Jiang - Red Scarf Girl

RED SCARF GIRL

A MEMOIR OF THE

CULTURAL REVOLUTION

JILI JIANG

FOREWORD BY
DAVID HENRY HWANG

To my dearest Grandma,
who would be so happy if she
could see this book

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

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

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

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

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

The letter q is pronounced ch.

The letter x is pronounced sh.

The letter z is pronounced dz.

The letter combination zh is pronounced j.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

David Henry Hwang

I was born on Chinese New Year.

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

And I was.

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

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

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

That year the Cultural Revolution started.

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

We were having music class, but we couldnt keep our minds on the teachers directions. We were all confused by the two-part harmony of the Young Pioneers Anthem. We are Young Pioneers, successors to Communism. Our red scarves flutter on our chests, we sang over and over, trying to get the timing right. The old black pump organ wheezed and squeaked as impatiently as we did. We made another start, but Wang Dayong burst out a beat early, and the whole class broke into laughter.

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