nervous, and resentful of her husband's continued absence, she often had to turn over her son's care to others. Hu remembers her with some fondness, but also recalls that she some- times took her frustrations out on him and subjected him to beat- ings. She died when Hu was fourteen years old, and was in many ways an even more distant figure ("I never experienced the intimacy of a mother with her") than his absent father.
For to Hu, his father soon became the center of a lasting personal myth--that of the all-powerful father who suddenly materializes and rescues his son from an otherwise invincible oppressor r
I found myself always thinking of him. . . . To me he was the most dignified and impressive man in the world. . . . I felt that one day my father would return and all of my troubles would be over.
Nor could repeated evidence to the contrary dispel this myth: the family lost touch with his father for periods of years, and
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when he did visit, the step-grandmother and he observed all proper forms (he too had to be filial) and things remained as they had been. Hu was never too happy at his uncle's house, where he felt he was being cared for more out of obligation than love, and he went on hoping; when he got tired of this his thoughts turned toward revenge, and toward the day when he would be big enough and smart enough to be able to deal with his arch-enemy. Her death, which occurred shortly after that of his mother, and his father's continued absence caused him to avoid the family home, which he then considered haunted.
Hu's erratic pattern of education exposed him to the full chaos of the Chinese cultural and political scene. From the ages of eight to twelve, he studied with private tutors employed by his and neighboring families; in the traditional fashion, he learned how to read and write from simplified versions of the Confucian classics. He did not like the stern discipline of the tutor, and was frequently punished for misbehavior; but he was impressed with Confucian teachings of filial piety and loyalty to family and country, as yet unaware of the inconsistencies between these theoretical virtues and the realities of the life around him.
Next, he spent two years studying and boarding at a new-style upper primary school not too far from his home. There he was surprised to encounter classmates who were mostly adults or near- adults, prospective employees of the local government who had come to take advantage of the school's "modern" curriculum, in keeping with a new regulation that officials have some Western education. As the youngest pupil in the school, Hu deeply resented the teasing and bullying he received from the others, some of them two or three times his age--especially when they told him that "a little boy is not supposed to lose his temper with his elders. " He no doubt stimulated many of these antagonisms, since by this time he had become a rebellious, outspoken child. Again made aware of his helplessness in the face of superior power, he once more dreamed of the day when he could outwit his tormentors; he partially realized this goal in demonstrating his quicker ability to grasp the Western subjects in the academic curriculum.
After his graduation, his uncle planned to send him to a junior middle school in a nearby city. Just when Hu was about to leave for the new school, his father suddenly appeared, and Hu took advan-
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tage of the occasion to express many of his grievances. His father was angered by the boy's story. As a man of the world, he disap- proved of the provincial way in which Hu was dressed, and of the undistinguished school which had been selected for him. As usual, Hu senior stayed only briefly, but before he left he canceled the existing plans and promised to return soon to take the boy to a better school in a larger city. For the next three years, however, nothing more was heard from him; and between the ages of thirteen and sixteen Hu remained idle, receiving no formal education.
These years were the most lonely interlude of a life in which loneliness had already become a regular feature. Hu felt estranged from his uncle as well as his father, since the uncle resented both the boy and the father for undermining what he considered to be a reasonable discharge of his responsibilities. Hu became more em- bittered than ever--angry at his uncle for allowing family conflicts to interfere with his education, and even having doubts about his father and wondering whether he was really in hiding or had "just forgotten about the family/' But he clung tenaciously to his father- return myth, and even when he was telling me about these events, he could admit no resentment toward his mythical hero. Feeling at home nowhere, thinking a great deal about running away, but unable to decide where to go, he described his general emotion as "fatalistic anger" (the kind of hostility which is temporarily held in abeyance until an opportunity arises to express it).
Finally dismissing the entire problem from his mind, Hu began to interest himself in other things--taking long walks through the neighboring countryside, and reading voraciously the traditional Chinese chien-hsia novels. The chien-hsia is a superhuman hero who combines physical strength and magical powers in purishing evil and helping the oppressed, always acting outside of and fre- quently in opposition to vested authority; so great is the chien-hsia's imaginative impact that one Chinese colleague--possibly with a certain amount of cultural chauvinism--described him to me as "a combination of the Western knight errant and Robin Hood, only much more skillful and ingenious. " Imagining himself a chien-hsia was an ideal antidote to Hu's sense of loneliness and helplessness. His period of inactivity came to an end only through the chance appearance of an old family friend who prevailed upon the uncle to send Hu back to school (respected outsiders have frequently
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been the best mediators in severe Chinese intrafamily disputes). Hu wasthen sent to a middle school sponsored by the Kuomintang Youth Corps. He spent just one semester there, but it was an ex- perience which had great significance in shaping his political emo- tions. He had chosen the school himself, for even in his isola- tion he had been caught up in the wave of patriotism which swept the country at the time of the outbreak of the Sino-Japanese War. But he was horrified by what he found there. Hastily put together, the school had enrolled many more students than the small faculty could handle; the academic program was practically nonexistent, and most of the time was devoted to military training. Discipline was not only strict, but needlessly vindictive, and severe whippings were administered for minor infractions. Hu was from the beginning critical of the school and suspicious of its attempts to mobilize student emotions--so much so that he was among the very few who did not, in the initial burst of patriotic fervor, join the KMT Youth Corps. He later told me that his restraint might have been due to memories of his father's tribulations within the KMT, Students soon became united in their resentment of the school and so rebellious that the atmosphere began to resemble that of an armed camp; none of the twenty youths from Hu's area returned the following semester. While there, Hu, developed his talent for rebellion a bit further: he became an expert at forging the signa- ture of the chief military trainer on passes (he proudly demon- strated his technique to me during our interview). The experience left him with the feeling that the KMT Youth Corps was "dis-
appointing and silly . . . brutal and irrational/7 His "disgust and hatred" was soon extended to the entire KMT Party and Govern- ment, and it later developed into the predominating passion of his youth.
The county junior middle school to which he transferred seemed a great improvement. He did well academically, and quickly be- came a leader among the students. In addition, he held a specially privileged status among the faculty because the president of the school was Hu's uncle's "adopted son"--that is, the uncle, as a prominent person in the area, sponsored the school official's career and exercised considerable influence over it. This made things particularly complicated for Hu when, just a few months after his arrival, he came into direct conflict with this same school president
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For when the students began to notice that their meals seemed meager, and suspected some form of corruption in connection with the school's rice supply, they turned to Hu to direct an investigation. This was an extremely serious situation: the rice kept in the school storehouse represented the institution's capital, since rice was the only stable currency available; students' tuition fees and teachers' salaries were both paid in it, and it was used to buy other foods and supplies. Since teachers were badly underpaid, irregularities were not infrequent, and sometimes were even considered customary.
Before long, Hu had organized a special committee of students to keep a close watch over every grain of rice brought to or taken from the storehouse. The system worked admirably: corruption apparently ended, and meals improved. But the school president was angered by the students' assumption of authority, and especially resented Hu as their ringleader. Matters came to a climax when an old school servant, despite official permission from the school accountant, was refused rice for a late meal upon returning from a trip; the student committee members insisted that he first had to get Hu's personal approval. Hu soon became involved in a power struggle with the school president, which he described to me with some relish; it was eventually resolved through a tacit compromise in which the students continued their vigilance, but did so as quietly as possible in order to cause minimal embarrassment to the authorities.
Hu's sense of victory was eventually reinforced by his uncle's grudging praise. The latter was at first enraged when informed of Hu's activities by the school president; but after a short time, his respect for Hu became apparent, and he referred to him as a "straight-boned boy"--an expression suggesting strength, courage, and integrity. The only unfavorable repercussion came about a year later when, despite having announced that Hu had won the prize for the outstanding student of the semester, the faculty members "forgot" to present the award to him. He became angered, ceased making his best efforts, and concluded that "people never get what they deserve. "
His personal struggles with authority thus found effective social expression in the turbulent Chinese student world. His rebellious urges were constantly fed by real injustice, until
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I developed the conviction that any authority held over me was irra- tional. I transferred from school to school. . . . As soon as I would meet the head of a new school, I would automatically think: "This man must be an irrational authority. " And I would invariably find out that this was true.
There was another rice incident at the provincial upper middle school which Hu next attended. This time he was in danger of being expelled, until the approaching Japanese armies interrupted his personal battle. Hu fled to Free China in the interior, as all students were urged to do. His uncle sent him off with these words: "When the whole society is so corrupt, what can you, just an individual person, do about it? "--an attitude of resignation which Hu strongly contested at the time, but one which he was never to stop wondering about.
Arriving in Chungking, where students were instructed to report for reassignment, Hu got into an argument with an arrogant official who reprimanded him for not having the correct papers. He later felt that this dispute caused him extra months of waiting and re- sulted in his receiving an undesirable school placement to a poorly- organized agricultural institution.
Now he became extremely discouraged. He had sustained himself through a difficult trip to Chungking with the belief that "every- thing would be all right when I got there," but found instead that "it was only the beginning of my troubles. " Out of touch with his family, financially destitute (and cheated when he sold his only valuable possession, a gold ring), feeling awkward in imposing upon family contacts for temporary shelter, Hu found solace in a new friendship. A sympathetic middle-aged scholar and former govern- ment official from his own village area offered him the first mean- ingful explanation of his sufferings, and became his first political mentor:
He was a man about the age of my father, an extremely eloquent per- son who quickly became my hero. He told me how he had worked with the KMT during its real revolutionary days, but was now being dis- criminated against because of his leftist views. I too had felt discrimi- nated against as a child and he told me that this was due to the evils of the old society. I could see little hope for the future, but then he described the Communist program as a solution for China and a way
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to a bright future. . . . He was kind and encouraging. I visited him
frequently and soon adopted his views.
Hu's new beliefs gave him further confidence in his participation iri student agitation about corruption in the food supply as well as other issues at the agricultural school. And for the first time he be- came involved in a dangerous predicament: Nationalist secret police arrested some of the students, and Hu was accused by school authorities of being a Communist although he had no such affilia- tion at the time other than his beginning sympathies. Since he had heard stories of cruelty and torture inflicted by this division of the KMT, and of special "training" to which alleged offenders had been submitted, he decided to flee rather than risk arrest.
Having no place to go, and wishing to contribute to China's war effort, he enlisted in a special student military unit then being formed. There he found temporary sanctuary, but was once more deeply disturbed by the enormous corruption and inefficiency re- garding payrolls, allocation of weapons, and training arrangements. These things were not unique at the time, but the student unit apparently became something of a national scandal. At this time his father and uncle succeeded in getting in touch with him again and were horrified to find he was in the army; they wrote that they had sent him to the interior to become a scholar, not a soldier, and that, as the only male of his generation in the family, he had no right to take such liberties with his person. Their attitude can be summed up in the popular Chinese proverb which Hu himself quoted to me; "Good iron is not used for nails; good men do not be- come soldiers. " Hu resigned after six months of service when he was given the chance; he had come to the conclusion that "there could be no hope for the Nationalist government/'
A veteran enthusiast-cynic at nineteen, Hu's fortunes now finally changed. He managed through friends to gain admission to a much- respected high school primarily for overseas Chinese from south- east Asia, but which took some students in Hu's displaced cir- cumstances. When the school had to disband because of a new Japanese penetration, Hu accompanied a group of students and faculty members to Szechwan Province where it was re-established in combination with another school. Hu encountered here, despite the limited physical facilities, an atmosphere unique in his ex- perience: complete absence of corruption, great intellectual stimula-
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tion, an intimate group life among students, informal relations with faculty, and a generally shared hope for future reforms which could cure China's ills. In an inspiring history teacher, Hu found his second political (and Marxist) mentor:
I already had an emotional sympathy for the Communists. I now began to read about the materialist interpretation of history, the history of the development of society, and Ai Ssu-chYs popular philosophy. 1 When I had difficulty understanding some of these principles I went to this history teacher for help. He was always friendly and patient, and seemed to answer my questions logically. I acquired the theoretical background to go along with my emotional sympathy. . . . From that time on I developed the idea in my mind that Communism was the inevitable outcome of history. . . . It seemed to be the only way out for young people.
He emphasized the importance of his resentment of the old regime in bringing about this new view of the world.
Part of Hu's "secret" was his growing disillusionment and despair:
I had thought that by entering the revolutionary university I could make a new start. Instead of this it had brought me mainly the loss of personal liberty. . . . I felt disappointed . . . infuriated a n d disgusted. , . . I had little hope for the future.
Observing the other students around him, Hu felt that all were tense and agitated, without necessarily sharing his own response. In fact, many of the younger ones--those in their teens and early twenties--seemed to be throwing themselves fully, even ecstatically, into the reform process, thriving upon their activist frenzy. Others a bit older made a great public display of their progressiveness in what Hu considered an opportunist fashion, some of them seek- ing to compensate for incriminating ties with the old regime in the past. But Hu felt that almost everyone in his section who was over
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twenty-five was in conflict about how much of himself to surrender to the process.
Students' attitudes toward one another had changed greatly from the idyllic togetherness of the earliest days. The sense of common purpose had by no means completely disappeared; but the pres- sures which everyone was experiencing had converted the small group sessions into a complicated blend of eager analysis, cautious orthodoxy, covert personal antagonism, and beleaguered co-opera- tion.
Hu's own position grew steadily worse. His suppressed resent- ment was always just beneath the surface, and on one occasion, when he intervened on behalf of a female student in an argument with school guards, this resentment exploded openly. Hu was then required to make a special self-examination to condemn his mis- conduct, his lack of full faith in the Party's representatives, and the "individualism" at the bottom of it all. Cadres were no longer gentle and therapeutic in their approach to him, but made it clear that they considered him stubborn and unco-operative. One of them (his old nemesis) began to make indirect threats, implying that if his attitude did not improve, his case would be dealt with at a public gathering. Hu knew well what this meant; he had witnessed three such mass meetings. Two of these had been revivalist-like gatherings at which a student with a particularly evil past had been given a dramatic (and well-staged) opportunity to redeem him- self. Before an audience of 3,000 fellow students, this offender gave a lurid description of his misdeeds--political work with the Nationalists, spying for the Japanese, anti-Communist activity, stealing money from his company, violating his neighbor's daughter --followed by an expression of relief at "washing away all of my sins" and of gratitude to the government for "helping me to be-
come a new man. " The effect of the meetings had been an inten- sification of confession pressures and a widespread feeling that whatever one had done was mild by comparison and might as well be revealed.
Aware that he was not a likely candidate for this type of display, Hu worried about another kind of public exposure: the ultimate humiliation of the mass "struggle. " He had seen a student con- sidered to be a hopelessly "backward element" face an equally large audience to be denounced rather than redeemed; faculty members,
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cadres, and fellow students had embellished upon his "reactionary tendencies/' his stubborn refusal to change his ways, his failure to respond to repeated offers of "help" which all claimed to have made. It had been made quite clear that this young man's future in Com- munist China was quite precarious, and the ceremony had been a grim warning to Hu and other students of questionable standing.
Hu received one additional warning. A Youth Corps member personally sympathetic to him told him that his case had been critically discussed by cadres at Youth Corps meetings, and that he had better be more careful in the future. Hu was moved by this show of compassion, realizing that the other student had acted at considerable personal risk.
He did become more cautious, and tried to make a better reform showing. One of the ways he did this, at the same time finding some escape, was to spend as much time as possible alone in the library, immersing himself in the only reading material available--Com- munist literature. What he learned gave him added authority in the group; and the cadre's threats of public exposure were never carried out. Hu felt he had also been protected by his progressive past, his letter of recommendation from a high Communist official, his favorable standing among many of the students, his knowledge of Communism, and, perhaps most important, something in his character which made the cadres feel that he might be still salvaged as an effective Communist worker.
But his added readings, especially of Lenin's works, were also a source of anxiety. For he began to realize that what he was ex- periencing in thought reform was not, as he had preferred to be- lieve, a misapplication of Communist principles, but was in every respect consistent with Leninist teachings. He found himself ques- tioning the entire Communist structure. He achieved better external control; but his inner feelings of hostility, suffocation, and con- fusion were more intolerable than ever:
I had a very strong hatred for the Communists and for the whole sys- tem. But it was a general kind of feeling and I wasn't sure of its exact source. It wasn't directed exclusively against the Communists--but was rather vague and diffuse. I was very unhappy about the surroundings; everything from all directions was pressing upon me. I couldn't stand this pressure and wanted only to get rid of it. It was not a feeling of resistance--I just wanted to escape, I felt persecuted and depressed.
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He began to have nightmares and thought he was talking in his sleep; he would wake up anxiously, fearing that he might have re- vealed his "secret. " He was also greatly upset by a suicide which occurred during this stage of the reform program (a young student had apparently jumped into a well); this student had been a Youth Corps member and outwardly an activist, and his death led Hu to believe that "he too must have had some hidden secret. " Two other students had to be sent to mental hospitals, having apparently become psychotic. Many other students (Hu estimated their number as high as one-third of the student body) by this time had visible psychological or psychosomatic symptoms--fatigue, insomnia, loss of appetite, vague aches and pains, and upper respira- tory or gastrointestinal symptoms. 3 Hu himself suffered from fatigue and general malaise. He visited the school doctor, who gave him a reform-oriented and psychologically sophisticated diagnosis: "There's nothing wrong with your body. It must be your thoughts that are sick. You will feel better when you have solved your prob- lems and completed your reform. " And indeed, he shared with many other students a state of painful inner conflict. Yet the contagious cacophony of enthusiasm, tension, and fear was still, after five months, very much in crescendo.
Find Thought Summary: Submission and the New Harmony
The announcement that it was time to begin work on the over- all thought summary (or final confession) implied that relief was in sight, but it also made clear that this last effort would be the crucial one. At a mass meeting, faculty members emphasized the importance of the summary as the crystallization of the entire re-
form experience, the final opportunity for each student to resolve his thought problems. For the next two days, small group sessions were devoted almost entirely to discussions of the form of the summary. It was to be a life history, beginning two generations back and extending through the thought reform experience, de- scribing, candidly and thoroughly, the development of one's thoughts and the relationship of these to actions. It was also to analyze the personal effects of thought reform, on one's character as well as one's view of the world, including but going beyond what
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had already been written and discussed in previous thought summaries. It would require anywhere from five to twenty- five thousand Chinese characters (roughly equivalent to the same number of English words); but content was much more important than length. And each man's summary had to be approved before he could graduate. Rumors circulated among the students of "backward elements" having been asked to repeat the entire thought reform course, and of "reactionaries" or "enemies of the people" sent to prison for reform by labor.
After a ten-day writing period, students read their summaries to the small group. They encountered even more prolonged and pene- trating criticism than before, since everyone was now required to sign each confession read, to signify his approval and his respon- sibility for letting it pass. In Hu's group, some students were kept under critical fire for several days and wrote many revisions. As usual, the students themselves worked upon each other, but cadres and faculty members had the final say; they later added their own evaluative comments to the thought summaries. The final docu- ment then became a permanent part of the student's personal rec- ord, and (in the possession of his superiors) accompanied him throughout his future career.
Hu, determined to surmount this final hurdle, concentrated upon using his theoretical knowledge to produce an acceptable final con- fession. He knew that two special emphases were required. The first, an analysis of class origin, gave him little difficulty: he could readily place his family in the "landlord" or "rural ruling class" category, and attribute to this circumstance his own evil character traits and false ideas. He called himself an "exploiter," and accused himself of "having adopted a stand diametrically opposed to that of the people," and having been in the past "actually . . . an enemy of the people. "
But the second requirement was not quite as simple, for it was the denunciation of his father, both as an individual and as a representative of the old order. This was the ultimate symbolic act in the thought reform of young Chinese, and many found it to be extremely painful. A cadre noticed that Hu was particularly reluctant to criticize his father, and began to prod him about it at every opportunity: "He said that the most important part of the reform of an intellectual was the denunciation of his father--since
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the intellectual almost invariably comes from a wealthy family which must have been anti-Communist, and if he does not de- nounce his father he cannot be a faithful citizen of the new regime. " Hu tried to beg off, claiming that he had retained no clear im- pressions because he and his father had been separated during much of his childhood. The cadre insisted however that "the father is a hero to every small boy/' and demanded that Hu take a stand for or against him.
Two letters which Hu received from his family home at about this time suddenly gave the problem a new tragic dimension. The first letter, written by his uncle, carried the disturbing news that his father had been publicly "struggled" and then imprisoned dur- ing the land reform campaign in Hupeh, and asked Hu to use his influence with the Communists to secure his father's release. A day or two later, Hu received a second letter, from his father, telling that he had been released from prison, but that all of the family holdings had been taken from him, and that the family situation was still very dangerous. Hu had difficulty describing to me his feelings at this time, which were compounded of shock, guilt, and anger. At the beginning of land reform, Hu had written to his father to urge him to surrender voluntarily most of his land holdings to the surrounding peasants, and to co-operate fully with the Com- munists in the manner of an "enlightened landlord. " The father had followed his son's advice; and now Hu felt that they both had been deceived. He recalled his last meeting with his father, when he had refused to follow his father's advice. He had decided to enter the distant University of Nanking, contrary to his father's wishes that he choose an institution closer to home; now he kept hearing the words of his father's parting admonition:
You young people no longer think of the older generation. Your affec- tions towards us must be very light. You do not understand how an old man feels about his son. Our affection for you is beyond your compre- hension.
We shall see later that these words were less than fair; but this did not save Hu from his sense of remorse, and from castigat- ing himself for disobeying his father and for not remaining close enough to him to be a help in a time of crisis. He began to imagine --from descriptions he had heard of land-reform "struggle" meet-
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ings in the north--the picture of his father being insulted, spat upon, beaten, and stoned at the hands of a "people's court. " He pictured his father imprisoned in chains; he remembered a sordid prison he had visited years before, and even more vividly his own experience of having been briefly imprisoned by the Nationalists because of his anti-government activities as a university student: "I relived all of my sufferings through this vision of my father meet- ing the same fate. " Soon grief gave way to resentment: "I over- came my sorrow with my desire for vengeance. " He identified him- self closely with his father, and saw in both their maltreatment evidence of basic Communist hypocrisy and evil:
I began to feel that my father and I, each of us in his own way, were enemies to the Communists. My father was old and useless, and was therefore persecuted by them. I was young and useful and so the Com- munists were still trying to win me. . . . I was considered by the other students to be an able man. My father enjoyed great respect among the peasants of the countryside, and was always generous to them in time of need, never the greedy, cruel, heartless landlord, which the Com- munists always spoke about. . . . Both my father and I had tried very hard to work with the new regime; yet both of us were being victimized. I realized that the Communists had no sense of fairness or justice. They insisted upon beating down any person who held prestige among those around him outside of Party circles, and they would do whatever they thought necessary to accomplish this, no matter how "enlightened" such people might be concerning Communism. . . . I thought of the old model I had developed in my mind in the past of a Communist ideal state which would give land to the poor, and offer a new solution for a corrupt society. But I realized that Communism did not fit this ideal, and that the Communist is a very cruel man who uses the poor and their resentment against the rich for the purpose of furthering his own power.
As he told me these things (and especially when he referred to his father) Hu lost his usual composure, sometimes turning troubled eyes to the floor, at other times pacing restlessly about the room. He seemed more anxious than at any other time during our interviews; and at the next session I was told that he had remained agitated after our meeting and had insisted upon spending several hours alone with the interpreter discussing these same experiences.
Hu said nothing about the two letters to anyone around him in the revolutionary university. He found a compromise solution to the cadre's demand that he denounce his father by using a tortuous
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form of Communist reasoning: after mentioning his father's benevolence to the peasants, he went on to condemn his acts as "even more reactionary than the ruthless abuse . . . by the vicious landlords" because "these good deeds helped to render the posi- tion of the ruling class even more unassailable" (a statement which echoes Father Luca's remark that, "What you do that is good-- is bad--precisely because it is good! ").
In presenting his own life history, Hu was careful to play down his leftist student activities, and even related them critically to the "individualism" which was a central theme of the document. Only later did he realize how much an expression of personal submission this summary was:
It is a report very much against my own will. If you put this final thought summary before me now, I could write a new summary contra- dictory to it in each sentence. If it isn't fear, what else could push one to do something so completely against his own will? If I had not been so fearful I should have refused to write something like this.
He could not tell me how much of the summary he believed at that time. It included ideas which he did not believe even then, others which he believed then but subsequently discarded, and still others--as he explains in an eloquent testimony to the power of language--so enmeshed in Communist patterns of thought and speech as to defy evaluation:
Using the pattern of words for so long, you are so accustomed to them that you feel chained. If you make a mistake, you make a mistake within the pattern. Although you don't admit that you have adopted this kind of ideology, you are actually using it subconsciously, almost automatically. . . . At that time I believed in certain aspects of their principles and theories. But such was the state of confusion in my own mind that I couldn't tell or make out what were the things that I did believe in.
Hu noticed that after the thought summaries were completed (all in his group, and apparently in the other groups as well, were even- tually accepted), most of the students seemed to experience a great sense of relief. They had passed through their trial and made their symbolic submission; and many--especially among the young-- seemed to feel that a closer bond had been established between themselves and the government.
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But for Hu there was no great relief and little or any feeling of bond. Still depressed and disappointed, his strongest desire was to leave the environment as soon as possible. He had previously de- cided to return to Nanking--the past scene of happy and success- ful days--and seek a job and a way of life (possibly as a school teacher) outside the main currents of politics. He had already written friends there who had sent him money for the journey. Therefore, when students were given cards to fill out to state their job preference, Hu paid little attention, and left his card blank-- preferring to make his own arrangements. His action was con- sidered an unfriendly one; it would have been quite different if he had indicated no choice and had added a note, as some students did, saying that he left the matter entirely up to the govern- ment's discretion. A cadre called him in for a talk, and when he defended his action on the basis of wishing to become a school- teacher in Nanking, he was told, "We can assign you to a school- teacher's job, but it would do you good to work in the countryside. You have been too long in the big cities, and maybe that is why you have not been so activist. "
When the job assignment did come through, however, it was as a political workerand teacher in an obscure North China militaryarea --a kind of assignment generally considered highly undesirable. No one was required to accept the job offered him, although most stu- dents had little choice, since they were unlikely to find an alternative position and they knew that a job refusal would not look well on their records. But Hu, without too much logical consideration, did de- cide to refuse the assignment--at least at first. Three days later, after constant visits from cadres and activists, he reversed himself and once more succumbed to the wishes of the authorities. He could not say just why he did this, but the implication was clear that he wished to make one last effort to fit in with the new regime, and hoped that life outside of the revolutionary university might be less oppressive. He also stated that the idea of actively fighting Communism in the future was already taking shape in his mind, and that he considered the job a good opportunity to obtain greater firsthand knowledge of Communist procedures. While this second
'reason might well have been an attempt to justify that which he felt emotionally impelled to do, it is quite possible that, confused and fearful as he was, ideas of adapting himself to Communism and of
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fighting Communism existed simultaneously within him.
All that was left was the graduation ceremony. The first part of this was devoted to an admission ritual for new Party members:
facing a huge photograph of Mao, nine faculty cadres solemnly took their oaths, suggesting to the 3,000 students in the audience (according to Hu) "the honor, the great difficulty, and the im- portance of becoming a Party member. " Hu felt that the students were almost forgotten in the excitement surrounding the new Party members, although faculty representatives and visiting officials (there to recruit personnel from among the graduates) did con- gratulate the students upon the completion of their thought reform, and urge them to continue to follow its principles in their future
work.
When Hu arrived at his assignment in North China, he was re-
quired to undergo a two-month training period whose routine, except for more rigorous physical training, was not too different from that of the revolutionary university. At the end of this train- ing, when he was faced with the prospect of accepting a permanent assignment with the army, Hu was unwilling to go through with it and requested that he be permitted to leave. He had been no hap- pier there than at the revolutionary university; he had, in fact, found the new cadres under whom he worked to be, if less devious, more crude and unpleasant than those he had dealt with during his re- form. The antagonisms he had observed between older and younger cadres, and between the military authorities and the rural peasant population, had confirmed his critical feelings toward the regime. In addition, he feared the possible outbreak of war with the West, and believed that should this happen his own position would become much more dangerous. But most important of all perhaps was his reluctance to become involved in any commitment to the regime that would make it impossible for him to get away in the future.
Communist authorities made strong attempts to get Hu to change his mind, but he pleaded failing health and inability, as a south- erner, to tolerate the extreme cold (from which he actually did suffer). He was finally permitted to depart, although he was given virtually no travel credentials. He headed for Nanking, selling some of his belongings to finance the trip. There he found only a few positions available, all of which he felt would involve him too
? THE REVOLUTIONARY UNIVERSITY 273
closely with the regime. He wished to visit his father in Hupeh; but from all he could learn> he decided that it would be much too dangerous. After a few weeks in Nanking, he was called for question- ing by the police because of his idleness; and he felt it was unsafe to remain there. Through friends with whom he was staying he discovered that it was possible to leave China by way of the Hong Kong border (during early 1950, such travel was still not too diffi- cult). He quickly decided to do this; and even an expression of affec- tion from a girl he met in Canton (of whom he had been very fond during his middle-school days) could not deter him from leaving his country and entering the British Crown Colony.
? CHAPTER 15 A CHINESE ODYSSEY
Many of Hu's emotional experiences have a familiar
ring, since the psychological pressures at a revolu- tionary university closely resemble those in a prison. There is the assault upon identity, although without any physical brutality; the establishment of guilt and shame; a form of self-betrayal; alter- nating leniency and harshness; a compulsion to confess; the logical dishonoring of re-education; a final confession, elaborate and in- clusive rather than terse; and an even greater emphasis upon the experience of personal rebirth. There are also important differences, such as the development of group intimacy ("the great together- ness") before the emotional pressures. But these differences, sig- nificant as they are, do not warrant a new step-by-step analysis.
To get at more basic contrasts and more basic underlying prin- ciples, we must, as with the Westerners, turn from the process to the individual, and follow Hu beyond his thought reform, first back over his early years and then through his Hong Kong life. Al- though the program which Hu encountered at the revolutionary university was typical enough (the other fourteen Chinese sub- jects, especially those four who had attended a revolutionary univer- sity, confirmed this), his responses were obviously unusual. Why was this so? What was there in his background and his character which led him to feel as he did? What can his experiences teach us of the reform conflicts and life struggles of Chinese intellectuals in general?
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? A CHINESE ODYSSEY 275 Childhood and Youth: Background for Reform
Symbolically enough, Hu's life began in exile. His father had been a high-ranking Nationalist official during the early years of the Chinese Revolution, and had spent many years in distant assign- ments or in flight from his enemies. One of these flights (from the forces of Yuan Shi-k'ai, a powerful general who sought to restore the monarchy and place himself on the throne) took him to Kansu, a remote province in the northwest. There he married Hu's mother, a relatively uneducated woman of undistinguished family back- ground; and it was there that Hu was born and spent the first four years of his life. His only memories of that period were of the frightening folk tales which his maternal grandmother told him (of owls who carried off bad little boys, and of devils disguised as men who, simply by looking at little boys, caused them to disappear) and of that same grandmother's unhappiness when Hu and his parents left their Kansu home.
The themes of fear and unhap- piness which appeared first in these recollections recurred frequently throughout his reconstruction of his childhood.
When Hu was six years old (the family had spent two years in more or less temporary dwellings) Hu was moved to his father's family home in Hupeh Province, and he remained there or nearby for the next thirteen years. But this move, rather than uniting the family, marked the beginning of long separations; his father was away most of the time, appearing only on rare occasions, and then briefly and often unannounced. Hu senior belonged to a faction of the Kuomintang (Nationalist Party) which had come into active conflict with Chiang Kai-shek, so that he was almost a fugitive.
Hu held a special position in this fatherless household (there was an uncle nearby but not in the same compound). He was the "young master" being groomed for family leadership, the only direct male heir (an older brother and one or two sisters had died in infancy). Moreover, Hu's father too had been an oldest son, and this placed Hu in the main line of family authority. His family's long prominence in the area (his paternal grandfather had been an important provincial official during the Ch'ing dynasty), its heri- tage of scholarly attainment, the importance of preserving the "family name"--all this was impressed upon him. It was a situa-
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tion which in every way encouraged the development within him of precocious self-assertion.
But this celebrated little boy (and no culture has ever made a greater fuss over its male children) had a strange rival for power within the family: a woman two generations his senior. This "step- grandmother" was the bete noire of his childhood, and indeed of much of his life. Originally his paternal grandfather's second wife
(she was not a concubine, as his first wife had died before she came into the family), she was the only surviving member of her generation. Possessing seniority as well as the ability and will to rule, she took full advantage of the family's power vacuum and full charge of its affairs. Yet her leadership placed her in a complicated position (nothing is ever simple in a Chinese family)--because she was a woman, and, more important, because she was unrelated by blood to any of the other family members, which, as Hu explained, made them regard her as little more than a concubine. She had borne a male child--always a matter of great prestige for a Chinese woman--who had been kidnapped by bandits and never returned. This, according to Hu, was another source of tension, as she had become embittered by this incident, and resented "the family" for not making strong enough efforts (possibly not paying a large enough ransom) to get the child back. Hu felt that she extracted her revenge through her tyrannical reign over the household, to the point where she became "a saboteur of the family. " Although the others chafed under her domination, she was acting within Chinese tradition, and no one had the courage or the sanction to contest her. Indeed, Hu's uncle (his father's younger brother), the only person around who might have offered resistance, preferred to move out from her control at the time of his marriage rather than follow the more conventional pattern of bringing his bride back to the main family home.
Hu believed that, as the "young master/7 he was the special target of her abuse. She became for him a symbol of the "old," and a special object of his hatred, a hatred which was not, however, devoid of respect:
She was a woman of the old China. She was tall, very tall and impres- sive looking. She had bound feet. She was a very able and intelligent woman. . . . She could be very eloquent, convincing to others, but she was stubborn and couldn't be talked into anything herself. . , .
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She never liked me, and was very jealous of my position in the family. I could always feel her antagonism in the atmosphere, but she was much too shrewd to mistreat me in a direct manner. She never beat me physically. . . . It was in a glance or a phrase directed at me that I could feel it. . . . I hated her so much that at times I felt that I could not stand her.
The conflict between the old woman and the boy reached its climax when he was ten years old through what began as a seem- ingly inconsequential incident but grew into an event of major proportions:
One day someone was telling a story before a gathering of our family members. The story was very unfavorable to the head of the household. It described how he had misused family funds and cheated the other members of the family. After listening for a while I said, "That man is a thief! " My grandmother then spoke up with great emotion and said, "He is saying this about me, that I am not honest, that I am corrupt. " She immediately called all the family members into the hall of the an- cestors, the family shrine, and in a very dramatic fashion she lit up all of the candles that were in the room. Then she said, "The young master has accused me of being dishonest. I will pray to my ancestors to be more honest. " Other relatives attempted to calm her down, saying that I was only a boy and that she should accept an apology from me. But she refused to do this, saying, "No, I am not worthy of his apology. I am just a poor old servant of the family. " She maintained this attitude very stubbornly, and nothing that anybody said to her could convince her to change her mind.
Her actions, in effect, forced Hu to leave the family home, since this kind of conflict within a Chinese family cannot remain openly unresolved. As Hu explained:
This was really a skillful way to squeeze me out of the household. W ith her refusal to accept my apology, my only recourse was to leave. But it was done so cleverly within the framework of tradition that no one could accuse her of acting wrongly. . . . She was not treating me as a grandson or as a little boy, but rather as the legal heir, as if she were dealing with my father.
It is quite possible, of course, that Hu did more to provoke these actions than his version of the story suggests. Or even if he did not, it is likely that the step-grandmother accurately perceived that Hu was expressing indirect hostility toward her. In any case, his out- burst could have been considered a sign of disrespect for his elders.
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In most situations like this, an apology from the youthful offender would have ended the matter--and Hu is right in perceiving that his step-grandmother's show of humility was really a highly-charged form of aggressiveness. Although cleverly correct in her forms, however, she could have been criticized for a lack of spirit of com- promise, an important virtue in traditional Chinese culture. Such bitter animosity, kept well beneath the surface, occurred in many Chinese families.
In Hu's family, external forms were still maintained. Although he went to live in his uncle's house nearby and visited his family home infrequently, it was still necessary for him to appear on special occasions--for instance, the Chinese New Year celebration --to pay his respects to his step-grandmother through the tradi- tional symbol of submissive reverence, the fe'o-t'ou. He dreaded these visits long in advance, but it was made clear to him that he had no choice in the matter because "if I did not, I would be con- demned by all society. " His step-grandmother, on each such occa- sion, maintained her "humility" and perpetuated the conflict by declaring herself "unworthy" of the salutation.
Hu's mother, rather than offering him protection against the step-grandmother, was herself another victim. Cowed and power- less before her elder, she was so looked down on as a "common woman" from a backward province, that even the servants treated her badly. Sickly, nervous, and resentful of her husband's continued absence, she often had to turn over her son's care to others. Hu remembers her with some fondness, but also recalls that she some- times took her frustrations out on him and subjected him to beat- ings. She died when Hu was fourteen years old, and was in many ways an even more distant figure ("I never experienced the intimacy of a mother with her") than his absent father.
For to Hu, his father soon became the center of a lasting personal myth--that of the all-powerful father who suddenly materializes and rescues his son from an otherwise invincible oppressor r
I found myself always thinking of him. . . . To me he was the most dignified and impressive man in the world. . . . I felt that one day my father would return and all of my troubles would be over.
Nor could repeated evidence to the contrary dispel this myth: the family lost touch with his father for periods of years, and
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when he did visit, the step-grandmother and he observed all proper forms (he too had to be filial) and things remained as they had been. Hu was never too happy at his uncle's house, where he felt he was being cared for more out of obligation than love, and he went on hoping; when he got tired of this his thoughts turned toward revenge, and toward the day when he would be big enough and smart enough to be able to deal with his arch-enemy. Her death, which occurred shortly after that of his mother, and his father's continued absence caused him to avoid the family home, which he then considered haunted.
Hu's erratic pattern of education exposed him to the full chaos of the Chinese cultural and political scene. From the ages of eight to twelve, he studied with private tutors employed by his and neighboring families; in the traditional fashion, he learned how to read and write from simplified versions of the Confucian classics. He did not like the stern discipline of the tutor, and was frequently punished for misbehavior; but he was impressed with Confucian teachings of filial piety and loyalty to family and country, as yet unaware of the inconsistencies between these theoretical virtues and the realities of the life around him.
Next, he spent two years studying and boarding at a new-style upper primary school not too far from his home. There he was surprised to encounter classmates who were mostly adults or near- adults, prospective employees of the local government who had come to take advantage of the school's "modern" curriculum, in keeping with a new regulation that officials have some Western education. As the youngest pupil in the school, Hu deeply resented the teasing and bullying he received from the others, some of them two or three times his age--especially when they told him that "a little boy is not supposed to lose his temper with his elders. " He no doubt stimulated many of these antagonisms, since by this time he had become a rebellious, outspoken child. Again made aware of his helplessness in the face of superior power, he once more dreamed of the day when he could outwit his tormentors; he partially realized this goal in demonstrating his quicker ability to grasp the Western subjects in the academic curriculum.
After his graduation, his uncle planned to send him to a junior middle school in a nearby city. Just when Hu was about to leave for the new school, his father suddenly appeared, and Hu took advan-
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tage of the occasion to express many of his grievances. His father was angered by the boy's story. As a man of the world, he disap- proved of the provincial way in which Hu was dressed, and of the undistinguished school which had been selected for him. As usual, Hu senior stayed only briefly, but before he left he canceled the existing plans and promised to return soon to take the boy to a better school in a larger city. For the next three years, however, nothing more was heard from him; and between the ages of thirteen and sixteen Hu remained idle, receiving no formal education.
These years were the most lonely interlude of a life in which loneliness had already become a regular feature. Hu felt estranged from his uncle as well as his father, since the uncle resented both the boy and the father for undermining what he considered to be a reasonable discharge of his responsibilities. Hu became more em- bittered than ever--angry at his uncle for allowing family conflicts to interfere with his education, and even having doubts about his father and wondering whether he was really in hiding or had "just forgotten about the family/' But he clung tenaciously to his father- return myth, and even when he was telling me about these events, he could admit no resentment toward his mythical hero. Feeling at home nowhere, thinking a great deal about running away, but unable to decide where to go, he described his general emotion as "fatalistic anger" (the kind of hostility which is temporarily held in abeyance until an opportunity arises to express it).
Finally dismissing the entire problem from his mind, Hu began to interest himself in other things--taking long walks through the neighboring countryside, and reading voraciously the traditional Chinese chien-hsia novels. The chien-hsia is a superhuman hero who combines physical strength and magical powers in purishing evil and helping the oppressed, always acting outside of and fre- quently in opposition to vested authority; so great is the chien-hsia's imaginative impact that one Chinese colleague--possibly with a certain amount of cultural chauvinism--described him to me as "a combination of the Western knight errant and Robin Hood, only much more skillful and ingenious. " Imagining himself a chien-hsia was an ideal antidote to Hu's sense of loneliness and helplessness. His period of inactivity came to an end only through the chance appearance of an old family friend who prevailed upon the uncle to send Hu back to school (respected outsiders have frequently
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been the best mediators in severe Chinese intrafamily disputes). Hu wasthen sent to a middle school sponsored by the Kuomintang Youth Corps. He spent just one semester there, but it was an ex- perience which had great significance in shaping his political emo- tions. He had chosen the school himself, for even in his isola- tion he had been caught up in the wave of patriotism which swept the country at the time of the outbreak of the Sino-Japanese War. But he was horrified by what he found there. Hastily put together, the school had enrolled many more students than the small faculty could handle; the academic program was practically nonexistent, and most of the time was devoted to military training. Discipline was not only strict, but needlessly vindictive, and severe whippings were administered for minor infractions. Hu was from the beginning critical of the school and suspicious of its attempts to mobilize student emotions--so much so that he was among the very few who did not, in the initial burst of patriotic fervor, join the KMT Youth Corps. He later told me that his restraint might have been due to memories of his father's tribulations within the KMT, Students soon became united in their resentment of the school and so rebellious that the atmosphere began to resemble that of an armed camp; none of the twenty youths from Hu's area returned the following semester. While there, Hu, developed his talent for rebellion a bit further: he became an expert at forging the signa- ture of the chief military trainer on passes (he proudly demon- strated his technique to me during our interview). The experience left him with the feeling that the KMT Youth Corps was "dis-
appointing and silly . . . brutal and irrational/7 His "disgust and hatred" was soon extended to the entire KMT Party and Govern- ment, and it later developed into the predominating passion of his youth.
The county junior middle school to which he transferred seemed a great improvement. He did well academically, and quickly be- came a leader among the students. In addition, he held a specially privileged status among the faculty because the president of the school was Hu's uncle's "adopted son"--that is, the uncle, as a prominent person in the area, sponsored the school official's career and exercised considerable influence over it. This made things particularly complicated for Hu when, just a few months after his arrival, he came into direct conflict with this same school president
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For when the students began to notice that their meals seemed meager, and suspected some form of corruption in connection with the school's rice supply, they turned to Hu to direct an investigation. This was an extremely serious situation: the rice kept in the school storehouse represented the institution's capital, since rice was the only stable currency available; students' tuition fees and teachers' salaries were both paid in it, and it was used to buy other foods and supplies. Since teachers were badly underpaid, irregularities were not infrequent, and sometimes were even considered customary.
Before long, Hu had organized a special committee of students to keep a close watch over every grain of rice brought to or taken from the storehouse. The system worked admirably: corruption apparently ended, and meals improved. But the school president was angered by the students' assumption of authority, and especially resented Hu as their ringleader. Matters came to a climax when an old school servant, despite official permission from the school accountant, was refused rice for a late meal upon returning from a trip; the student committee members insisted that he first had to get Hu's personal approval. Hu soon became involved in a power struggle with the school president, which he described to me with some relish; it was eventually resolved through a tacit compromise in which the students continued their vigilance, but did so as quietly as possible in order to cause minimal embarrassment to the authorities.
Hu's sense of victory was eventually reinforced by his uncle's grudging praise. The latter was at first enraged when informed of Hu's activities by the school president; but after a short time, his respect for Hu became apparent, and he referred to him as a "straight-boned boy"--an expression suggesting strength, courage, and integrity. The only unfavorable repercussion came about a year later when, despite having announced that Hu had won the prize for the outstanding student of the semester, the faculty members "forgot" to present the award to him. He became angered, ceased making his best efforts, and concluded that "people never get what they deserve. "
His personal struggles with authority thus found effective social expression in the turbulent Chinese student world. His rebellious urges were constantly fed by real injustice, until
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I developed the conviction that any authority held over me was irra- tional. I transferred from school to school. . . . As soon as I would meet the head of a new school, I would automatically think: "This man must be an irrational authority. " And I would invariably find out that this was true.
There was another rice incident at the provincial upper middle school which Hu next attended. This time he was in danger of being expelled, until the approaching Japanese armies interrupted his personal battle. Hu fled to Free China in the interior, as all students were urged to do. His uncle sent him off with these words: "When the whole society is so corrupt, what can you, just an individual person, do about it? "--an attitude of resignation which Hu strongly contested at the time, but one which he was never to stop wondering about.
Arriving in Chungking, where students were instructed to report for reassignment, Hu got into an argument with an arrogant official who reprimanded him for not having the correct papers. He later felt that this dispute caused him extra months of waiting and re- sulted in his receiving an undesirable school placement to a poorly- organized agricultural institution.
Now he became extremely discouraged. He had sustained himself through a difficult trip to Chungking with the belief that "every- thing would be all right when I got there," but found instead that "it was only the beginning of my troubles. " Out of touch with his family, financially destitute (and cheated when he sold his only valuable possession, a gold ring), feeling awkward in imposing upon family contacts for temporary shelter, Hu found solace in a new friendship. A sympathetic middle-aged scholar and former govern- ment official from his own village area offered him the first mean- ingful explanation of his sufferings, and became his first political mentor:
He was a man about the age of my father, an extremely eloquent per- son who quickly became my hero. He told me how he had worked with the KMT during its real revolutionary days, but was now being dis- criminated against because of his leftist views. I too had felt discrimi- nated against as a child and he told me that this was due to the evils of the old society. I could see little hope for the future, but then he described the Communist program as a solution for China and a way
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to a bright future. . . . He was kind and encouraging. I visited him
frequently and soon adopted his views.
Hu's new beliefs gave him further confidence in his participation iri student agitation about corruption in the food supply as well as other issues at the agricultural school. And for the first time he be- came involved in a dangerous predicament: Nationalist secret police arrested some of the students, and Hu was accused by school authorities of being a Communist although he had no such affilia- tion at the time other than his beginning sympathies. Since he had heard stories of cruelty and torture inflicted by this division of the KMT, and of special "training" to which alleged offenders had been submitted, he decided to flee rather than risk arrest.
Having no place to go, and wishing to contribute to China's war effort, he enlisted in a special student military unit then being formed. There he found temporary sanctuary, but was once more deeply disturbed by the enormous corruption and inefficiency re- garding payrolls, allocation of weapons, and training arrangements. These things were not unique at the time, but the student unit apparently became something of a national scandal. At this time his father and uncle succeeded in getting in touch with him again and were horrified to find he was in the army; they wrote that they had sent him to the interior to become a scholar, not a soldier, and that, as the only male of his generation in the family, he had no right to take such liberties with his person. Their attitude can be summed up in the popular Chinese proverb which Hu himself quoted to me; "Good iron is not used for nails; good men do not be- come soldiers. " Hu resigned after six months of service when he was given the chance; he had come to the conclusion that "there could be no hope for the Nationalist government/'
A veteran enthusiast-cynic at nineteen, Hu's fortunes now finally changed. He managed through friends to gain admission to a much- respected high school primarily for overseas Chinese from south- east Asia, but which took some students in Hu's displaced cir- cumstances. When the school had to disband because of a new Japanese penetration, Hu accompanied a group of students and faculty members to Szechwan Province where it was re-established in combination with another school. Hu encountered here, despite the limited physical facilities, an atmosphere unique in his ex- perience: complete absence of corruption, great intellectual stimula-
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tion, an intimate group life among students, informal relations with faculty, and a generally shared hope for future reforms which could cure China's ills. In an inspiring history teacher, Hu found his second political (and Marxist) mentor:
I already had an emotional sympathy for the Communists. I now began to read about the materialist interpretation of history, the history of the development of society, and Ai Ssu-chYs popular philosophy. 1 When I had difficulty understanding some of these principles I went to this history teacher for help. He was always friendly and patient, and seemed to answer my questions logically. I acquired the theoretical background to go along with my emotional sympathy. . . . From that time on I developed the idea in my mind that Communism was the inevitable outcome of history. . . . It seemed to be the only way out for young people.
He emphasized the importance of his resentment of the old regime in bringing about this new view of the world.
