Tea Leaf Nation

Speak, Memory

Is China finally coming to terms -- on television, the Internet, and in person -- with its horrific past?

On Oct. 9, a farmer named Zhang Jinying appeared on the television show Please Forgive Me, a program usually dedicated to the public apologies by unfaithful husbands and wayward sons. But the 61-year-old Zhang's apology had a depth and a historical weight rarely seen on that program. In 1969, Zhang had denounced one of his teachers as a "rightist," a traitor to China's Communist revolution and to then Chairman Mao Zedong. Delivered near the height of the country's Cultural Revolution, that charge led to the teacher's public humiliation, physical abuse, and firing.

"In 8th grade I made the most shameful and humiliating mistake," Zhang said on air. "My goal in coming here is to give young people a foundation. In order to educate our kids, we have to get rid of this stain." Lasting from 1966 until Mao's death in 1976, the Cultural Revolution was Mao's last grand experiment in social engineering. Calling on China's youth to perpetuate the revolution by rebelling against all authority -- except his own -- Mao embroiled the country in chaos. Fanatic youths formed brigades, calling themselves Red Guards for their defense of Mao's red policies, and publicly criticized, tortured, and even murdered those deemed insufficiently revolutionary.

Since August, the apologies of a handful of Chinese who came of age during the Cultural Revolution have found a particularly large audience. Perhaps its because grisly stories of public torture and mass hysteria appear so distant from the present-day China of high-speed trains, expensive shopping malls, and a growing urban middle class (which the consultancy McKinsey now estimates at over 400 million people). But for decades after Mao's death, while the Communist Party officially declared the Cultural Revolution a "mistake," there's been little public reckoning with that shameful period and officials have steered clear of any detailed accounting of responsibility for the crimes engendered. President Xi Jinping has warned that a full repudiation of Mao-era policies could lead to "great chaos under the heavens," and Xi's revival of self-criticism sessions, in which Party officials detail how they have failed to serve the people, have incited comparisons to Mao's campaign-based politics.  

While the Party has chosen to selectively forget the most gruesome excesses of the Cultural Revolution, some ordinary Chinese are pushing to reveal the gruesome and extremely personal cost of the Cultural Revolution. Using blogspaid advertisements and television appearances, some participants in the horrific crimes of the era have begun publicly apologizing to their victims and calling on their countrymen to do the same.

The most shocking story to emerge during the recent wave of apologies came from lawyer Zhang Hongbing. In 1966, at the age of 13, Zhang joined his school's Red Guard unit, making him a footsoldier in the struggle to persecute those who deviated from Maoist orthodoxy. In 1970, Zhang publicly denounced his mother, Fang Zhongmou, for slandering Mao during an argument with Zhang's father. In a letter titled "Exposing the heinous crimes of counter-revolutionary Fang Zhongmou," Zhang demanded his mother be shot. Several weeks later, she was publically executed.

Beset by grief, since 2009 Zhang has waged a public campaign to have his mother's grave protected as a historical relic, and has repeatedly discussed the regrets and nightmares that he says have haunted him for decades. "I'm proud of having a mother with the spirit of independent thought. I'm willing to dissect my own humble soul out in the open in front of everyone, and to repent openly for my mother, whom I denounced and sent to her wrongful death," Zhang told Xinmin Weekly, a magazine that covers politics, in September. "I want to make people reflect: Why is it that in Mainland China we saw the tragedy of husbands denouncing their wives, of children turning their mothers in to die horrible deaths? How can we make sure this tragedy never happens again?"

As Zhang reflected on that question, additional high-profile apologies emerged in print and on the web. In August, Chen Xiaolu, son of Chinese revolutionary general Chen Yi, apologized publicly and in person to teachers at his Beijing middle school whom he had subjected to "struggle sessions," a form of humiliation popular during Mao's rule that generally involved intense public shaming and beatings. In October, Chen even organized a class dinner so that he and 14 other students could apologize to a large group of teachers and administrators.

Other former Red Guards have used paid print advertisements to detail their crimes and express remorse. This summer Liu Boqin, a cultural affairs official from Shandong, published his apology for subjecting teachers to struggle sessions in Yanhuang Chunqiu, a monthly magazine. "With age has come deep and painful reflection," Liu wrote. "Despite the influence exerted by the environment of the Cultural Revolution, when one participates in evil they bear a responsibility that can't just disappear." 

These acts of public repentance have incited heated online debate over the historical legacy of the Cultural Revolution. Defenders of Mao's legacy have slathered online message boards with Cultural Revolution-era slogans like, "Whoever opposes Mao Zedong is an enemy of the Chinese people!" Others have claimed that the Red Guards' fanaticism maintained the ideological and ethical purity of officials, in contrast to the rampant corruption now endemic in China. One commenter wrote: "It was precisely because of the Cultural Revolution that no one dared to be corrupt, and it's precisely because of the complete negation of the Cultural Revolution that corruption has sprung up like bamboo in spring."

But these calls for a rethinking of the era have opened old wounds for victims of persecution. Some find justifications for the movement offensive: One commenter wrote, "My father was persecuted until his death during the Cultural Revolution, and I've been an orphan ever since. What more do I need to understand?"

The public debate about the Cultural Revolution's legacy is only likely to escalate as China prepares to celebrate the 120th anniversary of Mao's birth on Dec. 26. Even for individuals merely hoping to unburden their consciences, solace can be difficult to find in a culture that prefers to bury its past. On the television show Please Forgive Me, Zhang paid a personal visit to the teacher he had once denounced. And at that meeting, Zhang finally had the chance to apologize in person.

"I've forgotten it all," Zhang's teacher replied. "I don't remember those things."

Villa Giulia/Wikimedia Commons

Tea Leaf Nation

Ghost in the Machine

How Chinese netizens are mocking a recent spate of televised confessions. 

The late Lu Xun, one of China's most influential modern writers, is usually found in textbooks and anthologies. But on Oct. 27, Lu made a surprise appearance on the Chinese social web when a user of Sina Weibo, China's Twitter, posted a photo-shopped image showing the literary giant confessing on state-run China Central Television (CCTV) while clad in a prison uniform. The subtitle depicts Lu saying, "I did not write any of these essays." Many of Lu's works promote critical thinking and political awareness.

The picture, which was retweeted more than 5,000 times, represents one netizen's attempt to mock the growing number of "public confessions" on state media. Since August, at least six people accused of wrongdoing have confessed on state television. From influential bloggers like Charles Xue to businessmen like British consultant Peter Humphrey, the men -- in prison uniforms, some with their heads shaven -- all admitted to their crimes and apologized, sometimes before their cases went to court.

Many Chinese observers doubt the legitimacy or legal efficacy of these confessions. In one widely shared comment, Weibo user Ding Laifeng, a social commentator, wrote, "From now on China can get rid of its court system. Just detain the people you say are guilty for a few days, put them on CCTV, and make them confess."

One day after the Lu Xun satire emerged on Weibo, Li Chengpeng, a blogger and social commentator with over seven million followers, also got in on the act. Li tweeted a similar picture with the caption, "I did not see Liu Hezhen getting shot." In 1926, Lu wrote a famous essay remembering the death of Liu, a student of Lu's who was shot and killed in a March 1926 protest attempting to petition China's military government. Censors promptly deleted Li's tweet.

Lu Xun's "confession" serves to poke fun at the Communist Party's attempt to sway public opinion against the suspects before the law has had its say. Chinese netizens often resort to satire to express political opinions, particularly when direct criticism of central authorities is likely to lead to censorship, detention, or even physical harm. A popular cartoonist who calls himself Rebel Pepper captured this fear when he took to Weibo to post a cartoon of a man hanging from CCTV's iconic Beijing headquarters as if in the gallows. The accompanying text reads, "Finally I'm on CCTV." For many Chinese entangled with the judicial system, the less famous they are, the better.

Sina Weibo/Fair Use