The Lost Generation: The Rustification of Chinese Youth (1968-1980) 9629964813, 9789629964818

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THE LOST GENERATION

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The Lost Generation The Rustication of China’s Educated Youth (1968–1980)

By

Michel Bonnin Translated by

Krystyna Horko

The Chinese University Press

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The Lost Generation: The Rustication of China’s Educated Youth (1968–1980) By Michel Bonnin Translated by Krystyna Horko English edition © The Chinese University of Hong Kong 2013 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from The Chinese University of Hong Kong. ISBN: 978-962-996-481-8 This translation of Génération perdue: Le mouvement d’envoi des jeunes instruits à la campagne en Chine, 1968–1980, originally published in France in 2004, is published by arrangement with Éditions de l’ÉHESS, with the support from Centre national du livre in France. Copyright © 2004 Éditions de l’École des hautes études en sciences sociales, Paris The Chinese University Press The Chinese University of Hong Kong Sha Tin, N.T., Hong Kong Fax: +852 2603 7355 E-mail: [email protected] Website: www.chineseupress.com Printed in Hong Kong

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No, I’m not complaining about my own fate, my lost youth, and twisted soul, those cruel memories left over from countless sleepless nights. One by one, I overthrew the precepts, and broke the chains. Now all that remains in my heart is a vast field of ruins … But I got up and now I stand on a vast horizon where no one can throw me to the ground again by any means.

Shu Ting, “Cry of a Generation,” 1980

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INTRODUCTION

Contents

Preface................................................................................................................. xiii Introduction ........................................................................................................ xvii Illustrations .......................................................................................................... xli PART ONE MOTIVATIONS Chapter 1. Ideological Motives ........................................................................... 3 Training Successors to the Revolution ............................................................. 3 Reeducating Young Intellectuals ...................................................................... 7 Reducing the “Three Great Differences” ........................................................13 Chapter 2. Political Motivations ........................................................................19 Reining in the Red Guards ..............................................................................19 Reinforcing Mao’s “Charismatic” Power.........................................................22 Chapter 3. Socioeconomic Motives ................................................................... 25 A Positive Motive: Developing the Countryside and the Border Regions .................................... 25 A Negative Motive: The Solution to Urban Unemployment and Overpopulation ...........................32

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PART TWO THE LIFE AND DEATH OF THE XIAXIANG MOVEMENT: POLICY CHANGES Chapter 4. The Managers and the Ideologue: The Prelude and Interlude of the Cultural Revolution (1955–1966) .......................49 Modest Beginnings .........................................................................................51 Acceleration after the Failure of the Great Leap Forward ..............................53 Institutionalization and Long-term Planning...................................................56 Contradictions and Reluctance ....................................................................... 60 The Cultural Revolution: An End to Departures and Spontaneous Returns ............................................63 Chapter 5. The Mass Movement (1968–1976) ..................................................65 A Vigorous Start (1968–1969) .........................................................................65 Transforming the Red Guards into Educated Youths ..........................65 Massive Mobilization ...........................................................................70 Those Who Left and Those Who Stayed Behind.................................74 High on Fervor, Low on Organization .................................................78 The Lowest Ebb (1970–1972) ..........................................................................81 Reform and Relaunch of the Movement (1973–1976) .....................................88 Li Qinglin’s Letter and the National Conference .................................88 From Romanticism to Realism: The Zhuzhou Model and Improvements in Living Conditions ............93 Xiaxiang and the Two-line Struggle: From Blank Exam Papers to Going through the Back Door .............101 Models Who Had Taken Root ............................................................107 Educated Youth in the Fight for Succession....................................... 114 Mao’s Last Directive .......................................................................... 118 Chapter 6. Irresistible Agony (1977–1980) .....................................................123 1977: Hua Guofeng’s Vain Desire to Continue ..............................................123 1978: From Uncertainty to a Limited Reassertion of the Policy ...................127 The End 1978 to the End 1979: Popular Resistance and Government Obstinacy............................................139 A Ferment of Protest ..........................................................................140

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The Big Xishuangbanna Strike and the “Return Wind” ....................144 Tension and Conflict in Shanghai and Elsewhere ..............................149 Government Strategy in 1979.............................................................154 Implementation at the provincial level and reassertion of the policy defined at the national conference ...............................154 Political, administrative and police strategy in response to various forms of social resistance.................................................158 Re-launch of “down-to-the countryside” propaganda ................. 161 1980: The End ................................................................................................170 Returns and Employment Problems (1979–1980) .........................................178 The Return of Examinations: A Saving Grace for Some Zhiqing ................................................................184 Chapter 7. The Shadow of Xiaxiang in the 1980s ..........................................187 Disappearance of the “Zhiqing Bureau” and Closure of Accounts.......................................................................................188 Keeping the “Little Fish Abandoned on the Shore” in Place ........................191 A Special Case: The Shanghai Zhiqing in Xinjiang ..........................192 Placing Zhiqing Married to Peasants and Sick Zhiqing ................... 203 The Case of Zhiqing Who Obtained Nonagricultural Work in the Countryside ................................................................... 204 A New Rustication Campaign? ..................................................................... 206 The Seniority Issue ........................................................................................210 PART THREE FIRSTHAND EXPERIENCE Chapter 8. The Conditions of Departure: “Voluntary” Deportation ..........215 Mobilization ..................................................................................................216 Destinations .................................................................................................. 224 Departure Songs and Laments.......................................................................229 Chapter 9. Material Difficulties and Low Morale .........................................235 Difficulties in Adapting to Rural Conditions.................................................236 The First Shock: Discovering the Backwardness...............................236

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The Main Problems ............................................................................238 Housing and living environment ...................................................238 Work, income, and food ............................................................... 248 Sickness and accidents ..................................................................257 Leisure and cultural life ................................................................261 Difficulties Fitting into the Rural Community ..............................................265 The Main Obstacles ...........................................................................265 Obstacles to being accepted by the peasants ................................265 Obstacles to the zhiqing wanting long-term integration ..............271 A second surprise: discovering the peasant mentality .................275 Relations between the Zhiqing and the Receiving Communities ......279 Relationship based on realism ......................................................279 A limited reciprocal influence .......................................................283 Poor integration ............................................................................287 Problems of Social Status and Group Identity...............................................291 Demoted and Displaced .....................................................................291 Defenseless .........................................................................................295 Solidarity and Competition ................................................................303 Problems with Individual Prospects and Self-fulfillment............................. 307 Ruined Projects ................................................................................. 307 A Rural Future? ................................................................................. 309 Means of Returning ...........................................................................312 The Marriage Issue ............................................................................319 PART FOUR SOCIAL RESISTANCE Chapter 10. The Social Control System ..........................................................329 Chapter 11. Passive Resistance and Its Effects ..............................................337 Deviancy, Delinquency, and Parallel Culture ...............................................338 Negative Attitudes and Deviant Behavior ..........................................338 Underground Literature..................................................................... 344 Schmaltzy Music as a Political Crime ...............................................349 Political Deviancy ..............................................................................354

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The Stampede Home and Its Consequences..................................................356 Strategies for Returning Legally ........................................................356 Tricks and intrigues .......................................................................356 Extended celibacy, divorce, and marriage motivated by self-interest ...............................................................................365 Hit and Run ........................................................................................370 Illegal return to the city.................................................................370 Defecting abroad ...........................................................................374 Chapter 12. Open Resistance ...........................................................................387 End-of-reign Tremors ....................................................................................387 1978–1979: A Trial of Strength between the Government and Society ........392 PART FIVE ASSESSMENT OF THE XIAXIANG “MOVEMENT” IN HISTORY Chapter 13. Socioeconomic Assessment .........................................................401 Diverting away from the Cities .....................................................................401 Xiaxiang and Urban Employment......................................................401 The Influence of Xiaxiang on Urban Growth ................................... 408 Xiaxiang and Delinquency................................................................. 411 Rural Development and the Closing of the Urban-Rural Gap .......................413 Xiaxiang and Development ................................................................413 Reducing the Urban-Rural Gap.......................................................... 417 Chapter 14. Political and Ideological Assessment .........................................421 Xiaxiang’s Political Stakes ............................................................................421 The Ideological Objectives ............................................................................423 Selection by Virtue .............................................................................424 Transforming Zhiqing into “New-type Peasants” ..............................427 Training “Revolutionary Successors” or Remodeling Youth ............. 429 Conclusion .........................................................................................................441 Economic Program or Political Movement? ..................................................441 International Influence ...................................................................................445

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Xiaxiang and the Limits of Totalitarian Power ............................................451 Death of Utopia and the Rebirth of Society ..................................................453 Glossary ..............................................................................................................457 Bibliography ........................................................................................................467 Index of Places ....................................................................................................499 Index of Persons ..................................................................................................505 Thematic Index .................................................................................................. 509

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INTRODUCTION

Preface

The movement to rusticate China’s educated youth was a fascinating experiment in Mao’s China, unequaled in history, including in other Communist countries (although there was a Soviet precedent). The imprint left by that movement, which attempted to transform millions of young urban secondary school graduates into peasants, supposedly for life, certainly bore deeper into the psyche of that generation than the chaotic experience of the Red Guard movement. Despite that, outsiders are familiar with the term Red Guards whereas very few have heard of the so-called educated youth. Even among scholars, this episode in China’s contemporary history has remained underresearched since the early 1980s, and many general histories of that period show a lack of knowledge and understanding about it. This is why I did not expect to have much difficulty in publishing an English translation of this book—the more so since the French edition received very favorable reviews in the English-language academic press from a few French speaking colleagues. On the other hand, I did not expect it to be published in Chinese, and that the Chinese version would receive such an enthusiastic response. After the Chinese edition was published by The Chinese University Press of Hong Kong in 2009 (and is now already in its second printing), a pirated version appeared five months later on the

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mainland (which can still be found in most large Chinese cities) as well as an authorized edition in simplified characters published in 2010 by the Encyclopedia of China Publishing House in Beijing, which is already in its fifth printing. Since it was published I have been invited to give lectures on the subject in many places in China and was surprised to see how vividly the memories of their experience (certainly the most important one in their lives) remained among the former educated youths, and the extent of their desire to understand it. I was also surprised to discover that almost half the audience was composed of their children, now approaching (or past) their thirties, who believe that their parents’ experience also indirectly influenced them. The reason for the success of the Chinese version of my book is probably its rather atypical nature. Although it is mainly based on my doctoral dissertation, it is the result of several periods of research on the topic spanning over thirty years, since the first time I met a group of Guangdong educated youths who had swum illegally across to Hong Kong in 1973, to the publication of the French version of this book in 2004 (see the Introduction for further details). The sources for this research are extremely varied and the objective is to provide a global perspective of the movement, viewed not only from the official stance but also from the people’s point of view. Its ultimate ambition is to raise questions about the Maoist regime that extend beyond the movement itself. This is why it is longer than the usual monographs on specific historical phenomena. The book’s atypical nature was, I discovered, a huge obstacle in the current standardized world of English-language publishing, where even in academe the number of pages depends more on the publisher’s business constraints than on scientific and didactic requirements. The translation issue was also a problem, since as one American friend put it, “publishers don’t understand why you didn’t write it in English in the first place.” Most Englishlanguage publishers want to see the entire book in English before signing a contract and refuse to pay for the translation, whereas the Commission Nationale du Livre in France will provide an allowance to cover part of the translation fees but only once a contract has already been signed. Obsessed by this Catch 22 situation, I had a flash of inspiration one night: since The Chinese University Press of Hong Kong also publishes books in English and since CUP has already published the Chinese version, why not ask them if they would consider publishing the English one? My deepest thanks therefore go to Gan Qi, Director of CUP, who immediately gave me a positive answer. She was ready to take the risk because she thought that this book deserved to be known outside of China as well. I would

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also like to thank Lin Ying, Managing Editor, Agnes Chan, Editor in charge of the English editing, and Angelina Wong, Business Manager with whom I have already worked in friendly cooperation on the Chinese version of this book. I would also like to mention Richard Gunde, who did a wonderful job as a copy-editor. And my special thanks too, to Krystyna Horko, who agreed to translate this long book mainly for reasons of friendship and also as a way of returning to the period when she was a foreign student in China, at a time when the movement to rusticate educated youth was still underway. I was lucky to have an English translator who is knowledgeable about Chinese affairs. Having a dual publication in Hong Kong is an honor for me. The Chinese University Press has done a remarkable job in publishing outstanding books on contemporary China, and Hong Kong remains the leading place for publications on contemporary Chinese history, especially the Cultural Revolution and the Maoist period. Even Maoist ideologues, like Deng Liqun, or Lin Biao’s (and Mao’s) comrades-in-arms Wu Faxian and Qiu Huizuo, published their memoirs in this “Special Administrative Region.” More than that, Hong Kong is where the study of the educated youth movement began. Most of the scholarly books and articles on this topic, including Thomas Bernstein’s seminal work Up to the Mountains, Down to the Countryside, have been the result of research carried out in Hong Kong, mainly with the help of the Universities Service Centre, now part of The Chinese University of Hong Kong. That was also the case for my own research. It is therefore only fitting that the English version of my book should be published where, in fact, it originated. Michel Bonnin

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INTRODUCTION

Xiaxiang, the Movement That Shaped a Generation

Between 1968 and 1980, some 17 million young urban Chinese were forcibly rusticated after completing secondary school. This massive organized migration was undertaken as part of one of the most radical political movements ever to emerge in the People’s Republic of China (PRC), because in principle those urban youths were to become peasants until the end of their days. Similar migrations had already taken place from 1955 to 1966, though on a far smaller scale and on a voluntary basis. The first of these, generally portrayed in China as being initiated by Chairman Mao himself, was directly inspired by a Soviet model launched by Khrushchev in 1953. However, in the PRC the form and the scale of this movement after 1968 made it an unprecedented phenomenon in both Chinese and world history. This experience deeply marked an entire urban generation. It overturned the lives of the millions of young people involved (more or less half their generation) and the lives of their parents, brothers and sisters, and impacted urban society as well as a broad swathe of rural society, which was obliged to accommodate these burdensome guests. The movement, a deliberate policy of Mao Zedong’s, had a devastating effect on the quality of education during that period. Even the urban youths who managed to avoid rustication suffered from the effects, which is why this entire generation has been dubbed the “lost

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generation” (shiluo de yidai 失落的一代). The sense of belonging to a specific generation was especially strong among the young people in secondary schools at the launch of the Cultural Revolution in 1966, who were packed off en masse to the countryside in 1968 and 1969. For these young people, contemporaries of the “’68 generation” in the West, their stay in the countryside (which lasted an average of six years but as long as ten or eleven years in some cases) had a more lasting impact than the Red Guard movement, which, though exceptional, was short-lived and largely disconnected from what preceded or followed it.

Finding the Right Words An overview of the Chinese terms related to this policy is useful to understanding its origins, objectives, and the forms it took. Historically, the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) had a special relationship with the countryside. In contrast to most Communist parties elsewhere, which largely depended on the support of the urban working classes for their rise to power, Mao’s party relied on an army of peasants and a strategy of “encircling the cities from the countryside.”1 The term xiaxiang 下鄉 (“going down to the countryside”) was used by Chinese Communists as early as 1942, in the red (and overwhelmingly rural) bases of Yan’an, to refer to the temporary sending down of young cadres and intellectuals to the villages. After seizing power in 1949, and especially after 1955, the authorities called on young urban primary or secondary school graduates to “go to the villages” (dao nongcun qu 到農村去), “go down to the countryside” (xiaxiang), or “go up to the mountains” (shangshan 上山). Put together, the term xiaxiang shangshan 下鄉上山 was used in this context for the first time in 1956, in the “Plan for a National Program of Agricultural Development, 1956–1967” proposed by the Politburo (Political Bureau) of the Central Committee.2 At that time the expression was also used to describe the

1

2

For more information on the CCP’s rise to power, see Jacques Guillermaz, A History of the Chinese Communist Party, 1921–1949 (New York: Random House, 1972), as well as Lucien Bianco, Origins of the Chinese Revolution, 1915–1949 (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1971). Zhang Hua, “Shilun ‘wenhua da geming’ zhong zhishi qingnian shangshan xiaxiang yundong” (A Tentative Discussion of the Movement to Send Young Intellectuals Up to the Mountains and Down to the Villages during the “Great Cultural Revolution”), in Tan Zongji et al., Shinian hou de pingshuo (An

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sending of cadres and intellectuals to rural areas.3 In reverse order (shangshan xiaxiang 上山下鄉), the expression was used specifically when referring to mountainous regions.4 The expression was increasingly used after the launch of a movement to develop mountainous areas in 1965, and eventually supplanted the other term used to designate sending down to the countryside. The headline of the People’s Daily editorial on July 9, 1967 read: “Uphold the correct line of sending educated youths to the mountains and countryside.” The great mass movement launched at the end of 1968 was called shangshan xiaxiang yundong 上山下鄉運動 (the movement to go “up to the mountains and down to the villages”). The reason for the term being inverted was not a genuine desire to promote departures to high altitudes, but more likely a reflection of the authorities’ desire to elevate the heroic and glorious aspect of the movement (Mao’s grandiose poems often refer to lofty mountains) and to play down the idea of “descending.” In everyday life, however, the term generally used in all these cases was xiaxiang and this is the one I shall use here. The young people involved were called zhishi qingnian 知識青年, an expression that was shortened in everyday language to zhiqing 知青. In English this term, which literally means “knowledgeable young people,” has been translated variously as “intellectual youth,” “urban youth,” “educated young people,” or “educated youth.” I will use the last here since it was the most common translation, notably used by the Beijing Foreign Languages Press in the 1970s, and frequently taken up by other sources since then. If this term seems slightly clumsy in English it is because the Chinese term itself is a coded expression that did not refer to all young people who had been educated, but exclusively to those who had been sent to the countryside or

3

4

Assessment Ten Years On) (Beijing: Zhonggong dangshi ziliao chubanshe, 1987), p. 141. It seems to have been used in this context for the first time by Liu Shaoqi in his report to the Second Plenum of the Eighth Central Committee; see Renmin ribao (RMRB), May 27, 1958, p. 2. Jiangxi, for example; see RMRB, February 17, 1960, p.  4. On terminological problems, see work by T. A. Hsia (unfortunately written before the Cultural Revolution), A Terminological Study of the Hsia-Fang Movement (Berkeley: Center for Chinese Studies, University of California, 1963). The term xiafang 下 放 (sending down) is normally used to designate the sending down of cadres and intellectuals, but is sometimes (inappropriately) used to designate the rustication of educated youth.

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who were about to go there.5 It is thus a perfect example of jargon. When the expression came into use in the early 1950s, a primary school certificate was all that was required to be an “educated youth.” At the time, this term was mainly used to designate young people from rural areas who had been educated in a town or a city and who were encouraged by the government to return to their home villages. But from 1955, and especially in the 1960s, the term was also applied to urban youth whom the government was persuading to work in the countryside after finishing secondary education. From that time on there were two categories: urban youths “going down” to the countryside (xiaxiang zhiqing 下鄉知青) and rural youths “returning” there (huixiang zhiqing 回鄉知青).6 Since this book will focus on the rustication of urban youth, I will not deal in depth with the “returning” group. Departures of young people from the cities to the countryside were organized from 1955 to 1980. However, I shall not address the 1955–1966 period in detail here, but concentrate more closely on the great mass movement launched after 1968, i.e., at the end of the Cultural Revolution in the strictest sense of the term. Although this movement inherited in part the institutions and practices that preceded it, it actually constitutes a specific historical entity by virtue of its size and authoritarian nature as well as the justifications used for it and its role in the political struggle that marked the end of Mao’s reign. Since we are dealing with what Confucius called the “rectification of names,” I will explain the definition of the Cultural Revolution used in this book. It is not used to refer to what the current Chinese authorities define as “the ten years of Cultural Revolution” (1966–1976). If that term is to have any real meaning, it can only be to describe the period of roughly three years from May 1966 to April 1969, during which violent struggles overturned part of the power structure and resulted in the establishment of a new regime at the Ninth Party Congress, during which the “victory” (and therefore the end of) the Cultural Revolution was officially enshrined.7 The only “revolutionary” aspect of this period was the active participation of a part of the population. Though encouraged and manipulated by Mao, this “rebellion” nevertheless had an element of autonomy and spontaneity, which means that the Cultural 5 6

7

See Zhengming, September 1984, p. 65: “She was still an educated young girl, but [once she had returned to Beijing] no one called her ‘educated youth’ anymore.” We must be careful, however, because in certain cases this term is used to designate urban youth going to the home village of one of their parents according to a system formally called touqin kaoyou 投親靠友 . See Note 42, Chapter 8. See the report made by Lin Biao to this congress, in Hongqi (HQ) 5 (1969), esp. p. 7.

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Revolution cannot be viewed simply as a coup d’état or a factional struggle. After the Red Guards were brought to heel by the army and sent down to the countryside (at the end of 1968), a new regime was established in April 1969 and a period of fierce factional struggle ensued. However, this was limited to the internal power structure and came to its logical conclusion in a coup d’état: the arrest of the Gang of Four in October 1976. The victors, those very people who had been defeated in 1966, have since used the same term to describe both periods, thereby rejecting the Cultural Revolution’s antibureaucratic rebellion (which was undeniably and inextricably linked to fascistic violence) and the sinister repressive period 1969–1976, which, strictly speaking, should be referred to as Mao’s fi n-de-règne. This terminological manipulation, which was based on a directive from the Great Helmsman himself in October 1974 when he decided that the time was ripe to resuscitate the Cultural Revolution, is now a vital element in the official reevaluation of the history of the regime, which Deng Xiaoping and the other victors of the internal party struggle transformed into an undeniable truth in 1981.8 In the 1970s, this distortion of meaning had yet to be fully accepted by the population. When the people I interviewed told me, without prompting, that they had gone to the countryside “after the Cultural Revolution,” they obviously did not mean “after 1976” but “from the end of 1968 onward.” In the 1980s, both meanings of the term were used in unofficial discourse and publications.9 Since the end of the 1990s, however, the official version has become assimilated into everyday language, along with its truncated conception of the history of this period. Since I believe that a lie, however many times repeated, never becomes a truth—and certainly not from any historical perspective —I will use the term with the meaning it had before Mao, and later Deng Xiaoping (each for their own reasons) decided to change it. When quoting sources that employ the other, later, definitions of the “Cultural Revolution,” I will always put it within quotation marks. To conclude this point, which is no

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9

See “Guanyu jianguo yilai dang de ruogan lishi wenti de jueyi” (Resolution on Certain Questions in the History of Our Party since the Founding of the PRC), HQ 13 (1981), pp. 3–27. We find an example of the term “Cultural Revolution” used, in my opinion correctly, in this sentence taken from the postface of a collection of short stories published in the 1980s: “After the Cultural Revolution, our fates were all alike: nearly all of us left our towns and our schools to go to the villages or the frontier regions.” See Lu Xing’er, Yiliu zai huangyuan de bei (The Stele Left on the Steppe) (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1987), p. 459.

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minor detail, I would like to point out that many Western academics and former Red Guards exiled abroad also refute the current official definition. Even some historians working in the PRC now agree on this.10

The Questions The aim of this book is to provide broader all-round knowledge of the xiaxiang movement by presenting not only the proclaimed or hidden motives of the leaders who launched it and the means they used to fulfill their aims, but also the consequences those decisions had on society at large. This analysis of the movement will serve to illustrate the limits of totalitarian power and the paradoxical consequences of the Maoist utopia. When analyzing the termination of this policy, which coincided with the start of the reforms at the end of the 1970s, I shall also reflect on the changes that occurred in the relationship between the government and society during this period. The motives behind this policy most commonly emphasized by Western researchers, and later by Chinese researchers, are economic and demographic. Since the start of the 1950s, the PRC implemented a wide range of administrative measures aimed at limiting urban growth. It established a rigid household registration system which enabled it to control population movements, and sent graduates from rural backgrounds back to their villages, as well as a large number of cadres, specialists and, as we have seen, young graduates from urban backgrounds, to the countryside and the frontier regions. These measures made China a rare, if not unique, example of a third-world country able to equip itself with a fairly effective system of control over the influx of peasants into the cities, even to the extent of being able to organize an inverse population flow, from the cities to the countryside. This policy as a whole,

10

See Anita Chan, “Editor’s Introduction” to Liu Guokai, “A Brief Analysis of the Cultural Revolution,” Chinese Sociology and Anthropology (Winter 1986– 1987), p.  13, and particularly “Dispelling Misconceptions about the Red Guard Movement: The Necessity to Re-examine Cultural Revolution Factionalism and Periodization,” Journal of Contemporary China 1(1) (September 1992), pp. 61–85, and Liu Guokai (ed.), Fengshabuliao de lishi (History That Cannot Be Suppressed) (Hong Kong: Chongxin pingjia wenhua da geming congshu, 1996), Preliminary remarks, pp. 1–5, as well as Bu Weihua, Zhalan jiu shijie: wenhua da geming de dongluan yu haojie (1966–1968) (Smashing the Old World: Havoc of the Chinese Cultural Revolution, 1966–1968) (Hong Kong: The Chinese University Press, 2008), pp. xx and 793–94.

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especially the rustication of educated youth, set an example, or at least served as food for thought, for all third-world countries grappling with problems of excessive urbanization and lacking qualified personnel to promote the development of the countryside. But did the reality of the xiaxiang movement actually conform to this model? How important were the economic and political-ideological motives in launching and pursuing such an exceptional policy? The reduction of urban-rural differences and the union of intellectuals and manual workers were the proclaimed objectives of the movement and aroused a great deal of enthusiasm in the West, particularly among students at the end of the 1960s and the early 1970s. But to what extent was xiaxiang actually motivated by the ideals put forward in official propaganda? Did it hasten their achievement? How significant, in this context, was the idea that urban youth needed to be “reeducated” by the peasants? Did the leaders have other political or ideological motives less explicitly put forward in official discourse? These are some of the questions I shall raise. The central issue will be that of the real-life experience of educated youths in the countryside, and the relations between them, the peasants, the cadres, and with work. I will then look at how the movement was terminated, and why, after twenty-five years, the practice of xiaxiang was brought to a definitive end in 1980; what effects the movement had on Chinese society, politics, and the economy; and what role it plays in contemporary Chinese history. Today it is at last possible to undertake an appraisal of the movement. This calls for a multidisciplinary approach because xiaxiang was a complex phenomenon situated at the intersection of numerous societal aspects. It cannot be studied without referring to the history of the CCP as well as the history of the PRC, or without addressing urban and rural economic problems, notably employment. Xiaxiang was also a political phenomenon at the core of the relationship between government and society, and it was equally a factor in internal leadership struggles. Moreover, the problems relating to the integration of urban youths in rural areas lie in the domains of sociology and psychosociology, and the impact of the experience on the mental development of the zhiqing had historical ramifications on the country’s attitudes and culture. Furthermore, xiaxiang brought about a large-scale migration whose effects, like its causes, need to be analyzed from a demographic perspective. Finally, in the domain of lexicography, a rich and specific vocabulary, both official and unofficial, emerged from this important social phenomenon (see the Glossary at the end the book).

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The Sources The difficulties of researching this subject lie not only in its multiple facets, but also in the varying degree of the reliability of sources. The movement took place at a time when information in China was firmly controlled and manipulated, and the principle of objectivity, even in statistics, was ignored if not derided. The government’s legitimacy was based on a fantasy image of sociopolitical reality. The people, namely the proletarian workers and their allies the poor peasants, all united behind the vanguard CCP and its glorious leader Mao Zedong, striding together toward socialist modernization while relentlessly struggling against the enemies of the people. Needless to say, for many years all that prohibited sociological research, and in fact any research into the country’s own history. The situation changed after Mao’s death and especially after Deng Xiaoping’s pragmatic maneuverings at the end of 1978. Over the following years China partially opened up and began to publish statistics (including retrospective ones), and sociology reemerged as a valid discipline for research and teaching. However, since the political system remained fundamentally the same, the limits of these changes soon became apparent and many areas of study remained taboo. Until the beginning of the 1990s, that included the movement for rusticating educated youths, and the subject has remained a “sensitive” one even since then. Research is tolerated, but cannot be part of an official program.

Primary Sources The way to counteract the limited reliability of written sources is to find and critically compare as many sources as possible. Initially I relied primarily on oral sources. The large number of interviews I have carried out since the mid1970s have undoubtedly provided my most important material for understanding the real-life experiences of educated youth. In contrast to many (mostly American) specialists who, at the time, used this kind of source in a systematic and organized manner, I came to use it more or less by accident. In fact, my interest in this subject was the result of a personal encounter: a meeting with a small group of former educated youth from Guangdong who had managed to swim across to Hong Kong. Along with two other French students of Chinese also living in the then British Colony, I spent many hours talking with these refugees. The experiences they related, especially those in the countryside, both shocked and fascinated us. As with most things that went on behind the “bamboo curtain” in 1975, very little was known about

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the reality of xiaxiang. For their part, those ex-Red Guards were interested in what we could teach them about the West and, notably, the political ideals and social experiments of students from the May 1968 generation in France. As a result, we decided to write a book together about the experiences of rusticated Chinese urban youths, which was published in the form of collective interviews.11 This series of interviews was the starting point of my research and its primary source. Collective interviews are rarely used in sociology or in oral history. They can, however, provide an excellent starting point for an investigation into social (and thus collective) phenomena. As one specialist of oral history has remarked, we are always feeling our way at the start of any research project and consequently don’t always ask the right questions.12 The discussions that take place between participants in collective interviews help to offset these shortcomings. Obviously it was necessary to refer to other sources to complete and, to a certain extent, verify what I had learned in these interviews. With the benefit of hindsight, however, I realize that the facts reported by the interviewees, as well as their judgments of them, have overwhelmingly proved to be correct. In fact I never hesitated between the professions of faith expressed by model zhiqing in the official propaganda jargon of the time, and the living, authentic, testimony of interviewees who had no reason whatsoever to spend hours lying to us. But if I trusted them, it was not just because they seemed sincere. It was because the behavior and the emotions they shared with us seemed to be rational in their situation and therefore probably representative. Personally, I endorse using this kind of “empathy” in social science research. Obviously the first set of collective interviews was insufficient, since they focused solely on eleven ex-zhiqing, all belonging to the same small circle of friends, and whose experiences and ideas were fairly similar.13 In 1978 and

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See Jean-Jacques Michel and Huang He, Avoir 20 ans en Chine ... à la campagne (Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 1978). Jean-Jacques Michel is a collective pseudonym. Huang He (Yellow River) is the name of the magazine founded by our Chinese friends. See Philippe Joutard, Ces voix qui nous viennent du passé (Paris: Hachette, 1983), p. 225. Only one of them was not from the city of Guangzhou. There was one young woman in the group. All of them were sent to counties of Guangdong (although two of them had initially spent two years in Hubei). They had all been sent to villages, except for two young people sent to farms, one of whom had gone there

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1979 I therefore interviewed eighteen other former zhiqing on an individual basis (one of whom had later been an accompanying cadre for other educated youths) as well as three former peasants whom I questioned about how villagers perceived the urban youths.14 Our interviews were conducted and recorded on a semi-directed basis, in other words using identical interview guides for everyone, to which we added numerous other questions based on each interviewee’s responses. The interviews were conducted in two, sometimes three, sittings of roughly three hours each, with several days’ interval between them. Our questions focused on all the facts surrounding xiaxiang, but also on how the respondents felt about it at the time and what they thought about it at the time of the interview. We also questioned them about their reasons for coming to Hong Kong. All those from Guangdong had left illegally, with the exception of one of the three peasants. The two former zhiqing from Shanghai and the accompanying cadre from Zhejiang had left China legally thanks to family connections. The problem of bias in research based on interviews of mainland Chinese refugees in Hong Kong (as a result of their supposed hostility to the regime) no longer requires a detailed response today. Like Lucian Pye,15 we observed that far from trying to undermine the image of their country by exaggerating its negative aspects, the people we interviewed in Hong Kong were more likely to tone down the most difficult parts of their experiences in front of a foreigner, for reasons of national pride and a fear of not being believed. These types of interviews formed the foundations of the best works produced about China in the 1960s–1970s by Western researchers, and those that have best resisted the test of time.16 In order to supplement the oral accounts, which expressed the point of view of the people concerned, I also used two written sources: published

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before the Cultural Revolution. Other than these eleven people, a young “poor and lower-middle peasant” who also swam across, took part in some of the interviews. These interviews took place in Hong Kong in the offices of the Universities Service Centre, in accordance with the usual rules of this remarkable institution: the free use of a room and complete freedom of choice as to who could be interviewed. Lucian Pye, “Reassessing the Cultural Revolution,” China Quarterly 108 (December 1986), pp. 604–6. A partial bibliography of works largely based on interviews of refugees in Hong Kong can be found in Michael Frolic, Mao’s People (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1980), p. 257.

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eyewitness accounts and literature. Some interesting eyewitness accounts have been published by Chinese people currently living in the West, in Hong Kong, or in Taiwan. Among the sources available in Western languages, I have mainly used those collated by Michael Frolic, Liang Heng, and Yue Daiyun.17 In the 1980s, eyewitness accounts were also published inside the PRC, mostly in literary magazines and outside official propaganda. The two most interesting ones were from a series of interviews (including some with former zhiqing) conducted and edited by well-known authors.18 By guaranteeing anonymity to their interviewees, these authors were able to obtain “confessions” about events such as rapes or illegal activities in a way that no foreign researcher ever could, and which normally only the protagonists themselves, or people very close to them, would know about. For this reason, they are of special sociological value. Among these eyewitness accounts, the “thoughts on creation” (chuangzuotan 創作談) and autobiographies of authors or other well-known personalities are also very interesting.19 In China, “thoughts on creation” are a particular literary genre and form specific collections.20 The postscripts of literary works often adopt this form, which is a combination of autobiography and reflections on the process and vocation of literary creation. I have also made use of “reportage literature,” a genre that developed extensively in China during the 1980s, where it tended to compensate for the lack of any investigative journalism worthy of that name in the press. In some cases writers of fiction devoted themselves to investigative literature, but it was more usually written by “specialists.” Among those who have 17

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Frolic, Mao’s People; Liang Heng and Judith Shapiro, Son of the Revolution (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1983); Yue Daiyun and Carolyn Wakeman, To the Storm: The Odyssey of a Revolutionary Chinese Woman (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985). In 2000 an equally noteworthy book was published about the fate of former Red Guards and zhiqing during the reform era: Yarong Jiang and David Ashley, Mao’s Children in the New China: Voices from the Red Guard Generation (London: Routledge, 2000). Feng Jicai, Yibaige ren de shi nian (How a Hundred People Spent Ten Years) (Nanjing: Jiangsu wenyi chubanshe, 1991); Zhang Xinxin and Sang Ye, Beijingren (People of Beijing) (Shanghai: Shanghai wenyi chubanshe, 1986). Such as the works by Yang Jiang and by Yu Luojin (see the Bibliography). See Wang Meng et al., Zou xiang wenxue zhi lu (Paths to Literature) (Changsha: Hunan renmin chubanshe, 1983); Ma Shangrui et al., Beijing zuojia tan chuangzuo (Beijing Authors Discuss the Creative Process) (Beijing: Beijing shiyue wenyi chubanshe, 1985).

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investigated subjects related to xiaxiang, the best known is undoubtedly Xiao Fuxing, himself a former zhiqing. In the 1990s, several other works of investigative literature were published that occasionally dealt with sensitive subjects, for instance the works by the Sichuan-born author Deng Xian.21 Xiaxiang has also inspired an abundant amount of fiction, generally written by zhiqing and ex-zhiqing who began their literary career in the countryside. I have read more than a hundred such works, in most cases written in a genuinely realist form, that is to say neither “socialist-realist” nor “revolutionary-realist.”22 They were written from 1978 onward by zhiqing who, after years of being silenced or forced to lie, felt the need to tell their story. A whole generation could identify with this literature, which started out mainly in the form of reportage literature or eyewitness accounts.23 Obviously, the use of literary sources in social science requires us to distinguish between the real-life substrate and literary artifice. In the case of China, it is also necessary to single out the propaganda element. Even after 1978 it is true that “when we want to tell the truth, we sometimes have to embed it in a lie.”24 But once we are aware of certain common elements in Chinese literature from the revolutionary era, it is easy to recognize what aspects of a given work pay allegiance to the obligatory stereotypes. Moreover, those elements have become increasingly rare over time. To separate fact from fiction, we are helped by literary critics and the articles in which writers defend themselves against critics or in which they explain their intentions. A good way to proceed is to ask authors directly about which real-life experiences inspired particular parts of their works. This is what I have done in many cases including with A Cheng, Kong Jiesheng, Liang Xiaosheng, Mang Ke, Zhang Chengzhi, Zhang Kangkang, Zhang Xinxin, and Zhao Zhenkai (Bei Dao).25 21 22

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24 25

See the works of these two authors in the Bibliography. One connoisseur on the subject has called them “neo-realist”; see Li Yi, “Wenyi xinzuo zhong suo fanying de Zhongguo xianshi” (Chinese Realities Reflected in New Literary and Artistic Works), in Li Yi (ed.), Zhongguo xin xieshizhuyi wenyi zuopinxuan (A Selection of Neo-Realist Works in Chinese Literature) (Hong Kong: Qishi niandai zazhishe, 1980). Michel Bonnin, “The Social Function of Chinese Literature since 1979: The Case of the ‘Lost Generation,’” in Helmut Martin (ed.), Cologne Workshop 1984 on Contemporary Chinese Literature (Cologne: Deutsche Welle, 1986), pp. 233–38. Liu Xinwu, Zheli you huangjin (There’s Gold Here) (Guangzhou: Guangdong renmin chubanshe, 1980), p. 49. When my interviews took place in an official context or when the interviewee was a writer and the interview was about certain aspects of his/her published work I

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However, the best way to evaluate the extent to which a work represents, or at least is inspired by, real events, is to compare it with other sources. In most cases I have found the image of xiaxiang in these works is very similar to the one I obtained from the interviews. These works therefore confirmed what I already knew, but they also provide detailed descriptions of the living environment, and nuanced analyses of feelings and human relationships, which are impossible to obtain through interviews alone. I only made use of materials that were confirmed by other sources or that I was able to verify with the authors themselves. As a result, in nearly all the cases where I quote a literary source, I could also have referred to a part of an interview, but the same idea would not have been as clearly expressed and the reader would not have been able to refer directly to an original source. In the 1990s xiaxiang continued to inspire new literary or cinematographic works, some written or filmed by authors who had emigrated abroad.26 As far as interviews and eyewitness accounts of former zhiqing are concerned, the situation changed considerably after 1990, when the authorities began to tolerate and, in certain cases, encourage the expression of xiaxiang memories, as long as they remained within certain ideological boundaries. The first published anthology and the first exhibition on the subject both enjoyed clear official support.27 This tolerance, which was prob-

26

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have given their full names. In all other cases I have simply kept their initials in order to protect their identity. See the works of Wang Xiaobo in the Bibliography. See also Dai Sijie, Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress: A Novel (New York: Knopf, 2001), from which the author has himself made a film, as well as the film by Joan Chen entitled Xiuxiu: The Sent-down Girl (1998). Beidahuang fengyunlu (Fortune and Misfortune in the Great Northern Wilderness) and Beidahuang renminglu (List [of former zhiqing] in the Great Northern Wilderness) (Beijing: Zhongguo qingnian chubanshe, 1990). The official publication of these two works by the Communist Youth League Publishing House gave rise to an official ceremony in the Great Hall of the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference. In November of the same year an exhibition entitled Hun xi hei tudi: Beidahuang zhiqing huigu zhan (Our Souls Remain Tied to the Black Earth: An Exhibition on Zhiqing’s Memories of the Great Northern Wilderness) was inaugurated with considerable pomp and ceremony in the Museum of the Chinese Revolution. Also published in the 1990s were two important works by an ex-zhiqing from Shanghai: Kunan yu fengliu: “lao sanjie” ren de daolu (Hardships and Distinctions: The Trajectories of Members of the “Three Graduation Years”), edited by Jin Dalu (Shanghai: Shanghai renmin chubanshe, 1994); and Jin Dalu,

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ably a form of “compensation” following the bloody repression of the democracy movement of 1989, resulted in a boom in these publications, which peaked on the movement’s thirtieth anniversary in 1998. They included reports and novels, eyewitness accounts and interviews with former zhiqing (including those who had stayed on in the countryside), collections of poetry, songs, personal diaries and even love letters from the time, photo albums and TV shows. There was even a long, made-for-TV documentary, composed of interviews and historical documents from the time, but it was never broadcast for political reasons although it is available on DVD.28 It is obviously vital to compare all sources expressing individual points of view with official sources. I have rarely used interview material in the historical section of this book, because people’s memories rarely retain specific dates when events occurred and people often remember things in the wrong order. On the other hand, if ever there was a case for doubting the concept that “if it’s in the papers, it must be true,”29 then China must be it— especially for the period in question. As far as xiaxiang is concerned, the aim of the press was not to disseminate the truth but rather to mobilize the people concerned. The press was full of the remarkable feats of model educated youths and examples of the popular support and enthusiasm for the movement. A certain familiarity with that press, however, and comparisons with other sources have allowed me to extract certain elements of truth. For example, the repeated denunciation, year after year, of certain “erroneous thoughts” in a “small minority of people” would lead me to suppose that the small minority may well have been a large majority, especially since this corresponds to information gathered elsewhere. Furthermore, the press is an invaluable tool for understanding the changes in government policies and the official numbers concerning the movement, because political and administrative documents were never made public in their original form at the time (except occasionally in the press), and there

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Shiyun yu mingyun: guanyu lao sanjieren de shengcun yu fazhan (Fortunes and Destinies: The Life and Progress of People from the Three Graduation Years) (Shanghai: Shanghai renmin chubanshe, 1998). Xiao Jian and Guo Xiaodong, Lao sanjie yu gongheguo tong xing (The Three Graduation Years Advance in Step with the Republic), a series of twenty documentary films compiled in a collection of ten DVDs by Nanjing yinxiang chubanshe. The script of this series was published by Zhongguo wenlian chubanshe, 1999. See Notes 137 and 139, Chapter 11. Joutard, Ces voix qui nous viennent du passé, p. 194.

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were no specialized statistical publications. I have therefore read hundreds of articles about xiaxiang published in the limited number of papers and magazines available to foreigners until 1978, especially the Renmin ribao (People’s Daily) and the Guangming ribao (Guangming Daily), the two theoretical monthly publications Hongqi (Red Flag) and Xuexi yu pipan (Study and Criticism), as well as transcripts of radio broadcasts, often based on local press accounts, and dispatches by the official Xinhua (New China) News Agency, which were translated into English and published by the BBC in its Summary of World Broadcasts: The Far East, and by the FBIS under the title Foreign Broadcast Information Service: Daily Report, People’s Republic of China. Since 1978–1979 the number of papers and magazines published in China has increased considerably and a much greater percentage of them have been available abroad. I have consulted a great number of articles from these sources, which, while not entirely propaganda-free, are still a far better reflection of reality than those in the preceding period.30 Mention must also be made of the Hong Kong daily and monthly press, which played an important role in disseminating “truthful” information about the PRC during the period in question, thanks to the freedom it enjoyed and the special relationship that tied the then-British territory to the continent.31 Among the primary sources, I should also mention various official statistics that have been published in China since the early 1980s, which have enabled me to consult a large number of demographic, employment, and education statistics for the post-1949 period. Regarding the rustication of zhiqing, some local statistics were published in the press or made known through academic articles, but it was only in 1987 that I discovered, almost by chance, two tables that gave fairly precise figures for the departures and returns of zhiqing from 1967 to 1978 in a statistical anthology devoted to employment issues.32 This new information did not contradict my earlier impression of the xiaxiang movement, but did provide some very useful details.33 From the early 1990s onward, as the taboos preventing Chinese social

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A list of the periodicals referred to can be found at the end of the Bibliography. Michel Bonnin, “Le ‘China Watching’ à Hong Kong,” Le Débat 3 (July–August 1980), pp. 102–10. Zhongguo laodong gongzi tongji ziliao, 1949–1985 (Statistical Data Concerning Labor and Wages in China, 1949–1985) (Beijing: Zhongguo tongji chubanshe, 1987), pp. 110–11. See Figures 1 to 3, pp. 176–77.

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science researchers from publishing on the subject were gradually lifted, other xiaxiang-related statistics were made public. A few researchers gained access to collections of national or local statistics that had not been made public earlier, and reproduced extracts in their own works. The most important of these sources are two statistical anthologies that were published internally (neibu 內部), one in 1973 and the other in 1981, by the Educated Youth Bureau (Zhishi qingnian bangongshi 知識青年辦公室) under the State Council, the most authoritative source of information on the subject. In fact the statistics published in 1987 were clearly taken from the 1981 anthology. Two other collections of statistics for xiaxiang are now available. The first is called China’s Population (Zhongguo renkou) and consists of a volume per province from 1988 to 1990, published by the China Financial and Economic Publishers (Zhongguo caizheng jingji chubanshe). The sixth chapter in each volume deals with migration and therefore xiaxiang, although in most cases it is not very precise. Of greater interest is the monumental series of provincial annals (shengzhi 省志), comprising dozens of volumes for each province, which has been in the process of publication since the end of the 1980s. The volume dealing with the labor issues includes a chapter on xiaxiang. Even though, here too, the quality of the data is very variable according to the province (and unfortunately only about half the volumes dealing with labor have been published so far), this anthology is nevertheless extremely useful and very detailed, not only for the numbers of people departing and returning but also for the cost of the movement and the changes in administrative measures. It shows that, despite the uniformity of the major directives, a certain room for maneuver existed at the local level.34 Thanks to the provincial annals and with the works published by Chinese researchers in the 1990s, I discovered another vital source for understanding xiaxiang: the internal political and administrative documents produced by the state or by local authorities. Until then, what little we knew about these was gleaned from occasional summaries, allusions, or accounts in the official press at the time or published by specialized services in Taiwan, which while useful, were incomplete and often unreliable. In 1981 the Educated Youth Bureau compiled all the important documents pertaining to xiaxiang since 1962. This compilation was neibu (“internal,” i.e., in theory restricted from public view) but I was able to obtain a copy, which proved vital to 34

In addition to the provincial annals there are municipal annals (shizhi) and county annals (xianzhi). These contain information relevant to xiaxiang but would not be of interest except for a local study.

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understanding central government policy and how it was implemented by the bureau.35 The last of the primary sources used in this book were the dazibao 大字 (“big character posters”) that I was able to photograph on Democracy Wall 報 in Beijing in February and in September 1979, and the unofficial publications that appeared in China during the Cultural Revolution and the “Peking Spring” of 1978–1979.36

Secondary Sources Until the mid-1990s the remarkable fact about secondary sources was the great disparity between the abundance of Western and Taiwanese studies and the scarcity of Chinese publications. Before 1987, Chinese sociologists and historians were not authorized to carry out in-depth studies of xiaxiang or even to publish articles on the subject in reviews for the general public. But in 1987, a 15-page article presenting a first historical assessment of xiaxiang was published in an anthology evaluating the “ten years of the Cultural Revolution” by official historians specialized in the history of the CCP.37 This certainly explains why an article I published in an audacious Chinese journal38 early in 1989 had “widespread repercussions” (in the words of the

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Guowuyuan zhiqingban, Zhiqing gongzuo wenjian xuanbian (Selections from the Working Documents on the Educated Youth), n.p., n.d., the preface is dated January 1981. I have already published a few photos and texts of dazibao in another work written under a collective pseudonym in which I took part; see Victor Sidane, Le Printemps de Pékin (Paris: Gallimard, 1980). For more on the underground press and available sources, see especially Claude Widor (comp.), Documents sur le Mouvement démocratique chinois, 1978–1980: revues parallèles et journaux muraux, vols. 1 and 2 (Paris: Éditions de l’École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales; Hong Kong: Observer Publishers, 1981 and 1984). Zhang Hua, “Shilun ‘wenhua da geming’ zhong zhishi qingnian shangshan xiaxiang yundong.” Mixie’er Bo’en (Michel Bonnin), “Zhishi qingnian shangshan xiaxiang yundong: Zhongguo, 1968–1980” (The Movement to Rusticate China’s Educated Youth: China, 1968–1980), Hainan jishi (April 1989), pp. 72–78. Hainan jishi (Hainan Review) met with considerable popular success during its brief existence but did not survive the repression that came in the wake of June 4, 1989. The editorial board, headed by the writer Han Shaogong, included many former zhiqing.

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Encyclopedia of Educated Youth of China, which came out six years later).39 The article in question was a revised presentation of some of the conclusions of my PhD dissertation, a first draft of which had been published in the Hong Kong monthly journal Zhengming.40 It was apparently the first article to present an independent reflection on the subject to be published in China. The fact that a foreigner, using straightforward language, discussed some of the fundamental issues about the motives and significance of a movement that had so deeply affected their lives, encouraged some former zhiqing to reflect on their own experiences and start to produce academic works on the subject. Not only did they consider themselves better placed to study the movement than a foreign researcher, but the article proved to them that this was a legitimate and deserving subject from an academic perspective. Furthermore, it allowed them to exert pressure on the authorities to finally break the taboo on studying this aspect of China’s history.41 As a result my article was quoted in the first two histories of the movement to be published in China. Apparently the first was by Du Honglin at the end of 1990, although he only managed to get it published in 1993. He explained the delay in his preface: “The zhiqing issue has always been a sensitive and delicate one, related as it is to social

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Liu Xiaomeng, Ding Yizhuang, Shi Weimin, and He Lan, Zhongguo zhiqing shidian (Encyclopedia of Educated Youth of China) (Chengdu: Sichuan renmin chubanshe, 1995), pp. 222–23. Michel Bonnin, Le mouvement d’envoi des jeunes instruits à la campagne: Chine, 1968–1980, doctoral dissertation (Paris: Éditions de l’EHESS, 1988); Pan Mingxiao (Michel Bonnin), “Gaizao yidai ren zhanlüe de xingwang” (The Rise and Fall of the Strategy to Reform an Entire Generation), Zhengming (January 1989), pp. 54–57, and (February 1989), pp. 76–78. Interview with Liu Xiaomeng, July 26, 2000. Du Honglin (see the following Note) wrote in his introduction: “Even blond-haired and blue-eyed foreigners are writing book after book about Chinese zhiqing” (p. 2), and in his prologue: “I can no longer stand by and watch while outside observers discuss our history, even though it is their right and their arguments are often well-founded” (p. 5). The publication of a Chinese version of the book by Thomas Bernstein (see below) was inspired by the same desire to use the views of outside observers to support and stimulate thinking on xiaxiang by the participants themselves; see Tuomasi Bo’ensitan (Thomas Bernstein), Shangshan xiaxiang: yige Meiguoren yanzhong de Zhongguo zhiqing yundong (Up to the Mountains and Down to the Countryside: The Movement to Send Down Educated Youth in China as Seen through the Eyes of an American) (Beijing: Jingguan jiaoyu chubanshe, 1993), esp. p. 1 (the translator’s preface).

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stability [...]. The authorities hoped that the zhiqing aspect would not be raised and that books on the subject could be held back until a later date.”42 This delay allowed another author, Huo Mu, to be the first to publish a more scholarly and less ideologically cautious history of xiaxiang in 1992, the conclusion of which was borrowed from part of my article.43 The turning point came in 1994 with the publication of a vivid and well-documented history of the production and construction brigades in Inner Mongolia, edited by Shi Weimin and his wife, He Lan. They pursued their work with the 1996 publication of a national history of the production and construction brigades.44 In the meantime they also collaborated on all the sections dealing with military farms and state farms (guoying nongchang 國營農場) in the above-mentioned Encyclopedia of Educated Youth of China, in which numerous entries provided a fairly detailed picture of the movement. The two principal authors of the encyclopedia, Liu Xiaomeng and Ding Yizhuang, subsequently published a two-volume History of China’s Educated Youth (one on the pre– and the other on the post–Cultural Revolution periods), which is the most important body of work on the movement to date.45 The year before, an unofficial history and chronicle of the movement from 1955 to 1981 had also been published by former cadres from the Educated Youth Bureau, including the chief editor, Gu Hongzhang, who had been the bureau’s former deputy

42

43

44

45

Du Honglin, Feng Chao Dang Luo (1955–1979): Zhongguo zhishi qingnian shangshan xiaxiang yundong shi (Wind, Tide, Vacillation, and Fall, 1955–1979: History of the Movement to Rusticate Educated Chinese Youth) (Shenzhen: Haitian chubanshe, 1993), pp. 1–2. Huo Mu, Guangrong yu mengxiang: Zhongguo zhiqing ershiwu nian shi (Glory and Illusions: The Twenty-Five Year History of Chinese Educated Youth) (Chengdu: Chengdu chubanshe, 1992). He Lan and Shi Weimin, Monan qing: Neimenggu shengchan jianshe bingtuan xiezhen (Nostalgia for the Southern Desert: The Production and Construction Corps in Inner Mongolia) (Beijing: Falü chubanshe, 1994); Shi Weimin and He Lan, Zhiqing beiwanglu: shangshan xiaxiang yundong zhong de shengchan jianshe bingtuan (Memorandum for the Zhiqing: The Production and Construction Corps during the Rustication Movement) (Beijing: Zhongguo shehui kexue chubanshe, 1996). Ding Yizhuang, Zhongguo zhiqing shi: chulan (1953–1968) (A History of China’s Educated Youth: The First Wave, 1953–1968) (Beijing: Zhongguo shehui kexue chubanshe, 1998); Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi: dachao (1968–1980) (A History of China’s Educated Youth: The High Tide, 1968–1980) (Beijing: Zhongguo shehui kexue chubanshe, 1998).

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director.46 In an addendum they openly stated that they had received the approval of the Ministry of Labor (which had delegated the task to them), the Bureau of Publications, the Department of Propaganda, and the Center for Research on the History of the Party.47 These two volumes are interesting, not just because they express a semi-official assessment of the movement,48 but because the authors had access to the bureau’s archives, and provide detailed and valuable information on all the official aspects of the movement’s history, including administrative documents and procedures, the leaders’ meetings and speeches, as well as statistics. The province-by-province statistics provide the most complete series of figures I have been able to access.49 In addition to these specialized studies, I have also consulted, as systematically as possible, all the works published in China on employment and demographic (mostly migratory) issues during the period concerned. The specialized Taiwanese journals, and most importantly Issues and Studies, regularly published articles on xiaxiang. Their main interest lies in the references to internal CCP documents. The principal Western sources are dominated by two excellent books, which have been very useful in my research. The 1977 study by the American scholar Thomas Bernstein was based on numerous written sources and interviews carried out in Hong Kong from 1971 to 1973.50 It deals primarily with the xiaxiang movement that began in

46

47

48

49 50

Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Zhongguo zhishi qingnian shangshan xiaxiang shimo (History of the Rustication of Educated Chinese Youth) (Beijing: Zhongguo jiancha chubanshe, 1996); Gu Hongzhang and Ma Kesen (eds.), Zhongguo zhishi qingnian shangshan xiaxiang dashiji (Chronicle of the Rustication of Educated Chinese Youth) (Beijing: Zhongguo jiancha chubanshe, 1996). The person who gave the green light for publication after corrections was Zhang Hua, a researcher in the Center for Research on the History of the Party and author of the first official appraisal of the movement; see Note 2 above. Of course this official aspect is not just an advantage, since there is a risk that some information perceived as being too “negative” may have been left out or downplayed. See Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, pp. 302–6. Thomas Bernstein, Up to the Mountains and Down to the Villages: The Transfer of Youth from Urban to Rural China (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1977). Just before the original French version of this book was published, a book on the subject came out in English: Yihong Pan, Tempered in the Revolutionary Furnace: China’s Youth in the Rustication Movement (Lanham, Md.: Lexington Books, 2003). This interesting book blends scholarly inquiry with the author’s

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1968 but also touches on the movement prior to the Cultural Revolution. His book, written before the end of the movement, obviously suffers from the limited documentation available at the time, which doubtless explains our differences of interpretation, but his rich analyses and wealth of sources, as well as the clarity of his arguments, make it a standard reference on the subject. The study by the German scholar Thomas Scharping is also important, although rarely cited outside of Germany because it was never translated into English.51 Scharping studied all of the organized migrations of young people from 1955 to 1980. He dealt not only with the post–Cultural Revolution xiaxiang but also with the earlier movements, the return to the countryside (huixiang 回鄉) of graduates with rural backgrounds and the transfer of roughly two million young peasants to clear virgin land between 1955 and 1960s. Despite the size of these migratory movements, he pays particular attention to xiaxiang and devoted a considerable amount of work to compiling and presenting figures for rustication as well as the economic and demographic statistics relating to xiaxiang. Unfortunately, the pre-1980 sources on which his work is based were not always reliable, but his meticulous and intelligent reading of the official press enabled him to provide an extremely clear presentation of developments in the rustication policy and its political and ideological backdrop. In addition to these two works, several articles on xiaxiang have been published in the leading international Chinese studies journals. Of particular interest are two articles devoted to demonstrations by zhiqing in Shanghai at the end of 1978 and the beginning of 1979, by Anne McLaren and Thomas Gold respectively, who were in Shanghai when these events took place.52 I have also made use of the study by Stanley Rosen, which, although it only briefly touches the period concerned, deals with the actions of Red Guard zhiqing in Guangzhou during the Cultural Revolution.53 A special mention

51 52

53

personal experience as a zhiqing and that of her interviewees. Unfortunately I was unable to read it before my own book went to print. Thomas Scharping, Umsiedlungsprogramme für Chinas Jugend, 1955–1980 (Hamburg: Institut für Asienkunde, 1981). Anne McLaren, “The Educated Youth Return: The Poster Campaign in Shanghai from November 1978 to March 1979,” Australian Journal of Chinese Affairs 2 (1979), pp. 1–20; Thomas B. Gold, “Back to the City: The Return of Shanghai’s Educated Youth,” China Quarterly 84 (December 1980), pp. 755–70. Stanley Rosen, The Role of Sent-Down Youth in the Chinese Cultural Revolution: The Case of Guangzhou (Berkeley: Institute of East Asian Studies, University of

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should be made of the in-depth study of a Guangdong village by Anita Chan, Richard Madsen, and Jonathan Unger based on interviews with educated youths who had been sent there, as well as with young peasants from the village, all of whom had fled to Hong Kong. Even though they did not focus specifically on zhiqing, many interesting bits of information on their situation and attitudes are to be found in the various books and articles on which they based their research. Although we were not aware of each other’s work at the time, I discovered later that we had a number of interviewees in common.54 More recently, American researchers (some of whom are of Chinese origin) have carried out large-scale sociological surveys in China, using representative population samples. These deal with issues such as social stratification, access to prestigious education and employment, or the xiaxiang phenomenon itself, and are interesting for studying the 1960s and 1970s. Being life-course based, they also include the historical dimension, with varying degrees of success.55 There are two reasons why a certain amount of caution is required when using the results of these large-scale surveys. First, certain misunderstandings, often historical in nature, can bias the survey from its very inception; and second, it is difficult in present-day China to find people sufficiently well-trained and conscientious to undertake the fieldwork for these vast questionnaire-based surveys. I have heard of several cases

54

55

California, 1981). Anita Chan, Children of Mao: Personality Development and Political Activism in the Red Guard Generation (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1985); Anita Chan, Richard Madsen, and Jonathan Unger, Chen Village under Mao and Deng (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992) (the book contains a list of all the articles that were produced on the basis of this study, on page 355); Richard Madsen, Morality and Power in a Chinese Village (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984). Xueguang Zhou and Liren Hou, “Children of the Cultural Revolution: The State and the Life Course in the People’s Republic of China,” American Sociological Review 64(1) (February 1999), pp. 12–36 (followed by Kevin Chen and Xiaonong Cheng’s commentaries); Andrew Walder, Bobai Li, and Donald Treiman, “Politics and Life Chances in a State Socialist Regime: Dual Career Paths into the Urban Chinese Elite, 1949 to 1996,” American Sociological Review 65(2) (April 2000), pp. 191–209; Xueguang Zhou, Nancy Tuma, and Phyllis Moen, “Institutional Change and Job-Shift Patterns in Urban China, 1949 to 1994,” American Sociological Review 62(3) (June 1997), pp. 339–65, and, by the same authors, “Educational Stratification in Urban China: 1949–1994,” Sociology of Education 71(3) (July 1998), pp. 199–222.

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where the questionnaires were filled in by the local interviewers themselves, keen to pocket their pay. Furthermore, some subjects may still be perceived as being too sensitive by respondents for them to answer in an entirely open and honest fashion.

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1.

The first wave of departures from Beijing (1967–1969) often included a ceremony on Tiananmen Square during which the zhiqing took an oath of allegiance to Mao Zedong.

2.

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“When Chairman Mao beckons, I leap forward.” Young girls p os e for a “ r evolut ion a r y ” photograph before setting out for distant parts.

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3.

In a desire to relive the revolution symbolically, these young Beijingers walked a 500 km “long march” to a village in Inner Mongolia.

4.

Many young people left for the countryside out of loyalty to Chairman Mao. Nothing was too much trouble to display their adoration.

5.

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Despite the official nature of the ceremonies, the train depart u r e s we r e a lways charged with emotion and the singing failed to conceal the weeping.

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6.

Young people arriving at the revolutionary sanctuary of Yan’an.

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7.

8.

“Sending children to work in the fields.” This propaganda poster aimed to convince the cadres (in this case a military one) to send their children to the countryside too.

A poster with an idealized image of a young zhiqing being welcomed into her “new home.”

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9.

Reeducation: these young urbanites toughen themselves up by taking part in the “struggle for production.” 10. Breaking rocks was an excellent form of reeducation for young women as well as young men.

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11. Herding horses in Inner Mongolia had an exotic appeal for these young Beijingers.

12. The days were very long during the harvest and threshing seasons.

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13. Despite having only rudimentary training, the young zhiqing who became “barefoot doctors” did at least have the satisfaction of doing something useful. 14. Another nonagricultural position assigned to some educated youths was that of village teacher. Here children are learning to read: “The Great Cultural Revolution will always shine forth.”

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15. Zhu Kejia, a model zhiqing who, among other things, became a teacher in a national minority village in Yunnan province.

16. Teacher in a Mountain Village. Although he is not named, Zhu Kejia was certainly the model for this engraving.

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17. Accounting was another nonagricultural task assigned to certain zhiqing who were sufficiently trusted by the peasants.

18. The zhiqing were officially encouraged to carry out scientific experiments in agronomy.

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19. Sometimes the zhiqing worked as propagandists for local radio stations.

20. In order to repulse a possible Soviet invasion, the zhiqing on the military farms in the north practiced shooting.

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21. Political criticism meetings (in this case, against Lin Biao) were an important activity in the military farms.

22. At the outset of the rustication movement, the educated youth were also required to denounce “class enemies” in the villages.

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23. Reading was a valued pastime for the zhiqing.

24. Music was a popular leisure activity, although the zhiqing were rarely able to get a whole orchestra together.

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25. Doing the laundry (here on Hainan Island) was a social occasion for the zhiqing.

26. The zhiqing were encouraged to lea r n traditional crafts from the peasants.

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27. “Remembering the bitterness (of the past) to enjoy the sweetness (of the present)” was one way for the peasants to reeducate the zhiqing.

28. There were many “martyrs” among the zhiqing, young people who died while carrying out their duties.

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29. On December 27, 1978, a 28-member delegation representing 50,000 educated youth on strike in Xishuangbanna (Yunnan) arrived in Beijing. They immediately went to Tiananmen Square and demanded to be received by the most senior leaders.

30. On December 25, 1978, the central authorities dispatched Zhao Fan, head of the State Bureau of Agricultural Land Clearing, to Yunnan to investigate the zhiqing’s rebellion and strike. Everywhere he went he was met by hund reds of educated youth, kneeling and weeping in the ancient tradition of Chinese petitioners.

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31. Unaware of the actions of the educated youth in Xishuangbanna, others on farms in Mengding, a thousand kilometers away, also went on strike on December 20. Two weeks later, on January 6, 1979, they decided to make it a “hunger and thirst strike” (refusing food and water), to obtain the right to go back home. They asked the central authorities to send a delegation to them and they knelt on the ground, raising their fists, swearing to fight to the end.

32. From Ja nua r y 6 to January 9, 1979, the d e s p e r a t e Yu n n a n zh iqing were on hunger strike and lay on the ground inside the courtyard of the Mengd i ng Guesthouse fenced in by an i r o n ga t e. S eve r a l thousand com rades supported them outside. Their spontaneous action eventually met with success and the hunger strike played an important role at a key moment.

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33. Inspired by the actions of the Shanghai educated youth in Yunnan, others in Xinjiang also began a protest movement on February 3, 1979, demanding their return. However, the demand was repeatedly rejected. On November 23, 1980, in freezing weather of minus 23°C, some 500 zhiqing began a hunger strike in Aksu. To show their determination, they brought along a few coffins covered with slogans.

34. On February 26, the number of hunger strikers had risen to 1,300. The strike only ended on February 27, when they received a telegram informing them that the central authorit ies were d ispatch i ng a working group.

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35. A “meeting to celebrate the victory of the hunger strike.” Delegates from the farms demonstrated with banners proclaiming the word “Strike,” meaning that they would remain on strike until the arrival of the working group. When it failed to show up, 500 delegates in more than twenty trucks proceeded to Urumqi on December 11 to hold protests there. The same day, the local authorities agreed to return city residence permits to all those wanting to go home.

36. Unfortunately, one of the trucks had an accident, leaving three dead and eighteen injured. The delegates returned to Aksu and held a funeral ceremony. By now the local authorities had almost finished distributing the residence p e r m it s , wh e n s u d d e n ly o n December 26, they declared the documents invalid and arrested the protest leaders. Ouyang Lian (i n t he c ent er) re c eive d t he harshest punishment and was sentenced to four years imprisonment. Among the 46,000 educated youth from Shanghai still living in Xinjiang, only 16,000 were allowed to return home to Shanghai or its suburbs. The others were the group that suffered the most from the rustication policy. Many returned to the city illegally and still live in very reduced circumstances to this day.

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Photo Credits 03 04, 06 05 20 23 12, 18, 26 11, 15, 25 01, 09, 22, 24, 28

02, 10

other photos

La Chine en Construction, April 1969 Ibid., June 1969 Ibid., November 1969 Ibid., June 1970 Ibid., March 1974 Ibid., October 1974 China Pictorial, September 1976 Xue Yanwen and Zhang Xueshan, Zhiqing lao zhaopian (Old Pictures of Educated Youth), Tianjin: Baihua wenyi chubanshe, 1998 Hunxi heitudi bianwei hui, Hunxi heitudi (Our Soul Is Linked to the Black Earth), Nanjing: Jiangsu renmin chubanshe, 1991 Author’s personal collection

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PART ONE

Motivations

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Why was the policy to rusticate educated youths relaunched so energetically at the end of 1968? How did it turn into such a massive movement to concern the vast majority of young city dwellers aged 15 and over who had not yet entered the labor market? And why was the movement pursued over the next ten years, despite the obvious problems it was causing? There is no easy answer to these questions. Before the Cultural Revolution, xiaxiang was already presented as a multifunctional policy.1 During the chaotic period at the end of 1968, and then in the next ten years marked by the frenzied “two line struggle,”2 the government’s motives were even more complex. Some were long-term, others short-term, some clearly stated, others disguised or hinted at, while still others were passed over in silence. Doubtless not all the motives were clear in the leaders’ minds, including the first and foremost of them, Mao Zedong. Mao launched the movement, just as he had launched the Cultural Revolution, and his “thoughts” provided the justifications. The hundreds of articles dealing with that (as with all subjects at the time) consisted of interminable commentaries and explanations of the Chairman’s wishes expressed in a few sentences, endlessly reproduced in bold type. Given the circumstances, any analysis of xiaxiang is bound on occasion to seem like a study of Mao’s thoughts—or even an analysis of his psyche. Over and above the official justifications for the movement, I shall identify four principal motivations that can be grouped into three categories: ideological (to change young people’s mentalities and eradicate divisions in society); political (to restore order and strengthen Mao’s charismatic power); and two socioeconomic motivations, the one positive (to develop the countryside and the border regions) and the other negative (to limit demographic growth and unemployment in the cities).

1 2

See below, pp. 51–63. The struggle within the party between the “socialist construction” line and the “rightwing opportunist” line. In 1959 Mao used this concept against Marshal Peng Dehuai. From the early days of the Cultural Revolution he took it up systematically in his struggle against Liu Shaoqi and Deng Xiaoping, both of whom, he believed, had strayed onto the capitalist path.

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CHAPTER 1

Ideological Motives

Training Successors to the Revolution Throughout its history, most of the movements launched by the CCP have had dual transformation functions, both objective (economic, institutional, ecological) and subjective (ways of thinking and attitudes), perceived as being inseparable.1 After the 1963 Socialist Education Movement, the subjective aspect

1

Gordon Bennett, Yundong: Mass Campaigns in Chinese Communist Leadership (Berkeley: Center for Chinese Studies, University of California, 1976); Charles P. Cell, Revolution at Work: Mobilization Campaigns in China (New York: Academic Press, 1977); Sidney L. Greenblatt, “Campaigns and the Manufacture of Deviance in Chinese Society,” in Amy A. Wilson et al. (eds.), Deviance and Social Control in Chinese Society (New York: Praeger, 1977), pp.  82–120. As far as I know these first two references are the only systematic studies of mass movements since 1949. That said, this book, and everything we know about the history of contemporary China, goes against Bennett’s thesis that the post-1949 regime was a “participative democracy” and that mass movements were one of the principal tools of this “democracy.” As for Cell, he teaches us little about the reality of the movements he refers to and provides no proof to back up his ideas about the absolute difference between Maoist China and the rest of humanity, or the almost magical efficiency of “normative appeals” in economic transformation.

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was clearly emphasized, and the Cultural Revolution (a “revolution in the superstructure”) confirmed this trend. When the movement to send educated youth to the countryside was relaunched on a massive scale at the end of 1968, official propaganda also emphasized the ideological reform (sixiang gaizao 思想改造) objective. Though also present in earlier propaganda, this now changed in tone and became of primary importance, notably with the introduction of “reeducation” (zai jiaoyu 再教育). Mao Zedong’s directive, broadcast nationwide by radio on the evening of December 21, 1968, and published in the People’s Daily on the following day, marked the birth of this new type of xiaxiang, and provided no other justification: It is absolutely necessary for educated young people to go to the countryside to be reeducated by the poor and lower-middle peasants. Cadres and other city people should be persuaded to send their sons and daughters to the countryside when they have finished junior or senior high school, college, or university. Let’s mobilize. Comrades throughout the countryside should welcome them.2

The commentaries that followed this directive over the next days explained the meaning of “reeducation.” Its purpose was to “revolutionize the thinking of zhiqing” and “train successors to the revolutionary proletarian cause.”3 On several occasions in the years preceding the Cultural Revolution, Mao Zedong had revealed his anxiety about the emergence of an elite, increasingly cut off from the masses, and young people’s disregard for revolutionary ideals. The example of “Soviet revisionism”—and the growing influence of his “realist” political adversaries—fueled Mao’s fears that one day, perhaps in a few or at most a few dozen years, China would “change color.”4 For him, the root of the problem seemed to be the increasingly academic and competitive education system, which was forming a new elite without any real experience, and more often than not was drawn from the families of cadres 2 3 4

RMRB, December 22, 1968, p.  1. The directive was also published on the front page the following day. See Xinhua, December 23, 1968, in SWB, December 30, 1968. Mao Zedong, “Yijiuliusan nian wu yue jiu ri dui ‘Zhejiangsheng qige guanyu ganbu canjia laodong de hao cailiao’ de piyu” (Notes from May 9, 1963, on “Seven Useful Sources Concerning the Participation of Cadres in Manual Labor in Zhejiang Province”), quoted in “Guanyu Heluxiaofu de jia gongchanzhuyi ji qi zai shijie lishi shang de jiaoxun” (On Khrushchev’s Phony Communism and Its Historical Lessons for the World), HQ 13 (July 14, 1964), p. 32.

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CHAPTER 1

I D E O L O G I C A L M OT I V E S

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5

and intellectuals. Taking his anti-intellectualism to its most extreme conclusion, Mao came to believe that all academic education posed a serious threat to young people’s minds.5 In 1964 he declared: “We shouldn’t read too many books. We should read Marxist books, but not too many of them either. […] If we read too much it can have an adverse effect and we become bookworms, dogmatists, and revisionists.”6 Back in 1958 he had already asserted: “Since ancient times, anyone creating new ideas or schools of thought was always young and had little learning,” and “Historically speaking, the least educated always topple the most educated.”7 In 1965, he was already urging all high school graduates to spend several years working in the countryside, in factories, or the army, before potentially moving on to higher education.8 Mao’s distrust of intellectuals was not new, but with the Cultural Revolution it became universal: all intellectuals were informally classed as belonging to the “black ninth category” and were treated by radicals as the “stinking old ninth category” (chou lao jiu 臭老九). But by this time an entire urban generation had become so-called intellectuals, precisely because one of the improvements brought about by the Communist regime had been the widespread availability of junior-level secondary education in cities and towns and its development in rural areas.9 This new situation gave young people high expectations. Either they wanted to carry on their studies (in senior high school or college) or obtain white-collar positions commensurate with their educational level. But neither the country’s economic growth nor the development of secondary and higher education progressed rapidly enough to fulfill these expectations, leading to widespread frustration. 5

6 7 8 9

For more on Mao’s anti-intellectualism and all other populist aspects of Maoism, see Maurice  Meisner, Marxism, Maoism, and Utopianism (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1982), in particular chap. 3. Many telling examples of Mao’s hostile attitude toward intellectuals can also be found in Fang Su, “Qian Jiaju tan Mao Zedong zenyang duidai zhishifenzi” (Qian Jiaju Reports on How Mao Zedong Treated Intellectuals), Jiushi niandai 4 (1994), pp. 90–93. Mao Zedong, Mao Zedong sixiang wansui (Long Live Mao Zedong Thought) (n.p., 1969), p. 464. Ibid., pp. 176–77. Ibid., p. 626. There were roughly 12.5 million high school students in 1966 compared with only one million in 1949 according to Zhongguo jiaoyu nianjian, 1949–1981 (China Education Yearbook, 1949–1981) (Beijing: Zhongguo dabaike quanshu chubanshe, 1984), p. 1001.

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What worried Mao was that this new educated urban generation, destined to become the new elite, did not share any of his own generation’s values. “In the final analysis,” he stated, “the question of training successors for the revolutionary cause of the proletariat is one of whether or not there will be people able to carry on the Marxist-Leninist revolutionary cause started by the older generation of proletarian revolutionaries.”10 For him this was “a matter of life and death” for the party and the country.11 During this period Mao displayed a dogged, and at times desperate, determination to fight against what Max Weber called the “routinization of charisma.” One of the obvious manifestations of this was the abandonment of selection by revolutionary “virtue” in favor of a system for training the elite, which could be described as part traditional and part bureaucratic, based on skills validated by exams, as well as the hereditary transmission of status.12 One of the functions of xiaxiang was therefore to break the link between education and social status by obliging all secondary education graduates to become peasants and by authorizing promotions only on the basis of each person’s level of revolutionary fervor in productive labor and class struggle.13 Urban youths authorized to enter the universities, once they reopened in 1970, were not selected on academic criteria, but on how the “masses” judged their behavior in the countryside. This also determined their possibilities of promotion in the countryside. However, there was a contradiction between this “charismatic” model, which aimed at “qualification on the basis of an individual’s personal endeavors” and took precedence over “qualification on the basis of origin,”

10

11 12

13

HQ 13 (July 14, 1964), p. 32. See also “On Kruschev’s Phoney Communism and Its Historical Lessons for the World,” in Quotations from Chairman Mao Tse-Tung (also known as The Little Red Book) (Peking: Foreign Language Editions, 1966), pp. 276–277. Edgar  Snow, The Long Revolution (London: Hutchinson of London, 1973), pp. 221–22. Jonathan Unger, Education under Mao: Class and Competition in Canton Schools, 1960–1980 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1982), chap.  I-1, especially chart 1–2, pp.  26–27. On the concept of “charismatic power,” see Max  Weber, Economy and Society (New York: Bedminister Press, 1968), pp. 249–61. In 1963 Mao wrote that for a powerful socialist country to protect its bureaucracy from revisionism it had to rely on the “Three Great Revolutionary Movements” (san da geming yundong 三 大 革 命 運 動 ): class struggle, the struggle for production, and the struggle for scientific experimentation (see HQ 13 [July 14, 1964], pp.  31–32). After 1968 the propaganda emphasized the need for zhiqing to train themselves by participating in these “Three Great Movements.”

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and the reinforcement of a “class status” (jieji chengfen 階級成分) system that occurred at the same time. Throughout the period concerned, family background (jiating chushen 家庭出身) played a determining role in social advancement. Discrimination against people from bad backgrounds was continuously reinforced by calls to deepen the class struggle, even though, officially, children from the bad classes who displayed revolutionary fervor were referred to as “salvageable children” (keyi jiaoyuhao de zinü 可以教育 好的子女). It is not necessary here to try to explain the significance of this contradiction, but simply to underline it because it had a tangible influence on the daily lives of millions of young people.14

Reeducating Young Intellectuals The main function of xiaxiang was not to alter ways of selecting the elite. It was first and foremost to radically transform the attitudes of the entire generation of urban youths who had been thoroughly contaminated by revisionist poison. “Why do we need to send zhiqing to the countryside? Because they have received a bourgeois education at school,” explained the Wenhuibao.15 In May 1967, right in the middle of the Cultural Revolution, Mao clearly showed his disappointment with this generation of “young intellectuals,” and expressed his desire to reeducate them: I had originally intended to train some successors from among the intellectuals, but this would now appear to be impractical. It seems to me that the world outlook of intellectuals, including those young intellectuals still receiving an education in schools, and those within and outside the party, is still basically bourgeois. This is because in more than ten years since Liberation, the cultural and educational circles have been dominated by revisionism, and so bourgeois ideology has seeped into their blood. Thus, revolutionary intellectuals must carefully remold their world outlook.16

This very negative view of the educational work undertaken between 1949 and 1966 became official dogma after the publication on August 13, 1971, with Mao’s approval, of the Report of the National Working Session on

14

15 16

Gordon White, The Politics of Class and Class Origin: The Case of the Cultural Revolution (Canberra: Contemporary China Centre, Australian National University, 1976). Wenhuibao (WHB), editorial, December 22, 1968, in FBIS, December 24, 1968. Mao Zedong sixiang wansui, n.p., 1969, p. 676.

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Education, held from April 15 to July 31 that year. The authors of this report judged that, during the first seventeen years of the regime, “Chairman Mao’s educational policy has not been applied” (dictatorship of the “black line”), to the extent that “the majority of teachers and students educated since Liberation have an essentially capitalistic world outlook.” These “two judgments” (liangge guji 兩個估計) were to bear down heavily on intellectuals of all levels until the report was officially repudiated on March 19, 1979.17 Mao had always believed that the way for intellectuals to revolutionize (geminghua 革命化) their thinking was to integrate with the masses: “In the final analysis, the dividing line between revolutionary intellectuals and nonrevolutionary or counterrevolutionary intellectuals is whether or not they are willing to integrate themselves with the workers and peasants and actually do so,” he wrote in 1939.18 Three years later, in Yan’an, the first xiaxiang movement enabled young intellectuals, students, cadres, and artists to go and work in the countryside, to understand and to serve the peasant masses while sharing in their lives and labor. At that time, the intellectuals’ task was to struggle against the “remnants of feudalism” in rural thought. In fact, numerous conflicts erupted between the peasants (especially local cadres) and these intruders who were not content simply to share the lives of the villagers, but also wanted to reform them, if not to rule over them.19 This reciprocal influence always existed, at least in theory, in the pre– Cultural Revolution xiaxiang, when intellectuals went to the countryside as both students and teachers of the peasants.20 The zhiqing primarily had the task of “conscientiously reforming” themselves through contact with the peasants, but were also to “transmit scientific culture and knowledge,” which included “helping peasants learn to read, to be attentive to hygiene, and to destroy superstitions.”21 From 1968 onward, however, although zhiqing were still supposed to contribute to the development of the countryside, the 17

18 19 20

21

Zhonghua renmin gongheguo jiaoyu dashiji, 1949–1982 (Chronicle of Education in the PRC, 1949–1982) (Beijing: Jiaoyu kexue chubanshe, 1983), pp.  437–40, 544–45. Mao Zedong, Selected Works, vol.  2 (Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1967), p. 256. Mark Selden, The Yenan Way in Revolutionary China (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1971), pp. 224–29. This ambiguous relationship between intellectuals and peasants had also existed in the nineteenth-century Russian populist movements; see Meisner, Marxism, Maoism, and Utopianism, p. 84. RMRB, May 4, 1964, p. 1.

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ideological aspect of this contribution had disappeared. Emphasis was now placed on the modesty (xuxin 虛心) that zhiqing were to show in their relations with the peasants.22 In practice, the idea of “reeducation” implied a unilateral influence where the poor and lower-middle peasants reeducated young intellectuals, who were only accepted among the masses if they showed clear proof of having reformed.23 But how was such proof to be provided? Exactly what attitudes and values did the zhiqing have to expunge, and what was to replace them? For one thing, they were to eradicate all “bourgeois” attitudes, such as disdain for manual labor and workers, a taste for luxury and comfort, the ambition to lead an easy life, an excessive attachment to family and their hometown, a desire for individual advancement, a disregard for public affairs, and indifference to class struggle. In short, all egotism and the very notion of ego.24 In its place they were to learn all the “proletarian virtues,” such as a taste for effort and endurance, the love of labor (even and especially when it was hard and dirty), simple tastes and a Spartan way of life, an interest in politics and the class struggle, and above all, a spirit of self-effacement and self-sacrifice for the good of the community and the state. These virtues were lauded in hundreds of articles and radio broadcasts, often by using model zhiqing such as Jin Xunhua who, like the model soldier Lei Feng, bequeathed an edifying personal diary before sacrificing his life to save state property.25 In the actions extolled by the propaganda it was not enough to work hard and achieve practical results. Becoming a revolutionary had to entail suffering, so digging a well in winter, when the ground is frozen solid, may not seem very rational, but it is if the primary aim is to temper resistance to fatigue.26 The ultimate aim of the zhiqing’s heroic effort to reform themselves, which would prove its success, was simply their enthusiastic acceptance of 22 23 24

25 26

E.g., RMRB, September 6, 1968, p.  2; Shanghai Radio, July 11, 1969, in SWB, July 18, 1969. WHB, editorial, December 22, 1968, in FBIS, December 24, 1968. The propaganda reported about one educated youth who had decided to reform herself: “She decided to do away with the concept of ‘self’ engrained in her head”; see La Chine en Construction (China Reconstructs) (my translations throughout), September 1969, p. 32. For more on Jin Xunhua, see in particular HQ 12 (November 29, 1969), p. 19; La Chine en Construction, May 1970, pp. 10–15. Fan Yusong, “Mao zhuxi de guanghui zhexue sixiang fuyu women chengzhang” (Chairman Mao’s Glorious Philosophical Thought Nourishes Our Growth), GMRB, July 10, 1970, p. 3.

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the destiny laid out for them by Chairman Mao, in other words, to become lifelong peasants and “take root” (zhagen 扎根) in the countryside. “We must resolutely establish ourselves there, in other words we must get used to the idea that we will work with the hoe for as long as we live,” the young revolutionaries would say.27 The way to achieve this was not complicated, but required a great deal of perseverance. Urban youths had to transform themselves into peasants from within, and gradually get accustomed to “having the same thoughts and feelings as the peasants.”28 The image of peasants in the press was not only extremely laudatory but also very romantic: “Peasants have the revolutionary will to overcome all difficulties. Braving the storm, the fire of the sun, and extreme cold, they eventually overcome all kinds of challenges.”29 To advance in their reform, the zhiqing also had to face challenges and take part in hard work in the fields, because there is nothing like manual labor for getting rid of revisionist ideas. On arriving in the countryside, Jin Xunhua, the model zhiqing referred to above, wrote: My hands bleed, but those of poor and middle-lower peasants do not. Why? It proves that my hands and my thoughts have long since been distanced from the peasants and workers, distanced from manual labor, and contaminated by revisionist poison, and that I need to spend a long time toughening them up among the workers and peasants.30

However, the peasants’ revolutionary virtues were not irreversible given facts; they could be corrupted by contact with teaching in schools. For instance, Zhai Xiuzhen, the daughter of a poor peasant family who completed her junior-level secondary education in 1955, despised working in the countryside because she had been “poisoned by Liu Shaoqi’s counterrevolutionary revisionist line on education.”31 In order to recover her ideological purity she had to undergo a series of tests consisting of progressively more distasteful tasks such as extracting feces by hand from the rectums of animals, eventually becoming a specialist at castrating pigs. The more she dirtied herself physically, the purer she became morally. At each step of this initiation, she

27 28 29 30 31

WHB, editorial, December 22, 1968, in FBIS, December 24, 1968. RMRB, May 4, 1964, p.  1; WHB, editorial, December 24, 1968, in FBIS, December 24, 1968. WHB, editorial, December 24, 1968, in FBIS, December 24, 1968. HQ 12 (November 29, 1969), p. 9. La Chine en Construction, September 1969, pp. 32–34.

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was guided by the Book—the works of Mao—and especially the following illuminating passage from the Great Helmsman: “Compared with the workers and peasants, the non-reeducated intellectuals are not clean; […] the workers and peasants are the cleanest people and, even though their hands are soiled and their feet smeared with cow-dung, they are really far cleaner than the bourgeois and petty-bourgeois intellectuals.”32 Manual labor was not sufficient in itself; peasants also had to help urban youths reform themselves by criticizing them and teaching them Mao Zedong Thought. One favored method of doing so was by holding meetings to “recall past suffering, and think of present happiness” (yi ku si tian 憶苦思甜), during which old peasants would recount tales of their past suffering and compare it with the joy of their present lives. Peasants therefore became models and teachers for urban youths by “helping to raise their level of revolutionary consciousness.”33 This gave the peasants considerable political standing, especially since a large number of the young people they were “educating” were the sons and daughters of revolutionary workers and cadres. Peasant superiority over city dwellers might have been surprising in a Marxist regime had not Mao’s utopian and populist views been widely known.34 In 1966 Mao confided to his nephew Mao Yuanxin: I spent a long time in rural areas with the peasants and I was deeply moved by the number of things they knew. I was not up to their standard. I had to learn from them. Since you are not even a member of the Central Committee how could you possibly know more than the peasants?35

Needless to say, this lofty status was only conferred on poor and lowermiddle peasants loyal to Chairman and armed with his Thought. To quote the peasants in the official propaganda posters, “Our great leader Chairman Mao has given us the glorious task of reeducating educated youth. […] We must educate them with the help of Mao Zedong thought […] in such a way […] that they quickly become workers with a socialist consciousness and culture, and join us in making the countryside a great red school for the teaching of Mao Zedong thought.” So deeply attached were they to Chairman Mao, that some reportedly got up in the middle of the night to study his latest directives

32 33 34 35

Ibid., p. 34. This quote is taken from “Talks at the Yan’an Forum on Literature and Art” in May 1942; Mao Zedong, Selected Works, vol. 3, p. 71. La Chine en Construction, April 1969, p. 40. Meisner, Marxism, Maoism, and Utopianism, chaps. 2 and 3. JPRS, 49826, Translations on Communist China 90 (February 12, 1970), p. 30.

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by the light of an oil lamp.36 By getting close to peasants endowed with socialist consciousness and identifying themselves with them, urban youths with a certain amount of culture would be transformed into “peasants with a socialist consciousness and culture.” The success of reeducation therefore depended first on the actual existence of peasants endowed with all the revolutionary virtues, and second on the millions of urban youths with totally malleable minds. The program for the pre–Cultural Revolution xiaxiang, validated in January 1964, provides an interesting indication of the government’s expectations in this matter. While affirming that the transformation of zhiqing was quite possible, it points out that those being sent down to the villages would need about two years to become self-sufficient, three to five years to establish households similar to those of the peasants, and “a bit more time” for them to “mentally accept the construction of a new socialist countryside as the ultimate aim in their lives.”37 Mao had absolutely no doubts about their malleability, and he considered himself an example of the successful transformation of an intellectual into a proletarian. This is precisely what he asserted in his famous “Talks at the Yan’an Forum on Literature and Art” of May 1942: But after I became a revolutionary I lived with workers and peasants and with soldiers of the revolutionary army […]. It was then, and only then, that I fundamentally changed the bourgeois and petty-bourgeois feelings implanted in me by the bourgeois schools […]. That is what I mean by a change in feelings, a change from one class to another.38

In 1942, Mao asked all the revolutionary intellectuals and artists who had joined him in Yan’an to reform themselves as he had done and many of them went off to the villages at the time.39 In 1968, millions of young people were urged to become “peasants of a new kind.” Behind this new kind of peasants there clearly lurked the avatar of the “new man” that the Chinese Communists, in imitation of Stalin (but with more perseverance and optimism), had been attempting to shape for decades.40 By virtue of the scale of its ambition

36 37 38 39 40

Xinhua, December 23, 1968, in SWB, December 30, 1968; La Chine en Construction, May 1970, p. 14. Gu Hongzhang and Ma Kesen (eds.), Dashiji, p. 43. Mao Zedong, Selected Works, vol. 3, p. 71. Selden, The Yenan Way in Revolutionary China, pp. 224–29. Donald  J.  Munro, The Concept of Man in Contemporary China (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1977).

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to transform ways of thinking, xiaxiang is a typical example of such an attempt, and in this respect its success or failure was a kind of test.

Reducing the “Three Great Differences” The ideological implications of xiaxiang did not stop there, however. The attempt to create a new kind of peasant was also born from a desire to eliminate all existing social divisions in work. The entire press insisted on the key role of xiaxiang in the reduction and ultimately the abolition of the “Three Great Differences” (between industry and agriculture, city and countryside, mental and manual labor).41 Since the elimination of these differences was one of the principal characteristics of the future Communist society, the implications of the movement were enormous. “The practice of sending zhiqing to the countryside […] is of fundamental importance for the next hundred, thousand and even ten thousand years to come.”42 “Sending educated youths to the countryside is a long-term strategic plan. The objective of proletarian revolution is to establish Communism, and one of the preconditions for achieving this is the elimination of differences between industry and agriculture, city and countryside, and manual and mental labor. The key factor in eliminating [these differences] is to construct a new socialist countryside. Sending educated youths and idle urbanites to the countryside is a social revolution of considerable importance.”43 In the Maoist tradition, ideology was the primary method for achieving revolutionary change: “Once the correct ideas characteristic of the advanced class are grasped by the masses, these ideas turn into a material force that will change society and transform the world.”44 Since man was the vital factor in this, it was first necessary to create “peasants with socialist consciousness and culture” in order to construct the “new socialist countryside.” The best way to abolish the differences between city and countryside was to transform urban inhabitants into peasants and the best way to eliminate the separation between manual labor and mental labor was to transform intellectuals into

41

42 43 44

This concept was borrowed from Stalin; see Joseph  Staline, Les Problèmes économiques du socialisme en URSS (Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1974), pp. 25–30. Qingdao Radio, December 22, 1968, in SWB, December 30, 1968. WHB, December 24, 1968, in FBIS, December 24, 1968. Mao Zedong, “Where Do Correct Ideas Come From?,” in Four Essays on Philosophy (Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1967), p. 150.

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manual laborers. Before the Cultural Revolution, references were also made to the reverse method, i.e., transforming peasants into intellectuals. “Essentially, educated youth have a dual task: to transform themselves into manual laborers and, at the same time, to help peasants transform themselves into intellectuals” (shi ziji laodonghua, tongshi bangzhu nongmin zhishihua).45 The correspondence between the two (laodonghua–zhishihua 勞動化– 知識化) was far less balanced in 1968 than it had been before the Cultural Revolution. The zhiqing influence on the peasants’ way of thinking was no longer considered useful, although the ideal of a peasant/intellectual fusion remained. The only difference was that rather than present this fusion as the consequence of a two-way transformation, it was shown as the result of the one-way integration of zhiqing into rural life.46 Even though peasants no longer needed zhiqing to reform their thinking, they could, however, make use of their knowledge. Peasants were wholeheartedly encouraged to study, and the development of rural education became a priority. In the Marxist tradition, the new man must liberate himself from the division of labor by mastering a range of tasks. This idea was revived in China with the famous “May 7 directive” (1966) in which Mao called on each socio-vocational category to follow the example of the military and undertake other activities alongside their primary occupation. Peasants were to take an interest in culture and military affairs just as students were encouraged to get involved in industry, agriculture, politics, and military affairs.47 Putting this new form of Utopia into practice was obviously impossible without risking economic chaos, but nevertheless a partial attempt was made. All categories of people received intensive political training, at least in Mao’s concept of politics (class struggle under the leadership of the party led by himself) and some had received military training in the army or the militia. Moreover, a

45 46

47

RMRB, editorial, May 4, 1964. The nineteenth-century Russian populists also had two grand ideas for reducing the gap between young intellectuals and the peasants. Lavrov’s followers emphasized the need to go and educate peasants to bring them closer to intellectuals, whereas Bakunin’s partisans wanted to transform themselves into peasants, though not before having first conferred their own ideals and feelings on them (Richard Wortman, The Crisis of Russian Populism [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1967], pp. 15–17). Clearly, in post-1968 China, Bakunin’s ideas gained precedence, whereas in Yan’an and before the Cultural Revolution, a mix of both approaches was favored. Mao Zedong, Mao Zedong sixiang wansui, pp. 642–43.

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large number of cadres had been initiated into the joys of agriculture in the so-called May 7 cadre schools (wuqi ganxiao 五七幹校).48 Few workers had the opportunity to learn about agriculture, but some factories did set up adjoining farms, and a number of peasants were trained in industrial labor in small rural factories and even in some urban enterprises. One might wonder if the emphasis on agricultural labor for educated youths was justified from an ideological perspective. After all, factories also provide training in production and manual labor. But other than the obvious practical limitations (less capacity for accommodating the labor force than in the countryside), it is certain that for Mao settling young “intellectuals” in the countryside was ideologically far superior to establishing them in the factories. Although he never explicitly put forward this point of view, it was more than hinted at in the arguments in favor of rustication at the time. The global system for sending all young graduates to the countryside (with the exception of a small minority recruited by the army) was defined as “all red” (yi pian hong 一片紅), implying that the mixed system, whereby some young people were recruited by the factories, was not entirely “red” or revolutionary.49 Being sent to a factory was less progressive because it only broke down one of the differences—between mental and manual labor—whereas being rusticated also helped to reduce the difference between city and countryside. As for the objective of training successors for the revolutionary cause, the propaganda that accompanied the movement systematically emphasized that the worst material living conditions, and therefore the best places for tempering young people’s morals, were to be found in the countryside. “The harder the conditions in a rural area, the easier it is for me to shape myself into becoming a worthy successor to the cause of the proletarian revolution,” wrote one Beijing high school student on arriving in Yan’an.50 The class struggle was also more complex in the villages, and therefore more instructive for young people.51 One of the main objectives of the Great Leap Forward, that pillar of transition to Communism, had been the creation of rural communes. Despite its failure, Mao had not given up hope of

48 49

50 51

For a concrete example of lives of cadres in these schools, see Yang Jiang, Six récits de l’école des cadres (Paris: Bourgois, 1983). One of the criticisms leveled at the Gang of Four after their fall from grace was that they had considered rustication as the only revolutionary path; see Liaoning Radio, November 19, 1978, in FBIS, November 27, 1978. La Chine en Construction, June 1969, p. 24. WHB, December 24, 1968, in FBIS, December 24, 1968.

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increasing the collectivization of agricultural labor, and this was clearly visible in the Socialist Education Movement that preceded the Cultural Revolution and the “Learn from Dazhai” movement of 1969. Zhiqing were being sent to the frontline of the most important battle for the future of Chinese socialism. In addition to these “rational” justifications for the particularly revolutionary nature of xiaxiang, another, more existential aspect should be taken into account, namely Mao’s own personality and history. “China has brought forth a Mao Zedong,” ran the lyrics of The East Is Red, and the China that brought him forth, and that he knew and loved, was rural China and not urban China and the cities that were always alien to him.52 In contrast to the Russian populists, Mao had never needed to make any effort to go to the countryside because that was his home territory. But he did “return” there after a fairly unsuccessful attempt to integrate into intellectual and progressive urban circles, and this experience only served to reinforce his early anti-intellectual tendencies and provided them with an added element of revenge. Other idiosyncratic traits of Mao’s youthful convictions, before his conversion to Marxism, became increasingly important in his ideological evolution during the 1960s and his justifications for xiaxiang, especially his glorification of physical exertion and heroism and the preeminence of practical experience over all other forms of knowledge.53 In his 1964 “Talk on Questions of Philosophy,” Mao proclaimed: “For my part I’m a graduate of the university of the green woods, and I learned quite a bit there.”54  This heartfelt statement reveals Mao’s nostalgia for the origins of “his” revolution and his disregard for all knowledge learned from behind a school desk. Traditionally those “green woods” were the hideouts of bandits and honest thieves. For Mao, they were the rural bases of Jiangxi and later, Yan’an, where the Communist Party evolved and where Mao guided it to the conquest of power using the strategy of encircling the cities from the countryside. It should be remembered, however, that although used by Mao to great effect in China, the idea of launching a revolution from the countryside was not his own invention. He inherited it from Li Dazhao, who had in turn borrowed it from Russian populists. Li was the first Chinese Marxist to call on the “educated youths” of his time to go to the countryside. In an article 52 53 54

Meisner, Marxism, Maoism, and Utopianism, pp. 61–72. Li Zehou, “Mao as a Young Intellectual,” in A Study on Marxism in China (Hong Kong: Joint Publishing Co., 1993), pp. 93–126. Mao Zedong, Mao Zedong sixiang wansui, p. 549.

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entitled “The Youth in the Countryside” he wrote: “Today’s generation of young people should go to the countryside. They should go to develop our villages, taking inspiration from the young Russians in the past and their Rural Propaganda Movement. This cannot wait. China is a rural country. The large majority of workers are peasants. If they are not liberated, China will not be liberated.”55 During the movement constant references were made to the peasant origins of the revolution as well as the Jinggang Mountains and Yan’an, both of which became important destinations for xiaxiang, pregnant with symbolic value. That was why more than ten thousand zhiqing left Beijing for Yan’an at the beginning of 1969 to “take up the flame of revolution,” their journey becoming a kind of pilgrimage. On arrival they exchanged Mao badges and Little Red Books with the peasants who took them to visit Nanniwan and read them some of the Great Helmsman’s thoughts in front of the cave where he had lived.56 Parallels were drawn between the young intellectuals of the past who had broken through the military blockade lines to reach Yan’an and the zhiqing who had to break through “moral blockade lines” “established in their minds by renegade Liu Shaoqi’s counterrevolutionary revisionist line of education.”57 This official desire to make xiaxiang a symbolic repetition of the revolution persisted after the death of Lin Biao, though with less religious fervor than before. In 1975, the press reported the words of an old revolutionary veteran explaining to the zhiqing in his Hunan village that having to learn how to use a needle and thread was not so much for mending their clothes, as for perpetuating the traditions of the Yan’an revolutionaries who had mended their own clothes and even woven their own cloth.58 This nostalgic and archaistic aspect of Maoism partially explains why the countryside was considered to be the ideal place to educate young people. To boost the revolution and prevent a revisionist drift, Mao decided to get urban youths out of the schools where their minds were being perverted and make

55 56

57 58

Li Dazhao, Li Dazhao xuanji (Selected Works of Li Dazhao) (Beijing: Renmin chubanshe, 1959), p. 146. This area, southeast of Yan’an, had been converted to agriculture after March 1941 by a Communist army brigade led by Wang Zhen, to ensure the army’s self-sufficiency in food. In revolutionary mythology it became the symbol of the success of political idealism and unrelenting toil in the battle against nature. La Chine en Construction, April 1969, p. 40. “Geming chuantong daidai chuan” (Pass On the Revolutionary Tradition from Generation to Generation), in RMRB, February 4, 1975, p. 4.

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them relive the practical experience he himself had lived through decades earlier. The countryside, his old training ground and that of the revolutionaries, was naturally the best “school” for those who were to take up the torch and continue the good work. One of the oft-repeated slogans of the movement was “The countryside is also a university” (nongcun ye shi daxue 農村也是大 59 學). Furthermore, thanks to this movement, China was also taking another step toward Communism by reducing the difference between mental and manual labor and between the cities and the countryside. Whether this undertaking complied with Marxist doctrine, given China’s economic backwardness, was another matter. Mao himself believed that he had long resolved the issue by proving that a Marxist revolution could succeed in one of the poorest countries in the world. For him xiaxiang was truly a “grand strategic project” that aimed to speed up the Chinese people’s march toward a Communist society.

59

Those zhiqing who really did depart on a voluntary basis in 1967, spurred on by revolutionary ideals (at a time when no thought was given to unemployment problems), were not mistaken. These fervent Maoists were disgusted by the scheming that went on during the creation of Revolutionary Committees in the cities, and believed that the fusion with the masses to which they aspired was only possible in the countryside (interview with M. J. L., June 30, 1986). The symbolic link between the revolution and xiaxiang is clear in the following quote from an article about the revolution: “Chairman Mao, our great leader and guide, was the first member of the Central Committee to go down to the villages and up to the mountains (xiaxiang shangshan)”; see Xinghuo liaoyuan, xuanbian zhi er (A Single Spark Can Light a Prairie Fire), vol.  2 (Beijing: Zhongguo renmin jiefangjun zhanshi chubanshe, 1979), p. 48.

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Political Motivations

Reining in the Red Guards The “strategic” importance of xiaxiang in the march to Communism should not blind us to the urgency of the situation in which the movement was launched, nor the tactical problems that it raised. Since the autumn of 1967, the authorities had been trying to restore order and stability. In early 1968, Revolutionary Committees were being set up based on the “triple alliance,” but throughout the first half of that year, the Red Guards refused to end their quarrels and violent factional fighting broke out,1 notably in Peking and Qinghua Universities.2 On July 27, to put an end to the Red Guard organizations that no longer had any political use and were preventing a return to order, Mao and the radicals sent worker propaganda teams (gongxuandui 工宣隊) to take control of the schools and universities. They joined and reinforced the army propaganda teams (junxuandui 軍宣隊), 1

2

The extent of the trouble caused by the Red Guards is clear from the “warning” issued by the Central Committee and quoted in Simon Leys, The Chairman’s New Clothes: Mao and the Cultural Revolution (London: Allison & Busby, 1977). Jean Esmein, La Révolution culturelle (Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 1970), p. 321. For the meaning of “triple alliance,” see p. 216.

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which had been dispatched in March 1967. To show his support for this action, Mao gave a basket of mangoes to the team that had taken over Qinghua University and suffered losses while trying to separate fighting Red Guards. Several people had died in the skirmishes and many were injured. After Mao’s symbolic gift, the propaganda teams would brandish plastic mangoes when they entered the campuses, much like a modern version of the banners bearing the imperial seal that Chinese emperors once gave their emissaries.3 From that time on, the teams started sending high school pupils and university students to the border regions, especially to Heilongjiang and Inner Mongolia.4 Needless to say, most of the young people concerned were in no hurry to go and work in the countryside, preferring to linger in the towns. Given the atmosphere of the time, this posed a potential threat to public order, not least because the Red Guards had learned to rebel and think for themselves. Some, like the members of Shengwulian, a “rebel” group from Hunan, had even started to establish political concepts that threatened the very foundations of the regime.5 Mao was obliged to issue two directives that September, followed by the grand directive of December 22, before the zhiqing and the unemployed finally left en masse.6 There was therefore a very clear link between regaining control over the Red Guards and the massive rustication of young people. Although this repressive motive for xiaxiang was never openly aired in the official press, it was understood by many of the young Red Guards—if not immediately then after a period in the countryside.7 The feeling of persecution, along with the vilification of all intellectuals, including the zhiqing, could only be reinforced by the violent criticisms to which they were subjected in the press, which accused them of being fanatical, egotistic, and lacking ideological courage during the Cultural Revolution.8 As the Wenhuibao stated magnanimously:

3 4 5 6 7

8

Feng Jicai, “Yige laohongweibing de zibai” (Confessions of an Old Red Guard), Shiyue 6 (1986), p. 19. Esmein, La Révolution culturelle, p. 322; RMRB, July 28, 1968, p. 1. Hector  Mandarès et al. (comp.), Révo. cul. dans la Chine pop (Paris: Union Générale d’Éditions, 1974). See below, pp. 65–78. In 1977, dazibao posted in Shanghai accused Zhang Chunqiao of having used xiaxiang to deport everyone who had opposed him during the Cultural Revolution. See New York Times, January 1, 1977, in Bernstein, Up to the Mountains and Down to the Villages, p. 288. For instance, Radio Jilin, September 4, 1968, in SWB, September 12, 1968.

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“We should avoid treating them like stinking intellectuals [chou zhishifenzi 臭知識分子] when we mention their names, but that doesn’t prevent us from having the right to despise them.”9 The harsh military repression of the Red Guards and the arrests of the rebel leaders made it clear to the “little generals of the revolution” that Mao really had decided to get rid of them and that “reeducation” meant a complete repudiation of their political action. In fact, the political function of xiaxiang, both preventative and punitive, fits in with a tradition of sending potentially dangerous urban elements to the countryside. The Chinese Communist Party had long resorted to the imperial tradition of political exile and sending convicts to clear the border regions by establishing a number of “reform-through-labor camps” (laogaichang 勞改場) in the furthermost—or poorest—outreaches of the country. Victims of the successive political movements that had taken place since 1949 had been sent to work in these camps alongside common criminals. In 1957, Mao clearly stated that opponents and political deviants should be dispersed to prevent them from forming a united force.10 After the 1957 anti-rightist campaign, the 1954 regulations on reform through labor (laodong gaizao 勞動改造, shortened to laogai 勞改) were amended to include reeducation through labor (laodong jiaoyang 勞動教養, shortened to laojiao 勞教) and subjecting “bad elements,” notably the rightists sent to the countryside, to “supervised labor” (jiandu laodong 監督勞動).11 One result of this was that political movements became an influential factor in urban demographic change. As two Chinese scholars have pointed out, “After 1957, [...] all the political movements resulted in the massive deportation of city dwellers to the countryside, resulting in a relative fall in the urban population.”12 In 1966, for example, numerous city dwellers with bad social origins, including released former prisoners, were packed off to the countryside with their families to prevent them from sabotaging the Cultural Revolution.13 In the later context of

9 10 11

12

13

WHB, editorial, December 21, 1968, in SWB, December 24, 1968. Mao Zedong, Mao Zedong sixiang wansui, p. 130. Jerome  A. Cohen, The Criminal Process in the People’s Republic of China, 1949–1963: An Introduction (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1968), especially pp. 20–25. Wang Zehou and Chen Yuguang, “Shilun woguo renkou jiegou yu guomin jingji fazhan de guanxi” (On Our Country’s Population Structure and Its Relationship to the Economy), Zhongguo shehui kexue 4 (1981), p. 14. Rosen, The Role of Sent-Down Youth in the Chinese Cultural Revolution, p.  19; dazibao posted on Democracy Wall in Beijing photographed by the author in

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restoring public order and hysteria about Soviet military intervention that prevailed in the second half of 1968 and early 1969,14 the massive rustication of zhiqing was undoubtedly motivated to a considerable extent by the desire to quell troublemakers and prevent the formation of an urban opposition composed of disgruntled Red Guards and large numbers of idle young people. If Lin Biao described xiaxiang as “reform through labor in disguise” in the armed uprising project attributed to him, he was denouncing a certain reality (for which he was partly responsible) in the hope of striking a chord among the former Red Guards turned zhiqing.15 While not of paramount importance, this political concern certainly existed even before the Cultural Revolution, when mainly young people with bad social origins were rusticated, along with those who had failed university entrance, or were in high school but had little hope of finding work in the city.16

Reinforcing Mao’s “Charismatic” Power While the use of xiaxiang as a means of keeping the most dangerous elements away from the cities was never officially recognized, the press did, however, mention one of its fundamental political objectives, which was to “consolidate the dictatorship of the proletariat and prevent the restoration of capitalism.”17 At the time that meant consolidating Mao’s political line and preventing the return of Liu Shaoqi-type revisionists. The question therefore, is what was the function of xiaxiang in the “two-line struggle”? Clearly it was only a factor in the struggle, albeit a far from negligible one, given the scope of its social implications. The movement certainly served to strengthen Mao’s “charismatic” type of power, based on ideology and his personal prestige. Indeed, by preventing the formation of an hereditary or technocratic elite, by asserting

14

15 16

17

February 1979. Kenneth Lieberthal, “The Background in Chinese Politics,” in H. J. Ellison (ed.), The Sino-Soviet Conflict: A Global Perspective (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1982), pp. 7–8. General Order No. 1, issued by Lin Biao in 1969, required that anyone likely to take part in a puppet government set up by the Soviets be moved away from the capital. See below, pp. 87–88. During the Cultural Revolution, a number of “rebel” zhiqing did voice the idea that they were got rid of because of their potential for political unrest. See Zhinong Hongqi 6 (1968), p. 1. Xinhua, December 23, 1968, in FBIS, December 24, 1968.

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the preeminence of revolutionary ideological objectives over any socioeconomic considerations (for that is what the universal scope of xiaxiang implied), by transferring his youthful ideals to all urban youth, and by launching a social movement that would disrupt the lives of millions on the basis of a simple personal directive (without any regard for laws, decrees, or regulations),18 Mao confirmed the victory of the charismatic type of power he had successfully imposed during the Cultural Revolution. Above all, he confirmed his power, for as Lucien Bianco has shown, Mao’s determination to prevent the “routinization” of charisma was not entirely disinterested, “it was first and foremost a matter of his own personal charisma.”19 He asserted this power over his political enemies, but also over Chinese society as a whole. Hannah Arendt referred to “the perpetual-motion mania of totalitarian movements which can remain in power only so long as they keep moving and set everything around them in motion.”20 Sending millions of young urban youth to the countryside, in principle forever, was certainly an excellent way of setting Chinese society in motion. As the People’s Daily stated, it was “an important factor in Chairman Mao’s great theory of pursuing the revolution under the dictatorship of the proletariat.”21 It is hard to know whether reinforcing his charismatic power was a deliberate motive of Mao’s, because in a way his “style” of power had become second nature to him. However, he was also a skillful tactician and knew full well (as he showed by launching the Cultural Revolution) that ideology was his main political advantage. A more rational government aiming for economic efficiency would have kept him away from at least some of the major political decisions of the time. The political motivation behind xiaxiang therefore appears to be twofold, and, to a certain extent, contradictory. As a means of controlling the Red Guards and restoring some kind of political stability, xiaxiang certainly put

18

19

20 21

This movement, like the rules governing residence, was in fact contrary to the 1954 constitution, which in theory, was still in effect. According to Article 90, Chinese citizens were guaranteed “freedom of residence and freedom to change residence.” See the Constitution of the People’s Republic of China (Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1954). Lucien  Bianco, “Essai de définition du maoïsme,” Annales ESC 5 (1979), p.  11, reprinted in Lucien Bianco, La révolution fourvoyée: Parcours dans la Chine du XXe siècle (La Tour-d’Aigues: Éditions de l’Aube, 2010), p. 104. Hannah  Arendt, The Origins of Totalitarianism (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1973), p. 306. RMRB, editorial, July 9, 1970.

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an end to the Cultural Revolution, but as a “movement,” that is to say, as a way of making society move in the way the Great Helmsman wanted it to move, it was really an extension of the Cultural Revolution. However, this contradiction is only superficial: both the restoration of order and the creation of a new type of disorder were useful to Mao for holding on to the absolute power that he had regained during the Cultural Revolution. Thus political objectives, albeit largely obscured, lay under the ideological motivations emphasized in propaganda. Of the two motivations we shall discuss now, one also partly concealed the other.

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Socioeconomic Motives

A Positive Motive: Developing the Countryside and the Border Regions Mao’s December 1968 directive was presented as a means of consolidating the dictatorship of the proletariat and training revolutionary successors, but also as a “wise decision for constructing the socialist countryside.”1 In a mainly rural country with a very backward agriculture, developing the rural areas was a fundamental task. Among other things, it required people with a certain amount of education in the villages—a need further highlighted by the organization of peasants into cooperatives after the agrarian reforms. Mao launched his famous call as early as December 1955: “All intellectuals who can go to the countryside, should go there happily. The countryside is a vast universe in which there is plenty to be done.”2 This was to become the leitmotiv of the xiaxiang movement in its various phases, but at the outset it was merely a remark by Mao on presenting a report 1 2

Xinhua, December 23, 1968, in FBIS, December 24, 1968. Zhonggong zhongyang bangongting (ed.), Zhongguo nongcun de shehuizhuyi gaochao (The Socialist High Tide in the Chinese Countryside), vol.  2 (Beijing: Zhongguo renmin chubanshe, 1956), p. 795.

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about the use of qualified manpower in cooperatives.3 It was a matter of finding sufficiently educated people to do the accounting work so badly needed in the four million newly created cooperatives.4 The “young intellectuals” that Mao was addressing were mostly young peasants with elementary or junior high school diplomas, who needed to be persuaded to return to their villages and work as accountants, technicians, or teachers.5 Returning to their native villages (huixiang) would not only serve rural development, but relieve the towns of the burden of the “educated” rural youths they were unable to absorb. But they weren’t alone in being urged to leave the cities; educated urban youths were also required to go. The idea of sending young city dwellers to develop the countryside was not conceived by Mao (any more than the idea of carrying out a socialist revolution from the villages). That came from Khrushchev, Mao’s bête noire to be, who like Mao, was a Communist leader from peasant stock influenced by populism. In early 1954, in an attempt to boost the stagnant Soviet agriculture, Khrushchev had the idea of harnessing the pioneer spirit of the urban Communist Youth League to clear 35 million hectares of virgin land in Kazakhstan and Siberia. At first, this “movement,” led

3 4 5

Dalizhuang township (in Jiaxian county, Henan province), which was the subject of Mao’s note, later became a model people’s commune. See below, pp. 107–8. RMRB, December 11, 1955, p. 1. Between 1963 and 1965, several articles gave the figure of “more than forty million zhiqing” in the countryside. In fact there were only a few hundred thousand educated youth from the cities. The rest was a rough estimate of the number of rural youths who had at one point set foot in a school (see Bernstein, Up to the Mountains and Down to the Villages, p. 23; Ding Yizhuang, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p.  326). More interestingly, in 1962 the Central Committee of the Youth League estimated that there were nearly thirty million “educated youth,” that is to say young peasants who had at least an elementary school education. That represented nearly a quarter of their generation (see Ding Yizhuang, Zhongguo zhiqing shi). It must be remembered that in pre–Cultural Revolution documents, a young peasant with an elementary school education was an “educated youth,” whereas for a city dweller, the level was high school. For the period after the Cultural Revolution, the term only seemed to apply to people who had received a secondary school education. I found no information about the number of huixiang zhiqing after 1968 at the national level, but in Xinjiang, 98,000 of them returned to the countryside between 1968 and 1977, while 258,000 urban zhiqing were rusticated; see Xinjiang tongzhi—Laodongzhi (Annals of Xinjiang—Labor) (Urumqi: Xinjiang renmin chubanshe, 1996), pp. 70, 72.

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by Leonid Brezhnev, produced fairly good results. After two years, nearly 300,000 young people from the cities had moved to these remote areas, and, by the end of the decade, were producing a third of the total Soviet grain harvest.6 In l955, this experiment attracted the attention of the Central Committee of the Communist Youth League of China, which published Khrushchev’s speech to the first group of departing young Muscovites on February 20, 1954, accompanied by approbatory comments.7 The league then sent a study group to the USSR, which produced a report that was highly appreciated by the Party Central Committee and broadly disseminated at the end of June.8 Some months later, the league organized the departure of a group of educated youth to clear land in Manchuria. It was composed of young urban members of the organization as well as some rural junior high school graduates. This group came to be used as a model for the constant propaganda deployed to mobilize the zhiqing, emulating Khrushchev’s speech to glorify the pioneer spirit, self-sacrifice for the development of the country’s agriculture, and the cultural contribution the young people could make to those backward regions, as well as the revolutionary aspect of their choice of hard manual labor over intellectual work. Thereafter, such themes recurred regularly in Chinese propaganda, their Soviet origins quickly forgotten and Chairman Mao alone was credited with having had the idea for xiaxiang. However, Chinese propaganda did add one further justification that was absent from its Russian counterpart, namely that there were not enough jobs or places in high schools and universities for all the junior high school graduates. In fact the xiaxiang movement in China developed to a far greater extent and in a very different manner than its Soviet model. The zhiqing sent to clear virgin land did not play a significant economic role. Being obliged to work with the most rudimentary tools, they were incapable of becoming more efficient than the Chinese peasants who had been working the land in such harsh conditions since childhood, and after 1957 most zhiqing were sent off to existing villages rather than to clear virgin land. The propaganda, like the statistics, did not differentiate between the two categories of zhiqing. The rural high school graduates were as prejudiced 6

7 8

Martin Malia, La tragédie soviétique (Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 1995), p.  418, and especially Martin McCauley, Khrushchev and the Development of Soviet Agriculture: The Virgin Lands Program (London: Macmillan, 1976). Zhongguo qingnian 2 (1955), pp. 1–4, 37. Ding Yizhuang, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 43–44.

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against the campaign as their urban counterparts. They felt that because they had an education and worked to get their qualifications, they were entitled to leave their villages and find work in the cities. Whatever their origins, the zhiqing were constantly reminded that their education was first and foremost intended to turn them into “workers with a socialist conscience and culture.”9 Furthermore, given the importance of agriculture in the country’s economic development, it was vital that they should become the first generation of “new peasants” able to count and write as well as to wield agricultural implements.10 It was their duty, but a “glorious and grand” one. Mao spared no praise of youth at that time, comparing young people to the “rising sun between 8 and 9 in the morning” and lauding them as “the most active and lively of all the social forces.”11 By insisting that young people were “the least conservative,”12 he intended to glorify the pioneer spirit required for agricultural progress and clearing land. The new generation’s “historic mission” was, among other things, to continue the revolution and “transform the backward face of the countryside.”13 The term zhinong qingnian 支農青年 (“youth helping agriculture”), frequently used to designate the zhiqing at the time, clearly highlights the official priority given to rural development. In 1968, this was demoted to second place, but remained in xiaxiang-oriented propaganda. The Henan Daily of August 24, 1968, which urged the “little red guard generals” to become “the new peasants of the Mao Zedong era” for life, confirmed that the “poor and white” aspect of the rural regions would be radically transformed and that “a new Great Leap Forward” in agricultural production was imminent.14 But just how could these urban youths contribute to developing the countryside? As we have seen, they could become accountants or teachers. They could also play a role in the mechanization of agriculture and spreading modern agricultural techniques, for instance improving yields. They could help improve health care in the countryside by becoming nurses or “barefoot doctors” (chijiao yisheng 赤腳醫生).15 The “modernizing” aspect of the 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

See for instance, RMRB, November 11, 1957, p. 1. See the editorial in RMRB, May 4, 1964. RMRB, November 19–20, 1957; Zhonggong zhongyang bangongting, Zhongguo nongcun, p. 959. Zhonggong zhongyang bangongting, Zhongguo nongcun, p. 959. RMRB, editorial, May 4, 1964. Henan ribao, August 24, 1968, in SWB, September 4, 1968. Peasants (or zhiqing) who had received basic local medical training and worked as

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zhiqing contribution was highlighted in the early 1960s and pursued after the Cultural Revolution. But then another type of contribution we touched on earlier came to the fore: political work, ranging from banal propaganda work (public readings of newspapers and Chairman Mao’s works) to taking part in criticism sessions against “class enemies,”16 or organizing “cultural” activities to propagate Mao Zedong thought. However, over and above these specialized contributions, the zhiqing were first and foremost required to work in the fields, which casts doubt on the movement’s professed rural development priority. For one thing, they were unlikely to bring any greater contribution than the peasants in this domain, and for another labor was hardly in short supply in the Chinese countryside. After Deng Xiaoping’s reforms, the Chinese government recognized that a large proportion of the rural workforce was superfluous and Mao himself was well aware of that since he wrote in 1962 that “reducing the overpopulation in the countryside is a major problem.”17 Nevertheless at the end of 1968 we read in the press that “sending zhiqing and city dwellers to the villages not only helps to increase the rural workforce” (implying that it also serves that purpose), and “I’m a young man and I’m hanging around with nothing to do, but in the countryside they could do with a pair of arms.”18 The dubious nature of the motive in the second part of that sentence, naturally invites the reader to seek the real justification in the first half, that is to say in the problems of urban overpopulation and unemployment, particularly since the majority of zhiqing were not even sent to the most backward areas (where their knowledge and, in some cases, their basic labor skills might have been more useful) but to relatively prosperous regions of the country.19 Approximately 45 percent of Shanghai’s zhiqing, for instance, were settled in that city’s suburban areas,20 one of the most highly developed and overpopulated

16 17

18 19 20

part-time doctors (according to a 1965 directive from Mao). From 1962, all the targets of the political movements launched by Mao were considered to be “class enemies” working to restore capitalism. Mao Zedong, Mao Zedong sixiang wansui, p. 398. On the overabundance of labor in the countryside, see, for instance, Xinhua, March 13, 1984, in FBIS, March 16, 1984. Xinhua, December 25, 1968, in SWB, December 30, 1968; RMRB, December 22, 1968, p. 1. Bernstein, Up to the Mountains and Down to the Villages, pp. 63–67. Wang Litian and Li Ping, “Shanghai sanshinian lai laodong jiuye de huigu yu zhanwang” (Labor and Employment in Shanghai in the Past 30 Years: Retrospectives and Perspectives), Shehui 1 (1982), p.  9: more than 490,000

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agricultural regions in China,21 while at the national level, only 10 percent of zhiqing were sent to the state or military farms, which were usually devoted to clearing and working the land in the most underprivileged areas.22 The explanation is clearly financial. The young people were sent to those local authorities with the means to take them in without requiring state subsidies— which the state was unable to provide.23 Had rural development been the principal objective, the matter would have been dealt with the other way, i.e., by sending the zhiqing to the backward regions and concentrating the expense on a smaller number of people. Yet the zhiqing were sent in large numbers to regions that were not generally short of labor, let alone people able to read, write, and count. The stated objective of “constructing the socialist countryside” concealed something more decisive, although that does not mean that it was merely a smokescreen, for some leaders really did want to use the zhiqing to clear virgin land and modernize villages. In the case of the border regions, there was one specific objective in addition to agricultural development, which was to reinforce strategically sensitive areas mostly inhabited by ethnic minorities by settling young Han who had received military training. This was expressed by the term zhibian (or zhijiang) qingnian 支邊(支疆)青年 (“youth helping the border regions”) or else zhinong qingnian. Before the Cultural Revolution, the clearest manifestation of this objective was the transfer of about a hundred thousand Shanghai

21

22

23

zhiqing were sent to the suburbs, compared with more than 600,000 sent outside the municipality. In Shanghai, the land area per agricultural worker fell from 4.63 mu in 1949 to 1.87 mu in 1979, and at the national level it fell from 9 mu in 1952 to 4.8 mu in 1981; see Zhang Changgen et al., “Shanghaishi de renkou zhuangkuang he wenti yiji women de jianyi” (Shanghai’s Demographic Situation and Problems, and Our Proposals), RKYJ 2 (1981), p.  32; Kang Jiusheng, “Yi gong yi nong renkou yu nongye laodongli zhuanyi” (The Half-Worker, Half-Peasant Population and the Transfer of Agricultural Labor), RKYJ 4 (1984), p. 19. Cf. Zhongguo laodong gongzi tongji ziliao, 1949–1985, p.  110. The rate for the period 1967–1979 was 15.1 percent, but if we exclude the young people from Shanghai who were sent to suburban farms (state farms managed by Shanghai municipality, which has provincial status) the rate should not be more than 10 percent, because most of the 480,000 or so zhiqing sent to the suburban areas were in farms. The matter of the cost to the state of sending the educated youth to the countryside is dealt with on pp. 190–91.

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youths to the military farms of the Xinjiang Production and Construction Corps. Xinjiang was an especially sensitive autonomous region because of its long border with the Soviet Union and the presence of a large population of Muslim ethic minorities—which in some cases were a majority in the Soviet republics on the other side of the border. The main reason for dispatching the young people there were the tensions of the Sino-Soviet conflict and the massive flows across the border into the USSR by certain minorities.24 In 1965, the Central Committee’s Northeast Bureau issued a report suggesting the creation of an identical corps in Heilongjiang “given the day-to-day exacerbation of provocations in the border region by the hegemonic Soviets.”25 Despite a delay due to the Cultural Revolution, this corps was officially set up on July 1, 1968, and over the next three years large numbers of zhiqing from several major cities were sent there whenever the Chinese leaders feared a Soviet attack (a fear that was revived by the border clashes along the Ussuri River in March 1969).26 At the same time, many youths were also dispatched to the border regions of Inner Mongolia. Although this was never foremost in the propaganda of the time, they were sometimes urged to go both “to the agricultural production front and the resistance to imperialism and revisionism front.”27 The desire to control the ethnic minorities, a very delicate issue, was never openly expressed in the press, but many model zhiqing were rewarded for their contribution to “the unity of nationalities.”28 Needless to say, these objectives did not require such massive transfers of people or even the transfer of educated urban youths. For instance, in the 1950s the government organized the transfers of young peasants to clear the borderlands,29 and since the early 1950s, demobilized soldiers, usually of peasant origin, were sent to military farms where they wielded both weapons and plows. 24

25

26 27 28 29

Cf. June T. Dreyer, “Go West Young Han: The Hsia Fang Movement to China’s Minority Areas,” Pacific Affairs 48(3) (Fall 1975), pp.  353–69; Lynn  T. White III, “The Road to Urumchi: Approved Institutions in Search of Attainable Goals during Pre-1968 Rustication from Shanghai,” China Quarterly 79 (September 1979), pp. 481–510. Heilongjiangsheng guoying nongchang jingji fazhanshi (History of the Economic Development of the State Farms in the Province of Heilongjiang) (Harbin: Heilongjiang renmin chubanshe, 1984), p. 195. Lieberthal, “The Background in Chinese Politics.” Radio Shanghai, July 8, 1969, in SWB, July 18, 1969. See for example, Dreyer, “Go West Young Han,” p. 355; “The Countryside Is Also a University,” Chinese Literature 4 (1974), pp. 69–80. Scharping, Umsiedlungsprogramme für Chinas Jugend, pp. 130–36.

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Defending the borders, integrating ethnic minorities, and developing the countryside appeared to be secondary objectives to that of ridding the cities of a cumbersome burden.

A Negative Motive: The Solution to Urban Unemployment and Overpopulation The question of employment is particularly sensitive in all Communist regimes since unemployment is perceived as being specific to capitalism. It is not surprising therefore that propaganda preferred to dwell on the glorious task awaiting the young people in the countryside rather than the serious difficulties posed by keeping them in the cities. The problem was raised only when the xiaxiang movement was launched at the end of 1968, but very discreetly. To assess the importance of this motive we therefore have to rely on earlier statements by leaders and, more importantly, on the objective conditions at the time and the government’s actions. There is no doubt that there was an historic connection between xiaxiang and the problems of employment and urbanization. It became clear quite early on that the Chinese government wanted to limit urban growth. The residence registration system (hukou 戶口) established in 1951 soon became a vital tool in preventing rural migration to the cities,30 but despite official efforts and exhortations, migration continued throughout the First Five-Year Plan (1953– 1957), generating an on-going unemployment problem in the cities.31 As we have seen, the early solutions consisted of sending young high school graduates of rural origin back to the countryside. This started in 1953 and was widely applied the following year, before receiving Mao’s blessing in his

30

31

On the problem of urban growth in the 1950s and the establishment of the hukou system, see Christopher Howe, Employment and Economic Growth in Urban China, 1949–1957 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1971); H.  Y. Tien, China’s Population Struggle (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1973); Lynn  T.  White III, “Deviance, Modernization, Rations, and Household Registers in Urban China,” in Amy  A.  Wilson et al. (eds.), Deviance and Social Control in Chinese Society (New York: Praeger, 1977); K. W. Chan, Cities with Invisible Walls: Reinterpreting Urbanization in Post-1949 China (Hong Kong: Oxford University Press, 1994); Tiejun Cheng and Mark Selden, “The Origins and Social Consequences of China’s Hukou System,” China Quarterly 139 (September 1994), pp. 644–68. Howe, Employment and Economic Growth in Urban China, pp. 49–73.

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December 1955 appeal mentioned earlier. But a new step was taken that same year, when young people from the cities were sent with the land-clearing teams in imitation of the Soviet model. From then on, the Central Committee of the Communist Youth League of China, and the secretary general, Hu Yaobang, did not hide the fact that these departures were also a way of solving the urban unemployment problem and the shortage of places in universities.32 In 1956, the xiaxiang/unemployment connection was officially stipulated in the draft 12-year agricultural development plan.33 The situation grew more serious the following year, and the authorities believed that urban unemployment was a structural problem requiring the long-term rustication of city dwellers. After that, the departures were clearly explained to the young graduates as being a solution to their being unable to pursue their studies or find work in the cities.34 Indirectly replying to the urban youth, disgruntled at the shortage of places in the universities, Mao explained that, “We are taking care of all 600 million Chinese. [...] For example, young people from the cities: whether they go to schools, to the countryside, to the factories or to the border regions, arrangements must be made for them.”35 Xiaxiang made it possible to conceal the unemployment issue, since everyone had a place in socialism. At the time it was Liu Shaoqi, not Mao, who had to persuade the young people to swallow the bitter pill of rustication. Liu made no bones about the primary justification of xiaxiang being the problem of urban employment. He simply asked the young people to make the best out of a bad job and dangled the possibility of becoming cadres, teachers, or technicians after a few years of agricultural labor.36 After the parenthesis of the Great Leap Forward, the transfers of zhiqing started up again in the early 1960s with the authorities increasingly

32 33

34 35

36

Ding Yizhuang, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 44–45. Robert  R.  Bowie and John King Fairbank (eds.), Communist China 1955–1959, Policy Documents with Analysis (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1962), p. 126. See for example RMRB, August 22, 1957, p. 1. Mao Zedong, “Zai sheng shi zizhiqu dangwei shuji huiyi shang de jianghua” (Speech at the Conference of Provincial- and Municipal-Level Party Secretaries), Mao Zedong wenji, diqi juan (The Works of Mao Zedong, Vol.  7) (Beijing: Renmin chubanshe, 1999), p. 187. See the important editorial in the People’s Daily dated April 8, 1957, based on a number of Liu’s speeches.

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convinced of the need to pursue and extend the movement in order to deal with unemployment. In 1964, Tan Zhenlin, deputy chairman of the Planning Committee in charge of employment issues, stated that for the period of the Third Five-Year Plan (1966–1970), only five million people could be hired in urban industry and that employment would be a problem for the six million or so people entering the labor market.37 This statistical forecast was neither detailed nor precise (since it did not provide the expected number of people to be employed in the services sector) but is very useful for all that, and was only revealed thanks to a Red Guard publication.38 Indeed, in all official publications that were not purely for “internal” use, the government was extremely vague about the extent of unemployment, without however, hiding the connection between employment and the rustication of urban youth.39 After 1968, the government became increasingly discreet about this motive, and while not concealing it entirely, played it down on the few occasions when it was broached. In July, the People’s Daily stated that “sending educated youth to the countryside was not merely an employment issue” (jue bu danchun shi jiuye de wenti) and that the cadres in charge must understand that this was above all a case of “carrying out the revolution.” The unemployment/xiaxiang relationship was also implicitly admitted the day the mass movement was launched. The People’s Daily headline of December 22 ran: “We also have two arms and don’t want to eat rice in the cities without working for it.” Huining county (Gansu) was cited as a model for having sent 995 “city dwellers with a long absence from productive work” including “a certain number of zhiqing” to the countryside between mid-July and mid-December. This example shows that in addition to unemployment, the cost of urbanization was also a factor in xiaxiang. The Huining city dwellers had “realized that by not taking part in production, they were adding to the expenses of the state.”40 The regime’s strategic objective was always to imitate the Stalinist

37 38

39 40

Zhinong Hongqi 3 (1967), p. 3. Zhinong Hongqi (The Red Flag for Agriculture) was an unofficial review published by Guangzhou Red Guards sent to the countryside in the early 1960s. Interestingly, all its information has been confirmed by an unofficial source since then. See Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, p. 76. Cf. Jiefang ribao (JFRB), February 27, 1964, in SCMP, supp. 125, September 11, 1964; RMRB, editorial, March 31, 1966. RMRB, December 22, 1968, p. 1.

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model of subsidizing the priority development of heavy industry by exploiting the countryside. Since the end of the First Five-Year Plan, and especially after the failure of the Great Leap Forward, the government understood that the country’s agriculture had a limited surplus capacity and that the cost of industrialization had to be reduced as far as possible. One of the main ways of doing that was to limit the urbanization that necessarily went hand in hand with industrialization. There were also ideological reasons why the Chinese Communists, and Mao in particular, were opposed to developing consumption-guzzling cities to the detriment of the productive countryside. They wanted austere cities that consumed little and produced a great deal. That was largely because of the rural origins of the Chinese revolution as well as the historic ties between urban development and the foreign presence in China. When Mao announced in 1949 that the center of political gravity would move from the countryside to the cities, he insisted on the need to transform consuming cities into productive ones,41 warning party cadres against the corruptive influences (“sugar-coated bullets”) that awaited them in the cities, and encouraging them to persevere in “their simple way of life and arduous struggle.”42 The idea that bourgeois ideology still prevailed in the cities but not in the countryside was officially expressed during the launch of the Great Leap Forward.43 Similarly, in 1968, cities were described as places where one might become “lazy” and even “revisionist,” for in some cases people could live without working, which was unthinkable in the countryside.44 After 1957, a connection was established between rusticating educated youth and the problems of feeding the cities,45 and the need to restrict expenditures on urban infrastructure such as housing and transport was also clearly stated at the time. But all that had been completely forgotten in the euphoria of the Great Leap Forward, which had led to a concomitant “leap” in the number of city dwellers, workers, and employees (zhigong 職工). In 1962, the failure of the Great Leap Forward had led to a considerable deterioration of the situation. China went from being a grain exporter in the 1950s, to being a

41 42 43 44

45

Mao Zedong, Selected Works, vol. 4, pp. 382–83. Ibid., p. 393. Meisner, Marxism, Maoism, and Utopianism, pp. 65–75. RMRB, December 22, 1968, p.  1. The accusation of laziness was unfair since it was apparently aimed at people who were unemployed through no fault of their own, but it does show the desire to create fully “productive” cities, with the lowest possible number of dependents. RMRB, November 27, 1957.

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net importer with almost no grain reserves and near-empty state coffers.46 Reducing the urban population and the number of workers and employees became one of the “ten tasks for the readjustment of the urban economy” laid down during the third session of the Second National People’s Congress.47 And while it was suggested that “workers and employees originally from rural areas be persuaded to return to agricultural labor and reinforce the agricultural front,”48 it was understood that there would be a next stage, in which people from the cities would also have to leave. Sure enough, far more young city dwellers were sent to the countryside in the early 1960s than before the Great Leap Forward. But the problems of the cities were not only economic. Disgruntled youths with no means of subsistence were likely to veer into delinquency, so crime reduction became another motivation for xiaxiang. The media were mostly discreet on the subject, but on occasion discretion left them, and at the end of 1968, a paper in Shanghai, a radical stronghold, broached the issue quite clearly: If a man has a good pair of hands and refuses to work, or if he remains idle and avoids productive labor, inevitably those hands will turn to bad things [...]. Some educated youths think that they can get away with being idle in Shanghai [...]. Are they really idle? In fact they are not [...]. They are busy doing things that do not lead to socialism.49

In 1966, the People’s Daily provided a fiendish explanation for juvenile delinquency: “These idle young people in society are precisely the target of attacks by the bourgeoisie. [...] If we don’t look after them and educate them, the bourgeoisie will fill the vacuum.”50 In Shanghai between 1966 and 1968 there were systematic raids on young delinquents who had been freed when the disciplinary institutions were closed down, and they were packed off to the countryside, their only other alternative being prison.51 The concept of xiaxiang as a means of reducing urban delinquency was not just the

46 47 48 49 50 51

Nicholas  Lardy and Kenneth  Lieberthal (eds.), Chen Yun’s Strategy for China’s Development (Armonk, N.Y.: M. E. Sharpe, 1983), pp. xxix–xxxi. Xinhua, April 16, 1962, in Hsinhua News Bulletin, April 16, 1962. Ibid. WHB, editorial, December 23, 1968, in FBIS, December 24, 1968. RMRB, editorial, March 31, 1966. Ye Xin, “Zai xinglai de tudi shang” (On the Awakening Earth), Shiyue changpian xiaoshuo zhuankan 2 (1983), p. 53.

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prerogative of the radicals. Tan Zhenlin had already experimented with that in 1964: “There are too many city dwellers. If we don’t send them off to work in the countryside they’ll stay in the cities and do nothing, but will still want to eat. Some may become hooligans [...]. All those who cannot find work in the cities, including reactionary elements, should be sent to the countryside.”52 These examples show how the socioeconomic motives to reduce the urban population were tied to political repression. In the period after 1968, the need to rid the cities of large numbers of people was especially urgent because the large cohorts born in the first ten years of the regime were entering the labor market. Despite the government’s silence about this aspect of the problem, it does appear that relieving the cities of this burden was a factor in launching the 1968 movement, and most Western scholars working on this subject believe that it played a vital role. Bernstein, for instance, stresses the striking coincidence between the six million jobs that, according to Tan Zhenlin, needed to be found between  1966 and  1970, and the 5.4  million zhiqing who were rusticated during the same period (or, more precisely, between 1968 and 1970, since the Cultural Revolution slowed down the departures). 53 Scharping believes that there was a close correlation between labor market trends in the cities and the numbers of people sent throughout the movement. He believes that was a determining factor (while conferring an almost mathematical rationality on the leaders of the time), stating that the young city dwellers were rusticated in numbers high enough to clear the cities, but sufficiently low as to reduce the practical problems entailed by the policy.54 In fact Bernstein confers such importance on this motive, that, when considering the future of the movement in 1977, he bases his predictions solely on the employment issue, believing that the ideological motives would decline after Mao’s death. He predicted that the movement would stop, or, more likely, be transformed into some kind of rotation system from the mid-1980s, when the number of unemployed would fall for demographic reasons.55 Today we can no longer attach such importance to employment and urban demographics as being the reasoning behind xiaxiang, launched as it was in the Cultural Revolution. Bernstein’s forecasts about the future of

52 53 54 55

Zhinong Hongqi 3 (1967), p. 3. Bernstein, Up to the Mountains and Down to the Villages, pp. 39–40. Scharping, Umsiedlungsprogramme für Chinas Jugend, p. 421. Bernstein, Up to the Mountains and Down to the Villages, pp. 297–98.

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the movement did not occur and the movement ended just as the largest generation of urban youth in China’s history arrived on the labor market,56 which puts the economic and demographic “constraints” into perspective and confers more importance on the political and social factors. More importantly, it was revealed in 1981 that there had been a fairly heavy migration of peasants to the cities in the period 1966–1976. During the “ten years of chaos,” the number of peasants hired in the cities was “as high” or “almost as high” as the number of rusticated zhiqing, and most of the peasants managed to settle there permanently. They were hired directly by the very city factories and organizations that were prevented from hiring young city dwellers as a result of the xiaxiang system. From 1981, all the Chinese sources took this as a given,57 with numbers ranging from 13 to 14 million.58 In articles published in the early 1980s, the numbers of peasants were compared with the numbers of rusticated zhiqing, for which estimates varied between 13 and 17  million depending on the author and the dates. In fact these figures correspond (roughly) to the cumulative departures. The authors apparently forgot that because of the returns, there were never more than 9  million zhiqing present in the countryside at any given time.59 They also forgot that the total hires from the countryside included hires of zhiqing. Their conclusions were therefore correct, for these two omissions more or less

56 57

58

59

See pp. 401–2. The negligence of the Gang of Four regarding the hiring of peasants and the absurdity of this two-way migration had already been exposed, but without any precise figures; see Liaoning ribao, October 27, 1978, in FBIS, October 30, 1978; Zhongguo qingnianbao (ZGQNB), November 23, 1978, p.  1; Radio Jiangxi, October 14, 1980, in FBIS, October 17, 1980. From 1979, the illegal hiring of peasants in cities was presented as a practice to be strictly prohibited if urban youth unemployment was to be solved. See RMRB, June 17, 1979, p. 1. See La Chine en Construction, February 1981, p.  25; Feng Lanrui and Zhao Lükuan, “Urban Unemployment in China,” Social Sciences in China 1 (1982), p.  126; Feng Lanrui and Zhao Lükuan, “Urban Employment and Wages,” in Yu Guangyuan (ed.), China’s Socialist Modernization (Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1984), p. 577; Qingnian jiuye de tansuo yu shijian (Research and Practice in Youth Employment) (Beijing: Zhongguo shehui kexue chubanshe, 1983), p. 43; Zeng Qixian, in an unpublished conference quoted in Leo Orleans, “China’s Urban Population: Concepts, Conglomerations, and Concerns,” in U.S. Congress, Joint Economic Committee, China under the Four Modernizations (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1982), p. 280. See Figure 2, p. 177.

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offset each other. According to data revealed subsequently,60 14  million people were hired in the cities during those ten years, of which 6 million were zhiqing and 8 million peasants. There was therefore a vast exchange of labor between cities and countryside in that period, involving at least 8  million people on either side. That necessarily leads us to query the importance of the objective of clearing the cities as a justification for xiaxiang. For some of the Chinese researchers who revealed these numbers, the reason is clear: the mass rustication of zhiqing was purely the result of the “leftist policy” that reigned at the time and therefore had no economic justification at all.61 Once again, we need to distinguish between short-term necessity and long-term objectives. Clearly, when the movement was launched at the end of the Cultural Revolution, it was impossible to provide work for the mass of young people who should have been allocated jobs or been sent to continue their studies between 1966 and 1968 (4  million secondary school graduates according to Chen Yonggui in addition to approximately 400,000 high school graduates).62 The disruption in both education and production caused by the Cultural Revolution left many young people idle in the cities for long periods, which was potentially dangerous both politically and socially. Economic justifications were doubtless added to political ones to make the presence of millions of young people in the cities at the end of the Cultural Revolution intolerable. As we have seen, the press raised the issue but treated it as secondary, which was certainly the case since the real employment problem at that time was the direct consequence of the political decision to interrupt classes and dispatch pupils and students throughout the country into the chaos of the Cultural Revolution. The problem was also secondary to the fear of the possible political consequences of long periods of inactivity for those young people. Apart from this economic aspect, xiaxiang does not appear to have been a real necessity for employment or urban demographics during this period. The number of peasants hired in the cities mentioned above, backed by figures released in the 1970s for the increase in the number of workers and employees, shows that all the zhiqing could have found work in the cities if

60 61 62

Dangdai Zhongguo de laodongli guanli (Labor-Force Management in Contemporary China) (Beijing: Zhongguo shehui kexue chubanshe, 1990), p. 138. See for instance, Feng Lanrui and Zhao Lükuan, “Urban Unemployment in China,” and Feng Lanrui and Zhao Lükuan, “Urban Employment and Wages.” Xinhua, December 14, 1978; Zhongguo jiaoyu nianjian, 1949–1981, p. 971.

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the peasants had been efficiently prevented from moving there.63 Certainly, hiring peasants as temporary workers was theoretically cheaper for the state than hiring permanent urban workers, since they were not entitled to the same social advantages, including the urbanite’s subsidized food rations. Moreover housing and schooling costs were lower, since their families were not allowed to accompany them, and they were easier to get rid of when they ceased to be useful. However, these 8 million or so workers from the countryside became “permanent workers” (gudinggong 固定工), or in some cases, were even hired as such. Under those conditions the benefits to the state, if any, were minimal. While the movement may not have corresponded to any objective necessity, it does not mean that, subjectively, the employment problems and the cost of urbanization did not play a role in the motives of at least some of the leaders. For example, the massive long-term hiring of peasants may have been the involuntary consequence of an over-rigid system for limiting the urban population and labor force. To some extent, it seems that this population exchange was not the result of an established plan but a spontaneous, often behind-the-scenes, action of various socioeconomic forces. Managers would certainly have had no regrets about hiring robust peasants, used to doing the hardest work, whether under contract or as temporary workers. Moreover they could choose their peasant labor themselves, unlike the regular workers who were allocated bureaucratically by the Labor Office with no consideration for the employer’s needs or the employee’s desires.64 This system also provided a number of urban cadres with excellent opportunities for obtaining benefits in cash or in kind. For instance, one literary account describes how only men were hired in a certain mining region, except when the party secretary’s son required a “fiancée.” The heroine, who later became a major “economic criminal,” succeeded in getting a job in town and launched her “career” by darning socks for the team members in charge of the important task of hiring.65

63 64

65

See below, pp. 401–4. Feng Lanrui and Zhao Lükuan, “Urban Unemployment in China,” pp.  130–31; and Qingnian jiuye de tansuo yu shijian, p. 97. According to a Labor Office cadre from Shenyang, it was occasionally necessary to hire peasants because the “tenured” workers spent most of their time engaged in political activities. Someone therefore had to work to fill the production quotas. Interview with Mr. Fan, August 11, 2000. Liu Binyan and Yu Yitai, “Qianqiu gongzui” (History Will Judge), Shiyue 3 (1982), pp. 7–38.

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The rural party leaders benefited from this too, since the hiring went through them and their teams made money on the transaction. Sending temporary workers to the city was also a way of reducing excess labor in the villages. The peasants themselves were quite happy to earn a far higher wage than they normally obtained for their work, even temporarily. However, they did not relish the prospect of returning to their villages and they did not see why, for the same work, they could not receive the same benefits as their urban counterparts. They therefore did everything they could to extend their stay in the cities and, if possible, obtain permanent worker status. In fact this type of hiring system enabled many urban cadres to get around the theoretical ban on residential transfers and bring all their own family members over from the countryside through their network of connections. The military cadres from the Army Propaganda Teams who controlled the urban administration at the lowest level for several years after 1968 proved to be particularly adept at this.66 String-pulling and corruption therefore played a role in transferring peasants to the cities, but it is hard to imagine that such widespread practices could have escaped the attention of the central authorities. Their tolerance of the practice could indicate that they were not greatly concerned with reducing the urban labor force. However, they had to be fairly discreet about hiring peasant labor for fear of triggering discontent among the zhiqing and their parents, which might explain why so little was known about this migration at the time.67 The numbers concerned were considerable, representing more than half of the manpower in certain factories.68 All these people were supposed to return to their villages after a given period, yet for a while after 66

67

68

This was confirmed in many of our interviews and discussions with Chinese specialists in employment issues as well as with former zhiqing. In literature, there is the example of a parvenu cadre who profited considerably from the Cultural Revolution, and in 1970–1971 hired all his peasant family in the city, which encouraged other cadres to do the same. See Xu Mingxu, “Diaodong” (The Transfer), in Li Yi (ed.), Zhongguo xin xieshizhuyi wenyi zuopinxuan (A Selection of Neo-Realist Works in Chinese Literature) (Hong Kong: Qishi niandai zazhishe, 1980), p. 198. None of the former zhiqing I met had noticed any rural migration, any more than Parish and Whyte’s interviewees; see Martin  Whyte and William  Parish, Urban Life in Contemporary China (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1984), p. 21. Marc  Blecher, “Peasant Labour for Urban Industry: Temporary Contract Labour, Urban-Rural Balance, and Class Relations in a Chinese County,” World Development 11(8) (1983), p. 734.

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the Cultural Revolution, these temporary workers were officially granted their urban hukou. That fact was first revealed by Western researchers. John  P.  Emerson learned from interviews carried out in Hong Kong that temporary workers from the countryside had joined the regular workforce (and consequently the urban population) in 1970.69 Marc  Blecher learned from a field survey in Shulu county (Hebei) that such transfers were theoretically possible until 1972 and implemented in at least one large factory.70 This type of information was officially confirmed in the 1949–1987 Labor and Personnel Yearbook for the period. It stated that the radicals who had exploited the discontent of the temporary workers during the Cultural Revolution were responsible for issuing a circular on the “reform of the temporary and rotating worker systems” dated November 30, 1971, which resulted in more than eight million temporary peasant workers (out of a total of more than nine million) obtaining permanent status in  1971 and 1972, some of whom were not even the workers themselves, but members of their families.71 Although this transfer of status was later banned in principle, it did not prevent a large number of peasants from becoming permanent urban workers.72 It is therefore quite possible that the figure of eight million peasants hired between 1966 and 1976 is an underestimate. As the above-mentioned yearbook confirmed, most types of rural employment devised in the 1950s and 1960s gave rise to permanent status in the 1970s. “Temporary workers” (linshigong 臨時工) became permanent, “workers under contract” (hetonggong 合同工) stayed when their contract ended, “rotating workers” (lunhuangong 輪換工) ceased to rotate, and “worker peasants” (yi gong yi nong 亦工 亦農), restored by Deng Xiaoping in 1975, were often transformed into simple workers.73 Many of these rural workers had been hired as regular workers from the start.74 In all cases, by acquiring permanent status they were able to 69

70 71

72

73 74

John P. Emerson, “The Labor Force of China, 1957–1980,” in U.S. Congress, Joint Economic Committee, China under the Four Modernizations (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1982), p. 253. Blecher, “Peasant Labour for Urban Industry,” pp. 734–35. Zhongguo laodong renshi nianjian, 1949.10–1987 (Chinese Labor and Personnel Yearbook, October 1949–1987) (Beijing: Laodong renshi chubanshe, 1989), pp. 195–211. Blecher observed that in the county he studied, very few “temporary” workers actually returned to their villages (Blecher, “Peasant Labour for Urban Industry,” p. 733). See Note 71 above. Interviews with Feng Lanrui (June 23, 1986) and several people from the research

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obtain their personal urban hukou, even though their family hukou remained a rural one. In 1978, they were authorized to bring one of their children from the countryside to replace them in their post when they retired or left it for another reason.75 This acceptance ceased shortly afterward, as a measure to improve the employment possibilities for zhiqing in cities.76 It therefore seems highly unlikely that the exchange of labor and populations between cities and the countryside was carried out without the consent of the central authorities. However, as far as motives go, we probably need to distinguish between two types: for the most radical faction, reducing the “three great differences” and the “reeducation of bourgeois intellectuals” were more important than any other consideration, making the exchange of populations a good thing in itself. The hukou transfers were officially authorized at a time when their influence was at its apogee. It was also during a radical offensive in April 1976, after the death of Zhou Enlai and eviction of Deng Xiaoping, that Wu Guixian clearly suggested recruiting urban workers, not only from among the educated youth but also among the “young poor and lower-middle peasants” to avoid having to reduce numbers in the zhiqing collectives working in the countryside.77 The Chinese leaders could not totally ignore economic considerations, even at the time. The toleration for hiring an equal number of peasants (or more) to that of rusticated zhiqing showed that employment, as such, was not the main concern in the long term, but since migrant workers from the countryside cost less to the state, the leaders in charge of planning the Chinese economy could justify pursuing the movement for budgetary reasons. Hiring peasant labor in the cities could therefore cater to complementary ideological and economic motives. Even before the Cultural Revolution, there appears to have been a consensus between Mao’s ideologues and Liu’s

75

76 77

team on youth issues from the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences (August 21, 1985). Zhonghua renmin gongheguo guowuyuan, “Guowuyuan guanyu yan’ge kongzhi nongcun laodongli jincheng zuogong he nongye renkou zhuan fei nongye renkou de tongzhi” (Notice from the State Council Regarding the Strict Control over the Return of Rural Manpower to the Cities for Hiring Purposes and about Transforming the Agricultural Population into a Nonagricultural One), Zhonghua renmin gongheguo guowuyuan gongbao, February 10, 1982, pp. 885–86. Ibid., and Jilinsheng laodongzhi (Annals of Labor in Jilin Province) (Changchun: Jilin laodongting, 1991), p. 72. Gu Hongzhang and Ma Kesen (eds.), Dashiji, p. 141. See below, pp. 118–20.

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managers about the worker-peasant system established in 1958, and developed more extensively between 1964 and 1966.78 Hiring peasants for urban factories for periods ranging from three to seven years, or on a seasonal basis, was presented as being advantageous for two reasons. First, it reduced the cost to the state since peasants were less expensive than permanent workers (the press even provided the exact amount saved by the state by sending away permanent workers and replacing them with peasants in various industrial sectors).79 Second, the system was depicted as being of “fundamental importance” because it contributed to the “gradual eradication of the differences between workers and peasants, and between the cities and the countryside.”80 It therefore catered to the Maoist desire to eliminate the social division of labor as expressed later in the May 7, 1966 directive and reiterated in the August 1, 1966 appeal to transform the entire nation into a “great school of Mao Zedong thought.”81 Although for a while during the Cultural Revolution the Maoists (notably Jiang Qing) exploited the discontent of the temporary workers who demanded the same rights as permanent workers, and blamed the system on Liu Shaoqi, a consensus was rapidly formed again. Zhou Enlai, speaking for the central authorities, announced to the rebellious temporary workers that the system would continue in the future “given the situation in China” and the Maoists abandoned the workers to face military repression.82 It seems reasonable to assume that this consensus was pursued during the 1970s and the authorization to transfer the peasants’ hukou was only a temporary break with the compromise reached between ideologues and managers. However, the 1976 attempt to justify the hiring of young peasants rather than zhiqing in the cities shows that the compromise was unstable and that a political force was

78

79 80 81 82

This system was just one way of hiring temporary rural labor in the cities; see Note 71 above. On this type of hiring during the 1950s, see also Howe, Employment and Economic Growth in Urban China; and for the situation in the 1960s, see “Sources of Labor Discontent in China: The Worker-Peasant System,” Current Scene 6(5) (March 15, 1968); John W. Lewis, “Commerce, Education and Development in Tangshan,” in John W. Lewis (ed.), The City in Communist China (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1971), pp. 162–65. “Sources of Labor Discontent in China,” p. 5. “Essai d’un nouveau système de travail,” Pékin Information (Peking Review), January 24, 1966, p. 29. RMRB, August 1,1966, p. 1. Cf. “Sources of Labor Discontent in China,” pp. 7–17.

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advocating the exchange of labor between city and countryside for purely ideological reasons. Thus the desire to rid the cities of an economic and social burden, clearly important in xiaxiang policy between 1955 and 1966 and closely tied to political repression at the end of the Cultural Revolution, probably played a role in the 1970s, but a secondary one, based on subjective concepts and individual preference, rather than the objective interests of the state. This rapid overview of the government’s motives in launching the xiaxiang movement after the Cultural Revolution shows that it was a complex multifunctional project. A number of reasons lead us to doubt the importance of the stated objective of rural development. To reply succinctly to the questions raised at the beginning of this chapter, it is necessary to distinguish between short-term economic motives and long-term ones. When the movement was launched, it was vital for Mao to disperse the Red Guard organizations and find something to do for the millions of unemployed young people hanging out in the cities, some of whom had become skilled in street combat and organized “rebellion.” At that time, the objective of clearing the cities was important. But if Mao chose xiaxiang as a way of solving the problem, and then tried to preserve it to his dying day, it was because it also dealt with his more lasting concerns. Certainly reducing the cost of industrialization played a part, as did the need to modernize the countryside and reinforce the border regions. But on their own they cannot explain the extent of the movement and Mao’s determination to prevent a return to the pre–Cultural Revolution system. The theoretically universal nature of xiaxiang when it was relaunched in 1968, as well as the absolute obligation for young people to spend a few years in productive labor before going to university, can only be explained by the Great Helmsman’s desire to radically transform the mentality of the young generation, and notably that of the future elite who would be called upon to pursue his work. Behind this lay the old leader’s refusal to allow China to enter into the postrevolutionary era and see himself dispossessed of power in favor of the pragmatists and the “revisionist” managers. To fight this change, Mao wanted China to advance on the road to Communism during his lifetime, by imposing the ideals of the golden era of the Chinese revolution, namely the Yan’an period. These ideals culminated in the concept of abolishing social divisions, which required that a selflessness spirit be instilled in the Chinese people, as well as a desire to fight anything that went against that ideal (economic backwardness, class enemies, and especially “bourgeois” thinking). The ideological motivation of xiaxiang conceived in the Cultural Revolution was vital, but the political motivation

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that we have called “charismatic” also played an important role. We will see that xiaxiang became an important pawn on the chessboard of the “two line struggle” and that Mao’s political prestige and his supporters’ power depended on the future of the movement. Like all typically Maoist enterprises, the 1968 xiaxiang was an ambitious, even grandiose project. The question was, did the reality match the ambition? In 1972, the Taiwanese researcher Chen Pi-chao described xiaxiang as a “rational and bold” experiment.83 The second adjective is certainly appropriate. As to the first, we will ask at the end of the book if that was really the case. Here we can offer several remarks that cast doubt on that premise. First the ideological and political targets, heavily tainted with utopianism, were the priority of this movement, and while economic and social benefits were expected, they were not supposed to emerge from a rational management of economic and human resources but from the ideological mobilization of the various social players—reminiscent of that previous unhappy experiment, the Great Leap Forward. As we have seen, the many objectives led to problems of compatibility. Where the numbers of rusticated youth are concerned, it is highly unlikely that the ideal number required for rural development perfectly matched that required to clear the cities, or that required for ideological reform. Similarly, concerning the state of mind of the people concerned, the situation of those who were “reeducated” was hardly the most favorable for demonstrating the qualities required to construct “new socialist villages” or to defend the frontier regions against the enemy. We will see that these contradictions were to have considerable practical implications.

83

Pi-chao  Chen, “Overurbanization, Rustication of Urban-Educated Youths, and Politics of Rural Transformation,” Comparative Politics 4(3) (April 1972), p. 386.

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PART TWO

The Life and Death of the Xiaxiang Movement: Policy Changes

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The Managers and the Ideologue: The Prelude and Interlude of the Cultural Revolution (1955–1966)

This book is not concerned primarily with the xiaxiang movement prior to the Cultural Revolution. However, it is important to know the main features of the earlier movement in order to understand the one launched in 1968. Indeed, most of the later xiaxiang themes were established during this prelude, along with certain organizations that were to serve later. In China the rustication of urban youth began in 1955, but there were at least three forerunners to this movement. The Russian populists launched the “going to the people” movement in 1874, resulting in the departure to the countryside of several thousand young students, where they lived in the villages and preached revolt while living from their labor. The main similarity, as we have seen, lies in the direct and prolonged contact between young people and peasants, but it is difficult to compare the two movements since the Russian populists never envisaged a long-term stay,1 and their action was totally spontaneous. Despite the enthusiasm and religious fervor that accompanied this movement (the summer of 1874 was called the “mad summer” in

1

Even the members of the Land and Liberty group, a minority who refused to be “flying propagandists” and wanted to carry out in-depth work in the countryside, only remained there for a few years; see Wortman, The Crisis of Russian Populism.

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Russia), it soon ended in total failure.2 In fact the populist movement did better in China where, however, it was obliged to merge with a rival movement, Marxism. In 1919, Li Dazhao, one of the future founders of the CCP, called on Chinese youth to imitate the Russian populists and go off to the countryside, not only because China was a largely rural country but because the countryside was a “bright” place in contrast to the “dark” cities in which it was easy to lose one’s way.3 His call was heard and, in the 1920s, many young Marxists went off to spread the word in the villages, where they succeeded in setting up a peasant movement. Among these young people was Peng Pai, followed by Mao Zedong who, as we know, was to take this movement a very long way.4 Even though after 1949 this rural episode of the revolutionary Chinese was presented as a model for young Chinese city dwellers being sent to the countryside, the reality was quite different. Nevertheless, the movement that was already called xiaxiang, launched in Yan’an in 1941 and 1942, bore far greater resemblance to the one we are dealing with here. This was also a Communist Party-led mobilization aiming to transform the countryside as well as the young cadres, intellectuals, and artists being sent there.5 At the time there was no question of a lengthy stay because the war prevented any long-term planning. Nor were the numbers involved anything like those for the xiaxiang in the period from the 1950s to the 1970s. But the experience gained by the CCP in the Yan’an laboratory certainly served as a reference to the leaders when they launched xiaxiang after the successful outcome of the revolution.

2 3

4

5

Ibid., and François Venturi, Les intellectuels, le peuple et la révolution: histoire du populisme russe au XIXe siècle, vol. 2 (Paris: Gallimard, 1972), pp. 832–41. Li Dazhao, “Qingnian yu nongcun” (Youth and the Countryside), in Li Dazhao wenji (Works of Li Dazhao), vol. 1 (Beijing: Renmin chubanshe, 1984), pp.  648– 52; Maurice Meisner, Li Ta-chao and the Origins of Chinese Marxism (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1967), pp. 75–89. Lucien Bianco and Yves Chevrier (eds.), Dictionnaire biographique du mouvement ouvrier international: la Chine (Paris: Les Éditions ouvrières et Presses de la Fondation nationale des sciences politiques, 1985), pp.  503–11. Regarding Li Dazhao’s influence on Mao, see Meisner, Li Ta-chao and the Origins of Chinese Marxism, and Stuart Schram, Mao Tse-tung (London: Penguin, 1967), pp. 27–32. Selden, The Yenan Way.

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Modest Beginnings The most direct predecessor to xiaxiang after the revolution was the massive land-clearing campaign by the Komsomol, launched in the Soviet Union in 1954 and encouraged by Khrushchev. In the early days, the Chinese movement was also entirely organized by the Communist Youth League of China, albeit on a far smaller scale. When the next xiaxiang was launched in 1955, it was not yet a mass movement. The city dwellers who left for the countryside in 1955–1956 were just a marginal group of probably fewer than eight thousand persons,6 in a far larger transfer of young peasants, some of them graduates from urban high schools, to clear virgin land. It should be pointed out that many of the young “city dwellers” at the time were neither fresh young graduates nor real city dwellers, but young peasant cadres from the suburban areas mobilized to develop the border regions. That was the case of Yang Hua, who became the principal hero of the land-clearing movement and a model for xiaxiang in general, as the leader of the first team of 60 volunteers from Beijing. Departing with great pomp and ceremony in September 1955, the team founded the Village of Beijing (Beijingzhuang 北京莊) in the wild north (Beidahuang 北大荒) of Manchuria, and was later joined by 160 more young people from the capital. Before his departure, Yang had been a township head and Communist Youth League secretary in a rural district attached to Beijing municipality.7 Among the 102 young pioneers who left Hebei province in November, also for Manchuria, 16 were party members and 77 were league members.8 This was therefore a motivated, political elite, charged with setting an example, which was not the case for the educated youth who left for the countryside in the early 1960s and after 1968. However, this group followed the Soviet model, driven by young Communist cadres answering the call of the party.9 The main reason for the difference in scale between the two

6

7

8 9

Scharping, Umsiedlungsprogramme für Chinas Jugend, p. 144. During those two years, Beijing, Tianjin, Harbin, Hebei, and Shandong sent 2,560 young people in the “teams of young volunteers for clearing the Manchurian north”; see RMRB, July 30, 1985, p. 4. Ding Yizhuang, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p.  46; and Heilongjiang shengzhi– Laodongzhi (Annals of Heilongjiang Province—Labor) (Harbin: Heilongjiang renmin chubanshe, 1995), pp. 127–30. Hebei shengzhi—Laodongzhi (Annals of Hebei Province—Labor) (Beijing: Zhongguo dang’an chubanshe, 1995), p. 100. For one of their stories, see Morgun, in McCauley, Khrushchev and the Development of Soviet Agriculture, pp. 174–76.

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movements was that in those early years China sorely lacked several vital elements that were key to the Soviet success, namely agricultural machinery and means of transportation, not to mention young people with some knowledge of agronomy. Since the pioneers could only depend on their physical strength and endurance, young city dwellers were not the best placed to carry out the task required of them.10 The failure of the movement became apparent even before the end of 1956, although it continued to be glorified in propaganda since the leaders were in need of rousing topics and models, concerned as they were about the employment situation in the cities and the resulting discontent.11 The political atmosphere of the anti-rightist movement, so propitious to restrictive measures, sped up the departures after June  1957, and the total rose from a few thousand between 1955 and 1956, to 79,000 in 1958.12 After 1956, the educated youths were no longer sent to state farms in the border regions, but to rural cooperatives, which Mao had marked out as requiring “literate” personnel. During this first period, there was a clear link between rustication and employment and higher education problems in the cities. The priority of the city-clearing function, was proved a contrario, by the fact that departures all but ceased during the Great Leap Forward. While propaganda insisted on the need for intellectuals to become “red” by immersion with the masses and doing manual work, the increase in jobs and school registrations meant that there was no point in sending educated youth to the countryside.13 Moreover, the reverse occurred during this period of collective delirium instigated by Mao, and numerous zhiqing returned—and, more 10 11

12

13

Ding Yizhuang, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 60–68. In 1959, various pioneer villages were integrated into the state farms. Ironically, when their farms were “scaled down” in 1963–1964, 118 of the young pioneers, previously portrayed as heroines, who had married young pioneers in the meantime, were obliged to resign and remain housewives for the rest of their days. Yang Hua’s wife was among them. Despite numerous petitions to Hu Yaobang among others between 1970 and 1980, they were never allowed to rejoin the group again. See Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 782–85. See also p. 207 of the collection of articles and remembrances devoted to the Beijing pioneers: Li Mei (ed.), Huangyuanshang de zuji (Footprints on the Desolate Land) (Beijing: Beijing shifan xueyuan chubanshe, 1989). Scharping, Umsiedlungsprogramme für Chinas Jugend,  145. Scharping’s figure is an estimate. According to an official source, “more than 79,000”  young city dwellers had left for the countryside at the end of 1957; Zhang Hua, “Shilun ‘wenhua da geming,’” p. 142. Bernstein, Up to the Mountains and Down to the Villages, p. 52.

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importantly, peasants rushed—to the cities in their thousands to find jobs. However, the euphoria rapidly gave way to disaster when some 30 million peasants starved to death in the countryside and rations were greatly reduced in the cities. The situation became intolerable for the state. It could no longer supply the cities, whose population had risen from 99  million at the end of 1957 to 130  million at the end of 1960, or pay wages to employees whose numbers had almost doubled from 31  million to 60  million.14 Furthermore, many urban enterprises were forced to close for lack of cash (100,000 between 1960 and 1965). It therefore became urgent to reverse the migratory flow by sending the largest possible number of peasants hired during the Great Leap Forward (more than 20 million between 1958 and 1960) back to where they came from. This was accomplished in just over two years. Any other measure that could reduce the burden on the state was also welcome, which explains why the zhiqing departures took off again. In August 1960 the Central Committee launched a new line to “develop agriculture and grain” and zhiqing of rural origin were urged to depart massively and follow the example of another model educated youth, Xing Yanzi.15

Acceleration after the Failure of the Great Leap Forward Next it was the turn of the young urban graduates. Officially, the departures were only recorded from 1962. In fact we know that urban zhiqing had left the towns from the end of 1960 at the beginning of the movement to reduce the urban population. During the Ninth Plenum of the Eighth Central Committee held in January 1961, it was decided to “make agriculture the foundation of the national economy” and launch a “movement to assist agriculture” (zhiyuan nongye yundong 支援農業運動).16 Yu Luoke, the future martyr to the cause of children with “bad origins,”17 left in 1961 for a

14 15 16 17

Zhongguo tongji nianjian (Statistical Yearbook of China) (Beijing: Zhongguo tongji chubanshe, 1981), pp. 90, 107. See notably Ding Yizhuang, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 185–87. RMRB, January 21, 1961, p. 1. Yu Luoke became famous for his theoretical article, “Chushenlun” (On Class Origins), in which he denounced the social discrimination against children of people who were badly regarded by the Communist government. Published in a Red Guard magazine at the beginning of the Cultural Revolution, the article made a considerable impact but caused the author’s arrest in 1968 and public execution in 1970 at the age of 27. See GMRB, July 21, 1980, p. 1, and July 22, 1980, p. 3,

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commune in the Beijing suburbs. He had been refused entry to university in 1960 despite his excellent grades, on the grounds of his parents’ political problems, and he decided to go to work in the countryside to show his enthusiasm. He tried his luck again at the entrance exams the following year, and when that failed, tried to get into the army, also in vain. He fell ill and returned to Beijing in early 1964, where he lived off small temporary jobs while continuing to study on his own and to write, as he had done in the village. Yu Luoke’s case is interesting because he was typical of a large number of the zhiqing who left between 1960 and 1966. They were young people with poor or bad social origins, and therefore with little hope of being able to pursue their studies or find work due to systematic discrimination against them. During the 1960s, the number of people targeted for their “bad origins” grew. First and foremost were the Five Black Categories (hei wulei 18 黑五類), followed by former “capitalists” or people who had ties abroad, and finally the children of intellectuals. Yu was representative of a minority of young idealists who volunteered in the hope of proving that they had the correct attitude despite their origins, especially in the early 1960s. They behaved well in the countryside, but regarded their stay as a test rather than their destiny. However, the majority of those young people of “bad origin” only went because they had lost all hope of finding work in the city and could no longer be dependent on their parents.19 Yu Luoke’s example shows that at least part of the reality escaped official statistics. We have no global figures for 1960–1961, but we have confirmations of departures in various regions of the country for those years, including Beijing, Guangdong, Shanghai, Sichuan, and Shaanxi.20 The lack of quantitative data on the 1960–1961 departures is because they were improvised rather than coordinated. For the central government, any local initiative was good as long as it reduced the number of city dwellers. Some young people went off on their own to villages in which they had relatives, others went off to the

18 19 20

as well as Yu Luowen, Wo jia (My Family) (Beijing: Zhongguo shehui kexue chubanshe, 2000), and Xu Xiao et al., Yu Luoke (Beijing: Zhongguo wenlian chubanshe, 1999). Landlords, rich peasants, counterrevolutionaries, rightists, and bad elements. On the rustication of young people with bad origins and Yu Luoke, see Ding Yizhuang, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 286–98. Rosen, The Role of Sent-Down Youth in the Chinese Cultural Revolution, p.  23; WHB, May 25, 1968, in SCMP, 4207, p. 15; RMRB, February 4, 1975, p. 4; and Shaanxi ribao, March 26, 1963.

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state farms or to various part-work part-study schools, which we will discuss later.21 As a result, it is impossible to know the precise number of educated youths who went off to the countryside in that period, but it was certainly lower than in the years to come. In 1960–1961 the authorities faced the problem of the new batch of graduates in addition to those from previous years who were still unemployed, or whose schools had simply closed down in 1960 or 1961 for lack of funds. Those young people still had no work unit (danwei 單位) and were scattered through society in a limbo between school and work, with nothing to do and no administration to control them.22 They were called “social youths” (shehui qingnian 社會青年) and many were of bad social origins. Some became minor delinquents. The district committees tried to supervise them and, occasionally, to help them, but their means were limited.23 At the end of 1962 there were two million shehui qingnian in China that the leaders wanted to pack off to the countryside. A new issue then emerged, which made rustication more of a concern for the young people, and that was precisely the matter of their hukou. By reinforcing and extending the measures taken in the 1950s, the January 1958 “Regulations on residency registration” (with no regard for the Chinese constitution, which guaranteed free movement and equality for Chinese citizens) established a radical distinction between the privileged urban population and the rural population, which had no social welfare benefits whatsoever. The Great Leap Forward delayed the application of these very strict regulations but after 1960 the hukou system became one of the main pillars of social organization. The zhiqing’s loss of urban status was now likely to become permanent and they would be placed permanently in the inferior rural caste. Knowing how abhorrent that was to them, many cadres wanting to rusticate the educated youth as quickly as possible between 1961 and 1962 allowed them keep their urban hukou or promised they would get them back after a few years—a promise that needless to say was not kept. Until 1962, most young people were not sent to the communes but to the

21 22

23

See below, pp. 58–59, and Ding Yizhuang, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 193–216. The danwei is the work unit, which, at the time, not only managed people’s work lives but their personal ones as well, from “cradle to grave.” Housing allocations, ration tickets, leisure, authorization to marry, to have a child, or to move— everything depended on the danwei. District committees, which depended on the municipality, were the danwei for people without one, such as housewives and unemployed youths. They provided certain services and supervised the inhabitants.

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state farms that continued to proliferate in the 1950s especially during the Great Leap Forward. Departures to farms met with less resistance because the young people could earn a set wage there, and they enjoyed regular hours and a collective infrastructure, complete with canteens, dormitories, and leisure activities, which was far more attractive to them. From 1963, many were also sent to the military farms in Xinjiang province, probably as a result of state-farm overload, but also, as we have seen, for strategic reasons.24 The military farms were ideal for controlling the young people both socially and politically, while the young people themselves benefited from the advantages of the state farms with the additional moral gratification conferred by the status of “soldiers defending the country’s borders.”

Institutionalization and Long-term Planning However, zhiqing numbers were growing fast and soon the farms were able to take on only a small portion. Paradoxically, in mid-1963, just when the economy was taking off again and the peasants who had migrated to the cities during the Great Leap Forward had been sent home, and just when some zhiqing began to hope they might be able to return to the cities,25 the government announced that xiaxiang would be transformed into a wide-scale, longterm program. At the end of June, Prime Minister Zhou Enlai presented a 15-year project to the leading cadres, which was rapidly extended to an 18-year one. The government believed that the birth control policy it was beginning to implement in the cities would bear its fruit after two years. The positive impact would not be felt for a further sixteen years, when the new generation entered the labor market. Apparently Zhou Enlai provided the various figures for this project himself.26 He estimated that some three million young people would enter the labor market every year during that period, and in an internal speech he made on October 18, 1963, stated that thirtyfive  million of them should leave for the countryside over the next eighteen years.27 That entailed nearly two million departures per year, whereas Tan Zhenlin, the vice-premier in charge of these matters, only estimated one and a half million, and others only one million.28 In fact the project was vague 24 25 26 27 28

See pp. 30–31. Ding Yizhuang, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p. 218. Ibid., pp. 219, 222. Gu Hongzhang and Ma Kesen (eds.), Dashiji, p. 9. Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, p.  42, and Ding Yizhuang,

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and unscientific, and was not unveiled publicly. However, propaganda was charged with disseminating the principal message, so in March 1964 the People’s Daily wrote: “Several million pupils graduate every year from urban primary and secondary schools. With the exception of a small number who will be able to pursue their studies or get work in the cities, the majority will have to take part in agricultural production in the mountains and rural areas.”29 The government’s ambitious program obviously required a budget. In the 1950s the zhiqing had been praised for “not asking the state for a cent.” The enthusiasm was so great that the young people paid most of their own travel and moving expenses. After 1958 it became usual to provide a “moving allowance” for departures to the farms, but this was too much to pay out to vast numbers of young people, especially since the state farms were already overloaded and new ones would have to be set up, entailing further costs. And should the farms fail to be profitable, that burden would also fall on the state, which paid the employees’ wages. Under these circumstances, the government had no other solution but to send the zhiqing to the villages, i.e., to the production brigades of the people’s communes. Here the moving allowance was far lower and the young people’s wages were not paid by the state but by the team in charge of distributing the fruits of collective labor. Consequently, after 1963 most departures were to the villages.30 It was around this time that the institutional body was established that would manage xiaxiang to the very end.31 At the outset, the zhiqing were handled by the organization charged with resettling rural workers and employees who had come to the cities and then found themselves redundant after the Great Leap Forward. The main responsibility was allotted to the Ministry of State Farms and Land Clearance. The first official document on the subject dated June 1, 1962 was entitled “A few rules concerning the method for settling redundant employees and workers” and stipulated that the ministry would establish a Settlement Bureau (Anzhi bangongshi 安置辦公室) to coordinate efforts at the national level. In November, Zhou Enlai asked the Agriculture Bureau of the State Council to

29 30

31

Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 218–23. Quoted in “Youth to the Countryside and Back Again,” Current Scene 5(16) (October 2, 1967), p. 5. In a speech in January 1964, Deng Xiaoping estimated the cost of moving to a team at 200 yuan and the cost of moving to a farm at 1,000 yuan; see Ding Yizhuang, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p. 222. On the historic development of this institutional system, see Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, pp. 245–50.

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create a small leadership group to take charge of settling the young people, with offices in the same ministry. Later this task would be added to this unit’s assignments and title until the rustication of zhiqing became a separate function. The “Directive of the Central Committee and the State Council on mobilizing and organizing the educated urban youth to take part in constructing the new socialist countryside,” passed on January 9, 1964, stipulated the establishment of a small leadership group for settling educated urban youth. The group was led by the vice-premier, Tan Zhenlin, whose offices were located in the State Council Bureau of Agriculture and Forestry (managed by Tan). Similar small groups and offices were set up at all administrative levels. In some instances they were the same bodies that settled workers and employees, but the tasks were clearly separated. The lowest level was at the county, where “working groups” were established if justified by the number of zhiqing.32 This system, with national conferences held at regular intervals, worked very well until the Cultural Revolution.33 Then the bureaucratic rigidity that had characterized the period ceased to be acceptable and “managers” were replaced by “revolutionaries.” The institutionalization of the half-work half-study schools (ban gong ban du 半工半讀 or ban nong ban du 半農半讀) also reflected a desire to manage a now essential policy as rationally as possible. These schools were a product of the Great Leap Forward. Mao had been shocked to discover a large number of rightists among the young intelligentsia in 1957 and the following year insisted that the educational system be placed at the service of the peasants and workers, and better incorporated into working life. The result was the “Standards for educational labor” directive, a document issued jointly by the Central Committee and the State Council on September 19, 1958, which was to be the textbook for the subject for the next ten years. The key theme was the politicization and spread of education to satisfy educational needs while promoting all kinds of schools and financing, notably by establishing half-work half-study schools paid for by the communes and factories. Liu Shaoqi, who had been interested in these matters since 1957, played a leading role in defining this policy. For Liu, these schools were to develop alongside the traditional full-time schools and the “two types of education system” (liangzhong jiaoyu zhidu 兩種教育制度) he proposed was approved by Mao 32

33

This decision was disseminated as Central Committee Document No. 40 (1964), dated January 16. The text was reproduced in Guowuyuan zhiqingban, Zhiqing gongzuo wenjian xuanbian, pp. 23–30. Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, passim.

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and the other leaders at the time. Various establishments of this type were set up during the Great Leap Forward and the dark years that followed, but it was only in 1964, with the plan to rusticate a large number of young people for long periods, that Liu’s ideas took on a structured form. Since “most” young city dwellers were destined to work in the countryside, it seemed logical to prepare them for their agricultural future. That was the role of these professional schools set up in state farms and villages, where young people learned the rudiments of agricultural techniques while getting familiar with the productive labor they would be turning to full-time when they completed their studies. These schools did develop to some extent between 1964 and 1966, but on the eve of the Cultural Revolution it emerged that young people considered them a lesser evil than xiaxiang, and most did everything they could to return to the cities as soon as they graduated.34 However, these schools did enable a larger number of young people, from the countryside and the cities, to study and learn some basic techniques, and catered to a real need to train young people in the countryside. Liu presented the schools as a means of combining manual labor with intellectual work, and thereby reducing the “Three Great Differences.” Nevertheless, the schools were criticized far more than they were praised and disappeared after being violently denounced during the Cultural Revolution. The problem was that the “two types of education system” consecrated a fundamental inequality in Chinese society. At the time, the traditional educational system had been reinforced, notably with the establishment of “key schools” (zhongdian xuexiao 重點學校), which had the best possible teachers and conditions. These establishments were reserved almost exclusively for the children of high-ranking party leaders and that fraction of the intellectual or artistic elite without any political problems. The schools had university entrance success rates of 70 or 80 percent, whereas these stood at around 20 percent in the normal high schools frequented by the children of workers and employees. The only opportunities available to mediocre or average students from ordinary high schools—or to students with “bad origins” however good or bad they were—were the half-work half-study schools, which provided workers and peasants with certain technical skills. While some young people’s fate seemed to be permanent rustication, others ran no such risk. Tong Dalin, in charge of the Central Committee Propaganda Department, was reported as having said the following with regard to a “key school” in Beijing: “Our

34

Ding Yizhuang, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 337–48.

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graduates cannot turn into people like Dong Jiageng [albeit a model zhiqing]. Our schools must produce county party committee secretaries, directors of propaganda departments, heads of the Women’s Federation, members of the Central Committee, prime ministers, leaders [...] statesmen and officers.”35

Contradictions and Reluctance The apparently rational nature of xiaxiang in the period 1963–1966 concealed deep contradictions. Being planned, the program was bound to be authoritarian and yet it was based on voluntary participation. It appealed to noble sentiments, but sanctioned a profound social injustice. The cadres in charge of convincing the young people to leave were given quotas for departures, but how were they to persuade some of them to make a sacrifice that was not required of others? This quasi-administrative program was therefore transformed into a “movement” based on ideological stimulants as well as economic and political constraints that were disguised to varying degrees. The managers could not, therefore, bypass ideology, although in the political configuration of the time, that could be dangerous for them and for their objectives. Only Mao could be the supreme purveyor of ideology, and Mao’s objectives were different. For him, ideology was not mere window dressing for economic necessity; it had a reality of its own. Furthermore, Mao required political revenge after being ousted from current affairs following the failure of the Great Leap Forward. He launched his offensive in 1962, by declaring that the class struggle must never be forgotten or capitalism would carry the day over socialism in China. The atmosphere in the years running up to the Cultural Revolution grew increasingly political and tense, and this was clearly reflected in the propaganda surrounding xiaxiang. After 1964, the emphasis was increasingly on the need to “revolutionize” the countryside and unite with the peasant masses, rather than to take part in the country’s economic development. The editorial in the February 16, 1964, People’s Daily listed raising political awareness as the leading xiaxiang function, before modernizing the countryside. This insistence on ideological objectives was further confirmed in 1965. In the atmosphere of the time, a great deal of pressure was exerted on the zhiqing and their parents. If they refused to leave, they were refusing to be revolutionaries, which implied that they may be counterrevolutionaries. Forced departures did take place, for instance in Guangzhou where

35

Beijing wenhua geming tongxun 12 (1967) in SCMP, 200, supp., August 31, 1967.

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six hundred students with bad social origins attending the part-work part-study schools were obliged to leave in the middle of the school year (February 1965).36 In some places, students with bad origins were subjected to the inexorable pressure that would be applied universally after 1968.37 Thus in 1965, one of our Shanghai respondents and his older brother, who had bad social origins, were faced with a terrible dilemma. The authorities would provide one of them with a job if the other left for Xinjiang. Neither of them had work or food ration tickets at the time. Finally the elder, aged 16, made the sacrifice.38 Despite extreme cases such as this due to the harder political line after Mao’s offensive, pre–Cultural Revolution xiaxiang was still based on the principle of volunteerism. Even though not all young graduates left enthusiastically, most did have the choice between leaving or waiting for a job in the city or even accepting a lowly job in the services sector. When they volunteered, it was often in the hope of being able to return to the city after a time, either to get a decent job or to retake a failed exam, or alternatively, in the hope of rapidly becoming a rural cadre. During the Cultural Revolution, Tao Zhu, the party first secretary in Guangdong province, was reproached for having promised the zhiqing that they could return to the city after a few years. Guangzhou even issued zhiqing with “certificates for maintaining urban residency” (chengshi hukou baoliuzheng 城市戶口保留證) until 1963.39 Yet even despite these promises and propaganda that tended to depict the least hospitable parts of the country as marvelous areas to visit,40 many young high school graduates—sometimes just primary school graduates—preferred to remain in the cities rather than leave for the countryside. At the time when they were most influential in the government, both Liu Shaoqi and Deng Xiaoping promoted organized and planned xiaxiang on a semi-voluntary basis and in limited numbers, in other words an unfair one mainly affecting the “dregs” of urban society, although they did receive compensation in exchange for their sacrifice. During the Cultural Revolution,

36 37

38 39 40

Rosen, The Role of Sent-Down Youth in the Chinese Cultural Revolution, notably pp. 17, 21, 23. John  Gardner, “Educated Youth and Urban-Rural Inequalities, 1958–1966,” in John W. Lewis (ed.), The City in Communist China (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1971), p. 271. Interview with F. M. D., July 2, 1985. Rosen, The Role of Sent-Down Youth in the Chinese Cultural Revolution, p. 13. The Red Guard press provided many examples of this kind of deception; see Gardner, “Educated Youth and Urban-Rural Inequalities, 1958–1966,” pp. 270–71.

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Liu was accused of trying to make xiaxiang more palatable to the parties involved and promoting a theory of “gilding by xiaxiang” (xiaxiang dujinlun 下鄉鍍金論). However, to encourage voluntary departures it was necessary to overcome the deep-seated misgivings felt by most young people and their parents. Even Mao acknowledged that reticence. In October 1964 he told a foreign delegation, “These young people have been raised on candy and honey, there’s no way to get them to leave! We send them to the countryside, but they don’t want to go!”41 This reticence probably explains the fairly low number of departures in the early 1960s. The authorities reined in their own ambitions by setting concrete annual plans and this realism was reflected in the long-term xiaxiang project. At a conference on the subject held from August 25 to September 14, 1965, Tan Zhenlin reduced the 35 million departures over an 18-year period that Zhou Enlai had demanded less than two years earlier to 11–12  million over 15 years. Furthermore, while Tan had announced at the beginning of the conference that the Third Five-Year Plan (1966–1970) was six million urban jobs short, at the end he only estimated rusticating 3.66 million young people for that period.42 Furthermore, those departures concerned not only zhiqing, but a number of “idle unemployed in society” (shehui xiansan renyuan 社會 閒散人員), in other words mainly the “social youths” (shehui qingnian), people who had lost their jobs, or people from the countryside who had managed to stay on in towns. Unfortunately, we do not have all the annual figures for the number of zhiqing alone, but we know that out of the total 1,969,000 departures that took place between 1962 and 1966, 1,292,800 (65.6 percent) were zhiqing.43 The proportion varied depending on the year because in 1964 (the only year for which we have a precise figure for zhiqing departures), there were 320,000 out of a total of 681,000, representing just 47 percent.44 Like the zhiqing, the “idle” youth received a moving allowance. The average per capita cost to the state was around 500 yuan according to the year and destination, ranging from 178 to 303 yuan for moving to a village,

41 42 43 44

Gu Hongzhang and Ma Kesen (eds.), Dashiji, p 49. Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, p. 76. See p. 34 above. Ibid., p. 79. Note that this figure is higher than the 1.2 million departures for the entire period 1955–1966 provided in 1975; see RMRB, December 23, 1975, p. 1. Very few figures were supplied at the time. The Workers’ Daily gave a total of 292,000 departures between spring 1962 and spring 1964, but the figure included an unspecified number of shehui qingnian; see Gongren ribao (GRRB), March 22, 1964, p. 1.

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and from 690 to 1,119 yuan for moving to a farm. In 1966, with the Cultural Revolution breaking out, the number of departures fell to 388,000, with the last ones occurring in July and August. After that, and especially after the movement to “Destroy the Four Olds” (po si jiu 45 破四舊), many people were expelled from the cities. These were not educated youth but entire families from the “black categories,” young people with bad origins, and delinquents who were considered potentially dangerous to the Cultural Revolution or in the event of war with the Soviet Union (Mao’s great fear at the time).46

The Cultural Revolution: An End to Departures and Spontaneous Returns Departures of zhiqing not only all but ceased during the Cultural Revolution, but a massive reverse movement to the cities occurred. Profiting from the chaos, a large segment of the educated youth left the countryside. Some returned home permanently, while others took part in the Cultural Revolution, setting up small groups of zhiqing Red Guards that joined up with the larger groups.47 In the dazibao大字報 (big character posters) and newspapers they all asked for permission to return to the cities and stop the movement in its present form, which they qualified as a “black assignment system” (hei an zhi 黑安制). In Beijing, groups of zhiqing broke into the offices of the small central leadership group dealing with xiaxiang settlement, stealing documents (some of which would be reproduced in their underground newspapers) and smashing equipment.48 The protest movement spread to some of the educated youth originally from the countryside, and in the revolutionary and utopian atmosphere of the time, many demanded jobs in the cities “in order to immediately eliminate the Three Great Differences.”49 In an attempt to justify their hostility to xiaxiang, some groups proposed discussions for a different, truly

45

46 47 48 49

The Four Olds were: old ideology, old culture, old habits, and old customs. Destroying these led to countless attacks on individuals as well as on China’s cultural heritage, especially after August 1966. Rosen, The Role of Sent-Down Youth in the Chinese Cultural Revolution, p. 19. For more on this subject, see ibid.; Bernstein, Up to the Mountains and Down to the Villages, pp. 263–89; Ding Yizhuang, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 391–96. Gu Hongzhang and Ma Kesen (eds.), Dashiji, p. 68. Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p. 77.

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Maoist type of xiaxiang. Unfortunately for them, the People’s Daily retorted in July 1967 that xiaxiang was not a product of Liu Shaoqi’s reactionary line.50 In January 1968 Zhou Enlai clearly stated that: Some of the zhiqing have returned to Beijing and the major cities, claiming that the policy of sending people to the countryside is a Liu and Deng policy. That’s absurd. It is Chairman Mao’s idea for the purpose to directing our work to the rural regions and to the masses.51

In January 1967, the government tried to send the zhiqing back to the countryside.52 Appeals in the press and a series of circulars followed but with no success until the “Urgent Circular” of October 8, 1967, which ordered all the educated youth to return to their places of work and forbade urban Red Guard organizations to accept zhiqing in their ranks.53 In discussions with representatives of the various organizations, Zhou Enlai insisted on this point, and finally the pressure became so great that in the first half of 1968 the last rebel zhiqing were obliged to leave—in many cases to become the targets of the “Movement to Clean up the Class Ranks” in their villages.54 At the time, any personal or sectional demand not motivated by revolutionary ideals was deemed “economism” and it was to answer that accusation that some rebel zhiqing demanded a truly Maoist type of xiaxiang. Their wish was granted in 1968, but the outcome would please them far less than the previous xiaxiang. Their only consolation—and it was one55 —was that now countless other young people from the cities would share their fate.

50 51 52 53

54

55

RMRB, editorial, July 9, 1967. Xiaobing 22 (February 17, 1968), quoted in Bernstein, Up to the Mountains and Down to the Villages, p. 279. Union Research Institute (ed.), CCP Documents of the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution (Hong Kong: Union Research Institute, 1968), pp. 165–66. On appeals in the press, see notably the RMRB editorial dated July 9, 1967 quoted in the Introduction on p.  xix. On the “Urgent Circular,” see Union Research Institute, CCP Documents, pp. 560–63. Rosen, The Role of Sent-Down Youth in the Chinese Cultural Revolution, p.  64. In Shanghai, for instance, a handful of recalcitrant youths with poor social origins were handed over to the “dictatorship of the masses” to oblige the others to leave; see WHB, May 26, 1968, in SCMP, 4207, pp. 16–17, and WHB, June 7, 1968, in SCMP, 4216, pp. 3–4. Interview with X. X., July 5, 1978.

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The Mass Movement (1968–1976)

A Vigorous Start (1968–1969) In 1968, Liu Shaoqi and Deng Xiaoping were eliminated. Zhou Enlai survived politically but only by firmly aligning himself behind Mao, who had the unconditional support of the army led by Lin Biao. Mao had become a kind of deity who governed the country through directives.

Transforming the Red Guards into Educated Youths Although rustication was suspended because of the political struggle and the destruction of the bureaucratic apparatus, propaganda continued to present a positive image of xiaxiang, especially from early 1967, when the authorities decided to send the zhiqing who had returned to the cities back to the countryside. The relaunch of rustication corresponded exactly to the dissolution and later the end of the Red Guard movement. For the more idealistic young people, the relaunch of rustication was a kind of necessary extension of the Red Guard movement, and a new way to prove their devotion to Maoist ideals. In the summer of 1967, one year after the start of the Cultural Revolution, many young people were disappointed by the dead end in which the Red Guards found themselves and discouraged by the bloody and meaningless

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clashes that opposed the various factions—all of which claimed to follow Chairman Mao’s thoughts—and began to cast about for another way to carry out the revolution. One Red Guard from Beijing, a “rebel” chief, suggested setting up a Red Guard university and received support from three hundred young people. When debating how to go about it, they decided that because they were petit-bourgeois intellectuals, they would be unable to achieve a proletarian reform of education. They first needed to revolutionize themselves by uniting with the masses. Influenced by all the propaganda about the xiaxiang heroes of the 1960s, they decided to follow the path of the model zhiqing. Only ten of them actually achieved this, and the instigator adopted the name Qu Zhe, meaning “tortuous,” rather like the future that awaited him. The group of young people asked the Beijing Revolutionary Committee for permission to go to a poor region of Inner Mongolia and integrate with a group of herdsmen. Their request was granted and the authorities even used this group as a new model for other city youths. The central leaders praised the young people and the Revolutionary Committee organized a special meeting on the eve of their departure, due on October 9. The next day their story was written up in several papers and they even made headline news in some,1 including the October 11 edition of the People’s Daily. A month later a second group of 1,200 young idealists from Beijing left for Inner Mongolia and Manchuria.2 On February 8, 1968, another group, this time of fifty-five young people from the capital, set off for Xishuangbanna, a different border region at the other end of the country in southern Yunnan province. They had been captivated by this tropical region in 1966 when as Red Guards they had taken part in the “revolutionary networking” movement (da chuanlian 大串聯).3 They decided to work with the masses in that “backward” region to develop rubber plantations. They wrote to Zhou Enlai on November 27, 1967, requesting that

1

2 3

See Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp.  110–13, and the account by Qu Zhe in Caoyuan qishilu (What We Learned in the Steppe) (Beijing: Gongren chubanshe, 1991), pp. 1–6. Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p 114. The departure, as described by one of our interviewees, can be found on p. 231. In June 1966, to encourage the propagation of the Cultural Revolution, Mao requested that all travel by Red Guards be covered by the state. Young people took full advantage of this un-hoped for opportunity to carry out revolutionary tourism and the government subsequently found it very difficult to put an end to this very expensive measure.

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he “issue an order” to allow them to “leave for the battlefield.” Zhou replied favorably the very same day. Once in Xishuangbanna they sent back reports that were published in the Red Guard Journal, urging their comrades to follow in their footsteps.4 One young woman from Beijing decided to settle in a place she had visited during the revolutionary networking movement, which in her case was a poor, isolated village in the mountains of Shanxi province where she had stopped off on her way to Yan’an on foot. She had left her group to return there on her own and had requested to remain in the village, where she lived as a poor peasant. She was recalled by her high school classmates in Beijing but had soon grown tired of the Red Guard excesses and applied through official channels to return to “her” village. The daughter of a model worker couple, raised in the lofty and Spartan ideals of the Chinese revolution, Cai Lijian (meaning Jade Harp) changed her name to Firm Determination and set off again in March 1968 to settle in her village. She became a national model thanks to an article about her published in the People’s Daily of July 4, 1968.5 However, these initiatives, while encouraged by the authorities and exploited for propaganda purposes, had yet to constitute an organized movement. This gradually took shape in 1968 when the government made exceptional efforts to deal with the problem of the “three graduation years” (lao sanjie 老三屆), the young people who should have graduated from middle or high school between 1966 and 1968, but whose education was interrupted by the Cultural Revolution and who were subsequently unable to find work. This matter had become all the more urgent since the political turmoil had led to a fall in industrial production. However, it would be wrong to consider that all Mao’s measures were motivated solely by employment. The first decision taken concerned the placement of the 1966 university and technical institute graduates who would normally have been allocated jobs as cadres in their specialties and should not have been a problem from an employment point of view. But in August 1967 the central government issued a Notice stating that because these young intellectuals had received a revisionist education, they were in need of “reform” (gaizao 改造) and should therefore be sent either to 4 5

Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp.  116–19, and Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, pp. 101–2. Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp.  119–21; Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, pp.  98–99; and Xiao Fuxing, Juechang: lao sanjie (At the Peak of Their Talents: The Three Graduation Years) (Beijing: Dongfang chubanshe, 1999), pp. 3–18.

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the countryside, or to a factory, or to the grass roots (generally understood as the villages), in other words one of “the three directions” (san’ge mianxiang 6 三個面向). Then, in reply to a March 19, 1968 report from the Heilongjiang Revolutionary Committee about young people’s postings, which confirmed that most of the students had been sent to the countryside, Mao said that he approved but insisted that the job allocation issue did not only concern students in higher education, but also primary and secondary school pupils. True, to get the educational system going again, the high school pupils who should have graduated in 1966 and 1967 had to make way for those who followed, and on April 4, 1968, that report, together with Mao’s comments and instructions that secondary school pupils should also be placed according to the “four directions” (sige mianxiang 四個面向) principle, was disseminated nationwide. The border regions were added to the directions because of Mao’s strategic concerns. In fact, the only direction that did not concern the countryside was a posting to a factory or mine. On April 21 Beijing set the example by issuing a “Note on job allocations for high school graduates.” This was followed by another document issued by the central government on June 15, regarding the assignments of the 1967 graduates, which clearly confirmed that the old system whereby graduates immediately became cadres was at an end, and that henceforth they could only be allocated jobs as workers or peasants.7 In June 1968 the Heilongjiang Production and Construction Corps was established under the authority of the Shenyang Military Region, with the vocation of taking in a large number of zhiqing. Its task was to clear land and cultivate it, as well as to strengthen China’s military presence on the Soviet border. Being a sensitive region, only young people with good or fair backgrounds could go, whereas “anemic” ones (because of their bad blood) were rejected.8 Similarly, many military farms were established in place of the former labor camps, whose inmates (potential traitors in times of war) were moved to the interior. While departures of young people were organized during that spring of 1968, they were still in limited numbers. Two provinces that had established 6 7 8

Jin Dalu, Shiyun yu mingyun, pp. 22–23. Ibid., and Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 134–37. Li Shijie, “Bu shi wo bu ai Beidahuang” (I Wasn’t the One Who Didn’t Like the Great Northern Wilderness), in Beidahuang fengyunlu, pp.  173–75, and Zhang Kangkang, Dahuang binghe (Frozen River on the Vast Virgin Land) (Changchun: Jilin renmin chubanshe, 1998), p.  35. This discrimination was also applied to departures for Inner Mongolia.

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Revolutionary Committees early on did not wait for the April instructions to start placing their 1966–1967 “graduates” and rusticated some of them immediately. One of the provinces was Shandong in December 1967, and the other Heilongjiang, which dispatched 20,000 zhiqing between March and June 1968. In Beijing, the departures were organized from April onward but only on a small scale. The authorities attempted to reboot propaganda and brought back the young idealists who had left in 1967 and early 1968 to encourage others to follow in their footsteps. The former, pre–Cultural Revolution model zhiqing, who mostly got into trouble in 1966 because of their political ties to Liu Shaoqi, were encouraged to denounce Liu so that they could still be presented as models, and the press published articles they wrote in praise of the new xiaxiang movement.9 In July, Jiang Qing commissioned a painting of a youthful Mao in a romantic pose, setting off to organize labor protest among the Anyuan miners in 1922. Millions of copies were made of it.10 During this period of frenzied Mao personality cult, propaganda played on personal loyalty to Mao and even imitation, in the quasi-religious sense of the term.11 Consequently young people set off for xiaxiang on foot for hundreds, if not thousands, of kilometers to achieve their own Long March, sometimes holding aloft a reproduction of that painting (called Chairman Mao Goes to Anyuan) as though it were a religious icon at the head of a procession. Thirty young people from Tianjin thus covered two thousand kilometers in 51 days to reach a very poor village in Shanxi. Five Beijingers went on foot to a

9 10

11

Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 135, 136, 151, and Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, pp. 102–3. This famous painting was sold at an auction in 1995, and resulted in several legal cases against the presumed artist by two other artists and two government departments. The painting was probably an historical fraud in any case since several Chinese specialists in party history claim that it was not Mao but Liu Shaoqi and Li Lisan who were sent to stir up the miners and rail workers in Anyuan and who organized the victorious strike of 1922. Textbooks published before the Cultural Revolution quoted Liu Shaoqi as leading this action. The 1968 painting therefore aimed to discredit Liu politically and attribute all the revolutionary merit to Mao; see Xiao Chaoran et al., Zhonggong dangshi jianming cidian (A Concise Dictionary of the Chinese Communist Party’s History), vol. 1 (Beijing: Jiefangjun chubanshe, 1986), p. 238; Dongxiang, June 2000, p. 76; and Simon Leys, Les Habits neufs du Président Mao (Paris: Éditions Champ Libre, 1971), p. 168. Mao had “three loyalties”: to himself, his thought, and his revolutionary proletarian line.

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village in Inner Mongolia where they were to settle. They brought “water from Beijing, where Chairman Mao lives” to the poor peasants there.12 Others chose sacred locations in revolutionary history as their destination, such as the Jinggang Mountains or Yan’an. However, the numbers of departures were still small, but by the summer of 1968, Mao, who wanted to finish with the Red Guards and used the army to establish order, decided to ratchet up xiaxiang. Whereas in the south, with the Helmsman’s blessing, repression took a purely military form, control over the Red Guards was really exerted through the educational establishments that served as their bases. It began on July 27, 1968, the date when the first workers’ propaganda team entered Qinghua University. Displeased by the students’ strong resistance, Mao summoned five Red Guard leaders the following day to admonish them. On August 25 he declared that the workers, assisted by the army, would henceforth manage all the educational establishments “forever.” On September 5, Mao wrote an editorial for the People’s Daily stating that high school and university graduates had to be “reeducated” (zai jiaoyu). From then on the “reeducation” of educated youth and intellectuals became the main justification for rustication.13 A week later Mao increased the pressure by issuing a new directive on the evening of September 12, accompanied by festivities lasting all night long. The “masses” went out onto the streets with drums and fireworks chanting, “Long live Chairman Mao, may he live ten thousand times ten thousand years!” Printers worked throughout the night to publish the directive, which was immediately set to music and sung in the streets by “revolutionary arts workers”: The majority, even overwhelming majority, of students educated in old-style schools are capable of integrating with workers, peasants, and soldiers. Some of them can even be inventive and creative. However, they must be reeducated by workers, peasants, and soldiers under the guidance of the correct line [so that] their old thinking may be reformed thoroughly. Such intellectuals are welcomed by workers, peasants, and soldiers.14

Massive Mobilization The scale of rustication increased and took on new forms and a very different

12 13 14

La Chine en Construction, April 1969, pp. 38–40. Jin Dalu, Shiyun yu mingyun, p. 23. RMRB, September 13, 1968, p. 1.

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tone to that used before the Cultural Revolution. For one thing the political atmosphere of the time was very different, and the cadres charged with implementing it were members of the worker or army propaganda teams who organized Mao Zedong Thought study groups (Mao Zedong sixiang xuexiban 毛 澤東思想學習班). The young people were required to place their fate entirely in Mao’s hands.15 The cadres also used the Chairman’s personality cult to counter parental influence, since this was a time when young people sang daily, “However great the sky and earth, they are not as great as the goodness of the party; however dear our mothers and fathers, they are not as dear as Chairman Mao.” In an earlier directive, dated October 1, 1967, Mao had stated that it was necessary to “fight egotism and criticize revisionism” (dou si pi xiu 斗私批 16 修). Individual ambition or volition was egotistic, despicable, and politically dangerous. The behavior models on offer (such as Norman Bethune or Lei Feng) depicted life-sacrificing altruism.17 Young people were encouraged to write individual or collective “blood letters” (xueshu 血書), letters literally written in blood taken from their fingers, in which they swore they would obey Mao and go “where the fatherland most needs me.” Study groups were also organized for any recalcitrant parents using the mass criticism (da pipan 大批判) method so popular in the Cultural Revolution, with dazibaos, criticism meetings, and even articles in the press to attack “negative examples” with verbal violence, leading on occasion to physical violence too, thus successfully maintaining an atmosphere of fear. The propaganda teams began to replace individual registration for xiaxiang with collective ones entailing entire squads and companies (the schools having been reorganized along military lines). Another method of coercion was found for any young people who still hoped to resist, namely a refusal to find them any work in the cities. Members of the worker or army propaganda teams, usually hostile to “intellectuals,” would harden the rules for them still further. The disabled and sick, and young people under the official minimum age of 16, were all forced to leave as well. Since children with bad class origins were especially vulner-

15 16 17

One class in Shanghai was named “I March Forward When Chairman Mao Gives Me the Sign”; see WHB, May 26, 1968, in SCMP, 4207, pp. 5–6. Ibid. Norman Bethune was a Canadian doctor and militant Communist who died in China in 1939, while treating Red Army soldiers. Lei Feng was a soldier who died in an accident and was transformed into a model of altruism and obedience to Mao in the early 1960s.

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able, they did not dare resist, so frequently it was those with good class backgrounds who put up the most resistance. Paradoxically, many of those who did actually obtain city jobs were the heads of the “conservative” Red Guard organizations favored by the military authorities, and they distinguished themselves by mobilizing others to leave for the countryside.18 The possibility for some of them to be allocated city jobs led the petty Red Guard chiefs to vie with each other to get into the decision-making bodies charged with rustication. All means were used, including violence and corruption, to get into these bodies headed by the worker and army propaganda teams.19 While being seen to volunteer for the “hardest regions” (zui jianku de difang 最艱苦的地方), as a mandatory expression of their loyalty, they subtly maneuvered behind the scenes to avoid being on the list of departures, a trend that caused concern among the authorities since these activists should have been setting the example for others.20 That autumn, the number of departures accelerated. Manchuria, always in the lead, organized massive departures from September. In Shenyang, 144,000 zhiqing out of 176,000 graduates from the “three graduation years” (lao sanjie) left within ten days,21 but numerous others from that category still remained in the schools. Consequently on the evening of December 21, again in an atmosphere of organized jubilation, Mao launched the great directive mentioned earlier (“It is absolutely necessary for the educated young people to go to the countryside…”), which was both more severe and more precise. It was immediately taken up by the propaganda machine and repeated constantly.22 The wave of departures then rose to a veritable tide, which also swept along other categories together with the zhiqing in its wake. Manchuria was again a precursor, when on May 7, 1968, Heilongjiang province set up the first May 7 cadre school (wuqi ganxiao). On October 4, the People’s Daily published an article praising the experiments that had been carried out in that 18

19 20 21 22

Anita Chan, Stanley Rosen, and Jonathan Unger (ed.), On Socialist Democracy and the Chinese Legal System: The Li Yizhe Debates (New York: M. E. Sharpe, 1985), pp. 444–45, and Michel and Huang He, Avoir 20 ans en Chine, p. 34. WHB, May 25, 1968, in SCMP, 4207, p. 11. These “deserters” (taobing) were denounced in the Hongweibing bao, July 17 and 31, 1968. See Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 152–53. Liaoning laodong dashiji (1840–1989) (Chronicle of Labor in Liaoning, 1840– 1989) (Shenyang: Liaoning renmin chubanshe, 1991), pp. 246–47. See p.  4. This is known as the December 22 directive because that was the date it was published, but it was broadcast on the radio the evening before and led to immediate mobilization.

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province and the practice spread throughout China, with hundreds of thousands of cadres and intellectuals sent to “roll in the mud to forge a red heart.” Some left with their children, and if these were aged 16 (or when they reached that age), they were considered to be zhiqing. Medical workers also left in vast numbers for the countryside, following yet another of Mao’s directives, dated June 26, 1965, as did the unemployed, housewives, anyone with a political stain on their character, as well as the social youths (shehui qingnian), who were packed off to the fields in vast numbers. However, the educated youths were still the main component of this human tide.23 Mao’s December 22 directive (first announced the evening of the 21st) had been addressed not only to these people but to their parents and to the peasants charged with taking them in. After its publication, the cadres in charge of rustication no longer even tried to convince anyone. According to Lin Biao’s logic, “If we understand Chairman Mao’s words, we put them into practice, and if we don’t understand them, we also put them into practice.” Coercive methods were therefore justified, especially since any young person who had not already left the cities by then generally lacked the required revolutionary fervor. Schools, neighborhood committees, and the parents’ work units united to prevent passive resistance. Those who hesitated or dragged their feet were harassed by activists who could show up at any time, sometimes with children in tow, chanting the Chairman’s directive at the top of their voices. If that didn’t do the trick, the laggards would be denounced by their work units, which sometimes docked their wages and ration tickets. Furthermore, everything was done to give the impression that there was massive backing for the rustication policy. Large meetings were organized in support of the Chairman’s directive or to celebrate the departure of a group of zhiqing. Sometimes the number of participants obliged to assist was out of proportion to the event being celebrated. For instance, on one occasion in Shanghai, the Revolutionary Committee mobilized 1,200,000 people on the streets to celebrate the departure of 120 zhiqing.24 Although numbers were usually exaggerated (or combined with other categories of people being exiled), those for 1969 nevertheless reflected the reality of this unprecedented organized migration, which now no longer affected only the major cities and towns as previously, but small ones as well. Lhasa, with a very small population, rusticated zhiqing for the first time in 23 24

In 1968, 600,000  city dwellers were reported to have left in addition to nearly 2,000,000 zhiqing; see Gu Hongzhang and Ma Kesen (eds.), Dashiji, p. 83. Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p. 168.

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October 1969, demonstrating that young people from ethnic minorities were no longer spared, any more than children of Overseas Chinese or even foreign experts. Rural areas, which had been very reluctant to accept these young city dwellers, no longer dared to refuse. The press published touching examples of peasants doing their utmost to welcome the young urbanites, one peasant even going so far as giving them the house he had built to live in with his wife after he married.25 The waves of departures that took place between the end of 1968 and the spring of 1969 were impressive, with 621,000 zhiqing from Beijing, Tianjin, Shanghai, and Zhejiang dispatched to distant provinces. The main problem that arose was the overload on the transport system. The Manchurian railway line was especially in demand, since it was required to transport 260,000 young people to Heilongjiang and 55,000 to Jilin, which was the equivalent of two chartered trains per day for five months.26 General Chen Xilian, who headed the Shenyang Military Region (which comprised all of Manchuria: Liaoning, Jilin, and Heilongjiang provinces), devoted all his resources to this task. Thanks to him and Mao’s nephew, Mao Yuanxin, who was a prominent Liaoning leader, that province became a xiaxiang model. By the end of 1968, 300,000 departures had been organized for Liaoning alone, while in Jiangxi the cadres set the example by leaving with the zhiqing and other city dwellers. Jiangxi dispatched more than 100,000 young people in record time.27

Those Who Left and Those Who Stayed Behind In spring 1969, most of the “three graduation years” (lao sanjie) had been settled. This was also the end of the active phase of the Cultural Revolution, since in April 1969, the Ninth National Party Congress established a new order and political staff entirely devoted to Mao—outwardly at least. In May, the People’s Daily proudly reported that intellectuals were in the process of reforming themselves in every commune and farm in the country. Nevertheless, mobilization took off again and even more actively to place the 1969 graduates. Whereas in 1968 some young people had benefitted from the four directions (sige mianxiang) policy and managed to avoid rustication, few such opportunities were available to the 1969 zhiqing. The widely applied principle

25 26 27

Ibid., pp. 162–70. Gu Hongzhang and Ma Kesen (eds.), Dashiji, p. 84. Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p. 167.

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at the time was “all red” (yi pian hong), meaning that all graduates were rusticated, with the exception of a privileged few who enrolled in the army. The four directions principle was only reintroduced for the placement of the 1970 graduates.28 As we will see later, the “three graduation years” had a strong group identity, which they held on to.29 They were the only group among the zhiqing to have a specific denomination. They were veterans of the new xiaxiang, but also the last young Chinese to have received a more or less complete secondary education before the Cultural Revolution. Even though Mao considered it to be a “revisionist” education, it was of a far higher academic standard than any to be dispensed over the next twelve years. The lao sanjie (who were only high school graduates) sometimes found themselves in the countryside with university graduates from the same graduation years and for a while they shared a similar fate. From the Maoist point of view the university graduates “stank” even more than the junior high and high school “graduates” because they had studied longer. However, the university group was not usually included in the statistics for the “three graduation years” or the zhiqing. Despite Mao’s stated desire to cease to allocate cadre positions to them, they enjoyed a different status and continued to receive a fixed monthly stipend from the state wherever they were sent. Furthermore, they stood a much better chance of being transferred to city jobs or becoming cadres after a few years than the real zhiqing. That group also had another, less-known name, which was lao wujie 老五屆 (“the five graduation years”), since they had gone to university before 1965 at the latest, and were declared as having “graduated” in the five years between 1966 and 1970.30 Before that date, university students, with a few exceptions, had managed to avoid being 28 29

30

Various interviews and Shanghai jingji 1949–1982 (The Economy of Shanghai, 1949–1982) (Shanghai: Shanghai renmin chubanshe, 1983), p. 87. Lao sanjie were sometimes also called lao liujie 老六屆 (the six graduation years) because there were three graduation years in each of the two secondary education phases; see, for instance, Qingnian yidai 6 (1984), p.  36. Together they formed a six-year cohort, although it is not strictly correct to speak of “six graduation years.” Their schooling usually lasted for three or four years, but their graduation was delayed by the Cultural Revolution. Although their fate was not quite as bad as that of the lao sanjie, most lao wujie did have very difficult periods and fairly checkered careers. See Guan Canghai (ed.), “Lao wujie” sanshi nian fengyunlu (Thirty Years in the Lives of the “Five Graduation Year” Graduates), 3 vols. (Ji’nan: Shandong wenyi chubanshe, 1999).

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rusticated,31 and after the Cultural Revolution, few of the new graduates from the “worker-peasant-soldier” (gongnongbing 工農兵) universities were sent to the countryside. If the “five graduation years” didn’t form such a notable social entity as the “three,” it was not only because their fate was less harsh but also because there were almost ten times fewer of them, at around 550,000 compared with an estimated 6 million lao sanjie.32 Given the departure numbers for 1967– 1969, the figure of only four million is unlikely, the number being more likely around the five to six million mark. While the “three graduation years” were always associated as a group, both in terminology and in the collective mentality, they did not receive identical treatment. Their chances of rustication and the type of rustication varied from one school year to another as well as from region to region. The 1969 batch was also treated differently. The discrepancies in departure rates per school year may be explained by the speed of political change at the time and the fact that the transfers were decided every school year. The reason for the geographic variations lay in the local authorities’ room for maneuver in the absence of a real national plan. Thus in Beijing approximately 250,000 zhiqing left between 1967 and 1969. In addition to the small number of departures in 1967, most of the lao sanjie got their job allocations in 1968, but the 1968 graduates who were placed later than the two preceding years’ graduates had a higher rate of 31

32

In 1965, during the Socialist Education movement, 180 volunteer literature students were posted to the suburbs of Beijing to “revolutionize” themselves, but also to work as propagandists and deputies to rural cadres; see RMRB, August 15, 1965, p. 2, and December 20, 1965, p. 2. Guan Canghai gives a figure of one  million lao wujie (“Lao wujie” sanshi nian fengyunlu, p.  4), which is more than official statistics suggest; see Zhongguo jiaoyu nianjian, 1949–1981, pp.  963, 966, 969. It is harder to provide estimates for the number of lao sanjie, since the Ministry of Education fails to provide one vital datum: the breakdown of secondary school pupils by rural or urban status. That explains why the Chinese specialists are unable to agree on the matter. Some estimate the number at four million, applying a rate of 20 percent of urban youth, which seems fairly arbitrary (Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou [eds.], Shimo, pp. 96, 112), some say the figure is closer to five or six million, and others still estimate more than six million; see Shi Weimin et al. (eds.), Zhiqing shuxin xuanbian (Selected Letters from Educated Youth) (Beijing: Zhongguo shehui kexue chubanshe, 1996), p. 3. An official 1985 source gives a figure of 6.4 million; see Julia Kwong, Cultural Revolution in China’s Schools, May 1966–April 1969 (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1988), p. xv.

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factory and army postings.33 Because Zhou Enlai criticized this, almost the entire batch of the following year’s graduates in 1969 was rusticated.34 In Shanghai, there were no departures in 1967, but the 1968–1969 wave of departures was massive, with the rustication of approximately 665,000 zhiqing. Nevertheless, approximately 30 percent of the lao sanjie obtained factory jobs in the city, albeit with considerable disparities depending on the graduation year and the educational level. Unlike in Beijing, the 1966–1967 graduates had the highest percentage of urban postings, so the rustication rate was far higher for the 1968 graduation year. The type of rural destination varied considerably from year to year. The 1966 and 1967 graduates mostly left for Shanghai’s suburbs, whereas the 1968 group was mainly sent to outer provinces.35 The departure rate for the 1969 Shanghai graduates was similar to previous year, which was close to 100 percent according to municipal records.36 If there were sharp variations in the departure rates according to the school year, the differences from province to province were even greater. In some provinces there were relatively few departures in 1968–1969, which implied that significantly fewer graduates left than in Shanghai or Beijing for example.37 However, differences among the members of the same age group were less important than sociopolitical background, since that was the criterion for exemption. Army positions were almost exclusively reserved for the children of cadres, and especially military cadres. While some children of workers and civilian cadres obtained urban postings, the majority was rusticated and nearly all the children with medium to poor class backgrounds (meaning the

33

34 35

36 37

At the end of October, of the 72,000 urban zhiqing, 23,000 were posted to factories and 10,000 to the army; see Beijing laodong dashiji (Chronicle of Labor in Beijing) (Beijing: Zhongguo gongren chubanshe, 1993), p. 180. Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p. 167. Jin Dalu, Shiyun yu mingyun, pp. 22–31. Jin carried out an interesting survey on a sample in Shanghai at the end of 1995–beginning of 1996. Unfortunately certain data were missing or imprecise, and he does not provide the exact departure rates per graduation year. Shanghai laodongzhi (Annals of Labor in Shanghai) (Shanghai: Shanghai shehui kexueyuan chubanshe, 1998), p. 112. The rate of departures varied sharply according to the provinces, as seen in the provincial records listed in the Bibliography. For the provincial figures, see Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, pp. 302–3.

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remainder) were rusticated too.38 The regulatory minimum departure age, which officially stood at 18 before the Cultural Revolution, was lowered to 16. In practice however, many 15-year-old teenagers were obliged to leave their families in 1968–1969, often for destinations thousands of miles away from their homes. After that, the minimum age of 16 appeared to have been respected again. At the national level there were 1,996,800 departures in 1967–1968 and 2,673,800 in 1969, or a total of 4,670,600.39

High on Fervor, Low on Organization The period from end 1968 to the summer of 1970 ushered in the purest form of xiaxiang as a universal and definitive principle. The revolutionary purity of this phase lay not just in the preeminence of the underlying ideological objectives, but in the weak organization at the central level. Indeed, since Tan Zhenlin fell from grace in February 1967, there ceased to be any mention of the “small leadership group” or the Educated Youth Bureau. This was no longer a time for planning and management but one for putting ideology into practice. For the Maoist radicals, the Great Helmsman’s directives and thoughts were deemed to provide sufficient impetus for the military and worker propaganda groups to mobilize the schools and organize departures. Yet even during this troubled period, the Chinese bureaucracy still attempted to play a role. Protected by Zhou Enlai, whom Mao could not entirely dispense with, it continued to implement the leaders’ political decisions. Ironically, the Central Educated Youth Resettlement Office continued to work “covertly,” changing the location of its offices twice. In December 1969 it moved from the Agriculture and Forestry Bureau under the State Council (which was disbanded) to the Ministry of Labor, reporting to the ministry’s army representative. As fate would have it, all but two of the civil servants from the Resettlement Office were packed off to May 7 cadre schools in the countryside, leaving only two cadres at the central level in charge of the six million or so zhiqing who had been rusticated since the early 1960s. Six months later, in June 1970, during a major administrative reshuffle, the Resettlement Office was integrated into the State Planning Revolutionary Committee and became a mere “Resettlement Group,” dependent on the 38 39

See Unger, Education under Mao, p. 134. See Zhongguo laodong gongzi tongji ziliao, 1949–1985, p. 110; Xinhua, May 3, 1970, in SCMP, 4655, May 3, 1970; and RMRB, December 23, 1975, p. 1.

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Labor Bureau.40 Although its name ceased to appear in the press, it continued to exist and even publish its xiaxiang news-sheet internally. It prepared the rustication plans for the State Council since planning had not been entirely abolished as a government principle, although the working conditions and professional qualifications of the planners had deteriorated. A National Plan Conference (organized by the military, former cadres, and former Red Guards) was held in Beijing from February 16 to March 24, 1969. It produced a draft plan for 1969 that included sending four million zhiqing to the countryside. This massive figure shows the extent to which revolutionary fervor carried the day over any perception of reality. The basic concept was that xiaxiang should be universal. On the last day of the conference, Zhou Enlai gave a very revealing reply to delegates who asked what they should do if urban factories required manpower. He suggested three solutions: hiring demobilized city-born soldiers, recalling cadres who had been rusticated, and taking graduates from high schools and vocational training institutions who had been recommended by the masses.41 His reply showed the veritable turnaround in xiaxiang  policy. Before the Cultural Revolution the question was, what could be done with the young people who couldn’t find work in the cities? In 1969 the question was, what could be done to replace the young city dwellers who had been rusticated? At the local level, the main issue was obviously how to organize xiaxiang, and the authorities often set up ad hoc bodies for the purpose. Their improvised nature is reflected in the range of appellations, explained in part by their diversity of functions. In Beijing, after the Revolutionary Committee was established in April 1967, a “small leadership group for recruiting pupils and hiring” was set up, under which was a “resettlement and hiring bureau” (Anzhi jiuye bangongshi 安置就業辦公室, abbreviated to Anzhiban 安置 42 辦). Several provinces used the term “resettlement bureau” or “up to the mountains down to the countryside (shangshan xiaxiang) bureau,” while others called them “graduate posting bureaus.”43 In August 1968, the Revolutionary Committee in Hunan founded a “four directions bureau” charged with placing graduates and rusticating zhiqing.44 These bureaus were either 40 41 42 43 44

Gu Hongzhang and Ma Kesen (eds.), Dashiji, pp. 89, 93. Ibid., p. 85. Beijingzhi—Zonghe jingji guanli juan—Laodongzhi (Beijing Annals—General Economic Management Section—Labor) (Beijing: Beijing chubanshe, 1999), p. 45. Gu Hongzhang and Ma Kesen (eds.), Dashiji, p. 86. Hunan shengzhi—Zonghe jingjizhi—Laodong (Annals of Hunan Province—

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directly attached to the Revolutionary Committee or to one of the committee’s specialized groups (in charge of production, administration, education, political affairs, etc.).45 In each province, the entities in charge of xiaxiang at various administrative levels also had different names and administrative structures. In the villages receiving the zhiqing, the cadres in charge of educational affairs and youth also usually took charge of the zhiqing. It was only over time and without any national organization that cadres were specifically allocated to this task. On January 7, 1969, in Anyuan county, Jiangxi province, a “leadership group of the great May 7 army” (Wuqi dajun lingdao xiaozu) was set up with a bureau of the same name under it.46 Like most such institutions at the time (which usually included the May 7 directive somewhere in their names), this was in charge of zhiqing, sent-down cadres, reluctant urbanites, or those with bad class backgrounds who were rusticated.47 At the commune level, the party secretary in charge of education and youth would often also be in charge of zhiqing. In some places “small leadership groups in charge of reeducation” were set up at the commune or even brigade level. In most cases the brigade heads dealt with the zhiqing’s problems (or not), or charged a local peasant with the task. Judging by the recommendations that accompanied the 1973 reforms, as well as people’s own accounts, local-level organization left much to be desired in the early years. In 1968– 1969, the problem was further aggravated in some areas by the post–Cultural Revolution administrative disorganization. In those cases the army would help the peasants prepare for the arrival of the zhiqing.48 Omnipresent at the time, the army also took over the state farms, which were all transformed into military farms. The “production and construction corps” (shengchan jianshe bingtuan 生產建設兵團, often shortened to bingtuan) in each military region (junqu)49 came under these military farms, but the militarization of farming

45

46 47 48 49

Overall Economy—Labor) (Changsha: Hunan renmin chubanshe, 1998), p. 68. Gu Hongzhang and Ma Kesen (eds.), Dashiji, and Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp.  275–84, notably Table  5-2, pp.  279–81, which provides a clear picture of the great diversity of organizations in charge of xiaxiang at the provincial level. Anyuan xian zhiqingzhi (Annals of the Educated Youth in Anyuan County) (Anyuan: Anyuan xian shizhi bangongshi, 1998), pp. 4–6. See Hebei Radio, October 30, 1970, in SWB, December 12, 1970. Xinhua, June 26, 1969, in SWB, July 5, 1969. With the exception, however, of the smallest ones, which were transferred to the prefectures (diqu), counties, or municipalities; see Heilongjiangsheng, p. 371.

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only lasted a few years. From the spring of 1970, the central and provincial authorities began to understand the many difficulties involved in applying xiaxiang policy at the local level. The government’s greatest concern was the misappropriation of the state funds allocated for settling the young people. These funds had been a godsend for many local cadres, allowing them to satisfy their personal needs, implement collective projects, or increase their prestige by distributing a portion of the amount and organizing banquets. The wood supplied by the state at a subsidized price for building homes for the zhiqing was often diverted to other purposes (such as making coffins for the elderly) or replaced by poorer quality wood. On occasion, once the money was received, the local cadres would persuade the young people to return home or move to another village. Some cadres even “invented” zhiqing in order to obtain more financial benefits.50 On May 12, 1970, to combat bad organization and sabotage, the central government issued Document No. 26 (approved by Mao in person), calling on all the leaders to treat xiaxiang more seriously.51 However, the document was drawn up by the army representative at the Planning Commission, and proved to be vague, providing no practical solutions. On May 23 the profound ideological significance of xiaxiang and xiafang 下放 (sending down) were reaffirmed in the editorials of the People’s Daily, the Army Daily, and Red Flag magazine, under the heading “Reforming one’s worldview.” The need to reform the intellectuals’ ideology was reasserted in the report on the National Conference on Educational Work, and disseminated, with Mao’s approval, on August 13, 1971. This paper contained the very negative “two assessments” of political education during the seventeen years prior to the Cultural Revolution, mentioned earlier.52

The Lowest Ebb (1970–1972) The ideology may not have changed, but the practice did, and very quickly indeed. From the autumn of 1970 and especially in 1971 and 1972, the

50 51

52

Gu Hongzhang and Ma Kesen (eds.), Dashiji, pp.  91–92, and Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 284–87. A directive specifically dealing with the use of settlement allowances and prohibiting their misuse was published on June 23; see Gu Hongzhang and Ma Kesen (eds.), Dashiji, pp. 92–93. See above, pp. 7–8.

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departure rate slowed down considerably, falling from 1,064,000 in 1970 (or 39.8 percent of the 1969 figure), to 748,300 in 1971, and 673,900 in 1972,53 even though no political decision had been taken on the subject at the central level. This drop was partly due to the economic recovery and the educational system starting up again, but was also a result of popular resistance to the movement and the authorities’ weakening determination to implement it. While industrial production had fallen between 1967 and 1968, its global value rose by 34.3 percent in 1969 and by 30.7 percent in 1970.54 These good results led to a certain amount of optimism among government cadres, who were enthusiastically preparing the Fourth Five-Year Plan. To achieve the plan’s objectives as well as to satisfy the demands of employees who wanted to place their children, factories hired massively between 1970 and 1972. Clearly the central government had lost its hold on hiring, for only 3.06 million workers and employees were hired in the state sector between 1970 and 1971, whereas the factories hired 9.33  million.55 During the National Planning Conference held from December 26, 1971, to February 20, 1972, Zhou Enlai confirmed that the base-level infrastructure had grown too fast, leading to the “three excesses”: more than 50 million workers and employees in the state sector, a wage bill exceeding 30 billion yuan, and more than 80 billion pounds of grain sold.56 This Small Leap Forward, as it was called, was less dramatic than its big counterpart but produced no better results. GDP growth fell to 14.9 percent in 1971 and 6.6 percent in 1972, leading to a global fall in industrial production of 4.6 percent over the two years.57 However, being aware of the problem was one thing, solving it another, and the trend continued throughout 1972. While the plan had called for one million workers and employees to be hired in the state sector, the real figure was 2.92 million, excluding the million and a half employees recruited in the collective sector.58 This massive hiring obviously impacted the number of departures to the countryside. Cadres in charge of urban enterprises, who for years had only been allowed to hire very small numbers of young city dwellers, were again authorized to hire from that category and from the autumn of 1970 new 53 54 55 56 57 58

See Zhongguo laodong gongzi tongji ziliao, 1949–1985, p. 110. Zhongguo tongji nianjian, 1983, p. 215. Gu Hongzhang and Ma Kesen (eds.), Dashiji, pp. 101–2. Ibid. Zhongguo tongji nianjian, 1983, p. 215. Gu Hongzhang and Ma Kesen (eds.), Dashiji, p. 104.

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graduates were able to find factory jobs.59 At the time, to pander to one of Mao’s obsessions about the imminence of a war with the USSR, a considerable amount of money was invested in developing the “third front” (di san xian 第三線), namely regions far from the center of the country where the infrastructure lay as well as the arms factories and heavy industry. In these faraway regions, most young people obtained urban employment. In Kunming, the capital of Yunnan province, rustication had practically ceased between 1970 and 1972,60 and in Guizhou province, where nearly 80,000 zhiqing had been dispatched to the countryside between 1968 and 1969, departures all but stopped between 1970 and 1973, with only 2,900 departures, or an annual average of 725.61 With the educational system starting up again, the entry of young people onto the labor market was slightly delayed. There was a spectacular increase in the number of urban junior high school pupils pursuing their studies in senior high schools.62 Educational progress was limited though, since primary and secondary schooling lasted for ten years in the new structure, compared with twelve previously (or nine for those who left after completing junior high school).63 This was also the time when the first zhiqing were authorized to return to the city to take up jobs or go to university. The new system for hiring young people set up in 1970 imposed a minimum of two years’ productive labor between high school graduation and university. This was yet another policy appropriated by Maoist ideology that had started with Khrushchev, who had required a period of productive labor prior to university entrance in 1958, as well as long periods of manual labor during the early

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That was the case in Shanghai (RMRB, October 16, 1972, p. 4), Kunming (interview with M. Z. W., December 29, 1984), Guilin (interview with G. M., December 8, 1984), and throughout China. Direct recruitment grew in 1971 and 1972. Thus, for Guangzhou the percentage of departures to the country was estimated at only 50 percent for the 1972 graduates (Hong Kong Standard, July 3, 1973, in Bernstein, Up to the Mountains and Down to the Villages, p. 104), and under 50 percent for Beijing (William Kessen [ed.], Childhood in China [New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1975], p. 197). Interview with M. X. Y., July 29, 1987. Guizhou shengzhi—Laodongzhi (Annals of Guizhou Province—Labor) (Guiyang: Guizhou renmin chubanshe, 1994), p.  68; Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p. 387. Zhongguo jiaoyu nianjian, 1949–1981, p. 1006. Unger, Education under Mao, pp. 33, 154.

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university years.64 These rules were soon abandoned in the Soviet Union, but Maoist higher education policy managed to maintain them from 1970 to 1976, despite opposition from the moderates. The student selection process was so important to Mao and the radicals that from the very start of the Cultural Revolution, on June 13, 1966, Mao imposed a directive on the Central Committee that abolished university entrance exams and replaced them with a system combining recommendation by the masses and selection by cadres. On July 23, the Central Committee and the State Council issued an “Opinion on the Reform of Student Recruitment in Higher Education,” which ratified the directive,65 but the Cultural Revolution prevented the new system from being implemented for the next four years. Most zhiqing were not affected by university entrance. The intake to the higher education establishments, which reopened one by one from the autumn of 1970, was very low (a total of only 194,000 for the whole of 1972) and zhiqing who had spent at least two years in the countryside found themselves in competition with the “worker peasant soldiers,” who were now supposed to make up the majority of the new students.66 The selection of young people exempted from xiaxiang or recalled to the cities was still based on class criteria but these were extended with the introduction of new rules (albeit not unified at the national level) that took into account the family situation, especially the number of brothers and sisters who had already gone to the countryside, and the household income.67 In July 1973 the State Council requested that the preferential policy applied in Shanghai to the Overseas Chinese zhiqing be extended nationwide. Some ten 64 65 66

67

Ibid., p. 189. Ibid., pp. 113–14; and Gu Hongzhang and Ma Kesen (eds.), Dashiji, p. 65. Zhongguo jiaoyu nianjian, 1949–1981, p.  966. In fact there appears to have been an “internal” rule by which 65 percent of peasant student places were to be reserved for zhiqing. Interview with C. H. G., September 19, 1987. Suzanne Pepper also observed that most of the students during this period were zhiqing; see Pepper, “Education and Revolution: The Chinese Model Revised,” Asian Survey 18(9) (September 1978), pp. 870–71. Interviews; and Jonathan Unger, “China’s Troubled Down-to-the-Countryside Campaign,” Contemporary China 3(2) (Summer 1979), p. 86. However, being able to return for family reasons was no guarantee of a job. As an only child, Shu Ting, a young poetess from Xiamen, was able to return in 1972 but only obtained fulltime employment in a collective factory in 1975, and had to live off small parttime jobs in the meantime (interview with Shu Ting, July 7, 1985; and Wang Meng et al., Zou xiang wenxue zhi lu, p. 285).

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thousand young Chinese from abroad had come to study in China and been sent down to the countryside since 1968. They were often discriminated against because of suspicions about their “foreign ties.” Aware of the poor image of the country China was promoting abroad, especially in Chinese communities, the government decided to recall them to the cities, and even allowed them to leave the country with the other Overseas Chinese (huaqiao).68 During this time, and indeed throughout the duration of xiaxiang, another category of people was exempted from rustication, namely young people with an outstanding aptitude for sports, the arts, foreign languages, or specific academic domains. Such gifted youths were able to enter urban work units or higher educational institutions directly,69 although it seems that even in those exceptional cases string-pulling and bribes were a necessary complement to pure talent. For example, thanks to his height and basketball skills, Liang Heng was not only able to avoid xiaxiang but was sent to his provincial capital where several large factories were only too happy to hire him as a worker in exchange for him playing in their team. Yet despite the support of his provincial trainer, this was only achieved thanks to a corrupt doctor and the interested support of a party secretary.70 The drop in the number of departures was due to massive hiring in urban work units, but political factors also played a part, for this was the period of the “Lin Biao affair.” The loyal comrade had been appointed Mao’s successor at the Ninth Party Congress, but a dormant conflict with his mentor had been simmering since the Second Plenum of the Ninth Party Congress in August 1970. The ensuing political crisis led to Lin Biao’s mysterious disappearance in September 1971, and triggered several long-term effects, notably the return in force of the moderates in 1972 led by Zhou Enlai.71 The retreat of the extremists was especially visible in education.72 In 1972 higher education institutions began accepting students directly from high school, apparently with Zhou’s approval, since he reportedly believed that the best high school 68 69 70 71

72

Gu Hongzhang and Ma Kesen (eds.), Dashiji, pp.  109–10. The full text can be found in Guowuyuan zhiqingban, Zhiqing gongzuo wenjian xuanbian, pp. 84–86. Bernstein, Up to the Mountains and Down to the Villages, pp. 106–8; and Pepper, “Education and Revolution,” p. 869. Liang and Shapiro, Son of the Revolution, chap. 18. The official story had it that once he realized that his plot had been exposed, Lin Biao fled to the USSR but his plane crashed in Mongolia. See Jacques Guillermaz, Le Parti communiste chinois au pouvoir, vol. 2 (Paris: Payot, 1979), p. 565. J. I. Löfstedt, Chinese Educational Policy (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1980), p. 135.

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graduates should return to higher education.73 Maoist rustication policy may also have eased because the Great Helmsman himself had other, more pressing concerns, having found himself in a weaker position in relation to the “managers” after the death of Lin Biao. Despite that, the Maoist concept of xiaxiang was not openly challenged, so propaganda continued in a very similar vein. However, a more important factor in the movement’s decline was the general weariness of the grassroots cadres. The Maoist management style, based on intense activism but without institutional backing, failed to provide any real bureaucratic monitoring. Having proved their loyalty and zeal in 1968–1969, many local leaders considered xiaxiang to be less important now that order was established and the Red Guards packed off to the countryside. Document No. 26 was issued in 1970 to combat this attitude but to little effect. The grassroots cadres’ lack of enthusiasm was reinforced by the growing popular resistance to xiaxiang. The enormous difficulties encountered by the zhiqing in the countryside were well known and the numerous new urban employment possibilities encouraged young people and their parents to resist mobilization. The growing use of “connections” further contributed to the widespread demoralization. In some cases, resistance even took the form of threats and violence against the teachers and cadres charged with rustication.74 Because mobilization was organized by the schools, a more subtle way of avoiding departure for families with first-rate connections was simply to quit school before graduation and get enrolled in the army. Those with lesser connections could get hired in a factory, and those who had no strings to pull at all could just wait for a job. An internal document revealed that in Mudanjiang (Heilongjiang province), only 2,300 pupils out of the 9,000 who entered the school in 1968 actually took their final exams in 1972.75 Resistance to the movement also spread to the zhiqing who had already left, and who began to slip back without authorization. Some even drew up collective petitions demanding to be hired in the cities. By the end of 1972, an estimated 100,000 zhiqing had returned illegally.76 This situation displeased the central leaders, who had no desire to see such a large drop in departures. In 1971, the plan was to rusticate 1.4 million zhiqing but only 53 73 74 75 76

Pepper, “Education and Revolution,” p. 869; and the speech by Fang Yi, in Pékin Information 2 (January 16, 1978), p. 16. Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, p. 113. Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p. 273. Gu Hongzhang and Ma Kesen (eds.), Dashiji, pp. 102, 107.

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percent of the target was met. In early 1973, resistance was so great that by the end of May only 29 percent of the rustication target for the first half of the year was met.77 To counter this resistance, the authorities attempted to deal with some of the concerns raised by the young people and their parents. The bad treatment the young people received at the hands of the rural cadres, including the rape of female zhiqing, was severely denounced and several guilty parties punished.78 The privileges enjoyed by the children of cadres, another cause of demoralization, was broached on May 1, 1972, in the “Notice concerning the struggle against going through the back door to enter university” (Central Committee Document No. 19), apparently approved by Mao himself. In October, Document No. 40 also forbade the use of “string-pulling” for joining the army and in December, Document No. 44 demanded that those who had obtained a job in town by going through the back door be sent back to the countryside.79 This flurry of official documents shows just how helpless the authorities were in dealing with the problem, as well as their intention to do something about it. The political status of the zhiqing improved. Even from the end of 1969 and certainly in 1970 the press no longer limited discussions to the need to reeducate young intellectuals, but also stressed that their living conditions in the countryside had to be improved, and discussed ways of getting the most out of their abilities.80 From the summer of 1969, a number of activists among the zhiqing were selected to take part in “Meetings for the study and real-life application of Mao Zedong Thought.”81 The improvement in the zhiqing’s political status was demonstrated shortly afterward by the number of new party and Youth League memberships. The leaders also used the Lin Biao affair to combat people’s resistance, by implying that Lin had attempted to exploit the discontent caused by rustication for his “armed uprising” project (code name “Project 571”). The claim was that to gain popular support he opposed xiaxiang by describing it as “reform through labor in disguise” (bianxiang laogai 變相勞改) and denouncing Mao for using the Red Guards as “cannon fodder” and

77 78 79 80 81

Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 270–71. Gu Hongzhang and Ma Kesen (eds.), Dashiji, pp. 96–97, 106, 108–9. Jin Dalu, Shiyun yu mingyun, p. 37. Gu Hongzhang and Ma Kesen (eds.), Dashiji, p. 97, erroneously set the date at May 1, 1971 for the first Notice. See RMRB, November 16, 1969, p. 2, and May 8, 1970, p. 1. See Liaoning Radio, July 19, 1969, and Anhui Radio, September 23, 1969, in SWB, July 23, 1969, and October 7, 1969.

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“scapegoats.”82 The authenticity of the document in question has not been proved but its official “revelation” in 1972 shows that the authorities attempted to deal with social discontent by linking people’s very negative perception of xiaxiang to a national traitor despised by all and sundry.83 The CCP had often used this propaganda technique (whereby spontaneous popular opinions were attributed to class enemies) as a more efficient means of prevention than straightforward censorship. It was to be used again in 1973–1974 during the campaign to criticize Lin Biao and Confucius.

Reform and Relaunch of the Movement (1973–1976) The “down to the countryside” movement continued for a couple of years, albeit at a slower pace, until the economic and political situation in the spring of 1973 necessitated a relaunch. The slowdown in industrial growth had led to a reduction in new hires of permanent workers and a subsequent increase in rustication. The National Planning Conference held from January 7 to the end of March 1973 decided not to hire in the state sector for that year, and even to cut more than one million state-sector employees.84 Furthermore the Maoists had began to “manage” the Lin Biao affair and regain the political initiative. Education was a particularly fertile area because of its direct link to ideology—for which Mao still had the monopoly. The two major leadership factions agreed to focus on xiaxiang.

Li Qinglin’s Letter and the National Conference However, a relaunch of the movement required a reform of the system. More than four years of implementing xiaxiang had revealed some obvious social

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The text of this document was reproduced in Y. M. Kau, The Lin Piao Affair (New York: IASP, 1975), pp. 81–90. If the document was authentic, it was fairly cynical of Lin Biao to use popular discontent with measures that he was largely responsible for instigating. As Li Yizhe stated in their collective dazibao, Lin Biao’s Project 571 was just an attempt “to use the masses who were victims of his system”; Li Yizhe, Guanyu shehuizhuyi de minzhu yu fazhi (On Democracy and Socialist Legality) (Hong Kong: Heshang da san chubanshe, 1976), p. 86. Gu Hongzhang and Ma Kesen (eds.), Dashiji, p. 108. As was often the case, these good resolutions were not kept and the number of public-sector employees rose by 1.5 million in 1973. But the thought was there.

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problems and considerable discontent,85 which could only be exacerbated by a relaunch. A reform was finally introduced, but using a process that was very revealing of an archaic aspect of 1970s China. The apparent impetus for change was a teacher from Fujian who, having written a letter to Mao on December 20, 1972 (on the model of a petition to the emperor), was honored by a reply from the Great Helmsman himself. Li Qinglin, a teacher in a small town in Putian county, had two sons, one of whom had already been rusticated and the second, aged 16, was about to be. The eldest could not live on what he earned in the countryside and couldn’t even afford to get his hair cut. Li, who earned a meager 45 yuan a month and whose wife was unemployed, was obliged to send money to his son and buy grain on the black market for him. In his letter to Mao, Li explained his son’s situation in detail and expressed his concern for his children’s future. He added that the authorities did nothing to solve the zhiqing’s problems in the countryside, whereas all the children of the high-ranking cadres had returned to the cities “through the back door.”86 Li Qinglin’s plea was also a “denunciation to the emperor” that he managed to convey to Mao through Wang Hairong, the Chairman’s great niece, who worked as his translator and secretary.87 On April 25, 1973, a miracle occurred for Li Qinglin. Mao sent him 300 yuan with a short note: “Please find attached three hundred yuan to help you a little with your problem. Such cases are widespread in the country, and will shortly be dealt with in the standard manner.” A study team was rapidly sent to check Li’s allegations and reported that neighbors had gathered at his home to touch the banknotes, and were urging him “not to spend them as they were sent by Chairman Mao himself, but put them in a red envelope and pass them on to his heirs.”88 However, both Mao’s letter and Li Qinglin’s were only made 85 86

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See Chapter 9 below. There were numerous sources of information about the “Li Qinglin  affair” at the time and just after. At present the most detailed information can be found in Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp.  355–67, and Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, pp.  116–21. An English presentation can be found in Frolic, Mao’s People, pp. 42–47. Li Qinglin was able to pass his letter to Wang Hairong thanks to a “contact”; see Jin Dalu, Shiyun yu mingyun, p. 31. Which is precisely what Li did. The three banknotes are now in a vault in the savings bank in the small town where Li Qinglin lived. He also held on to the rickety table on which he wrote his letter to Chairman Mao. See Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, p.  119, and Hu Fayun et al. (eds.), Cangsang rensheng (The Vicissitudes of Life) (Wuhan: Hubei renmin chubanshe, n.d.), p. 32.

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public in June, and then only in “internal” channels. Accompanied by Central Committee Document No. 21 (1973) drawn up by Zhou Enlai himself, they were then disseminated throughout China right to the commune or county level and then transmitted (chuanda) orally to the population. Li Qinglin’s name became known nationwide and his action received broad approval.89 Overnight Li became a national model (despite having had a few minor political problems back in the 1950s), and made a leader with county-level responsibilities, followed by provincial and later national ones.90 Mao’s letter not only changed the teacher’s destiny, it also led to a global reform of the system, sketched out during a meeting of the most senior political leaders, called by Zhou Enlai, and then fine-tuned during a National Working Conference on the Rustication of Educated Youth, the first since 1966. This was to be a turning point in xiaxiang policy, reflecting a redistribution of power. Although Mao kept the initiative, the conference was immediately followed by a mobilization of the administrative apparatus, which fully intended to play its role as mediator between the leader’s desires and their practical application. This

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But this caused the wrath of the low-level local cadres in Putian county who felt, correctly, that they were targeted. They immediately tried to tarnish the reputations of both Li and his son, claiming that they had deceived the Chairman. However, they were disavowed by their more intelligent hierarchical superiors and subsequently one of them lost his job, while the other was transferred. See Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p. 365. In 1957, Li Qinglin had received a “white flag,” meaning a reprimand, because none of his pupils had been accepted by a good state high school. He was also unable to prove that he had ever belonged to the National Youth League. Thanks to his letter to Mao, all that was forgotten and Li got his full salary back. He joined the party, became the deputy head of the group in charge of education at the county-level Educated Youth Bureau, deputy head of the small selection committee for students at the provincial level, member of the Permanent Committee of the Fourth NPC, member of the small leadership group charged with rustication at the national level, and the equivalent position for Fujian province. His family also benefitted from his good fortune: Li’s wife found a job and his children obtained good positions in the countryside where the eldest joined the party and the youngest joined the Communist Youth League. In 1973, the eldest was even earmarked for university entrance, but obviously he had to turn down that honor. He could hardly have accepted when his father’s political capital was a result of him being a “model parent” who sent his children to work in the countryside (song zi wu nong jiazhang 送子務農家長 ). However, Li Qinglin paid a high cost for his social success when his “protectors” fell from grace (see p. 167).

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is very revealing of Mao and Zhou’s different political styles as well as their relationship. The way Mao replied to Li shows his attachment to the charismatic nature of his power and his distaste for bureaucrats coming between him and the people. Instead of passing on the letter to the lower echelons with his recommendations, Mao asked his principal bodyguard, Wang Dongxing, to take 300 yuan out of his royalty payments and mail the letter in the post office immediately.91 He also gave instructions to have Li admitted into the party if he was not already a party member and to make him a delegate to the forthcoming Tenth Party Congress. Zhou Enlai reacted as soon as he heard about this. Two days later, on April 27, he organized a meeting of the top leadership to discuss the xiaxiang problem, stating that “We must accomplish this work correctly. We cannot have the Chairman worrying about it.” Mao’s statement that “cases of this type are commonplace in the country” may well have been perceived as implicit criticism of the government. Zhou therefore showed his eagerness to cater to Mao’s wishes, but at the same time used it to reintroduce a modicum of economic rationality, good management, and pre– Cultural Revolution planning to a movement that had been launched in 1968. During that meeting, Zhou suggested drawing up a plan for the period 1973– 1980. This was of course an attempt to save his 1963 plan for fifteen or sixteen years that had been torpedoed by the Cultural Revolution. Zhou also suggested several measures to improve the zhiqing’s living conditions and requested that their individual class background status be reviewed. Indeed, quite a large number of cadres had been rehabilitated since Lin Biao’s death and many others were about to be. More often than not, changes such as these occurring in the distant capital were not recorded by local cadres in the young zhiqing’s files, and the young people continued to be discriminated against if they attempted to return to the city. What shocked Zhou and the other leaders,92 was not so much discrimination for reasons of class background, but that the children of the nomenklatura should also be victims of this. The principal decision taken during Zhou’s meeting was to hold a

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This sum represented more than six months’ wages for Li but was nothing for Mao, whose expenses were all paid for by the state and who held a special bank account for his royalty payments, which had a balance of 75,812,000 yuan when he died in 1976, according to an apparently well-informed article by Cheng Zaisi in Dongxiang, October 2001, pp. 21–23. An urgent request for a review of the situation had already been made by the Heilongjiang Revolutionary Committee in November 1972; see Gu Hongzhang and Ma Kesen (eds.), Dashiji, pp. 106–7.

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national conference. Consequently seventy cadres from various bodies were sent around the country in twelve survey groups to report on the zhiqing’s real situation and suggest solutions.93 The ensuing National Working Conference on the Rustication of Educated Youth was a long one, held in Beijing from June 22 to August 7, 1973, and chaired by Hua Guofeng.94 Several decisions were taken and disseminated via internal channels on August 4, 1973, in Central Committee Document No. 30 (1973), before the conference had actually ended—proof of the importance and urgency of the matter for the leaders. The new recommendations were studied and debated publicly in a series of conferences held in all the provinces during the second half of 1973.95 The document was transmitted with two files, one of which contained the measures to be taken and the other outlining the 1973–1980 rustication plan. They were addressed to the provincial and municipal leaders to serve as guidelines for implementing their own measures and long-term plans. The first decision taken was precisely to reinforce the management of xiaxiang. Party committees, from provincial to county level, were asked to set up “small leadership groups for rusticating educated youth” (zhishi qingnian shangshan xiaxiang lingdao xiaozu 知識青年上山下鄉領導小組) to be headed by the local first or second party secretary. Their task was to “coordinate the work of the party, the government, the army, the mass organizations, and the educational establishments” in all matters concerning xiaxiang. These small leadership groups were to have offices for their day-to-day work. During this period therefore, names were standardized and the bodies in charge of xiaxiang became specialized and received an administrative upgrade, as well as an increase in the number of cadres.96 Despite this, the central authorities failed to set a good example since at the national level the “small leadership group” (which in this case depended on the government and not the Party Central Committee) was not set up. 93 94

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The preparatory work for this 1973 conference is a very useful source for studying the movement—at least for those able to access it. On this conference and its preparation, see Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, pp.  122–29, Dashiji, pp.  112–19, and Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 368–78. The full text of Document No. 30 is reproduced in Guowuyuan zhiqingban, Zhiqing gongzuo wenjian xuanbian, pp. 87–95. The list of available records of these conferences may be found in Scharping, Umsiedlungsprogramme für Chinas Jugend, pp. 160–61n145. In April 1974, one year after Li Qinglin sent his letter to Mao, the number of specialized cadres in the Educated Youth Bureaus had risen from 8,178 to 13,541; see Gu Hongzhang and Ma Kesen (eds.), Dashiji, p. 129.

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After the working conference, a “bureau for the small leadership group for rusticating educated youth, reporting to the State Council” was set up. This began operations in October 1973 and became fully official on January 1, 1974, when it returned to the offices of the Ministry of Agriculture and Forestry headed by Sha Feng, a former “army representative” turned minister. Sha Feng headed the bureau, while under him the main leaders were Yu Chiqian, Zhang Yaqun, and Gu Hongzhang. Curiously, this bureau functioned for nearly two and a half years as the executive office of an institution which did not exist.97 Zhou Enlai had asked for the small leadership group to be set up during the April 1973 meeting. It was requested again during the round table organized by the bureau in Changchun during August/September 1975, and once again in April 1976 in a report sent by Sha Feng. As we shall see, this last request proved to be the effective one.

From Romanticism to Realism: The Zhuzhou Model and Improvements in Living Conditions Despite events in Beijing, doubtless related to the manager-vs.-ideologue conflicts regarding xiaxiang, from 1973 onward there were undeniable improvements in the organization of the rustication movement. Small leadership groups were set up with their offices, and plans drawn up by the provincial and municipal authorities for 1974–1980. The reference in this as in all things was the town of Zhuzhou in Hunan province, which became a national model in June 1974. The municipality had set up coordinating bodies specially charged with establishing permanent contact between the city’s enterprises and the village organizations. This institutionalization obliged the cadres to pay more attention to xiaxiang. This emphasis on the Zhuzhou experience, which was studied throughout the country for the duration of the provincial conferences held in the second half of 1974, was an attempt to

97

This situation led to a certain amount of confusion for many specialists, both Chinese and foreign. Even Liu Xiaomeng was puzzled by the inconsistencies between the various sources and thought that the “small group” already existed in October 1973; see Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p.  382. However, I believe we can trust Gu Hongzhang, who was well placed to know about the bureaucratic subtleties where xiaxiang was concerned. For a history of the institutions in charge of the movement, see Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, pp. 244–50.

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transform the 1968 “movement” into a real organized and planned program.98 This insistence on organization certainly corresponded to a two-fold ambition, which was to improve the zhiqing’s living conditions while managing them better so as to reduce resistance to rustication, deviant behavior, and incidents of counter-solidarity in the villages.99 To this end, in 1973 the local cadres were asked to improve the zhiqing’s political education. But the changes to the organization of the educated youth in the countryside proved to be the most effective for tightening control over them. In the Zhuzhou model, young urbanites were no longer scattered around the villages, but grouped together in zhiqing farms (zhiqing nongchang 知青農場) or zhiqing plantations specialized in forestry, tea and fruit growing, and so on, with a varying degree of independence with regard to the neighboring brigades and communes, but forming separate entities in all cases. Even where conditions made it impossible to set up zhiqing farms (due to a shortage of available land for instance, or lack of even minimal financing), the local cadres were encouraged to group the zhiqing together in collective households (jitihu 集體戶) that were larger than any existing ones, or in youth centers (qingniandian 青年點), also called zhiqing centers (zhiqingdian 知青點).100 By concentrating the zhiqing together it was easier to control them, especially since the Zhuzhou system provided for urban cadres to live with them and organize their activities together with the local cadres. From 1974, hundreds of thousands of these accompanying cadres (daidui ganbu 帶隊幹 部) also left for the countryside for a year or two on a rotation basis, in a proportion of roughly one cadre per hundred zhiqing.101 Even in places where this system was not implemented, cadres were strongly encouraged to group zhiqing together and it was often possible to assign an instructor function (fudaoyuan 輔導員) to a peasant or low-level local cadre for this purpose. In general, the cadres at the team, brigade, and commune level were asked to take a regular interest in the zhiqing and to appoint cadre leaders to be put in

98

99 100

101

For more about this model, see Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp.  423– 34, and Gu Hongzhang and Ma Kesen (eds.), Dashiji, pp.  125–26. For all the measures introduced in 1973–1974, see Bernstein, Up to the Mountains and Down to the Villages, pp. 143–71. On the issue of social control and deviance, see Chapters 10 and 11. In one Sichuan production team, they used a cruder term, “youth concentration center” (qingnian jizhong juzhudian 青 年 集 中 居 住 點 ); see RMRB, February 4, 1975, p. 4. Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, p. 307.

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charge of them. Thanks to the Zhuzhou model it was also possible to deal with the young people who refused to leave or who returned to the cities illegally. Until then, only the schools were mobilized for this purpose, occasionally with the help of county organizations, and in exceptional cases, when heavy pressure was deemed necessary, the parent’s work unit (danwei). In the new system, direct pressure on the family became the rule, since the family head’s danwei was in charge of mobilizing and rusticating the young people who had been selected for xiaxiang by their schools. The danwei’s control had increased considerably now that every young person’s hopes of returning to the city lay in being hired by a work unit. The system of hereditary hiring I shall discuss later began during that period.102 Of course, grouping educated youth into separate units ran against the stated principle of integrating them with the poor and lower-middle peasants, but faced with the obvious difficulties they had in surviving in the villages, that utopian goal was put aside. The report issued by the 1973 National Conference recognized that a third of the zhiqing were not self-sufficient and 40 percent were not even decently housed. To improve their living conditions it was decided to increase the resources allotted to settling them. The subsidy paid to the rural authorities for each individual zhiqing doubled, rising from 230 yuan to 480 in the south and from 250 yuan to 500 in the north.103 If the zhiqing were unable to become self-sufficient (while working hard), food assistance was also granted. Furthermore the local authorities were reminded that the educated youth should be paid the same wage as the peasants for the same work (the tong gong tong chou 同工同酬, equal pay for equal work principle). Grouping the zhiqing together also made it easier to organize productive and domestic tasks, as well as leisure activities, thanks to a division of labor. Moreover, greater control led to reduced absenteeism, which had a positive impact on revenue. There were also some improvements in medical care and the specific needs of the young women were taken into account (for instance they were not to be forced to work in water while they were menstruating). Zhiqing who were already settled received additional grants in the event of difficulties: 100 yuan for food and 200 yuan for housing. The local authorities were reminded of their obligation to use the housing subsidies they had received for the urban 102 103

See pp. 120 and 141. In cattle-breeding areas such as Inner Mongolia and Xinjiang, the subsidy rose to 700 yuan. The 400 yuan subsidy already allotted for settling in state and military farms was not increased.

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zhiqing to that end. However, even with increased subsidies it was not possible to build housing without additional local financial assistance and manpower. In many cases, the local authorities’ lack of enthusiasm was exacerbated by the lack of clarity concerning the ownership of the housing, which in some provinces belonged in theory to the state, but in others to the local authorities. The state also provided large loans for setting up new collective farms and plantations for zhiqing to which the urban work units were also asked to contribute. As we have seen, one of the important aspects of the Zhuzhou model was that most of the responsibility for sending and settling educated youths was transferred to their family heads’ work units, which were now in contact with the settlement location and obliged to contribute to the additional housing expenditure required by the new type of zhiqing settlement.104 The large industrial enterprises also had to take charge of a number of young people whose parents worked in units with insufficient financial means to do so, including schools and government departments. Measures were also taken to increase the young people’s opportunities to study and obtain promotion. Correspondence courses or part-time classes were made available together with dedicated textbooks. One of the National Conference recommendations was that a larger number of zhiqing should be admitted to the local party committee and Communist Youth League as well as to base-level organizations.105 This was frequently taken up by the media, which regularly reported on the number of educated youth who had joined the party, the Youth League, or the local leadership bodies related in anyway to xiaxiang. Despite that, the possibilities available to the young people were limited. According to figures from the Educated Youth Bureau, only between 1 and 1.5 percent of zhiqing were party members, between 20 and 30 percent were in the league, and between 2 and 4 percent in other leadership bodies.106 The particular concern for the zhiqing’s safety, especially that of the young women, was openly broached during the National Conference, which emphasized that those who oppressed or mistreated zhiqing should be punished. As a result a number of cadres were sentenced in 1973 and 1974. On the personal recommendation of Zhou Enlai and other high-ranking

104

105 106

Urban enterprises established close ties with the communes. To use an expression from the time, the two were “hooked up” (gua gou 掛 鈎 ); see RMRB, June 12, 1974, p. 1. See the editorial in RMRB, August 7, 1973. Guowuyuan zhishi qingnian bangongshi, Quanguo chengzhen, 1981, pp.  56–57, quoted in Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p. 865.

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leaders, two officers of the Yunnan Production and Construction Corps (bingtuan) accused of torturing zhiqing, and two other officers from the Heilongjiang Corps who had molested or raped zhiqing, were sentenced to death and executed just after the National Conference. Other public executions were held over the following months.107 One of the aims in grouping zhiqing together and sending urban cadres to accompany them was also to protect them from the abuses of the local cadres. However, these exemplary punishments failed to solve the problem. For one thing, the legal system was in a dismal state of disarray and the cadres in any given region tended to protect each other. Furthermore, the local cadres still held sway over the zhiqing’s destinies, including their opportunities for leaving, and their powers were in no way diminished by the new measures. It was hardly surprising then that there continued to be many abuses of power in 1974. These even increased in 1975, leading to another campaign against it and more death sentences that year. From 1974, the departments concerned began to keep a precise account of cases of bad treatment reported by the zhiqing, as well as of “unnatural” deaths, that is to say those that appeared to be the result of an accident or criminal act. Even though the authorities addressed this issue after the National Conference, they failed to eradicate it. According to official figures from the Educated Youth Bureau, nearly 10,000 cases of ill treatment (mostly rapes) were reported in 1976. That same year, 4,970  “unnatural” deaths of zhiqing were recorded, representing 73.5 percent of total deaths.108 Although these changes did not represent a radical transformation of xiaxiang, such as the one that occurred in 1968, there was a kind of overhaul of the movement in 1973–1974. The recommendations by the central and provincial authorities did not all lead to massive changes in the countryside, and the structural reforms were only gradually implemented throughout China. The Zhuzhou model, for instance, was not universally adopted, but did develop little by little. Between 1974 and 1978, just over 20 percent of the total new zhiqing arrivals went to the new zhiqing farms and teams.109 Nevertheless, post-1973 xiaxiang was different, and this appeared to be the price to pay for it to continue—a price that was not only ideological but financial. Indeed, xiaxiang became more expensive for the state as well as for the urban 107 108 109

Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 394–401; Gu Hongzhang and Ma Kesen (eds.), Dashiji, pp. 115–19. Guowuyuan zhishi qingnian bangongshi, Quanguo chengzhen, 1981, pp.  70–71, quoted in Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p. 864. See Zhongguo laodong gongzi tongji ziliao, 1949–1985, p. 110.

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factories and companies, and that may ultimately have affected its future by altering the balance between the benefits and the cost. The increase in direct state expenditure on xiaxiang was clear: from 479  million yuan in 1973 to 844 million in 1974, 900 million in 1975, and 1.07 billion in 1976—a record year.110 The National Conference held in the summer of 1973 laid down clear rules defining the categories of young people authorized to stay in the cities or to return to them. In addition to special cases such as sickness or severe financial difficulties, each family now had the right to keep one child at home. That was no radical change, for certain provinces and municipalities had already issued regulations to that effect in 1971–1972. The 1973 regulations still left the cadres in charge of departures and returns with a certain amount of room for maneuver, notably in assessing health or financial problems. Nevertheless, the government’s recognition of families’ needs, and therefore the social impossibility of sending all young people to the countryside, marked an important change. It meant that when allocating jobs, the state would now not only look at the country’s requirements (guojia xuyao 國家需 要) but also take other factors into account. However, this did not satisfy the extremists, partisans of the universal nature of xiaxiang, who saw this as another Maoist principle abandoned at that conference. The Shanghai press published the story of a young Shanghainese girl whose brother had died “carrying out his duty” on a military farm in Jiangsu province. She was quoted as saying, “The reeducation my  brother received in the countryside cannot be a substitute for my own reeducation. The fact that my brother carried out the revolution in the countryside cannot be a justification for me to lead a comfortable life.”111 This was a veiled criticism of official policy by the hard line “Shanghai faction,” but in this case did not lead to an open struggle. Until 1976, these policy differences did not prevent a certain amount of compromise, and while xiaxiang was being overhauled in 1973–1974, the official discourse on the subject remained unchanged. The National Conference report still presented it as “an important strategic measure in the struggle against revisionism,” and “a means to train millions of successors to the cause of the socialist revolution.” In theory it was still impossible to go into higher education without having first worked in production. The new measures were presented as advances in achieving the original objectives. For instance,

110 111

See Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, p. 309. Shanghai Radio, October 15, 1973, in SWB, October 19, 1973.

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sending young people exclusively to suburban communes was not presented as a reduction in the goal to reduce the urban-rural gap, but as progress toward that goal thanks to the close ties formed between the factories and communes, workers and peasants, city and countryside.112 The new xiaxiang therefore appeared to be a compromise solution that factored in Mao’s ideological aspirations with the moderate faction’s desire for rational organization and concern about the social discontent generated by the movement. It did not solve the fundamental causes of this mass rejection, but it did reduce resistance. The launch of the revamped xiaxiang movement coincided with a period in which a relative truce existed between the two major party factions, the climax of which was the Tenth Congress in August 1973, when Zhou Enlai mentioned the improvement in the organization of xiaxiang as being an important political task for the party.113 The leadership’s renewed interest in the movement resulted in a new increase in departures with the rustication of 1,724,800 zhiqing in 1974, compared with 896,100 in 1973. Improved organization and planning made it possible to organize departures at a regular pace, and the numbers for the next three years remained similar to those in 1974: 2,368,600 in 1975, 1,880,300 in 1976, and 1,716,800 in 1977.114 During this period, the plan established by the National Conference was globally respected, and even surpassed in some respects. The conference had set approximately 13  million departures from 1973 to 1980, or an average of 1.6 million per year. Between 1973 and 1977, real departures averaged 1.7  million, but planners had not anticipated that from 1978 the plan would be totally obsolete. During this period the major cities that had already implemented long-distance migrations were to send 1.31 million young people outside their respective provinces. Heilongjiang province, for example, had agreed to take 500,000 young people from Shanghai, but this never happened since the national total for long-distance departures was less than 80,000 for the entire period. Indeed, it had become increasingly difficult to persuade zhiqing to go far from their homes, and the authorities recognized that some long-distance departures had been organized without taking into account the capacity of the receiving entities. In 1973, Hua Guofeng revealed that out of the 7,000 young Shanghainese sent to Guizhou,

112 113 114

RMRB, June 12, 1974, p. 4. See the report to the Tenth CCP Congress, in Pékin Information, September 10, 1973, p. 25. See Zhongguo laodong gongzi tongji ziliao, 1949–1985, p. 110.

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6,000 had returned because they quite simply could not get enough to eat.115 After 1974, the predominance of the Zhuzhou model meant that suburban departures became more frequent. As we have seen, the “success” of the departures during this period, reflected in Figure 1 (in Chapter 6) as a second bump in the departure curves,116 came at a considerable cost. Nor was it obtained without a discreet and gradual slide from lifelong xiaxiang toward a rotation system. The National Conference had not clearly defined the direction the movement was to take, despite this having been a subject of fierce debate among delegates. Some advocated the rotation of larger numbers of young people as being fairer and easier for them to accept, while others opposed this because of the financial cost of the settlement expenses for young people who would not be staying for long periods, as well as the cost of the dual professional training they were to have, first in the countryside and then on their return to the cities. Those who argued in this vein supported fewer departures, but permanent ones. Since the conference had clearly authorized the hiring of zhiqing, there was a clear increase in returns. Although these were still fewer than departures, they were sufficient to hike up the return rate, which (calculated from 1962) rose from 42.9 percent at the end of 1973 to 48.1 percent at the end of 1976.117 Numerous provinces began to implement a rotation system, since it was easier to mobilize young people in this way.118 As the only province to have officially organized a rotation system before the Cultural Revolution, Guangdong reverted to this system in 1975 by rusticating almost the same large number of zhiqing as in 1968 but also organizing the return of large numbers of those who had left before 1970.119 This period was also one in which economic realism led the government to abolish the system of military farms in favor of state farms. The Production and Construction Corps had been set up in haste during the height of

115

116 117 118 119

Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p.  391n1. In fact more than 10,000 Shanghainese left for Guizhou; see Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, p. 305. See Figure 1, p. 176. See Zhongguo laodong gongzi tongji ziliao, 1949–1985, pp. 110–11. See Figure 2, p. 177. Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, p. 129. See Zhongguo renkou—Guangdong fence, p.  168. Unfortunately we do not have precise figures for these returns before 1979, but this was confirmed in a number of interviews.

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revolutionary fervor, and taken in too many zhiqing, leading to serious environmental and profitability issues.120 The state farms were already lossmaking before they were converted, but after the army took over losses reached unacceptable proportions. Between 1967 and 1969, the deficit increased six-fold to reach 460 million yuan, while return on investment fell by 13 percent. The government grew concerned and in October 1970 a national conference was called to find solutions, but to no avail. Production continued to fall between 1971 and 1973. The Heilongjiang Production and Construction Corps (bingtuan) posted a 200  million yuan deficit in 1973, while the total military farm deficit stood at 1.11 billion yuan. Clearly military cadres were not interested in farm production and not competent to improve it. Furthermore, their farm management was expensive since the army mobilized a massive bureaucracy. According to an official report dated February 1973, only 8 percent of the administrative cadres in the Heilongjiang bingtuan were directly in charge of production, but the total number of cadres had doubled since the army had taken over the state farms. Nor was there any justification for having these army corps in the interior where there was no frontier to defend and very little land to clear.121 As a result, the government decided to dissolve the corps and the farms were converted into state farms. The zhiqing working there became state farm employees under local management.

Xiaxiang and the Two-line Struggle: From Blank Exam Papers to Going through the Back Door The 1973–1976 period was one that saw the two-line struggle and feuding growing all the more virulent because each camp felt pressed for time. The leader of the moderate faction, Zhou Enlai, had cancer, and Mao, the leading supporter of the radicals, was old and sick himself. The fight focused on which of the many “new things that arose during the Cultural Revolution” (xinsheng shiwu 新生事物) should be kept or scrapped, which the moderates attempted more or less surreptitiously to revise, while the radicals countered by launching one “movement” after another. Maoist-type xiaxiang was the subject of particularly violent struggles, as this quotation from 1975, valid for 120

121

On the history of zhiqing in the state and military farms, see Shi Weimin and He Lan, Zhiqing beiwanglu. On the disbanding of the military farms, see also Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 471–80. Shi Weimin and He Lan, Zhiqing beiwanglu, pp. 374–78.

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the entire period, reveals: “At present, socialist new things such as the revolution in education and settling young people in the countryside involve acute and fierce class struggle.”122 As we have seen, in 1973 there appeared to be a consensus on the need to remedy the various practices concerning zhiqing, but open conflict broke out on the subject of their entry to university. At the beginning of the year, the moderates gained the upper hand and a large number of cadres who had been dismissed during the Cultural Revolution, including Deng Xiaoping, returned. It was at their instigation that in April of that year the State Council partially reintroduced academic criteria for accessing higher education. Students could only be chosen from young people with “more than two years of practical experience,” and their “political qualities had first to be taken into account”; but they also had to pass exams to “test their level of basic knowledge and their ability to analyze and solve practical problems.”123 A “cultural exam” was therefore introduced in many regions as the last stage of the selection process, despite opposition from the radicals. Starting in July, the radicals went onto the offensive against the exam by launching the Zhang Tiesheng affair. This educated youth from Liaoning province, a production brigade head and league member, had handed in a blank exam paper, explaining on the other side of the sheet that his hard agricultural work had not left him time to review academic subjects. He regretted that the exam system favored “book worms” who locked themselves up in their rooms instead of taking part in agricultural labor. Describing his political attitude and impeccable class origins,124 he stated that he had no shame in handing in a blank exam paper but was saddened that an exam lasting only a few hours might deprive him of his “childhood dream.” In fact, Zhang had not done well in two earlier exams and had prepared his letter in advance. Dated June 30, the letter was reproduced in the Liaoning Daily of July 19,

122 123 124

Radio Qinghai, December 22, 1975, in SWB, December 30, 1975. Pékin Information 8 (February 21, 1977), pp. 14–15. In fact his origins weren’t impeccable. At birth his name had been Liu Tiefang, and his father had been an ironmonger before the revolution. He had been close to a high-ranking Guomindang leader, which got him into trouble in 1958. This should have left an indelible mark on his son, but he had moved with his mother when his parents divorced and in 1968 he took his stepfather’s name. While he was at it he also changed his first name to make a break with the past. See Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p. 560.

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under the heading “A reply that deserves some thought.”125 Mao Yuanxin heard about this on July 10, at a meeting to assess the exam results. He seized this opportunity, revised the letter a little, notably by removing the end, considering that the imploring tone to the “respected leaders” was not glorious enough, and had it published with a note from the editor, which he also revised himself.126 On August 10 the letter and editor’s note were reproduced in full in the People’s Daily, with a reminder of Mao’s directive published five years earlier on July 21, 1968: “We must select students with practical experience from among the workers and peasants. After a few years of study they will return to productive labor.”127 On August 16, the same paper published an article under the pseudonym used by the Shanghai radicals, praising Zhang for having dared “go against the tide” (fan chaoliu 反潮流).128 That expression, copied from Mao’s 1939 speech on “The Orientation of the Youth Movement,” was taken up a few days later during the Tenth Party Congress by Wang Hongwen, one of the radical leaders, as well as by Zhou Enlai. Both attributed the following statement to Mao: “Going against the tide is a Marxist Leninist principle.” Several articles appeared in September developing the “going against the tide” theme with regard to the blank exam paper and Zhang Tiesheng became a national hero.129 Accepted at the Liaoning Agricultural Institute despite his poor results, he also became a member of its party committee, even though he had only just joined the Youth League in his own village. From December 1973 to March 1974, he went to Japan with a Chinese youth delegation. I will return to his political career later on. In January 1975 he became a delegate to the Fourth National People’s Congress (NPC), and subsequently a Permanent Committee member. This whirlwind promotion was not as fortuitous as the blank exam paper, but a result of his devoted loyalty to the powerful leaders who had noticed his case and, like Jiang Qing, did him the honor of receiving him in person. In January 1974, two other zhiqing became models of going against the tide and “breaking with traditional old concepts.” By now, the movement to criticize Lin Biao and Confucius (pi Lin pi Kong yundong 批林批孔運動) had taken over from the “against the tide” movement, but the expression was 125 126 127 128 129

Liaoning ribao, July 19, 1973, in SWB, July 27, 1973. Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 562–65, reproduced Zhang Tiesheng’s original letter, including his spelling mistakes! RMRB, November 30, 1976, p. 2. RMRB, August 10, 1973, p. 1. RMRB, August 16, 1973, p. 3. See RMRB, September 10, 1973, p. 2, and September 22, 1973, p. 3.

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still in use. Chai Chunze, an educated youth from Liaoning province, became famous when the People’s Daily published his negative reply to his father’s suggestion that he return to the city. His father was a former poor peasant, a Red Army soldier and cadre, and had been a party member for the past twenty-seven years. In his letter, Chai not only refused to leave the countryside where he wanted to “take root,” but reproached his father in no uncertain terms for no longer being up to his job: “The laws of nature have decided the old generation revolutionaries could not achieve the communist cause directly. We you ng p e ople mu st t a ke ove r f r om you r gene r at ion of old revolutionaries.”130 Whether or not he was sincere, in making this correspondence with his father public, Chai was clearly taking sides in the current political struggle and was positioning himself to obtain certain benefits as a result. He had apparently read the letters out loud for educational purposes during a Youth League meeting in his brigade, and then again at a regional xiaxiang conference. It seems that Mao Yuanxin saw a journalist’s account of this conference and arranged for Chai’s letter to be published in the Liaoning Daily some ten days before it was published in the People’s Daily.131 In his case, propaganda mainly stressed how the young revolutionary generation should challenge the older one, but in the case of Zhong Zhimin it clearly focused on denouncing people’s use of “the back door” for leaving the countryside. The son of a high-ranking military cadre who had taken part in the Long March and grandson of a village head in the Jiangxi Soviet who had died a martyr during this epic period, Zhong accomplished a feat of his own by requesting to leave Nanjing University, where he had been admitted thanks to contacts. In his letter to the university authorities, published on the front page of the January 18, 1974 edition of the People’s Daily, he explained that he had joined the army in 1969 after only three months in the countryside by taking the post from a peasant. He hadn’t even required his father’s assistance to do that, just mentioning his name was enough. In 1972, he decided that he wanted to go to university. He informed his father, who simply made a phone call and got his son accepted by the Nanjing University philosophy department. However, the young man suffered from a bad conscience and despite his family’s reservations and the opposition of the chairman of the University Revolutionary Committee, he decided to quit the university at the end of September 1973. Since the university turned down his request, it was 130 131

RMRB, January 5, 1974, p. 1. Liaoning ribao, December 20, 1973, p. 1; and Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 571–72.

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forwarded at Zhong’s insistence to the Jiangsu Provincial Party Committee, which also refused it. By now the case had attracted the attention of the central authorities and both Jiang Qing and Zhou Enlai intervened, so Zhong was finally allowed to stop his studies. In February 1974, Zhong returned to the commune in Ruijin county (Jiangxi province) where he had been sent in 1968. After that, he took part in several provincial zhiqing meetings in Jiangxi and Fujian and became a labor hero, deputy team head, and head of a small party group. In 1976 he was appointed deputy secretary of his county’s Communist Youth League.132 After this, the press published more cases of a similar nature in which the children of cadres, often military ones, got into university “through the back door.”133 All these reports were presented identically, showing that this was a centrally organized campaign. Parents made public self-criticisms and young people who had joined the army or found jobs in factories through contacts also petitioned to return to the countryside. The “back-door” issue dominated propaganda in early 1974, especially from the end of January to the end of February. However, the topic did not appear out of the blue without reason. String-pulling by children of cadres was causing widespread discontent among zhiqing and their parents. The subject had been raised during the summer 1973 conference, when it was clear that the three Notices published on the subject were ineffective. The consensus was to blame Lin Biao for the situation since he had encouraged “internal selection” for entering the army in 1969,134 but no agreement was reached on the measures to take. The majority favored severe ones, such as sending everyone who had resorted to string-pulling back to the countryside, and requesting that the leaders publicize the examples. Others, however, considered this a sensitive issue since it was not always easy to define stringpulling, and believed that the important thing was to prevent it in the future. Finally the report made three recommendations: that the masses be informed of the three previous Notices and monitor their application; that the leading cadres set the example by sending their children back to the countryside, and that in the future party disciplinary action should also be taken in such cases. Once made public, these decisions caused a certain amount of concern. Many young people who had resorted to “back-door” methods were afraid of being 132 133 134

Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp.  538–46; and Bernstein, Up to the Mountains and Down to the Villages, p. 254. See Hubei ribao, February 7, 1974; Neimenggu ribao, February 17, 1974; and Shanxi ribao, February 17, 1974. Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, p. 127.

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forced back to the countryside and preferred to “disappear.” In several places dazibao were posted on the walls to denounce “back-door” cadres.135 This atmosphere explained the unease felt by a number of people from “good families” such as Zhong Zhimin. Their rejection of string-pulling and denunciation of the privileges they had enjoyed since childhood was motivated by a spirit of rebellion against their families and desire to live by the revolutionary values that had been inculcated in them. They had a bad conscience with regard to the rest of the population. However, their actions would not have the moral repercussions they might have had, had they not been couched in the extremist rhetoric that was so often disconnected from reality, and above all, if they had not clearly been manipulated by one party faction to use against another. Their fundamental flaw here was their failure to deal with the root of the evil, the so-called recommendation by the masses. Since the masses had no real power, this system was purely “at the service of the privileged classes and the arbitrary nature of power.”136 By denouncing the effects without attacking the cause, the radicals showed that their primary objective was purely factional. Despite the compromises reached between the two camps in 1973 (the xiaxiang conference being one), the radicals still sought to gain the upper hand. At the Tenth Congress in August, they succeeded in strengthening their power at the highest level. However, they felt they still had an insufficient foothold in the apparatus, notably in government and the administration, largely dominated by Zhou Enlai. They therefore decided to attack Zhou to weaken him and shore up their influence at the grassroots level. The “against the tide” movement, followed by the one to criticize Lin Biao and Confucius launched in January 1974, were really attacks against Zhou Enlai, and approved by Mao himself. During the first meeting called by Zhou Enlai at the highest level to discuss the criticism of Lin Biao and Confucius, the radicals also launched their first attack against people who went through the back door. For the radicals, these three criticisms represented “three arrows launched simultaneously” (san jian qi fa 三箭齊發).137 135 136

137

Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 533–35. Deng Xian, Zhongguo zhiqing meng (The Dreams of China’s Educated Youth) (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1993), p.  168. The author states that “according to statistics,” 70 percent of the zhiqing who entered university between 1972 and 1976 were the children of high-ranking cadres, and that the percentage rose to 90 percent for the top universities. Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp.  535–37; Beijing Radio, November

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The back-door campaign was a great issue for the radicals and by the end of February had taken on such proportions that it put the majority in the state apparatus in a difficult position. The local Educated Youth Bureaus were requested to report on the number of “back-door” cases they had uncovered and the measures they had taken, suggesting that the movement had intensified. And yet, against all expectations, the attacks ceased once and for all in March when Mao himself sabotaged the movement launched by his zealous devotees and which he had clearly supported at the outset. On receiving the report on the high-level meeting called by Zhou, he issued a negative comment on February 15 in which he stated that “there are good people who go through the back door and bad people who go through the front door,” adding that to avoid distraction from the movement against Lin Biao and Confucius, the solution to the back-door issue should be postponed until the movement’s last phase. This was taken up in a Central Committee Notice issued on February 20.138 It is not clear why Mao put the “back-door” battle on hold. His inconsistency here resembles his rejection during the Cultural Revolution of all attempts to create a really different political system to the one whose flaws he denounced, but which he finally reinstated at the Ninth Party Congress. Perhaps once again he hesitated to take an action that might challenge the regime itself, if the denunciation of privilege had become a major issue. Or perhaps he balked at the prospect of entering into open conflict with Zhou Enlai and his allies.

Models Who Had Taken Root Whatever the reason, the fact that the radicals were obliged to put aside their back-door “arrow” did not mean that they had put away the quiver. They continued to use the educated youth in their political struggle throughout this period. On January 28, 1974, at the beginning of the movement against Lin Biao and Confucius, Jiang Qing wrote a letter to the zhiqing working in the “We Can Accomplish Great Things in This Vast Universe” commune in Henan province. This strangely named commune had been set up in the township of Dalizhuang, where the employment of zhiqing with rural backgrounds

138

16, 1976, in FBIS, November 22, 1976; as well as Hua Guofeng’s report to the Eleventh Congress of the CCP, in Pékin Information 35 (August 29, 1977), p. 26. Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p.  547. The positive effects of the “backdoor” criticism and its suppression following the CC Document, are well illustrated in Xu Mingxu’s novella “Diaodong” (The Transfer), p. 198.

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had led Mao to compose this famous sentence in 1955.139 Obviously, the commune became a model for the way to employ educated youth and it grew from 35 rural zhiqing in 1955 to 1,000 rural and urban zhiqing in 1976.140 Imitating the Maoist (or for that matter, the imperial) style, Jiang Qing dispatched Hao Liang,141 a member of her clique, to deliver a letter to the commune. As the envoy himself said, her letter was also addressed “to all the country’s zhiqing.” By going over the heads of the bureaucrats in charge, she was meddling in xiaxiang policy and extending the radicals’ influence in that specific social category, the zhiqing. In her letter she asked them to take an active part in the movement to criticize Lin Biao and Confucius and congratulated them on their “great victory in remaining in the countryside.” The underlying message was clear: returning to the cities was defeatist, although this would only get to be aired in public in 1976. Jiang’s letter was disseminated nationwide through the Educated Youth Bureau,142 but was not taken up by the press because Zhou Enlai had given instructions to limit its impact.143 It was clearly part of a global action toward zhiqing by the radicals, for whom it was important to promote such models. In addition to the two I have mentioned, a further two models are worth mentioning, one in Liaoning province and the other Shanghai, which was clearly no coincidence since these were the two radical strongholds. Wu Xianzhong “graduated” from a junior high school in Fushun (Liaoning province) in 1968, having been very active in the Red Guards. She left for the countryside where she was picked out among the other zhiqing for her zealous propaganda work. Her main claim to fame was that she refused to return to the city on several occasions, and even refused to go to university. She became a Youth League head and deputy party secretary for her commune, but refused to become a salaried cadre, preferring instead to 139 140

141

142 143

See p. 25. Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p. 549. The commune, which was rapidly electrified and mechanized, already had more than 400 zhiqing from Zhengzhou at the end of 1969. See La Chine en Construction, November 1969, pp. 35–38. Hao Liang was a fairly well-known Peking Opera actor, notably for his part in the revolutionary opera The Red Lantern. His real name was in fact Qian Haoliang, but Jiang Qing asked him to change his surname because it had “capitalistic” connotations (despite being very common in China), since qian means money. Thanks to his loyalty he became vice-minister for culture in 1975. For more about this matter, see Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 548–55; Gu Hongzhang and Ma Kesen (eds.), Dashiji, pp. 126–27; and Shimo, pp. 139–40. Gu Hongzhang and Ma Kesen (eds.), Dashiji, p. 127.

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receive work points as before. Mao Yuanxin heard about her and decided to make her a model too. On February 15, 1973, an article about her appeared on the front page of the People’s Daily entitled “Taking root in the countryside to carry out the revolution,” an expression that became a rallying call for the radicals. As a delegate to the Tenth Congress in August 1973, she was presented as a paragon of “going against the tide” in the Liaoning Daily of September 14 of that year.144 Zhu Kejia was 17 years old when he left Shanghai in April 1969 for a village in Xishuangbanna, a border region in southern Yunnan province. From the first he was a model Han, devoting himself to the national minorities by bringing them the light of Chinese civilization. Within a few months he had learned to speak and write the Dai language and master agricultural techniques. In December 1970 he moved to a particularly poor mountain region, to work for the Aini people. He brought them electricity by setting up a small hydroelectric plant, taught them to sew and mend tools, and became the first hairdresser in the village’s history, while working as a teacher all the while. Greatly appreciated by the locals, he was put forward to go to university in 1972 but he refused. In March 1973 Yao Wenyuan heard about him in Shanghai and sent two journalists off to Yunnan. They each produced a laudatory article about Zhu and helped him to write another entitled “I Deeply Love Every Tree and Blade of Grass in the Border Regions.” The three articles were first published in the two Shanghai newspapers, and then in the People’s Daily of May 20, 1973. Others followed. At Yao Wenyuan and Zhang Chunqiao’s request, Zhu joined the party in April and was sent as a delegate to the Tenth Congress in August. He was then “elected” the youngest alternate member of the Central Committee. He joined a training class for “worker and peasant cadres” organized by Wang Hongwen, who welcomed him in person. In May 1974 Zhu became the deputy head of the Yunnan Bureau for Criticizing Lin Biao and Confucius, and then secretary of the Youth League in the same province. In January 1975 he was a delegate to the Fourth National People’s Congress where he was “elected” a member of the Permanent Committee.145 The speed and extent of his meteoric rise were unprecedented. Wu Xianzhong and Zhu Kejia were both models of zhiqing who had “grown roots” (zhagen) in the countryside. Like the other models we have

144 145

Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 555–57. Ibid., pp. 576–79.

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seen, they were part of a group of zhiqing with political ties to the radicals. In exchange for promotions and honors, they devoted themselves to faithfully serving the future “Gang of Four” and attacking their enemies. The two-line struggle also had an impact on the delicate issue of marriage for the zhiqing. From 1969 to the end of 1973, the authorities encouraged them to postpone marriage, mainly for economic reasons. The Cultural Revolution had led to a dangerous relaxation of the birth control program, which was relaunched in 1970 and reinforced by a late marriage policy. Since 1950 the legal age for marriage had been 18 for women and 20 for men, but now young people in the countryside were asked to postpone marriage until they were 23 and 25 years old respectively. Consequently the zhiqing marriage issue was not even raised until the early 1970s, even though in theory they came under the rural age category. Furthermore, the government was well aware that family planning went against the grain for the peasants and hoped to use the zhiqing for propaganda purposes and models for the late marriage policy. Nor did the government want to deal with the expense of housing that marriage entailed, fully aware that the zhiqing subsidy was inadequate for that purpose. During the working conference held in the summer of 1973, Zhou Enlai made enquiries about this matter in person by asking the model educated youths Xing Yanzi and Hou Jun for their estimate of the expenditure required to settle a zhiqing couple. They came up with a figure of between 700 and 1,000 yuan, which must have alarmed Zhou who declared during the conference that the zhiqing would still have to delay marriage. He calculated that as a rule the young people arrived in the countryside when they were under 20 years of age, and could therefore wait for seven, eight, or even ten years before setting up their own homes. He congratulated Xu Minguang, another model educated youth invited to the conference, for remaining unmarried at the age of 28.146 This attitude was clearly dictated by economic considerations, but it ran counter to what had been asked of those young people, namely to integrate rural life and settle in the countryside forever. From January 1974, this contradiction was used by the radicals in their global attack on Zhou. As usual, the attack started with a concrete “model,” in this case Bai Qixian, a graduate of the Hebei Teachers’ Training College, who had been rusticated in late 1968. In 1972, against her father’s wishes, she

146

Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp.  501–5; and Gu Hongzhang and Ma Kesen (eds.), Dashiji, p. 117.

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had married a peasant from her production team who had only received a primary school education. Bai’s husband beat her regularly and she was unhappy in her marriage, but she hated the fact that her union with a peasant should be the subject of scorn and mockery. At the end of 1973, furious with her teacher colleague in the village who qualified her marriage as “shameful,” she took up her pen and wrote several letters to the newspapers. Without mentioning her marital problems, she denounced all those who criticized her and described her marriage as a manifestation of her desire to “take root in the countryside to carry out the revolution.” Her letter came at an opportune time for the radicals, who were just launching the movement against Lin Biao and Confucius and needed models of people “swimming against the tide.” On January 27, 1974, the Hebei Daily published Bai’s letter together with an editorial comment praising Bai as a model and stressing the importance of her action in the fight against traditional concepts and in the criticism of Lin Biao and Confucius. Shortly afterward this was taken up by the People’s Daily, which declared that Bai was a national model. Immediately Bai Qixian-type models appeared all over the place.147 Most had married very young, just one or two years after arriving in the countryside, often simply to survive.148 Political struggle therefore played a vital role in the official turnaround on the zhiqing marriage issue, which the manager faction did not seek to oppose. The fact that as zhiqing grew older marriage would in any case be inevitable, doubtless played a part in abandoning the earlier policy. A consensus was found whereby marriage was encouraged, but late marriage and family planning reasserted. Local cadres were to help married zhiqing set up their homes.149 In 1976, as part of the attack against Deng Xiaoping, support for these marriages became strongly politicized once again, but the 1974 policy to encourage marriage was not crowned with success. At the end of 1977, only 10 percent of zhiqing were married, which was a very low percentage for a population of that age in China.150 Early 1974 was therefore a period of radical offensive but the pendulum continued to swing. Where the zhiqing were concerned, the second half was mainly devoted to solving practical problems and studying the Zhuzhou 147 148 149 150

Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 506–7. See below, pp. 288–91. The survey on zhiqing marriages published in the People’s Daily of November 23, 1974, was a good example of the pragmatic atmosphere that reigned at the time. See Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p. 867.

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model. In politics, the stress was on “unity” despite the anti-Confucius movement, which only stopped at the end of the year. The required unity was also a special theme at the Fourth National People’s Congress held in January 1975, which made Deng Xiaoping vice-premier at a time when Zhou Enlai was seriously ill. However, Zhou still had enough strength to present the Four Modernizations program (in agriculture, industry, national defense, and science and technology), an update of the program he had presented to the Third NPC in 1964, which had fallen by the wayside because of the Cultural Revolution. The stress was once again on economic development. During that congress the Ministry of Education was reestablished and placed in the hands of a moderate, Zhou Rongxin. But in February, the movement to study the dictatorship of the proletariat was launched in the People’s Daily,151 in reply to a directive of Mao’s stating that “there are people in the ranks of the proletariat as well as in the state organs who are leading a bourgeois lifestyle.” The movement to “limit bourgeois rights” was linked to “reducing the three great differences” and resulted in an attempt to send demobilized soldiers and university graduates from the cities to the countryside. Overall, the first worker-peasant-soldier students (gongnongbing xueyuan 工農兵學員) to graduate in 1973 and 1974 could have avoided being sent to the countryside, despite Mao’s July 21, 1968 directive that required them to return to “productive practices.”152 In 1975, the press acknowledged that, “at present, the majority of students from the countryside do not return after graduation.”153 The radicals tried to prevent this heresy by preaching the example of Chaoyang Agricultural College (in a county in Liaoning province), which implemented the she lai she qu 社來社去 (from the commune back to the commune) system whereby the students, whether peasants or zhiqing, kept their rural hukou status and returned to their original work teams in the countryside on graduation.154 This movement spread from Liaoning province to universities in other regions where the radicals were influential. In Peking University 84 of the 776 graduates in 1975 left for the countryside, mainly to Tibet, Qinghai, and Xinjiang. Among them was a Beijing-born zhiqing called Gao Hongshi, who returned to the region in Yan’an where she had worked before going to study literature in 1972. She 151 152 153 154

RMRB, editorial, February 9, 1975. Frederick C. Teiwes, “The Assignment of University Graduates in China, 1974,” China Quarterly 62 (June 1975), pp. 308–9. Hongqi 5 (1975), p. 79. Ibid., pp. 79–82.

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was already known to the authorities as one of the four authors of a long official poem to the glory of xiaxiang, “Ode to an Ideal” (Lixiang zhi ge 理想之 歌), and she became a model for the return of worker-peasant-soldier students who put the great Maoist ideals into practice.155 At the same time, a few Qinghua University students also returned to Xinjiang. In February 1976, 466 students from Beijing left for the countryside in great ceremony. However, despite the efforts deployed by the radicals, the percentage of zhiqing who returned to the countryside remained very low in 1975–1976.156 Many people, not least Deng Xiaoping and Zhou Rongxin, believed that training students to be peasants or workers was a waste, but for the radicals it was an efficient way of eliminating the “three great differences.” That was why they asked the students to “draw an equal sign” (hua denghao 劃等號) between themselves and the worker and peasant masses, and encouraged them to refuse “to use the university to climb the social ladder and become privileged people.”157 A few zhiqing who had signed up for the army also asked to return to the countryside when their term was over. The campaign to “limit bourgeois rights” did not prevent a “right deviationist wind” from blowing during the summer of 1975. By then it had become clear that Deng Xiaoping would succeed Zhou Enlai. While his political line was similar, his style of government was more direct. Among the reforms he proposed and began to implement was direct entry to higher education for the most brilliant high school students (a clear challenge to Maoist education policy) as well as the return of a large number of zhiqing.158 As a result, returns rose from 603,500 in 1974 to 1,397,900 in 1975.159 155

156 157 158 159

See RMRB, December 8, 1975; and GMRB, February 5, 1976. The text of the ode was published as a booklet as well as appearing in the RMRB, January 25, 1976. On this subject, see Gao Hongshi, “‘Lixiang zhi ge’ wenshi qianhou” (How the Ode to an Ideal Saw the Light of Day), at www.dacoca.com/txyfriends. See Masaaki Iwasa, “Wen’ge qijian wenxue de ling yi mian—Gao Hongshi he tade lixiang zhi ge,” the unpublished Chinese version of an article that appeared in Japanese in Mimei 1 (Kobe, February 1982), pp. 95–126; and Yang Jian, Zhongguo zhiqing wenxueshi (History of the Literature of the Chinese Educated Youth) (Beijing: Zhongguo gongren chubanshe, 2002), pp. 277–78. In 1977, the Chaoyang model was denounced as a Gang of Four extremist practice and abolished; see RMRB, October 22, 1977. To take an expression used by twenty-six students from Hebei in a letter to Chairman Mao; see Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p. 596. RMRB, July 14, 1976, p. 1; and Pepper, “Education and Revolution,” p. 870. See Zhongguo laodong gongzi tongji ziliao, 1949–1985, p. 111.

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In spring 1975 the Guangdong Party Committee decided to put an end to lifelong xiaxiang and changed it to a two- to three-year rotation system. All the zhiqing who had lived in the countryside for years, including those who had gone before the Cultural Revolution, were to return rapidly. This policy was implemented over the summer and the young people who had left before 1970 began to return to the cities in large numbers.160 This policy was in line with a general trend since the Zhuzhou model was adopted, but by making it systematic it became quite radical because it signified the complete end of the “rustication for life” model. Several factors explain why it occurred in Guangdong. In addition to the gravity of the “perverse effects” of the xiaxiang movement in that province,161 there was the dominant influence of the “realists” in the provincial party committee, whose first secretary was Zhao Ziyang, politically close to Deng Xiaoping. Zhao had been Tao Zhu’s righthand man before the Cultural Revolution, when he had tried to organize xiaxiang in Guangdong province on a rotation method.162

Educated Youth in the Fight for Succession From the end of 1975 the radicals retaliated by denouncing the “right-wing deviationist wind for revising verdicts,” but still without mentioning Deng Xiaoping. They were targeting the revised policy for accessing higher education and Zhou Rongxin, the minister of education, was attacked in dazibaos posted in Qinghua University.163 After the death of Zhou Enlai, on January 8,  1976, the campaign intensified and targeted Deng directly. On March 10 and 28 he was the subject of two offensive remarks attributed to Mao himself

160 161 162

163

Interviews, and Unger, Education under Mao, pp. 168–69. See below, pp. 378–85. See p. 61. On Tao Zhu’s and Zhao Ziyang’s actions in Guangdong province before the Cultural Revolution, see Ezra Vogel, Canton under Communism (New York: Harper Torchbooks, 1971). Zhao returned to Guangdong in 1972 and was first secretary of the Provincial Party Committee from April 1974 to October 1975. Zhao’s discreet but firm opposition to the radicals and their policy was clearly expressed by his attitude to the Li Yizhe affair; see Dongxiang 5 (February 1979), p. 19; and Chinese Law and Government, Summer 1981, p. 5. John B. Starr, “From the 10th Party Congress to the Premiership of Hua Kuo-feng: The Significance of the Colour of the Cat,” China Quarterly 67 (September 1976), pp. 475–76.

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and published in the People’s Daily.164 Then came the events of April 5, when the people of Beijing clearly expressed their support for the moderates and their rejection of the radicals. Even Mao was not spared.165 On April 7, Deng Xiaoping was accused of being the instigator of this “counterrevolutionary incident” and stripped of “all his positions inside and outside the party.”166 The press railed against him and Mao officially appointed Hua Guofeng as premier. Xiaxiang had played an important role in this political crisis. From January 1976 the radicals had convened numerous meetings of activist zhiqing to denounce those who were attempting to “uproot” (bagen 拔根) the educated youth instead of helping them “take root” (zhagen). From the end of January to early April, the People’s Daily mounted a veritable press campaign by publishing (always in the same position on the front page and presented in identical fashion) a series of ten letters to Mao by various groups of zhiqing who swore to remain faithful to his directives on xiaxiang and denounced the “right-wing deviationist wind.”167 The practical manifestation of this counterattack was an increase in departures to the frontier regions for both university and high school graduates. They went in small groups but had symbolic value, and the practice continued until the defeat of the radicals.168 Since the beginning of the movement against the right-wing deviationist wind in November 1975 to the arrest of the Gang of Four in October 1976, the radicals encouraged activism in model zhiqing, whom they had attempted to rally to their cause since 1973. Zhang Tiesheng published a letter in the November 29 issue of the Liaoning Daily attacking “those who opposed revolution in education.” Presented as “Zhang Tiesheng’s new exam paper” the letter was reproduced in the December edition of the monthly Red Flag magazine together with another article written by radicals from Qinghua University. That marked the beginning of the attack against Deng Xiaoping that would end in his fall. In early 1976, Zhang continued to agitate in 164

165 166 167 168

RMRB, March 10, 1976, p. 1, and March 28, 1976, p. 1. Although Deng was not named in person, the March 28 reference to the “white cat” and the “black cat” was clear. For more on this event, see Cheng Ying-hsiang and Claude Cadart, Les deux morts de Mao Tsé-toung (Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 1977). RMRB, April 8, 1976, p. 1. RMRB, January 23 and 26, February 5 and 19, March 7, 13, 20, and 25, and April 4, 1976, p. 1. RMRB, April 4, 1976, p.  1; and various provincial radio broadcasts translated in SWB, October 14, 1976, pp. BII/12–14.

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Beijing, Shanxi, and Liaoning.169 Chai Chunze also took part in disseminating radical ideology. After receiving a letter asking for advice from a young woman zhiqing in March 1976, he began to exchange correspondence with her. But as usual he couldn’t resist publishing his own letters and sent seven of them to the newspapers, which printed extracts. They were printed separately as well and widely disseminated by the Educated Youth Bureau. Chai lined up the whole range of radical slogans from the time and presented xiaxiang as the only possible choice for a young revolutionary. He attacked Deng Xiaoping and the April 5 movement, and concluded that, “we must fight those who follow the capitalist line in the party for ten years and even for several centuries, until Communism has been achieved worldwide.”170 Zhu Kejia acted as a political agitator in the Yunnan provincial government, which, in 1975 under the influence of the moderates, had had the audacity to send him back to the countryside in his cadre position to “harden himself.” In February 1976, Zhu attacked the provincial committee in a public meeting, denounced the leading cadres, and supported a play that attacked cadres who “followed the capitalist road.”171 Last but not least, Wu Xianzhong played a leading role in a letter signed by nineteen zhiqing, including the main “swimming against the tide” heroes, which was published in the Liaoning Daily on July 13 and in the People’s Daily the following day. The title spoke for itself: “Lay into Deng Xiaoping tooth and nail, as the main arch-criminal, responsible for restoring the uprooters” (xiang bagen fubide zuikui huoshou Deng Xiaoping menglie kaihuo).172 The model communes also entered the fray. The main leaders of the “In This Vast Universe” commune took part in a hunt for “democrats” and “capitalists” launched by the radicals in Henan province in 1976. The radicals cited Huaide county in Jilin as an example, since more than 8,000 zhiqing

169 170 171 172

Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 568–69. Ibid., pp. 573–76. Ibid., pp. 580–81. Ibid., pp.  558–60. Wu was the first signatory of this letter, which was the result of a meeting called in Liaoning province in June by Mao Yuanxin’s replacement. Mao Yuanxin had “gone up” to Zhongnanhai, where he acted as an intermediary between his uncle and the outside world when Mao was in a state of rapid mental and physical decline. See Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, pp. 141–42. Zhong Zhimin did not sign this letter. Since he was not from Liaoning or Shanghai, he could not be a part of the radical hard core. The People’s Daily did, however, devote an article to him on July 17, 1976, showing that he had rallied to the struggle against Deng.

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there (79 percent of the total) claimed they wanted to “take root.” One of them, originally from Shanghai, had refused to go to university or work in a factory six times.173 Given that a survey carried out in a Beijing suburb found that only four in one thousand young people had decided to “take root,” we might doubt the sincerity of their commitment.174 An official report at the time even admitted that the large majority of zhiqing preferred to be “uprooted” than “rooted.”175 The Gang of Four, obliged to recruit rapidly outside the traditional party and government circles, tried to gain active support from the zhiqing, as well as official trade unions and militia. To some extent, they were resorting to Cultural Revolution methods by exploiting naive young people to overcome adversary. They had no compunction about going against the fundamental principle of reeducating educated youth by the peasants, since they asked the radical zhiqing to denounce local peasant cadres as well as any spontaneous tendency by peasants to increase their private plots and attempt to earn some cash. Wu Xianzhong denounced his brigade secretary for being a capitalist roader only interested in production, leading to the replacement of all the brigade cadres and the teams depending on them. As a result, the peasants were obliged to sell their pigs to the commune and carry out unproductive labor for free.176 In the propaganda works of the time, this contradiction was disguised by attributing the peasants’ bad tendencies to the insidious influence of certain “class enemies” and confirming the existence of “good” cadres.177 In reality, however, using the radical zhiqing in this way led to numerous conflicts with the peasants and local cadres.178 It also led a very orthodox model educated youth, Chai Chunze, to elaborate a new theory by which the zhiqing, who owned less than the workers and peasants, were the

173 174 175 176 177

178

GMRB, August 30, 1976. Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p. 592. Ibid., pp. 593–94. Ibid., pp. 585–86. See, for example, Shancun xinren: liu chang huaju (New Men in the Mountain Village: A Six Act Play) (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1975). This six-act play was made into a film in 1976. Thus the members of one commune, having been marked out as “model” examples of capitalistic tendencies by Mao Yuanxin, were subjected to criticism and violence, leaving forty-seven disabled and three dead; eighty-six zhiqing of that commune had taken part in the acts of violence; see Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p. 587.

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most revolutionary of them all, and asserted that their role was not to be reeducated but to reform “small production.”179 In fact, the most striking thing about those subservient zhiqing with radical tendencies was that they were actually few of them. These models of young people who had “taken root” represented only a tiny minority and aroused only disdain or anger in their peers. From this point of view, the radicals’ attempt to exploit idealistic young people, as they had done in 1966, was a total failure, and showed the extent to which they were now out of step with the population in the mid-1970s. The zhiqing had long since lost their innocence and were no longer prepared to be sacrificed for the interests of a political faction. The few who did so paid for it dearly, and very soon too, since their political “godfathers” were to fall in October 1976.180

Mao’s Last Directive Another example of radical failure in xiaxiang was the large number of zhiqing (1.35 million) who returned to the cities in 1976, almost as many as in 1975.181 The campaign against the “uprooters” produced no concrete results. There were numerous supporters of a rotation system within the apparatus, even though those promoting permanent settlement made more noise. The clashes between the two obviously caused a problem for the heads of the Educated Youth Bureau, who were uncertain about which faction they were supposed to obey. A roundtable discussion organized by the bureau in Changchun from August 15 to September 5, 1975, recognized the existence of “two logics” and suggested a second national conference in an attempt to solve the issue. In order to have clear and undisputed guidelines, they asked for a small leadership group to be established at the central level, as had been stipulated during the first conference.182 Once again, and in a chain of events very similar to those in 1973, it was a letter to Mao that got things moving.183 On January 19, 1976, two young people living in a village in Shaanxi wrote to Mao and to the Central Committee. One was a zhiqing with a rural background, the other a demobilized soldier. They started out by praising the 179 180 181 182 183

Ibid., p. 586. See pp. 165–68. See Zhongguo laodong gongzi tongji ziliao, 1949–1985, p. 111. Gu Hongzhang and Ma Kesen (eds.), Dashiji, p. 136. On this matter, see Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, pp. 130–35; and Dashiji, pp. 140–44.

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development of Chinese industry, but regretted that only urbanites or zhiqing with urban backgrounds could be hired in factories and that having peasant status was a hereditary destiny. Denouncing the young urbanites who never set foot in the villages and who were hired in factories after a couple of years without peasant recommendations, they asked why young graduates from rural backgrounds could not also become workers, which, they added, would certainly help to reduce the “three great differences.” They sent their letter through a model female worker, Wu Guixian, who was from the same region and had benefited from a very rapid promotion after the Cultural Revolution, even rising to the position of vice-premier at the Fourth NPC.184 On February 1 Wu handed the letter to Mao together with a letter of her own supporting their viewpoint in which she accused the State Planning Committee of being responsible for the decision not to hire zhiqing from rural backgrounds. She denounced the fact that in her region of Xianyang most of the zhiqing who had left in 1968 had already returned home, along with many of those who had spent more than two years in the countryside. This situation discouraged the cadres from making any long-term plans for the educated youth. The massive returns were therefore to be viewed as a kind of sabotage of xiaxiang policy. Mao, who had only a few more months to live, wrote a laconic comment in the margin, dated February 12: “To be sent to the Politburo. It would certainly be a good idea to study this zhiqing problem specifically. First prepare and then hold a conference to solve this.” To obey Mao’s new directive, the Educated Youth Bureau suggested setting up a small leadership group and holding a new conference in the second half of the year. On February 23, the Politburo approved the proposals and appointed Chen Yonggui as head of the Small Leadership Group for Rusticating Educated Youth, which reported to the State Council. This was officially founded on May 7, 1976 (the tenth anniversary of Mao’s famous directive). The deputy heads were Hou Jun, Gu Xiulian, and Sha Feng. After Sha Feng joined the leadership group, Yu Chiqian was made head of the Educated Youth Bureau. The group met to “study” Mao’s directive and decided not to disseminate the letters from Wu Guixian and the two zhiqing. To prepare the conference, seventy-five cadres were sent on a nationwide survey with instructions to find positive models of young people who had “taken root” and negative ones of 184

After the Tenth Congress in August 1973, Wu also became an alternate member of the Politburo. Too close to the Gang of Four, she disappeared from the political scene in 1977.

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people who had been “uprooted.” On their return they met to draw up a report, but because there were considerable differences of opinions, the meeting was still underway when the Tangshan earthquake struck on July 28. The report, which was finally sent on August 27, was influenced by the movement against Deng and observed that many zhiqing had returned in 1975, following an “uprooting wind,” that rapes of young female zhiqing still occurred, and that “back-door” practices had grown worse. It suggested holding a conference to discuss these problems. Mao’s death on September 9, 1976, and the arrest of the Gang of Four on October 6 led to the indefinite postponement of this conference, which had originally been scheduled for November. The question of what form xiaxiang should take thus remained unresolved. Those who practiced a rotation system, more or less openly, were pitted against those who advocated lifelong xiaxiang. The egalitarians (who did not accept the strict hierarchical division between city and countryside) wanted people from the countryside to be officially hired in the cities, which in a way, complemented the lifelong xiaxiang viewpoint, since if young city dwellers were to settle permanently in the countryside, the manpower required to develop industry had to be found elsewhere. In fact, in their different ways, the “uprooters” and the “rooters” were attempting to deal with the same problem, namely people’s antagonism to xiaxiang and most zhiqing’s desire to return home. A meeting of the heads of all the Educated Youth Bureaus held in Beijing at the end of May  1976 had observed the increase in corruption related to urban returns as well as the improper use of the system of replacing retirees with one of their children (dingti 頂替). The leaders also deplored the fact that most of the zhiqing who had spent the longest time in the countryside were those with bad backgrounds whom the urban factories were unwilling to hire. They believed this went against the theory of xiaxiang as a “means to form successors for the cause of the proletarian revolution.” The criticisms of string-pulling, corruption, and the dingti system by Mao and the radicals were justified by the facts. The problem was that they refused to see the underlying reasons for the situation and the rejection by the vast majority of the population of a movement that was imposed by the government. Consequently, the solutions they put forward could only exacerbate the evils they were denouncing. Reinforcing hard-line xiaxiang, that is to say universal lifelong xiaxiang, could not be a solution to any issues that were the perverse effects of xiaxiang itself. In fact, what the radicals were seeing was the moral failure of the movement launched by Mao in 1968, but they

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were not ready to admit it, and in this Mao led the example to his dying day. A the end of September 1976, an article stated that one of Mao’s motives in “launching and leading” the struggle against Deng Xiaoping had been his opposition to Deng’s attempts to revise xiaxiang policy.185 Indeed, Mao’s concept of xiaxiang and, more generally, his education and training policy, were areas that no one else was allowed to touch with impunity so long as he lived.

185

GMRB, September 27, 1976, p. 3.

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Irresistible Agony (1977–1980)

Xiaxiang was so closely identified with Mao Zedong that no sooner had Mao died than rumors started that the movement was to end. The fall of the Gang of Four, extreme advocates of Maoist policy, just one month after Mao’s death, might well have signified that the leadership would abandon a measure as unpopular as the rustication of young people, but that was not the intention of the new chairman, Hua Guofeng, to whom Mao had reportedly said before his death, “With you in charge, I’m at ease.”

1977: Hua Guofeng’s Vain Desire to Continue Hua immediately disappointed people’s expectations by firmly asserting that the movement would continue. In November an article praising the new “clear-sighted” leader stated that in March 1974 Hua had taken part in a parents’ meeting at Beijing’s No. 166 High School during which he had supported the rustication of his youngest daughter, the only remaining child at home. This was alleged proof of Hua’s faithful pursuance of Mao’s directives, as opposed to the Gang of Four, who “praised with words but betrayed in actions.”1 The second national conference to “Learn from Dazhai in Agri1

RMRB, November 23, 1976, p. 1. Another reason for publishing this was to

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culture,” held from December 10 to 27, provided Hua with the opportunity to express his intentions clearly. He told zhiqing representatives at the conference that the rustication policy would be pursued even more persistently than before.2 Hua’s speech justifying xiaxiang, widely disseminated through internal channels and taken up in the press,3 reflected the purest Maoist orthodoxy. The educated youth were to “put down roots in the countryside” and “bond with the workers and peasants” in order to “become imbued” with and “be worthy successors to the proletarian revolution.” The only divergence with previous traditional discourse lay in the description of xiaxiang as a “policy laid down by Chairman Mao and Premier Zhou.” The newspaper account went on to reiterate Zhou Enlai’s attachment to the rustication policy,4 showing that the former premier’s prestige was necessary to justify the pursuit of xiaxiang in the face of widespread hostility, and to put an end to rumors that the policy would be abandoned, which Hua attributed in his speech to “class enemies.” The movement to criticize the Gang of Four also served to strengthen propaganda in favor of xiaxiang. Having accused Deng Xiaoping of opposing the movement, the Gang of Four was now accused in more or less the same terms of wanting to sabotage it. 5 Xiaxiang heroes such as Li Qinglin, Zhang Tiesheng, and Zhu Kejia were arrested and denounced as careerists and subversionists.6 Once again—but this was to be the last time— a political movement was mobilized to justify and reassert the validity of xiaxiang against its real and supposed detractors. The campaign now was to “criticize the Gang of Four through one’s own acts.”7 The ideological continuity with the preceding period was translated into concrete action and, according to official figures, the number of departures in

2 3 4 5 6

7

put pressure on cadres to set an example by sending their own children to the countryside; see RMRB, January 19, 1977, p. 4, and February 15, 1977, p. 3. Mingbao, February 20, 1977. RMRB, December 28, 1976, p. 4. RMRB, January 17, 1977, p. 4; and HQ 3 (1978), pp. 84–88. See Liaoning Radio, June 15, 1977, in FBIS, June 22, 1977. See RMRB, January 17, 1977, p. 3; Pékin Information 8 (February 21, 1977), pp. 14–15; Mingbao, May 24, 1977; Liaoning Radio, March 15 and 16, 1977, in SWB, March 18 and 19, 1977; Jilin Radio, May 18, 1977, Liaoning Radio, June 15, 1977, and Yunnan Radio, June 26, 1977, in FBIS, May 24, 1977, June 22, 1977, and June 28, 1977. See RMRB, February 15, 1977, p. 3.

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1977 was roughly the same as in 1976.8 However, the measures introduced in 1973–1974 were improved and extended—hardly surprising given that Hua Guofeng took an active part in drawing them up and disseminating them, both as organizer of the June 1973 conference and as senior leader of Hunan province, which had promoted the Zhuzhou model.9 The 1977 departures were mainly to outer suburbs and the new leaders insisted on good organization and dealing with the problems posed.10 The Small Leadership Group for Rusticating Educated Youth was very active. In March 1977 it held a meeting in which the group’s head, Chen Yonggui, denounced the Gang of Four and reasserted the need to solve the zhiqing’s material problems such as living conditions, marriage, and studies.11 But on April 15 a working group was dispatched to investigate the Small Leadership Group and expose and eradicate the Gang of Four’s influence. It also decided that the Educated Youth Bureau would be placed under the Ministry of Agriculture and Forestry.12 Behind the insistence on solving concrete issues lay a number of policy disputes in the leadership, which resulted in a sharp fall in the number of articles on xiaxiang in the national and provincial press in 1977. During the two years between the fall of the Gang of Four and the Third Plenum of the Eleventh Central Committee at the end of 1978, a hidden power struggle was taking place between Hua Guofeng and Deng Xiaoping, whose rehabilitation had been approved in principle in March 1977, effective July, and which returned him to the positions he held previously.13 Deng’s influence was manifest in the very first truly “anti-Maoist” measure taken by the new leadership,14 namely the reintroduction of academic examinations for entering higher education (gaokao 高考) and the possibility for young people to apply directly after completing secondary education. This important reform,

8 9 10 11 12 13 14

There were 1,880,300 in 1976 and 1,716,800 in 1977. See Zhongguo laodong gongzi tongji ziliao, 1949–1985, p. 110. See pp. 93–97. See the political report presented by Hua Guofeng at the Eleventh Congress of the CCP, in Pékin Information 35 (August 29, 1977), p. 60. The text of the speech can be found in Issues and Studies, June 1978, pp. 98–109. Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, p. 248. Guillermaz, Le Parti Communiste Chinois au pouvoir, p. 594. Here we refer to the “late” Cultural Revolution Mao. The new leaders never missed an opportunity to refer to him or use his quotations to justify a reform that he vigorously opposed in the last years of his life.

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stipulated in an official Ministry of Education memorandum dated October 12,15 abolished the requirement to carry out manual labor prior to higher education. That signified the end of the potentially universal nature of xiaxiang and therefore a return to the “inegalitarian” pre–Cultural Revolution system, encapsulated in the reappearance of a forgotten slogan: “one red heart, two preparations” (yike hongxin, liangzhong zhunbei 一顆紅心，兩種 16 準備). High school students reaching the end of their studies were either to prepare for entrance to higher education or take part in production, both with an equal desire to serve the people. This provided the previously rusticated educated youth and all other young people aged under 30 with a new opportunity to study. But the zhiqing were warned to prepare themselves for failure and the government hastened to add that “the vast majority of educated youths will have to stay in their current positions or leave for the countryside.”17 In fact only 273,000 places were allocated to 5,700,000 candidates, an acceptance rate of 4.79 percent.18 An estimated half of the applicants were zhiqing.19 The October 12 document included a very important sentence for many of the potential applicants, notably the zhiqing still living in the countryside: “The political investigation will mainly focus on personal attitude.”20 This opened up new horizons for all the young people with “bad” family backgrounds who had systematically been excluded from entry to higher education since the early 1960s. It was an important signal of the weakening of the “blood theory.” In quantitative terms, the reforms for entering higher education only had

15

16

17 18

19 20

This reform was announced in the press on October 21. See RMRB, October 21, 1977, p. 1. Deng Xiaoping had already announced the return of exams and the end of “recommendation by the masses” system in a speech on August 8, 1977; see Zhonghua renmin gongheguo jiaoyu dashiji, 1949–1982, pp. 494, 499. Zhonghua renmin gongheguo jiaoyu dashiji, 1949–1982, pp. 494, 499. The slogan first appeared in 1957 and was used frequently between 1962 and 1966; see Lau Yee-fui et al., Glossary of Chinese Political Phrases (Hong Kong: Union Research Institute, 1977), p. 516. RMRB, November 16, 1977, p. 1. In 1984, the rate rose to 23.4 percent. On this subject, see Stanley Rosen, “Recentralization, Decentralization and Rationalization,” Modern China 11(3) (July 1985), p. 312; Zhongguo jiaoyu nianjian, 1949–1981, p. 969; and Zhonghua renmin gongheguo jiaoyu dashiji, 1949–1982, pp. 499, 519, 548. Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p. 680. Zhonghua renmin gongheguo jiaoyu dashiji, 1949–1982, p. 499.

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a minimal impact on xiaxiang given the limited number of places,21 but they nevertheless altered its ideological meaning. They also created new problems of morale among young people, and the authorities were well aware of that. A People’s Daily editorial stated that “young people who fail university entrance should not feel disappointed or depressed. They must not think that they have no future afterward.”22 A month later, on the ninth anniversary of Mao’s rallying call, the Guangming Daily devoted an entire page to model educated youths who had applied their knowledge to modernizing the countryside, and the wise cadres who helped the zhiqing in this course, for instance by organizing correspondence courses, groups for scientific experiment, and so on.23

1978: From Uncertainty to a Limited Reassertion of the Policy Deng Xiaoping’s return to power and the first reforms made it necessary to redefine xiaxiang taking into account the party’s new objectives as well as the desires of the various cliques and their related power struggles. The failed project to hold a second national working conference on xiaxiang was raised again. At the end of a working session on the subject held from December 12, 1977 to January 13, 1978, a conference was announced for June that year. Organized by the Bureau of the Small Leadership Group for Rusticating Educated Youth the conference brought together cadres in charge of xiaxiang from all over China.24 Skeptics were brought to order and the working group confirmed the validity of xiaxiang policy,25 accusing the Gang of Four of sabotaging it and opposing the zhiqing’s integration with the workers and peasants. The meeting’s conclusions were a clear demonstration of policy continuity: Some of the educated youth living in the countryside will go to higher education institutions to continue their studies or will return to the cities to take up industrial, commercial, or other employment. However, the majority

21 22 23 24 25

See pp. 184–85. RMRB, November 16, 1977, p. 1. GMRB, December 22, 1977, p. 2. Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p. 653. The heading for the People’s Daily article about this conference and its conclusions was quite clear: “Let us maintain the correct trend of rusticating educated youth.” See RMRB, January 15, 1978, p. 1.

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will have to stay on in the villages and take part in constructing the new socialist countryside.26

Now for the first time the government provided an official figure for the cumulative departures (“more than 16 million”), and for the number of zhiqing still living in the countryside (“close to 10 million”), which was a subtle way of admitting that millions of young people had legally returned to the cities.27 Nevertheless, the zhiqing were still supposed to “take root” and the aims of the forthcoming national conference were to “assess the experience of rustication of educated youth over the past ten years, solve any related problems, and promote the development of this new socialist thing.”28 But when the conference was held at the end of the year, there was no longer any question of developing a “new socialist thing.” The term applied to Cultural Revolution policies and 1978 proved to be a pivotal year for the PRC. From that time on the Maoist heritage, and the Cultural Revolution in particular, were challenged. The discussions on the criteria of truth, triggered by an article published on June 1, were the “philosophical” translation of this challenge to Mao’s infallibility.29 At the end of October, criticisms of dogmatism and personality cults filled the press and it was clear to everyone that a power struggle was going on between the pragmatists led by Deng Xiaoping and the defenders of the Maoist heritage, represented by Hua Guofeng. The famous Third Plenum of the Eleventh Central Committee in December 1978 consecrated Deng’s victory.30 However, while his adversaries were obliged to make their self-criticisms, this was not yet a complete victory, and Hua’s powers were only gradually eroded between the fall of 1980 and 1982. The “unity and stability” necessary to carry out the Four Modernizations required a number of compromises. For xiaxiang, the period between the working session and the end of the national conference was one of uncertainty and intense discussion about a subject the authorities perceived as being extremely delicate, if not explosive. That explains why in 1977 and 1978 the People’s Daily devoted very few articles to xiaxiang. Official silence on the subject was almost complete between

26 27 28 29 30

RMRB, January 25, 1978, p. 1. See Zhongguo laodong gongzi tongji ziliao, 1949–1985, p. 110. See Figure 2, p. 177. RMRB, January 25, 1978, p. 1. GMRB, June 1, 1978, p. 1. Final communiqué, in RMRB, December 24, 1978.

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the end of January and mid-December.31 But behind the official silence, discussions on the “criteria of truth” provided numerous people at all levels with opportunities to criticize rustication. This “freedom of thought” (sixiang jiefang 思想解放), which was also freedom of speech, became especially apparent at the year-end, when the reformers’ offensive entered the final stage. During the “theoretical discussion meeting” (wuxuhui 務虛會), which served as a kind of brainstorming session after the Third Plenum, liberal intellectuals such as Yu Guangyuan and Xing Bensi denounced the policy outright.32 In terms of practical application, 1978 was very different from 1977. At the beginning of the year, “comforting” activities (weiwen 慰問) were organized as usual for the zhiqing during Chinese New Year (Spring Festival). Some of the young people who had returned to Beijing to be with their families were allowed to visit Mao’s mausoleum, while others took part in meetings or seminars to strengthen their “determination to remain in the rural areas to carry out revolution.”33 Provincial meetings were held to promote the spirit of the January meeting in Beijing, and organize the mobilization of the new 1978 graduates.34 The target numbers announced during these meetings were down on those of the preceding year but not spectacularly. 35 Hua Guofeng had in any case reiterated the government’s intention to pursue xiaxiang in March, during the Fifth NPC.36 In May, the Educated Youth Bureau asked each province to get ready to place graduates according to the “four directions” principle and increase the number of placements in towns. Most of the provinces had extended the categories of young people exempted, but not in any standardized fashion. At the national level, the only figure provided at the time was by Chen Yonggui at the end of 1978, in his report to the national conference: 17 million rusticated

31 32 33 34

35

36

The People’s Daily devoted only eleven articles to the subject in 1978. Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p. 657. Beijing Radio, February 3, 1978, in FBIS, February 10, 1978. RMRB, January 31, 1978, p. 3; Guizhou Radio, February 21, 1978, in SWB, February 25, 1978; Jiangxi Radio, March 17, 1978, Hubei Radio, July 27, 1978, Liaoning Radio, September 10, 1978, Fujian Radio, September 21, 1978, and Jilin Radio, October 26, 1978, in FBIS, March 24, 1978, August 11, 1978, September 15, 1978, September 29, 1978, and October 31, 1978. Hubei forecasted 50,000 departures even though there had been “more than 60,000” the preceding year; see Hubei Radio, July 27, 1978, in FBIS, August 11, 1978, and RMRB, November 8, 1977, p. 4. See Hua Guofeng’s report, in RMRB, March 7, 1978.

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zhiqing to date. Since the figure announced at the end of 1977 was of “more than 16 million,” that appeared to signify that there had been just under one million departures in 1978. The figure of 17 million, used regularly in China and abroad, was only a vague estimate and Chen did not say clearly whether he included pre–Cultural Revolution rustication. In fact, according to data obtained later, there had only been 480,900 departures in 1978, just 28 percent of the preceding year’s totals,37 whereas the Educated Youth Bureau had originally stated that there would be half the number of that year’s departures. The plans later imposed by the various cities were down on this forecast since they totaled 600,000 departures.38 In fact, the real number was even lower, proving the degree of resistance. Other changes occurred in xiaxiang policy during 1978. The model educated youths presented in the press were now self-taught “experts” who, by experimenting and assiduously reading “Chinese and foreign” scientific works, were advancing the modernization of the countryside.39 Ideological reeducation no longer got a mention. Emphasis was placed on solving the zhiqing’s practical problems, as a continuation of the improvements that had been carried out since 1973. The government was aware that the measures taken at the first national conference were insufficient. In an internal publication disseminated at a working group meeting of December 21, 1977, the Educated Youth Bureau revealed that according to a nationwide survey, a large number of zhiqing were still unable to earn a living from their work. In thirteen of the country’s provinces more than 50 percent of zhiqing were in this situation, and the percentage ranged between 70 percent and 80 percent in Yunnan, Guizhou, Sichuan, Fujian, and Gansu. The bureau also recognized that at the end of 1976 nearly one million zhiqing were not decently housed and that the problem was especially acute for couples. The marriage issue had become increasingly urgent over time, and the budgets set aside were inadequate. One farm in Heilongjiang estimated that if all its educated youth decided to marry, it would take twenty-eight years to solve the housing problem.40 The question of the older unmarried zhiqing, especially the women, had become pressing nationwide, for the reasons we shall see in Chapter 9. There was a new problem as well, the subject of a joint circular issued by

37 38 39 40

See Zhongguo laodong gongzi tongji ziliao, 1949–1985, p. 110. Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p. 719. RMRB, January 6, 1978, p. 3, January 18, 1978, p. 2, May 16, 1978, p. 3. Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 668–72.

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the Educated Youth Bureau and the Ministry of Education, namely the amount of free time to be granted to zhiqing wishing to prepare for university entrance exams. After many educated youths had complained that they had no time to prepare for the 1977 exam, it was decided that candidates could have a little free time every day, so long as production was not affected and the young people who had returned illegally to the cities to prepare for exams returned to their work units.41 Moreover, the local cadres, who had lost some of their prerogatives under the new system, were not allowed to prevent zhiqing from registering for the exams by refusing to give them the necessary authorization without a valid reason. A reader’s letter published in the People’s Daily at the end of June showed, however, that local policy continued to decide the fate of the educated youths in many areas, despite all the circulars from the capital.42 While the authorities paid more attention to the zhiqing’s practical problems, the municipalities were also strongly encouraged to create the maximum number of jobs possible in their areas by developing the collective services sector.43 More significantly, as the mobilization campaign for dispatching the 1978 graduates to the countryside got underway, cadres in charge of education in Beijing and Guangzhou told a delegation from the Education Institute of The Chinese University of Hong Kong that the rustication policy would cease in the near future.44 That was quite a turnaround since Hua Guofeng’s speech to the Dazhai conference in December 1976, in which he attributed rumors of abandoning the policy to “class enemies.”45 However, it was only on the eve of, and during, the national conference (which opened on October 31, 1978, and closed on December 10) that any challenges to the movement and its future began to appear in the press, backed by the criticism of the Gang of Four in this policy. That explains why Liaoning province, the former radical spearhead for xiaxiang, was now the leading revisionist. Mao Yuanxin had been eliminated from the political scene, Zhang Tiesheng was sent to a reform-through-labor camp, and the Chaoyang Agri-

41

42 43 44 45

Circular dated May 6, 1978 (Xinhua, May 11, 1978, in SWB, May 19, 1978). See also Hunan Radio, May 16, 1978, in SWB, May 27, 1978, for its application in that province. RMRB, June 26, 1978, p. 3. RMRB, September 26, 1978, p. 3. Dagongbao, July 21, 1978, in FBIS, July 27, 1978. See p. 124.

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cultural College was closed down.46 The first phase of Gang of Four criticism merely boomeranged the Gang’s attacks on Deng Xiaoping back to the Gang in order to reassert the Maoist values the Gang had, of course, always defended. This conferred a somewhat surrealistic aspect to the campaign that was fascinating to the observer but scarcely credible to the masses.47 However, the new phase of criticism at the end of 1978 touched on fundamental issues. In a “Comment” the Liaoning Daily denounced the fact that previously cadres seeking “global solutions” (like Zhuzhou) had been accused of “opposing reeducation,” and added: The result was an irrational flow of manpower between the city and the countryside. In some places, the conflicts of interest between the educated youth and the local people increased and the peasants’ burden grew still heavier. Many young people in the countryside had difficulties earning a living, which placed a greater economic and moral burden on their work units and families.48

In a broadcast criticizing the letter signed by nineteen model zhiqing published in the People’s Daily on July 14, 1976, Liaoning Radio stated: The Gang of Four and their cronies twisted Chairman Mao’s directive about integrating educated youth with workers and peasants. They explained rustication in absolute terms, absurdly asserting that only young people from the cities settling in the countryside could be considered as working for the revolution.49

These criticisms were picked up in the first article to be published on the subject in a very long time.50 The “commentator” in the China Youth Daily provided an historical picture of the movement since the 1950s in which the necessity for the movement since that period was explained purely in terms of urban employment. According to the author, pre–Cultural Revolution xiaxiang “did not cause any major issues,” but that it was harder to assess the later period. It was necessary to recognize the positive value of the zhiqing’s contribution and sacrifice since they had “suffered a considerable share of the 46 47 48 49 50

See Mingbao, October 30, 1978; and RMRB, February 21, 1978, p. 4. On this first campaign to denounce the Gang of Four, see Wojtek Zafanolli, “Hua Guofeng justicier.” Esprit, July–August 1977, pp. 49–64. Liaoning ribao, October 27, 1978, in FBIS, October 31, 1978. Liaoning Radio, November 19, 1978, in FBIS, November 27, 1978. ZGQNB, November 23, 1978, p. 1.

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difficulties generated by Lin Biao and the Gang of Four in our country.” On the other hand, the “serious problems” caused by the movement should not be concealed, namely the inability of “the majority of zhiqing” to support themselves, their difficulties in getting married, and having access to housing, health care, and studies, leading to passiveness and despair among young people and great discontent among the masses. Furthermore, a minority of corrupt cadres used the movement “to make their fortunes on the backs of the zhiqing” by appropriating the subsidies for their settlement, or demanding bribes and other advantages in exchange for their decision-making powers over transfers. This had led to a new upsurge in the practice of “going through the back door,” poisoning the social atmosphere and corrupting the mentality of a portion of the country’s youth. “In other words, the sabotage carried out by Lin Biao and the Gang of Four in educational, economic, and moral spheres is reflected intensely in the rustication of educated youth.” To justify another xiaxiang policy, the “commentator” demonstrated the non-Marxist and non-Maoist nature of the universal and permanent obligation to rusticate young people. What was important for young people was to work in the fundamental interests of workers and peasants, that is to say, to devote themselves to the Four Modernizations. Under those conditions, a zhiqing who was transferred to a factory, school, or the army, was not a “revolutionary who stopped half-way” (banjiezi geming 半節子革命), as the Gang of Four would have it. It wasn’t even necessary for all young people to spend time working in the countryside.51 If rustication was not an absolute necessity for “integrating with workers and peasants,” nor was the exchange of manpower between city and countryside as practiced by the Gang of Four necessary for “reducing the Three Great Differences.” The Marxist solution to inequality was to “greatly develop the productive forces and strive to increase the scientific and cultural levels of the entire nation.” Proof that hiring peasants in cities combined with the massive rustication of city youth was not a solution, was that, “after so many years of carrying out the Gang’s type of xiaxiang, there has been no reduction in the Three Great Differences.” These criticisms of Gang of Four-type xiaxiang allowed the government to justify the new policy, which sent fewer and fewer young people to the countryside, and “ultimately none at all,” at least in that form. But, warned 51

The “commentator” justified this statement by referring to something that Mao had said in a 1957 speech: “Take the urban youth for example. Arrangements must be made for them in one way or another—they can go to school or work on a farm, in a factory or in a frontier area.” See Mao Zedong, Selected Works, vol. 5, p. 360.

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the author, “a certain process will be required because it will not be possible immediately.” Some of zhiqing will still have to go to the countryside but under improved conditions, and the possibilities for continuing their education and finding jobs in the cities would be developed extensively. This article was published on November 23, when the conference had already been underway for more than three weeks, and long extracts from it were broadcast the same day on the national radio.52 It was to have a massive impact on a large number of zhiqing who for the first time read in the newspapers “what they felt in their hearts,” as confirmed in dazibao posted in Shanghai by zhiqing who had gone there to demand their return to the city.53 That was also why some young people from Shanghai working on a farm in Yunnan sent a telegram to the Shanghai municipality requesting that someone be sent immediately to investigate and settle their problems and “rehabilitate” them. They considered themselves victims of Lin Biao and the Gang of Four who had been “disposed of” in Yunnan, and bullied and repressed by their “local representatives” since their arrival.54 By stressing the hardships endured by the zhiqing and the ties between xiaxiang and the Gang of Four, this article added fuel to the zhiqing revolt, which was already spreading to several parts of the country. Furthermore, this article set the cat among the pigeons for senior political leaders and the heads of the Educated Youth Bureau.55 As the first article on the subject to be published since the beginning of the conference, it might have been perceived as representing official opinion, but in fact it went against the strategy that the top-ranking leaders had discreetly been putting in place since the working session earlier that year.56 In 1978, all the leaders were aware that the xiaxiang policy could not continue for much longer. The discontent resulting from it was too great and

52 53 54 55

56

See Beijing Radio, November 23, 1978, in FBIS, November 28, 1978. Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, p. 163. Ibid., p. 164. Hu Yaobang, as a former member of the Communist Youth League, was charged with reminding the China Youth Daily editors that not all truths must be told and to stop taking counterproductive initiatives; see Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, p. 165. On all the internal discussions between leaders, and until such time as the Central Committee’s archives are opened, we take authors with access to internal sources on faith. See, for instance, Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, pp. 153–62.

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the considerable financial efforts devoted to it since 1973 had not dealt with the root problems. As the saying went at the time, “seven billion spent, four causes for discontent” (Guojia huale qishiyi, maile sige bu manyi).57 In March 1978, Deng Xiaoping declared that the solution lay in increasing job opportunities in the cities and in October, during a Politburo meeting devoted to the draft report to be presented to the national conference, he put forward more specific ideas on the ways to do that. After the summer, even Hua Guofeng rallied around to that viewpoint.58 In administrative terms, this change led to a managerial transfer. The Educated Youth Bureau ceased to depend on the Ministry of Agriculture, and merged with the Labor Bureau on April 30. It was headed by Xu Shiping, who was later appointed deputy head of the Labor Bureau. On August 5, the staff of the Small Leadership Group was reshuffled and while Chen Yonggui remained the head, Kang Yonghe, the Labor Bureau head, was appointed chief deputy head.59 However, although the leadership was counting on an increase in the number of young people getting hired, it was also aware that stopping the movement abruptly would lead to the massive return of more than eight million zhiqing still languishing in the countryside and result in serious urban problems, putting dangerous pressure on both employment and supplies. The figure of 20 million redundant workers in industry was frequently raised.60 Li Xiannian, then vice-premier, stressed that this represented an additional ten billion pounds of grain per year to be found for the cities.61 Consequently, the senior leadership, in agreement with the Small Leadership Group and the Educated Youth Bureau, decided to proceed gradually, and continue rustication on a far smaller scale. Returns would be restricted to zhiqing with the most serious difficulties, notably those who had left before the end of 1972, while the zhiqing on the farms would have to stay there since they were considered state employees and therefore did not require jobs.62

57

58 59 60

61 62

Li Xiannian claimed that he had coined the “four discontents” (those of the zhiqing, their parents, the peasants, and the government itself). See Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, p. 158. Ibid., pp. 151–52. Ibid., p. 248. Ji Dengkui explained that this estimate was based on China’s level of technical development and if the criteria for developed countries were used, the figure would double. See Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, p. 160. Ibid., p. 155. The zhiqing’s “state employee” status had been ratified in the February 12, 1978

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To keep some zhiqing in the countryside and make rustication, albeit on a small scale and “for a few years,” more palatable, the conference stipulated the improvements to be carried out. Of course the leadership was aware that this “reasonable” project only postponed the solution to the many problems and would fail to satisfy the zhiqing’s demands. The important thing was to avoid having to cave in to their most radical demands by recognizing that xiaxiang was a failed policy and that they were the victims. That is why the government decided to assess the previous policy and the zhiqing’s role in a positive light (while recognizing certain problems attributed to Gang of Four sabotage) and pursue propaganda to encourage young people to go to the countryside. The leaders’ strategy was described in this way by Vice-Premier Ji Dengkui: “Our underlying idea is that we must carry out propaganda for the departures but act in such a way as for there to be no further need for departures. If we do not promote xiaxiang, there will be no stability, and disorder will ensue.”63 In private the leaders did not hesitate to criticize the Maoist concept of xiaxiang, conveniently attributed to the Gang of Four. Thus Vice-Premier Li Xiannian declared: I’ve always been against this concept whereby the only way to educate [young people] is to send them to the countryside for reeducation by the poor peasants.64 [...] If we were only to be reeducated by poor peasants and not by workers, then our party would no longer be at the vanguard of the proletariat but the vanguard of the poor peasants. The Gang of Four believed that to eradicate the Three Great Differences it was necessary to send young people from the cities to the countryside and send the peasants to the cities. But if we don’t take economic development as the starting point, how will we ever be able to eradicate the city-countryside difference?

For his part, Vice-Premier Kang Shi’en clearly demonstrated how the pragmatists’ logic differed from that of the Maoists: In fact, the educated youth problem is one of employment. [...] The previous method of sending young people to the countryside was not tantamount to

63

64

Summary of the Working Conference on State Farms. See Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Dashiji, p. 152. Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, p. 154. In the PRC there have always been several vice-premiers and one premier. At that time, the prime minister was Hua Guofeng, and there were 13 vice-premiers, including Deng Xiaoping. Unfortunately, he never dared to tell Mao.

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providing them with jobs. They went to the countryside to get an education from the poor and middle peasants. That was part of their education but it was not organized from a work point of view. It was just a makeshift arrangement that did not fundamentally solve the problems. They returned after two or three years. In any case, there’s no shortage of labor in the countryside. If we want to solve problems we have to factor them in alongside the development of production and the job allocation system.

While the reforming leaders had a driving principle, they needed to spell it out and get it accepted. The intensity of the debates and the complexity of the subject they dealt with explain why the conference lasted for such a long time (41 days). Thanks to the political changes, many different views could be expressed,65 but the decisions taken corresponded to the wishes previously expressed by the leaders,66 put together in two documents that were ratified by the Politburo on December 12. These were the minutes of the conference and the “Provisional rules regarding certain problems in sending educated youth to the countryside” (later usually referred to as the “40 points”), which between them composed Central Committee Document No. 74 (1978).67 As in the above-mentioned China Youth Daily article, the report limited justifications of xiaxiang to economic issues and the notion of “reeducation” disappeared entirely. It gave a very positive view of the movement in a language that reflected propaganda jargon word for word. The demands of the leading cadres didn’t get a mention, and the zhiqing’s problems were only touched on in an abstract way and blamed solely on the Gang of Four. The document emphasized that Chairman Mao’s line had been predominant both before the Cultural Revolution and after, and that the educated youth had obtained wonderful results, notably thanks to the study of Marxism. On the subject of future rustication, the promise made in the China Youth Daily was merely reiterated. There was no longer any mention of xiaxiang being the “main outlet” for graduates, but the document confirmed that it would always be

65

66 67

During a meeting of conference participants on October 30, 1978, Ji Dengkui declared: “Free your thinking! If you have any good ideas, don’t hesitate to share them. We won’t accuse you of wanting to ‘uproot’ the zhiqing!” See Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, p. 162. Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 716–18. Ibid., p. 719. The conference conclusions were published by the New China News Agency on December 14. See Xinhua, December 14, 1978, in RMRB, December 15, 1978; Cahiers de la Chine nouvelle, December 15, 1978; and SWB, December 18, 1978.

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necessary to send some young graduates to the countryside for the time being, for “if we rashly increase the number of employees and workers in excess of our capacity to produce agricultural products, we will be punished by the laws of economics.” The scope for exemptions was increased by authorizing all families with several children to keep one at home. Furthermore, county towns in mining and forest regions and small rural towns were no longer obliged to practice xiaxiang. Similarly, 189 large and medium cities were exempt, and any that could place their full quota of young graduates were authorized to do so. For the young people who continued to be rusticated, the situation improved. They were no longer sent individually to rural communes but to zhiqing teams and farms that were usually financially independent market garden farms that functioned within the collective economy. Until 1985 these units benefitted from three advantages, the so-called Three Noes (san bu 三 不). They paid no taxes, could keep their profits, and weren’t obliged to sell their produce to the state at set prices. Furthermore, the municipalities were encouraged to facilitate the integration of these farms with urban enterprises, to enable zhiqing to carry out both agricultural and industrial activities. The aim of the various reforms was clearly to ensure a decent income for the young people. The zhiqing still on farms had to stay there.68 Already excluded in principle from the labor market because of their state employee status, they were not allowed to return home for family reasons (kuntui 困退) or sickness (bingtui 病退). Exceptionally, some were allowed to obtain an unspecified “negotiated transfer.” However, zhiqing in villages with real difficulties were to be placed in urban or rural enterprises and given a fixed wage. Those who had left before the end of 1972 (approximately 1.3 million) were to have priority and be placed “within two years.” The 450,000 married zhiqing living in the villages would be allocated jobs with a stable income in their place of residence. Generally speaking, attempts were made to group young people together in zhiqing farms and if the grain rations they earned were too low, the state would compensate. In addition, the May 7 farms were all dismantled,69 and could, if necessary, be transformed into zhiqing farms. It 68

69

According to Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, p. 173, there remained more than two million. Liu Xiaomeng gives a figure of 1.6 or 1.7 million, or one third of the total farm employees at the time (Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 720, 732). Their official departure was announced in a State Council decree dated February

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was not difficult to find available land for these farms. The settlement bonus was increased by 100 yuan and the government guaranteed that the budget would remain stable at one billion yuan per year despite the reduction in the number of departures, to ensure that the young people’s living conditions improved. The small leadership groups were to be reinforced at all levels and required to carry out their work diligently. By restricting the justification for rustication to employment alone, this second national conference consecrated the demise of Mao’s great xiaxiang movement, launched ten years earlier in 1968. However, that did not signify that xiaxiang was abandoned. The government clearly stated that it would continue rustication proportionate to urban employment possibilities, and although it never referred publicly to China’s demographic prospects, it was certainly aware that these offered little hope, with several large urban cohorts reaching employment age.70

The End 1978 to the End 1979: Popular Resistance and Government Obstinacy While the conference defined a relatively clear policy, it did not consider how it might be accepted by the parties concerned. There was a perceptible concern for this in the report published on December 14 which stipulated that “the Central Committee trusts that the large majority of educated youth will put the general interest first and obey the measures taken by the state.” In fact the criticisms, however limited, of “old style” xiaxiang and the attention focused on the young people’s very real difficulties were an encouragement to those who rejected the policy totally. The very fact that stopping rustication altogether in the future was being considered made those who were still being rusticated feel the injustice all the more—not to mention those who had already spent ten or more years of their lives in the countryside and who had received no guarantees concerning their return. While the young people in the villages had good reason to hope, those in the farms saw their chances of returning diminish. Indeed, Chen Yonggui had stated that they must “be helped and encouraged to take root in the countryside.”71

70 71

17, 1979; see Dangdai Zhongguo de laodongli guanli, p. 443. See Figure 4, p. 402. Xinhua, December 14, 1978, in SWB, December 18, 1978.

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A Ferment of Protest At the end of 1978, the issue of acceptability—which would have been preposterous previously, given the means available to the CCP for imposing its decisions—had become a serious one, and one which the leaders were well aware of. The article in the China Youth Daily mentioned earlier ended with this sentence: “Millions of zhiqing are looking at us, and the masses are looking at us. We must answer their expectations with remarkable results.”72 Clearly the conference had failed to meet the zhiqing’s expectations, because a massive resistance movement began with numerous protest actions taking place at the end of 1978 and early 1979. In fact, even before the conference, the zhiqing had seized the opportunity provided by the changed political atmosphere and official hesitations to return to the cities. During 1978, returns for family or health reasons more than trebled over 1977.73 In the spring, the Ministry of Public Security issued a Notice making it easier for people to change their household registration (hukou). In Tianjin, the authorities went further and reduced bureaucratic procedures, leading to a large number of returns in the first half of 1978. In addition to the relaxed criteria, corruption grew, notably among doctors. Out of 182 zhiqing from Tianjin examined in one region of Heilongjiang province, 178 were declared sick and allowed to return to the city. The Tianjin example sent a signal to young people in other cities, such as Shanghai, to demand the same treatment. At that time, the zhiqing on the state farms, like their counterparts elsewhere, were entitled to this procedure and in some areas, such as Inner Mongolia, the local authorities, keen to get rid of their zhiqing, were particularly lax. As a result of this first wave of returns, young people who had obtained stable paid jobs in the countryside resigned to obtain zhiqing status once again and benefit from returns for family or health reasons. Feeling trapped, from spring 1978 the married zhiqing clamored to return. Protests were especially vehement in Liaoning province, where marriage had been strongly encouraged for ideological reasons.74 Protesters even set up a “Liaison office for married zhiqing” at the provincial level. In addition to relaxing criteria for returns for family and health reasons

72 73 74

ZGQNB, November 23, 1978, p. 1. See Zhongguo laodong gongzi tongji ziliao, 1949–1985, p. 111. See pp. 110–11. More than 100,000 married zhiqing out of the nationwide total of 850,000 were in Liaoning province; see Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p. 728.

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(kuntui and bingtui), the government showed its goodwill by recruiting nearly 300,000 zhiqing into the army, compared with 55,000 in 1977.75 But the massive number of authorized returns resulted in a change in the “dingti” rules whereby retirees were replaced by one of their children. Before 1966 and again after 1974, such replacements were authorized if the retirement caused serious financial difficulties (tekun 特困) to the retiree’s family. The new retirement rules that began to be applied in the summer of 1978 and were fully deployed by January 1979 made the replacement of a retiree common practice.76 The only conditions were that the person replacing the retiree must be aged between 16 and 30 and did not already have regular employment in a state enterprise. Most zhiqing met these requirements, and since their as yet unretired parents were generally keen to offer an “iron rice bowl” to their rusticated children,77 returns for this reason nearly doubled in 1978. However, not all parents fulfilled the criteria for immediate retirement and many had more than one child to place.78 Furthermore, the new rules were “provisional,” and rumors circulated that they would be repealed at the national level almost as soon as they began to be applied.79 Certainly dingti was only a partial solution and did little to solve the problems of more than six and a half million impatient zhiqing still stuck in the countryside at the end of 1978. Many had serious difficulties and the conference failed to meet their

75 76

77 78

79

See Zhongguo laodong gongzi tongji ziliao, 1949–1985, p. 111. By Central Committee decision. This procedure was already widespread since 1973 in four specific areas: mining, prospecting, forestry, and salt works; see Zhongguo laodong renshi nianjian, 1949.10–1987, p. 198. The new recruitment rules were embodied in a State Council document dated June 2, 1978, entitled Guanyu gongren tuixiu, tuizhi de zhanxing banfa (The Provisional Method for Dealing with the Retirement and Resignation of Workers). See Dangdai Zhongguo de laodongli guanli, p. 442. A common term for a position with guaranteed lifelong employment. This measure led to intense jealousy between siblings, as well as conflicts between parents and children. See for example, Hunyin anjian yibai li (One Hundred Marriage-Related Matters) (Shanghai: Minzhu yu fazhi zazhishe, 1981), p. 60. See, for instance, JFRB, March 1, 1979, p. 1. On the matter of dingti, see for example, Deborah Davis-Friedmann, Long Lives: Chinese Elderly and the Communist Revolution (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1983), p. 27; and Michel Bonnin, “Urban Employment in Post-Maoist China: The Need for a Change of Logic and the Difficulties of Such a Change,” in S. Feuchtwang et al. (eds.), Transforming China’s Economy, vol. 1 (London: Zed Books, 1988), pp. 201–2.

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hopes. Three categories of zhiqing formed the majority of the protest movement: those on state farms, those married to peasants, and those who had obtained employment in the countryside, either directly or after being demobilized from the army.80 This last category included workers, cadres, teachers, and doctors. Along with those who had managed to return home as students or workers (for whom return was no longer an issue), these zhiqing were a relatively privileged group compared with the young people still working the land in the farms. The worst off were the young people whose livelihoods still depended on the work points they earned in the villages. However, in 1979 the order was reversed, and the first category (young people promoted to nonagricultural jobs) now fell to last place, since they ceased to be considered zhiqing and therefore were no longer entitled to return to replace a retiring parent (dingti). Only those with influential relatives in senior positions could hope to return to their hometowns, and those who had that sort of influence (guanxi 關係) had already returned. Hence the heartfelt cry from a former zhiqing in this category: “Those who had been promoted turned out to be the losers” (shangdiao chikui 上調吃虧).81 While the December decisions increased the frustrations of the settled zhiqing, they were not enough to explain how zhiqing exasperation was transformed into spontaneous protests on a hitherto unknown scale in the PRC. The massive protests by the educated youth, and the public and collective expressions of their desire to return to the cities, could only have occurred in an unusual political situation, which was the power struggle going on between Hua Guofeng and Deng Xiaoping. In the second half of 1978, Deng was increasingly using criticisms of the Cultural Revolution and the massive rehabilitation of its victims to embarrass his adversary. This manner of liquidating Mao’s inheritance could also be interpreted as an attempt by the party to find

80

81

Men and women (especially women) who had a spouse with a city job were usually hired by the spouse’s work unit. This was usually just a matter of regularizing an existing situation since they were already living in the city albeit illegally; see Jilin shengzhi—Jingji zonghe guanlizhi—Laodong (Annals of Jilin Province—General Economic Management—Labor) (Changchun: Jilin renmin chubanshe, 1998), p. 98. Zhiqing who had married among themselves were ultimately accepted by their hometown, but problems arose when they were from different towns. Each spouse was then required to return to his/her own hometown and find other people in the same situation to exchange their household registrations (hukou). See Note 110 in this chapter. WHB, March 4, 1979, p. 2.

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a new legitimacy at a time of waning prestige, notably among the intellectuals, whom the modernists needed to develop the country. This situation necessarily led to changes in the state-society relationship, with the state suddenly showing unusual concern for its people’s hardships—so long as those hardships could be attributed to the former political leaders and policies, and the opposing faction could be presented as their heirs. The aim was not only to discredit political enemies, but to create the necessary social consensus required for economic modernization. A head of the Shanghai Labor Bureau explained why it was necessary to find a solution to the discontent caused by xiaxiang in this way: If we cannot solve this problem correctly we will not get the best out of the initiative and creative sprit of the masses and the many parents of our educated youth. Only by solving this problem can we arrive at a situation of stability and unity in the country and stress our work in modernizing the country.82

The most striking demonstration of the regime’s new attitude came on November 15, 1978 when the verdict on the events of April 5, 1976 on Tiananmen Square was overturned from “totally counterrevolutionary” to “totally revolutionary.” On the same day, the People’s Daily published an article by a commentator headed “All errors must be corrected starting from the facts,” and announced a massive rehabilitation of all the victims of erroneous verdicts since the beginning of the regime, including cadres, of course, but also intellectuals, “young revolutionaries,” and “worker and peasant masses.”83 Numerous zhiqing, as well as many other categories who considered themselves victims of an unjust fate, felt that the time had come to act, leading to what came to be known as the petitioners movement (shangfang yundong 上訪運動). Although its objectives were different, it found an echo and support in the democracy movement (minzhu yundong 民主運動), the first spontaneous political movement to be allowed to express itself on “democracy walls,” first in Beijing and then in other major cities, from midNovember. Plaintiffs and pro-democracy advocates expressed themselves in wall posters (dazibao) and demonstrations. During this brief “Peking Spring”

82

83

A typewritten document from the Franco-Chinese Friendship Association reporting on a visit to Shanghai in August 1979 entitled: “Interview with Mr. Chen Shou (head of the Shanghai Municipality Labor Bureau)” (Amitiés franco-chinoises, “Entretien avec Monsieur Chen Shou”), p. 7. RMRB, November 15, 1978, p. 1.

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as it came to be known (bursting forth as it did, in the middle of winter), the democrats even set up an underground press, publishing unofficial papers that were mimeographed and sold on the street, as well as small informal political groups, that on occasion defended the causes of some of the petitioners.84 In this atmosphere of political thaw, which was cautious on the official side but effervescent with protest on the other, the zhiqing were too impatient (after years of disappointments), but also too uncertain of a satisfactory conclusion, to wait for the national conference to draw to a close. In any case, from their point of view the conference was an additional reason to make themselves heard quickly.

The Big Xishuangbanna Strike and the “Return Wind” The first wide-scale movement with historic nationwide repercussions was launched by the zhiqing on the state farms in Xishuangbanna (Yunnan province). There were several reasons for this. As in all the farms, the zhiqing were grouped together and made up a large proportion of the manpower, which gave them a certain social influence. They were also older, because they had all arrived between 1968 and 1970 (1971 for those from Sichuan province).85 Since their arrival in what had, until then, been military farms, they had been under brutal local cadres influenced by the “leftist” mentality, who were free to act with impunity in this border region so very far from the capital. There had been numerous cases of rape, beatings, and ill-treatment, as reported to the 1973 conference, as well as many work-related accidents and extremely rudimentary living and sanitary conditions. The movement began at the end of October, in Jinghong farm, when a zhiqing from Shanghai called Ding Huimin, a teacher from Sub-farm No. 10, wrote an “Open letter to Vice-Premier Deng.” The letter was not addressed to Hua Guofeng, the official chairman, but to Deng Xiaoping, who incarnated

84 85

Sidane, Le Printemps de Pékin, as well as Victor Sidane and Wojtek Zafanolli, Procès politiques à Pékin: Wei Jingsheng, Fu Yuehua (Paris: Maspéro, 1981). Of the 106,600 zhiqing originally from other regions of China who had been sent to farms and villages in Yunnan province, 51,483 were dispatched to Xishuangbanna, of which 33,672 came from Shanghai, 14,556 from Chongqing (Sichuan province), and 3,255 from Beijing. See Xishuangbanna wushi nian (Fifty Years of Xishuangbanna) (Kunming: Yunnan minzu chubanshe, 2000), p. 142. There were also zhiqing from Chengdu (Sichuan province) in other parts of Yunnan.

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the hopes of all the Cultural Revolution victims. The signatories explained how they had suffered from leftist policies and asked to be allowed to return to the city. They did not receive a reply and the thousand or so young people who signed it were harassed. On November 16, they sent a second letter developing their critique of xiaxiang in a more theoretical way. The claimed that the rustication of zhiqing had not served at all to reduce the “three great differences,” and that the authorities should draw conclusions from this truth revealed from practice. The letter was signed by more than 10,000 zhiqing in less than ten days, and the protest movement spread throughout Xishuangbanna. Representatives from the 37 sub-farms met in Jinghong in early November and set up a “preparatory group” with a view to taking a petition “to the north.” Ding Huimin was elected to head the group. Still without a reply, the zhiqing decided to take their third petition to Beijing themselves, this time addressed to “the Chairman of the Central Committee Hua Guofeng and to Vice-Premier Deng Xiaoping.” Written in the name of the “50,000 Yunnan zhiqing,” the letter denounced the injustice that had permitted young people from powerful or rich families to leave, while they, the children of humble workers, were abandoned in this place where the work was very hard, and where they suffered from nutritional deficiencies, lacked any cultural activities, and received insults and blows from the cadres. They added that they were surprised that two years after the fall of the Gang of Four, their problems had still not been solved, and concluded: “We are not asking for gold or money, but simply to be able to return to our parents.” This petition was signed by thousands of zhiqing, some in their own blood, and donations were made to pay for their representatives to travel to Beijing. However, the regional Xishuangbanna government did not authorize their departure. In protest on December 8, the preparatory group published a strike manifesto, asking all the zhiqing to strike immediately for an unspecified period. The strike was unanimously approved. A first group of forty petitioners left from Jinghong on December 16 and arrived in Kunming, the capital of Yunnan province, on the 20th. A second group led by Ding Huimin left Jinghong on the 18th. The provincial authorities tried to stop the first group from departing for Beijing and on the evening of the 22nd prevented their train from leaving. The situation was deadlocked, until the evening of the 24th when the zhiqing delegates decided to lie down on the tracks, where they stayed until the following evening. In the meantime, Ding Huimin had divided the second group into three: eight delegates prepared to leave for Shanghai while seven others left for Chongqing, making

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a great deal of noise about it. While attention was focused on these two groups, Ding and twenty-seven other delegates left for Chengdu from a small suburban station, and from there to Beijing, arriving in the capital on December 27. As soon as they arrived they began to hand out leaflets and paste dazibao (some with cartoon illustrations) and then held a sit-in at the gate of Zhongnanhai, the residence of the regime’s senior leaders. They demonstrated regularly over the next few days to obtain a meeting with Hua or Deng.86 They rallied popular support by denouncing the attitude of the cadres in the Yunnan farms and reporting some of the tragedies caused by their brutality and indifference.87 Faced with this unusual challenge, the central leaders, who had just concluded the important Third Plenum of the Eleventh Central Committee, tried a gentle but firm approach. Wang Zhen, the former minister for land clearing who had recently been promoted to the Politburo, along with Cheng Zihua, the minister for civil affairs, met with ten of the young strikers’ representatives on January 4, 1979. Wang made a speech urging them to devote themselves to developing the frontier regions, accused them of creating disorder, and asked them to carry out a self-criticism on their return to Xishuangbanna. At the same time he promised that their actions would not be punished and he recognized that there were problems, although he played them down. He announced a number of concessions: the vice-minister for Agriculture and Forests and head of the State Bureau of Agricultural Land Clearing, Zhao Fan, had already been dispatched to Xishuangbanna and a “comfort group” (weiwentuan 慰問團) of parents was preparing to leave. Once back in their posts, the zhiqing were to “help” certain cadres correct their poor working methods. On the evening of the 4th, Hua Guofeng and Deng Xiaoping sent them personal directives and the group decided to return. On January 23, three zhiqing, including the head of the delegation, Ding Huimin, sent a telegram to Wang Zhen with a self-criticism as requested and announced that the strike had been suspended in most of the farms. On February 10 the People’s Daily published Wang Zhen’s rather firm speech together with the three zhiqing’s self-criticisms.88 However, this offi-

86

87 88

Reuters, December 27, 1978, in Mingbao, December 28, 1978; Le Monde, January 2, 1979; Zhongguo zhi chun, April 1987, pp. 79–87; Beijing zhi chun no. 1, in Widor (comp.), Documents sur le Mouvement démocratique chinois, vol. 2, p. 99. Three of these dazibao, photographed by the author on Democracy Wall, were translated in Sidane, Le Printemps de Pékin, pp. 206–10. RMRB, February 10, 1979, p. 1.

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cial victory did not correspond to any reality in the field, so in some farms the zhiqing decided to strike again, considering that their objectives had not been met. On Mengla farm, angry zhiqing cut down more than one hundred rubber trees in full production phase. Furthermore the movement began to spread beyond Xishuangbanna. On Mengding farm, in western Yunnan, 300 zhiqing occupied the administrative offices on January 5. By the following day the numbers had swelled to 1,500, and 200 people went on a hunger strike. The rebels telephoned the offices of the Central Committee to request their departure, and Zhao Fan was sent to deal with them in person. When Zhao arrived at the farm, he found more than 1,000 zhiqing waiting for him on their knees, wailing and chanting “We want to go home!” Zhao Fan ascertained that the zhiqing’s complaints were founded, and returned to report on the situation to the central government. The Educated Youth Bureau then prepared a report about zhiqing agitation and made six proposals, which included reintroducing the possibility for them to return for family or health reasons (kuntui or bingtui), and to be hired in their hometowns whether for those reasons or others. This repudiation of the national conference decisions was approved by the central government, which asked the Yunnan local authorities to hold an urgent meeting to solve the issues. The meeting was held in Kunming on January 21 in the presence of government representatives from Beijing, Shanghai, and Sichuan, and decided to apply the “six proposals,” allowing those zhiqing wanting to leave to do so, while attempting to retain as many as possible.89 Their salaries were to be increased and funds released to improve their living conditions, including seven million yuan for building housing alone. On January 23, these decisions were ratified at the central level. Thus just when the national press was publishing the self-criticisms of the zhiqing’s representatives, thousands of zhiqing were fleeing the farms in Yunnan province where they had spent between eight and ten years of their lives. A year later, only a few hundred were left. The total and relatively rapid acceptance of the demands made by the zhiqing on the Yunnan farms can be explained in part by the decision to “teach Vietnam a lesson.” We know that from early January a limited military 89

At the time, zhiqing who married, even among themselves, were not authorized to leave. So great was their desire to return home that 3,000 couples divorced in just five days! Cheng Xiaoqi, “Linmang, yiersanba meiyou liqu” (In the Thick Forest, 1,238 People Have Not Left), in Li Guangping (ed.), Zhongguo zhiqing beihuanlu (Sorrows and Happiness of the Chinese Educated Youth) (Guangzhou: Huacheng chubanshe, 1993), p. 378.

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operation against China’s former ally had been decided in principle. This “self-defense counterattack to protect the border” 自衛反擊、保衛邊疆戰鬥 took place in Yunnan and Guangxi from February 17 to March 16, 1979. It was motivated by the Vietnamese invasion of Cambodia and border conflicts related to the inflow of Vietnamese refugees of Chinese origin. A major social conflict in the border region on top of that would not have been favorable to the offensive. However, the leadership’s conciliatory attitude cannot be explained by that alone. In another period, the situation would have encouraged the authorities to repress the zhiqing’s action swiftly and firmly, and give the military a free hand to restore order. Furthermore the success of the zhiqing’s action was not limited to Xishuangbanna. The “return to the city wind” (huichengfeng 回城風) was now blowing across the country. In areas with heavy concentrations of zhiqing the results were spectacular. For instance, in Heilongjiang province, which held the national record with 470,000 zhiqing in the land-clearing farms, the massive departures were impressive and began in November 1978, before the conference ended. Here, as in Yunnan province, the majority of zhiqing were from outside the province, conditions were very harsh, and the results of years of labor were scarcely visible. Since both zhiqing and the local authorities were full of doubts and uncertainties, return was on everyone’s minds, even those who, not so long before, had refused university places for the sake of “taking root”—now something to be ashamed of rather than to boast about. The incredible exodus that took place from November 1978 to Spring 1979 saw the departure of almost all the 300,000 zhiqing still on farms in Heilongjiang, but did not lead to any major clashes like the departures in Yunnan. The reason for this was that the provincial authorities, apparently more influenced by reformist and liberal ideas,90 did not really try to prevent them, any more than did the cadres managing the farms, who preferred to hire young people locally or take on illegal peasant labor rather than these zhiqing “carrier pigeons” ( feige 飛鴿).91 Consequently, the zhiqing on state farms in

90

91

Two liberal intellectuals, Yu Guangyuan and Xing Bensi, went to Heilongjiang at the time, where they presented their negative view of xiaxiang; see Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p 736. In the farm of one of the people interviewed by writer Feng Jicai, the peasants arrived spontaneously from poor villages in Shandong, Hebei, and Henan to replace the zhiqing. See Feng Jicai, “Weida de shounanzhemen” (The Greatness of Victims), Xiaoshuojia 6 (1986), p. 12. The nickname “carrier pigeons” was frequently given to zhiqing at the time. Ironically, it was borrowed from a popular

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Heilongjiang were able to use all means available to the village-based zhiqing to return home, even after the publication of the national conference decisions. It was only on March 1, 1979, in an attempt to slow down an exodus that was beginning to cause production and operational problems on the farms, that the provincial authorities announced that returns for reasons of sickness or family problems (bingtui and kuntui) would be abolished. The very same day the zhiqing demonstrated in the provincial capital, Harbin, and after three tense days, won their case in exchange for their leaders making a self-criticism.92

Tension and Conflict in Shanghai and Elsewhere According to an unofficial source, between December 1978 and spring 1979 the unrest spread to 21 of China’s 29 provinces.93 The extent of the unrest in Heilongjiang was relatively limited, but that was not because all the zhiqing were able to return home without any problem. In fact the resistance on the part of the authorities in their hometowns was far greater than that of the rural authorities where the zhiqing were living. Shanghai, the most densely populated city in China, had rusticated the largest number of young people,94 and was home to the greatest unrest for the longest period. It was also the only city in which the democracy movement and the educated youth protests overlapped. The zhiqing who had returned from Heilongjiang had posted one of the first democracy movement dazibao in People’s Square, Shanghai, on November 25.95 In it they denounced their miserable living conditions, declared that “xiaxiang is an abnormal infant born from the Cultural Revolution,”96 and pleaded for the verdict to be “reversed,” that is to say that this erroneous policy be corrected. In this way they positioned themselves in the “victims of the Cultural Revolution” category, who were making the most of the new climate and demanding reparation. Other dazibao followed up to

92 93 94 95 96

brand of bicycle. Ibid. Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, p. 181. Ibid., p. 302. McLaren, “The Educated Youth Return,” p. 4. Qishi niandai, January 1979, p. 7. And not, as Anne McLaren understood it, that “the Cultural Revolution is a malformed foetus” (McLaren, “The Educated Youth Return,” p. 4). This expression was frequently used by xiaxiang opponents at the time.

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the big demonstration of December 10, during which the zhiqing chanted slogans such as “We want work, we want food, we want our hukou” and “Sending zhiqing to the countryside is reactionary.” 97 A member of the Shanghai Revolutionary Committee met representatives of the demonstrators and pleaded with them to wait until the mayor returned from Beijing with the national conference report.98 This anecdote reveals the significance of the decisions taken at the conference in this socially troubled context. Subsequently the local authorities in Shanghai and elsewhere would entrench themselves behind the conference decisions, refusing to accept the demands of the zhiqing, who continued to write dazibao and pamphlets, to demonstrate, strike, go on hunger strikes, occupy administrative offices, and hold sit-ins to achieve their aims. Even as the conference decisions were being examined and approved by the Politburo and published in the press, the demonstrations continued in Shanghai,99 the dazibao movement grew and, despite the arrest of one of the zhiqing leaders of the democracy movement, Teng Husheng, the young people continued to agitate throughout the month of December.100 In Beijing, the educated youth issue did not play as important a role in the democracy movement as it did in Shanghai, but it was nevertheless the subject of several dazibao, including one by a group of young Beijingers who had been sent to four suburban farms and complained of being kept there “against their will.”101 As we saw, the Yunnan zhiqing posted dazibao on Democracy Wall at the end of December, but they were only passing through and wanted to reach the central government, not the Beijing municipal government. Other actions also took place in the provinces. On December 30, a dazibao on the Xi’an Street Democracy Wall announced that thirty-one zhiqing had been on hunger strike for ten days to obtain their return to the city. Also at the end of December an “Alliance of Educated Youth” was established in Changsha and organized a demonstration of several thousand young people in front of the offices of the city’s Revolutionary Committee.102 97 98 99 100

101 102

McLaren, “The Educated Youth Return,” p. 6. Gold, “Back to the City,” p. 757. AFP, December 15, 1978, in Mingbao, December 16, 1978; and McLaren, “The Educated Youth Return,” pp. 6–7. Teng Husheng was not arrested for being a zhiqing leader but probably because of his violent criticisms of Mao and Hua Guofeng. See one of his dazibao entitled “Hua, you’re a shit,” in Sidane, Le Printemps de Pékin, pp. 103–4. Reuters, n.d., in Asahi Evening News, December 19, 1978. AFP, January 4, 1979, in FBIS, January 5, 1979; and the author’s private collection of photographs.

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Agitation sprung up everywhere, to varying degrees according to the time and place, until the end of March. Zhiqing from Hangzhou also traveled to Beijing to ask for justice and posted a long dazibao on January 20.103 At the end of that month, the zhiqing returned in vast numbers to their hometowns for the Chinese New Year. This annual holiday, which brings family members together for the festivities, took on a particular significance that year and the concentration of zhiqing in the cities was greater than any time previously. The “return wind” was turning into a storm and most of the young people who had returned decided to stay at home by any means. When the authorities rejected their individual demands, they resorted to collective action. In Nanjing on January 25 several hundred zhiqing from farms in northern Jiangsu province got together in front of the Municipal Committee offices and blocked off several roads. Some protested against the use of string-pulling for getting jobs and demanded that those people be sent back to make room for the zhiqing still on the farms. In Nanchang, in early February zhiqing from a farm in Jiangxi, whose parents were railway employees, stormed the railway offices and trains in an attempt to get hired.104 In Hangzhou, on February 5, mass rallies were organized and traffic was blocked. The unrest continued until the 16th.105 In Chongqing, demonstrators attacked cadres in the labor office, and in Tianjin on February 7, zhiqing wrecked havoc in the city. Similar events occurred in many other towns, including Hefei.106 But without a doubt the greatest unrest occurred in Shanghai. From the last week in January, mass meetings, marches, and demonstrations followed one after another. On February 5, after thousands of zhiqing had demonstrated in vain for two hours in front of the party committee building to see the leader, Peng Chong, they marched to the main station and blocked rail traffic for twelve hours by sitting on the rails. Warned by the municipal committee, the State Council in Beijing sent a directive over the phone in the early hours of February 6, ordering the demonstrators to disperse and threatening those who did not with legal sanctions.107 After the police used megaphones to inform the demonstrators of this, many did disperse at around 3 a.m.

103 104 105 106 107

Private collection of photographs. Xinhua, February 12, 1979, in RMRB, February 13, 1979, p. 4. Zhejiang Radio, February 12, 1979, in FBIS, February 13, 1979. Wan Li, the first secretary of Anhui province, revealed this to Japanese journalists in July 1979; see Yomiuri shimbun, n.d., in Mingbao, July 28, 1979. A photograph of this directive, posted the following days throughout the city, was published in Mingbao, May 1, 1979.

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but the more determined among them refused to budge and the police had to remove them by force an hour later. Some people were arrested on the spot and more arrests were made over the following days. Faced with this widespread protest action, the central authorities issued a “Notice on the strengthening of unity and stability in the country” on February 19. The main cities published municipal notices that severely restricted all forms of collective expression. In Shanghai, the March 6 notice did nothing to interrupt the animated discussions around Democracy Wall, let alone the marches and occupation of administrative buildings. A demonstration was held on March 15 in front of the Revolutionary Committee auditorium, just before a concert by the Boston Symphony Orchestra. The demonstrators wanted to confer greater weight on their demands by making them known beyond the country’s borders. Those demands could be summarized in just one word, “return.” The only variations lay in the justifications used to back their demand.108 Nevertheless, in Shanghai, as in the rest of China, following an internal speech by Deng Xiaoping on March 16, there was a crackdown on the democracy movement and the leaders of the demonstrations. In Shanghai, access to Democracy Wall was blocked “for road works” until September. The restrictions went hand in hand with an ideological offensive from the “Left” which was only countered in July, after the second session of the Fifth NPC.109 The political tensions and social atmosphere then relaxed a little until the fall. The young people made the most of that opportunity to reassert their claims. In Shanghai, from the end of June zhiqing demonstrations ranging from dozens to hundreds of participants took place almost daily. They came from the suburban farms or farms in the border regions and their discontent lay in the municipality’s refusal to allow 150,000 of them to return to the city for “retirement replacement” reasons (dingti), despite having allowed 120,000 others to return earlier that year. Their despair and anger was such that there were suicides in many of the farms, while others held strikes or slowdowns and demonstrated in the cities. Zhiqing came from as far afield as Heilongjiang, Yunnan, and Xinjiang. Although zhiqing in the former two provinces had been allowed to leave legally, the authorities in Shanghai 108

109

On the Shanghai demonstrations between December 1978 and March 1979, see McLaren, “The Educated Youth Return”; Gold, “Back to the City”; Kexue, Minzhu, Fazhi, n.d. (private collection); Wojtek Zafanolli, “Shanghai, Place du Peuple,” Esprit (June 6, 1979), pp. 22–30; JFRB, February 7, 1979, February 8, 1979, and February 11, 1979. Sidane, Le Printemps de Pékin, pp. 38–43; and Gold, “Back to the City,” p. 762.

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attempted to renege on their agreement. They failed to provide jobs for the young people who had returned for sickness or family reasons (bingtui or kuntui) and refused to accept the return of their zhiqing rusticated to Heilongjiang who had married zhiqing from Beijing or Tianjin, even though it had been agreed that each city would reintegrate its own citizens before organizing transfers to bring couples back together.110 Despite the differences in their material problems, the zhiqing succeeded in uniting and set up a “Zhiqing committee for managing the after-effects [of xiaxiang].” In addition to organizing protest campaigns the committee raised funds to support the protest movement and help zhiqing to survive.111 In Hangzhou on September 8 more than one thousand zhiqing from the May 7 farms (wuqi nongchang 五七農場) in Zhejiang staged a sit-in to obtain their reintegration, and it was still under way on September 17. In early October, several thousand people demonstrated and thirty-four zhiqing went on a hunger strike for four days.112 They had a major grievance since in February the provincial press had announced that the young people who had gone to the land-clearing farms in 1966 would be allowed to return to the cities in the first half of the year, while those who had left in 1969 would return in the second half. The zhiqing concerned were delighted, but on May 26 this officially published plan was cancelled on the pretext that it contradicted a decision in Document No. 132 dated May 14, which made it illegal to employ zhiqing from the state farms.113 Meanwhile, in Shanghai groups of petitioners continued to clamor for their return. On People’s Square, young people asked a Japanese journalist to photograph a policeman tearing down a dazibao entitled “Are the petitioning zhiqing from Xinjiang not welcome?”114 When Wei Jingsheng, one of the most radical spokesmen of the 110

111 112 113 114

Shanghai municipality finally agreed to take back its young people but couples who had been separated in the process had to manage on their own to find other couples with the same number of children wanting a reverse change of residency (interview with R. Y. C., a Shanghainese married to a Beijinger, Beijing, August 10, 2000). Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 771–72. Siwu luntan 13, p. 40. Despite their name, the May 7 farms had nothing to do with the May 7 cadre schools. Sidane, Le Printemps de Pékin, p. 46; and Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p. 776. Yomiuri shimbun, n.d., in Mingbao, October 6, 1979. The photograph was in Mingbao, dated October 7, 1979. The specific issue of Shanghai zhiqing in Xinjiang province is discussed on pp. 192–202.

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democracy movement, was sentenced to fifteen years in prison on October 16, 1979, it marked the beginning of a severe crackdown on all political and social protest. At the end of 1979, “democracy walls” were banned and the underground press came under increasing pressure until it finally ceased to exist.115 On December 1, three people who had taken part in the February 5 demonstration in Shanghai were given heavy prison sentences.116 The period of massive demonstrations had lasted from November 1978 to October 1979. If the protests diminished considerably after this period, it was in part due to the repression, but also because the majority of zhiqing were allowed to return. So rather than being a sign of the regime’s ability to impose its will, the end of the zhiqing protests appeared, on the contrary, to be a consequence of society’s ability (in the specific political context of the end of the 1970s) to obtain satisfactory compromises for the majority. The effectiveness of social resistance at this time, both passive and active, can be measured by the gap between the energy the government devoted throughout 1979 to applying the December 1978 national conference decisions and the paltry results it obtained. Indeed, from the end of 1978 to the end of 1979, the government expended considerable effort to pursuing rustication and limiting returns. The serious, meticulous, and costly measures taken during this period show that the government really intended to pursue the policy, at least for a few more years. Its efforts were focused on three main areas, which I shall deal with in turn.

Government Strategy in 1979 Implementation at the provincial level and reassertion of the policy defined at the national conference On the morning of December 15 when the results of the conference were published, groups were organized in Shanghai to study them and learned that they must not act like Lin Biao or the Gang of Four, who prevented the zhiqing’s problems from being discussed, “nor like other people who have denied the movement’s success and paint a dark picture of it.”117 On the 16th, a

115 116 117

See Sidane, Le Printemps de Pékin, pp. 47–49. Respectively 9 years, 5 years, and 4 years, of which 2 were deferred. See WHB, December 12, 1979, p. 1; and RMRB, December 14, 1979, p. 4. Shanghai Radio, December 15, 1978, in FBIS, December 20, 1978.

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conference on the application of the national conference directives opened in Jilin. It continued until the end of the month, concluding that “we must help the zhiqing to establish themselves in the countryside in a satisfactory manner, and solve their problems,” and that “given the economic situation in our province, we will continue to encourage zhiqing to settle in the countryside for a few more years.”118 The Liaoning Party Committee, which held a conference from December 20 to 25, also stated that “the decision taken at the national conference to continue to rusticate zhiqing for a few more years fits in with the real situation in our province.119 Shanghai planned to increase the opportunities to study and hire more new graduates, who would no longer be sent to villages. But, “especially over the next few years, when large numbers of young people will graduate from high school, it will be necessary to send some of them to Shanghai’s state farms.”120 The authorities in Shanxi would make every effort so that “in three or four years” it would no longer be necessary to rusticate zhiqing.121 All these measures were fully compatible with the official national conference decisions and were merely local applications. The head of the Zhejiang Educated Youth Bureau had a more liberal approach and announced that young graduates temporarily without work would be encouraged either to go to the countryside, or to stay in the city to prepare for their higher education entry exams on their own, which in effect meant the end of forced rustication (on condition that the parents were able to provide for their graduate offspring).122 Having organized their own conferences for transmitting the national decisions, the provincial and municipal authorities were invited by a State Council circular, as they were every year, to send “comfort letters” (weiwenxin 123 慰問信) to the zhiqing in their counties for the Chinese New Year. These letters all reiterated the December decisions and urged young people to work hard and be patient, insisting on their duty to participate in socialist modernization, the new focus of party policy since the Third Plenum of the Eleventh Central Committee.124 In June, the problem of which policy to adopt for the

118 119 120 121 122 123 124

Jilin Radio, December 22, 1978, and December 30, 1978, in FBIS, December 26, 1978, and January 4, 1979. Liaoning Radio, January 2, 1979, in FBIS, January 18, 1979. WHB, January 5, 1979, in FBIS, January 24, 1979. Shanxi Radio, January 8, 1979, in FBIS, January 12, 1979. See Zhejiang Radio, January 30, 1979, in FBIS, February 2, 1979. Xinhua, January 16, 1979, in FBIS, January 19, 1979. See Jiangsu Radio, January 14, 1979, in FBIS, January 16, 1979; Nei Monggol

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new (1979) batch of graduates was on the agenda. Conferences were held at the provincial level to make the appropriate decisions.125 Liaoning province insisted that mobilization efforts were necessary, with one cadre stating, “This year, our task of mobilizing the zhiqing to leave for the countryside is very difficult. Party committees at all levels must pay special attention to this and devote a great deal more effort than in previous years.”126 Around the country, local authorities asserted the need to pursue a certain level of rustication and mobilize young people for that purpose, in line with Hua Guofeng’s statement of June 18 during the second session of the Fifth NPC.127 A catch-all slogan from the past was dug up—“walking on one’s own two feet”—but given a new meaning, which was to provide jobs either in the cities or in the countryside.128 The senior leaders’ desire to pursue xiaxiang and mobilize young people again was clearly expressed in August 1979. First, Red Flag published a long article by the “theoretical unit of the Small Leadership Group in charge of rusticating educated youth, reporting to the State Council,” clearly for the purpose of providing a theoretical base for a new mobilization campaign for that fall’s departures. The article was headed, “Unify your minds and do good work in sending zhiqing to the countryside.” It was based on the national conference conclusions and expounded on certain themes. It started by “fully asserting the success” of the movement and went on to explain the reasons why “we will still need to send some zhiqing to the countryside over the next few years”: — The countryside and border regions required assistance, agricultural surpluses were still insufficient to meet the requirements generated by demographic growth and industrial development; — It was necessary to urbanize and industrialize the countryside by creating constellations of small towns in city suburbs and in the countryside.

125

126 127 128

Radio, January 14, 1979, in FBIS, January 17, 1979; Guizhou Radio, January 16, 1979, in FBIS, January 19, 1979; Hebei Radio, January 18, 1979, in FBIS, January 23, 1979; Liaoning Radio, January 17, 1979, in FBIS, January 23, 1979; and Jilin Radio, January 26, 1979, in FBIS, February 1, 1979. See Gansu Radio, June 12, 1979, in FBIS, June 20, 1979; Qinghai Radio, June 28, 1979, in SWB, July 5, 1979; Liaoning Radio, July 9, 1979, in FBIS, July 12, 1979; Heilongjiang Radio, July 10, 1979, January 16, 1979, and August 23, 1979, in FBIS, July 13, 1979, July 27, 1979, and August 27, 1979. Liaoning Radio, July 9, 1979, in FBIS, July 12, 1979. Pékin Information, July 9, 1979, p. 22. Liaoning Radio, August 13, 1979, in FBIS, August 17, 1979.

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The best-managed educated youth farms had already taken a step in the right direction for reducing the city-countryside differences in future Communism; — Since the birth rate was too high between 1950 and 1960, it was impossible to find jobs for all young people in the cities. If they were all invited “to eat from the great pot,” state finances would suffer, productivity would fall sharply, and the economic imbalance would worsen. The author then went on to describe how the zhiqing should be settled. The days of scattering them around villages, when “reeducation” was the catch phrase, were over. Now the zhiqing should be organized around agricultural, industrial, and forestry bases, managed by the companies or bodies placing them (for instance, their parents’ work units) or in financially independent zhiqing farms or teams, managed by the municipalities, counties, and communes. Educated youth centers (zhiqingdian), governed by the “three concentrations and one dispersion” (san jizhong yi fensan 三集中一分散: concentration in the brigade for housing, meals, and study; dispersion among the teams for labor), were still important in the villages, but, where conditions allowed it, should gradually be transformed into zhiqing farms or teams. The model to follow was the Red Flag Farm in Xiangtan (Hunan province). The article ended with a call to all components of society to take part in the mobilization and notably the zhiqing themselves, who were invited to “offer their precious youth to the future of the fatherland.”129 Having covered the “theoretical base,” the Small Leadership Group called another national conference for August 17, inviting thirty-three model zhiqing from around the country to take part. Kang Yonghe, the head of the State Labor Bureau and deputy head of the Small Leadership Group, stated, “In the past the stress was on the reeducation of young people by the peasants, but in the present period of economic readjustment the emphasis should be on a global employment plan for young people to best serve the Four Modernizations.” He announced that the government would try to find urban employment for approximately seven million young people, and that after the university registration period some 800,000 zhiqing would leave for the countryside.130 The conference lasted until August 29. The press devoted a great deal of space to reporting the heroic deeds and good resolutions of the thirtythree model zhiqing present, joined by a thirty-fourth on August 25. On the following day, the model zhiqing were received by Hua Guofeng, Li

129 130

HQ, August 1979, pp. 58–62. Xinhua, August 17, 1979, in FBIS, August 21, 1979.

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Xiannian, Wang Zhen, Yu Qiuli, Hu Yaobang, and Wang Renzhong, who made speeches reaffirming the merits of xiaxiang. Up until the end of that year, the provinces and municipalities held conferences in which model zhiqing were invited to transmit the spirit of the national conference and encourage departures. Furthermore, the Small Leadership Group under the State Council organized two meetings between September 20 and October 12 for exchanging experiences. One was held in Benxi (Liaoning province), the other in Xiangtan (Hunan province).131 The objective was certainly to reply to the cadres who considered that “settling the zhiqing posed problems that were difficult to resolve,” according to the wording used in the above-mentioned Red Flag article. The two municipalities were commended, not because they represented a really new model, but as successful examples of the line adopted at the December 1978 national conference. Benxi set up more than 170 farms and teams of educated youth while Xiangtan succeeded in transforming some farms into enterprises combining agriculture, industry, and commerce (gongnongshang lianhe qiye 工農商聯合企業).

Political, administrative and police strategy in response to various forms of social resistance The fact that eight months after the 1978 national conference another one had to be called, followed a month later by two additional local mini-conferences, reveals the difficulties encountered by the authorities in applying the policy, as demonstrated also in the repeated insistence on “unifying minds.” All sorts of methods were used to combat the general bad will—not only on the part of young people and their parents, but also the local cadres. Faced with the spectacular and violent protests, the government first showed a relative tolerance, hoping to solve the problem by persuasion. For instance, after the December 10, 1978 demonstration in Shanghai, the Liberation Daily stated that the zhiqing’s proposals and demands “in various forms and through various channels” were “reasonable,” but reminded readers that the problems could only be solved “in a controlled way, step by step.”132 Various municipal officials (including the mayor) receiving representatives from the protestors apparently made no concessions, but nor did they make any threats.133 Meanwhile the 131 132 133

RMRB, October 27, 1979, p. 2. JFRB, December 16, 1978. Shanghai Radio, February 17, 1979, in FBIS, February 26, 1979.

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Shanghai Women’s Federation was organizing meetings to persuade parents to send their children to the countryside.134 This lenient but firm way of dealing with the problems found an ideal expression (outwardly at least) in the affair of the striking zhiqing from Yunnan mentioned earlier. Although events on the ground made Wang Zhen’s speech obsolete by the time it was published, it remained a text for recalcitrant zhiqing to study for several more months.135 The authorities’ attitude to the later Shanghai demonstrations on February 5 was much harsher, but the government still refrained from using police action to overcome zhiqing resistance, although it certainly did deploy the entire propaganda arsenal. Official slogans calling on the young people to obey State Council instructions were posted throughout Shanghai. The press published numerous articles denouncing the demonstrators as troublemakers and people of doubtful morality, motivated by egotistical, or even antisocialist, objectives. Letters from the “masses,” including parents of zhiqing, condemning the troubles and calling on the authorities to take measures, were “reproduced” in the papers.136 While the government was prevented from resorting to more brutal tactics by the political situation, the number of demonstrators and strikers, and the sympathy they garnered in public opinion, the leaders continued to condemn the disorder, stating that they would never act under pressure or blackmail, and threatening repressive action, which they did use selectively. The authorities also deployed a great deal of energy to fighting the passive resistance in Chinese society as a whole and among the zhiqing in particular. This manifested itself in two ways and on a very large scale: by the zhiqing’s unauthorized return to the cities and their refusal to leave for the countryside. From early February, after the New Year festivities were over and when the presence of a considerable number of zhiqing in the cities was perceived as being a potential threat to public order, the authorities began to put pressure on the young people to “return to their posts.” In Shanghai, the front page of the February 9 edition of Liberation Daily was composed of letters from zhiqing and their parents calling on young people to return to the

134 135 136

Shanghai Radio, December 13, 1978, in FBIS, December 21, 1978. For instance, in the case of the Nanchang demonstrations; see Xinhua, February 12, 1979, in RMRB, February 13, 1979, p. 4. See, for instance, JFRB, February 7, 1979, and February 8, 1979, p. 1; McLaren, “The Educated Youth Return,” p. 10; Zafanolli, “Shanghai, Place du Peuple,” p. 23.

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countryside.137 The Jilin Daily used the same tactics on the 24th.138 Next the labor shortage on the farms for the spring chores was used to justify the need for all the “idle” zhiqing to return immediately.139 Neighborhood committees invited the young people to “roundtable discussions” and sent people door to door to persuade them to leave. The more uncooperative zhiqing were subjected to “open-hearted discussions” (jiaoxin 交心) with the cadres. Nor did the cadres limit their action to ideological work; in some cases they took the trouble to contact the local authorities in an attempt to solve the zhiqing’s problems, such as housing, to eliminate justifications for their refusal to leave.140 Obedient zhiqing were praised in meetings organized both in the cities and in the countryside.141 A provincial conference was organized in Liaoning to study the experience of the model town of Anshan, which, at the end of June, had succeeded in sending back 86 percent of its illegally returned zhiqing and rusticating 65 percent of the graduates earmarked to leave in 1978.142 The arrival of the 1979 graduates on the labor market made these mobilization efforts even more urgent. The authorities started to use economic sanctions to back their ideological efforts. The Liaoning Provincial Committee, for instance, decided that obstinate young people would not be authorized to apply for work or a place in higher education, or even a temporary job.143 Shenyang municipality declared that the job allocations already granted were now invalid and all hiring would be forbidden so long as the work in the countryside had not been completed. All 1979 graduates were to leave before the end of September, while graduates from earlier years were to go by the end of July.144 Despite that, at the end of October the authorities were still obliged to take further action.145 Throughout that year they had to 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145

JFRB, February 9, 1979, p. 1. Jilin ribao, February 24, 1979, in FBIS, March 1, 1979. JFRB, March 2, 1979, p. 1; Liaoning Radio, March 12, 1979, in FBIS, March 15, 1979; Jilin Radio, April 26, 1979, in FBIS, May 1, 1979. WHB, March 4, 1979, p. 2; Shanghai Radio, March 20, 1979, and March 25, 1979, in FBIS, March 27, 1979. Heilongjiang ribao, February 28, 1979, in FBIS, March 7, 1979; Shanghai Radio, June 15, 1979, in FBIS, June 19, 1979. Liaoning Radio, July 9, 1979, in FBIS, July 12, 1979; Liaoning Radio, July 10, 1979, in SWB, July 19, 1979. Liaoning Radio, July 9, 1979, in SWB, July 19, 1979. Liaoning Radio, July 18, 1979, in SWB, July 31, 1979. Liaoning Radio, October 27, 1979, in SWB, November 10, 1979.

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fight the resistance of both parents and cadres. The press frequently denounced these cadres, including those who had recently been rehabilitated and who “brought back their children one by one.”146 The Wenhuibao published a little cartoon that mocked cadres who were so proud to have gone to the mountains to be guerillas and to the countryside to carry out agrarian reforms, but today did not want their own children to go up to the mountains and down to the countryside (shangshan xiaxiang).147 The seriousness of the problem was well illustrated by the model (but unrepresentative) cadre who explained: “If I used my position to have my daughter transferred to the city, how can I ask other people to send their children to the countryside?”148 The authorities also faced resistance from the rural cadres in the farms and villages. A People’s Daily article entitled “The zhiqing must not be pushed out,” criticized the local cadres who took advantage of the zhiqing in “educated youth centers” departing on family visits to take over their housing, jobs, and even their grain rations and tools, and give them to local young peasants who were “permanent” and not “carrier pigeons.”149 Similarly the zhiqing who had “resigned unilaterally” (zixing tuizhi 自行退職) from the farms in Xishuangbanna but had been persuaded to return to their jobs found that their jobs had already been allocated to others. Needless to say, that did little to encourage their comrades to return to the countryside.150 Cadres from the farms preferred to replace the zhiqing with more docile peasants, less likely to compete with them for any interesting positions.151 The authorities were obliged to exert pressure and issue directives to prevent the local cadres’ resistance from challenging their policy entirely.152

Re-launch of “down-to-the countryside” propaganda In ideological terms, the struggle against social resistance to xiaxiang resulted in a vast effort to give rural labor a positive image again.153 At the end of the

146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153

RMRB, April 22, 1979, p. 3. See also, WHB, March 14, 1979, p. 1; RMRB, June 8, 1979, p. 1; and Guangdong qingnian 9 (1979), pp. 11–12. WHB, June 7, 1979, p. 4. RMRB, September 10, 1979, p. 4. RMRB, April 24, 1979, p. 4. See Note 91 above about this expression. RMRB, August 22, 1979, p. 3. Interviews with C. W. H., July 25, 1978, and X. X., July 5, 1978. RMRB, April 24, 1979, p. 4, and August 22, 1979, p. 3. With xiaxiang a leading official concern again, there was an increase in the

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year, Chen Pixian, then first secretary of Hubei province, confirmed to a group of model zhiqing: “The idea that zhiqing are a triple combination of guinea pigs, Cultural Revolution victims, and Four Modernization cast-offs is not even worth refuting.”154 Yet the leadership (himself included) had spent a great deal of time in 1979 debunking “erroneous conceptions” like that. The government repeatedly told the young people who claimed that xiaxiang was a product of the “Gang of Four’s ultra-leftist line” and needed to be “corrected,” that it was a good policy launched by Chairman Mao well before the Cultural Revolution.155 And to those who claimed that xiaxiang went against the objective laws of historical development and that their return to the cities was “necessary to carry out the Four Modernizations,” those same leaders replied that it was a policy adapted to China’s development conditions and their presence in the countryside was necessary for agricultural modernization.156 That was now the main justification for continuing this policy. At the same time the government tried yet again to promote the spirit of self-sacrifice and idealism that had fired the pioneers of the movement prior to the Cultural Revolution as well as later. The idea that a spirit of self-sacrifice led people “to do great things” for the development of the rural areas was the leitmotiv in numerous articles published in 1979, describing all kinds of model zhiqing. Uncooperative elements were made to “feel ashamed,” and in an article headed “We need thousands of good people like him,” the Zhejiang Daily stated: What a contrast between his noble ideological conscience, and the behavior of those who turn their backs on the Four Modernizations and the common good of the country and the people, those who make every effort to leave the countryside and the border regions or get together to cause disorder when they don’t achieve their egotistical objectives! Shi Mingjun’s advanced actions are like a mirror. And looking at that mirror, some individuals should be ashamed.157

154 155 156 157

number of articles devoted to the subject in the People’s Daily, rising from eleven in 1978 to sixty-four in 1979. See Scharping, Umsiedlungsprogramme für Chinas Jugend, p. 181. Hubei Radio, November 12, 1979, in FBIS, November 16, 1979. See, for example, RMRB, December 15, 1978, p. 1; Jilin Radio, July 5, 1979, in SWB, July 12, 1979; HQ, August 1979, pp. 58–62. See HQ, August 1979, pp. 58–62; RMRB, October 12, 1979, p. 4; Hubei Radio, November 12, 1979, in FBIS, November 16, 1979. Zhejiang Radio, March 21, 1979, in FBIS, March 26, 1979.

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To further emphasize that “shame,” the government generously showered honors on the model zhiqing. As we have seen, “advanced zhiqing” conferences had been organized at the provincial and national levels, and the press had showered certain zhiqing with praise, publishing some of their photos on the front pages of their papers.158 The one who received the greatest praise was undoubtedly Yang Yongqing. Her sudden rise to fame in 1979 turned into a real political soap opera with all its repercussions. At the time when the authorities in Shanghai were faced with the zhiqing’s organized and violent opposition,159 the press revealed that this young woman from Shanghai had voluntarily left for Xinjiang in 1964 and preferred to stay there rather than follow her husband and children when they returned to the city in 1972. Yang was a perfect example for the government, since she had succeeded in convincing her husband to return to Xinjiang in 1977. However, the article did reveal that Yang no longer worked on a farm in the region of Shihezi but had been transferred to Urumqi as deputy secretary of the Xinjiang Communist Youth League. In March, when all efforts were being deployed to send the zhiqing back to the countryside, and Wang Renzhong called on the young people to go to the border regions to participate in their country’s development,160 the press published a letter Yang sent to Wang Renzhong requesting a transfer back to agricultural production to take part in the reforestation of the Gobi desert. In her belief that “teaching through example is more convincing than teaching through speech,” she wanted to keep up the spirit of 1964 and make the “small number” of Xinjiang zhiqing requesting their return to Shanghai think again. The “organization” in question had already accepted her request.161 Following this letter, the saga continued in the usual manner with the publication on March 30 of passages from the many letters Yang had received from young people throughout China who wanted to follow her example, as well as an account of the farewell meeting organized by the Youth League in her honor in Urumqi.162 Her photograph was published on May 8 and the following day the press gave an account of the farewell gathering given in 158 159 160

161 162

See pp. 157–58. RMRB, February 14, 1979, p. 4, and February 16, 1979, p. 4. Dongxiang, April 1979, p. 22. Wang Renzhong had replaced Chen Yonggui as the head of the Small Leadership Group on March 9, 1979 (Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou [eds.], Shimo, p. 248). RMRB, March 7, 1979, p. 1; and WHB, March 7, 1979, p. 1. RMRB, March 30, 1979, p. 1, and April 11, 1979, p. 3.

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Shanghai in honor of Gu Shengfa, a zhiqing who had been moved by Yang’s example and had agreed to leave for Xinjiang even though he had already found legal employment.163 On the 14th, the newspapers published a letter by Yang Yongqing, on her return from “the number 1 front, which is agriculture,” addressed to her “young friends” in response to all the support she had received. Taking inspiration from Lei Feng, she confirmed that “constructing the Four Modernizations [...] requires young people to work on all fronts, each like a screw firmly attached to its post.”164 This attitude got her quoted in a long article in the August 1979 edition of Red Flag, but that seems to be the last time. Not wanting to bore the public or make others jealous, the central government did not invite her to the big conference at the end of August. Instead, the selection of thirty-four model zhiqing who were invited seemed to reflect a desire to balance pre– and post–Cultural Revolution zhiqing as well as the various “specialties”: the border regions and the interior, scientific experiments and management, etc. But special emphasis was placed on the virtue of work in the border regions with the reassessment of the historic figure of Wang Zhaojun in a play by Cao Yu devoted to that heroine and staged at the time. Zhaojun is usually represented as an unhappy, tearful courtesan, sacrificed by the Han emperor who gave her away as a bride to obtain peace with the Xiongnu barbarians. But in 1978 on advice Zhou Enlai had given him in 1960, Cao decided to return “Wang Zhaojun’s real smiling face” in his play, claiming that Zhaojun had voluntarily contributed to the friendship between the Han and the minorities.165 This historical reevaluation was no coincidence, as revealed in the following statement made during the same period by Zhou Enlai’s niece, Zhou Bingjian, herself one of the model zhiqing invited to the August conference: I remember when I was working with a team of cattle herders, Uncle spoke to me about Wang Zhaojun and added, “couldn’t you find a young Mongol there and start a family in Mongolia?” I was very young at the time and didn’t think. But this year I’m 27 and I’m going to follow uncle’s advice. I’m going to do everything possible to strengthen the unity between the Mongols and Hans and build up the border regions.166

163 164 165 166

RMRB, May 8, 1979, p. 2, and May 9, 1979, p. 4. A similar meeting was also held on June 14; see Shanghai Radio, June 15, 1979, in FBIS, June 19, 1979. RMRB, May 14, 1979, p. 4. RMRB, August 27, 1979, p. 4. RMRB, August 30, 1979, p. 4. On October 1, 1979, Zhou Bingjian did indeed marry a Mongol, a famous singer she had met in North Korea when they were

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While holding up old and new model zhiqing, the government also took care to rehabilitate the models of the Gang of Four period, claiming that while they had committed errors at the time, they had not really taken part in their mentor’s “plot.”167 All the models promoted in the 1970s had problems to varying degrees after the fall of the Gang of Four.168 Some had been considered as “important elements in the clique system,” or “new counterrevolutionaries.” The one who paid the highest price was Zhang Tiesheng.169 He was arrested in 1976 and his “crimes” were denounced in a People’s Daily article on November 30.170 His name came up regularly in documents attacking the Gang of Four, and his natural father’s political problems were used to explain that his own downfall had class roots. He was sentenced to fifteen years in prison in March 1983 and carried out his full term, calculated from the day of his arrest. He left prison in 1991, and ultimately found work in a fodder company. Among the

167 168 169 170

traveling in the same delegation. In 1978 Zhou Bingjian was already presented as an example of Zhou Enlai’s attachment to xiaxiang policy. In August 1968, at the age of 16, the young woman left for the Xilin Gol pastoral region, strongly encouraged by her uncle (who was childless) to be “reeducated by the poor and middle-poor herders.” As the premier’s niece she was of course selected to enter the army, but when Zhou heard the news in December 1970, he told her, “We cannot behave as privileged people,” and asked her to resign and return to her production team, which she did in April 1971, under the affectionate pressure of her uncle and aunt. Her sacrifice was rewarded in February 1972 when she rose in the party ranks and in October 1975, when she was accepted in the Mongolian language department of the University of Inner Mongolia. After she married, she worked in the Inner Mongolian Academy of Social Sciences, and was later deputy mayor of Xilin Hot and a member of the nationalities committee of the Provincial Assembly. She finally left Mongolia to work in Beijing at the control division of the Ministry of Finance. See HQ 3 (1978), p. 86; Gu Hongzhang and Ma Kesen (eds.), Dashiji, pp. 81–82; Shi Xiang (ed.), Zhongguo gaogan zinü chenfulu (The Ups and Downs of Children of China’s High-Ranking Cadres) (Changchun: Jilin renmin chubanshe, 1996), pp. 107–21; Zhang Yongping (ed.), Zhongguo zhiqing rensheng ganwulu (Educated Chinese Youth Reflect on Their Lives) (Hohot: Yuanfang chubanshe, 1999), pp. 39–40. See for example, RMRB, May 23, 1979, p. 4. On the fate of these model zhiqing, see Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 702–14, from which most of the above information was obtained. On these model’s heydays, see pp. 102–20. RMRB, November 30, 1976, p. 1.

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other Liaoning models, Wu Xianzhong, Liu Jiya, and Chai Chunze were arrested and sentenced. Wu Xianzhong was imprisoned under such harsh conditions that she was almost paralyzed when she was released, but ended up finding a job and a husband. Chai Chunze was luckier. He was pardoned and released in December 1979, with no charges held against him. He was even allowed to rejoin the party, got into the radio and TV department of Chifeng University in Inner Mongolia, and on graduation was hired by the same university. At the other end of China, Zhu Kejia was also arrested and criticized in a large public meeting in Kunming on March 1, 1977. He was finally released after spending a few years in prison, and hired in a mine in Zhanyi county (Yunnan province), where he apparently married the director’s daughter.171 Among the other model zhiqing, Cai Lijian, who had been a permanent member of the Shanxi Revolutionary Committee, was arrested as a counterrevolutionary in 1978.172 Xue Ximei, from the “In This Vast Universe” commune in Henan, complained of being “avoided like the plague” but she rapidly found a role again as well as her prestige, since she was the thirty-fourth model zhiqing to be invited to the August 1979 conference.173 After the fall of the Gang of Four, even some of the pre–Cultural Revolution models were investigated. Hou Jun, who had become deputy chief of the Small Leadership Group in 1976, lost her post three months later, accused of having collaborated with the Gang of Four. On her release she was sent to take up her function as party secretary to a production brigade in Baodi county, while Dong Jiageng was investigated twice. The first time was in the early 1970s when he was imprisoned for three years for being “a May 16 element.” On his release with help from Zhou Enlai, he obtained a number of official posts as delegate to the Third NPC, member of the Permanent Committee of the Fourth NPC, member of the Small Leadership Group for Rusticating Educated Youth, and deputy head of the preparatory committee

171 172

173

Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 704–5; and interview with H. J. Y., April 3, 1988. Rehabilitated in 1984. About Cai Lijian, see Xiao Fuxing, Juechang: lao sanjie, pp. 3–18; and Jiang Kun et al. (eds.), Zhongguo zhiqing huiyilu (Memoirs of China’s Educated Youth), vol. 2 (Changchun: Jilin renmin chubanshe, 1996), pp. 688–95. Despite political pressure to expel her from the university, Xue Ximei managed to graduate in agronomy. In 1998 she was appointed director of the Scientific and Technical Information Center of the Henan Agricultural Institute. See Xiao Jian and Guo Xiaodong, Lao sanjie yu gongheguo tong xing, pp. 96, 255.

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for the Tenth Congress of the Communist Youth League, where he was a senior cadre. Since the committee head was none other than Xie Jingyi, who had been close to the Gang of Four, Dong was promptly arrested again. He was released in the fall of 1977, and also sent back to the countryside. With the exception of Zhang Tiesheng, the person who paid the highest price was Li Qinglin, who had become famous as the brave zhiqing’s father who had written to Mao to inform him of his problems, and denounced the injustices of xiaxiang and the cadres’ privileges. Thanks to Mao’s support, Li had enjoyed outstanding social and political advancement for three years but was arrested in early 1977 and vehemently criticized at a mass meeting on November 14.174 He was accused of “always opposing Chairman Mao.” The sentence against him in early 1979 reproached him for his ties with the Gang of Four and especially for having denounced the county, regional, and provincial cadres. Apparently they had not forgiven him for the problems his letter had caused them, which might explain his life sentence, confirmed on appeal. However, when the political atmosphere changed, his sentence was reduced to ten and later, eight years. With hindsight, all the Maoist-era models were pawns to be tossed about according to the whims of the power struggle at the top. A good example was certainly Wang Dongmei, a zhiqing from Lüda, who became a model in 1974 for having convinced a hundred or so other educated youth to go with her to an isolated grassland region.175 In an article entitled “Lost Dreams of Youth” she later reported that as a model zhiqing she had been the victim of an ideology that forced her to stifle her true self. She was constantly obliged to play a role and although she dreamed of going to university she was obliged to pass by every opportunity. Although she was terrified at the thought of spending the rest of her life in a backward “hole” and marrying a herdsman, she forced herself to accept this fate by considering herself a “tragic heroine.” She had become a model zhiqing at the age of 17 and was arrested at 20, to be released two years later, in 1979. She understood in retrospect that she had

174 175

See Note 90, Chapter 5. Zhiqing from several towns in Liaoning province had been sent with great pomp and ceremony to this poor region of Zhaomeng. In August 1978 they were all returned to their hometowns when the local authorities realized that they were incapable of becoming self-sufficient or even useful, despite the average 1,000 yuan or so per year spent on them by the towns, the equivalent of a mid-level cadre’s salary for one year. See Gu Hongzhang and Ma Kesen (eds.), Dashiji, p. 160.

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just been a “political pawn.” She later became a journalist and unlike most of her counterparts, never said, “I regret nothing in my youth,” but rather, “I have terrible regrets.”176 However, at the end of 1979, the propaganda heads still pursued their efforts to present models as diverse as a former unemployed young woman from Shanghai, who left for Ningxia in 1956, and an educated youth who had became the deputy director of a forestry research center at the age of 24, thanks to his success in studying and exterminating termites.177 In the last three issues of that year, the People’s Daily published a long series of articles in a literary reporting style about Zhao Junxiang, a zhiqing from Jilin who left voluntarily with a team for the city’s suburbs in 1964, even though she had every hope of entering higher education.178 Thus 1979 ended with the edifying presentation of this model of selfsacrifice and idealism invited to the August conference. Despite that, the “down to the countryside” movement was firing its last shots and regardless of all the efforts to incite the zhiqing to remain in the countryside, to return there or to go there, the government failed to stop the rapid decline of xiaxiang, as we can see from the numbers of returns and departures for that year. In 1979 the zhiqing returned quickly and in disorderly fashion, either through a retirement “replacement” procedure or sickness or family difficulties, the latter criteria being loosely interpreted as a result of pressure exerted by both zhiqing and their parents. The rate far exceeded the official forecasts, which were generous compared with previous years. In Hebei province, the authorities had set aside 60,000 jobs for the zhiqing in the state and collective sectors, but by the end of June 108,000 had been hired.179 At the national level nearly four million zhiqing managed to return to their hometowns in 1979. Given that in 1978 two and a half million returns occurred in the last months of that year, this was a return exodus comparable to (and even slightly above) the departures from the cities to the countryside from the end of 1968 until early 1970.180 Some five million zhiqing had left during that period, and

176 177 178 179 180

Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 713–14. RMRB, November 26, 1979, p. 4, and December 18, 1979, p. 4. RMRB, December 28, 29, and 31, 1979. Hebei shengzhi—Laodongzhi, p. 112. The speed of this exodus doubtless explains the statistics for Shanxi. For instance, in 1979 there were more zhiqing centers than there were actual zhiqing. They left the countryside so rapidly and massively that the centers couldn’t close fast enough to keep up with the departures. See Shanxi tongzhi—Jingji guanlizhi—

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nearly six million returned between the end of 1978 and early 1980.181 In Shanghai, despite efforts by the municipal authorities, about 400,000 zhiqing returned in 1978–1979, or 37 percent of the total number of young people who had left between 1968 and 1977.182 On the other hand, the number of departures was far from attaining the 800,000 forecasted or even one million, posited as the ideal figure for the annual number of high school graduates (more than three million) and available urban jobs.183 The government provided no national data on the results of the mobilization launched that summer, but the few provincial figures published speak for themselves. In Liaoning province, for instance, even though the provincial government had decided to devote greater efforts to mobilization than in previous years,184 only 17,000 zhiqing were dispatched in October compared with 30,000 over the same period in 1978, when departures had already dropped sharply.185 At the end of the month, the authorities announced that 24,000 zhiqing had been mobilized, “far fewer than the established program.”186 Shanghai was a particularly revealing example. In early October 1979, the Labor Bureau organized a meeting to prepare job allocations for the 1978 high school graduates, due to begin on October 11 (one year late). Of the 90,000 young people to place, more than 30,000 were to leave for suburban state farms.187 At the end of November, the provincial authorities announced that the 60,000 who were allocated jobs in the city were to take up their posts, merely adding that the state farms would recruit young people shortly, without specifying how many out of the 30,000 assigned.188 This silence could only be due to the poor results obtained. The other incomplete figures we have all agree with this general trend, later confirmed by the national figures for 1979: 247,700 departures, or less

181 182 183 184 185 186 187 188

Laodongpian (Annals of Shanxi Province—Economic Management—Labor) (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1999), p. 51. See Figures 2 and 3 below, p. 177. RKYJ 2 (1981), p. 32. Xinhua, August 17, 1979, in FBIS, August 21, 1979; Xinhua, November 2, 1979, in FBIS, November 7, 1979. See Note 126 in this chapter. Liaoning Radio, October 16, 1979, in SWB, October 25, 1979; and Liaoning Radio, October 16, 1978, in SWB, November 3, 1978. Liaoning Radio, October 27, 1979, in SWB, November 10, 1979. Shanghai Radio, October 4, 1979, and October 11, 1979, in SWB, October 16, 1979, and November 15, 1979. Shanghai Radio, November 24, 1979, in SWB, December 20, 1979.

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than a third of the estimate.189 Clearly, most of the new young graduates applied passive resistance to rustication and the local authorities didn’t always have the means—or the desire—to fight that inertia.

1980: The End Nineteen eighty was the year the government finally recognized that it was impossible to continue xiaxiang in the post-Maoist era. The many forms of social resistance culminating in 1979 finally led the government to abandon both rustication and the Maoist discourse justifying it. This occurred at a time when large numbers of young people were arriving on the labor market and the problem then shifted, as it had started to do in 1978, and especially in 1979, to become purely one of urban employment. In the first two months of 1980, a certain pro-xiaxiang propaganda still lingered on,190 but now in a resolutely “modern” tone. The zhiqing and model teams that were promoted were financially, and even politically, successful thanks to their exploits in modernizing the countryside, mechanizing agriculture, or developing industry and trade. Emphasis was now placed on how much better life was in the countryside than in the cities. A team in Xinjiang with an average income of 1,005 yuan in 1979 (compared with 450 yuan in the model farm, Red Flag) had access to a 3,000-book library and members wrote articles about their scientific experiments.191 Anything that might possibly attract young people to spend time on the farms was highlighted. One enterprise that combined agriculture, industry, and commerce introduced an “audacious reform” of the cadre system, whereby all cadres below company level were elected “democratically” by secret ballot, renewable every six months. People with good results got bonuses. Nor was that example unique,192 which shows that the cadres in charge wanted to attract the zhiqing to their teams or farms by more efficient means than the purely administrative ones that had already failed. Thanks to the development of factories on these

189 190 191

192

See Zhongguo laodong gongzi tongji ziliao, 1949–1985, p. 110. In 1980, nine of the fifteen articles on xiaxiang in the People’s Daily were published in January and February. RMRB, January 2, 1980, p. 1; and Xinhua, January 1, 1980, in China Report, January 14, 1980. See also RMRB, February 5, 1980, p. 5, and February 25, 1980, p. 3. I heard about a zhiqing farm in Shanxi with a similar system (interview with Mang Ke, July 12, 1981).

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farms, usually subcontractors and trading companies, a growing number of zhiqing were leaving agricultural labor and earning a wage.193 The government even considered using these farms to create a network of satellite towns in the suburbs, as had been suggested a year earlier.194 “Soft” forms of xiaxiang began to emerge that bore no relation to that of previous years. For instance, Fuzhou municipality mobilized a number of graduates to reforest some bare hills in the suburbs for a two-year period, after which they were promised city jobs. During those two years, the young people were allowed to return home to study, on condition that they spent at least 120 days (for men) or 100 days (for women) carrying out their reforestation tasks.195 However, the new face of xiaxiang failed to prevent a few relics from the past from emerging sporadically. As Chinese New Year approached, a few “comfort activities” were carried out for zhiqing settled in the border regions,196 and a few “advanced zhiqing” meetings were still held until August.197 The strongest reaffirmation of traditional xiaxiang values came from Wang Enmao, first secretary of Jilin province and a “conservative” close to Wang Zhen. Early in the summer, during the period when the issue of job allocations for new graduates usually arose, Wang organized a working conference on rustication problems for the purpose of unifying “diverging opinions” on the subject, he claimed. He asserted in his speech to the conference that rustication was a fair policy and continued: “But a question remains: is it necessary for educated youth to go down to the countryside today? And I answer yes, it is. I say that it was necessary in the past, that it’s necessary today and that it will be necessary in the future.”198 Despite being a traditionalist in defending the principles and values of xiaxiang, Wang was quite aware that its form had to change. He extolled all the changes introduced since 1978 and stressed that “the household registration (hukou) and rations of rusticated zhiqing should remain unchanged.” But by then even Wang’s

193 194 195 196

197

198

RMRB, February 25, 1980, p. 3, May 30, 1980, p. 2, and June 22, 1980, p. 1. RMRB, October 27, 1979, p. 2. Xinhua, January17, 1980, in SWB, February 4, 1980. Tianjin Radio, January 22, 1980, in SWB, February 4, 1980; and Xinjiang Radio, February 11, 1980, in SWB, February 11, 1980. Both these cases dealt with zhiqing who had left before the Cultural Revolution. Xinjiang Radio, February 11, 1980, in SWB, February 4, 1980; Fujian Radio, May 13, 1980, in SWB, May 29, 1980; and Jilin Radio, August 8, 1980, in SWB, August 14, 1980. Jilin Radio, July 12, 1980, in SWB, July 18, 1980.

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“renovated” xiaxiang already smacked of another era, as did his position on the collectivization of agricultural labor. His subordinates only acted on the reformist part of his speech, and two weeks later the Jilin Daily announced on its front page that the Siping municipality had decided on a change of policy “taking into account past experience.” The Educated Youth Bureau had decided to use the funds allocated to settling 3,000 young graduates due to leave for the countryside in 1980 (or 1.8 million yuan) to provide loans for twenty suburban factories that had committed themselves to hiring zhiqing. These companies were to be exempt from taxes until 1985, unless the percentage of zhiqing in their total workforce fell below 60 percent. After one year they could obtain the status of a collective company attached to the municipality. The articles added, “For the zhiqing, factory work has a number of advantages compared with settling in the countryside. Now zhiqing are interested in their work, and make efforts to study culture and technology to be useful to the Four Modernizations.”199 Increasingly, leading cadres considered that the new form of xiaxiang was far too expensive and that the “bottomless pit” of financing it could be more usefully put to developing industrial production and the collective sector.200 According to a study carried out in one county in Sichuan province, it cost 1,900 yuan to settle a young person on an educated youth farm, 1,300 yuan in a commune or brigade enterprise, and only 500 yuan in a collective enterprise in a small town.201 The improvements in the zhiqing’s living conditions, which had begun in 1973 and continued through 1978–1979, had been carried out at a considerable cost to the state and to urban enterprises, because of the higher settlement grants, social advantages, welfare benefits, the acquisition of land for the farms as well as keeping the zhiqing on urban rationing.202 The usefulness of this expenditure was increasingly unclear, especially since despite all the improvements, the new system still failed to attract young people. The idea of using the money earmarked for settling zhiqing to help them find jobs in the cities was first raised by Deng Xiaoping himself on October 4,

199 200 201 202

Jilin Radio, July 25, 1980, in SWB, August 1, 1980. RMRB, September 17, 1980, p. 4. On the weight of xiaxiang on the state budget, see below, pp. 190–91. GRRB, July 30, 1980, p. 2. The government could avoid the cost of acquiring land in some cases by using the former May 7 cadre schools.

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1979, at a meeting with provincial party secretaries.203 The leaders of the Educated Youth Bureau subsequently prepared an implementation project. According to the bureau, if only seven or eight thousand zhiqing a year were sent to the countryside in the years to come, expenditures could be cut to five hundred million yuan, thereby saving half the billion yuan per year of the sum allocated by the national conference. That sum could be transferred by the financial services directly to the Ministry of Labor. The xiaxiang budget was consequently allocated to the departments in charge of hiring, but this turned out to be far smaller than expected, since there had been fewer departures and these had stopped sooner than the leaders had anticipated.204 The peasants’ lack of goodwill certainly played a part in the change in the official position. Decollectivization in 1980 had led to greater decisionmaking freedom and it was far harder than before to impose intruders on the peasants. Financial arrangements were, of course, possible, but at a high cost to the state or the urban work units. Under the circumstances, the government gradually gave up the very idea of pursuing rustication. As usual, political change was decided at the top during meetings of senior leaders, the contents of which were not made public. However, in May 1980 Hu Yaobang declared during a Central Committee secretariat meeting, “We must correct the system that consists of sending our educated youth to the countryside to cultivate the land. It is better to use their capacities rather than impose hardships on them. This method from the past killed two good birds with one stone.205 Now we must kill two bad birds with one stone.” Hu did not hide the fact that social resistance had played a determining role in the government’s change of attitude: If, retrospectively, we look at this system of rusticating educated youth, we see that the families did not accept it, that the peasants weren’t in favor of it, and that there was resistance in society [...]. I’m not saying that the past policy was erroneous. In the historical conditions of the time, sending so many people to the countryside was something quite remarkable. But now youngsters don’t want to become peasants. We can’t even settle them in the suburbs of Shanghai!206

However, it would still be a few months before the demise of xiaxiang

203 204 205 206

Dangdai Zhongguo de laodongli guanli, p. 445. Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p. 813. It was bad for the young people as well as for the state. Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, p. 195.

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was officially announced in some provinces. In early August, the leaders of Hubei province decided that, where possible, zhiqing should be settled in the cities, even in the municipalities or counties originally designated as having to pursue rustication.207 At the end of October, Changchun (Jilin province) announced that all graduates would now be allowed to stay in the city, including those from previous years who had not gone to the countryside.208 In November, Shaanxi was the first province to officially announce the end of all departures of zhiqing to the countryside. All young graduates were to find city jobs in the collective and private sectors, notably in services.209 The following day, Beijing municipality announced that it had decided the preceding summer to cease practicing “authoritarian” rustication, and would only encourage voluntary departures.210 Volunteers could either work on a zhiqing farm with a two-year renewable contract and a monthly salary that could not be less than 30 yuan, or register in the “half-work half-study schools” that were to open in some of the farms. In both cases they would keep their urban registration (hukou) as well as their urban rations. In reality this sounded the death knell for xiaxiang in Beijing. The new measures only concerned a few hundred people and there appear to have been no further developments. In 1980, truly voluntary departures, even under relatively privileged conditions, could only be highly unusual. Furthermore the municipality announced that those who had left before 1978 and who had spent more than two years in the countryside, had all returned, that the 10,000 zhiqing who had left in the fall of 1979 would return before September 1981, and that young people who should have left at the same time but refused to do so would not be given jobs before that date so as to give priority to those who had accepted rustication. The examples of Changchun, Shaanxi, and Beijing were representative of China as a whole. Even though the news was never officially announced, 1980 was the year rustication ceased.211 At the national level there appear to have been 155,000 departures, mainly to suburban zhiqing farms, one third of which were in the provinces of Liaoning and Heilongjiang alone. In ten prov207 208 209 210

211

Hubei Radio, August 3, 1980, in SWB, August 14, 1980. Jilin Radio, October 23, 1980, in FBIS, October 28, 1980. Shaanxi Radio, November 11, 1980, in FBIS, November 13, 1980. Beijing Radio, November 12, 1980, in FBIS, November 25, 1980. See Xinhua, December 1, 1980, and Beijing Radio, December 2, 1980, in FBIS, December 3, 1980. The provincial government of Qinghai lagged behind the more central regions, and in December approved a report on the establishment of zhiqing farms in the suburbs. However, it was fighting a rearguard action here. See Qinghai Radio, December 19, 1980, in FBIS, December 30, 1980.

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inces there were no departures at all.212 In fact the only subject that seemed to preoccupy the authorities that summer was the placement of zhiqing still languishing in the countryside. At the end of July, the Workers’ Daily revealed that there were “nearly two million” of these.213 Then in mid-August the figure of one and a half million was announced,214 meaning that nearly one and a half million young people had returned to the cities since the beginning of the year. Despite the small numbers still remaining, the Workers’ Daily stressed that it was important for cadres to solve these young people’s employment problems, and provided three suggestions: — regrouping them in zhiqing farms and enterprises combining agriculture, industry, and commerce, with independent accounting but requiring assistance to develop. The hardest problem to solve was the zhiqing who had married local peasants. They formed the majority of the 430,000 “old zhiqing” who had left before the end of 1972 and who were still in the countryside.215 In some places, they had been accepted in zhiqing teams with their spouses and children. An urban spouse was able to keep his/her urban registration (hukou) and rations, and had a basic guaranteed wage, whereas the other spouse kept his/her rural hukou and was paid in work points; — hiring them in collective enterprises in the cities and towns where the authorities encouraged their growth by a variety of means, including the allocation of funds initially intended for settling zhiqing in the countryside; — maintaining the married zhiqing who enjoyed good living conditions and “really wanted to take root in their village” where they were, but with special assistance from the Educated Youth Bureau they depended on. They were invited to draw up a list of their requirements in housing, agricultural tools, and furniture, and any with specific talents were allowed to become self-employed (getihu 個體戶) and obtain help with equipping themselves (for instance with a sewing machine, hair dressing appliances, etc.). In this case they would get their urban hukou back. This important article—the last to deal with the subject at the national level—clearly expressed a desire to rapidly end a problem that had been poisoning the social atmosphere for years and had become an obstacle to uniting all the country’s forces in the march toward the Four Modernizations. 212

213 214 215

Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, p. 193. These 155,000 zhiqing are not usually included in xiaxiang statistics since their stay had been very short. This figure has never been officially confirmed. GRRB, July 30, 1980, p. 2. Zhongguo xinwen, August 12, 1980, in JPRS-China Report, October 3, 1980. According to Gu Hongzhang, there were only 200,000 zhiqing who had married local peasants; see Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, p. 212.

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The author explicitly referred to the concern of elderly parents who, in their old age, had good reason to be concerned about the future of their children and launched a plea to the Educated Youth Bureau to rapidly solve this “nagging and difficult problem” (lao da’nan wenti 老大難問題). It did so in the name of “a sense of revolutionary responsibility” with regard to the young people who had been tempered by trials but had still not received decent work, and who were sometimes “in despair, both discontented and disoriented.” At the end of 1980, there remained 960,000 zhiqing in the villages and several thousand on the farms.216 They were a very small percentage (6–7 percent) of the hordes of young people who had been dispatched to the countryside over the preceding twelve years. Even including a few hundred former zhiqing from the large cities who had obtained salaried nonagricultural employment in the cities and towns where they had been sent, the figure was still under 10 percent, so we can safely say that this massive population movement had finally drawn to a close. The ebb and flow of young people as a result of xiaxiang are summarized in Figures 1 through 3.217 Figure 1. Numbers of Zhiqing Sent Down Per Year Total, 1962–1980: 17,919,800 (of which 1967–1980: 16,627,000) (in millions)

Source: Zhongguo laodong gongzi tongji ziliao, 1949–1985, p. 110.

216 217

On the numbers in the villages, see Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, p. 193. We created the Figures using the following sources: Zhongguo laodong gongzi tongji ziliao, 1949–1985, pp. 110–11; and Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, pp. 193 and 301.

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Figure 2. Total Number of Departures of Zhiqing to the Countryside (1962–1980) (in millions)

Sources: Zhongguo laodong gongzi tongji ziliao, 1949–1985, pp. 110–11; and Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, pp. 193, 301.

As Figure 2 shows, the number of zhiqing in the countryside continued to rise until 1977, despite the returns.218 After 1978, however, there was a fall in the number of departures as well as a rapid rise in the number of returns. Figure 3. Zhiqing Departures and Returns (1974–1979) (in millions)

Source: Zhongguo laodong gongzi tongji ziliao, 1949–1985, pp. 110–11.

218

The use of “return” is a simplification, since it includes the zhiqing who changed status without returning to their towns of origin.

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The map shows the general trend of the main inter-provincial migrations due to xiaxiang. Departures were from the main province-ranking cities (Beijing, Tianjin, and Shanghai), either to nearby provinces or, conversely, to populate and develop distant border regions. The majority of flows occurred within the provincial (or municipal) boundaries, but nearly 8 percent of zhiqing (1,429,200 out of 17,919,800 between 1962 and 1980) were sent beyond them. Map 1. Main Migratory Movements of Zhiqing between Provinces

Returns and Employment Problems (1979–1980) Just as the organization of xiaxiang had caused the government a great deal of trouble, so did its abrupt ending. The massive displacement of individuals merely transferred the problems in the countryside back to the cities and consequently focused the government’s attention to the issue of urban

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employment.219 In 1979 China was facing an employment problem that was unprecedented since 1949, with some 20 million jobless people to place in the cities, or the equivalent of about 20 percent of the working population.220 Some of the measures taken were geared to reforming the economy, while others were to have a negative effect on productivity and became considerable obstacles to the economic development of the cities. In the former category were all the measures taken to develop light industry and services through collective and individual enterprises, able to employ more people for a lower financial investment. All previous bans and obstacles to these types of enterprise were now removed. For instance, in August 1979 Beijing municipality withdrew the regulation by which young people who had stayed in the cities or returned for reasons of family difficulties could be allocated jobs in state enterprises whereas those who had stayed on or returned for reasons of illhealth could only be allocated jobs in collective ones.221 Many other discriminatory measures were also abolished and “young people awaiting employment” (daiye qingnian 待業青年) were encouraged with loans and tax exemptions to set up collective or individual enterprises. This encompassed recently returned zhiqing as well as recent graduates who had stayed in the cities without jobs. “Work and services companies” (laodong fuwu gongsi 勞 動服務公司) were set up to provide jobs, usually temporary, and train unemployed young people, particularly the recently returned zhiqing.222 To some extent therefore, having to deal with the serious urban employment situation without resorting to the “simple” solution of xiaxiang ultimately benefitted 219

220 221 222

Symbolic of this change, Zhuzhou municipality was cited twice as an example for its results in placing young people, with no mention of the suburban farms that had made it famous. See Hunan Radio, June 14, 1979, in FBIS, June 22, 1979; and RMRB, June 4, 1980, p. 3. This official figure was reduced later, but it seems more plausible than 15 million. On this problem see Bonnin, “Urban Employment in Post-Maoist China.” Xinhua, August 11, 1979, in FBIS, August 13, 1979. Thus the Xuhui neighborhood in Shanghai set up a “work and services team” (laodong fuwudui 勞 動 服 務 隊 ) in 1978, which grouped together 200 recently returned zhiqing and in February 1979 became a “company” employing 900 persons. See Xinhua, February 12, 1979, in FBIS, February 14, 1979. In August 1979, a group from the Franco-Chinese Friendship Association visiting the company in Shanghai was told that it comprised 80 percent of recently returned zhiqing. See the typewritten report of the visit on August 11, 1979 headed “Visit to the Public Services Company” (Amitiés franco-chinoises, “Visite de la Société des Services publics”), p. 1.

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the country’s economic growth. It obliged the Communist Party to abandon its dogma whereby the state economy, major enterprises, and heavy industry always had absolute priority. On the other hand, the urgency of an exceptional situation, in which the abandonment of xiaxiang and the massive return of zhiqing who had been away for many years, combined with the arrival onto the labor market of large cohorts of new entrants, forced the authorities to use economically harmful hiring methods that later had to be abandoned. First and foremost in this category was the system of replacing retirees with one of their children (dingti).223 This was an efficient method, since in three months from November 1978 to January 1979, 100,000 young people were placed in Shanghai,224 and in Tianjin 110,000 were placed within six months.225 As a result there was a wave of retirements and early retirements (sometimes for fictitious health reasons), which revealed the seriousness of the youth employment problem at the time.226 Dingti played a vital role in solving the employment problem in Shanghai since 279,000 Shanghai zhiqing found work there between October 1978 and December 1981 as a result.227 At the national level, during the five years when the dingti system was practiced on a wide scale (1978 to 1983), 80 percent of persons who retired or resigned were able to benefit from it, enabling more than nine million young people to obtain jobs,228 a large (but unspecified) number of whom were zhiqing. After 1979 many local authorities also accepted the placement of young people using the “branch responsibility” method (guikou baogan 歸口包幹 or xitong baogan 系統包幹), which was applied in practice as “unit responsibility” (danwei baogan 單位包幹), whereby each work unit was charged with finding jobs for the children of employees still working for them.229 In fact, this was an extension of the

223 224 225 226 227 228 229

See p. 141. Shanghai Radio, February 13, 1979, in FBIS, February 15, 1979. In August the figure had risen to 170,000. See AFC, interview with Mr. Chen Shou, p. 7. Xinhua, July 3, 1979, in SWB, July 14, 1979. Bonnin, “Urban Employment in Post-Maoist China,” p. 202. Zhongguo Renkou—Shanghai, pp. 150, 156. Dangdai Zhongguo de laodongli guanli, p. 152. In theory the municipal office in charge of the economic sector in question should have been responsible for placement and not the unit. See Zhuang Qidong et al., “Liaoningsheng chengzhen laodong jiuye wenti diaocha” (Inquiry into Labor and Employment Problems in the Cities of Liaoning Province), Jingji yanjiu 12 (1981), pp. 25–31; see also Qingnian jiuye de tansuo yu shijian, pp. 5–6, 117, 153.

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system introduced in 1974 by which the parents’ work units and not the schools managed the rustication of their children.230 It was a response to understandable social pressure in a society where the most important goods were not obtained according to market laws or recognized merit (examinations), but by knowing the right people (guanxi). Given that the relationship network (guanxiwang 關係網) of most ordinary people barely went beyond the community in charge of them, in other words their work units (danwei), people naturally turned to these to solve a problem as important as their children’s employment.231 The work units had already been managing xiaxiang in Guangdong since 1975, the difference there being that it was a rolling system, with work units hiring their employees’ children two or three years after having rusticated them.232 The downside of all these systems was that they created a kind of heredity employment, with negative consequences on the quality and motivation of the labor force as well as problems of overstaffing. In a concern for economic efficiency and to offset these negative effects, the government set up a system of selective examinations for employment applicants from the end of 1978. The most successful applicants obtained jobs in the state sector, the passable ones in the collective sector, while the others were encouraged to leave for the suburban farms. This system demonstrates the rather diminished role of the new xiaxiang as a last resort for the unemployed.233 For most of the educated youth still in the countryside or who had returned to the cities to try to find work, the exam system was another blow. They were far less favored than the young secondary school graduates who had been lucky enough to receive a fairly normal education based on certain academic criteria. Those earlier zhiqing who had received a limited and chaotic education in which the works of Chairman Mao and participating in political struggle sessions and manual labor had priority, and who, after years of farm work, had forgotten most of what they once might have learned, felt they were victims twice over. As some pointed out, “Previously the Gang of Four deprived us of the possibility to study, and now to get a job, we are required to have studied. We’re really unlucky!” In many places zhiqing held demonstrations and signed petitions to protest against having to compete with

230 231 232 233

See p. 95. Under the circumstances it is easy to understand the protest actions by the children of Nanchang Railway employees mentioned on p. 151. Interview with G. M., April 25, 1981. See also Unger, Education under Mao, p. 169. See a reader’s letter about the situation in Shanghai, in Mingbao, March 15, 1980.

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young graduates, and because the years they had spent in the countryside in answer to the party’s call counted for nothing. Although no one referred to it of course, Zhang Tiesheng’s former complaint could now be applied to a new situation, the difference being that the 1979 zhiqing were challenging not the principle of exams, but the fact that their specific history was not taken into account. In many places, the local authorities modified the original project and used a variety of methods to at least partially offset these zhiqing’s disadvantages.234 Overall, the measures taken to increase employment opportunities in 1979 and 1980 were effective, and more than 18 million jobs were found over the two years.235 Even if those figures were “enhanced” by the addition of temporary jobs, they did reflect a real increase in employment. Of course urban unemployment was not immediately eradicated but it was contained in limits compatible with the maintenance of social order, for the government had become concerned about the consequences of unemployment on “the social atmosphere,” notably the demoralization of young people, and on juvenile delinquency.236 The unemployed young people, zhiqing and others, were in very difficult situations, which affected the livelihoods of their families, many of which lived in great poverty. According to a survey carried out in early 1979 of a broad sample of families with a long-term unemployed offspring, 10 percent had a monthly income of below 15 yuan per head. The odd jobs the young people occasionally found only paid between 0.7 or 0.8 yuan per day.237 This situation was especially difficult for the older zhiqing who returned to their families. Between January and May that year, there were eighty suicides among the unemployed in Beijing. Disaffection with the regime was running high, and many people felt that unemployment radically challenged the “superiority of socialism” invoked by the authorities. Inactivity and poverty was indeed leading some young people to delinquency. At the time, two thirds of crimes and misdemeanors were carried out by unemployed youths and zhiqing.238 Because the zhiqing were usually among the older unemployed, but also the most likely to organize protest action, they were generally given priority over recent graduates who had remained in the cities, many of whom had to 234 235 236 237 238

Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 820–27. Bonnin, “Urban Employment in Post-Maoist China,” p. 215. See RMRB, June 8, 1979, p. 1, and July 24, 1979, p. 1. Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 801–2. Ibid., pp. 802–3.

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wait a number of years before entering the labor market.239 Despite that, most zhiqing still had to wait several months, if not several years, before getting jobs. In Shanghai, more than 90,000 zhiqing who had been authorized to return were still without work in September 1979,240 and many others had returned without authorization or were waiting for authorization to return. Jiangsu province, a model for hiring young people, had only placed 88 percent of its former zhiqing in July 1980.241 At the end of the year a fairly large— albeit difficult to estimate precisely—portion was still awaiting job allocations. After 1981, educated youths were no longer classified separately in the employment figures at the national level, but we know that in Xi’an, for example, they represented a third of the total number of young people hired in state enterprises that year.242 Thanks to their “priority,” the majority of zhiqing who were authorized to return but were still without work in 1980 found jobs in 1981. The measures for developing the economy and boosting employment were successful, and overall from the end of 1982 the returned zhiqing as well as others waiting for jobs at the end of the 1970s had obtained work.243 In Shanghai between 1979 and 1982, jobs were found for 1,538,000 persons, of whom 886,000 were zhiqing returned to the city.244 However, the zhiqing were often obliged to accept the least sought-after jobs. Because of their age, many could not be employed in the state sector where the age limit was lower than in the collective sector. Some state enterprises used their new-found autonomy (granted in 1979) to lower the limit to 24 years, whereas in the collective sector the hiring age was from 16 to 35 years.245 In any case, there were not enough jobs in the state sector for all the people wanting work, so many zhiqing had to make do with less prestigious jobs in the collective and individual sectors.246 As we 239

240 241 242 243 244 245 246

This priority was in theory even greater for the “old zhiqing” who left before the end of 1972. See GRRB, July 30, 1980, p. 2; and Jiangxi Radio, October 14, 1980, in FBIS, October 17, 1980. WHB, September 27, 1979, p. 1. GRRB, July 30, 1980, p. 2. Qingnian jiuye de tansuo yu shijian, p. 163. Of the 29 provinces, 24 claimed to have placed them all. See Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p. 814. Zhongguo renkou—Shanghai fence, p. 269. Ibid., p. 189. Specialists believed that it was vital to develop these two sectors for placing people who were discriminated against in state sector jobs, i.e., the sick and disabled, former delinquents, young girls, and “old zhiqing” who had returned to the cities.

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have seen, those who had come from villages in the people’s communes (i.e., the majority) were subjected to financial discrimination since their seniority in the workplace was not recognized. Some were hired as apprentices, despite their age, but were allowed to reduce the duration of their apprenticeships.247

The Return of Examinations: A Saving Grace for Some Zhiqing While many zhiqing had to return “through the back door,” others fared better thanks to family support or their own talents. In the vast flow back to the cities, the royal path was the entrance examination to higher education, but only a small fraction of zhiqing could take it. As we have seen, in 1977 and 1978 the government raised the age limit to 30 for sitting for the university entrance exams to allow the majority of zhiqing to apply if they wanted to. Many tried their luck, but given the small number of available places few were chosen.248 The universities also discriminated against the older zhiqing and some of them, whose marks in 1977 should have allowed them to go to the best universities, were only accepted in a special annex of Beijing Normal University in a supplementary quota of students.249 After 1979, the age limit was brought down to 25 but with possibilities for dispensations up to the age of 28, yet very few were granted in 1980, and young people who already had jobs were discouraged from taking the exam.250 Thus the year’s graduates represented only 20 percent or 30 percent of applicants in 1977, 50 percent in 1978, 67 percent in 1979, and a broad majority in 1980.251

247 248 249

250 251

See Qingnian jiuye de tansuo yu shijian, pp. 189, 258. Xinhua, August 11, 1979, in FBIS, August 13, 1979. See Note 18 in this chapter. Beijing zhi chun 3, in Widor, Documents sur le Mouvement démocratique chinois, vol. 2, p. 229. On the establishment of these university “annexes” and students outside the quotas, see Suzanne Pepper, “Chinese Education after Mao: Two Steps Forward, Two Steps Back and Begin Again?,” China Quarterly 81 (March 1980), pp. 26–27; and Suzanne Pepper, China’s Universities (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1983), pp. 103–5. Xinhua, May 17, 1979, in FBIS, May 18, 1979. The dispensations were stopped completely in 1982; see Pepper, China’s Universities, p. 11. See Pepper, “Chinese Education,” pp. 16–17. At the same time, the average age of students accepted by Wuhan University fell from 20 in 1977 to 17 in 1980; see Pepper, China’s Universities, p. 136.

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The 439,000 zhiqing who went to university between 1977 and 1979 as well as (albeit to a lesser extent) roughly the same number who had gone as “worker-soldier-peasant students” between 1970 and 1976, were at least able to quench their long-frustrated desire to study and obtain decent jobs after three to four years.252 They were the lucky survivors of the intellectual destruction of the Cultural Revolution. In fact, by the end of 1980, the former zhiqing were nearly all “survivors” since they had succeeded in returning to their hometowns after dreaming about it for years. But as a social phenomenon, xiaxiang did not disappear in one fell swoop. Its shadow continued to haunt many segments of Chinese society for years.

252

The total number was 940,714, but we do not know the percentage of zhiqing. Since these students had received a mediocre education, their status deteriorated after 1977. Some had to pass exams again to keep their jobs. However, compared with the rest of their generation they were nevertheless part of the privileged elite that was able to pursue higher education.

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The Shadow of Xiaxiang in the 1980s

At the end of February 1981, to put an end to a specter haunting the “back alleys” of China,1 the Liaoning Daily published two articles in which the heads of the provincial Labor Bureaus denied the “groundless rumors” that the current year’s graduates would be rusticated. They insisted that the largest possible number of young people would be placed in urban state and collective sectors, many others would be able to replace their retiring parents, and still others recruited into the army or hired by county “work and services companies.”2 However, neither of the two articles excluded the possibility of a small number of young people being sent to the countryside. In May that year, the party first secretary of Heilongjiang province explicitly stated that some Harbin zhiqing would be placed in the suburbs but with a number of significant advantages.3 At the national level, Kang Yonghe, director of the General Labor Bureau, described the development of suburban farms, factories, and companies combining agriculture, industry, and commerce, as being one way

1 2 3

Rumors are humorously called “back alley news” (xiaodao xiaoxi 小道消息 ). Liaoning Radio, February 28, 1981, in FBIS, March 2, 1981. Heilongjiang Radio, May 2, 1981, in FBIS, May 4, 1981.

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to solve the employment problem of the country’s urban youth.4 Item 9 of the October 1981 decision by the Central Committee and the State Council also called for suburban zhiqing farms to be efficiently managed and for unemployed youth to be encouraged to go there through a combination of political mobilization and economic incentives.5 Despite that reminder of a policy that had officially ceased since the end of 1978, the number of departures in 1981 was small, although some companies continued to place some of their employees’ children temporarily in “market gardening bases” (nongfuye jidi 農副業基地) and zhiqing farms they had established in suburbs. Nothing further appears to have resulted from Item 9 and the following year there was no mention of departures to zhiqing farms. In fact the very term disappeared from the press and official documents. The measures suggested for solving the employment problems were restricted to the individual and collective sectors of the urban economy and the development of “work and services companies.”6

Disappearance of the “Zhiqing Bureau” and Closure of Accounts On November 25, 1981, the Educated Youth Bureau under the State Council ceased to exist as a separate entity. It was merged with a new institution called the Employment Department (Jiuyesi 就業司) established within the General Labor Bureau.7 That was the logical consequence of abandoning rustication and transforming the zhiqing problem into a mere urban employment issue. It meant that the zhiqing, as a specific social group, no longer justified the existence of an administrative entity solely devoted to its issues. Specific institutions had existed for nearly twenty years at the central level, with a few years’ interruption during the Cultural Revolution.8 All the local bureaus at the provincial and county level were dismantled and the remaining zhiqing issues

4 5 6

7 8

La Chine en Construction, February 1981, p. 27. Xinhua, November 23, 1981, in FBIS, November 25, 1981. See for example, Zhongguo baike nianjian 1983 (Encyclopedic Yearbook of China, 1983) (Beijing, Shanghai: Zhongguo da baike quanshu chubanshe, 1983), pp. 663–64. Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, p.  249. In March 1982 the General Labor Bureau merged with the Ministry of Personnel and Labor. For a history of these institutions, see Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), pp. 245–50.

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were placed under the responsibility of the services of the General Labor Bureau. The two important tasks remaining for the Educated Youth Bureau were to liquidate the former zhiqing’s possessions and draw up a financial balance sheet for xiaxiang. From 1962 to 1979, the settlement bonus for building housing for zhiqing totaled nearly three billion yuan. The purchase of agricultural instruments, furniture, and domestic equipment cost the state several hundred thousand yuan. In 1978, when the zhiqing massively and rapidly fled back to the cities, they left behind many of their possessions. The peasants, who considered that the zhiqing had been a burden on them imposed by the government, and who had often helped to build their housing, tended to appropriate these goods for themselves without authorization and divert any yet unused funds earmarked for the zhiqing. Thus in spring 1978 a survey carried out in Jilin province revealed that more than four million yuan had been diverted, not counting funds that had simply been appropriated for personal use, such as organizing banquets. In addition, 28,000 zhiqing housing units (22.8 percent of the total) had been occupied by cadres and members of the people’s communes. Another survey in Anhui province revealed similar incidents as well as the practice of inflating the number of zhiqing present to obtain the corresponding funds. In many places, the tools and domestic utensils had been seized by the peasants, had been taken away by the zhiqing, or had merely deteriorated.9 In April 1979 the Educated Youth Bureau and the Ministry of Finance issued a clarification of the law on the subject. The document stated that unused property and funds must be allocated first and foremost to the zhiqing remaining in the countryside. The state, represented by the departments in charge of zhiqing at the county level, was to recover a certain sum for any surplus housing, tools, and utensils. This should then be used to help the remaining zhiqing and anything left over was to be shared between the county-level offices and their senior hierarchy. To determine the sums that the brigades were to pay to acquire the zhiqing’s former belongings, fierce negotiations were held with the small leadership groups established in each county to manage the liquidation process. The groups were tasked with finding a balance between the interests of the state, the local authorities, and the people, while the practical aspects were left to the negotiators. In some counties, the state succeeded in recovering between 30 percent and 40 percent of

9

Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 842–43.

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what it had paid out to build housing for the zhiqing, but in many others the peasants considerably underestimated their worth.10 In the suburbs of Beijing, housing that had cost the state 375  yuan was sold back to the state for 17  yuan. One quarter had been given away.11 In some cases the peasant cadres refused outright to pay because of their own expenditures on the educated youth, or demanded rental for the land that had been allocated to the farms. Agricultural implements and tools were generally given to the brigades. Overall, the results of these negotiations benefitted the local authorities, who were able to recover some of the losses caused by xiaxiang. The state only salvaged a small part of what it had spent on the zhiqing but the bodies in charge of liquidating their goods were satisfied with having recovered unused credits and a small part of the housing expenditure. These sums were devoted to job creation and helping the remaining zhiqing left behind. The financial cost of xiaxiang was considerable and could not be excluded from the overall evaluation of the movement. According to the statistics from the Educated Youth Bureau, the central government spent a total of 7.5 billion yuan on xiaxiang (of which nearly seven billion was spent during the period 1968–1979).12 But the cost of rustication to the nation was far greater, since that sum did not include local government expenditures or what companies and administrations had to pay out for settling their employees’ children. After 1974 this additional expenditure was very high and, according to estimates based on local samples, would have been at least as much again as the cost to the central government.13 The total cost would therefore have been in the order of 15 billion yuan, a figure that does not include salaries and other operating costs incurred by the Educated Youth Bureau and the entire administration depending on it down to county level, or the salaries of the cadres accompanying the zhiqing, of which there were upward of 100,000 for a several years.14 Expenditures for the 1962–1966 period were very limited, but for 1968–1979 they may have been in the region of 15  billion yuan, which represented approximately 1.6 percent of total government expenditures for that period. Nor did this sum include the expenses incurred by the brigades and production teams in the villages 10 11 12 13 14

Ibid., pp. 843–46. Beijingzhi—Zonghe jingji guanli juan—Laodongzhi, p. 53. Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, p. 309. Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p.  842; and Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, p. 218. Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, p. 307.

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hosting the young people, or the financial support that many parents had to provide for their zhiqing children. The state expenditure for helping the zhiqing return to the cities and find jobs was also considerable but very difficult to estimate. Even the closure of the Educated Youth Bureau and the liquidation of its assets did not mean that the government had entirely finished with xiaxiang. Throughout the 1980s, it continued to praise rustication and “taking root” and took measures to settle the zhiqing still in the countryside.

Keeping the “Little Fish Abandoned on the Shore” in Place15 At the end of 1980, fewer than 10 percent of the zhiqing were still in the villages, farms, or regions where they had been sent. The government had taken care of their future, to show them that the state was “in charge to the very end” as well as to prevent them from returning to their city of origin.16 By 1981, the period of comfort teams and comfort letters at Chinese New Year was over, but the press nevertheless continued to provide examples of zhiqing who had remained in the countryside of their own free will, and had succeeded both professionally and socially.17 It even lavished praise on a former zhiqing who returned to Tianjin in 1977 to work in a factory and who in 1979, at her own request, returned to the suburban village she had left two years earlier.18 But these exceptional cases could not hide the fact that even among the minority remaining in the countryside, true volunteers were a smaller minority still. Most young people remained there simply because the government refused to return their urban registrations (hukou) and give them jobs. That was particularly true for the Shanghai zhiqing who had been rusticated to distant Xinjiang province.

15

16

17 18

Expression used by a character in the short story by Zhang Kangkang called “Ta” (The Pagoda), Shouhuo 3 (1983). In a similar vein, another author spoke of “foam left on the rocks by the outgoing waves” (Jin Dalu, Shiyun yu mingyun, p. 36). The slogan “The state takes care of you and is in charge to the end” (“Guojia guanxin, fuze daodi”) was first used by Zhou Enlai in 1965 to describe the government’s efforts in favor of zhiqing. It was used regularly after that. See Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, p. 216. RMRB, January 8, 1981, p. 4, May 4, 1981, p. 1, June 10, 1981, p. 4, October 27, 1981, p. 3, March 1, 1983, p. 4, and August 31, 1983, p. 2. RMRB, April 7, 1981, p. 2.

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A Special Case: The Shanghai Zhiqing in Xinjiang Although their protest movement was inspired by that of their fellow zhiqing in Yunnan, the struggle of the Shanghai zhiqing in Xinjiang did not meet with the same success.19 About 100,000 young people had actually left before the Cultural Revolution, mainly between 1963 and 1966 in four batches per year.20 The majority had “bad” family backgrounds and were more or less obliged to leave, while the illusions of the minority of idealists who left then did not withstand the culture shock of moving from the most modern city in China to one of the harshest regions of the country, both in terms of climate and economic backwardness. Furthermore, the Cultural Revolution had been especially violent among the Production and Construction Corps (bingtuan) there and the zhiqing had been the preferred targets in the ensuing crackdown. Nor were relations with the local cadres good. The zhiqing were unhappy with the chronic deficits and the backwardness of the farms, for which the large number of cadres and their poor agricultural skills were largely to blame.21 By the end of the 1970s, most of the zhiqing were married and had children. They now faced a new problem, namely their children’s education and future, and were worried about the low level of teaching in the local schools. Under the jiedu 借讀 system, which allowed children to go to school outside of their place of residence, some were able to send their children back to their own parents in Shanghai to study.22 However, the children 19

20

21 22

In addition to the official press accounts of the period, we have a detailed account by one of the participants: Lu Wen, “Wo jinglile Xinjiang shijian” (I Lived through the Xinjiang  Affair), Zhengming 44 (June 1981), pp.  12–16. Liu Xiaomeng also devoted a detailed chapter to it (Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp.  748– 64). In Hong Kong we were able to interview a couple of former zhiqing from Shanghai who were living in Xinjiang at the time of these events (interview with F. M. D. and L. L. Z., July 21, 1985). Numbers vary from 80,000 to 100,000, but the larger numbers come up more frequently. See Lu Wen, “Wo jinglile Xinjiang shijian,” p. 9; RMRB, February 14, 1979, p.  4; Kyodo, September 28, 1981, in FBIS, September 29, 1981; RMRB, September 1, 1983, p. 1. That was also the number given by Liu Xiaomeng, Ding Yizhuang, and Gu Hongzhang in their accounts. The Shanghai and Xinjiang annals provide lower numbers, but these are not reliable due to several obvious discrepancies. On some farms there was one cadre for every six employees. See Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p. 749. This system, which literally means “lending teaching,” was not specific to Shanghai or restricted to zhiqing, but also applied to cadres on assignment (Lu

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would still be obliged to return to Xinjiang since that was where they were registered. While the zhiqing themselves might have grown resigned to their fate with age and the length of their stay in Xinjiang, they nevertheless wanted to save their own children from suffering the same fate. Consequently, as soon as they learned that the “return wind” was enabling all the zhiqing to return, and especially the Shanghainese zhiqing settled in other regions, as well as zhiqing from other towns sent to Xinjiang,23 they decided the time had come to act. The Yunnan example was a determining factor and zhiqing from the Aksu region in southern Xinjiang began to make contact and founded a Committee of Young Shanghainese (Shanghai qingnian lianhe weiyuanhui 上海青年聯合委員會, or Shangqinglian 上青聯 for short).24 They arranged for a delegation to take their petition to Beijing, but perhaps due to the slow communications and the fact that they were scattered over a wide area, the delegation only left in mid-April 1979, that is to say right in the period of political tightening up. The delegation presented the zhiqing’s demands (namely permission to return to Shanghai for all who wanted it) to a representative from the Ministry of Agricultural Land Clearing (Nongkenbu 農墾部).25 After ten days or so of discussions, during which the government held firm, the ministry asked the delegates to return to Xinjiang, promising to send a working group very quickly and to hold consultations with all parties concerned. The delegates returned without having taken any public political action in Beijing. On their return to Xinjiang they made their report to the others and waited for the arrival of the working group. However, it never appeared. Instead a mysterious “survey group into hydraulic works and agricultural production” passed through shortly afterward, and the farm cadres suddenly declared that the Committee of Young Shanghainese was an illegal organization and had to be dissolved

23 24

25

Wen, “Wo jinglile Xinjiang shijian,” and interview with C. Y. L., June 14, 1986). Zhiqing from Tianjin, Zhejiang, Jiangsu, Wuhan, and Beijing arrived at the same time as those from Shanghai, but in smaller numbers. There were large numbers of Shanghai zhiqing since more than 40,000 of the total 100,000 Shanghai zhiqing were sent to the Aksu region, which at the time of their arrival constituted the First Division of the bingtuan. At the end of 1978, 29,000 remained (Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p. 752). This ministry had only just been reestablished. See Xinhua, March 28, 1979, in FBIS, March 28, 1979, which explains why Lu Wen and Liu Xiaomeng still used its former name of State Bureau of Agricultural Land Clearing (Nongken zongju 農墾總局 ).

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immediately. The zhiqing felt betrayed and began to foment further action. Since reasoned discussion had led nowhere, they decided to go back to Beijing to cause a disturbance, even if it entailed some arrests. Several dozen delegates met in Urumqi between July 19 and 22 and demonstrated in the provincial capital while waiting for their train. In early August that year, preparations were underway for the October celebrations of the thirtieth anniversary of the People’s Republic. To avoid any trouble, the government ordered that the zhiqing be prevented from leaving. The police acted immediately and in the middle of the night they surrounded the place where the delegates were staying. The delegates were arrested and placed under surveillance for a month. Those who had already left were arrested at various stations on the way to the capital and sent back under escort. Some of them, however, did succeed in reaching Shanghai, where they posted dazibaos but failed to achieve their aims.26 From the end of that year, organized action flared up again throughout the Aksu region. In one farm, 500 zhiqing demonstrated with their children carrying banners stating “We want our grandmothers!” Many young people from Shanghai asked to return for “health reasons” and some forcibly got hold of official seals to validate their applications. Strikes were held in most of the farms, and the local cadres began to accept the idea that the zhiqing would ultimately leave. But on January 2, 1980, the provincial authorities issued a decree calling for the dissolution of all “illegal organizations” on pain of severe punishment. Between February 4 and 15, the Aksu Daily published a series of five articles vigorously attacking the zhiqing, described as “anarchists” and “troublemakers.” Following the decree, the zhiqing opted for a go-slow policy while awaiting their return to Shanghai, which seriously disrupted the springtime agricultural work. There was also an increase in the number of zhiqing returning illegally to Shanghai, especially those who were able to replace a retired parent (dingti). While officially dissolved, the Committee of Young Shanghainese continued to exist and new organizations sprung up, which encouraged the zhiqing to request returns for reasons of “special difficulties” (tekun). In mid-November, between 3,000 and 4,000 zhiqing gathered in Aksu and occupied the reception area of the Bureau of Agricultural Land Clearing and other government buildings. They were joined by zhiqing from throughout the region. Under their elected leader, Ouyang Lian, a widowed Shanghainese without children who was prepared to

26

See Note 114, Chapter 6.

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sacrifice himself for the cause, 1,300 people took part in a 100-hour hunger strike on November 23. When it ended at the appointed time on November 27, more than 200 zhiqing had fainted and had to be taken to hospital in outdoor temperatures of −20°C. The day before, the local authorities had transmitted a telegram from the State Council to the hunger strikers, which called on them to suspend their action immediately. The zhiqing decided instead to organize a convoy of trucks to take them to Urumqi where they would continue their protests. Unfortunately, one of the trucks overturned on the way, resulting in three deaths and some twenty injured. The convoy returned to Aksu where the zhiqing found that the local authorities had just capitulated and agreed to return their household registrations documents (hukou). Delighted, the young people went back to their farms to sell off their furniture. They were allowed to recover their original hukou and given a 200 yuan per head travel allowance. A few farewell ceremonies were even held, in a fairly friendly and warm atmosphere, as in Heilongjiang and Yunnan provinces in early 1979. After having devoted more than ten years of service to the cause of developing the border regions, the zhiqing were congratulated and urged to work hard for the Four Modernizations. News of their success reached the young people in other regions of Xinjiang such as Nanjiang, Kashgar, and Korla, who also took up protest action with the same result as their colleagues in Aksu. To all intents and purposes the problems of the young Shanghai zhiqing had finally been solved. But just as the zhiqing were celebrating their victory, the central government announced that it refused to validate the local authorities’ decision and described the demonstrators’ actions as “counterrevolutionary.” Worse still, the Shanghai authorities refused to accept their former residents or to provide them with jobs. The central government ordered troops from the Lanzhou Military Region to intercept the young people and ordered that tickets to Shanghai could only be sold on receipt of a special authorization from the Xinjiang government. The zhiqing were arrested in the stations and sent off to various reception centers where military trucks picked them up with their children and their baggage and returned them to their point of departure. In just a few months more than 10,000 were intercepted. On December 26, the State Council authorized the arrest of nine zhiqing leaders while forty-three more were held pending inquiries. Despite that, a number of them had succeeded in reaching Shanghai, along with thousands of others home on family visits for the approaching Chinese New Year on February 5. In all, some 20,000 young Shanghainese

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had returned between the end of 1980 and early 1981.27 Most tried by any means possible to stay on in Shanghai, but the municipality refused to register them and directed the police and neighborhood committees to control them and convince them to return to their posts. The zhiqing held demonstrations in December and early January, but after the one held on January 11, 1981, the Shanghai authorities issued an edict banning all gatherings and public speaking.28 In December the central government had discussed ways of keeping the majority of Shanghai zhiqing still in Xinjiang where they were. In March, following a directive from Prime Minister Zhao Ziyang, the Xinjiang and Shanghai authorities met in Beijing to study the problem. They issued a joint document on March 30, 1981, called “Concrete solutions to the problems of educated youth helping the frontiers on agricultural land-clearing farms in Xinjiang.” These clear rules authorized the return to Shanghai for replacing a parent taking retirement, or if the presence of that person was necessary for family reasons, or in the event of the person losing his/her physical or mental capacity to work (the equivalent of the dingti, kuntui, and bingtui applicable to other zhiqing). However, one subtle point prevented too many zhiqing returning to the city: when only one spouse met the criteria to return, the couple would not be given jobs in Shanghai, but on a farm depending on that municipality.29 As a result Haifeng, located in northern Jiangsu province but attached to Shanghai for administrative purposes, received 6,100 zhiqing and their children between February 1982 and November 1983, and had to build new housing to receive others.30 According to April 1984 figures, 16,000 zhiqing were able to leave Xinjiang thanks to these new rules, and 30,000 finally agreed to stay on. This figure includes 17,000 zhiqing who had returned illegally to Shanghai and who were sent back as a result of pressure from neighborhood heads, official propaganda and, sometimes, parents who didn’t want to be burdened with adult children

27 28 29

30

Kyodo, September 28, 1981, in FBIS, September 29, 1981. AFP Beijing, January 15, 1981, and AFP Hong Kong, February 2, 1981, in FBIS, February 2, 1981. This different treatment gave rise to two new terms among the people concerned: single dingti (danding 單頂 ) and double dingti (shuangding 雙頂 ) (interview with F. M. D., July 21, 1985). JFRB, November 20, 1983, p. 2. According to another source, more than 14,000 young people from Shanghai rusticated to Xinjiang had been transferred to this farm at the end of 1986 (Mingbao, December 26, 1986, p. 2). This figure seems very high given the total number who returned.

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who had children themselves but no employment prospects. On January 14 the press announced, as though it were a newsworthy event, the return to Xinjiang of a young woman who had gone to Shanghai on a family visit.31 At the end of January, it reported the departure of 340 zhiqing, and then 1,000 in mid-February and 3,000 at the end of March,32 stating each time that more were to follow. The relatively slow departures, despite the efforts of the authorities, were due to the fierce determination of the young Shanghainese to stay, in addition to the fact they had already broken all their ties with Xinjiang. Consequently the authorities were obliged to pay for their transportation as well as the purchase of new furniture and household goods (or make their parents cover the expenditure) since the zhiqing had sold everything they had before leaving.33 One young woman from Shanghai who badly wanted to return to her hometown had divorced her husband, also a zhiqing from Xinjiang. Her district authorities used all their powers of persuasion and contacted the cadres in charge of the farm where she had been working in Xinjiang to persuade her ex-husband and eldest son to write to her to convince her to return. More than a year after she had returned to Shanghai the woman finally gave in and went back to her farm in Xinjiang in April 1982, where she remarried her ex-husband.34 As in 1979, the press provided examples of how those who did return were welcomed with open arms.35 In  1982 and 1983, the press mainly stressed the improvements in standards of living and living conditions generally. It praised zhiqing who had earned good money thanks to production contracts (chengbao 承包),36 or who had achieved positions of high responsibility.37 The government took measures to improve transportation, so that it now took “only” seven days to get to Shanghai from the Tarim region.38 In 1983, a program to assist zhiqing 31 32 33 34 35 36

37

38

JFRB, January 14, 1981, quoted in RMRB, January 18, 1981, p. 1. RMRB, January 29, 1981, p.  1, and February 20, 1981, p.  1; WHB, March 21, 1981, in FBIS, March 31, 1981. RMRB, February 20, 1981, p. 1, and April 15, 1981, p. 3. JFRB, August 14, 1982, p. 2. See pp. 159–60. As for example, the “Three Fen” (San Fen), three young women from Shanghai whose first name included the character fen; see JFRB, March 21, 1983, p. 1, and RMRB, August 31, 1983, p. 2. For example, two deputies to the Sixth NPC (JFRB, May 4, 1983, p.  2) and the first woman to be accepted into the ranks of the Xinjiang Production and Construction Corps leadership (JFRB, September 30, 1983, p. 1). JFRB, January 25, 1983, p. 2.

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with housing was launched, enabling many to obtain loans and inexpensive building materials with which to build their own homes.39 In Shanghai, the authorities continued to mobilize zhiqing to return to Xinjiang and regularly celebrated their departures.40 Those carrying out unauthorized trade were threatened with legal action, which was tantamount to removing all means for them to survive in Shanghai, since they were not allowed to get a job or a license to be self-employed (getihu).41 A delegation from the First Agricultural Division of the Xinjiang Production and Construction Corps was dispatched to Shanghai to encourage the uncooperative zhiqing to leave. In January 1983, 20 percent of those who had returned to Shanghai without authorization were still there but finally the government’s material and moral pressure bore fruit, and 17,000 zhiqing returned to their farms in 1984.42 This rigor and effectiveness would not have been possible without the active support of the central government and its refusal to grant the Shanghai zhiqing in Xinjiang the possibilities granted to the others. Perhaps as a result of their tardy and relatively timid first protest action, they missed the opportunity afforded by the brief period of liberalization at the end of 1978 and early 1979. By the time their action got under way the other zhiqing had already returned and there was a high level of unemployment in Shanghai.43 Even so, 30,000 additional zhiqing from Xinjiang would not have been an impossible burden, given that the 886,000 zhiqing who had already returned had obtained jobs between 1979 and 1982.44 I believe that another factor played a greater role, which was the government’s desire to develop Xinjiang and settle the largest possible number of Han there.45 That desire was 39 40 41 42 43

44 45

JFRB, November 7, 1983, p. 2. JFRB, July 17, 1982, p.  2, September 4, 1983, p.  2, September 20, 1983, p.  2; WHB, August 10, 1982, p. 2, August 11, 1982, p. 2. JFRB, July 17, 1982, p. 2. JFRB, November 20, 1983, p. 2. There were certainly objective reasons for this delay, such as distance and the vastness of Xinjiang province, in addition to the fact that many of the young people had already married and started a family, which meant they were obliged to consider the consequences of their actions. See p. 183. One author explained the different treatment meted out to the Xinjiang zhiqing by the fact that they had left before the Cultural Revolution, that is to say they had left when the present leaders were in office (see Zhongguo zhi chun, May 1985, p. 30). I am not aware of any other case where zhiqing had been prevented from returning because they had left before the Cultural Revolution. RMRB, March 1,

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expressed regularly from 1979 onward and was incarnated in a kind of “Xinjiang lobby” composed of the “two Wangs” (shuang Wang 雙王), Wang Enmao and, more importantly, Wang Zhen. As we have seen, Xinjiang was strategically important and the situation was tense at the time, with discontent rife in the army and frequent conflicts between Han Chinese and Uighurs.46 The government took the situation there very seriously. Wang Zhen visited Xinjiang three times, in October 1980, and in January and May 1981. He met and talked with the Shanghai zhiqing there and returned in August accompanied by Deng Xiaoping himself on the latter’s first trip to the region.47 Subsequently, Wang Enmao, who once been put in charge of the province by Wang Zhen back in the 1950s, was appointed to that position again to replace Wang Feng, now accused of applying a treacherous policy of promotion and training of local cadres and facilitating the return of cadres sent to the borderlands.48 The government probably feared that a massive departure of the zhiqing would lead to similar requests from the specialists and base-level cadres from the interior also posted in Xinjiang, who sympathized with the zhiqing on the whole, sharing their desire to leave the province.49

46

47

48 49

1983, p. 4 provides an example of a young woman who had left in 1963 and who had turned down several opportunities to return legally. Most of the 20,345 zhiqing from Shandong province who had been sent to the border regions between 1965 and 1966 returned to their home provinces. See Tian Fang et al. (eds.), Zhongguo renkou qianyi (Migrations of China’s Population) (Beijing: Zhishi chubanshe, 1986), pp. 344, 346. Violent incidents took place, notably in Kashgar in early 1980 and late October 1981, and in Yecheng in early 1982. See RMRB, January 14, 1983, p.  3; and Zhengming, January 1983, pp. 34–37. The Uighurs are the main ethnic minority in Xinjiang, and they have protested the most volubly against Han domination since the 1980s. See Xinjiang Radio, October 5, 1980, in FBIS, October 6, 1980; RMRB, October 16, 1980, p. 2; Xinjiang Radio, January 20 and 21, 1981, in FBIS, January 21 and 22, 1981; Xinhua, January 23, 1981, in FBIS, January 23, 1981; Xinjiang Radio, May 17, 1981, May 19, 1981, May 22, 1981, and May 24, 1981, in SWB, May 21, 1981, May 23, 1981, May 27, 1981, and May 29, 1981; Xinhua, August 22, 1981, in FBIS, August 24, 1981; Zhongguo Xinwen, August 29, 1981, in FBIS, August 31, 1981. Zhengming, January 1983, pp. 34–37. Lu Wen observed that the demonstrators had no difficulty in occupying administrative buildings in Aksu because the middle and lower cadres sympathized with them. For the same reason, the government sent the Lanzhou troops to arrest

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The need to regain control of this region was confirmed in June 1982 when the Xinjiang Production and Construction Corps was reestablished, having been dissolved in 1975.50 After 1983, emphasis was placed on the economic importance of the province, and especially on the need to exploit its massive mineral resources. The first secretary of the Central Committee, Hu Yaobang, made several trips to northwest China and notably to Xinjiang, where he declared: “At the end of this century and the beginning of the next one, the emphasis on the country’s economic development will inevitably be in the northwest. That is not just my opinion, but a view shared by all the comrades in the central leadership.”51 This was rapidly confirmed by Zhao Ziyang, on his own Xinjiang inspection tour accompanied by other senior leaders.52 On August 11, his party landed in Aksu and drove 60 km to the first regiment of the First Agricultural Construction Division, where Zhao told the Shanghai zhiqing who welcomed them with watermelons and grapes, “Here you have an abundance of fruit, vegetables and fish and prices are cheap. That’s better than in Shanghai. The large cities have their own problems, how could everyone cram into Shanghai?”53 He also asked them to pass on greetings from the Central Committee and the State Council to all the young Shanghainese in the border region. While the development of the “Great Northwest” (Xinjiang, Qinghai, Ningxia, Gansu, and Shaanxi) was presented as a priority, the leaders also insisted on the need to develop the “Great Southwest” (Tibet, Yunnan, and Guizhou) as well as all border regions generally. The young people from the interior of China working in these regions were regular recipients of official praise. On October 1, 1984, on the regime’s thirty-fifth anniversary, China Youth Daily and magazines for young people launched a major competition with the support of Wang Zhen to “decorate eminent young men and women in the border regions.” Throughout this period, the youth magazines published stories and reports about their most remarkable feats.54 Propaganda about

50 51 52 53 54

the zhiqing trying to return to Shanghai, and not the Xinjiang troops, because the government didn’t trust them. See Zhengming, June 1981, pp. 12–16. Xinjiang Radio, June 1 and 2, 1982, in FBIS, June 3, 1982. Significantly, that was the only Production and Construction Corps (bingtuan) to be reformed. Xinhua, August 3, 1983, in SWB, August 6, 1983. Xinhua, September 1, 1983, in SWB, September 7, 1983. Xinhua, September 1, 1983, in SWB, September 7, 1983. RMRB, October 14, 1984, p.  4; Xinhua, May 30, 1985; ZGQN, October and November 1984, January, April, June, and July 1985; AFP Beijing, June 16, 1985.

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working in the border regions explained the need for this rationally by economic necessity, but it also played on patriotism. Opening up markets for the country was presented as a continuation of the great imperial tradition of expansion toward the west. In a report on Tibet, one author commented on the Tang dynasty story of princess Wencheng’s journey to Tibet, by saying, “Princess Wencheng, together with the men and horses from her expedition, are buried forever on the Tibetan plateau, but her pioneering exploit inspired countless successors, who follow on relentlessly.”55 In 1980 Wang Zhen stated that the military clearing of border regions was an ancestral tradition followed by Mao.56 I mentioned earlier the historical reevaluation of Wang Zhaojun in 1979.57 In a similar vein, one article compared Wang Enmao to the Han dynasty general Ban Chao, who had also devoted himself to the administration of Xinjiang before returning to the capital at the age of 70. Wang was presented as an even greater hero, because he went back to work in Xinjiang after he was 70. An important sentimental aspect was added when Wang Zhen decided publicly that he wanted to have his ashes scattered over the Tianshan Mountains after his death, and Wang Enmao asked to be buried in Urumqi.58 Both wanted to show that it was not necessary to die in one’s native land and that one could indeed even have several “native lands” (guxiang 故 鄉). At one time Wang Zhen even claimed that a Jiangxi land-clearing farm was his second native land,59 which together with Xinjiang made a total of three including his birthplace, Hunan. Working in the border regions continued to be promoted throughout 1985. Representatives of the young people who had left in 1955–1956 among the “young volunteer land-clearing teams” were welcomed in Beijing by Hu Yaobang. Hu, who had originally launched those teams, praised them and even suggested that all young people should learn a song especially composed for them at the time.60 Shortly afterward, on August 2, 1985, in Harbin, the Central Committee secretary, Chen Pixian, received five Shanghai zhiqing

55 56 57 58

59 60

ZGQN, July 1985, p. 7. RMRB, October 16, 1980, p. 2. See p. 164. RMRB, January 14, 1983, p.  3, and October 16, 1980, p.  2. Wang Zhen’s ashes were scattered over Tianshan by plane after his death in 1993 at the age of 85. See South China Morning Post, April 7, 1993, p. 11. Jiangxi Radio, February 18, 1983, in FBIS, February 22, 1983. Xinhua, May 1, 1985, May 7, 1985, and May 8, 1985, in SWB, May 4, 1985, May 9, 1985, and May 14, 1985; RMRB, May 5, 1985, p. 4, and July 30, 1985, p. 4.

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representatives who had been working in Heilongjiang since 1968. He claimed that just over 3,000 remained out of the total of more than 80,000 in the Heilongjiang Production and Construction Corps and said that the young people who had stayed on should be given “stable jobs in line with their knowledge, culture, specific abilities and personal aspirations.”61 Chen added: “We must help those zhiqing who are not satisfied with working in the border regions to solve their practical difficulties, and convince them ideologically, the most important thing being to raise their economic level because many problems disappear when one is prosperous.”62 This last point shows that dissatisfaction was not restricted to the Xinjiang zhiqing. The spread of the contract system (chengbao) between 1983 and 1985, and the break up of the large state farms into small family farms, was not always beneficial to the zhiqing. The official press published an article by a Shanghai zhiqing who had remained in Yunnan, painting a very encouraging picture of the economic improvements there since the contract system was introduced,63 but we know that in Xinjiang and Heilongjiang those upheavals caused numerous problems for the zhiqing who were less equipped to survive under the new system than the local peasants, largely because of a lack of family support.64 The situation was particularly acute in Heilongjiang as a result of a series of natural disasters in 1985, “leading to a fall in production in many farms.”65 The provincial authorities had to “take measures in line with the policy of taking charge of problems left over from the past in order to find suitable jobs for demobilized soldiers and officers and for the zhiqing settled in the countryside.”66 Among other things, the authorities got in touch with the Shanghai municipality and requested that it invest in setting up factories in Heilongjiang to hire young people from Shanghai.67

61 62 63 64 65 66 67

In fact the corps had more than 140,000 (see Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou [eds.], Shimo, p. 305), showing the usual official disregard for figures. Heilongjiang ribao, August 3, 1985, p.  1; see also Xinhua, August 3, 1985, in RMRB, August 4, 1985, p. 4, and FBIS, August 6, 1985. JFRB, May 18, 1986. Interviews with F. M. D., July 21, 1985, and K. K. Z., June 30, 1986. Heilongjiang Radio, February 17, 1986, in FBIS, February 19, 1986. Ibid. Interview with K. K. Z., June 30, 1986.

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Placing Zhiqing Married to Peasants and Sick Zhiqing Among the many categories of zhiqing, those married to peasants posed a particularly delicate problem for the authorities. According to the decisions of the 1978 conference, taken up again in Item 9 of the October 1981 decision, the zhiqing were to be found suitable (i.e., nonagricultural) employment, with financial assistance from the major cities such as Shanghai and Beijing. In some places, the zhiqing who obtained salaried jobs and urban registration (hukou) in a nearby town could take one child aged under 15 with them. However, it was not always easy to find nonagricultural jobs for zhiqing living in isolated villages in poor regions, so some were abandoned to their fate. The Ministry of Personnel and Labor attempted to kick-start efforts again with a “Notice concerning the solution to the remaining problems of the zhiqing sent to the villages,” dated August 31, 1984, in which local authorities were reminded that any outstanding funds allocated for settling the zhiqing should be used first and foremost for solving their problems, and that the local employment departments must provide any additional funds if these were insufficient. By 1985, most of these zhiqing had obtained jobs in enterprises in small local towns.68 In some places, their spouses had also obtained salaried positions as well as urban registration permits, which solved the problem of their children’s registration. Furthermore any widowed zhiqing (usually female) and those whose spouses had been convicted of a crime and had consequently divorced, were allowed to return to their home towns.69 Despite the government’s “concern” with preventing zhiqing from returning to the cities with their spouses and children, the zhiqing married to peasants were those who suffered the worst fates, and in some cases even tragic ones.70 Sick zhiqing, including the mentally handicapped and the physically disabled, faced serious problems with job placements. Many had been sent to rural production teams in 1968–1969, when everyone had to leave without exception. Others fell sick or suffered work-related accidents in the countryside, and the urban work units refused to hire any of them. Most had been dependent on the villages they lived in for years. There had been quite a few 68 69

70

Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, pp. 212–14, for the information in this paragraph. Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p. 839. In Jilin, zhiqing who had divorced before 1979 were also allowed to return. The time limit was obviously aimed at preventing divorces motivated solely by the desire to return to the city. See Jilin shengzhi—Jingji zonghe guanlizhi—Laodong, p. 98. See pp. 289–91.

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zhiqing in such situations at the outset but many had succeeded in making the most of the “return wind.” In Jilin province for instance, there were 21,712 such cases (or 2 percent of the total number of zhiqing sent there) in early 1978. The province allowed 13,340 of them to return to their hometowns in 1978, while 871 others were placed in neighboring towns. In November 1980, “only” 356 remained in the villages, of which 33 were 100 percent disabled and 323 were 50 percent incapacitated. All succeeded in leaving the countryside over the next few years.71 At first, Beijing municipality did everything possible to prevent the return of the sick and disabled. In 1969, it required applicants to prove that their sickness had occurred prior to their departure. In 1972, zhiqing who had become disabled as a result of a work-related accident could return under certain circumstances, but even so, their right to return was only granted in 1979 and some assistance was provided. In March 1982, a sum of 800,000 yuan was released to solve the problem nationwide, but in 1987 the remaining funds were still being used to provide financial assistance to 204 former zhiqing who were sick or disabled.72 As a rule, special efforts were devoted to find suitable work for these zhiqing adapted to their physical abilities, either on the spot or in their hometowns. In less serious cases, their parents’ work units were obliged to hire them. Others obtained jobs in special factories managed by the Ministry of Civil Affairs.

The Case of Zhiqing Who Obtained Nonagricultural Work in the Countryside Throughout China, discontent now prevailed among the hundreds of thousands of former zhiqing who had obtained nonagricultural jobs in the 1970s. Some had obtained more interesting work than any they might have found in their hometowns, notably as county- or regional-level cadres. Some did not attempt to return home, at least during the early years,73 but most complained

71

72 73

Jilin shengzhi—Jingji zonghe guanlizhi—Laodong, p.  97. The number of 21,712 persons came from “surveys carried out since 1973.” As a result it probably does not include the “fake sick” who were able to return in 1978–1979, when the bingtui system, which allowed returns for ill-health, had become a mere formality with no real medical justifications required. Beijingzhi—Zonghe jingji guanli juan—Laodongzhi, p.  51; and Beijing laodong dashiji, p. 296. See the example of a zhiqing from Hohot who became party secretary of a League

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of discrimination as “foreigners” and kept close ties with their hometowns. They wanted to return but were not usually allowed to. Because they were relatively scattered, they were rarely able to resort to any collective action, but had to find individual ways to plot their return. They included former zhiqing recruited into the army and later demobilized in the rural areas they had been sent to. On October 29,  1980, one such person, a former Beijing zhiqing named Wang Zhigang who had been sent to Shanxi in 1968 and then transferred to a tractor factory in the same province after demobilization, exploded a bomb in Beijing station in protest against the government’s refusal to allow him to return. This suicide attack left ten people dead and eighty-one wounded.74 A few years later, some Beijing zhiqing still in Shanxi managed to organize a more rational and less violent form of action, by holding a sit-in at the party committee headquarters in Beijing. Several hundred demonstrators took part and it lasted from April 22 to 29, 1985.75 Their banners read, “Comrade Xiaoping, save us” and “Zhiqing are the victims of the Cultural Revolution.” They complained to foreign journalists that they were not allowed to return home, had badly paid jobs, and were obliged to live with people who considered them to be outsiders. A few made public speeches. One 73-year-old woman joined the demonstration because her two sons were rusticated and she had no one at home to look after her in her old age. It is curious that only former Beijing zhiqing succeeded in organizing action at that time, and that it was taken up in both the national and foreign press. The explanation certainly lies in the large number of Beijing zhiqing who had been placed in nonagricultural jobs in Shanxi and consequently could not return. According to figures provided at the time, out of a total of 36,000 young Beijingers rusticated in Shanxi, more than 18,000 were still there, which was a very exceptional 50 percent settlement rate.76 Outwardly at least, the government was very firm with the demonstrators. After two fruitless interviews with a deputy mayor, some representatives met with the secretary

74 75 76

(the Mongol equivalent to a region) in Zhongguo nongmin 12 (1994), p.  20. However, some got themselves transferred subsequently “for their children.” One example is given in Xiao Fuxing, Juechang: lao sanjie, p. 329. Xinhua, November 12, 1980, in SWB, November 15, 1980; and Le Monde, November 14, 1980. AFP Beijing, April 25, 26, and 29, 1985; International Herald Tribune, April 27–28, 1985; Le Monde, April 30, 1985; RMRB, April 30, 1985, p. 4. ZGQNB, May 15, 1985, p.  1. The number of departures provided by Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, is slightly higher at 41,300.

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of the municipal committee, Li Ximing, and the mayor of Beijing, Chen Xitong, in the afternoon of April 29. They were told to immediately cease their action (which was described as a “demonstration of the pernicious influence of the Great Cultural Revolution”) and return to their respective jobs “as quickly as possible.” 77 They were reminded that they had been assigned decent jobs in the 1970s because of a “correct policy.” All the official documents described them as “young people originally from Beijing” (yuan Beijing qingnian 原北京青年) and not Beijing zhiqing. A few days later, the press announced that they would not pursue the sit-in the next day, and that at least 220 of them had already left for Shanxi.78 At the same time, as we saw earlier, a campaign was launched to praise the “young land-clearing volunteers” of the 1950s, and the China Youth Daily published a long article stressing the important contribution of young people from Beijing to the development of Shanxi province. It included success stories such as those who had become company or political cadres, or even writers such as Ke Yunlu.79 Nevertheless, the exiles continued to demand their return in new demonstrations held in Beijing over the 1986 Chinese New Year. These were not as large as the ones a year earlier, but gathered some three hundred people in front of the Party Municipal Committee headquarters on February 7, and about one hundred on February 11. They were dispersed without incident and the participants were not able to meet with any government representatives.80 Despite police pressure, the zhiqing continued to organize themselves and send petitions over the next few years. Their attitude can probably be best summarized by the following statement made to a journalist: “The people who were sentenced to reform through labor are able to return to Beijing when they finished their sentence. But we’re even worse off than them. After all this time, we’re still not allowed to go home!”81

A New Rustication Campaign? The 1986 actions by the Beijing zhiqing based in Shanxi occurred at a time when the central government had clearly shown its desire to keep the largest 77 78 79 80 81

RMRB, April 30, 1985, p. 4. RMRB, May 5, 1985, p. 4. ZGQNB, May 15, 1985, p. 1. AFP Beijing, February 13, 1986. Information taken up in the Far Eastern Economic Review, February 27, 1986, p. 9. Dongxiang 42 (September 1987), pp. 10–11.

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number of them where they were. On January 28, 1986, as the Chinese New Year approached, the Beijing mayor met with some of the most important central leaders, such as Hu Qili, Li Peng, Hao Jianxiu, and Zhang Jingfu, to ceremoniously receive a “group report” entitled “Good young men and women are determined to go to the four corners of the country” (hao ernü zhi zai sifang 好兒女志在四方). The group in question comprised twelve young people from Beijing and Tianjin who had been rusticated at the end of the 1960s and who had taken part in conferences throughout the length and breadth of Shanxi province at which members discussed their spirit of selfsacrifice and their “exciting actions.”82 This Beijing meeting was clearly aimed to combat the poor attitude of the April 1985 demonstrators. It even appeared to be a rehabilitation of xiaxiang and a call to continue rustication. After presenting a very rosy picture of the movement, Hao Jianxiu declared, “Not only did we act in this way in the past, but we will continue to pursue this action in the future. In carrying out our modernization, helping the countryside and the border regions is still a glorious task provided by history for a youth fired by ideals.” Hu Qili also confirmed, “Before, now and in the future, we had to, we must, and we will help the interior and the border regions.”83 Was the government considering relaunching the rustication movement in 1986? The answer is clearly no. Behind the functional continuity (“helping the interior and the border regions”) there lay a very different objective. Just as the number of model zhiqing who left in the 1950s and ’60s were not mere high school graduates but young cadres, higher education graduates, and people with specialized skills,84 after 1984 the propaganda targets for new departures were no longer the numerous high school graduates, but rather a small number of graduates from higher education and technical institutes. Every year, just after the final exams, pressure was placed on graduates for the greatest possible number to go “where the country most needed them.” The real departure figures for the countryside and border regions were very low compared with those for the zhiqing in the 1960s and ’70s. There were only a few hundred, or at most a few thousand per year, closer to the 1950s 82 83 84

RMRB, January 29, 1986, p. 1. Ibid. That was the case for most of the “young volunteers” from 1955–1956; see Xinhua, May 8, 1985, in SWB, May 9, 1985. Young engineers, doctors, and teachers who left in the 1950s were also cited as examples; see RMRB, May 17, 1983, p. 3.

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numbers.85 To make life in remote regions more palatable, the government offered financial benefits to graduates going there and set up a rotation system whereby they kept their urban registration and were entitled to return to their home towns after their period of service.86 The government even paid for some graduates to take “inspection trips” to some very distant areas, to convince them that they could live there and that the work they would do was interesting.87 At the time, students were still allocated jobs in a planned, authoritarian manner, but the leaders tried to win over graduates, knowing that if they failed to do so “they would not be able to concentrate on their work and it would only destroy the morale of the others,” to quote Hu Yaobang.88 The government therefore had to fight an attitude that was reflected in a witty slogan popular with students at the time, zhi zai tiannan haibei, bu qu Xin Xilan 志在天南海北，不去新西蘭, which phonetically appears to mean “I’m determined to go south of the sky and north of the sea, but not to New Zealand,” but meant in fact “I’m determined to go to Tianjin, Nanjing, Shanghai or Beijing, but not to Xinjiang, Tibet, or Lanzhou.”89 The need to continue sending experts to sensitive and backward regions and maintain a number of former zhiqing and “cadres sent to the grass roots” explains the return of the pro-xiaxiang rhetoric in the mid-1980s. The leaders were keen to present a very watered-down version of xiaxiang history that could be summarized thus: Following a period of highly voluntary departures triggered by a magnificent ideal, leftist excesses, such as forced departures, occurred during the

85

86 87 88 89

For Beijing numbers, see, for instance, Xinhua, August 9, 1983, and May 8, 1985, in SWB, August 11, 1983, and May 14, 1985. There was a difference between the number of future graduates who asked to leave for the outer regions and the real number of departures. In Beijing, 1,000 students had applied in 1984 alone, but only 900 actually left between 1981 and 1984. See China Youth Bulletin, October 1984, p. 11; and Xinhua, May 8, 1985, in SWB, May 9, 1985. See Hu Yaobang’s speech in Qinghai reported by Xinhua, August 3, 1983, in SWB, August 6, 1983. Qingnian yidai 6 (1985), p. 9. Xinhua, August 3, 1983, in SWB, August 6, 1983. RMRB (haiwaiban), May 25, 1986, p.  8. This slogan is a parody of the official slogan quoted below (hao ernü zhi zai sifang), specifying the “four corners” in which the students were determined to go and work. It isn’t new because it was already quoted, only without the wordplay on “New Zealand,” in RMRB, July 28, 1968, p. 1.

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Cultural Revolution, causing suffering to the zhiqing. But even then, the broad mass of educated youth contributed to socialist construction. Since the Third Plenum of the Eleventh CC, measures have been taken to correct this. Sick zhiqing and those with difficulties have been able to return home while others have obtained stable employment where they are.90

This attempt to erase all the drama from the history of xiaxiang was also reflected in the banning of a play called WM, which provided a detailed description of the zhiqing’s destiny.91 State television was ordered to produce works directly inspired by the new line, such as a made-for-TV film called When You Reach 18 (Dang ni shiba sui de shihou), to fight young people’s skepticism regarding the model zhiqing of the 1950s and xiaxiang as a whole. Propaganda notwithstanding, the authorities did later attempt to solve some of the issues raised by the protestors. Thus in Beijing the municipal authorities set up a “small group” of cadres charged with examining the problems of the zhiqing still outside the municipality. This may explain why Beijing was the first large city to accept one of the frequently raised demands by the educated youth, which was that their children be allowed to study in their hometowns, where the level of education was usually far higher than that in the provincial schools. On October 15, 1988, the municipality authorized one unmarried, non-salaried person per family to transfer his or her household registration (hukou), on condition that a close relative (grandfather, grandmother, uncle or aunt) agreed to take that person in. In 1989 Shanghai and Tianjin followed suit, and then Zhejiang and Hubei. At the end of 1993, 214,000 children of zhiqing had benefitted from this measure, 116,000 in Shanghai, 46,900 in Beijing, and 46,500 in Tianjin. All of them obtained a place in a school or got a job.92 Furthermore, between 1986 and 1990, the “small group” of Beijing cadres directly authorized the return of 200 former zhiqing, while the Beijing Bureau of Personnel and Labor authorized the return of 31,663 former educated youth between 1986 and 1994, and especially after 1990.93 Most of the zhiqing sent to Shanxi were among them.94

90 91 92 93

94

See for instance, RMRB, April 30, 1985, p. 4; Xinhua, May 7, 1985, in SWB, May 9, 1985; Liaowang, May 13, 1985, in FBIS, May 28, 1985. Jiushi niandai, December 1985, pp. 60–61, 78–79. Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, p. 215. Beijingzhi—Zonghe jingji guanli juan—Laodongzhi, p.  52. The acceleration of returns in 1990 might be explained by the municipality’s need to enhance its image after the June 4, 1989 massacre. Interview with a group of former educated youth (Beijing, August 5, 2000).

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Many of those who, for various reasons, were not authorized to return in the 1980s, were already living in their hometowns illegally, without their hukou. In 1989, there remained officially 3,900 former Beijing zhiqing on farms in Heilongjiang province (out of approximately 100,000 dispatched there), but in fact many of them were living in Beijing illegally. One survey revealed that in a farm that officially accommodated 178 zhiqing, only 82 were actually living there, while another housed 23 out of the official figure of 53. The real percentage of zhiqing still in the countryside was probably just 1.5 percent.95

The Seniority Issue One of the consequences of xiaxiang was to call into question the zhiqing’s seniority when they returned from the villages, which caused a great deal of frustration as well as heated debate in the 1980s.96 At the time, career seniority played an important role in employees’ lives. It was a factor that determined the pay scale as well as the possibility of obtaining housing, a place in a day nursery, and so on. Calculating the zhiqing’s seniority when they returned from state or military farms was an accepted practice from 1975. In Jiangxi in 1978, it was also taken into account for zhiqing who had returned from the farms for reasons of sickness or family difficulties, which had not been the case previously. In 1980, that measure was applied nationwide.97 In September 1980, during the third session of the Fifth NPC, several representatives had proposed adapting the rules to repair the injustice suffered by the zhiqing who had been sent to the people’s communes and were now hired in the cities. Indeed, unlike their colleagues on the state farms, the zhiqing who had worked in the villages were not entitled to seniority. This discrimination became clear during the pay raise granted to 40 percent of the working population in November 1979.98 In 1982, the Bureau of Training and Employment, then in charge of the zhiqing in the Ministry of Personnel and

95

96 97

98

Du Honglin, Feng Chao Dang Luo (1955–1979): Zhongguo zhishi qingnian shangshan xiaxiang yundong shi (Wind, Tide, Vacillation, and Fall, 1955–1979: History of the Movement to Rusticate Educated Chinese Youth) (Shenzhen: Haitian chubanshe, 1993), p. 420. On this subject, see Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, pp. 206–12. Zhonghua renmin gongheguo laodong zhengce fagui quanshu (Complete Compilation of the PRC’s Labor-Related Laws and Regulations), vol.  2 (Changchun: Jilin kexue jishu chubanshe, 1990), pp. 371–72. RMRB, September 27, 1980, p. 2.

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Labor, suggested including seniority for all zhiqing, but several provinces were reluctant to do so because of the cost as well as various other pretexts. Hu Yaobang only succeeded in imposing the measure in April 1985.99 It became effective in the ministry’s Notice No. 23 dated June 28, 1985 but was not retroactive. The specific measures of application for this decision were left to the discretion of the local Labor Bureaus. Apparently these did not immediately issue sufficiently clear and precise rules, because in the summer of 1986 a Shanghai newspaper replied to numerous readers’ questions on the subject. The seniority rules there applied to all the zhiqing, whatever their function had been or their work unit in the countryside. Only those who had gone to prison during their rustication were not allowed to calculate seniority from the time they started work. Those sentenced to reeducation through labor (laodong jiaoyang 勞動教養) could include the periods before and after their sentence.100 Overall, seniority accounting resulted in an increase of around 5 mao per month per year spent in the countryside, or five yuan for a zhiqing who had ten years’ “rural” seniority.101 Even though this measure did not fundamentally alter the beneficiaries’ standard of living, it did have symbolic importance. Nor was it economically insignificant to the state, since it concerned 15  million people. At the time, about 800,000 zhiqing (approximately 5 percent) had not yet returned to their hometowns.102 Later, most of those who wanted to return succeeded in doing so one by one, and only a few did not. A very small minority did settle into their rural homes and made no effort to leave. The vagaries of the policy to rusticate educated youth reflected the different concepts of it in the two main factions in power. The realistic managers, such as Liu Shaoqi and Zhou Enlai, had based their policies on the real or alleged economic utility of xiaxiang, whereas the revolutionary utopists, dominated by the supreme figure of Mao, stressed its political and ideological functions. Nevertheless, despite their conflicts, the two major factions always concurred to defend rustication policy, and neither ever actually opposed it. That was still true at the end of the 1970s. The pragmatists, who triumphed over the neo-Maoists, supported the continuation of a more 99

100 101 102

Hu Yaobang’s decision to implement seniority at the end of 1982 was prompted by a letter from a former young zhiqing in Hunan who had spent fourteen years in the countryside. See Wenzhai, February 6, 2004, p. 2. WHB, June 18, 1986, p. 2 Interview with X. Z., June 20, 1986. Interview with Feng Lanrui, August 24, 1985.

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moderate form of xiaxiang until such time as the country’s economic and demographic conditions permitted its extinction. Yet the movement stopped suddenly at a very unfavorable time as far as employment was concerned. The fate of xiaxiang did not therefore depend solely on the desires of the two major factions in power, but also on society’s reaction to it. That is why to understand this vast social movement it is important to study how it was perceived by the millions of young people concerned, as well as the forms and effects of the resistance it generated.

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PART THREE

Firsthand Experience

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The Conditions of Departure: “Voluntary” Deportation

From an early age the adolescents of the Red Guard generation had received an education that aimed to familiarize them with rural life and instill a favorable image of it. From the mid-1950s up until the Cultural Revolution, when the authorities were busy sending young graduates from rural backgrounds back to their villages and rusticating a small proportion of urban graduates, schoolbooks presented an extremely positive image of the peasants. That image was omnipresent, and even in schoolbooks destined for large cities such as Beijing and Shanghai “people were always pictured in a rural environment, urban life was never shown.”1 Furthermore, schools organized spells in the countryside, usually on the holidays, during which students assisted with agricultural labor. From 1963 onward, agriculture-related subjects were even taught in some normal high schools.2 High school students were also subjected to a more targeted propaganda, geared to promoting the rustication of zhiqing, notably through the use of

1

2

Roberta Martin, “The Socialization of Children in China and on Taiwan: An Analysis of Elementary School Textbooks,” China Quarterly 62 (June  1975), p. 253. RMRB, June 20, 1963, p. 2.

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models, from both rural and urban backgrounds, such as Xing Yanzi, Hou Jun, and Dong Jiageng,3 who achieved nationwide fame. In addition the authorities published Soviet and Chinese novels that glorified pioneers taming the wilderness for the edification of young people.4 However, all the information I gathered shows that despite this systematic ideological preparation, the majority of young urbanites did not envisage an agricultural future for themselves and the propaganda failed to radically change the values of the urban population. Furthermore, while a small percentage of young urban graduates in the early 1960s did indeed prove receptive to the propaganda and considered the countryside as an alternative way of fulfilling their ambitions, by 1968 this minority had decreased further. By then, the realities of rural life were better known, partly due to the reports from young people who had already gone there, notably those who then returned to the cities during the Cultural Revolution and those who had journeyed to “exchange revolutionary experiences” (chuanlian), which enabled many Red Guards to discover the extreme poverty of the Chinese countryside.5

Mobilization For these reasons only a minority of young idealists actually volunteered to leave for the countryside after the fall of 1967. A mobilization system was later put in place, which became increasingly restrictive. First military training groups (junxunzu 軍訓組), and later worker or military propaganda groups and the “triple alliance” groups they controlled (including representatives of the army, the Red Guards organizations, and “revolutionary cadres” who had survived the big purge) organized propaganda in schools in the form 3 4

5

See Feng Jicai, “Yige laohongweibing de zibai” (Confessions of an Old Red Guard), Shiyue 6 (1986), pp. 6–22. The writer Liang Xiaosheng believed that reading these novels had played a role in his decision to go to the Manchurian “Great North” (interview on September 21, 1986). Another writer, Zhang Kangkang, stated that just before the Cultural Revolution she had been so deeply moved by a novel glorifying a young girl who went to work in the Xinjiang Production and Construction Corps that she seriously considered interrupting her own studies to go to Xinjiang. See Zhang Kangkang, Xiaoshuo chuangzuo yu yishu ganjue (Literary Creation and Artistic Sentiment) (Tianjin: Baihua wenyi chubanshe, 1985), pp. 153–54. See “Autobiographie de Wei Jingsheng,” Perspectives Chinoises 19 (September– October 1993), pp. 52–60.

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of “Mao Zedong Thought” study classes. Some schools used the pre–Cultural Revolution method of presenting an idyllic image of the proposed destination.6 However, it was more usual to call on the revolutionary spirit of selfsacrifice and the young people’s loyalty to Mao. Initial efforts were focused on convincing “advanced elements” so that they, in turn, would influence their comrades.7 The first to sign up were encouraged to write big character posters to announce their decision, and their names were written on honor rolls (hongbang 紅榜). This moral pressure was backed by a more material incentive: the possibility of choosing one’s destination among the two or three offered by the school. This gave rise to a subtle game of hypocrisy: activists were, in theory, supposed to volunteer for the harshest destinations, but were often awarded the most favorable ones to show anyone who hesitated that the first to sign up were the best served.8 During the last quarter of 1968 and especially after Mao’s December 22 directive, the pressure increased. “Whether to accept or refuse to go to the mountains or the countryside and follow the path of uniting with the workers and peasants all boils down to the vital question of whether one is loyal to the revolutionary line of Chairman Mao.”9 In the context of the time that was not only an extremely powerful moral incentive but also a justification for other, more material forms of pressure. The young people targeted by the authorities to sign up saw no possibility of obtaining work in the cities. They knew that if they did not agree rapidly, their cases would be transmitted to their parents’ work units, which organized “study classes” to convince parents to send their children to the countryside. In some cases, the wages of the parents attending “study classes” were suspended and they were threatened with losing their jobs. The leaders of local street committees also added to the harassment by holding “open-hearted discussions”  with the parents in their homes and organizing neighborhood meetings to sing the praises of families who obeyed and criticize those who did not. Some parents were threatened with rustication themselves. In the case of one young girl who refused to leave, a member of a workers’ propaganda team actually moved into the family home until she finally gave in.10 6 7 8 9 10

See Stéphane Fantanange, “Yunnan Mini-Tragedy,” Asiaweek, May 11, 1979; Liang and Shapiro, Son of the Revolution, p. 142. This method is clearly described in RMRB, July 28, 1968, p. 1. Interview with C. B., July 22, 1985; Feng Jicai, “Weida de shounanzhemen,” p. 7. RMRB, December 25, 1968, p. 1. Deng Xian, Zhongguo zhiqing meng, p. 62.

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As in all the previous movements, official declarations were backed up by collective actions (meetings and marches) organized to coincide with the Chairman’s directives and with the mass departures of zhiqing. The primary function of these actions was to isolate those who had not yet agreed to leave. The young persons’ reactions depended, of course, on their individual personalities but also, and more importantly, on their parents’ political status during those troubled times at the end of the Cultural Revolution. Among the minority of true volunteers there were young idealists from good social backgrounds who had actively participated in the Cultural Revolution and who saw xiaxiang as a continuation of it.11 They wanted to prove that they were worthy of the party’s trust by setting an example for their comrades. That explains the case of one outstanding student from the high school attached to Qinghua University, who declined an offer to enter the Beijing Physics Research Center and volunteered to go and work in Qinghai. Since she was in her probation period before being allowed to join the party, she wanted to be at the forefront of the movement at all costs. She wrote a letter requesting her transfer in blood drawn from her finger. The personal sacrifice implied by this choice was insignificant for Red Guards who wanted to “burn down the red star over the Kremlin,” “walk through the streets of Paris to the sound of the International,” and attack “the White House, the last white enclave on the planet.”12 However, not all of those who signed up first came from good family backgrounds. Some young people with “bad” backgrounds, who had suffered from being ostracized by Red Guard organizations during the Cultural Revolution,13 leapt at the opportunity to prove that they were no less revolu11 12

13

See the case of M. J. L. cited in Note 59, Chapter 1. Xiao Fuxing, “Chaidamu zuo zheng” (The Tsaidam Is Witness), Wenhui yuekan 8 (1986), p 21. The author Wang Xiaobo described the idealism of the time in the following terms: “If you ask me what was the best moment of my life, morally speaking, I would reply, the beginning of my stay in the countryside. I thought only of one thing: liberating the whole of humanity. I paid absolutely no attention to my own well-being. At the same time I must admit that I was extremely stupid.” Li Yinhe and Zheng Hongxia, Wang Xiaobo huazhuan (Illustrated Biography of Wang Xiaobo) (Changsha: Hunan wenyi chubanshe, 1999), p. 16. For a gripping description of this ostracism and the moral dilemmas it created, see Hua Linshan, Les Années rouges (Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 1987), pp. 104–8. We must not forget that the already broad category of people with “bad origins” (chushen bu hao 出 身 不 好 ) grew even larger during the Cultural Revolution, notably after the accusations against the numerous cadres and intellectuals who

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tionary than the rest. Some hoped in this way to “draw a demarcation line” between them and their families, and redeem themselves by their self-sacrifice. At the very least, many hoped that their political burden would not follow them to the countryside and, since they knew they stood little chance of resisting rustication, they preferred to take the first step and at least gain some credit for it.14 Others signed up simply to ensure they would have a way of supporting themselves, either because their families had scattered during the Cultural Revolution or because they were disowned by them and consequently had no means of support.15 Young people from extremely poor families untainted by any political problems also signed up in the hope of being able to support themselves.16 From the end of 1968, the most common attitude among urban youths, whether from relatively good (worker) backgrounds, average (“neither red nor black”) ones, or outright bad ones, was passive acceptance of the inevitable. They hoped in this way that both they and their families would avoid unnecessary unpleasantness, which in view of the problems encountered by those who resisted, seemed pointless. In a few cases the authorities even resorted to police pressure, and uncooperative young people were arrested and taken away by force.17 A Cantonese youth who had hidden but later reappeared as a result of parental pressure, was offered the choice between a farm on Hainan Island and Yingde, the province’s main labor camp.18 The minor leaders of rebel Red Guard groups who had been arrested toward the end of the Cultural Revolution were released a few months later and immediately dispatched to the countryside, their hukou registration automatically transferred. This was the case of the Cantonese dissident Wang Xizhe, and a Red Guard leader in Beijing, Bu Dahua.19 At the time, people guilty of “sabotaging” xiaxiang by allowing zhiqing to evade departure were

14

15 16 17 18 19

fell victim to the movement. Various interviews. Among the fictional characters reflecting these tendencies, see, for example, Xiaohua, in Lu Xinhua, “The Wounded” (Shanghen), in The Wounded (Hong Kong: Joint Publishing Co., 1979), pp. 9–24. Feng Jicai, “Dangdai Yulian” (A Contemporary Julien Sorel), Wenhui yuekan 11 (1986), p. 7. Hao Ran, “Liuxialai de sange” (The Three Who Stayed Behind), Baogao wenxue 1 (1986), p. 66. Michel and Huang He, Avoir 20 ans en Chine, p. 36. Frolic, Mao’s People, p. 197. RMRB (haiwaiban), August 27, 1986, p. 2.

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severely reprimanded. One elderly go-between who introduced young girls from the city to boys in the suburbs so that they could marry and avoid being sent to remote villages was quite simply executed.20 As it happened, being married to someone from the city was no guarantee of an urban placement. Young women who had married after their studies during the Cultural Revolution were forcibly rusticated even when they were pregnant or had children. They were treated as ordinary zhiqing.21 Those who managed to resist for several months or even a year were generally young people who could claim to have real difficulties such as an illness or sick parents. But, even in those cases, pressure was exerted to make them leave as quickly as possible, especially when they came from “bad” backgrounds.22 A young “black category” man from Kunming managed to postpone his departure for a year because his mother was in the hospital following a work-related accident, his father was dead, and he was the eldest in the family. Nevertheless, the street committee put pressure on him and organized special study sessions for young people with family difficulties. Worse still, the ration tickets distributed to all the students were declared invalid from the end of 1968. Under those conditions the young people were all obliged to leave, but were sent to farms or villages relatively close to Kunming. When this particular young man agreed to “volunteer,” he was reimbursed the equivalent of one year’s grain ration tickets, which allowed him to pay off his accumulated debts.23 Perhaps if he had not had a “bad” background he might ultimately have received an urban placement. In practice, specific difficulties and political background were the two most important criteria for exemption from xiaxiang for secondary-school graduates. As far as age was concerned, we saw that some young people under 16 years were allowed another year of study, but in 1968–1969 many young people were also rusticated at the age of 15, and not only those with bad class origins. Those who left at age 15 in 1968 or 16 in 1969 had received no “real” secondary education since they had only

20 21

22 23

Wang Ruowang, “Xiyan bu keyi wei ‘fa’” (Jokes Cannot Replace “Laws”), Minzhu yu fazhi 1 (1980), pp. 25–26. Interview with M. Z. W., December 29, 1984, and Dongxiang 42 (September 1987), pp.  50–51. These two sources concern Kunming, but married zhiqing were probably rusticated in other cities too. Interviews, and Frolic, Mao’s People, pp. 43–44. Interview with M. Z. W., January 10, 1985.

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just graduated from primary school in 1966.24 At the other extreme, those who had been in high school until their final year were 21 or 22 at the end of 1968. Dispensation for specific difficulties applied first and foremost to the sick and disabled, but even then, class status and luck (in other words, how zealous the local cadres were) played a role, except in some extreme cases. For instance, a young girl from Shanghai who suffered a serious limp following an accident was obliged to go to the great Manchurian north in 1969.25 Young people who were unable to undertake strenuous physical activity for various proven medical reasons were sent to very harsh regions.26 Those who actually succeeded in getting their disability recognized often remained without work for several years, and then only found employment in small local workshop with a meager wage and poor working conditions.27 Conversely, young people with less pressing difficulties who had connections were able to find work in factories that were short of manpower, and after a period of time this fait accompli was officially recognized. But most exemptions were the result of the regular placement procedures by school heads. Except for the small minority of young people authorized to continue their studies, those exempted were either employed by urban work units (especially factories) or enrolled in the army. The choices were primarily determined by the young people’s political status and, most importantly, their class origins and to a lesser extent their individual attitudes. For this reason virtually all of those enrolled in the army were the children of cadres (with a very high percentage of children of military cadres), while the remainder 24 25

26

27

See Yue and Wakeman, To the Storm, pp. 254–55. Qian Yi, “Ai zai Beidahuang” (My Love Is in the Great Northern Wilderness), Dangdai 5 (1986), p.  149. The region called  “Beidahuang” (literally “Great Northern Desert”) corresponds to the northernmost part of Manchuria. It comprises the Nunjiang River basin, the Heilongjiang valley, and the Sanjiang plain. Since the term doesn’t really apply to a desert but to a region that has long remained uncultivated, we prefer the term “Great Northern Wilderness” or “the Great North.” Interview with C.  Y.  X., July 7, 1978. For literary examples, see Lu Tianming, “Sangha gaodi de taiyang” (The Sun of the Sangha Plain), Dangdai 4 (1986), pp.  31–32; Mi Shu, “Ruilijiang ban” (On the Banks of the Ruili River), Guanchajia 9 (1979), p.  67; Ye Xin, Women zhe yidai nianqingren (The Young People of Our Generation) (Beijing: Zhongguo qingnian chubanshe, 1980), pp. 55–59. Interviews with X. W., May 3, 1985, and X. D., June 2, 1985.

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came from working-class backgrounds. Many urban work placements were assigned to the children of workers, but also of cadres, with a small percentage for those with ordinary backgrounds. A case study by Chan, Rosen, and Unger of a group of 55 high schools classes in Guangzhou was very revealing. It showed a 42 percent exemption rate for the children of cadres, 31 percent for young people from working-class backgrounds, roughly 4 percent for those from ordinary backgrounds, and 1 percent for those from bad backgrounds.28 My own research was less systematic but covered several large cities, and tends to confirm this distribution by class, although it showed a lower overall rate of exemptions.29 Within each social class, individual attitude was the determining factor, in other words it was the young people’s membership in “good” or “bad” Red Guard organizations and their level of support for the work groups that occupied their school and whether they had been members of the Communist Youth League before the Cultural Revolution. This explains why a relatively high proportion of conservative Red Guards were able to avoid xiaxiang (roughly 30 percent in Guilin, for example),30 whereas nearly 100 percent of the “rebels” were obliged to leave. For the children of high-level cadres, their personal attitude was nevertheless secondary to their parents’ political influence. Of course, the children of high-level cadres who had been victims of the Cultural Revolution lost all of their privileges and were lumped together with young people with bad class backgrounds.31 For this reason two school friends with the same family background who were in the same class of an 28

29

30 31

Anita Chan, Stanley Rosen, and Jonathan Unger, “Students and Class Warfare: The Social Roots of the Red Guard Conflict in Guangzhou (Canton),” China Quarterly 83 (September 1980), Table 9, p. 445. Only nine of the former zhiqing I interviewed could remember the exact numbers and the family backgrounds of those exempted in their class. The rate varied from 1.5 percent to 17 percent, with significantly more children of cadres than those from working-class families, with a very small proportion of young people from ordinary backgrounds. Interview with G. M., January 15, 1977. The children of very high-level cadres who had had political problems were sent to farms where they were placed under special surveillance (interview on June 16, 1986 with C.  Y.  L., who found himself in the same military farm near Shijiazhuang as Deng Lin, the daughter of Deng Xiaoping). Young people in this category were grouped together in special farms with very limited contact with the outside world; see Zheng Yi, “Ningjie de weixiao” (The Fixed Smile), Huacheng 3 (November 1979), pp. 1–11.

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elite high school and received similar grades were to have two very different fates. One took the “fast track” for that generation’s children of high-level cadres (army, university, study abroad), while the other was sent for many long years to a farm in Inner Mongolia. Her father was one of many cadres unfairly accused of having betrayed the CCP under the Kuomintang.32 This difference in destiny clearly explains the frenzy with which the majority of cadres brought their children back to the cities as soon as they had been rehabilitated.33 The rot had set in from the outset, despite numerous articles exhorting cadres to set a good example and not consider their children as belonging to a “different race.”34 It would be untrue to say that these appeals had absolutely no effect, since many high-level cadres felt morally and politically obliged to send their children to the countryside, although they brought them back again a year or two later. The cadres’ attitude was not surprising since most parents would have done everything possible to help their children avoid xiaxiang if they could. In fact, there were even fewer volunteers among parents than among zhiqing since they were more aware of the difficulties awaiting in the countryside and less inclined to revolutionary idealism than their children. After 1968–1969, xiaxiang policy continued to be marked by coercion  and sociopolitical inequality, but the scale of exemptions fluctuated widely and a new family-related criterion was introduced, theoretically independent of class origin, which was the possibility for parents to keep one child with them at home. This concession did not have a purely positive effect on the families concerned, because it often led to conflicts between brothers and sisters, or children and parents, to decide who would stay behind. Family solidarity generally won, but some children were known to have “negotiated” a monthly allowance from their parents in exchange for their “sacrifice.”35 In some cases these conflicts became violent, and Liang Heng mentions the case of one young man who beat his stepfather and half-brother to make him go in his place.36 The transfer of responsibility for departures to the parents’ work units in 1973–1974 did nothing to change the compulsory nature of the movement, 32 33 34 35 36

Interview with L. T. and L. Z., September 21, 1979. See above, pp. 104–7. See WHB, editorial, December 22, 1968, in FBIS, December 24, 1968. Interview with H. Z. W., June 10, 1984. Liang and Shapiro, Son of the Revolution, p.  237. Liang Heng does not explain that the policy of keeping one child at home was the reason for this behavior.

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since pressure exerted on parents was always the decisive factor. True volunteers were extremely rare at the time, except in the official press, but the hope of being able to return home one day, even if the date was not fixed at the outset, made xiaxiang more bearable (or at least, less unbearable).

Destinations One aspect of the government’s strategy for getting the young people to leave was allowing them to choose their destination. There were two principal types of destination: villages and farms. Going to a village was called chadui 插隊, or chadui luohu 插隊落戶 (joining a team and establishing residence). The teams in question were the production teams (shengchandui 生產隊), which generally corresponded to a village or a part of one. They reported to the production brigades (shengchan dadui 生產大隊), which in turn, reported to people’s communes (gongshe 公社). They were organized in a collective production system that did not provide any fixed salary for its members. Income earned from the harvest and other forms of production was shared among all the members (sheyuan 社員: commune members) in proportion to the work points (gongfen 工分) earned. In contrast, the farms (nongchang 農 場) belonged to the public sector and guaranteed a monthly wage to their employees, referred to as agricultural workers (nonggong 農工). They reported either to the state (guoying), one of its administrative branches (city, province, etc.) or, in the case of military farms, to a military region. The Xinjiang Production and Construction Corps (shengchan jianshe bingtuan) mentioned earlier was established in 1954, and other such corps (bingtuan) followed between 1968 and 1971. In most cases the military farms were former state farms, since the army had taken over a number of farms formerly managed by the provincial bureaus of land reclamation and cultivation (Nongkenju 農墾局). Many of them, especially in the north, had previously been reform-through-labor camps, but in 1968–1969, due to tensions on the SinoSoviet border, the government decided to transfer all those camps south of the Yellow River. The zhiqing therefore replaced the prisoners, who were viewed as potential enemy allies in the event of a Soviet invasion. The army turned out to be a poor administrator, and the corps were disbanded in 1974–1975, and the farms then returned to a civil administration.37

37

See above, pp.  100–1, and also Frolic, Mao’s People, pp.  195–209, and Heilongjiangsheng, pp. 194–254.

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The choice offered to zhiqing did not apply to the type of destination (village or farm) but rather to specific locations. In the normal rustication process by the school or street committee, the choice was limited to two or three, and even then the young people were not sure of getting what they wanted. Furthermore neither the zhiqing nor their parents necessarily had the means to assess the merits of destinations that were completely unknown to them. They mainly based their criteria on the salary and the distance. The farms provided the security of a fixed wage, but were often far away and zhiqing were only allowed to visit their families once every year or two, whereas suburban farms employed relatively few people prior to 1974. Most farms were, or had been, established for land reclamation, and were therefore in the border regions or the most underprivileged areas, very far from the big cities. When the big cities rusticated zhiqing outside of their province, the distances could be considerable. The three major cities with independent administrative status (Beijing, Shanghai, and Tianjin) carried out interprovincial migrations as did some of the large provincial cities (notably Hangzhou, Nanjing, Wuhan, Chengdu, and Chongqing).38 Young people were sometimes faced with a difficult choice between a distant farm and a relatively close village. Generally, those who chose to go to the farms were those who could not, or did not want to, depend on their families for financial or other support. Others feared being disorientated and homesick, the harshness of the climate and the work, and most of all, the separation from their families that going to a distant farm entailed. Sometimes the choice was between an equally distant village or farm, in which case most, but not all, chose the farms. For example, the idealistic Red Guard mentioned earlier who left for Inner Mongolia in November 1967 could have chosen a farm in Heilongjiang, but since he wanted to unite with the masses, he preferred to live in a team of Mongolian herders than among a group of zhiqing surrounded by cadres.39 In contrast, the appeal of the farms increased considerably when they were taken over by the military, thanks to the army’s prestige combined with the financial considerations. Zhiqing acquired the (purely formal) title of “soldier” (zhanshi 戰士) and an impressive military overcoat if they were heading for the Great North, and these became highly sought-after status symbols.40 38 39

40

For more on these interprovincial migrations see above, p. 178. He soon found himself on a military farm, however, since the army took control of the entire region (close to the border) in 1969 (interview with M. J. L., June 30, 1986). Interview with Liang Xiaosheng, September 21, 1986; and Yue and Wakeman, To

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For many zhiqing the choice was not between a farm and a village but between two or three villages situated in different counties. Here too the supposed wealth of a village and its distance were the main criteria, but other factors also played a part. In Guangzhou, for example, the small number of young people who decided to cross over to Hong Kong in 1968–1969 (with numbers rising over the following years) did their best to select districts close to the border. Many who had not initially wanted to go to those relatively faraway destinations bitterly regretted their choice when they later decided to leave China. Of course, the most motivated young people, those who really wanted to reform their “petit-bourgeois intellectual thinking,” asked to go “where the conditions are harshest.”41 In the above cases choice was limited to a few destinations offered by the authorities, who, in any case, reserved the right to ignore people’s express desires and decide on the final placement. However, there was always another way of choosing one’s destination, which consisted of being accepted in a place where one had relatives or friends. This procedure (called “taking refuge with one’s relatives or friends” or touqin kaoyou 投親靠友), enabled many young people to go to their parents’ native villages or simply to a place where brothers, sisters, or friends were already living. This had two advantages: the young people were already familiar with the living conditions there, which made the decision easier, and they would not be complete strangers but could count on help from family or friends to ease their integration. The search for support and protection at the destination was the vital factor in this process, which explains why this was called “taking refuge.”42 In certain, extremely rare cases, it had a genuine political significance. For example, two

41

42

the Storm, p. 255. See Liang and Shapiro, Son of the Revolution, pp.  142–43; and the letter by the author Zheng Yi addressed to Pan Xiao, in ZGQN 7 (1980), p. 5. This account is certainly interesting although he seems to diverge from historical fact when he attributes his own enthusiasm at the time to his entire generation. In meaning, touqin kaoyou is equivalent to toukao qinyou. After a time the government tended to use the term huixiang zhiqing (educated youths returning to the countryside) to refer to the zhiqing who went individually to villages where they had family ties. The provincial annals therefore employ this term, especially in their statistical tables. Nevertheless, it is inappropriate in the sense that it creates a confusion with the people usually designated by this term, i.e., young people from rural backgrounds who returned to their villages after completing their studies in the city.

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of our interviewees, who had been minor rebel Red Guards leaders in Guangzhou, chose to go to a village in Hubei where former “comrades-in-arms” from Wuhan had been sent, to escape persecution against the rebels, which was particularly severe in Guangdong, and to continue their political action as far as possible.43 As this example shows, there were no geographical limitations to the possibility of “taking refuge” (touqin kaoyou). As far as I know, the authorities never prevented zhiqing from choosing their destination in this way, even when they had already been assigned to places elsewhere. Indeed, from the authorities’ point of view, this procedure was very advantageous, since the presence of friends or family made integration easier. The government’s main problem lay in persuading the peasants to accept the presence of a given quota of zhiqing, so if some urban youths were able to obtain the consent of the local authorities on their own, then that was so much less work for the cadres in charge of organizing xiaxiang. In practice though, this procedure was restricted, first by the need for the zhiqing to have connections in the countryside, and then by the difficulty in getting accepted by local authorities, disinclined to saddle themselves with a burden unless it was imposed on them by force. However, it was difficult to refuse where really close family ties existed in a village, which explains why this procedure was most frequently used in the small, provincial towns where almost every family had relatives in the outlying villages.44 In these cases, the zhiqing’s parents always arranged for some sort of compensation for the rural family members willing to accept and look after the young people. In cases where there were family ties or friendships with zhiqing already settled in the countryside, or very distant family ties with the peasants, the agreement of the local authorities depended upon the existing relationship between the two parties and could be “negotiated.” When it involved relatively rich villages close to big cities, a fairly high price was put on this favor. In several villages on the outskirts of Guangzhou for example, team leaders received kickbacks

43 44

Interviews with C. W. H. and Q. Z. W., August 8, 1978, and August 20, 1978. In some places, the number of zhiqing who left in this way was particularly high. For example, from 1969 to 1972 more than 83,000 young people from Shanghai went to “seek refuge” in Jiangsu and Zhejiang. No collective departures had been organized to these neighboring provinces, even though the majority of Shanghainese came from there. These departures had been arranged individually by their parents to prevent their children being sent to remote destinations. See Shanghai laodongzhi, p. 114; and Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, p. 305.

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on the order of 500 yuan per zhiqing, in addition to the government settlement bonus of some 200 yuan, which also went to line their pockets.45 Although the zhiqing had little freedom of choice in their destination, they were able, within limits, to change their minds, hence the backtracking by many zhiqing, especially in the early years of the movement. In the majority of cases, transfers were made from a village to a farm. Zhiqing who couldn’t earn enough to live on and were repelled by the boredom and the mediocrity of life in their village asked to go to farms in remote regions where they could enjoy the luxury of a fixed wage, live the adventurous life of a pioneer, and discover new worlds. That was how Zhang Kangkang left for the Manchurian north and Kong Jiesheng left for Hainan Island.46 Another writer, A Cheng, moved twice. As the son of a rightist, he knew that he had no hope of escaping xiaxiang and since some of his friends were in the same situation, they all decided to leave Beijing for a village in Shanxi where they had acquaintances and could stay together. However, the village peasants obstinately refused to register their residency (hukou), and after six months they were obliged to leave and get accepted in a village in Inner Mongolia. Six months later, they received a letter from a friend who told them that conditions were good in the farms of Xishuangbanna where it was possible to earn up to 20 yuan a month. They obtained their transfer and left for Xishuangbanna in 1969.47 Occasionally these transfers occurred from village to village because of the resistance of the peasant cadres. Zhiqing applied for transfers to move closer to their hometown, to join up with a brother or sister, or to go to less underprivileged villages. When they no longer feared repression, the two Cantonese “rebels” who went to Hubei we mentioned earlier, applied for, and obtained transfers two years later to a village relatively close to Guangzhou where they had friends.48 The margin of freedom in choosing a destination did not grow over time; far from it. The farms reached a saturation point after 1973 and considerably reduced their intake, only accepting small groups of young people from the

45 46

47 48

Interviews with S. L. H., September 12, 1979, and with the farmer M. W. C., July 13, 1978. Zhang Kangkang, Xiaoshuo chuangzuo yu yishu ganjue, p.  157; Kong Jiesheng, postface to Nanfang de an (The Southern Shore), Nanfang de an (Beijing: Beijing chubanshe, 1983), pp. 183–84. Interview with A Cheng, June 27, 1986. See Note 43 above.

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same region, or individual zhiqing coming to join a brother or sister.49 After 1974, when the work units took over the organization of xiaxiang, the element of choice gradually disappeared. However, the destinations tended to be less distant and by then the living conditions had improved somewhat. In the years after the Cultural Revolution, other young people went to rural or border regions in conditions broadly similar to those of the zhiqing, though to different types of destination. Some young graduates signed up to work in mines or oil fields, following recruitment drives by leaders in some cities.50 The children of cadres aged under sixteen followed their parents if they were sent to the May 7 cadre schools, military farms, or simply to villages if they went as “sent-down cadres” (xiafang ganbu 下放幹部).51 In many respects their experiences were similar to the zhiqing’s and influenced their way of thinking in much the same way, though they only officially entered the zhiqing category at the age of sixteen.

Departure Songs and Laments Once the young urbanites had signed up and been assigned a destination, the big day for their collective departure arrived. In the early days of the movement, among the small groups of highly motivated zhiqing, each departure was preceded by a ceremony in which they swore allegiance to a portrait of Chairman Mao. In Beijing this took place on Tiananmen Square, and groups ranging from a handful of young people to hundreds would stand in line before Mao’s portrait with their fists raised to recite an oath, following the example set by the first group (Qu Zhe) that left in October 1967:52 The reddest of red suns, the reddest in our hearts and the greatest of leaders, Oh Chairman Mao, we, your most loyal Red Guards, swear this oath to you: your great thought is the brightest of beacons that guides the steps of the peoples of the world toward revolution! We shall be eternally loyal, eternally and without limits, boundlessly faithful to your thought, boundlessly loyal to your revolutionary line! [...] The road ahead is tortuous and hard, but your radiant thought will always light our way. Hoisting on high the flag 49 50 51

52

Interview with W. S., November 23, 1986; and Heilongjiangsheng, p. 215. See, for example, Xiao Fuxing, “Chaidamu zuo zheng,” p. 21. Interview on June 30, 1986, with the poet Gu Cheng, who lived in the countryside with his exiled father from the age of 13 to 18; see also, Liang and Shapiro, Son of the Revolution, chap. 14; Yue and Wakeman, To the Storm, p. 255. See above, pp. 65–66.

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of your thought, we shall go onward! Highly, greatly respected Chairman Mao, in line with your great directive, “intellectuals must unite with the workers and peasants,” we have taken a step forward. We shall follow this revolutionary path until the very end and never look back!53

But by the end of 1968, the majority of zhiqing no longer shared this fervor, and the swearing of oaths went out of fashion. The departures were first and foremost about organization. During the high point of the movement, from 1968 to early 1970, departures took place one after the other throughout the year but as the organization improved and departures became less numerous they usually took place after the summer, sometimes in several distinct groups, spaced out until the onset of winter. The intense mobilization began in the spring, as the end of the school year approached. The emotional departure scenes were engraved on the memories of all who experienced it, even those who were merely spectators.54 All my interviewees had very vivid memories of it, and all the writers of this generation have described one or several scenes of this kind, whether in fiction, poetry, or autobiographies.55 The collective zhiqing departures gave the authorities an opportunity to organize ceremonies to stress the glorious and revolutionary nature of xiaxiang. Colorful posters were put up beforehand, and on the day, the zhiqing, wearing red paper flowers in their buttonholes and accompanied by their parents, arrived surrounded by students from neighboring schools waving flags and chanting slogans. A band played revolutionary songs and important leaders made speeches. The festival-like atmosphere that accompanied departures was maintained by the authorities throughout the duration of the xiaxiang movement. I witnessed one such departure myself, in Beijing in 1977. A convoy of buses full of zhiqing was being waved off by schoolchildren, led by a lorry bearing the slogan “Let us learn from the educated youths going up to the mountains and down to the countryside.” Other slogans were broadcast

53 54

55

Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, p. 99. Especially young people who had not yet reached the departure age but saw their elder siblings leave in an atmosphere of tears and heartbreak. See the famous letter by Pan Xiao in ZGQN 5 (1980), p. 3. On the social and political significance of this letter, see in particular David  Ownby, “Growing Alienation among Chinese Youths,” in C. L. Hamrin and T. Cheek (eds.), China’s Establishment Intellectuals (New York: M. E. Sharpe, 1986), pp. 212–46. In particular a highly acclaimed poem by Shi Zhi (Guo Lusheng), entitled “Zhei shi si dian ling ba fen de Beijing” (This Is Beijing at Eight Minutes Past Four), Beijing wenxue 6 (1998), p. 105.

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over the loudspeakers, interspersed with military music. But that was nothing compared with the atmosphere surrounding the departures at the start of the movement, or even the journeys themselves. The first large departure of 1,200 zhiqing from Beijing in November 1967 was described to me as follows by the participant I mentioned earlier: We left Tiananmen Square in fifty or so buses all repainted in red. Thousands of people gathered to watch our departure, including, of course, our parents. There was a sea of red flags, as well as music, singing, and slogans. Several leaders were supposed to make speeches but, sadly, due to the prevailing chaos, they made their speeches later, when the convoy had reached the outskirts of town. We spent the first night in Zhangjiakou, in the army barracks, after a triumphant welcome. The journey lasted ten days and we received a hero’s welcome at every stage. When we arrived in Mongolia the convoy split in two, one heading east and the other west. The sight of dozens of buses crossing the steppe was impressive. In Mongolia, horsemen rode out to meet us and accompany us to the next town.56

The revolutionary atmosphere was reinforced by references to Mao’s youth and the origins of the revolution, as in the photograph No. 6 depicting the arrival in Yan’an of a group of zhiqing brandishing the famous painting Chairman Mao Zedong Goes to Anyuan.57 But this organized revolutionary euphoria could not entirely mask the sadness of separation. All eyewitness accounts are unanimous in this respect: at the moment of departure, all the music and slogan-shouting could not conceal the sound of weeping from the parents on the platforms and streets, and from zhiqing in the trains, trucks, buses, and boats.58 Even the activists, who were given the task of singing a military tune at the precise moment of departure to prevent the atmosphere from degenerating completely, would break down and rush to the windows, weeping with the others.59 Of course, the weeping eventually died down once the initial pain of separation had passed, and was often replaced by songs and the sound of harmonicas, encouraged by the energetic cadres and activists who 56 57 58

59

Interview with M. J. L., June 30, 1986. La Chine en Construction, June 1969, p. 22. A similar photograph illustrates the cover of Thomas Bernstein’s book mentioned earlier. See Michel and Huang He, Avoir 20 ans en Chine, p.  35; interview with Zhang Xinxin, July 2, 1984; Zhang Kangkang, Xiaoshuo chuangzuo yu yishu ganjue, p. 157. Lu Tianming, “Sangha gaodi de taiyang,” p. 34.

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accompanied the young people on their journey. For a great many zhiqing it was their first ever journey by train or by boat and the landscape was an exciting discovery. But the atmosphere was different than on the journeys “to exchange revolutionary experience” (chuanlian) during the Cultural Revolution. Even the genuine volunteers or partial-volunteers would have been in a serious frame of mind, uncertain about the life that lay ahead and how long they would stay in the countryside. They were only 16, 18, or 20 years old and some feared they were leaving forever, while others refused to believe their fate was sealed once and for all. Nevertheless, they knew they were leaving home for a long time and the further they went from their homes the greater the feeling of a permanent separation. Nor did the landscape they discovered always meet with their expectations. After the weeping and the singing, came the moment of silence: It was April when I arrived in the Great Northern Wilderness. The steppe was still covered in a thick blanket of snow, and there wasn’t a hint of green in the forest. Horse-drawn carriages and big Liberation trucks transported the few hundred zhiqing and their luggage. It was like the exodus of a tribe across a vast, snow-covered plain [...]. We felt that the Great North was a place without spring. The descriptions we had read in our books, the idyllic presentations our teachers made to encourage us, those images full of mystery that we created from our romantic aspirations were all radically contradicted by what we saw through our own eyes. The songs had long since died down, as had the laughter and conversation. Along the one thousand or so kilometers between Nunjiang and Heihe, where there was no train line, it was silence, advance, silence, advance, silence …60

Following the return of some zhiqing in 1970–1971 and especially after the change of policy in 1973–1974, they were less likely to think they were being exiled forever, although the duration was still unclear. By then their forerunners’ experience was already widely known, and the enthusiasm and excitement of novelty had disappeared. In 1968–1969, only between 10 to 15 percent of zhiqing were genuine volunteers,61 but by the 1970s they repre60

61

Liang Xiaosheng, “Beidahuang jishi” (Memories of the Great Northern Wilderness), in Tian ruo you qing (If Heaven Has Feelings) (Beijing: Beijing shiyue wenyi chubanshe, 1984), pp.  84–85. Despite its title, this short story is not purely autobiographical, although the author assured me that the atmosphere described in the book closely reflects his own experiences or those of his close friends; interview with Liang Xiaosheng, September 21, 1986. This figure is a very rough estimate, first because my sample group cannot be

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sented just a few statistically insignificant exceptions. The authorities maintained the illusion of the voluntary nature of xiaxiang right until the end. The movement was even portrayed in the press as being a spontaneous one supported by the government,62 while the party, with its usual ventriloquist skills, freely placed the ideas it wanted to impose into the mouths of the people.63 But it was careful to avoid saying, as it had in 1963, that those who refused to leave should not be forced,64 and nobody was fooled by that fiction, not even the genuine volunteers who had witnessed the pressure exerted on the young people who resisted. The majority felt they had been forced and that their departure was a form of deportation.65

62

63 64 65

considered to be representative (Bernstein—whose sample was not representative either—gives 15 percent), and also because the definition of “volunteer” is unclear. Since according to official fiction they were all volunteers, a number of ex-zhiqing sincerely replied that they were volunteers, but a more detailed discussion revealed that they were simply resigned to the inevitable. See RMRB, December 22, 1968, p. 1, where one finds the following passage: “The [Huining] Revolutionary Committee resolutely upholds the revolutionary requests of the masses. It has therefore decided to actively help the street committee organize 115 classes for the study of Mao Zedong Thought.” See Xinhua, December 25, 1968, in SWB, December 30, 1968, p. B17. See ZGQN 23 (December 1, 1963), p. 3. In an article that appeared in an unofficial publication in 1979, the author compared the zhiqing to exiled or deported people such as the Palestinians or the Crimean Tatars (Beijing qimeng 2, in JPRS, May 10, 1979, p.  60). The coercive nature of xiaxiang after the Cultural Revolution was officially recognized in the 1980s. See Zhang Hua, “Shilun ‘wenhua da geming’ zhong zhishi qingnian shangshan xiaxiang yundong,” p.  149, who stated the following: “During mobilization, erroneous methods of applying pressure were used in some places, such as the forced transfer of residency, terminating the distribution of grain, organizing ‘study classes,’ suspending the parents’ wages, etc.”

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Material Difficulties and Low Morale

Official propaganda never denied the zhiqing’s material and mental difficulties, despite the tendency to describe the countryside as idyllic. While the press did not conceal that life in the countryside was hard, it mainly stressed the benefits the zhiqing would obtain from it. They would be able to toughen themselves up and eradicate the bourgeois ideas instilled by city comforts and a revisionist education. Once truly “revolutionized” (geminghua), they would be in the correct state to unite with the masses and become “new type socialist peasants,” at ease in their rural environment. Of course the peasant masses would have to welcome them and help them to achieve this transformation, but such was the importance of this movement to the nation’s future that it justified the zhiqing’s suffering and the effort put into it—not only by the zhiqing themselves, but their parents, the peasants, and the cadres as well. However, the reality was a long way from this idealistic vision. I will try to show just how it differed by presenting the four main difficulties encountered by the educated youths during their period of rustication. For clarity’s sake, I will broach in succession the realities and problems that were present at the same time in the zhiqing’s overall experience, interpenetrating and mutually reinforcing each other.

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Difficulties in Adapting to Rural Conditions The First Shock: Discovering the Backwardness Whatever their degree of enthusiasm for xiaxiang, all the zhiqing, except perhaps those from very small towns, were shocked to discover the reality of the Chinese countryside. They felt they had been catapulted into another, inconceivably backward world, even when they were close to their hometowns. Indeed, not all the zhiqing had to travel 51-day journeys, like the thirty young people from Tianjin who left on foot in December 1968 for a village in Shanxi more than 1,000 kilometers away, or even the 10-day journey taken by the young Beijingers who left by bus for Inner Mongolia, or those who left for Ruili county in Yunnan.1 Sometimes they expressed their shock immediately, like these young people from Beijing who were packed off to a military farm in Heilongjiang: We were in the same high school and rather pleased to be going off to live together among friends in a new place in the middle of the countryside. But when we arrived and discovered how filthy the peasants were, and the desolation and backwardness of that dump, and realized that we would have to spend the rest of our lives there, we felt a terrible anguish and as soon as we were left alone we burst into tears together. The girls especially, were sobbing loudly.2

Even when their first reaction was not so strong, their daily contact with rural life profoundly shook the zhiqing’s beliefs and ideas. Most of the young people only knew the countryside from the edifying descriptions in their schoolbooks, in which the glorious present was systematically compared with the miserable past. At most they may have taken part in manual labor in a nearby village with their schoolmates. Those short stays in a scout camp type of atmosphere gave them no inkling of the real hardships of the peasants’ lives. Xiaxiang, however, plunged them brutally into a totally different world from the one they expected, and triggered doubts about party propaganda. Faced with this unsuspected degree of backwardness, even the most revolutionary among them began to question the possibility of rapid change in the countryside. Previously, they had honestly believed they would not only overcome their own “egotism” but overcome the poor natural conditions, 1 2

See respectively, RMRB, July 5,1973, p. 2; above, pp. 230–31; Mi Shu, “Ruilijiang ban,” p. 64. Interview with P. K. W., July 1985.

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backwardness, and poverty. As one zhiqing wrote in July 1968: “I had been told that the conditions in Antu county were poor, and that one could easily catch Keshan disease.3 But I thought that if the conditions were bad, we would be able to change them. Armed with Mao Zedong Thought, we were afraid of nothing.”4 Most zhiqing perceived their geographical displacement as a travel back in time. The people I spoke to, including zhiqing writers, stressed this revelation about the weight of history that seriously shook their revolutionary optimism. The writer Shi Tiesheng, after describing the springtime planting in the Yan’an region he was sent to, added: “Looking at the scene I almost forgot what century I was living in. I silently considered humanity’s long and sluggish history.”5 Shi wrote about the massive expenditure of labor required to obtain a wage that would be trifling in the city, and described the blind storytellers who wandered around the region, living off what little people could spare for them in exchange for their tales, usually ancient ones mixed up with a few quotations from Chairman Mao.6 Another writer, Zhu Lin, who was sent to a different but equally poor region in Anhui province, described the persistence of poverty-related traditions. The village heads distributed special certificates to peasants who went off to beg in groups. These departures were accompanied by songs and gongs according to ancestral tradition.7 As one interviewee from Guangdong province said, “When I discovered that agricultural production hadn’t changed for two thousand years, I began to loose faith in China’s future.”8 If the discovery of the situation in the countryside twenty years after the advent of socialism led to doubts about China’s radiant future, it also shook the former Red Guards’ convictions about China’s recent past, and especially the superiority of the Maoist way to agricultural development. Not only were the results not brilliant, as they could see for themselves, but the peasants spontaneously discussed their nostalgia for Liu Shaoqi’s policy of san zi yi

3 4 5 6 7 8

Juvenile cardiomyopathy due to a selenium deficiency. RMRB, July 9, 1968, p. 3. Shi Tiesheng, “Wode yaoyuan de Qingpingwan” (My Distant Village of Qingpingwan), Xiaoshuo yuebao 3 (1983), p. 40. Ibid., p. 45. Zhu Lin, Shenghuo de lu (The Path of Life) (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1979), pp. 178–80. Interview with Y. S., July 21, 1978.

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bao (三自一包)9 or the period before collectivization, if not before Liberation.10 The peasants also talked about the terrible famine that followed the Great Leap Forward, and made no bones about blaming this allegedly “natural” catastrophe on the ridiculous measures imposed on them from above. This was a painful discovery for young people who as Red Guards had vilified Liu Shaoqi’s agricultural policies and believed in the virtues of Chairman Mao’s revolutionary line. The loss of faith in revolutionary values and the discouragement they felt faced with the massive task of rural development seriously demoralized the zhiqing and made it all the harder for them to accept their poor living conditions. Backwardness was not an abstract concept for the zhiqing, but a reality they had to endure every day.

The Main Problems Subjectively, because the zhiqing were used to a far more comfortable environment in the cities, the living conditions in the countryside were harder for them to bear than for the peasants. That was inevitable and was indeed the whole point of xiaxiang. But objectively, the zhiqing’s living conditions in the villages were in fact worse than those of the peasants.

Housing and living environment The state provided a 230 yuan settlement bonus to every zhiqing sent to a village (and 20 yuan more to pay for winter clothing if they were going to the far north). However, apart from a variable amount of between 15 to 20 yuan allotted to each young person to cover the cost of travel, the remainder was allocated directly to the receiving production team. The sum was to help the production teams with housing and agricultural implements for the zhiqing as well as grain rations and other foodstuffs for the first few months or the first 9

10

The policy of the “three freedoms” (private plots, free markets, small rural enterprises with independent accounting) and “one contract” (production quotas established on basis of the family) was established in the early 1960s under Liu Shaoqi. It led to a clear improvement in agricultural production after the resounding failure of the Great Leap Forward. However, it was denounced as revisionist and vehemently attacked during the Cultural Revolution; see, for example, HQ 16 (1967), p. 25. Interviews; Michel and Huang He, Avoir 20 ans en Chine, pp.  59–61; Shi Tiesheng, “Wode yaoyuan de Qingpingwan,” p. 44.

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year of their stay, until they could earn enough work points to be entitled to a share of the following harvest. Unfortunately, in most cases the settlement bonus did not provide the zhiqing with decent housing. The new arrivals were spread around the villages according to their high schools or hometowns. Sometimes young people from small neighboring towns were placed with zhiqing from larger, more distant cities, but this could also be quite random. Occasionally friendships between the young people were taken into account, but the authorities could also use specific criteria. One respondent found herself in a group of zhiqing who were all members of the Communist Youth League in the same high school. The aim there was certainly to create an “advanced model.”11 The number of zhiqing in each team usually varied between 3 and 12, but in our sample the extremes ranged from 2 to 20. In densely populated areas such as Guangdong province there were several dozen or even a hundred zhiqing per brigade and several hundred, or a thousand or more per commune. In their Guangdong sample, Parish and Whyte found an average zhiqing rate (in relation to the adult population of the villages to which they were sent) of less than 3 percent.12 My more limited sample gave a slightly higher average of 3.3 percent of the total population but with considerable variations (ranging from 1.6 to 15 percent). Whatever the number of zhiqing, their arrival always caused a housing problem for the local authorities, with the exception of two specific categories: zhiqing with their own family contacts in the village (touqin kaoyou) and young people from small nearby towns who could return home at night. That practice was frowned upon by hardline xiaxiang supporters, but tolerated because it helped solve the housing problem. As a result, one village close to a small town in Zhejiang province actually had no housing problem at all.13 However, in most cases the peasants had to deal with a sudden arrival of a group of new inhabitants, and since they rarely had vacant houses, they were obliged to resort to emergency solutions. The zhiqing were scattered about individually in peasant families or installed in premises that were not designed to be inhabited, such as the production team’s administrative office (duibu 隊部), outbuildings, warehouses, tool sheds, or empty ancestral temples. 11 12 13

Interview with T. R. C., July 15, 1978. William  L. Parish and Martin  K. Whyte, Village and Family in Contemporary China (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1978), p. 42. Interview with H.  Z.  W., June 13, 1984. The respondent lived with his mother, who had been sent to this village as a teacher.

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From an ideological point of view, placing the zhiqing with the peasants was perfect and corresponded to a CCP tradition called san tong 三同 or “three withs,” which dated back to the agrarian reforms when the cadres sent to the villages were to “eat, live and work with” the peasants.14 However, in the long term this imposed cohabitation satisfied neither the zhiqing nor the peasants15 and consequently the periods spent in peasant households only lasted a few months or at most a year. Conversely, the zhiqing were often obliged to live in buildings that were not designed as housing for years on end. In one case, zhiqing living in a grain silo, who complained of being woken by the peasants at four o’clock every morning, were then moved to a stable.16 Even when the buildings had been fitted out a little, the living conditions were very poor and the occupants endured suffocating heat or freezing cold, stench, leaking roofs, mosquitos, fleas, and so on. If they complained, the local cadres replied that their settlement bonuses were insufficient to build houses for them and that the team was too poor to make up the difference. In fact that was not always the case, but there were two main reasons for the peasant cadres’ bad will. For one thing they perceived the settlement bonus as a kind of general compensation for all the additional work the arrival of the zhiqing entailed and the cost of their food, and for another they did not believe xiaxiang would last. Of course, that there were no regular controls over the use to which the funds were put was an encouragement to diverting them.17 Quite frequently the money was not used for the cadres’ private ends, but for the collective good, such as purchasing grain, chemical fertilizers, etc. At a time when

14 15 16 17

Lau Yee-fui et al., Glossary of Chinese Political Phrases, p. 351. Except when they decided to marry one of their children with the zhiqing in question; see below, p. 289. Interview with H. C., July 7, 1978. A short story by A  Cheng, based on a true event, relates how the cadres in a team in Inner Mongolia used the settlement bonus to pay for a banquet. That year, the authorities of the banner (equivalent of a county) asked all the teams to provide a banquet for their members on the occasion of the Mid-Autumn Festival. Controllers were sent to ensure that this directive was applied. Since the team had no funds, the only solution was to use the zhiqing’s settlement bonus. Needless to say, no controller was dispatched to ensure that the settlement bonus had been spent correctly. See A  Cheng, “Huican” (The Banquet), in Qiwang (The Chess King) (Beijing: Zuojia chubanshe, 1985), pp. 179–85.

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every village was encouraged to be self-sufficient in food, a windfall of several hundred or several thousand yuan in the coffers provided tempting opportunities to carry out necessary purchases. The authorities only began to look at the uses to which the funds were put after the 1973 national conference. On November 9, the Ministry of Finance issued a “Notice concerning the liquidation of credits granted to citizens sent to the countryside.”18 All the provinces were put to the task, but the investigation, which covered the 1968– 1972 period, was not finished until the end of 1975. Serious irregularities were uncovered. In Liaoning province for example, 794,378 zhiqing had been rusticated together with 282,845 “idle youths” and 151,508 dependents of cadres sent to do manual labor in the villages. Out of the 220.11 million yuan spent by the government, 8.17 million (3.7 percent) had been diverted, mainly for other collective purposes, but a small amount had been embezzled by individual cadres, or added to the income shared out between all the team members. Rules were subsequently drawn up stipulating that the funds must be used solely for their allocated purpose and a person must be appointed to be in charge of the funds, which had not usually been the case before. Despite that, numerous other irregularities were revealed when the accounts were finally settled at the end of the xiaxiang movement.19 After a few months or years special housing was ultimately built in more than half the villages where zhiqing were sent. Even in relatively well-off regions, such as the Beijing suburbs, only 30 percent of zhiqing were living in new housing at the end of 1972, 30 percent were in buildings belonging to the local authorities, and 40 percent were billeted with families.20 The young people very often had to help build their own homes, sometimes single-handedly under the supervision of a local builder. This was often very rudimentary if not outright dangerous when savings were made on the size of beams, for example. Houses were usually constructed from the same material as the peasants’ homes, mainly cob with thatching for the roof. Since thatched roofs require a good deal of maintenance, which the zhiqing could ill afford, they protected themselves from the rain with sheets of plastic, usually placed on top of their mosquito nets, which did little to prevent the earthen floors from

18 19

20

On the 1973 financial oversight, see Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 392–93. See above, pp.  188–90. Other examples are quoted in the provincial annals, notably Jilin shengzhi—Jingji zonghe guanlizhi—Laodong, p.  93, and Xinjiang tongzhi–Laodongzhi, p. 77. Beijingzhi–Zonghe jingji guanli juan—Laodongzhi, p. 48.

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becoming very muddy when it rained. The houses were also very small, scarcely large enough to hold their beds, the cumbersome brick or baked clay stove (zao), a few kitchen utensils, food stores, and agricultural implements. Frequently, the peasants agreed to build these structures in the hope that they would get hold of them once the zhiqing left.21 As a result, they often resembled stables or even pigsties more than houses. These difficult conditions were all the harder for the zhiqing to bear because their habits and aspirations differed from those of the peasants. For instance, they were very upset by the lack of electricity in most of the villages because they wanted to be able to read or write, which was not easy to do by the light of an oil lamp and without a table. Similarly, the lack of running water obliged them to fetch water in buckets like the peasants, often over long distances. One interviewee, who lived in a cave in northern Shaanxi, had to walk three kilometers to get water every day. Needless to say, the peasants in those caves rarely washed, but this young woman from a good Beijing family required a minimum amount of hygiene, which meant devoting a great deal of time and energy to carrying water.22 Whatever the size, condition, or original purpose of the zhiqing’s housing, it provided the basic framework around which their lives were organized. The same term jitihu (collective households) was used to depict both the housing and the collective unit living in it. This collective unit played a very important role in the organization of the zhiqing’s day-to-day lives and well-being, since to some extent it replaced the family unit they had left behind. “Jitihu! ... That word is almost forgotten now. One day people will have to look it up in the dictionary to understand the meaning, but we’ll never forget it as long as we live!” exclaimed one former zhiqing in a famous play.23 Until the Zhuzhou system was established in 1974, jitihu organization depended almost entirely on the zhiqing’s own goodwill and ability to manage themselves. At best, the peasant cadres offered advice, for instance suggesting the election of a “household head” (huzhang 戶長). In some cases, the young people, aged between 15 and 16 and abandoned to their fate, were unable to handle the day-to-day organization, but on the whole young city dwellers had some experience of collective life, thanks to their schooling and participation in the Cultural Revolution, so many jitihu did succeed in self-managing

21 22 23

That is indeed what happened; see above, pp. 188–90. Interview with W. X., September 9, 1979. Wang Peigong, “WM Women” (We), Jiushi niandai 12 (1985), pp. 80–95.

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themselves fairly effectively from the start. Most groups were mixed, since the authorities favored mixing the sexes, probably to simplify task sharing, and perhaps even with an eye to forming future couples. However, some small groups of two to four or more were all same sex. One interviewee was the “head” of a household of ten girls from the same high school who had asked to stay “among women.” Nevertheless after two years, they agreed to the arrival of one of their brothers. In mixed groups, the sleeping arrangements were, of course, separate, and if not in separate rooms then at least divided by some means, even if only by a sheet. When there was some collective organization, it usually lay in the distribution of tasks, with domestic work generally entrusted to one or two people (usually female) on a permanent or rotation basis, allowing those who returned tired from their labors to eat and rest. That entailed a distribution of revenue, and in some cases these collective organizations became real communities practicing what they called “micro Communism.” All problems were debated with the household head at regular meetings called “life meetings” (shenghuohui 生活會) or “democratic life meetings” (minzhu shenghuohui 民主生活會).24 Everything was shared out on an egalitarian basis: income, produce from private plots, parcels and money sent from home. The boys shared one washbasin and girls another, using it not only for washing themselves, but for washing rice and vegetables, preparing certain dishes such as Chinese stuffed dumplings, foodstuffs for domestic animals, and the call of nature at night. The zhiqing’s poverty was not always the reason for such Spartan practice, since many genuinely wanted to live according to revolutionary ideals. After all, the revolutionaries who took part in the Long March covered 25,000 li with only a single bowl for every use, and was not the revolution a case of “not fearing tiredness, or difficulty, or dirt”? Consequently such communities mainly emerged among voluntary or semi-voluntary zhiqing, where the majority shared Cultural Revolution ideals and had a leader with organizational skills. However, these “Icaria,” as a writer of that generation called them,25 were

24

25

These meetings were not a zhiqing invention but a CCP tradition; see, for example, Dang de zuzhi gongzuo cidian (Dictionary of the Party’s Labor Organization) (Beijing: Zhongguo zhanwang chubanshe, 1986), pp. 115–16. Xu Naijian, “Yangbai de ‘wuran’” (The Yangbai “Pollution”), in Pan, duanpian xiaoshuoji (Aspirations, A Collection of Short Stories) (Chengdu: Sichuan renmin chubanshe, 1981), p.  75. Some zhiqing must have known about Étienne Cabet’s Nouvelle Icarie and attempted to achieve it, through Marx and Engels’ critiques

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no more successful than their predecessors in Texas or Illinois. Whatever the degree of collectivization at the outset, they tended to follow the general trend of all the collective households (jitihu), that is to say they reverted to individualistic withdrawal and, where possible, split up. There were several reasons for this failure, including the general erosion of Cultural Revolution values and the competition that arose among the young people for promotion to nonagricultural positions and to be able to return to the cities. We shall return to these later. But another factor, far more banal and universal, explained the failure of the communitarian organization of the jitihu: the difficulty in sharing domestic tasks equitably. Like the communities of young Western intellectuals in the 1960s–1970s, those of the zhiqing often failed because of an accumulation of petty quarrels or resentment about the sharing of trivial tasks such as cooking, gathering wood for heating, carrying water, taking care of domestic animals, and tending private plots. The difficult living conditions did not favor magnanimity, and the “egoism” they once hoped to overcome finally got the upper hand. In this case, they “separated the ovens” (fen zao 分灶), meaning that everyone took care of their own food and domestic tasks. When several buildings were allocated to the zhiqing, this could literally mean separating households. Some zhiqing then found themselves totally isolated, living in small huts or ruined buildings and having to manage on their own, even when they were sick. A number of them were alone from the outset, either because the jitihu was too small, or because they were ostracized because of their bad class background. Physical separation was not only difficult to achieve but also against the zhiqing’s own interests in their relations with the peasants and cadres, so the young people often continued to live in collective households (jitihu), but with a more limited form of collective life, reduced to conversations between friends and more or less “deviant” activities, as we will see in Chapter 11. The 1973–1974 reforms certainly improved the zhiqing’s living conditions. When the settlement subsidy was raised to 480 or 500 yuan, the cadres could no longer refuse to construct housing on the grounds that the funds were insufficient. However, that in no way guaranteed the quality of the housing. Even as late as 1977, a cadre accompanying the zhiqing denounced the practice in the People’s Daily: Recently we discovered that in some places, [...] believing that the zhiqing

of it; see, for example, Karl  Marx and Friedrich  Engels, The German Ideology (Amherst, N.Y.: Prometheus Books, paperback ed. 1998), pp. 487–88.

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would be gone in a few years [...] comrades constructed either very high and vast buildings or very low and mean ones, so that after the zhiqing had left the big buildings could serve as warehouses and the small ones as tool sheds. The young people are very unhappy about this.26

Fortunately for the zhiqing, “educated youth centers” (zhiqingdian) were often built by their parents’ work units at the time, or at least more or less to their instructions, which did ensure a certain standard. The introduction of the Zhuzhou system did improve the situation where day-to-day organization was concerned, but failed to solve all the problems. The difficulties of collective life remained the same, and young people’s revolutionary ideals and spirit of responsibility were usually inadequate for dealing with them, so the task fell to an outside person with a certain amount of authority, such as the accompanying cadre. That was no easy task, as this description by one such cadre, himself a former zhiqing and university graduate, reveals. He had accepted this “bad” allocation for one year in 1978, on the promise of a better job afterwards. As the accompanying cadre, I lived with 17 educated youths in their zhiqingdian (educated youth center). My predecessors had set the rules governing our collective lives. Cooking was done by the girls, on a weekly roster. Collecting wood for heating was also a rotating task but some zhiqing refused to do it. As a result others felt they were losing out and also refused. When I arrived we soon ran out of wood for cooking. Since the ideological work carried out by my predecessors had scarcely produced any results, I decided, with the agreement of the authorities, that the brigade would deduct work points from those who refused. That sorted things out. The same problem then occurred for the private plot. Since some people were not doing their share of the work, the others decided to stop working on it and the land stayed fallow. I suggested dividing up the land into smaller, individual plots but the authorities refused that. In the end I drew up a table for the tasks and distributed the produce according to the labor carried out. That more or less solved the problem, but others arose constantly. The real problem was that they were there against their will, were interested in nothing, had no ideals and only wanted one thing, and that was to get work in a factory as quickly as possible. […] As for the peasants, they were very happy when all the young people left with me in 1979. The zhiqingdian reverted to the production brigade, which turned it into a workshop.27

26 27

RMRB, July 5, 1977, p. 2. Interview with H. Z. W., June 17, 1984.

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It cost the state a great deal more to send a zhiqing to a farm than to a people’s commune. Not only was the settlement subsidy higher,28 but the state could not depend on the village authorities to share the burden of the other expenditures. Most farms were already chronically loss-making and quite unable to cope with the massive influx of new employees without special government assistance.29 Furthermore, these public-sector farms were more “advanced” from the socialist point of view, and “naturally” received special treatment. Indeed, it seems that in many farms, the zhiqing were housed in better conditions (relatively) than in the villages. Many shared a room in dormitories that were in permanent structures, usually made of brick with tiled roofs. However, the dormitories generally had no electricity or toilets and were very shoddily made since the rapid arrival of the zhiqing had led to hasty construction using unqualified labor. One interviewee who had been sent to a farm in Inner Mongolia had the unpleasant surprise of having his kang 炕 (heated collective sleeping platform) collapse under him on the very first night he and his fellow zhiqing lay down on it.30 According to him, that kind of thing was quite common. The zhiqing’s housing conditions in farms in the most remote border regions and in places where there was still virgin land to clear were certainly the worst of all, including the housing in the villages. In those backward regions (usually minority nationality areas), the zhiqing lived in very rudimentary dwellings much in the same way as the ethnic minorities. In land-clearing regions, they often faced the famous “blank page” so glorified by Mao and were obliged to build their own housing from whatever materials they could find locally (trees, bamboo, grasses and branches), or live in tents until some building materials arrived—if settlement there proved possible at all.31 The housing situation in the farms was therefore very different from the

28

29

30 31

Usually 400 yuan instead of 250. After 1973, the settlement bonus was increased for rustication to the villages, but there were very few departures to farms at the time. In Heilongjiang province, the 450,000 zhiqing sent to the military and state farms between 1968 and 1972 accounted for 120 percent of the total number of employees before their arrival. See Heilongjiangsheng, p. 215. Interview with L. Z., September 21, 1979. See Kong Jiesheng, Nanfang de an, pp.  23–24; and, for instance in the north Manchurian steppe, see Liang Xiaosheng, “Zhe shi yipian shenqi de tudi” (It’s a Wondrous Land), in Zhe shi yipian shenqi de tudi (Tianjin: Baihua chubanshe, 1985), p. 17.

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villages, as was the organization of domestic tasks and collective life in general. While zhiqing in the communes suffered from a lack of organization, those on the farms had too much of it. Indeed, most of the farms had been converted into military farms in 1968–1969, so their lives were organized on a military basis with military discipline. Moreover, this was a time when ideological and political tensions were running high in the army. But even if the young people did not take kindly to discipline and ideological control, military organization did have its advantages in that domestic tasks were distributed and carried out efficiently. That did not prevent numerous petty personal conflicts from arising (for instance, about sharing meat in the canteen, or getting the warmest spot on the kang),32 but in the farms these could not degenerate into major conflicts that challenged the group’s very organization. In the villages the poor housing conditions and collective organization had a very negative effect on the zhiqing’s ability to adapt to their rural environment. The young city dwellers felt they were not welcomed, and certainly the attitude of many peasant cadres, who considered the young people to be “passing guests” (guoluke 過路客)—even to the extent of building housing ultimately destined to be warehouses or pigsties—had the effect of becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy. It made it harder for the zhiqing to adapt and eventually led to the end of xiaxiang, as foreseen and hoped for by the rural cadres. Furthermore, their poor housing conditions on top of all the other difficulties encouraged the zhiqing to return home to their parents’ more often than they should. Naturally, this absenteeism had a very negative effect on their incomes. In the village mentioned earlier, near a small town in Zhejiang province, the zhiqing who had no housing were obliged to go home every evening. As a result they got into the habit of staying at home during the day too, and finally stopped going to the village at all. Certainly, the lack of housing was not the only reason for this but it was an important one, and zhiqing who lived in the villages with their peasant relatives never resorted to such radical absenteeism.33 Similarly, poor collective organization of tasks not only made the zhiqing’s lives unpleasant but affected their income by preventing them from enjoying the profits of any supplementary activities. The zhiqing’s inability to survive on their incomes played a vital role in the rejection of xiaxiang, not only by the zhiqing, but by Chinese society as a whole.

32 33

Interview with Zhang Kangkang, July 4, 1984. See Note 13 in this chapter.

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Work, income, and food Even zhiqing who were ideologically prepared to “temper” themselves through immersion in rural realities, found agricultural labor, scarcely mechanized at the time, a difficult obstacle to surmount. For months on end, their bodies responded to the labor demanded of them with exhaustion, aching muscles, and painful joints. Even after a year or two, very few zhiqing were able to rival local peasants of their age in endurance and physical strength. The young people frequently had to work more than ten hours a day without a break. In busy periods (nongmang 農忙) such as harvest time, they often worked 15 hours a day from dawn to dusk. Even if, after a while, they grew used to the physical demands made on them, the monotony of the labor weighed them down. Those who had gone to the countryside in the hope of “accomplishing great things,” to use Mao’s term, had trouble matching their ideals to the reality. At the height of the organized enthusiasm for xiaxiang, three journalists and a group of model zhiqing who were looking into the significance of “accomplishing great things,” could only come up with practical examples of activities that can hardly be considered as heroic as the expression implied: cleaning out latrines, jumping into dirty water to pick flax, learning how to recognize cereals, getting calloused hands, and learning to cook for oneself.34 Indeed the zhiqing were often given the least interesting tasks because the local cadres didn’t trust their abilities. Thus after a year and a half, the heroes in the short story “The Wasted Years” had not learned much. They had not even been allowed to till the land—“the team head was afraid that the city kids would ruin the soil.”35 It seems that it was not the hard work or the monotony of life that discouraged the majority of the zhiqing in the villages. Many tried to do their best for a year or two, but most realized that even if they worked as hard as they possibly could, they would never be able to survive decently by their own means. Most zhiqing failed to become self-sufficient during their stay in the villages, and there were several reasons for this. Once a year, or in some places twice a year, every production team shared out the collective earnings according to the work points acquired in the year.36 The value of the advance

34 35 36

RMRB, December 22, 1968, p. 2. Ye Xin, “Cuotuo suiyue” (The Wasted Years), Shouhuo 5 (1980), p. 9. For a detailed description of how the rural economy functioned at the time, see Parish and Whyte, Village and Family in Contemporary China, especially pp. 48– 71.

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in kind from the preceding harvest, which each person had obtained in the course of the year and was set aside for food, was deducted from their earnings. This advance mainly consisted of grain but also, depending on the place and the year, other foodstuffs such as oil, salt, etc. In very infertile regions, and sometimes elsewhere under very difficult climatic conditions, the value of production could be very low, which in turn affected the rations distributed to each commune member, as well as the cash earnings (very meager, if not nil or negative at the time). The discrepancies between regions or even different teams were therefore considerable. The extremes we recorded for one workday ranged from 8 cents in one poor Guangdong village to 1.7 yuan for a rich Heilongjiang brigade,37 a ratio of about 1 to 20. In a province such as Guangdong, the value frequently ranged from 30 cents to 1.2 yuan, a ratio of 1 to 4. These discrepancies can be explained by factors such as the presence (or not) of any small local industry and the vagaries of the climate and agriculture. When the peasants themselves lived in great poverty and borderline famine, the zhiqing could not get by without help from their parents. But even when the peasants had a decent standard of living, the zhiqing rarely managed to become self-sufficient. There were two main reasons for this. The income they earned from collective activities (which corresponded to their work points) was nearly always below that of the peasants, and their private incomes (which corresponded to production from their private plots and rearing animals) were always inferior. The work points were not distributed equally but depended on the quantity and quality of the work provided. There were several ways of awarding these. Either they were calculated on the basis of the number of days of labor carried out on a scale assigned to each person annually at joint meetings, or else they depended on the tasks accomplished every day according to a scale that factored in the difficulty of the task in question and the degree of accomplishment. Combinations of the two also existed. The results were usually the same. Men in the prime of life obtained the maximum number of points per work day, women obtained less, and the elderly and children less still. Most of the zhiqing did not earn the maximum amount for their age and sex. For instance, when the maximum value was 10 points for men, 8.5 points for women, and 7 for older people and children,

37

Michel and Huang He, Avoir 20 ans en Chine, p. 41; Yu Luojin, Le Nouveau conte d’hiver (Paris: Bourgois, 1982), p. 39.

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male zhiqing would usually get 8.5 points and the female zhiqing 7. That is just an average example and the gaps could be bigger or smaller. Those who worked the most felt this was unfair, but it was fully justified in the eyes of the peasant cadres. For one thing, they considered that the young city people worked less well than the peasants, which was true—at least at first. Then, more fundamentally, they considered that the presence of the zhiqing constituted a loss for them since the unnecessary surplus labor did not result in a corresponding increase in production. There was often some discrimination in the case of a payment system per task because the cadres allocated the unskilled tasks to the zhiqing, which were also those that paid the least well. After a few years however, the most hardworking zhiqing in some teams were able to obtain the same number of work points as their peasant counterparts. However, that did not signify that they had the same incomes, since profits from the collective activity only accounted for one part of the peasants’ income, albeit a vital one. The work points mainly served to pay for basic food rations and usually only left a very small cash surplus. Peasants depended on family production for the remainder of their food (vegetables and meat) and other expenditures. That included their private plots for supplying them with vegetables for their own consumption and for selling on the free market, and raising animals for meat. Needless to say, the zhiqing’s private production was far inferior to anything the peasants’ could grow. For one thing they lacked any knowledge in this area, and for another they had no time for this additional task. Being less hardy than the peasants, they needed more time to rest, but they were also used to a different way of life and required some leisure to read, write, play music, or simply chat among friends. But their lack of time was also the result of the jitihu being poorly adapted to a rational distribution of tasks. Collective households did not have the same functional assets as a peasant family, which usually consisted of three generations of men and women bound by ties of affection and whose members each had a role within a closely knit family unit. The day clearly seemed very long to the zhiqing when, after an exhausting period of labor, they had to go out again to tend their plots, feed the animals, and fetch firewood, all before cooking and doing the dishes. As we have seen, the collective organization of domestic tasks caused numerous problems and as a result the private plots were rarely exploited to optimum capacity, and often were totally neglected. Some zhiqing solved the problem by renting their plots out to peasants in exchange for a portion of the produce, but the benefits they obtained for that were, by definition, less than what they would have obtained if they had been able to cultivate the plots themselves. One interviewee found

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another means to get vegetables without too much effort: he gave all his excrement to a peasant who, in exchange, gave him a small part of his private production.38 As for animal rearing in the jitihu, this was mainly limited to a few chickens because the zhiqing rarely had enough time or leftovers to raise a pig. Yet raising one pig or several was precisely how many peasant households obtained the major portion of their cash income, not to mention a large portion of their annual meat consumption. The zhiqing therefore almost always earned less than the peasants but spent more, whether on leisure (books and films when the opportunity arose), transport (when they could return home), and toiletries (the peasants used less soap, washing powder, and toothpaste), as well as on clothes, cigarettes, etc. For all these reasons, the majority of zhiqing never managed to be self-sufficient.39 In Jilin, for instance, only 28 percent were self-sufficient in 1972; the others were in debt to their teams and had to ask their parents for between 60 to 100 yuan. In 1973–1974 thanks to improvements resulting from the reforms, 57 percent had become self-sufficient.40 A 1978 survey in Shanghai revealed that half of the 240,000 zhiqing still living outside the municipality were not self-sufficient, the other half being just at minimum subsistence level, estimated at 120  yuan in southern China and 150  or 180  yuan in the north. In some poor regions, the percentage of non-self-sufficient zhiqing was as high as 80 percent.41 In Jiangsu, a rich province where a fairly large number of zhiqing were lucky enough to find work in small local collective enterprises, only 40 percent of the zhiqing living in the countryside for more than two years were self-sufficient (with an annual income of 150 yuan), 32 percent were “half self-sufficient” (with an income ranging from 80 to 150 yuan) and 28 percent were unable to provide for themselves (income below 80 yuan).42 Most of the zhiqing I interviewed from Guandong province had to ask their families for money (between 5 and 10 yuan per month on average), not to mention the food they brought back after family visits and the food they ate during their stays at home, with variable frequency and duration. This also

38 39 40 41 42

Interview with S. G. C., July 19, 1978. This was officially recognized after xiaxiang policy ended. See RMRB, September 27, 1980, p. 2; Tan Zongji et al., Shinian hou de pingshuo, p. 151. Jilin shengzhi—Jingji zonghe guanlizhi—Laodong, p. 87. Shanghai laodongzhi, p. 117. Jiangsu shengzhi—Laodong guanlizhi (Annals of Jiangsu Province—Labor Management) (Nanjing: Jiangsu guji chubanshe, 2000), p. 136.

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helped to offset the lack of meat and vegetables in their rural diet. Vegetables were expensive on the free market and meat was not always easy to find, assuming the zhiqing had the money to pay for it. The young people considered themselves to be “unemployed,” and that is also how they were perceived by the city dwellers. Young people who could not depend on any family assistance (either because their families were too poor or because their parents were dead, in prison, or in a camp) suffered real hardships and were extremely poor. They generally tried to work hard to succeed but if this was not possible they would find themselves “in deficit” (chaozhi 超支) to the team and unable to pay back the rations they had received. Sometimes they obtained loans from the team, but their debtor situation could not last indefinitely. Some were then tempted to resort to illegal activities, as we will see in Chapter 11. The inability of most zhiqing to provide for their own needs led to a general discouragement that triggered a vicious circle, with discouragement giving rise to an aversion to work and a high rate of absenteeism, giving rise in turn to a further drop in their incomes. After a year or two, many zhiqing were only working a couple of days a week and returned home as frequently as they could. Some spent months on end in the cities, living off their parents or some illegal activities, in some cases only returning once a year, in time for the grain distribution. The peasants then obliged them to pay for their rations, since they were not paying them with their labor. The zhiqing had no objection to that, for they were buying their grain rations at the official set price and then selling all or part of it on the free market for much more. Thus in Zhongshan county in Guangdong province, 100 pounds of rice was worth a little over 9 yuan at the official rate, but the free market price rose constantly, from 28 yuan in 1969 to 35 yuan in the early 1970s.43 This illicit trade was tolerated for a few years until the peasant cadres refused to sell grain to zhiqing who were not working, which then made them entirely dependent on their families, or on illegal activities that were often more reprehensible than trading in grain.44 The young people’s inability to become self-sufficient therefore played an important part in their growing disaffection with xiaxiang. Even those in the richer production teams who did manage to live off their agricultural labor were dissatisfied because their peers in the cities were enjoying far higher standards of living for far less work.

43 44

Interview with J. S. G., July 8, 1978. See below, pp. 340–41.

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The zhiqing’s demoralization was also exacerbated by their realization that the harsh labor and poverty could have been improved if certain work habits and in particular, some rural policies, were changed. One interviewee, who had studied agriculture before the Cultural Revolution, was irritated by the habit the peasants had in his region of transporting grain over long distances in very heavy bags on their shoulders. Carrying weights on yokes is less tiring and makes it possible to stop, put down the burden and rest. That is impossible with the bag-on-the-shoulder method, which requires another person with free hands to help place the heavy sack back on the person’s shoulder.45 A French agronomist who visited the Chinese countryside in 1975 was also struck by the fact that no one seemed the least interested in reducing human effort.46 Our respondents attributed this waste of energy to the peasant mentality, with its attachment to routine and the cult of physical exertion. Whenever he dared to suggest any changes, he was treated as being lazy. The zhiqing also felt that taking part in major infrastructure work, inspired by the Dazhai model (the use of which was not always clear), was a massive waste of energy. This feeling was well described in one of Zhang Xinxin’s works: To divert water from the Yellow River to the heart of the desert means building very long canals with extremely high dikes. The energy required is such that you don’t even have the strength left to weep. [...] And yet one tiny hole in the dike at the upper end of the canal is enough to wipe out a year of relentless labor. The canal is left dry, so we fix it! And then the water escapes again. So we fix it once more. [...] How many young people have carved out the traces of their useless labor in this way on this tiny corner of the earth?47

Their observations of the consequences of the numerous government decisions also shook their trust in Maoist rural policy. For instance, the obligation for the peasants to use some absurd agricultural method, or a given variety of grain, such as the “No. 7 anti-revisionist” species, which tasted so bad that the peasants planted it on the borders of the fields to conceal an edible variety they planted in the center.48

45 46 47 48

Interview with J. S. G., July 2, 1978. René  Dumont, Chine, La Révolution culturale (Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 1976), pp. 155–56 and passim. Zhang Xinxin, “Women zheige nianji de meng” (The Dreams of Our Age), Zhongguo xin xieshizhuyi wenyi zuopinxuan 4 (Hong Kong, 1983), p. 160. Feng Jicai, “Yige laohongweibing de zibai,” p. 21.

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More fundamentally, the young people were able to judge for themselves the disastrous impact of Maoist policies on the peasants’ standard of living: the strict limitations on private plots, free markets, animal rearing, and artisanal activities, and the ban on any commercial exchanges to benefit an autarchic economy. Given a situation where human energy was wasted and all the ways of rising out of poverty were blocked, the zhiqing felt little inclined to exert all their efforts. The main purpose of the reforms introduced in 1973–1974 was to make the zhiqing self-sufficient and ensure they had decent incomes. Despite a real improvement for the young people who were rusticated after that date, this goal was not achieved. Those zhiqing sent to suburban villages were not faced with the same poverty and extreme backwardness. They worked in independent teams and no longer suffered discrimination in work point distribution. They not only received better support but they were also more numerous and better able to organize their private plots and animal rearing. Had they really wanted it, the zhiqing of that period could almost all have had decent incomes, at least by rural standards. But it seems that there was such a great rejection of xiaxiang by then that very few zhiqing still had the desire to succeed. Most saw rustication as a form of constraint that would fortunately end after a few years. They therefore had few scruples about doing as little work as possible and asking their parents for help, knowing that it was temporary. The important thing was to respect the minimum proprieties required so as not to jeopardize their return to the city, but so long as they lived in the countryside they would be dissatisfied with their incomes and living standards because they compared them with those in the city and not with those of the zhiqing who had left before them. In the state and military farms, material living conditions did not change much through the entire 1968–1978 decade. They were considered better than in the villages from the start, largely because all employees were paid a monthly wage. The system for calculating that wage changed in 1968 or 1969, depending on the region. Before that date, the wage was net, that is to say it did not include housing or food, but those were usually inexpensive. One interviewee was sent to a military farm in northern Xinjiang where he earned 3 yuan per month in 1965, 5 yuan in 1966, and 8 yuan in 1967 (the women received 0.5  yuan more). Another respondent, in a military farm in Inner Mongolia, only earned 5 yuan in early 1969. Later, the wages were increased considerably, but ceased to be net and included a food allowance that was allotted directly to the farm canteen. Nevertheless, this was no fictional wage hike, for it was far in excess of the sum deducted for food. The majority of the

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zhiqing in these farms started earning between 20 and 24  yuan and after a year or two, were receiving the normal grade 1 salary, which ranged from 24 to 28 yuan, and after a certain period, even obtained grade 2, ranging from 28 to 32  yuan. Some even bypassed grade 1 and went directly to grade 2. Furthermore, bonuses were sometimes added to these wages. In Hainan, for instance, the normal wage of 27 or 28 yuan could rise to as much as 38 yuan in “difficult” regions, where the land had yet to be cleared. In the Heihe region of Heilongjiang province, the normal 32 yuan wage was boosted by an 18 yuan “expensive cost of living” bonus. In most cases, the zhiqing paid around 10–12 yuan for the canteen, which left them with a net wage of about 15–20 yuan. Most of the zhiqing in the farms were therefore self-sufficient, unlike those in the villages. However, that did not mean that they were any more satisfied with their living conditions. In addition to the political and ideological tensions that reigned on the farms, especially in the early years, they, like the other zhiqing (and sometimes even more), faced numerous difficulties, including extremely harsh labor, insufficient food, and the feeling of wasting their energy. Certainly, the farm employees benefited in principle from workers’ hours (eight hours work per day and one day of rest per week), and in some wellorganized regions, when the local chief was not intent on showing excessive zeal, the zhiqing worked less than in the villages. But in many cases, rest periods could be reduced on any number of pretexts, the work was extremely difficult, and military discipline made absenteeism impossible. That was especially true in regions where work such as land clearing, tree cutting, ditch-digging for trees, planting in virgin land, were all carried out under extreme climatic conditions and without any mechanization at all. Usually the canteen food was not only unappetizing but insufficient for the physical effort they were exerting. One former zhiqing described his experience in this way: When we arrived in the Great Northern Wilderness, the first problem we had to face was the extreme hardness of the labor. [...] We mostly ate what we called “big rice crumbs,” and we occasionally had some flour, but not very often. We had fixed rations of 15 kilos per month. That was totally insufficient given the hard labor we were doing. Sometimes we were so hungry we would slip into the stable or barn and secretly eat the soy animal fodder. [...] We had to get up at 3 or 4 every morning and work until nightfall. Our farm had flooded fields and hardly any mechanization. The plowing, sowing, and harvesting were entirely carried out by human labor. Man was the machine. In Manchuria you have to get the land ready for plowing in May, so we would have to wear shorts with a padded jacket on

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top. Not only was the surface of the land still frozen then, leaving just a 10-centimeter layer of water, but under that crust the mud was also full of ice. Your feet were frozen. [...] The icy water splashed you right up your legs and the cold wind blew and gave everyone painful chilblains. One year I returned home after the spring sowing. The entire lower half of my body was covered with little cuts. When my mother saw that, she burst into tears.49

In some places the methods used by the cadres to force the zhiqing to fulfill high work quotas made them feel they were actually in labor camps.50 In others, the pioneer spirit reigned, at least at first, and the zhiqing took great pride in seeing the first furrow traced on virgin land or gathering the first harvest. Unfortunately, the land they were supposed to clear was often selected without any foresight and after a few months or years of relentless labor, proved to be too expensive to maintain and would be abandoned. In those cases the feeling of having wasted their energy was even greater and occurred most frequently among the young people in the farms, rather than the villages. This reaction from a former zhiqing on a farm in Inner Mongolia was typical: The military cadres knew very little about agriculture, so our yields were pathetic. The local peasants made fun of us. They told us that the grain we harvested wasn’t worth the seeds we sowed. It was discouraging to work so hard and know that it was useless, even though we knew we’d get our wages at the end of the month, whatever happened.51

The incompetence of the military leaders sometimes had damaging longterm effects. In Hainan, for instance, a major ignored expert advice and ordered the latex production to beat all records. Two years later, the overexploited trees had permanently lost a portion of their production capacity.52 In the farms, where everyone was eating out of the government’s “great

49 50 51

52

Feng Jicai, “Weida de shounanzhemen,” p. 7. See Mi Shu, “Ruilijiang ban,” pp. 66–67. Interview with L. Z., September 21, 1979. That feeling was widespread and could sometimes lead to useful vocations. For instance, one brilliant Chinese student, currently an economics researcher in the United States, became interested in the subject as a zhiqing on a farm in Heilongjiang province. He wanted to understand how it was possible for a farm to lose so much money. Interview with Kathleen Hartford, April 1987. Frolic, Mao’s People, p. 198.

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pot,” these economic absurdities were not directly sanctioned, so unrealistic policies inspired by Maoist ideology proliferated. One striking example, drawn from a true story, was given by Liang Xiaosheng in his description of a movement launched in a Manchurian farm called “The Sickle Is Better Than Mechanization.” That year (apparently 1969), inspired by the spirit of Yan’an and Nanniwan,53 it was declared that the wheat harvest would be entirely carried out by hand. The professed advantage was that this would produce a good moral harvest in addition to a good wheat harvest, since the body’s sweat would eliminate non-proletarian thoughts. Each zhiqing was allocated a strip of land one meter wide and several hundred meters long that he or she had to reap using a sickle. It was organized as a race, and each zhiqing had to ensure he or she would not be the last. This stressful way to work was perceived as a punishment and alienated people. To cap it all, the rainy season began when only a small portion of the harvest had been gathered and the sickle did indeed vanquish the machine, since the tractors, brought out in haste but too late, were unable to advance in the mud and a good part of the harvest was therefore lost.54 Generally speaking, the zhiqing in the farms felt that most of their leaders were neither able nor interested in developing these backward regions, which was a further discouragement, even to those who had been highly motivated at the outset.55

Sickness and accidents The young people were more likely to fall sick or have accidents in the countryside than in the city, but health care in the countryside was far inferior. In both the state farms and the villages, the combination of extreme fatigue and malnutrition triggered numerous health problems, which even proved fatal to some. Digestive diseases as a result of poor food were frequent as were dental problems. The writer Ye Xin, who was sent to a mountain village in Guizhou, spent one year without a drop of oil and another with no meat protein whatsoever, and lost six molars in the space of a few years.56 53 54

55 56

See Note 56, Chapter 1. Liang Xiaosheng, “Jinye you baofengxue” (Tonight, a Snowstorm), in 1983–1984 quanguo youxiu zhongpian xiaoshuo pingxuan huojiang zuopinji (A Selection of Excellent Mid-size Novels Which Received a Prize, 1983–1984), vol. 1 (Beijing: Zuojia chubanshe, 1986), pp. 249–54. See Yue and Wakeman, To the Storm, p. 331. Qingnian zuojia, May 1981, p. 76.

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One respondent, a zhiqing from Xishuangbanna, knew a member of the “Fifty-Five,” the name given to the first group of young Beijingers who volunteered to go to Yunnan:57 Like many of the zhiqing, this boy, who was in a neighboring company of our military farm, suffered from food poisoning and died of it in early 1970 because he was in such a state of exhaustion. He pushed himself to his very limits because he came from a bad background, working like a peasant during the day and as an accountant at night, to prove his revolutionary spirit.58

Some types of labor led to “occupational” diseases. Working in water, for instance, resulted in many cases of chronic rheumatism and arthritis. The widespread presence of harmful animals and insects including mosquitoes, leeches, and fleas was very unpleasant, and in some cases also had serious consequences. Many zhiqing in Hainan Island caught malaria. One interviewee who was there spent part of the time tending sick friends and cleaning up vomit.59 In some regions, illnesses such as hepatitis and rabies were endemic. Shi Tiesheng, now a well-known writer, was rusticated to the Yan’an region in 1969 and returned two years later with both legs paralyzed as a result of a disease.60 The climatic and living conditions in certain areas led to many women having irregular periods, or even no periods at all. The hormonal imbalance in Hainan caused the women to gain weight while the men grew thinner.61 A 1972 survey showed that 70 percent of the female zhiqing in a people’s commune in Jilin province had gynecological problems, largely because the cadres thought they were “putting on airs” when they asked to be relieved of hard labor or working in the water when they were menstruating.62 The risk of accident was greater in some regions than others. Many zhiqing lived in fear of coming across wolves, tigers, or snakes and some actually died or became disabled as a result of such an encounter. In the forest regions or the steppe, wildfires were frequent during the dry season and

57 58 59 60 61 62

See above, p. 66. Interview with T. X., May 28, 1985. Interview with W. S., November 23, 1986. Shi Tiesheng, “Vaincre la Mort,” Littérature Chinoise 2 (1986), pp. 158–59. Yue and Wakeman, To the Storm, p.  332; Kong Jiesheng, “Dalinmang” (The Jungle), Shiyue 6 (1984), p. 138. Gu Hongzhang and Ma Kesen (eds.), Dashiji, pp. 103–4.

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fire-fighting methods were extremely rudimentary. Some zhiqing died trying to fight fires with just a handful of branches. Others perished in floods or were swallowed up in marshes. On May 5, 1972, a big fire flared up in the Mongolian steppe. Zhiqing from Beijing and Hohot, led by their company commander, threw themselves into the fray but were trapped by the flames and 69 of them died. They were declared “martyrs.”63 In the virgin, land-clearing areas, some zhiqing were crushed by trees, especially in the early days when they lacked experience. The zhiqing therefore left their dead behind, and after they returned to the cities they went back to visit the graves whenever they could.64 One of my interviewees witnessed an accident in Yunnan due to an overloaded cart pulled by a tractor. It resulted in the death of ten young zhiqing who had just arrived a few days earlier.65 The apparently higher frequency of fatalities in the early years of xiaxiang can also be explained by the cult of heroism and individual sacrifice propagated by official propaganda at the time. Many young people took futile risks in imitation of the heroes and to prove that they were true revolutionaries. That was the case for Jin Xunhua, the “zhiqing Lei Feng” we mentioned earlier,66 who died trying to “save state property” during a flash flood in the mountains. On the eve of his fatal accident, he apparently wrote in his diary “I swear that I will give my life to defend Chairman Mao!”67 According to the writer Liang Xiaosheng, two hundred  zhiqing died in this way in the great Manchurian north.68 In his short story “Memories of the Wild Great North,” he blamed those useless deaths on the ideology of self-sacrifice, especially requiring young people from a “bad” background to buy themselves back into favor.69 In his short story “The Jungle,” another writer, Kong Jiesheng, described the sacrifice of young people driven by blind and irrational faith in their ability to conquer the jungle.70 Another novel is told from the point of view of a zhiqing burned during a forest fire, who believes that he is going to die at

63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70

Ibid., pp. 104–5. See for example, Qingnian yidai 6 (1985), p. 9. Interview with T. X., May 28, 1985. See above, p. 9. HQ 12 (1969), p. 9. Interview with Liang Xiaosheng, September 21, 1986. Liang Xiaosheng, “Beidahuang jishi,” pp. 101–3. Kong Jiesheng, “Dalinmang,” pp. 132–92.

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the age of 20 far from his home and his parents.71 In addition to feeling sad, the friends of these victims, who often witnessed the accidents, felt the absurdity of the situation. They were not only wasting all their energy but also their lives, for no reason at all. Such feelings could give rise to anger when the cadres were blamed for the accidents. One dazibao posted in Beijing by the educated youth in Xishuangbanna denounced a cadre who had forced a young zhiqing, who didn’t know how to swim, to cross a river to catch a buffalo. Of course the young man drowned. His parents received a sum of about 100 yuan and the cadre in question was not investigated.72 Nor did such accidents only occur in the border regions. A notice from the Beijing Revolutionary Committee in January 1974 asked leaders in the suburban counties to be more attentive to zhiqing’s work safety, especially during the winter season when there were far too many accidents, including by electrocutions, drowning, gas poisoning, etc.73 The consequences of sickness and accident were exacerbated by the fact that there were no doctors, or incompetent ones at best. In the countryside it was often necessary to travel a very long way to find a health-care center or an ill-equipped hospital. Like the peasants, the zhiqing in the villages had no health insurance system. When they were not too far from their hometowns and their medical problems were not urgent, they would wait until they returned home to get medical care, but would have to pay for it. Usually their chances of getting decent medical treatment were extremely random. To make matters worse, in addition to paying for medical care, they were not earning work points when they were ill. The zhiqing in the farms were able to get less expensive health care in the few existing health-care centers and hospitals. But all evidence shows that the majority of the doctors on the farms were incompetent, corrupt, and indifferent to human suffering. The dazibaos posted by the young people from Xishuangbanna also mentioned several cases of childbirth leading to deaths of young zhiqing or serious aftereffects because of the distance to the hospitals and the incompetence of the doctors.74 One young woman from Shanghai sent to Xinjiang related

71 72

73 74

Kong Jiesheng, Nanfang de an, pp. 53–54. Sidane, Le Printemps de Pékin, pp.  206–7. Our interviewee, who had witnessed the deaths of the ten people in the tractor accident, thought, but was not sure, that the amount paid to the parents was 300 yuan (interview with T. X., May 28, 1985). Gu Hongzhang and Ma Kesen (eds.), Dashiji, pp. 124–25. Dazibaos posted in Beijing in December 1978, photographed by the author in February 1979.

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her experience as follows: I fell very ill in 1976. I was taken into the farm hospital but the doctor’s medical qualifications were very poor. Also if you weren’t rich or powerful, they weren’t interested in you at all. They profited from their knowledge. For instance, they’d go to the market wearing their white coats, knowing that they’d be served well and cheaply. In the hospital I saw a peasant about 50 years old on his knees in front of a doctor, crying. He had a bad stomach ulcer but couldn’t find a doctor who would take care of him. He was sent to and fro between the neike (general medicine department) and the waike (surgery department) for days. He slept outside, in front of the hospital. And that’s where he died, without being admitted. I was lucky; thanks to my husband’s contacts and some good bribes, I was able to get transferred to a hospital in Shanghai where I received good care. If I had stayed in that hospital in Xinjiang, I probably wouldn’t be here today.75

The high level of risk and poor sanitary and health conditions in the countryside made the zhiqing feel very insecure, which reinforced their feeling of being unjustly treated compared with the young people who remained in the cities.

Leisure and cultural life The absence of any leisure or cultural life in the countryside did not have the same dramatic effect, but it certainly affected the zhiqing’s morale since it touched a need felt by all young people. From dawn to dusk the peasants’ lives were entirely devoted to agricultural labor, domestic tasks, and rest. The only periods of free time were during days of heavy rain and in winter, and then the authorities often obliged them to carry out major infrastructure work. Their free time was mainly used for much-needed rest. In any case they had little choice, since neither their material situation nor their traditions had provided them with cultural activities other than taking part in festivals and ceremonies (for instance New Year, weddings, and funerals), and those had been greatly reduced by the government. The only nonproductive activity that was systematically encouraged was taking part in political meetings, but the peasants, team heads included, had little taste for them and only attended when pressure from above left them no choice. In the first two years of xiaxiang, the government organized artistic propaganda activities in many villages, in which both peasants and zhiqing

75

Interview with T. T. D., July 2, 1985.

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took part. During these performances they danced the “faithful dance” (to Mao), sang revolutionary songs, or played sections of the few authorized model revolutionary operas (yangbanxi 樣板戲). Both peasants and zhiqing quickly tired of these “cultural” activities, and they were later abandoned. But because of their higher level of education and city habits, the zhiqing could not be satisfied with a life entirely filled with manual labor and recovering their physical strength. In the slack season or on rainy days, they found the shortage of leisure activities very hard. “Since there was nothing to do, we stayed in bed. Once we slept for two days running. We were sapped by boredom.”76 The zhiqing usually returned home for the Chinese New Year and those who could, even stayed the entire winter. But young people with poor parents, or with parents in May 7 cadre schools or in prison, could not do so, and for them the slack season was especially hard. Although they were dissatisfied with the lack of physical and mental activities, they were no happier with purely manual ones. Even during the busy agricultural season, the zhiqing sought to maintain at least some intellectual pursuits, even if that meant neglecting certain tasks, which, as we have seen, were vital to their survival in the rural environment. One of our respondents explained the problem well: Gathering firewood was vital. If peasants were to buy their wood, it would burn up an entire day’s wage. At the time, I thought it absurd to lose the little leisure time that I had to pick up wood, and I asked my family to send me money to buy it. I was the only person in the village to buy wood for fuel, the peasants mocked me but I didn’t care. Without that time to recover, I would have had felt that I was being transformed into an insensitive machine.77

The issue of free time was much the same on the farms. Working days were often shorter than in the villages, but the zhiqing had to devote a great deal of time to military training and political meetings. In principle they were entitled to one day of rest per week and twelve days off per year (or every two years) and any kind of absenteeism was far more difficult on the farms. Whether they had too much free time (during the slack period) or not enough (in normal times), they were culturally starved in a very unfavorable environment. Throughout the duration of xiaxiang, Chinese cultural and intellectual life was very poor even in the cities, but it was virtually 76 77

Interview with H. C., July 10, 1978. Michel and Huang He, Avoir 20 ans en Chine, p. 64.

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nonexistent in the countryside. Apart from mind-numbing artistic propaganda activities mentioned above, the other activities that were encouraged included listening to the official public radio, reading the works of Chairman Mao and the government newspapers (which often arrived late, and which the peasants never read). That was not enough to fulfill the zhiqing’s intellectual aspirations, any more than the few film sessions where the usual stereotyped movies were shown, often in very uncomfortable conditions. The traveling cinema teams sometimes had to use pedal-operated electricity generators, and when the person pedaling grew tired the projection slowed down accordingly, making the film incomprehensible but at least providing some amusement at each performance.78 The poverty of cultural life in the countryside led the zhiqing to try to remedy the situation themselves: In that faraway region we were eager for the slightest artistic or cultural event that might fend off our intellectual starvation or help us forget our miserable daily lives. One of us knew the Count of Monte Cristo by heart, and for months on end, this story was our sole spiritual nourishment. Every day during our lunch break, those of us who still had the strength to walk to the health-care division in the burning sun enjoyed half an hour of Monte Cristo.79

Telling stories, having long conversations about unorthodox subjects in the evenings, playing the guitar, singing or composing “decadent” or “reactionary” songs, listening to foreign radio stations, reading unauthorized books, writing poems or short stories for a few friends, or even just for oneself, were the main expressions of this parallel culture (which we will return to in Chapter 11), and the means by which the zhiqing tried to fend off boredom and a desolate sense of intellectual poverty. Wang Xiaobo described that feeling very well: Life in the countryside was hard. We didn’t eat enough, we couldn’t get used to the local food or the climate and many people fell ill. But the greatest hardship was the lack of books. [...] Books apart, there were no other intellectual pleasures. I believe that my experience reflects that of many others: as evening drew near I would sit under the canopy of our

78 79

A Cheng, “Haiziwang” (The King of the Children), in Qiwang, p. 173. Zhang Xinxin, “Zai tong yi dipingxian shang” (On the Same Horizon), in Zhang Xinxin daibiaozuo (Representative Works of Zhang Xinxin) (Zhengzhou: Huanghe wenyi chubanshe, 1988), p. 56.

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dwelling to watch the sky gradually darken and I would feel overwhelmed by immense loneliness and sadness. I had the feeling that life had been stolen from me. I was young at the time, but I was worried by the idea that I must continue to live like that and grow old like that. From my point of view that was more frightening than death.80

That feeling was usually accompanied by regret for having interrupted their studies. Some zhiqing actually did manage to work at their schoolbooks, swotting in bed by the light of an oil lamp, despite criticism from the cadres about this proof of a “white expert” mentality and their very slim chances of ever being able to study again. These self-taught young people were very often the children of intellectuals.81 Schoolbooks, like other “cultural” items, had to be brought from the city. In some regions even writing paper was impossible to find. The writer Ye Xin, who was sent to Guizhou in southwestern China, had to ask friends in Shanghai to send him paper.82 Ye Xin was among one of the zhiqing who wrote in the hope of being officially published one day. He was criticized, among other things for wanting to use literature to leave the countryside, but ultimately became famous. He persevered despite the criticisms and the rejections of his manuscripts, because he needed to write “to confer some meaning on the extremely monotonous and insipid life of a manual worker.”83 The zhiqing in the countryside felt cut off from all information about political and social life, not only because the newspapers arrived late if at all, but because they no longer had access to the one source of information city dwellers thrive on and which makes them feel they know what is going on: rumors, known as “back alley news” (xiaodao xiaoxi). Their only access to that was when they returned home to visit their parents. For zhiqing therefore, the city remained the symbol of culture and intellectual life, whereas the countryside was a “cultural desert.” They also made the most of their visits home to eat properly and stock up on as much intellectual and spiritual nourishment as they could find. The writer Zhang Kangkang reported this in her autobiography: What I looked forward to impatiently was my family visits to Hangzhou.

80 81 82 83

Li Yinhe and Zheng Hongxia, Wang Xiaobo huazhuan, p. 22. Interviews, also Yue and Wakeman, To the Storm, p. 330. Ye Xin, “Xiezuo sanbu changpian xiaoshuo de qianqian houhou” (Everything about How I Wrote My Three Novels), Shiyue 3 (1982), p. 240. Ibid.

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Every time I returned home, I had the feeling of landing in book heaven. It was during one of those visits that I devoured in succession Le Rouge et le Noir, Eugene Onegin, Le Père Goriot, and many other classic masterpieces of world literature. My parents tried to find books for me by every means possible, and they always succeeded.84

Not only were intellectual and cultural activities rare in the countryside, so were simple leisure activities such as sports, walking, and collective amusements. As a result, the zhiqing spontaneously took up activities such as smoking, gambling, alcoholism, and flirting. Tobacco was expensive for them (as it was for their parents!),85 but it was fairly well perceived in society—so long as only the men smoked. The three other activities were condemned by official ideology and, as far as flirting was concerned, by social mores, and therefore had a negative impact on zhiqing integration into the rural community.

Difficulties Fitting into the Rural Community Because the zhiqing were supposed to take root in the countryside for life (zhagen yibeizi 扎根一輩子) it was necessary for them to be accepted by the receiving communities, and for them to ultimately feel at home there. However, several obstacles prevented this from happening.

The Main Obstacles Obstacles to being accepted by the peasants Peasant societies tend to be closed ones. They may welcome a passing stranger, but anyone intending to stay and integrate is likely to face exclusion and defiance on the part of the locals. Indeed, that was how thousands of French city dwellers perceived the situation in the early 1970s when they gave up everything to “return to the land.” They dreamed of finding the kind of social interaction that was lost in the cities, and were disappointed to find instead a wariness that remained even after eight or ten years. Their disillusion played a major part in the wave of people “returning from the land” back to the cities at the end of the 1970s: “We were never accepted by the people here, despite all our efforts. Peasant society is closed and shut off from the 84 85

Zhang Kangkang, Xiaoshuo chuangzuo yu yishu ganjue, p. 161. Michel and Huang He, Avoir 20 ans en Chine, p. 39.

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outside. We were always considered strangers. It’s true that we were strangers there, but to hear that repeated year after year....”86 Traditional rural communities are especially opposed to “foreigners” sticking their nose into their business, as the would-be French peasants found to their cost: “We set up an association for cultural events, we organized a festival in the village, where there hadn’t been one for more than thiry years, and nobody understood why we were doing that! The municipality in particular, was afraid we were trying to take over some of its powers.”87 We saw how in Yan’an too, the desire of young cadres and intellectuals to influence rural life proved to be a source of conflict with the peasants, who accused them of wanting to rule over them.88 Peasant society in 1960s and 1970s China was no less closed in on itself than of prerevolutionary China. Most villages were still almost exclusively composed of their native population since there had been no mixing and each rural community had become strengthened rather than weakened by collectivization, where the base unit usually corresponded to a village. The zhiqing were therefore first and foremost considered strangers. Many of our interviewees lived in villages inhabited by only one or two clans. In that case, the divisions between the two clans were very strict (for instance each one lived in a different part of the village). Even within each clan, the status of every individual was determined by his or her position in the genealogical tree, which made the zhiqing stand out as foreigners even more. “In the village I was sent to, everyone had the same name. [...] When we arrived [...], we were considered waixingren 外姓人, or ‘people with foreign names,’ and looked down on as such. Even if I’d spent my whole life in that village, I would never have been assimilated.”89 Conversely, the Mongolian shepherds were apparently more hospitable (or less inhospitable) than the Han peasants. As for the fishermen and fishermen/farmers, one of our interviewees explained their relative open-mindedness by the fact that they were self-sufficient, or quasi-self-sufficient like the peasants, but moved in a merchant economic system.90 However, on the whole the zhiqing faced rejection as strangers, reinforced and justified by the differences in habit and mentality 86 87 88 89 90

Thierry  Quinsat, “Le retour de la terre,” Le Monde Dimanche, August 10, 1980, p. iv. Ibid. See above, p. 8. Michel and Huang He, Avoir 20 ans en Chine, p. 76. Interview with Mang Ke, June 25, 1986.

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between town and country. In some regions the peasants were shocked to see male and female zhiqing walk side by side down the street, while in another the height of urban immodesty might be for a female zhiqing to show her bare arms, or for a male to go out in shorts. There was also a certain amount of envy, especially among young peasants, of people lucky enough to have been born in the city, where the standard of living was far higher and where people “had it easy.” They, more than their parents, felt (not entirely without justification) that the zhiqing looked down on the peasants.91 Wariness and prejudice against zhiqing were exacerbated by the emphasis on reeducation. Most peasants, and especially the local peasant cadres, believed that if the young city people needed to be reeducated it was obviously because they were disreputable. In the early days, the peasants were often afraid of the zhiqing, mistaking them for members of work teams charged with supervising them on behalf of the higher authorities. The local cadres, better informed about the xiaxiang policy, interpreted their arrival in their own fashion, and quickly set them right by telling them that the young urbanites were bad elements who had made errors during the Cultural Revolution and were sent to the countryside by Chairman Mao so that the peasants could put them back on the right track. The “reeducated” status was therefore unlikely to confer any prestige on these strangers landing in the villages. The zhiqing were supposed to “temper” themselves by taking part in the class struggle in the countryside. Political struggle was fairly heated there, since at the time, and especially in 1969–1970, the government launched several movements to convince the peasants that they should give up or reduce their private activities in favor of collective ones.92 A certain number of zhiqing, whether out of revolutionary naivety or personal ambition, were activists in these movements. They were able to join the political struggle not because of their personal prestige, but because they were manipulated by radical cadres who were delighted to find bold and eloquent defenders of ideas and actions that repelled most peasants. In some cases, zhiqing even took part in violent struggles against people designated as the targets of a given movement. That type of participation in the class struggle obviously did

91

92

See Cheng Zhenghe, “Women dou shi nianqingren” (We Are All Young People), Qingnian jiazuo, 1981, p. 192; He Shiguang, “Juzhang de nü’er” (The Daughter of the Bureau Chief), Guanchajia 9 (1980), p. 61. Dennis Woodward, “Rural Campaigns: Continuity and Change in the Chinese Countryside—The Early Post–Cultural Revolution Experience (1969–1972),” Australian Journal of Chinese Affairs 6 (1981), pp. 97–124.

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little to improve the image of the zhiqing among the peasant “masses.” I should stress, however, that these activists were only a minority and most zhiqing were little inclined to take part in that sort of struggle—indeed, in some cases zhiqing even took the side of the peasants against such harmful policies, at the risk of getting into political trouble themselves, or even being arrested.93 One interviewee reported that in his region of northern Inner Mongolia, relations between the zhiqing and the local population were considerably improved by the zhiqing’s attitude during the absurd affair of the Inner Mongolian People’s Revolutionary Party (abbreviated as Neirendang 內 人黨). The party had been established by the Chinese Communists in 1925 as part of the united front against imperialism and feudalism. It was dissolved in 1927, and some of its members then took a different path from the Communists. In 1968, to bring down the main leader of Inner Mongolia, Ulanfu, one of the founding members of the People’s Party, as well as other Mongol cadres opposed to the Cultural Revolution, the Maoists asserted (without providing any proof whatsoever) that the party was still operational and carrying out clandestine counterrevolutionary activities. A “movement to extirpate and liquidate” (wasu yundong 挖肅運動) the supposed traitors was launched on orders from Kang Sheng.94 At the end of 1968 and the beginning of 1969, this movement became very violent. Recalcitrant suspects were tortured, beaten, burned, thrown outdoors wearing nothing more than a shirt in temperatures of minus 30°C, until they provided the names of at least two accomplices, one above in rank and one below. The campaign allegedly resulted in many thousand dead and wounded as a result of these groundless accusations.95 The military and civilian cadres sent to Inner Mongolia or who received instructions directly from Beijing tried to get the zhiqing to do this “dirty work” for them, since as outsiders they were less likely to be affected by the solidarity within the Mongol community. In the region where one

93

94 95

There is a literary example in Zhao Zhenkai, “Bodong” (Waves), in Bodong (Hong Kong: Zhongwen daxue chubanshe, 1985), p. 29; Michel and Huang He, Avoir 20 ans en Chine, p. 146. For the official version of this affair, see Xiao Chaoran et al., Zhonggong dangshi jianming cidian, vol. 1, pp. 57, 185–86. Around the middle of the 1970s, a “group of ten thousand widows” was set up in Hohot to seek the rehabilitation of the victims of this movement. They only achieved this in March 1979 after approval by the Central Committee. See the interview with R. C. G., April 8, 1987; Xiao Chaoran et al., Zhonggong dangshi jianming cidian, vol. 1, p. 186.

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interviewee was sent, the zhiqing (nearly all early volunteers) not only refused to attack the local cadres, who were merely shepherds who had been incriminated, but also defended them against the military cadres sent by the central government. They believed that they had been sent there to unite with the masses and not to impose orders from Beijing that clearly provoked hostility in the local population. As a result of this attitude, the zhiqing later enjoyed a fairly good relationship with the Mongols.96 However, I thought it interesting to point out this genuine desire to unite with the masses, to the point of opposing people claiming to be acting for their good, but I should stress that this was fairly exceptional. For one thing, the courage of the zhiqing in defending the Mongols was made easier by the fact that they themselves were Han, and could not be accused of being members of a party that solely consisted of Mongols.97 Furthermore, even in this specific case of the Inner Mongolian People’s Revolutionary Party (Neirendang), not all the zhiqing in Inner Mongolia had the same courageous attitude. Many simply avoided taking an active part in the movement. One interviewee invented a pretext to return home for a few months, while others took an active part in it, including in the “rough” interrogations.98 At the national level, zhiqing participation in the political struggles at the end of the Cultural Revolution did not, therefore, serve to improve their relations with the entire rural community—far from it. As we have seen, from the very beginning of xiaxiang the peasants viewed the zhiqing as “transitory guests” who would leave after a while. The permanent settlement of young city dwellers in the villages was unheard of and went against all common sense, so the peasants could not believe in the permanent nature of this policy. Another reason, doubtless more important, was that they didn’t want to believe it, and that was the basis of the problem, for these “transitory guests” were not only strangers but useless ones at that, and imposed on them against their will. In most regions, the peasant cadres only grudgingly agreed to take on their quota of zhiqing as an obligation they could do nothing about. A Chinese researcher, formerly the director of an Educated Youth Bureau, told me that if any base-level cadres showed themselves unwilling, the person in charge of allocations at the meeting would say, 96 97

98

Interview with M. J. L., June 30, 1986. However, the military cadres, displeased with this resistance, took their revenge when the opportunity arose, as our interviewee unfortunately was to find out; see Note 53, Chapter 11. Interview with R. C. G., April 8, 1987.

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“You have to take on so many zhiqing in your brigade. That is your political duty. This meeting will continue until you accept.”99 It is officially recognized today that “the peasants in all regions only accepted large numbers of zhiqing as a political duty.”100 If the peasants were unwilling to take on the zhiqing it was largely because they did not need them. Most of the villages were already overpopulated and even experienced peasants only achieved very low productivity. In Taishan county (Guangdong province), there was so much excess manpower that the peasants worked in turns.101 In such circumstances, the arrival of a group of inexperienced young urbanites was a burden for the peasants, who were obliged to share their harvest with them as well as the land available for private plots. The peasants considered that the zhiqing were “taking their food” and after a while, when many of them were so discouraged that they stopped working regularly in the fields, the peasants reproached them for being “parasites” and “exploiters.” From 1971, a number of zhiqing were allocated nonagricultural jobs (teachers, accountants, or barefoot doctors etc.)102 in which their abilities were more useful, but that only concerned a very small proportion of them. In many places they were not required for these functions because local young people had also studied and were naturally preferred for such jobs. The 1973–1974 reforms did help reduce tensions by offering greater compensation to communities receiving zhiqing but did not change the underlying problem. The peasants still felt they were losing out (albeit less so than before) and continued to hope that the xiaxiang policy would be abandoned. I believe that this last obstacle was the most important in explaining the difference in attitude among the peasants to the educated youth. My own data do not confirm Bernstein’s “intuitive” hypothesis, by which the zhiqing were better received in the more modern and advanced villages, given that the more traditional, backward ones were also more likely to have a particularistic and discriminatory attitude to outsiders.103 On the contrary, it seems to me that the zhiqing were better received on the whole in the backward villages, the reason probably being that that “particularistic and discriminatory” attitude was widespread and varied little from village to village (except 99 100 101 102 103

Interview with Li Qingshan, August 21, 1985. Zhang Hua, “Shilun ‘wenhua da geming’ zhong zhishi qingnian shangshan xiaxiang yundong,” p. 151. Michel and Huang He, Avoir 20 ans en Chine, p. 39. See Note 15, Chapter 3. Bernstein, Up to the Mountains and Down to the Villages, p. 141.

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in the case of clan villages, where it was even greater), whereas the degree of zhiqing usefulness (or lack of it) varied to a far greater extent. Quite often the poor and backward villages, especially in the mountains, were not overpopulated and their inhabitants were less hostile to additional manpower. Furthermore, the people there were rarely able to read and write, so the zhiqing really could be useful to them in nonagricultural functions and assist the cadres in dealings with the higher authorities. True, the peasant suspicion of outsiders prevented a significant number of zhiqing from obtaining any positions of authority within those rural communities, but on the whole they appeared to have been better received where they were more useful or less superfluous. The issue of usefulness, an important variable in the peasants’ attitude, mainly depended on the land/population ratio and the degree to which a certain educational level was needed in each village. It also depended on the efforts of the young people themselves to make themselves useful in the fields or elsewhere. However, their goodwill was often sapped, not just by their living conditions but the difficulties they had in integrating with peasant society.

Obstacles to the zhiqing wanting long-term integration The first obstacle was obviously the imposed nature of xiaxiang. Since they weren’t really volunteers, the zhiqing felt exiled in an environment that was not of their choosing. Where possible, they tried to return home for the two main holidays when families get together in China, namely Chinese New Year (the Spring Festival) and the Mid-Autumn Festival in September. They were often able to do this for the Spring Festival, which occurred during the slack season, but even then, not always. In many farms they were only allowed to return home every two years, and in some cases they had to wait three or four years before being allowed to visit their families. Some zhiqing in the villages could not afford to go home, or else their families had been scattered about after the Cultural Revolution. The few zhiqing who remained behind in the deserted collective households (jitihu) and dormitories felt terribly homesick. Since it was even harder for most to leave for the MidAutumn Festival, that often provided an opportunity for the young people to organize small parties in the villages or farms. One occasion when homesickness was made worse was when the local authorities decided that the zhiqing should spend a “Revolutionary Spring Festival” among the peasant masses. The real motive for this is not clear; quite possibly the overloaded transport system during this festive period played a part, as well as a need to work on

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infrastructure projects during the slack season, but if this was an attempt to cut the zhiqing’s ties with their families and strengthen those with the peasant community, it had the opposite effect. The zhiqing missed their families even more and resented being detained in the villages against their will. Those who did not obey were usually brought back by force if they were caught.104 The desire to return to their families was the recurrent motive in the zhiqing’s requests to return home, not only because separation was very painful for most of them, but also because it went against Chinese social mores. During demonstrations, slogans such as “Flesh and bones need to be reunited!” were deliberately used to trigger compassion in public opinion.105 As we have seen, the main problem was that from the start, despite the voluntary veneer, the zhiqing did not go to the countryside of their own volition. However, that does not mean that only the “true volunteers” made efforts to integrate; many young people who really wanted to go to university or work in factories were resigned to a situation they perceived as inevitable, and tried to adapt to their new environment as best as they could. “I would have preferred to go to university, but since it was impossible, I hoped to do something useful in the countryside.”106 That attitude was as representative of a good majority of the “resigned” zhiqing as it was of the “true volunteers”: “I was ready to spend my entire life in the village had that been useful in transforming the backwardness of the countryside.”107 For both zhiqing and the peasants, the important issue was the usefulness of their presence. Even though the propaganda stressed the zhiqing’s reeducation, they themselves considered that their usefulness depended on what they could bring to the peasants. The justifications for xiaxiang that they had factored in were the pre–Cultural Revolution ones, meaning the period when they were in junior high school. They wanted to use their abilities to “serve the people,” disseminate culture and science, and “transform the backward face of the countryside” while integrating with the masses. But the reality they found rarely met their expectations. In some places, the zhiqing did feel

104

105

106 107

Michel and Huang He, Avoir 20 ans en Chine, pp.  74–75. The “Revolutionary Spring Festival” practice apparently always coincided with a radical offensive. See, for example, SWB, February 5, 1974, p. B/II/2-3. This slogan was posted by the Yunnan strikers among others; see Dangdai Yunnan dashi jiyao 1949–1995 (Annals of Contemporary Yunnan, 1949–1995) (n.p., 1996), p. 474. Interview with Y. S., July 2, 1978. Interview with T. R. C., July 15, 1978.

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useful and welcome, but that was usually in very harsh regions with extremely difficult living conditions. In most cases, however, they quickly learned that they were not wanted and, as agricultural workers, they could, at best and by working extremely hard, reduce the burden they were placing on the peasants. As to their specific capacities as “educated” youths, these were little used if at all, despite the initial goodwill of many zhiqing. The first reason for this was because their skills were inappropriate. The development of the rural economy in the villages only required a few people able to read, write, and count, and many villages receiving zhiqing already had people with those basic skills. Agricultural experts would have been very useful, but clearly the zhiqing were not up to that. Scientific experiments (to improve yields or varieties) in which some zhiqing took part, especially in the first two years, were only rarely successful. In most cases any improved yields were only the result of an intensive use of fertilizers and consequently not profitable and soon abandoned. Many zhiqing would have liked to play a role in helping to mechanize agriculture or electrify the villages, and certainly had a sufficient level of knowledge to read instruction manuals or learn certain techniques. After a few years, some were even able to do that, but only a very small minority. For one thing, the villages only had very limited financial resources and excess manpower was not an incentive to modernization, while for another, the peasants did not trust the zhiqing sufficiently to give them such important tasks. As to the zhiqing’s contribution to spreading culture and propaganda, this was limited by the scant importance the peasant cadres attached to such activities as well as the fact that they were counter to their “reeducated” status. As a result, any zhiqing wanting to give evening classes to the peasants, or take part in artistic propaganda groups, had to do so outside working hours and gained no extra work points for their efforts. In some cases, the cadres were even opposed to the zhiqing carrying out this type of activity. In one military farm in Heilongjiang province, an entire team of amateur propagandists were sent back to production after a cadre exclaimed: “Are they here to be reeducated by the poor and lower-middle peasants, or is it the other way round?”108 After a while, some zhiqing with the correct attitude were able to obtain functions such as “instructors of Mao Zedong  Thought” or put in charge of Women’s Federation groups, but these positions had no real power. Real

108

Zhang Xinxin and Sang Ye, “Dougen” (The Funny Guy), in Beijingren, p. 426.

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positions of responsibility were rarely assigned to zhiqing who, as outsiders and people to be reeducated, did not have their say in any important decision taken by the team. We suggested buying a machine for sowing peanuts. The peasants told us we were just lazy and so we continued planting the peanuts by hand, one by one. All our suggestions were systematically refused.109 In meetings, if we expressed an opinion that didn’t match the political line and the cadres’ decisions exactly, we were criticized for being bourgeois intellectuals. It could be dangerous to insist, so we quickly understood that it was best to shut up.110

Some young people tried during activists’ meetings to get across the idea that they were not just “objects for reeducation” but also a “force for change” and that “after being reformed [they were also] there to reform the countryside.” The cadres in the counties and provinces were not necessarily opposed to this concept, but at base level it was not accepted at all, let alone implemented. Nevertheless, in the early years, some zhiqing attempted to oppose customs they perceived as bad. In one county in Shanxi, weddings were the occasion for a collective humiliation of the bride, who was obliged to undress and do a certain amount of public fondling with her husband. The zhiqing, especially the young women, decided to condemn this custom by interrupting one such ceremony. They obtained the support of the higher authorities but the peasants were furious with them. To justify their action the young people placed slogans on either side of their door, one saying “Humbly accept reeducation by the poor and lower-middle peasants” and the other “Educating the peasants is a serious issue.”111 These two contradictory quotations from Mao, perfectly sum up the ambiguity of their situation. From 1971 and especially 1973, the government pushed the local cadres to use the zhiqing’s skills better. Some of them were assigned nonagricultural positions as teachers, accountants, barefoot doctors, broadcasters on the local radio stations, and so on. But teachers were only allowed to repeat stereotyped slogans and quotations from Chairman Mao, the use of which for developing the countryside was very limited. Those who did try to teach anything useful and related to reality, deviating from the provincial government

109 110 111

Interview with T. R. C., July 20, 1978. Interview with H. C., July 10, 1978. Zhongguo nongmin 12 (1994), p. 19.

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textbooks, were sent back to production.112 Similarly, barefoot doctors only received very little training (usually one or two months) and had very few means at their disposal, in most cases just packets of aspirin, medicinal herbs they had to pick themselves, and acupuncture needles. Despite that, the small proportion of zhiqing (10–15 percent) who obtained such positions113 were privileged because at least they felt useful for something, which was not the case for the majority of their counterparts. Their feelings were summed up by one of our interviewees in this way: “Xiaxiang was supposed to create educated manual workers. But our education was of no use and we weren’t needed as manual workers.”114

A second surprise: discovering the peasant mentality If even the most motivated zhiqing who hoped to transform the backward face of the countryside found few opportunities for doing so, they might at least have been able to devote themselves to reforming their own ideology with the help of the poor and lower-middle peasants. While no zhiqing left for the countryside solely with the masochistic intention of being reeducated, those who did want to contribute something to the rural community were prepared to “unite with the poor and lower-middle peasants,” which included learning about the revolutionary virtues they incarnated. But the zhiqing quickly learned that real peasants bore no resemblance at all to the idealized ones vaunted in propaganda. After discovering the backwardness of the countryside, that was their second big surprise. When we arrived in the village, we discovered that the peasants were not only totally uneducated but also ideologically backward. They weren’t the least interested in politics. In fact they were very selfish, always seeking their own advantage. We had been educated to put the collective interest first, so it was a big disappointment for us.115 The peasants worked very hard but not for any Communist ideal. The only things that interested them were having enough food to eat and clothes to wear, and when they grew old, to have a suit and a coffin for a

112 113

114 115

A Cheng, “Haiziwang,” in Qiwang, pp. 129–78. There are very few statistics about this. See Scharping, Umsiedlungsprogramme für Chinas Jugend, pp. 287, 329. The range we suggest corresponds roughly to the official statistics and figures gathered in interviews. Interview with X. C., July 3, 1978. Interview with X. C., July 6, 1978.

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dignified burial.116 We were shocked by the peasants’ petty-mindedness and the way they constantly sought to gain small advantages over each other. They were quite able to quarrel or fight for a few square centimeters of a private plot.117

All the zhiqing sent to villages appear to have been similarly disappointed.118 Their doubts about the system only increased when they realized that, contrary to official stereotypes, the former landlords and rich peasants and their children were neither rich nor powerful, but just ordinary people who were dragged out as scapegoats each time one was needed, and far too terrorized to harm anyone.119 The most serious consequence of the discovery of the peasant mentality was that it eliminated the main justification for xiaxiang at the time, which was reeducation. The zhiqing unanimously considered that the peasants were not in a position to reeducate them, even though some conceded their qualities of endurance in labor and the harshness of their lives. Many were disdainful of the “country bumpkins,” as demonstrated by the use of many pejorative terms to describe them, the most common being axiang 阿鄉, laoxiang 老鄉, xiangbalao 鄉巴佬 , tulao 土佬 , and, in some regions of

116 117 118

119

Interview with H. C., July 7, 1978. Interview with M. Y. S., August 1, 1978. This may be compared with the disillusion felt by the Russian populists when they discovered that the real Russian peasants did not match the image they had of them and that the rural communities had very little to do with the quasi-communistic conception of mir. In fact the populists all returned to the cities in the 1870s and 1880s, even though they had intended to settle permanently in the countryside. The intellectuals who had seriously studied the realities of the Russian countryside and published works on the subject shared their disillusionment with their readers. Wortman, The Crisis of Russian Populism. The main difference with the zhiqing was that the latter had not created their own illusions. The propaganda had been instilled in them since childhood. Interviews, and Feng Jicai, “Yige laohongweibing de zibai,” p.  8. In some places these pariahs were jokingly called lao yundongyuan 老 運 動 員 , which usually means “old athletes” but which signifies here “old regulars of (political) movements” because they were dragged out for every movement (yundong). Bennett, who mentions this, does not seem to have understood the play on words; Gordon  Bennett, “China’s Mass Campaigns and Social Control,” in Amy A. Wilson et al. (eds.), Deviance and Social Control in Chinese Society (New York: Praeger, 1977), p. 133.

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Guangdong province, poklo. Others felt compassion for these uneducated peasants who lived under such harsh conditions, or a blend of disdain and compassion, but in no case did they feel the esteem and respect that would have been necessary for them to want to transform themselves into peasants. The anguish they felt at the very thought of resembling those people and working like machines or beasts of burden without the slightest intellectual and emotional lives, without ideals, and in a restricted and monotonous universe, was one of the main reasons for their refusal to settle in the villages for life. That revulsion against the peasants extended to zhiqing who married and started a family in the villages, because inevitably they too gradually sank into the “pettiness that was characteristic of the peasants.”120 I should stress here that the rural society the zhiqing discovered had lost part of its traditional culture after twenty years of reshaping by the CCP. The peasants they came into contact with were neither the socialist heroes of propaganda, nor peasants rooted in centuries-old tradition, but the result of the failed transformation of the one into the other. Close contact with the villagers therefore did not help the young people accept xiaxiang. The impact of the shock caused by their discovery of the rural mentality is clear in the example of the zhiqing sent before the Cultural Revolution to the “Chen village” reported by Madsen.121 Here the zhiqing had spent their first year (1964–1965) in a separate team, working on newly cleared land, which enabled them to maintain their ideals and Maoist virtues. But the following year when they were split up among different teams and had to work side by side with the peasants, their illusions disappeared and tensions sprung up between them and the villagers. Another trait of the peasant mentality that shocked the zhiqing was their “passivity.” All our interviewees criticized the peasants for blindly obeying the cadres and their resignation in the face of government decisions that went against their interests, in other words for lacking any spirit of rebellion. Their only form of resistance was passive and silent. For instance, if the government suddenly decided that all the pigs should be sold to the state (at well below free market prices), they would hand over the pigs without a protest, but little by little their production fell. And if the zhiqing protested against such measures and defended the peasants’ interests, the peasants would not support

120 121

Michel and Huang He, Avoir 20 ans en Chine, p. 80. Madsen, Morality and Power in a Chinese Village, pp. 118–25, 145–48.

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them, and even advise them to stop.122 Whatever the objective reasons may have been for this peasant attitude, it sapped the morale of even the most motivated zhiqing, who ultimately decided that they really could do nothing to help the peasants improve their miserable lot. In the farms the problem with zhiqing’s integration into the receiving community was different due to a more complex and varied situation. The proportion of zhiqing varied enormously according to the farm (from 10 percent to 80 percent in our sample). They were often concentrated in brigades (liandui 連隊) where they made up the majority of the workforce, the remainder consisting of demobilized soldiers and a minority of local peasants. The cadres were officers or former cadres from the state farms, and very rarely from that region. Under those circumstances, “reeducation by the poor and lower-middle peasants” was purely rhetorical, and the issue of integration was a different matter since the farm itself was often a foreign entity in its rural environment. The zhiqing mainly had dealings (usually difficult ones) with officers who were dissatisfied with their demeaning posting as farm managers, and with soldiers who had been demobilized for 10–15 years and were unhappy that they had not been posted to the city. The former perceived the zhiqing as “rebels” who had to be subdued, while the latter saw them as petit bourgeois needing to be put into their place. The zhiqing did not feel welcome and were concerned they might be like those crude and embittered demobilized soldiers,123 just as in the villages the zhiqing worried about resembling the peasants one day. In farms that had once been labor camps or similar institutions, the young urbanites met former convicts who had stayed on after finishing their sentence. Contact with those people, especially former political prisoners, and the realization that such despised elements (known as er laogai 二勞改, or “second-time convicts”), who were despised, discriminated against and bullied, were in reality ordinary men deserving of compassion and, in some cases, admiration, was often a challenge to their beliefs about what was good and bad.124

122 123 124

See, for example, Michel and Huang He, Avoir 20 ans en Chine, pp. 146–48. Interviews, and Kong Jiesheng, Nanfang de an, p. 25. Zhang Kangkang, “Bai yingsu” (White Poppies), in 1980 nian duanpian xiaoshuoxuan (A Selection of Short Stories from 1980) (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1981), pp. 496–513; Liang Xiaosheng, “Beidahuang jishi,” pp. 84–109. These two short stories were closely based on the authors’ real-life experiences (interviews with Zhang Kangkang, July 4, 1984, and with Liang Xiaosheng, September 21, 1986).

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The belief that their presence was of no use was widespread among the zhiqing on the farms, especially when these were seriously loss-making. But even in the military farms on the border regions, the zhiqing do not appear to have been convinced for long of the strategic usefulness of their being there. In most cases, the military exercises were aimed more at toughening them up and maintaining a military atmosphere rather than preparing the young people for combat. One interviewee, sent to Inner Mongolia, reported the following: “I didn’t touch a gun in five years and I only threw one grenade. One unit in ten was armed. They only consisted of people with good family backgrounds. If the Russians had attacked, I don’t know what we would have done.”125 As we have seen, the zhiqing could not tolerate the sacrifice of their rustication for the sole purpose of being “tempered.” They needed to feel useful to keep up their morale.

Relations between the Zhiqing and the Receiving Communities Relationship based on realism Under the conditions we have described, where both parties were brought together by force, their relationship could hardly be a good one. But neither were relations very poor, for it was not in the zhiqing’s interest, especially in relation to the cadres. The cadres themselves knew that the arrival of the zhiqing was not of their doing, any more than their subsequent departure. There was no point in trying to make them leave by creating an unpleasant atmosphere. On the whole then, relations were neither warm nor very bad, but based on a realistic perception of a situation that was imposed from outside. According to official doctrine, the peasants were to “treat the zhiqing like their own children,” devote considerable efforts to their political and ideological reeducation, and also teach them about agricultural labor and, if necessary, domestic tasks such as cooking and sewing. They were to help them with their day-to-day problems, build housing, provide them with vegetables for as long as they did not produce their own, take them to the hospital if they were sick, and so on.126 However, in practice, the peasants very rarely took on a substitute parent role, doubtless because they lacked motivation, but also because they had no time to take care of the zhiqing outside the period of collective labor in the fields. They taught them how to farm, because that was 125 126

Interview with L. Z., September 21, 1979. HQ 1 (1969), pp. 24–25.

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vital for them to produce food. They generally showed a lack of goodwill where building their housing was concerned, and as for the rest, it was up to the zhiqing to manage among themselves, unless they actually lived with a peasant family. As a result, the young people had to cope with the difficulty of adapting to a new environment without the help and advice that a parent would bring, which caused problems for many of them, especially the youngest ones. On occasion, being abandoned to their fates took on extreme forms, such as the thirty young people sent to backward villages inhabited by members of the Wa nationality in Yunnan, who were unable to live off their work points and broke away from their production teams to form a sort of primitive community that lived off hunting and fishing.127 The peasants were no more interested than the zhiqing in the political meetings and ideological discussions that were supposed to be part of the zhiqing’s reeducation, and in any case the zhiqing rejected the peasants’ right to reeducate them. Political activities were very specialized and only concerned a minority of activists and cadres above the village level. Ordinary peasants judged the zhiqing first and foremost on their attitude toward work. If they worked hard in the fields, even zhiqing from bad class backgrounds could win the peasants’ respect, despite the official discrimination they were subjected to (but not that of the cadres, who were very aware of their political role). “Living as they did, barely at subsistence level, the peasants judged everything according to this criterion.”128 Conversely, if the young people disappeared for months on end during the slack period, the villagers did not mind, since they weren’t taking any of their work points off them. Relations between peasants and young city dwellers were not therefore governed by the official principles of reeducation, but by concrete matters of interest. They were usually characterized by a distant politeness that often concealed mutual disdain that could be warmed by mutual good behavior, or cooled by specific conflicts of interest. Where possible, all the zhiqing sought to have reasonable relationships with the peasants, for they were in a position to voice their opinions about their possible return to the city or promotion to a nonagricultural position. The zhiqing were ready to help them out in a spirit of mutual interest. For instance, they would bring back certain items from the cities that were in short supply in the countryside (clothing, cloth, slippers, salt, batteries, light 127 128

Bai Hua, “Tingluju shengshuaiji” (The Grandeur and Decadence of a Tea House), Qishi niandai, June 1981, p. 87. Feng Jicai, “Dangdai Yulian,” p. 7.

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bulbs, etc.) or they would help their children with their homework. In exchange, the peasants gave them food (vegetables and meat) or helped them by providing some services, such as bringing water. These exchanges helped to maintain good neighborly relations. Exchanges with the cadres, who had a far greater influence on their fate as well as their daily lives, were much less egalitarian. The products that the zhiqing brought them were usually presents or else were ordered by cadres who then “forgot” to pay for them. The cadres knew how to use the zhiqing’s intellectual capacities to their benefit, for instance by getting help in writing speeches or official letters, or even their self-criticisms,129 but that did not lead to forming real relationships based on trust. The cadres were careful to keep their distance and only very rarely gave the young people any real responsibilities. Conversely, they were happy to favor those who gave them gifts or who could be useful to them, such as the children of high-ranking cadres whose connections (guanxi) could help them obtain the equipment and services they required. After the Zhuzhou system was adopted, the most privileged were the children of cadres in the urban units to which communes or brigades were attached. One interviewee who had been in that position had no problem dawdling in bed, reading or reviewing his schoolbooks instead of working in the fields. The peasant cadres said nothing and were very obsequious when asking his father for a piece of equipment or a service, and would praise the young man’s hardworking nature, even though the father did not believe a word of it.130 The attitude of those peasants may not have been “moral” but it was understandable. They had no need of an extra pair of hands, so the cost of the lazy young man’s presence in their midst was amply offset by what they could get out of his father. Even if it was in both parties’ interest to have decent, and if possible, profitable relations, the mutual discontent generated by xiaxiang inevitably led to sporadic conflicts of various degrees of seriousness. As we have seen, the peasants considered the zhiqing to be a burden and tried to cut their losses by reducing their work points. The young city dwellers resented this discrimination, leading to lively exchanges when this was discussed. However, the zhiqing could not go too far in their open protests without running the risk of reprisals from the cadres, so frequently their main form of protest was theft. They pilfered vegetables, poultry, dogs belonging to private individuals, as

129 130

Michel and Huang He, Avoir 20 ans en Chine, p. 122. Interview with M. X. Y., September 17, 1979.

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well as grain and fruit belonging to the commune, as a means of making up their poor diet, but also a kind of revenge against the peasants and their fate in general. From the 1970s, these occasional thefts grew more frequent.131 The zhiqing who stole from the peasants usually did so without any guilty conscience and collectively, as a sort of prank or to show off. Most of the time, they stole to improve their dreary daily diet.132 The victim was often a peasant or cadre they held a specific grudge against, and the spoils would be divided up among all the zhiqing in the collective household (jitihu), including those who had not taken part in the “operation.” Sometimes, it was a matter of recovering something, because the peasants also stole from the zhiqing, even though this seems to have been less frequent. According to my data, the villages where the peasants repeatedly stole from the zhiqing were usually those that were obliged by the authorities to award similar or identical work points to the zhiqing. Their actions were therefore motivated and morally justified by a need to make up their loss of income. The peasants usually profited from the zhiqing’s absence during family visits to steal grain, clothes, pots and pans or other utensils. One interviewee returned after a home visit for Chinese New Year to find her jitihu without a door: We went to complain to the brigade and were told that we shouldn’t have returned to Guangzhou. We exchanged insults but it didn’t go too far. We didn’t retaliate by stealing from the peasants, as there wasn’t much solidarity among us. Many of us came from the neighboring town or had family in the village.133

Even when there was intra-zhiqing solidarity and the young people knew who had stolen from them, there was nothing much they could do except discretely steal in return, since the balance of power was not in their favor. However, if they were caught in the act the peasants would get together to beat them, but in that case the zhiqing could count on their friends in the team, the brigade, or even in other brigades in the region. Quite often they could fend off the blows by threatening the peasants with reprisals, for

131 132

133

We will look at the problem of regular theft later; see below, pp. 340–41. There was a saying among some zhiqing that “Stealing to eat is not stealing” (tou chide bu shi tou). Wang Xiaobo, “Si shui liu nian” (The Years Flow Like Water), Wang Xiaobo wenji (The Works of Wang Xiaobo), vol.  1 (Beijing: Zhongguo qingnian chubanshe, 1999), p. 164. Interview with Y. S., July 21, 1978.

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instance by setting fire to their houses, but on occasion fighting broke out that turned into pitched battles leaving people seriously wounded and even led to some deaths.134 Things were more complicated in the farms, since the cadres, demobilized soldiers, locals, and zhiqing formed separate groups and were often split up according to place of origin. There does not appear to have been a problem of theft on the farms, but there was open conflict between farm employees, the zhiqing, and members of neighboring communes, especially in minority regions. Former zhiqing in Xinjiang and Hainan have reported that the ethnic minorities all around their farms considered that the land in that entire region belonged to them by rights and they were therefore entitled to take whatever grew on it. That kind of theft led to conflicts, which the authorities tried to settle without open confrontation with the minorities, leading the Han to feel that they had been unjustly treated.135

A limited reciprocal influence Even though each community kept its own counsel and refused to be changed by the other, cohabitation over many years in the same village and working together on the same land obviously led to a certain mutual influence. My own sources confirm Parish and Whyte’s conclusion that the zhiqing did not play an important role in modernizing and politicizing the countryside.136 However, they did influence the peasants in a number of ways, albeit not to any great extent. For one thing they had an informative role since the villagers learned about the little or poorly known urban world through the zhiqing. The peasants’ ignorance and curiosity about urban life were even the peasants’ main charm in the eyes of the zhiqing, since it allowed them to assert their urban superiority, somewhat dented by their reeducated status. This charming peasant naivety is well described in this dialogue between a zhiqing and a young peasant woman: Liu Xiaoer never tires of asking me questions about life in Beijing. “Is it true that Beijingers can see films in their homes?” “Not in their homes, in the cinema.”

134 135 136

See Liang and Shapiro, Son of the Revolution, pp.  199–200, and Michel and Huang He, Avoir 20 ans en Chine, pp. 135–36. Interviews, and Frolic, Mao’s People, p. 207. Parish and Whyte, Village and Family in Contemporary China, pp. 43, 329–30.

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“But that’s what you told me the other day!” “No, what we watch at home is television, a square box. It’s like the cinema [...]” “And you can eat meat whenever you want?” “Yes.” “You’re lying!” “No, it’s true.” “What if you want to eat meat every day?” “Well then, you eat it every day.” She looked up at the stars and thought a while. For her the mysteries of Beijing were as impenetrable as those of the Milky Way.137

In some cases, the zhiqing even took young peasants they became friendly with to discover the city. At the time it was a unique opportunity, since peasants rarely left their villages and usually did not know any big cities beyond the neighboring market town. The zhiqing also passed on any political information they read about in the papers. Rural ignorance in this domain gave them an opportunity to assert a kind of superiority, which on occasion they were tempted to abuse by mocking the peasants. In the Yunnan village where one respondent worked, the zhiqing amused themselves by making the peasants believe that among Lin Biao’s crimes were that he had a troop of women (a play on the characters in Lin Biao’s wife’s name, Ye Qun) and had stolen three chicken before leaving (a play on the Chinese name for the Trident aircraft Lin Biao used in his attempt to flee China).138 The villagers also discovered, and in some cases adopted, a number of urban customs. This was especially true of the younger peasants. In hygiene for instance, the zhiqing’s habit of brushing their teeth surprised the peasants. That urban practice was sometimes adopted by the younger peasants, to the great amusement of their elders, most of whom did not believe this to be useful.139 Exceptionally, some zhiqing were able to exert influence in the area of domestic hygiene. In one village, a group of model zhiqing taught the peasants to filter river water before boiling it and respect certain basic rules of

137 138 139

Shi Tiesheng, “Wode yaoyuan de Qingpingwan,” p. 43. Interview with M.  Z.  W., December 29, 1984. Ye Qun became yi qun 一 群 and sanchaji was transformed into san zhi ji 三隻雞 . Nor were they the only ones. According to Mao’s doctor, Mao never believed in cleaning his teeth either. See Li Zhisui,  La vie privée du Président Mao (Paris: Plon, 1994), pp. 130–34.

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hygiene in the latrines.140 The zhiqing also passed on the habit of smoking cigarettes from packets instead of rolling their own. Some peasants discovered the effervescent pleasures of carbonated soft drinks. The writer Wang Anyi described how a young peasant almost chocked to death after drinking a soft drink given to him by a zhiqing, because he did not know how to evacuate the gas.141 The zhiqing’s clothes also influenced some young villagers, especially the female ones. In Guangdong, for example, they abandoned their black peasant outfits for lighter-colored clothing, which showed the dirt more easily but were more pleasant to look at and less hot to wear. Some young peasants abandoned their cotton-padded jackets and wore sweaters, less fragile and easier to clean, and many cut off their plaits and wore their hair short, which was easier for work. In actual fact, practical considerations played a secondary role for the young peasants adopting urban habits, the main reason being a desire to be “fashionable” and imitate the “modern” style of the zhiqing who, despite their low social status, did have a certain prestige among those young people because of their urban origins. Sometimes the young peasants even tried to imitate the zhiqing’s language. On occasion, the city dwellers’ influence was greater, as for instance, the model zhiqing mentioned earlier, who succeeded in convincing several young peasant women in the village to refuse the custom whereby the young bride, entering her husband’s home for the first time, had to kneel in front of him and kowtow (koutou).142 However, examples of the young urbanites’ influence on the family mores of the peasants were few and far between. Conversely, some of their irregular and illegal practices did have a considerable influence on the younger peasants, for instance in Guangdong, where they listened to foreign radio broadcasts and crossed over to Hong Kong illegally, a subject I will deal with in Chapter 11. In fact that was the only zhiqing influence the peasants readily acknowledged in my interviews: I don’t know what we could have been taught by those lazy people. But they did manage to get a few young villagers to listen to yellow [pornographic]

140 141

142

Interview with T. R. C., July 20, 1978. Wang Anyi, “Madaochang chunqiu” (History of the Hemp Knife Factory), in Xiaobaozhuang (Xiaobao Village) (Shanghai: Shanghai wenyi chubanshe, 1986), p. 10. Interview with T. R. C., July 20, 1978.

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music from the reactionary radio stations and sing along with them.143 In a nearby village they taught some young militia how to swim and persuaded them to go to Hong Kong with them.144

While the zhiqing’s official cultural activities did not have a great impact on the villages, their unofficial activities appear to have been rather more influential in some places. That was the case for love songs, as well as the stories that the zhiqing would tell each other when they found the time during the long evenings in the countryside. Thus foreign novels and classic Chinese ones were told in a simplified way, sometimes altered for political reasons, and delighted the peasants who, without the zhiqing, would never have enjoyed such spiritual pleasures.145 The zhiqing’s contribution of a few elements of urban life was not a major factor of change in the peasants’ habits and mores. Nor were the young city dwellers profoundly “reeducated” by the peasants, but they were influenced by the rural environment and the most important demonstration of this was the revival of religious beliefs and superstitious practices among the zhiqing. Despite their rationalist education, many of them began to believe in destiny and spirits and resort to a number of practices to understand their intentions and win them over.146 The main reason, as we shall see, was the zhiqing’s situation, in which they had no control whatsoever over their destinies, but this was certainly magnified by contact with an environment in which such beliefs and practices still flourished. Their prolonged stay in the countryside obliged the zhiqing to alter some of their habits and to acquire others. Consequently, many young city dwellers grew used to exercising restraint in relationships between the sexes and dressing more simply. They also lost some of their good manners and politeness. The changes were not far-reaching and disappeared once they settled back in the cities for good, but when the zhiqing went home on family visits they were made aware of the little changes that had occurred through the necessary adaptation to their dayto-day rural environment.

143 144 145 146

In fact these were simply love songs from Taiwan and Hong Kong broadcast by radio stations in Hong Kong and Macao. Interview with N. M. W., July 16, 1978. Feng Jicai, “Yige laohongweibing de zibai,” p.  20, and interview with A  Cheng, July 3, 1986. See below, pp. 361–63.

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Poor integration It is no surprise that only an extremely small percentage of the zhiqing really became integrated into the rural community. Several interviewees reported having had friendly relations with peasants, but never as intimate and confiding as with their fellow zhiqing. Many young urbanites felt sympathy for the peasants they were living with and some became curious about them and developed a deep attachment to the rural communities, but those sentiments were ethnological as much as anything else. The zhiqing remained outside observers who had no desire to blend in with the subject of their study. The writer and researcher Zhang Chengzhi, who spent four years with Mongolian herdsmen, is a good example. His short stories probably expressed the most nostalgia for the xiaxiang period and the greatest attachment to the people he lived with. As a member of a minority group, the Hui, he was passionately interested in the Mongolian language and civilization, but like the other zhiqing he still hoped to return to his hometown of Beijing and did not turn down the exceptional opportunity in 1972 to enter Peking University’s archaeology department. He graduated in 1975 and did not return to Inner Mongolia, but instead obtained a job in the capital’s History Museum. In 1978 he was accepted as a doctoral student in the Minorities Institute where he became a researcher specialized in the history of Central Asia during the time of the Mongol empire. He returned to northwest China for his work about once a year and, like the hero in his most nostalgic short story “Green Night,”147 went to visit the herdsmen he used to know during his xiaxiang period.148 But however much sympathy he may have felt for the Mongols and other minorities, Zhang Chengzhi was a Beijinger. He married and still lives and works in Beijing. Similarly, many other writers who wrote at length about the rural society they discovered during xiaxiang did so successfully because they were interested in their environment. However, they all remained outside that society, which may also have been a reason for their success. Being interested in the rural community in which they lived did not mean wanting to be integrated with it. As we shall see later, accepting a lowly cadre’s position did not necessarily signify a desire to stay on. However, marriage with a local was proof that someone was prepared to spend the remainder of his/her life in the countryside and wanted to fully join the rural 147 148

Zhang Chengzhi, “Lü ye” (Green Night), Shiyue 2 (1982), pp. 130–37. Interview with Zhang Chengzhi, June 21, 1986.

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community. Indeed, once married, the young urbanites lost all possibility of being able to transfer their household registration (hukou) back to the city, and the young men, like the young women, left their collective households (jitihu) to live with their spouses’ family. That is why those marriages were so strongly encouraged by official propaganda after 1974. We saw earlier how one young woman graduate from Beijing, Bai Qixian, was honored by the national press because she chose, against the wishes of her family, to marry a peasant instead of someone from the city.149 Despite official encouragement, “mixed” marriages were infrequent. In the villages, they appear to have been more frequent than marriage between zhiqing or with city residents,150 but the overall zhiqing nuptiality rate was very low for their age, doubtless because of their refusal to remain permanently in the countryside.151 Mixed love marriages did occur, but they were exceptional since they entailed breaching the gap that divided urbanites and peasants,152 which was no easy matter, as the writer Ye Xin explained: There is a pretty big distance between the zhiqing from the vast, distant city, and the local young mountain villagers. They can be friends and have a good relationship, but it’s difficult for them to feel mutual love. The two parties not only have to find an affectional foundation for their love but also take a mental leap across a vast chasm. The reason is very simple, although the theorists forget it all too easily. There is still a vast gap between city and countryside in our country. It is an undeniable fact that the most ordinary family in Shanghai is infinitely better off than the best-off family in an isolated village in Guizhou.153

In fact most mixed marriages were marriages of convenience or forced

149 150 151 152

153

See above, pp. 110–11. There are no national figures, but that is what the few available local statistics indicate. See Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 511–12. See below, pp. 320–21. An account of a love affair between an educated youth from Beijing and a young peasant girl from Yan’an, which ended in the boy’s departure and the girl’s unhappy marriage to a peasant, can be found in Huishou huang tudi: Beijing zhiqing Yan’an chadui jishi (A Retrospective Look at the Yellow Earth Country: Memoirs of Beijing Educated Youth Sent to Villages in the Yan’an Region) (Shenyang: Shenyang chubanshe, 1992), pp. 169–75. A literary example of a love story between a zhiqing and a peasant that ends in separation, can be found in Dai Sijie, Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress. Ye Xin, “Cuotuo suiyue,” Shouhuo 5, p. 80.

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marriages, and mainly concerned young girls from the cities who in many cases and for different reasons were isolated from the other zhiqing or lacked family support.154 A young girl might then give in to the entreaties of a local boy and his family, luring her with the prospects of a stable and sheltered family life. In some cases the young women didn’t wait to be asked. One former zhiqing from Beijing told me that she had made the first advances to a young Mongol whom she later married. She chose the strongest young man in the village, who earned ten work points a day and belonged to a relatively well-off family. Being totally alone after her parents had been exiled for political reasons, she decided that marriage was her only chance of survival once the first year’s food-rationing quota had been used up. She wept the whole night before the wedding ceremony.155 The peasants were usually very keen to marry young women from the cities, because they considered them more beautiful and distinguished, but also, and more importantly, because they didn’t ask for a dowry, whereas peasant families always demanded a significant sum of money for their daughter’s hand.156 Moreover, it was always useful to have family connections in the city. In some places the arrival of innocent and defenseless young girls was a godsend, since many poor villages in China were referred to as “old bachelor villages” because it was so difficult for the young men to find wives there. All the girls left to marry in richer areas and the only solution for the men was to buy one of the many young girls kidnapped by specialized gangs. In those types of villages, young female zhiqing were subjected to considerable pressure, even acts of violence, to make them accept marriage. Once married, they were sometimes confined to the house and closely guarded by their mothers-in-law, who were careful to preserve this heaven-sent treasure for their sons.157 There were numerous cases of mental illness and suicide

154

155 156 157

None of the seven female former zhiqing who married peasants reported in an article in 1998 appear to have married out of love. See Tian Xiaoye, “Jia gei nongmin de nü zhiqing” (Female Educated Youths Married to Peasants), Zhongguo funübao—Jiating zhoumo, May 22, 1998, pp. 1, 3. Interview with Zhang Ling, August 6, 2000. The amount varied according to the region and the qualities of the young woman, but could easily be as much as 1,000 yuan. One mother-in-law had the idea to burn her daughter-in-law’s wedding certificate so that she could never ask for a divorce. The case of Wang Zhen, in Tian Xiaoye, “Jia gei nongmin de nü zhiqing.”

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among these young women.158 Marriages that were more or less forced only occurred in the very poor villages. Usually the young women married because they had been raped by peasants (often cadres) and not wanting to complain for fear of damaging their reputation, accepted marriage as the only solution once they had lost their virginity. Even when conditions were not as terrible as all that, the parents of female zhiqing were rarely happy for them to wed peasants and usually tried to oppose such marriages, even though there were some exceptions.159 In all cases, the young women who married peasants cut themselves off from their peers, who pitied them and would try to dissuade them. The young Beijinger who married a Mongol mentioned earlier was even declared “mad” by her comrades, who tried everything they could to “save” her.160 Once married, these young women were absorbed into their husbands’ families, and taken over by work and domestic tasks, in return for which they benefited from a stable and protected position in the village. However, after a time many of them experienced marital difficulties because of the differences in mentality and education between the spouses. Many regretted their marriage, especially when their former friends began returning to the cities, one by one. For all zhiqing married to peasants, the end of xiaxiang was a difficult time. Even the young men and women who appeared to be well integrated, who had been married for years and had children, could not resist the lure of the city. Many divorced or simply returned home, since everything was possible so long as one knew how to lie and whom to bribe. Some even managed to transfer their household registration (hukou) and even those of their children. One former zhiqing from Beijing who returned from Manchuria with her child was able to obtain an urban hukou by pretending to be unmarried. 158

159

160

Several cases were discussed in the above-mentioned article by Tian Xiaoye, including that of Sun Baohua, an orphan who was sent to a “bachelor village” in Inner Mongolia where eight of the nine young women who had been sent there from Beijing (including two sisters) were married within the year. Sun Baohua became deranged after being locked up by her mother-in-law and her husband, and was still living in that village in 1998. One young university graduate from a “bad” background, aged 22 in 1968, married a poor peasant shortly after arriving in a Mongolian village on the advice of her father, who hoped that in this way his daughter could erase her political blot. Interview with R. C. G., January 23, 1986. Another young woman from Beijing who lived in a village quite a long way away heard about this “mentally deranged” zhiqing who wanted to marry a Mongol. Interview with Tian Xiaoye, August 22, 2001.

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When she wanted to transfer her daughter’s hukou, she was told that there was a contradiction with her unmarried status, but her family knew how to offer the necessary gifts and the contradiction was quickly solved.161 Other zhiqing who did not want to, or were unable to, separate from their husbands, became so bitter that it had a lasting negative impact on their married lives.162 Generally speaking, the wave of returns in 1978–1979 was a trial for all the zhiqing still in the villages and farms and who, either because they were married or because they had obtained an interesting job on the spot, could not envisage returning home. That proves just how fragile their integration into rural life really was. Most actually tried to return despite the many obstacles and sacrifices that implied, and many finally succeeded, as we have seen in Chapter 7. There certainly were zhiqing who adapted to their rural milieu, but they were few and far between and, unfortunately, I never met any. According to available reports, even those (especially the women) who did remain and obtained positions of responsibility in their adopted regions, were resigned rather than satisfied.163

Problems of Social Status and Group Identity Demoted and Displaced The 1949 revolution had done nothing to eradicate the city’s superiority over the countryside. The socialization of the economy, the rationing, and the hukou system actually made the urban citizen’s status even more attractive materially and more desirable (because difficult to obtain) than before. The 161

162

163

Xiao Fuxing and Xiao Fuhua, “A, lao sanjie” (Ah! The Three Graduation Years), Wenhui yuekan 8 (1987), p.  24; reprinted as A, lao sanjie (Hefei: Anhui wenyi chubanshe, 1988). Two friends were able to visit a village in Guangdong province in August 1986 in which a peasant had just committed suicide. He had married a young zhiqing who was so resentful at having been trapped into this marriage that she made his life impossible. He hung himself from a tree at the entrance to the village, so that his wife would feel guilty for the rest of her life. After her husband’s suicide, the young woman returned to Guangzhou with her two children but their hukou remained in the village, since at the time widowhood was not a reason for changing residency. Interview with G. M. and T. I., November 2, 1986. (It seems likely that her widow’s status enabled her to transfer her residency subsequently.) See the example of Peng Haofang, in Tian Xiaoye, “Jia gei nongmin de nü zhiqing.”

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majority of zhiqing shared this view and therefore perceived the transition from town to country as a demotion. The authorities were aware of that problem, but counted on reeducation to change the young urbanites’ value scale: “If we take the point of view of a revolutionary proletarian and have the same thoughts and feelings as a poor and lower-middle peasant, then we will certainly understand that it is an honor and an opportunity to work in the countryside.”164 As we have seen, the zhiqing were not transformed into peasants, but they did live with them for long enough to realize that they too shared their feelings about the superiority of the city over the countryside. If the peasants remained tied to the land, it was because they had no choice and not because they considered it an “honor.” When, thanks to the zhiqing, the peasants had the opportunity to learn about the city, their reactions usually resembled that of this young villager, on her return from a trip to Guangzhou: “Guangzhou is wonderful! If I were a high school pupil or a student, I’d rather die than be sent to the countryside!”165 The zhiqing’s disdain for agricultural labor could be seen in their use of expressions like “repairing the earth” (xiuli diqiu 修理地球) to describe their work in the fields, and “running in a dog’s race” (saigou 賽狗) to describe transplanting rice (each in a row on all fours).166 Given that the zhiqing were carrying out these tasks themselves, such expressions were a form of self-mockery and showed how “demoted” they felt themselves to be. Grandiose phrases about peasant honor did not prevent the cadres in charge from systematically using agricultural labor as a punishment and allocating nonagricultural positions as rewards. Consequently zhiqing with “good attitudes” could obtain nonagricultural jobs, but if they committed a political error, they were sent back to the fields.167 Nor did all the propaganda since 1955 prevent people from believing that in social terms the peasant’s job was right at the bottom of the social ladder. The political and social status of the young urbanites was even below that of the peasants.168 That was due to their reeducation situation, and on occasion

164 165 166 167 168

WHB, December 24, 1968, in FBIS, December 24, 1968. Michel and Huang He, Avoir 20 ans en Chine, p. 56. The first expression was very widespread, while the second was limited to certain regions of Guangdong province. See ibid., p. 129. See for example, Feng Jicai, “Weida de shounanzhemen,” pp.  5–13; A  Cheng, “Haiziwang,” in Qiwang, pp. 129–78. Social status is conferred by public opinion in general while political status corresponds to the treatment meted out by the authorities to each segment of the population. The two are, of course, related but not the same. Thus the political

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the zhiqing were subjected to specific measures aimed at limiting their travel to the city, and even between production brigades,169 probably to reduce contact between them. The young people therefore felt they were being treated like deported criminals. They could not accept that they were perceived as a “dangerous class” and systematically suspected of any wrongdoing. For instance, whenever a theft occurred, the zhiqing’s housing was generally the first place to be searched. The inferior status of the young urbanites was reflected in the language used by the peasants, who always prefixed their names with the word “little” (xiao) even when the peasant was younger than the person in question, whereas normally the term is only used to address someone younger.170 Their lowly status was even more apparent when a zhiqing had a bad case file, either because of a bad social background or because of his/her behavior during the Cultural Revolution. Such zhiqing were systematically discriminated against and subjected to organized ostracism. As soon as they arrived in a village, the peasants and other zhiqing were warned not to mix with those bad elements. They were often placed in isolated living quarter outside the collective zhiqing households (jitihu). While this exclusion did lessen over time, and in some cases disappeared entirely in relations with other zhiqing and ordinary peasants, they still suffered discrimination in the allocation of tasks, promotions, and returns to the city.171 This official discrimination turned them into real outcasts who could not marry outside their caste, since their political status was deemed to be contagious. Even if a young man or woman, from the city or the countryside, agreed to marry a zhiqing with bad social origins, with all the consequences that implied for his or her own status, he or she would have difficulty withstanding family pressure against such a union.172

169 170 171

172

status of the poor and lower-middle peasants was far superior to their social status. Michel and Huang He, Avoir 20 ans en Chine, pp. 75–76. Ye Xin, “Cuotuo suiyue,” Shouhuo 5, p. 54. Some were even refused family visits, like the son of a Japanese who had emigrated to Xiamen (Amoy) before the revolution and who was considered, for no reason at all, to be “the son of a spy” and therefore was not allowed to return home for Chinese New Year like the others. See Qingnian yidai 3 (1982), pp. 10– 11. The dramatic consequences of this situation were described in numerous literary works. See for example, Ye Xin, “Cuotuo suiyue,” Shouhuo 5, p.  54; Lu Xinhua, “The Wounded,” pp.  9–24; Jin Yanhua and Wang Jingquan, “Cries

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While the zhiqing suffered from their inferior status in the countryside, they felt the disdain and pity of the city dwellers when they returned home on family visits even more. After a few years, those still living in the countryside who had not yet “gotten back on track” (shang guidao 上軌道)173 were often treated with contemptuous compassion by “real” urbanites. The zhiqing felt this disdain even more acutely after the 1974 reforms, when it came from a younger generation that was able to remain in the cities thanks to the “sacrifice” of their elders.174 Several pejorative names for the zhiqing emerged in the cities, the most widespread being chaxiong 插兄 and laocha 老插 (“old settlers”). Some towns had specific terms of their own, such as Hangzhou, where the zhiqing sent to Heilongjiang province were called Heigui 黑鬼 (Heilongjiang devils, but also black devils) or bei laoxiang 北老鄉 (old country bumpkins from the Great North) or bei laor 北老兒 (guys from the Great North).175 Usually they were simply “country bumpkins” not only because of their theoretical peasant status, but also because of their appearance and their clothes, which were not those of fashionable young urbanites. To some zhiqing this was so unbearable that they preferred to cut short their holidays and return to the countryside. The writer Ye Xin reported that he was profoundly shocked the day when, on a visit to Shanghai, he was refused entry to the municipal library on the grounds that he did not have a work card (gongzuozheng 工作證). In the press xiaxiang was depicted as something “glorious” but in reality the zhiqing weren’t even allowed access to a library.176 In a society where most goods were distributed according to status and all sorts of cards, booklets, and certificates were required to prove it, the situation of the zhiqing on home visits was not easy. It was still more difficult for those from poor families, because they felt they were a burden on the parents, taking up precious space and eating their food.

173 174 175

176

from Death Row,” in Perry  Link (ed.), Stubborn Weeds (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1983), pp. 96–114; Ye Weilin, “Lanlan de Mulanxi” (Blue Is the Mulan River), in Nongcun duanpian xiaoshuoxuan (A Selection of Short Stories about the Countryside), vol. 1 (Beijing: Baowentang shudian, 1982), pp. 1–24. Ye Xin, “Xiezuo sanbu changpian xiaoshuo de qianqian houhou,” p. 242. Zhang Kangkang, “Ta,” pp. 10, 33. Ibid. Between themselves, the zhiqing preferred the non-pejorative terms of Longjiangger 龍 江 哥 兒 (Longjiang “brothers”) and huangyou 荒 友 (buddy from the Great North; literally “buddy from the virgin lands,” the Great North being understood). Interview with Zhang Kangkang, July 11, 1984. Ye Xin, “Xiezuo sanbu changpian xiaoshuo de qianqian houhou,” p. 242.

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As a result, after a few years in the countryside the zhiqing felt they belonged nowhere, and were strangers everywhere. “In the Great North, they called us ‘young Shanghainese,’ while in Shanghai, our former classmates call us ‘guys from the Great North,’” admitted a young woman, one of the few who decided not to return to Shanghai.177 As a result of their lowly status and the feeling of being rejected everywhere, many zhiqing felt they had been abandoned by society and were part of a “new kind of lumpenproletariat.”178 And in fact the growing number of zhiqing who did manage to spend most of their time in their hometowns (or even to stay there all year round) really did form a kind of lumpenproletariat. They scraped together a living by more or less illegal means or with the help of parents and friends, and lived in constant fear of hukou controls. Those who were caught in a roundup were sent straight back to their villages or, in the case of delinquents, sentenced to reeducation through labor.179 Overall society viewed the zhiqing as a distinct and potentially dangerous social segment, but also worthy of pity. Quite often ticket inspectors on trains would turn a blind eye when zhiqing boarded the trains without a ticket. Truck drivers would pick them up when they hitchhiked, often using the classic trick of standing the young woman by the side of the road, while her male companion hid in a ditch. Needless to say, the male companion was very necessary, for some of the truck drivers were prone to using another classic trick: the breakdown.180 However the greatest rape risk for the young women came from the cadres, and, to a lesser extent, the ordinary peasants. Indeed, the most difficult consequence of the zhiqing’s inferior social status was their lack of protection against the cadres’ abuses of power. Lacking any real status in society, they were totally vulnerable to the arbitrary decision of the cadres and the vagaries of politics.

Defenseless If the zhiqing dared to contest an order, peasants would often crudely retort along these lines: “Chairman Mao sent you here to be reeducated by us, so if we tell you to eat shit, you eat shit.”181 The local cadres had almost absolute 177 178 179 180 181

Qian Yi, “Ai zai Beidahuang,” p. 150. Michel and Huang He, Avoir 20 ans en Chine, pp. 14–15, 127–39. See below, pp. 371–73. Zhang Xianliang, “Xor Bulak” (Story of a Truck Driver), Littérature Chinoise 1 (1985), pp. 182–84. Interview with R. C. T., August 4, 1978.

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power over those they administered, and that was even more the case for individuals in a lowly political situation, that is to say belonging to one of the “five black categories” and the zhiqing. At every level (team, brigade, commune), the chief cadre held all powers, be they economic, political, administrative, judicial, or policing, and was only accountable to his direct superior. Given that the cadre probably owed his position to that same superior, he was usually covered except in a few specific cases. The local cadres therefore tended to behave like despotic, brutal, and frequently corrupt “local emperors” (tu huangdi 土皇帝). The “revolutionary” atmosphere sustained by Mao reinforced that tendency because every political movement provided a new opportunity to settle scores with anyone who might potentially oppose the chief’s power. In some places the cadres even advocated the “agriculture by dictatorship” method and quite a large number of zhiqing had to deal with the “dictatorship teams” (zhuanzhengdui 專政隊)182 and other militia charged with arresting, imprisoning, and fighting anyone who displeased the local emperor. Some were even obliged to do forced labor in “reform teams” (gaizaodui 改造隊) and other special camps where they were sent on a mere administrative decision. Any zhiqing who dared to criticize a cadre, or worse, denounce corruption, would be the first in line for such repressive measures.183 Even without going as far as open repression, cadres had numerous weapons at their disposal to make trouble for the zhiqing. For instance, they could assign unpleasant and badly paid jobs, refuse to give them their rations on the slightest pretext, and above all, prevent them from obtaining a promotion, a city job, or a place at university. The zhiqing were generally defenseless against such harassment and arbitrary decisions. That was especially true in the case of rape by these cadres, which explains why it was so widespread. Most of my respondents had heard about such cases in their commune or farm, if not their team or brigade. According to a former zhiqing who had obtained access to documents on the subject in his position as a cadre in a farm in Heilongjiang, in each of the hundred-odd farms in this province there were several cases of rape, and sometimes several dozen such cases were reported.184 There were thousands of reports per year of “bad treatment” (a large proportion of which involved rape) from 1974 to 1978. Prior to that there were no statistics but it is very

182 183 184

Gansu Radio, August 4, 1978, in SWB, August 10, 1978. See, for example, RMRB, May 12, 1979, p. 4. Feng Jicai, “Weida de shounanzhemen,” p. 10.

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likely that there were even more cases at the start of the movement, before countermeasures were put in place. Clearly the figures only provide a hazy idea of the real situation. Most rape cases were not reported by the victims. One interviewee explained the frequency of rape in this way: “We were very young and used to living at home, protected by our parents. We knew nothing about life and still less about sexual matters. We were easy targets.”185 And all the more so since the cadres knew that the young girls would have second thoughts about revealing what had happened for fear of losing their honor and reputation. Quite often the victims were considered to be slightly guilty themselves, if not actually to blame for what happened.186 One young woman from Guangzhou who resisted an attempted rape and whose cries were finally heard, found that her reputation had been tarnished as a result. Fortunately the cadre who had tried to rape her then left her alone, but the other men in the village began to pursue her assiduously, considering she must be of easy virtue.187 The cadres knew that their powers protected them from any accusations of rape and that their word would always prevail over that of a zhiqing. They were also in a position to make threats to oblige their victims to remain silent or to allow them to have their way with them. “If you scream, you’ll never set foot in Beijing again”188 was a phrase that came up time and again in novels and first-person accounts, with variations in the name of the city. It was therefore rare for them to be denounced directly and the young women who did so sometimes had second thoughts and retracted their accusations, not wanting that to be written in their files and pursue them throughout their lives, making it very difficult for them to ever find a husband.189 When cases of rape did come to light, it was usually because the young girl got pregnant or because of changes in her behavior (depression, nightmares, running away, etc.) as a result of the shock attracted attention, or because there had been a witness. One interviewee told me about a case of rape in her brigade that came to light because the guilty cadre hadn’t even taken the trouble to hide what he was doing from the victim’s 6-year-old brother. The young girl in question, who was only 16 at the time, was from a 185

186 187 188 189

Interview with H. C., July 10, 1978. For more about the total ignorance about sex among 15–16-year-old city dwellers at the time, see Lu Tianming, “Sangha gaodi de taiyang,” pp. 43–44. See for example, Feng Jicai, “Weida de shounanzhemen,” p. 9. Frolic, Mao’s People, pp. 52–53. Mi Shu, “Ruilijiang ban,” p. 84. See for example, Feng Jicai, “Weida de shounanzhemen,” p. 10.

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“bad” family who had been dispersed during the Cultural Revolution. She had been sent to this village as a zhiqing (or rather a social youth, shehui qingnian, because she was still in primary school in 1966) and she had brought her little brother with her because no one else could look after him. Since she had a good attitude, she was put in charge of guarding the team’s storehouse at night and therefore slept there with her young brother. A married cadre from the local police force (zibao 自保) profiting from this situation slipped into the storehouse at night and raped her. The following morning she didn’t dare to mention what happened but wept continuously. But because her brother had seen everything the matter finally came out into the open and came to the attention of the commune administration. An inquiry was opened but the cadre in charge finally concluded that it was the young girl’s fault since she was from a bad background, while the rapist was a police officer and therefore from a good one. However, a few months later, at the end of 1970, a Central Committee document required anyone raping a zhiqing to be punished. The cadre in question was arrested, locked up in the brigade for a few weeks and then released, after which the case was closed once and for all.190 This case was fairly typical. A young girl from Beijing sent to Inner Mongolia had a similar experience. She got on well with the family of Mongol herdsmen she was staying with until the day when the son raped her in the presence and with the help of the family. After this terrifying contact with what was apparently a local custom, not only was she unable to complain but she was asked to make her self-criticism. Since she too had a lowly status because her father had yet to be rehabilitated, she was accused of having “voluntarily seduced a poor and lower-middle herdsman.”191 Han peasants too, without actually taking part themselves, made it possible for one of their sons to rape a young zhiqing, with the aim of obtaining an inexpensive bride.

190 191

Interview with Y. S., July 26, 1978. Zhang Xinxin and Sang Ye, “Wenping”  (The Diploma), in Beijingren, p.  417. Zhang Xinxin, who had gathered similar accounts from other young women from Beijing sent to Mongolia, was criticized by the committee in charge of the United Front for having revealed these practices. The tolerant Mongol attitude to rape appears in a short story by Zhang Chengzhi entitled “Heijunma” (The Frisky Horse), in Laoqiao (The Old Bridge) (Beijing: Beijing wenyi chubanshe, 1984), pp.  52–129. The author describes a character by the name of Xila, known to be a habitual rapist but who always got away with it. However, the problem should not be exaggerated either. On the whole, the zhiqing’s relations with the Mongols seem to have been better than with most of the other national minorities.

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Cases of rape by peasants were rarer, however, for they did not have the same means of putting pressure on their victims, or the same protection as the cadres. However, one other category of the population was able to profit from the position of weakness of the female zhiqing,192 namely the hospital cadres who had the power to deliver the certificates required to return to the city for reasons of ill-health. Whether rural or urban, the cadres did not always need to resort to violence to obtain the favors of young female zhiqing. Sometimes the promise of certain advantages (a promotion or, more importantly, return to the city) was enough, possibly with the addition of a few threats in the event of refusal. Young urbanites who, after several years in the countryside, were desperate to return to their hometowns, especially when they had a pressing reason such as a sick parent, resigned themselves to submitting to the desires of a cadre, who was the only person with the power to change their destiny. The cities sometimes sent “comfort groups” (weiwentuan) to provide practical assistance and moral support to the zhiqing. But even the cadres in these comfort groups occasionally allowed themselves to be “comforted” in exchange for a few promises.193 Cadres with hundreds, if not thousands, of young women under their orders, were able to obtain the favors of a large number of them. In some cases they failed to keep their promises once they obtained what they wanted, and the young women were powerless to do anything about it. The cadres’ veritable droit de cuissage over the female zhiqing was a source of great resentment to the young women, and of anguish for their parents.194 That was why the authorities did attempt to deal with the problem. As we have seen, central directives were issued in 1970 and 1973 to punish rapists. The extent of the problem led to the emergence of two new legal terms for designating the crime, roughly similar, the “crime of sabotaging the down to the countryside and up to the mountains [movement]” (pohuai shangshan xiaxiang zui

192

193 194

Here we are only discussing female zhiqing, but very occasionally young men were also subjected to sexual assault. In a novella Lu Tianming describes an attempt at seduction and then rape by a former convict in charge of cattle breeding on a farm in Xinjiang. This brute, who only understood relations in terms of power, started by informing the hero about what men did among themselves in reform-through-labor camps. Thanks to his skill with a dagger, the zhiqing was able to resist him. Lu Tianming, “Sangha gaodi de taiyang,” p. 74. Interview with C.  L.  S., a woman from Beijing who had been sent to Yan’an, August 3, 2000. Yue and Wakeman, To the Storm, p. 329.

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破壞上山下鄉罪) and the “crime of rape of a female educated youth” (jianwu nü zhishi qingnian zui 姦污女知識青年罪), as well as variations on the two.195 Unfortunately, like many other measures taken at the time, these were in the context of sporadic and indecisive movements during which severe, sometimes excessive, actions were taken “to set an example” but never dealt with the root cause of the problem.196 Thus the cadre rapists received heavy prison sentences and some were even shot, as we saw earlier,197 but the underlying problem, namely the absolute power the cadres had over the zhiqing and the lack of any independent legal institution, were never broached. Consequently rape and sexual blackmail continued and in July 1979 the leaders who still wished to pursue the xiaxiang policy were asking for more effort to be made “to ensure the personal security of the zhiqing living in the countryside.”198 The 1974 reforms may have reduced the scale of the phenomenon, but not by very much. The right to sexual harassment continued even after the establishment of “zhiqing centers” and “zhiqing farms.” At the end of 1979, the parents of young zhiqing who had recently been victims of rape or attempted rape were still demanding the punishment of a director of a zhiqing farm.199 The requirement for the zhiqing to provide gifts to the cadres was another reminder of their inferior status. In this respect, the dilemma faced by the writer Liang Xiaosheng when he learned that his name was on the list for university entrance, is significant. He owed this good luck to his good

195

196

197

198 199

Zhongguo renmin daxue falüxi xingfa jiaoyanshi (People’s University Law Department and Center for Teaching and Research on Criminal Law), Xingfa gelun (Compendium of Criminal Law) (Beijing: Zhongguo renmin daxue chubanshe, 1982), p.  118. For examples of sentences, see also, Issues and Studies, March 1975, pp.  111–15; Feiqing yuebao, January 1976, p.  23; Guanchajia, November 1978, p. 27; Mingbao yuekan, July 1979, pp. 50–51. About the inefficiency of the Maoist methods for limiting the abuse of power by the cadres, see Benjamin Schwartz, “A Personal View of Some Thoughts of Mao Tse-tung,” in Chalmers  Johnson (ed.), Ideology and Politics in Contemporary China (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1973), pp. 361–72. See pp.  96–97 above, and Feng Jicai, “Weida de shounanzhemen,” pp.  5–13. In this example, the cadre who was shot was only brought to justice because among his dozens of victims was the daughter of a very senior cadre who had been disgraced, but who once rehabilitated was able to lead an inquiry that went over the heads of the local authorities. Radio Heilongjiang, July 10, 1979, in FBIS, July 13, 1979. ZGQNB, November 15, 1979, p. 3.

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background and good attitude, but he knew that these were not enough to keep his name on that list. He resigned himself to writing to his father, a contract worker in Sichuan, to ask him for 200 yuan. His poor father managed to send the amount and Liang put 100 in one pocket of his jacket for his company head, and 100 in the other pocket for his political instructor, and went off to see them. But once there, he thought about how hard his father had worked without asking anyone for anything, and found the idea of the bribe so repugnant that he was unable to hand over the money. On leaving the building he went to a quiet corner and wept, thinking that he had missed his last chance to get into university (he was 25 years old, which was the age limit). Fortunately for him, his name did remain on the list.200 Certainly the zhiqing weren’t the only victims of corruption by the rural cadres, but they were certainly easier targets than the peasants, given the decisive influence the cadres had on their future, the possibilities provided by the material assistance many zhiqing obtained from their families, and the fact that they did not benefit from the support of a clan or a family group as the peasants did, and with whom it was in the cadres’ interest to have good relations.201 In 1978 the authorities recognized that some cadres had “made their fortunes out of the zhiqing” (da fa zhiqing cai 大發知青財)202 and it was common knowledge that the position as head of an Educated Youth Bureau was greatly sought after by anyone hoping to obtain bribes. Thanks to that, one head of a remote county in Guizhou wore only Shanghai-made clothes, which didn’t cost him a penny.203 In short, the central government did not protect the zhiqing from rape, brutality, unjust punishment, harassment, or the extortion of “gifts.” As we have seen, the repressive measures taken against the cadres were ineffective and the dissuasive ones still more so. The zhiqing did not confide in the

200

201

202 203

Interview with Liang Xiaosheng, September 21, 1986. See also Liang Xiaosheng, “Fuqin” (My Father), in Zhe shi yipian shenqi de tudi (Tianjin: Baihua chubanshe, 1985), pp. 181–83. In an otherwise very interesting article, Jean C. Oi neglected this vital aspect of the relationship between the zhiqing and the rural cadres but stated that the zhiqing were less dependent on the team heads than the peasants were, because in the early days they were entitled to a special allowance and because they were not interested in having a private plot. In Jean C. Oi, “Communism and Clientelism: Rural Politics in China,” World Politics 37(2) (January 1985), pp. 253–54. See above, p. 133. Ye Xin, “Cuotuo suiyue,” Shouhuo 6, p. 172.

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“comfort groups,” whose main function was to find out how the zhiqing were faring and, possibly, register their complaints. They knew that these groups merely passed through, whereas the local cadres remained and a serious complaint could attract far more problems than solutions.204 The presence of the accompanying cadres was certainly more useful but not a real guarantee. While some of these cadres took the defense of the zhiqing’s interests to heart (albeit without having many means available to put pressure on the local cadres),205 others clearly sided with the local authorities in a desire to control their “flocks” better. The author of a letter published in the People’s Daily placed both types of cadres on the same level when it came to oppressing the zhiqing by means of “local policies” that went against central government decisions.206 The zhiqing therefore felt they were an oppressed social stratum without defense and with no control over their own destinies, subject to the whims of central government policy and the arbitrary decisions of the local cadres. As the years passed, so did their anguish about their future. A group of educated youth from Guangzhou who had been sent to a region close to the Hong Kong border protested when the authorities tried to force them to “volunteer” to go to Hainan Island, where there was no danger of them fleeing to the British colony. They felt they were being treated like “flocks of ducks” to be dragged around at will.207 Zhiqing literature abounds in numerous phrases that express their anger at being “in the hands” of the cadres.208 The situation was all the more humiliating in that they perceived the cadres as being ignorant, egotistical, and brutish. To some extent, at least symbolically, the relationship between the zhiqing and the cadres (or even the peasants) was similar to that described in Gu Hua’s short story “An Ivy-Covered House,” which the author summarized as follows: “the ridiculing of culture by an illiterate, the stifling of science by an ignoramus, the trampling on civilization by brute force, and the despotic suppression of democracy.”209 That situation was written into the very xiaxiang project itself, and the tyrannical forest warden in this story

204 205 206

207 208 209

Lu Tianming, “Sangha gaodi de taiyang,” p. 68. See above, pp. 244–45. RMRB, June 26, 1978, p. 3. This was a case of arbitrary refusal to allow certain zhiqing to register for university exams, when the central government had stated that all zhiqing were entitled to do so. Michel and Huang He, Avoir 20 ans en Chine, p. 177. Ye Xin, “Cuotuo suiyue,” Shouhuo 6, p. 237; and Xu Mingxu, “Diaodong,” p. 206. Gu Hua, “How I Became a Writer,” Chinese Literature, Dec. 1982, p. 44.

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(based on a real event)210 was only paraphrasing Mao when he said “Yes, I’m illiterate and he’s cultivated. But in our day and age the illiterate man leads the cultivated man and will always have the last word!” adding to the zhiqing: “Don’t forget why you were sent to our valley; it was to be reeducated and reformed.”211

Solidarity and Competition Group solidarity was the zhiqing’s best protection against the problems caused by their inferior status. For young people cut off from their families and living in strange places, friendship also satisfied a real need for affection. In the accounts of the lives of the zhiqing there are numerous examples of such camaraderie, which could take the form of jokes and pranks like those in the “Joys of the Squadron,”212 or, when sickness or death occurred, could be very moving. One former zhiqing related how he spent New Year alone in his village in the Great North with a young female zhiqing who fell seriously ill. He took her to a hospital several miles away and then, because of an electrical breakdown, transported her further to the county hospital to take some tests. Since she needed blood, he donated large quantities for her, but she died nine days later. In all that time he never once left her side. She looked at him the whole time she lay there in pain and clung to his hand. The doctor thought she must be his girlfriend but the young man was weeping because he was terribly sad to see a friend die so far from home without being able to see her parents again.213 Solidarity between zhiqing went beyond the collective households (jitihu) or dormitories. The young people frequently went visiting from one village to another and invited each other on special occasions. “When we killed one of our dogs, we always invited some of the nearby zhiqing. We also gave them

210 211

212

213

Ibid., pp. 42–43. Gu Hua, “Paman qingteng de muwu” (An Ivy-Covered House), in Dix auteurs modernes (Beijing: Littérature Chinoise, 1983), p. 160. See the Mao quotations in Note 7, Chapter 1. See Wang Anyi, “Madaochang chunqiu,” p.  28; A  Cheng, “Qiwang” (The Chess King), in Qiwang, pp.  51, 64–65. Les Gaietés de l’escadron (The Joys of the Squadron) is a well-known play by the French dramatist Georges Courteline (1858–1929). Feng Jicai, “Weida de shounanzhemen,” pp. 11–12.

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leftovers for their animals.”214 There was a strong feeling of group belonging, so even when they did not know each other they always had plenty to say and generally helped each other out in times of need. That solidarity and camaraderie rapidly overcame any prejudice regarding class or provincial origin. Certainly solidarity was easier among young people from the same city, or even the same high school, and in the farms they tended to form regional cliques (bang)—from Shanghai, Beijing, Sichuan, Zhejiang, etc.—but that spontaneous trend diminished once they understood the need to unite against the cadres. As we have seen, that solidarity came into its own during conflicts or fights with the peasants.215 It was also reflected in their relationships with the cadres and the authorities in general. Zhiqing who had been harassed by a cadre could usually count on the help of the others. One former zhiqing relates how a friend shared his grain rations with him for a full year, after the team head had unjustly cut off his in punishment for having returned to the city for a month to take care of his paralyzed father. And he added, “For us, exiled as we were at the ends of the earth, from the same social strata and sharing the same fate, those ‘class feelings’ were our only comfort.”216 This counter-solidarity phenomenon was especially clear in the illegal crossing of Guangzhou zhiqing into Hong Kong. A runaway who needed to hide or was hungry could usually count on the help of unknown zhiqing simply because he or she was a zhiqing in trouble.217 In places where zhiqing were numerous and got on well together, the cadres were less likely to abuse the young women. The moral and material support of the other zhiqing was particularly useful to young girls under pressure to marry a cadre or peasant. In one of his novels, Ye Xin describes how an activist, ostracized by the other zhiqing, went into an unwanted marriage because of her isolation.218 In the village where one interviewee lived, this solidarity did enable one young girl to escape an unwanted marriage: The older brother of the head of a women’s team in our commune was unmarried. The family didn’t want to spend any money so they thought of marrying him to a young zhiqing. They invited an 18-year-old girl to live 214 215 216 217 218

Interview with C. Z. L., July 4, 1978. See above, p. 282. Ping Ming, “Diexian” (The Saucer Fairy), Beidou 3 (n.d.), p. 50. The short story was entirely based on a real occurrence. Interview with the author, July 18, 1977. On crossing the border, see below, pp. 374–85. See the character of Zhang Xuan, in Ye Xin, “Zai xinglai de tudi shang,” pp. 1–148.

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with them and by putting her under constant pressure, persuaded her to agree to the marriage. But once the official formalities were over, the girl regretted her decision bitterly, realizing that this peasant in question was stupid, vulgar and deaf. We supported her and went to find the brigade head to authorize a divorce. It was refused because the marriage papers had only just been signed. So we wrote to the county court and explained all the details to prove that she had been trapped. The court sent someone to the village and we contacted the girl’s parents so that they could ask their work units to intervene. The case lasted for three years, but finally the commune agreed to authorize the divorce. We succeeded thanks to the solidarity between zhiqing and especially between the women throughout the commune.219

Zhiqing solidarity sometimes went as far as anonymous and unpredictable “class vengeance” against the cadres who had oppressed one of them. Fear of these types of reprisals actually served to dissuade some cadres.220 During the chaos resulting from the great wave of departures in 1978–1979, a number of scores were settled in this way, and some cadres in farms who had been particularly brutal with zhiqing were the victims of collective violence, and were even buried alive.221 However, zhiqing solidarity was far from perfect. Conflicts arising from collective living did little damage since they were internal to the group, but the activists did jeopardize zhiqing unity in the face of the cadres since they were nearly always obliged to publicly criticize, or even denounce, their friends. Certainly activism seems to have been a major obstacle to zhiqing solidarity before the Cultural Revolution;222 but in the early years that followed, the percentage of activists dropped sharply because of the increase in the number of zhiqing and the fall in the number of honorary jobs they might hope to obtain. Furthermore, faith in official values had been considerably shaken and activists were increasingly perceived as careerists and hypocrites. When they were also considered to be informers, they were shunned

219 220 221

222

Interview with T. R. C., July 15, 1978. Ye Xin, Feng linlie (Icy Wind) (Beijing: Zhongguo qingnian chubanshe, 1981), p. 295. Interview with Liang Xiaosheng on September 21, 1986 about an episode in his novel Jinye you baofengxue. See Jinye you baofengxue, p. 276. Zhang Kangkang’s short story “Canren” is about a vengeance of that type. Zhang Kangkang, L’impitoyable (Paris: Bleu de Chine, 1997), pp. 13–59. Madsen, Morality and Power in a Chinese Village, pp. 138–46 and passim.

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by the other zhiqing, who generally united against such “traitors.” Solidarity continued to exist among zhiqing, but excluded the activists. Relations with activists who were not informers were better, because so long as they did no harm to the others, the zhiqing understood that a little overzealousness could help someone get out of his/her situation. In such instances solidarity continued to prevail, as in the case of the activist who joined the militia of a production team who used to warn his friends when he was on chicken coop guard duty so that they could steal a few chickens. Of course, when he returned from his duties, his share of the loot was waiting for him on the spit.223 In the early years therefore, activism did not prevent camaraderie and solidarity from bringing some comfort and protection to most zhiqing. But matters changed when returns to the city became more frequent, that is to say after 1973, or even earlier in some regions. Then the competition between zhiqing was no longer restricted to a handful of activists hoping for a promotion in the village, but concerned the majority of the young people. Indeed, they all ardently wished to return to the city and, with the exception of those who were from really bad backgrounds, could hope to achieve their objective at some point in the future. All accounts agree on this point: starting from the first returns to the city, zhiqing solidarity suffered serious cracks—if it did not disappear altogether. The atmosphere of friendship and mutual help that had dominated was irreparably “polluted.”224 As we will see later, in some places the transition was from communitarian utopia to the law of the jungle and each for himself. The only hope for the zhiqing then lay in their ability to use bribery, contacts, flattery, hypocritical zealousness, and other individual means to get their names on the list for urban jobs or university entrance. At that point the zhiqing no longer benefited from the solace of solidarity among the excluded and oppressed. They were not just part of a socially inferior group, but their awareness of group belonging no longer provided them with even a minimal feeling of security and identity. For those who saw their friends depart but had no certainty about their own future, the situation grew worse with every year. Guangdong province apart, no equitable rotation system had ever been put in place.225 Many people who were still in the coun223 224 225

Interview with R. C. T., August 4, 1978. Xu Naijian, “Yangbai de ‘wuran,’” pp. 74–85. In Jilin, 27,050 unmarried zhiqing aged over 25 were still languishing in the countryside in 1979, 96 percent of whom had been sent there before the end of 1972. See Jilin shengzhi–Jingji zonghe guanlizhi–Laodong, p. 96.

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tryside at the end of the 1970s had been sent there at the start of the movement. They were either married zhiqing, or young people with no strings to pull, or from bad backgrounds or with some political stain on their record. It was often impossible for them to return because their own parents had been deported to the countryside during the Cultural Revolution.226 When they organized little parties in attempts to cheer themselves up, their forced joviality felt sinister and the event often ended in tears or tragedy. Friendship was not enough to overcome individual despair.227 But in 1978–1979, when massive returns to the city by means of collective action seemed to be a possibility, competition gave way to mutual help once again. Thanks to solidarity, it was possible to organize strikes and demonstrations, despite the individual risk such actions entailed. It is significant that the greatest manifestation of zhiqing solidarity was the movement that aimed to rid them of their zhiqing status.228 So neither zhiqing solidarity or competition had any positive impact on getting them adapted to their situation. Their solidarity was first and foremost against the peasants, cadres, and xiaxiang itself, whereas competition essentially lay in trying to leave, even though this sometimes led them to emulate the activists in appearing to want to integrate with rural society. In most cases, after a few months or years, returning to the city was the zhiqing’s main preoccupation, and the only “future” they could envisage.

Problems with Individual Prospects and Self-fulfillment Ruined Projects The Cultural Revolution and xiaxiang caused a brutal break in the lives of most young city dwellers. To understand its extent, I should explain that in 1965, 45.6 percent of senior high school graduates were able to enter

226

227 228

That was the case for example, of the economist Qin Hui, whose parents had been obliged to leave Nanning and were exiled in a village in Guangxi during the Cultural Revolution. In 1969, Qin Hui himself was sent to a village very far from his parents’ one and he was only able to return to his hometown in 1978, thanks to his successful university entrance exam. Interview with Qin Hui, November 26, 2001. Gan Tiesheng, “Juhui” (The Party), Zhongbao, June 1980, pp. 104–7; Xu Naijian, “Yangbai de ‘wuran,’” p. 84; Zhao Zhenkai, “Bodong,” pp. 106–7. See above, pp. 144–54.

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university.229 In “good” high schools in the large cities, that percentage could be as high as 80–93 percent,230 which explains why a large proportion of senior high school students fervently hoped to enter university in a society that set great value on higher education. Students in their final year who obtained good marks were therefore extremely disappointed in June 1966 when the university entrance exams were canceled at the last minute. Once they got over that, they were swept along with the others in the massive Cultural Revolution movement, but the feeling of frustration remained. “My ideal back then was radically washed away by blood and death,” wrote a contemporary writer who at the time was preparing for a career as an architect.231 Of course not all young city dwellers hoped to get into university, since they did not all get as far a senior high school. Furthermore, the baby boom in the first years of the Communist regime led to a sharp fall in senior high school entrance in the 1960s, from 47.7 percent in 1960 to 26.4 percent in 1965.232 But most hoped at least to obtain a job in the city, if possible in a state factory or a government department. In 1968, many still had this hope, especially when they had been active in the “good” Red Guard organizations, in other words those favored by the military. The Cultural Revolution even fostered political ambitions among some Red Guard leaders but most of these hopes were dashed when a new massive rustication movement was launched at the end of 1968. The young city dwellers’ future plans were swept aside and now they were obliged to try to find new ones, and moreover, place them in a rural context.

229 230

231

232

Zhongguo jiaoyu nianjian, 1949–1981, pp. 969 and 1001. In the 1950s, the rates were even higher (e.g. 56.5 percent in 1957); ibid. In one of our respondents’ Beijing high school, the rate was 87 percent in 1965. As a good student, she naturally assumed that she would go to university. Interview with R. C. G., January 23, 1986. Zheng Yi, “Xiangwang ziyou” (Gazing at Freedom), postface to Yuan cun (Distant Village) (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1986), p.  477. Another writer, Kong Jiesheng, thought he would study science because he had good grades in mathematics, but “at the time, people had no way of controlling their own destinies.” See ZGQNB, November 11, 1980, p. 4. Zhongguo jiaoyu nianjian, 1949–1981, p. 1001.

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A Rural Future? As we have seen, at the outset young people rallied in a spirit of self-sacrifice, but in fact they rarely felt useful doing agricultural labor. In 1969, an article in Red Flag pointed out the need to give important tasks to the zhiqing to help them put down roots in the villages.233 During the 1973–1974 reforms, that need was reasserted more strongly. Promoting zhiqing to positions of political responsibility or giving them specialized tasks would help them adapt by making them feel more useful, utilizing their skills and improving their social status as well as their living conditions. Some titles and positions were of course more important and sought after than others. In the “political” category, the official title of “activist” or “advanced element” was essentially honorific, as was that of Youth League member; but it usually came with a more material reward. Being a party member was far more prestigious and usually came with a cadre’s status. Base-level propaganda workers were not exempted from manual labor but did have some prestige. Being in the militia was a mark of trust and had a few advantages. Team heads and brigade secretaries were not exempted from agricultural labor either, but had a higher status and more power. Commune or county-level cadre positions were still more prestigious, and allowed the person to “leave production” (tuochan 脫產). Specialists’ positions were less tiring than those of agricultural workers and better paid on the whole, especially for zhiqing, for while that income may not have made them rich, it did make them selfsufficient. A teacher in a primary school managed by the local authorities (minban xuexiao 民辦學校) usually received the same number of work points as a grade 1 worker. A schoolteacher in a county school received a state salary of 18 yuan per month and was entitled to urban rations. A teacher in a state-subsidized local school (minban gongzhu xuexiao 民辦公助學校) was entitled to a monthly salary of 18 yuan and grain rations from the team. Being a barefoot doctor, agricultural engineer, or accountant conferred prestige and comparable advantages that were also ranked according to the administrative level (ranging from county to team). Just below them in terms of prestige and salary were local radio announcers, work-point accountants, shop employees, and warehouse watchmen. Jobs as tractor and truck drivers were prized but they were few and far between in the farms, and factory worker positions were sought after, especially in county factories since that meant a fixed wage and urban rations, in addition to the prestigious “worker” status. 233

HQ 9 (1969), pp. 64–65.

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However, only a minority of zhiqing were concerned with such promotions. The numbers began to increase from 1970–1971 and more rapidly in 1973–1974. According to official figures at the time, the percentage of zhiqing joining the Youth League, in relation to the total number of zhiqing sent to the countryside, was 10.4 percent at the end of 1973 and 14.8 percent at the end of 1974. The percentage joining the party was a mere 0.75 percent at the end of 1973 and 0.7 percent at the end of 1974. Only 3 percent of zhiqing were local cadres in 1973 and 2.9 percent at end 1974. The acceptance rates to the league and the party advanced slightly between 1974 and 1977, which was not the case for promotion to local “leadership teams,” that being the most tangible expression of integration, or at least a sign of being trusted by the peasant leaders. That rate never exceeded 4.3 percent.234 No national figures have been provided for teachers, barefoot doctors, accountants, and so on. Several sets of provincial figures for the period 1973– 1976 are all in the 10 percent range; so the proportion of zhiqing who obtained cadre or “specialist” positions would therefore be about 10–15 percent.235 The rates were generally higher on the farms, doubtless due to the lack of competition from young local peasants as well as the higher proportion of cadres there. Given these figures, few zhiqing could realistically hope for promotion. Furthermore the criteria for obtaining promotion did little to foster a healthy atmosphere of emulation, since class status played an important part in the decision. Children from the “black categories” had very little chance of promotion, unlike the children of cadres. One interviewee reported that in her brigade a zhiqing from a very good background was put in charge of “special matters” shortly after he arrived, which is to say that he was given the files concerning people targeted by political movements. He had hardly set foot in the fields before being given such important duties. He was sent to the commune in 1971 and became Youth League secretary for the commune in 1972. In the case of young people from workers’ families (the “ordinary red” category), and even more so for young people of the “neither red nor black” category, personal attitude played a role. This included diligence and effort in 234 235

See Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p. 865. On the provincial figures, see Bernstein, Up to the Mountains and Down to the Villages, pp.  186–87; Scharping, Umsiedlungsprogramme für Chinas Jugend, Tables 33 to 38, pp. 320–42. In our sample, which has no representative value, all the numbers were within the range of 10 to 15 percent (starting from 1973), except in the farms, where they could be higher.

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agricultural labor as well as political activism. The most zealous activists managed to obtain cadre positions up to the county level if not higher but competition was severe, especially with the young locals. The level of education played a role in teaching positions. Zhiqing who had done at least one year of senior high school (gaozhong) were more likely to get the job than those who did not go beyond junior high. Recruitment at the county level was usually by exam, but most positions depended entirely on having good relations with the cadres, not to mention the gifts and exchanges of favors, which counted a great deal in these good relations. For the majority of zhiqing, the chances of obtaining such promotions were limited and in part independent of their volition. From the point of view of adapting the young city dwellers to their lives in the countryside, the problem was even more serious. Even those who obtained promotions did not envisage them as being lifelong careers. All available sources concur that the majority of those who had been promoted began to dream of returning to the city from the early 1970s. The large number of activists, propaganda workers, teachers, and team leaders who crossed over to Hong Kong illegally shows how deep-rooted their dissatisfaction was, and that their apparent good attitude did not signify that they had accepted lifelong xiaxiang.236 Paradoxically, promotions that should have recompensed efforts at integration were often based solely on class criteria or power relations and were generally a passport to leaving zhiqing status. In particular, joining the party was often a fairly rapid way of doing just that, and was followed quite rapidly with a place at university or a cadre’s position in the city. A study of zhiqing biographies reveals that some of them did succeed in climbing up the rungs of the social ladder.237 In the majority of cases therefore, the zhiqing did not manage to adapt, even after several years, nor did they ever consider the countryside to be their “second homeland.” They were simply unable to “project themselves into the

236

237

A large number of the former zhiqing I interviewed in Hong Kong were in the former activists category, such as propaganda workers, teachers, barefoot doctors, and even commune cadres, who had illegally crossed over to Hong Kong. One of them had seized the opportunity of a meeting of “advanced elements” in Dongguan to do so. When he arrived in Hong Kong he sent a letter to the cadres explaining the reason why he had disappeared and thanked them for everything they had done for him. Interview with M. Y. S., August 1, 1978. Sha Fei et al. (eds.), Kule nianhua (Years of Bitterness and Joy) (Harbin: Heilongjiang renmin chubanshe, 1999).

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future” in the villages and farms.238 The only acceptable future for them was to return to their hometowns, or if need be, to a large city in the province they had been sent to. After failing to find a new life in the countryside, they reverted to the projects they had before the Cultural Revolution destroyed them, and dreamed of going back to school, or at least obtaining a job in the urban sector. That was why the Li Qinglin affair in 1973 did not arouse any great passions among the zhiqing, although being the first time that the government recognized a large portion of their problems, it did cause quite a stir. The only thing that mattered to them by then was the possibility of returning home, and that was not mentioned in the Central Committee document.239 The zhiqing’s desire to adapt was also affected by official double-talk about the duration and significance of xiaxiang. On the one hand, the young people were told to settle in the countryside for life and a majority of them were prevented from returning to the city, and yet on the other, some of them were given the opportunity to return and xiaxiang was described not as a definitive destiny but a temporary trial. If that concept had been applied to all of them in the context of a universal rotation system rather like some kind of military service, the situation would have been clear-cut and there would have been less resistance. All the former zhiqing I interviewed stated that they would have gladly accepted (or at least without too much reticence) a set period of work in the countryside, even a relatively long one, if they had been certain of being able to return at the end of it. But given a xiaxiang that was, in principle, definitive, any possibility of returning home was an escape that did little to encourage integration. On the contrary, it was an opportunity everyone wanted to seize, and valued all the more highly since it was both arbitrary and uncertain, and not available to everyone.

Means of Returning While nearly all the zhiqing wanted to return in the early 1970s, only a privileged minority was able to do so in the first years, and while the number grew, it remained a minority until 1978. We do not have numbers for returns prior to 1973, and those we do have for the years 1973–1979 concerned all the zhiqing who had been rusticated since 1962. According to these figures,

238 239

Michel and Huang He, Avoir 20 ans en Chine, p. 69. Interviews, and Frolic, Mao’s People, pp. 48–50.

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return rates rose from 43 percent at the end of 1973 to 49 percent at the end of 1977, and then 63 percent at the end of 1978, and 84 percent at the end of 1979.240 These numbers include changes of status in situ as well as real departures. There were four legal ways of returning to the city: getting into university, being hired by an urban work unit, ill-health, and family difficulties. Only the last category was governed in part by objective criteria. After 1973, parents throughout China were entitled to keep or recall one child. 241 Although certain social or political categories were excluded from this in some regions,242 this policy was respected on the whole. However, it only applied to a minority of zhiqing, since only-children were few and far between in that generation. All the other return possibilities were to a great extent unpredictable. Even zhiqing who were really sick rarely obtained authorization to return without greasing the palm of one doctor, if not several, as well as the local cadres, who could always refuse to take medical certificates into account.243 Conversely, people who were not sick could obtain a medical certificate if they had a good relationship with a sympathetic doctor (or one who could be bribed). Getting into university or being hired in the urban sector were, in that order, the most sought after means of returning for they were the only ones that ensured a true “future” for the zhiqing with a post in the state sector. Those who returned for reasons of sickness or family difficulties had to find jobs on their own and usually ended up working in small neighborhood enterprises. A large number of zhiqing therefore preferred to get into higher education, considering that this right had been snatched away from them when they had been obliged to interrupt their studies. About a third of our respondents who crossed over to Hong Kong illegally said that their desire to continue their studies was their main reason, or one of the reasons, for doing so. The very high number of candidates for the 1977 and 1978 exams in relation to the

240 241 242 243

See Zhongguo laodong gongzi tongji ziliao, 1949–1985, pp. 110–11. See Figures 2 and 3, p. 177. See p. 98. Interviews with B. X., May 10, 1977, and N. Z., May 28, 1981. Yue and Wakeman, To the Storm, pp.  332, 339; Norman  A.  Chance, China’s Urban Villagers: Life in a Beijing Commune (New York: CBS College Publishing, 1984), p. 91.

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available places also shows how motivated they were.244 Before 1977, getting into higher education was an inaccessible dream for most zhiqing. And yet in principle, the various obstacles in its way were not insurmountable. To obtain a place, a zhiqing had to make a personal application and be recommended by the masses in his/her work unit. That recommendation itself had to be approved by leaders at all hierarchical levels from team to county. The university gave its final consent after studying the application and interviewing the candidate or, depending on the year and the province, after he or she passed an exam to test knowledge levels. Each provincial Education Bureau distributed the available places between the various counties and cities, which in turn distributed them to the lower levels (commune or urban work unit). Candidates had to be aged between 20 and 25, be single, and have worked for at least two years, but some exceptions were possible.245 In fact, this system opened the way to every kind of corruption and distortion. The massive, disproportionate demand from the zhiqing (and other young people) and the few slots for university enrollment sharpened competition for the available places further and made university entrance a privilege reserved for a tiny elite. Furthermore, the absence of academic criteria (or its near irrelevant nature) reduced competition to that of “contacts” with decision makers. The realities of a highly hierarchical bureaucratic system prevailed over the apparently “democratic” principles governing applications. The system of having to be recommended by the masses and approved by a succession of higher echelons was only applied in exceptional cases. It was regularly replaced by a system whereby a decision taken at a senior level in the hierarchy was approved as a matter of form by the lower echelons, although in some cases they were bypassed and the base-level cadres learned that a given zhiqing was going to university on the day of his or her departure. Application forms were not distributed to all the zhiqing wanting to apply, but only those whom the cadres decided to recommend. Given the descending system for allocating the available places, a zhiqing with especially good relations with a county-level cadre could obtain the form, and subsequently the

244

245

See pp.  198–99. Zhang Kangkang described how she was overcome with emotion when after so many years she found herself sitting in a classroom with a blackboard again. Zhang Kangkang, “Cong dushu dao xieshu” (From Reading Books to Writing Them), in Wang Meng et al., Zou xiang wenxue zhi lu (Paths to Literature) (Changsha: Hunan renmin chubanshe, 1983), pp. 164–65. Pepper, “Education and Revolution,” pp. 864–69; Bernstein, Up to the Mountains and Down to the Villages, p. 250.

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county’s recommendation, without the commune cadres even being consulted, and sometimes without them even knowing about the availability of that university place. Similarly, a commune cadre in favor with his superiors and with a protégé to place, could ensure that a place was allocated to his commune rather than to another. This system led to conflicts and bargaining at all levels and encouraged the zhiqing to become experts in “relationship networking” (guanxixue 關係學), seeking out and maintaining the best possible contacts, rather than studying academic subjects or working in the fields. The urban job allocation system also provided numerous opportunities for “going through the back door” (zou houmen 走後門). National hiring figures were set by the Planning Committee and distributed by grade down to the basic work unit. Every year the urban work units were allocated a hiring quota, and were sometimes authorized to recruit in one or several counties outside their urban area. Quotas were set by the higher authority but the unit could negotiate to be assigned a given county. This provided a first opportunity for favoritism and corruption. The places allocated to each county were distributed in descending order in the same way as for university entrance. The files of zhiqing with recommendations were transmitted to representatives of the urban work units sent to the villages, which then accepted or refused them. That was the final bargaining point, where representatives from the urban work unit usually had a few zhiqing with contacts that they insisted on hiring and the local cadres accepting this (whatever the zhiqing’s attitude had been) on condition that the unit also recruited their own protégé. Once everyone had agreed on these “priority cases,” any remaining places would be allocated to people whose only “contacts” consisted of being recommended by their team head, but whose “profile” matched the unit’s requirements. Good contacts were necessary for both university entrance and factory jobs, and the higher-ranking those were, the better a person’s chances. In all cases, the children of high-ranking cadres left first, and there was a very high proportion of them among the “worker-peasant-soldiers students.”246 Highranking cadres had little difficulty in obtaining university places or factory positions for their children, because the lower-ranking cadres knew they could always obtain something in exchange for any favors they granted someone powerful. In some cases therefore, a couple of phone calls was all it

246

See Note 136, Chapter 5.

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took to arrange university entrance, as we saw in the case of Zhong Zhimin.247 Some high-ranking cadres came to fetch their children from their farms or villages by jeep, often surprising the leading local cadres who were unaware that the young person in question had been accepted by a university or urban enterprise.248 The privileges of the high-ranking cadres were justified by a far more official criterion than contacts (guanxi): that of the class line. That principle enabled young people from working-class backgrounds to have the second priority for departures, on condition that they also had good relations with the local cadres or with cadres in urban enterprises. Having a parent working in a company authorized to hire in that zhiqing’s county was a considerable advantage. Those with a “neither red nor black” status had to rely on their networking skills and activism if they hoped to leave, and only the luckiest and most resourceful among them had any hope of achieving their aim. Those with the least hope of returning to the city and who usually stayed behind after all the others managed to leave were zhiqing with a lowly status, usually because of their background or sometimes due to a personal political error.249 The zhiqing’s fate therefore largely depended on their class background and their ability to distribute bribes, leading many to feel very demoralized by this unfair treatment. As a former Beijing zhiqing put it: Nobody believed in official xiaxiang ideology when all the children of highranking cadres could pull strings to return to the city. We would say to ourselves, “Sacrificing our lives to develop the countryside is all well and good, so why don’t you go a nd do it you rselves, you bunch of bureaucrats.”250 247

248 249

250

See p.  105. The zhiqing in the Manchurian north had a little rhyme: “Laozi you neng, er fan cheng; laozi wu neng, er wu nong” 老 子 有 能，兒 返 城；老 子 無 能，兒 務 農 (“If the father is capable, the son returns to the city; if the father is incapable, the son works in the fields”); see Jin Dalu, Shiyun yu mingyun, p. 37. Interview with Li Qingshan, August 2, 1985. Class origin continued to influence university entrance, even after entrance exams were reintroduced in 1977. The first article that officially condemned the “lineage theory” (xuetonglun 血 統 論 ) was written about the case of a zhiqing from a bad background who had not been admitted to university despite having good marks in the academic exam. See RMRB, May 17, 1978, p. 3. Interview with N. Z., May 28, 1981. The heroine in a novel put it in a similar way with regard to a cadre who exhorted her to sacrifice herself for the motherland and the revolution: “I don’t understand why this ‘revolution’ needs him and his family to stay in the city and me to go to Qiyan” (He Shiguang, “Juzhang de nü’er,” p. 60).

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The conditions for return led to a growing feeling of uncertainty for the zhiqing and a great deal of anguish. Only the offspring of “revolutionary cadres” were spared these fears about their future. They could afford to wait for an opportunity to return without wearing themselves out, because, as the saying went at the time, “the best attitude is not worth a good father.”251 The more ambitious or idealistic among them could even afford a little zealousness since they knew they were acquiring political capital that would be useful to them back in the city. Paradoxically, the system that was applied to the children of high-ranking cadres throughout this period was very similar to the one that Liu Shaoqi had wanted to apply to all zhiqing, namely “gilding by xiaxiang,” which allowed young graduates to acquire some merit in the countryside for a few years before returning to the city with an aura of “sacrifice.”252 However, these privileges were also subject to setbacks. Some zhiqing with an apparently brilliant future ahead of them became pariahs from one day to the next with no hope of returning to the city when their parents were accused of belonging to Lin Biao’s clique. And conversely, the children of cadres who had fallen during the Cultural Revolution and were rehabilitated in the 1970s were able to return to the city with an enviable social position after a few very difficult years. Contrary to what one might suppose, class status was not clear-cut and set in stone, even for other categories of the population. Some contentious cases were on hold, while others were suddenly revised. A zhiqing’s hope of returning could depend on what status would finally be conferred on his/her father or grandfather at the end of a lengthy bureaucratic procedure.253 The art of string-pulling was more random even than political status. After a zhiqing had succeeded in ingratiating him/herself with certain cadres, there was still the little matter of whether any places were available, and whether those cadres had real decision-making powers over them. Once a zhiqing’s name was on the admissions list of a university or up for a city job, there might still be someone with even better contacts to snatch the position out from under his/her feet. Once again, the zhiqing were utterly powerless to control their own destinies.

251 252 253

Ye Xin, “Cuotuo suiyue,” Shouhuo 6, p. 171. See p. 62. Ye Xin, “Cuotuo suiyue,” Shouhuo 6, p. 186; Feng Jicai, “Weida de shounanzhemen,” p. 11.

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An educated youth was like a traveler waiting for a train on the station platform. People assumed that he was about to leave for a distant place [...] but in fact he had yet to buy his ticket and had no idea where he was going. Impatient and distraught, he stood and waited for a train to arrive, ready at any moment to jump on the first one that would take him away.254

The zhiqing’s uncertainty about their future was due to its arbitrary nature and their lack of control over the two main criteria implicit in any promotion: class origin and relationships. Even promotion as a result of having a good attitude did little to foster a desire to integrate. True, the possibility of promotion in situ could be an encouragement for a zhiqing who genuinely wanted to settle in the countryside, but often the reward for a good attitude was a position in town or a place at university. In most cases therefore, the more a zhiqing proclaimed his/her desire to take root in the countryside, the better his/her chances of leaving it. This paradox was a result of the contradiction between the two concepts of xiaxiang as a destiny and as a trial, and promoted hypocrisy among the zhiqing. Political activism and the correct attitude at work were perceived as a means of obtaining a good case file and good relations with the cadres, thereby facilitating promotion in the city. This had a demoralizing effect on the young people, who naturally became cynical when they saw activists who for years had professed they wanted to remain in the countryside all their lives and urged others to do the same leave there themselves. Sometimes the activists themselves were shocked by this contradiction; for instance Sun Hongmin, a young woman from a good (military) family who had attended a good school in Shenyang, was sent to a farm in Liaoning province along with eighty other young people in 1972. She became secretary of the Communist Youth League and an activist greatly appreciated by the authorities. Before leaving she, like so many others, had professed to want to “take root in the countryside.” But she had been disappointed by the peasants, who were anything but progressive. Once there, she refused to state publicly that she wanted to spend the rest of her days in the countryside. The cadre in charge of the farm then made a bargain with her. If she made that public statement she would be able to return, if not she would remain in the countryside. The authorities even put pressure on her father, but the young woman refused to pander to this hypocrisy and, since her father was

254

Ye Xin, Women zhe yidai nianqingren, p. 124.

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sufficiently influential, she succeeded in returning to Shenyang in 1976 and obtained a job in a factory.255

The Marriage Issue In a society where almost no one lived together outside of wedlock, marriage was an essential component of every zhiqing’s future plans, and grew more urgent as the years passed. Despite that, official figures show that the percentage of zhiqing who married in the countryside was very low. In the period with the largest number of married zhiqing, at the end of 1977, only 10 percent of those living in the countryside at the time were married, and only 5 percent of the total number who had been rusticated.256 That cannot be explained by urban age criteria for marriage (25 years for women and 28 for the men), since rural criteria now applied to the zhiqing. We know that the lower recommended age in the countryside (23 years for women and 25 for men) was not respected in practice,257 and even though the authorities had more means of putting pressure on people in the cities, a large proportion of young people there (perhaps as many as half) managed to marry before reaching the requisite age.258 In fact, after 1974 the government encouraged the zhiqing to marry and prove their desire to settle in the countryside,259 so if the majority of them remained unmarried, it was not because they could not marry, but because they did not want to do so. There were two reasons for this: the material difficulties encountered by zhiqing couples, and more importantly, the disadvantages of marriage for returning to the city. As we have seen, marrying a local person was a way for some young city

255 256

257

258

259

Interview with Sun Hongmin, head of the philosophy department of the Academy of Social Sciences in Liaoning province, August 8, 2000. See Guowuyuan zhishi qingnian bangongshi, Quanguo chengshi, pp.  42–43, quoted in Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p.  867. The rate of 5.3 percent given by Chen Yonggui during the national conference at the end of 1978 was (roughly) calculated in relation to the total number of departures. See Xinhua, December 14, 1978. According to Parish and Whyte, Village and Family in Contemporary China, p. 163, in the Guangdong countryside, women married on average at the age of 20 or 21, and men at around 24. Whyte and Parish, Urban Life in Contemporary China, pp.  111–17. During the 1970s, 36 percent of the young men in their sample had married before the age of 27 and 49 percent of the young women before the age of 25; ibid., p. 113. See pp. 110–11.

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dwellers to solve their difficulties in supporting themselves,260 but marriage between zhiqing only made things worse. The couple would usually leave the collective households (jitihu), but since the peasants rarely had a decent spare place for them to live in, the housing conditions for a young married couple were even worse than for other zhiqing.261 Furthermore, since marriage was very often followed by a birth (the one not infrequently explaining the other) the young people were then faced with the problem of child care while they worked. In the countryside (and often in the city too) this task normally fell to the grandparents, possibly helped by older sisters, but since this possibility was not available to zhiqing couples, the mother would rarely be able to work full time, which further reduced the household income, just at a time when the couple required additional resources to feed and clothe the baby. Because they no longer lived in the jitihu and had to spend more time on domestic tasks, zhiqing couples were also cut off from their friends while being no better integrated into village life, making them very isolated. Local cadres no longer invited them to zhiqing meetings and treated their household as those of regular peasants. From 1973 to 1979, the government encouraged the local cadres to provide assistance to married zhiqing, but this seems to have fallen on deaf ears except in very few model counties.262 Nevertheless, these difficulties were not the main reason given by former zhiqing to explain why they did not want to marry, or to be more precise, why most of them did not even consider it. Unlike mixed marriages, marriage between zhiqing did not mean giving up all hope of recovering an urban hukou, but it did considerably reduce the young people’s chances of returning. Indeed, urban work units avoided hiring married zhiqing, mainly because it entailed problems of housing, child care, and maternity leave, preferring unmarried ones, who were less expensive and believed to be more available. In fact female zhiqing, even unmarried ones, found it harder to find factory jobs than their male counterparts, who were physically stronger and would not be asking for maternity leave. Given that urban work units were spoiled for choice in hiring, married zhiqing had practically no chance of getting the

260 261 262

See pp. 288–90. The housing problem explains in part why the rate of married zhiqing was much lower in the villages than in the farms. See, for example, RMRB, April 10, 1979, p. 4 about two model counties. The one in Sichuan helped the zhiqing with pig rearing, which is not easy for a couple. Even in this model county and despite the various subsidies, only 90 percent of married zhiqing were self-sufficient or “self-sufficient on the whole.”

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two jobs they needed to return, unless they had some excellent string-pulling possibilities. Children of high-ranking cadres did manage to overcome these obstacles, so for anyone from a bad or average background, marriage with someone from that privileged class was also a good way of returning to the city.263 Apart from that specific situation, marriage with a fellow-zhiqing decreased the chances of being hired or getting into university, even though there were exceptions to that rule in the case of higher education.264 In the case of marriage between two zhiqing from different towns, the obstacles to returning were even greater, since in principle each one was only entitled to return to his/her hometown. Most zhiqing did not consider marrying in the countryside because they did not envisage settling there permanently and regarded those who did marry as being “resigned” to lifelong xiaxiang. In the official expression used to designate zhiqing marriage in the countryside (jiehun anjia 結婚安家), the term anjia has a double meaning of “founding a family” and “settling lastingly.” Needless to say, that did not prevent many of those who did marry from secretly dreaming of returning to the city one day, even if love, the desire to found a family, or simply an accidental pregnancy led them to run the risk of never being able to fulfill that dream. If being married caused a number of problems, not being married caused others. The zhiqing who obstinately refused to marry were condemned to an abnormal and dissatisfying love and sex life, even according to the social criteria of the time. Like all young people of their age, zhiqing fell in love, particularly since collective life facilitated contact between the sexes,265 but since they did not want to marry before returning to the city, only two possibilities were open to them, neither of which was satisfying. They could either totally deny their sex drive, or they could have precarious love affairs that could not end in marriage. During the first years, the majority of zhiqing resorted to the first solution, in line with the puritan education they had received and the moral standards of the time. Many continued to repress their

263 264

265

Feng Jicai, “Dangdai Yulian,” p.  8; Zhengming, September 1984, pp.  65–68; Hunyin anjian yibai li, p. 8. One of our respondents obtained a place at university even though he was married to a young zhiqing. I know of two other similar cases. However, I never heard of a case where a young zhiqing married to a peasant was admitted to university. However, since the zhiqing were a minority in the villages, this reduced the normal possibilities of choice of partner, since most of them refused in principle to marry a peasant.

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feelings and desires throughout their rustication years, pushing love back to “afterward,” which of course did not help them fulfill themselves or achieve any kind of balance in their new environment. “Goodness! Weren’t you aware of being a woman?” “I was only too aware of being a zhiqing!”266

This short dialogue between two women, a young girl from the new generation and a former zhiqing, summarizes that attitude well. Not only was their psychological balance disturbed, but they ran the risk of remaining single for their entire lives, because that “afterward” could come too late. That was especially the case for women who were considered “old maids” at the age of thirty, and would have a hard time finding a husband.267 Thus the years passed and the young women grew increasingly aware of their abnormal situation, being constantly reminded by the peasants’ “concern” and the pressure put on them, including by their parents. Like the heroine in Xu Naijian’s story, many did indeed have trouble finding a husband once they returned to the city, so it is not surprising that as the years passed, a growing number of people began “talking about love” (tan lian’ai).268 However, the zhiqing’s inability to control, or even foresee, their future made their love affairs fragile and uncertain at best. Young people who declared their love ran the risk of being separated at any time by one or the other’s transfer. That situation could lead to numerous short-term affairs, but for most that did not correspond to their concept of love, and also met with social disapproval. They usually sought an exclusive and stable relationship, and once established, behaved among themselves but sometimes also to the outside world as though they were engaged. But the impossibility of marriage and the likelihood of separation, at best temporary, left many uncertainties hovering over the future of such relationships. “You know the zhiqing had terrible difficulties in their love affairs. In our commune, more than a hundred affairs ended in disaster,” said a character in a short story by Wang Anyi.269 The transfer of one of the lovers was an

266

267 268 269

Xu Naijian, “Yinwei wo shi sanshi sui de guniang” (Because I Am a 30-Year-Old Woman), in Liu Xicheng et al. (eds.), Dangdai nü zuojia zuopinxuan (Selection of Works by Contemporary Women Writers), vol.  3 (Guangzhou: Huacheng chubanshe, 1982), p. 475. These are urban criteria. The ages were lower in the countryside, where an unmarried woman of 25 was an exception. See below, pp. 365–66. Wang Anyi, “Xiaoyuan suoji” (Short Stories from a Little Courtyard), Qingnian

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ordeal that usually obliged the couple to break up since the duration of the separation could not be foreseen and there was no guarantee that they would ever meet up again. In very rare cases relationships survived a separation of several years, seven in the case of the writer Ye Xin.270 Usually things happened the way they were described by a young female zhiqing in a letter addressed to the China National Radio: After a few years he was recalled to the city to work in a factory. In the beginning, despite the distance that separated us, our hearts remained close. But some time afterward I felt that the feelings expressed in his letters had changed. I became aware that he considered me, the one who was still in the countryside, to be a “burden” [...]. I overcame my pain and made the decision to let this affection, that had developed over the years, cease for good.271

Being unsure of ever living in the same town was not the only cause of break-ups. The difference in social status between the young people caused by a city transfer also made their situation impossible, and in the case of university entrance, that gap became almost impossible to breach, and if the partner remaining in the countryside could not find a way to return quickly and, if possible, also obtain student status, separation became inevitable.272 Transfers were therefore the cause of much heartbreak among zhiqing. Those who left were torn between their conscience and their desire to start a new life while those who remained were often bitter. They cursed their fate and blamed xiaxiang for their personal unhappiness. Because of the value attached to virginity at marriage, the consequences of a break up were especially serious for women who had agreed to have sexual relations, and dramatic if they were pregnant when their partners left them behind. A discrete abortion required the kind of contacts only available to high-level

270

271 272

jiazuo, 1981, p. 298. Qingnian zuojia, May 1981, pp. 78–79. His fiancée had been transferred in 1972, not to his hometown of Shanghai, but to an electric power plant in northern Guizhou. They found each other again and married in 1979, having exchanged more than 600 letters. This true story was probably the basis of a similar short story by Wang Anyi in “Xiaoyuan suoji,” p. 298. The two writers knew each other well, having taken part in a five-month literary training course. See Wenhui yuekan 11 (1982), pp. 34–35. Liu Xinwu et al., Rang women lai taolun aiqing (Let’s Talk of Love) (Shanghai: Renmin chubanshe, 1979), p. 48. Yue and Wakeman, To the Storm, p. 375.

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cadres and doctors. If the young woman kept the child or had an abortion but was found out, she became an object of disdain and public reprobation.273 Because unmarried people had no access to contraceptives, accidental pregnancies were not uncommon among young female zhiqing. Sexuality was a problem for zhiqing having love affairs, even without the transfer of one of the partners. The reigning puritanism of the time might have favored couples practicing abstinence, but the number of cases of accidental pregnancies reported by my respondents or the sexual relations described in fiction indicate that a large number of zhiqing did not resist the temptations of the flesh. Those who resisted were unhappy about having to indefinitely postpone normal conjugal relations, while those who did not were committing a gross misconduct that could get them into serious trouble. If two zhiqing were caught having sex, they were criticized in public meetings and the affair could become a police or legal matter. One young woman who got pregnant and was unable to find a rapid and discrete solution was placed in a particularly difficult situation. When her “misconduct” was discovered she was criticized and pressure was put on her to denounce the culprit. The consequences would vary according to the place, the period, and the age of the parties in question. In some cases the woman was allowed to abort, but the two guilty parties were separated, criticized, and punished. It goes without saying that the blot in their case files spoiled any chances of returning to the city. If the woman refused to betray her “seducer,” because he risked far greater punishment than she, then she had to bear the disgrace and punishment on her own. In some cases, the two lovers were obliged to marry and remain in the countryside.274 Not infrequently the young people had a serious

273

274

Many novels and short stories described the tragedies of these young women. See for example, Kong Jiesheng, “Putong nügong” (An Ordinary Worker Woman), in Putong nügong (Shanghai: Shanghai wenyi chubanshe, 1983), pp. 155–247; Zhao Zhenkai, “Bodong,” pp. 1–138. In Ye Xin’s “The Wasted Years” the heroine hears about a female educated youth who gave her newborn baby to a soldier on a train with this explanatory note, “The father has no principles. The mother is a zhiqing. She therefore confides her child to the army” (in “Cuotuo suiyue,” Shouhuo 5, p. 43). But the young men did not always accept the situation willingly. Thus in Taishan (Guangdong province), a zhiqing who was obliged to marry a young female zhiqing pregnant with his child fled to Hong Kong before the wedding. The young woman then had no choice but to marry a divorced peasant who agreed to take her on with her child. Interview with M. W. C., July 16, 1978.

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relationship and resigned themselves to the inevitable, taking care of the formalities even before the pregnancy was discovered. The situation was similar in the farms, but not identical. At the outset, especially in the military farms, revolutionary puritanism took on extreme forms that were unknown even in the villages. Love was perceived as something to be ashamed of and repulsive, and only relations between “comrades” and “class brothers” were tolerated. Social pressure went as far as broad interference in individuals’ private lives, including constant surveillance and opening people’s letters. If any contained declarations of love they might be read out loud publicly at meetings to denounce the “class enemies” who indulged in such “bourgeois practices.” That atmosphere resulted in a number of suicides and, where possible, people escaping abroad.275 But over time, and especially after the farms reverted to a civilian administration, the situation changed. The average age of the zhiqing there was higher than in the villages since most had arrived between 1968 and 1970. They were also more concentrated in the farms and their stay more stable, since there were fewer return possibilities. Moreover, since the young people were guaranteed basic survival rations, it was easier for young couples to establish relationships and the marriage rate was far higher than in the villages: 17.3 percent vs. 8.2 percent at the end of 1977.276 But more couples also lived together without marrying, in surprising numbers for Chinese society at the time. One internal report from the Yunnan Educated Youth Bureau quoted rates of between 50 percent, 70 percent, or 90 percent in various sub-farms in the province, adding that marriages were solely the consequence of pregnancy. According to incomplete statistics, between January and May 1978, there were 232 pregnancies and 108 births outside of marriage in a Jinghong farm. In another farm, in Liming, 51 illegitimate children were born. In all the farms there were several cases per year of deaths resulting from clandestine abortions. The reports blamed this situation on lax leadership but also explained that the zhiqing did not want to marry for fear of losing their right to holidays for

275 276

Several accounts are given in Beidahuang fengyunlu, for instance, pp. 10–12, 133, 181–83, 195. See Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p.  867. This rate even reached 63.1 percent, 57.1 percent, and 55.9 percent respectively for farms in Xinjiang, Ningxia, and Gansu, which can be explained by the fact that nearly all the zhiqing there arrived just before the Cultural Revolution and were therefore over the age of 30. See ibid., pp. 510–11.

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family visits as well as the possibility of leaving the farms.277 This overview of the various difficulties encountered by the zhiqing in the countryside is sufficient to show their almost unanimous rejection of the xiaxiang policy. For the majority of these young city-born men and women, a return to the city after a few years in the countryside was the only solution for their future, rather like some ideal that justified all their efforts. Any announcement of an authorization to return was an opportunity for a party, during which the lucky zhiqing gave free reign to their joy, sometimes getting drunk for the first time in their lives, distributing sweets as they would on the occasion of a wedding or birth. Their vehement rejection of the countryside was caused in part by the problems they had in adapting, which led to demoralization and negative reactions, making it all the harder to overcome those problems and in turn making integration harder still. The 1973–1974 reforms were a case of too little too late, and did not alter their heartfelt desire to go home. From the start therefore, xiaxiang was a policy imposed on the population by a government that had powerful means of coercion. Because of that and certain adjustments to the xiaxiang policy, the movement was able to continue for more than a decade. But it triggered a rejection in society that had a far from negligible impact.

277

“Qingkuang fanying” (Reflection on the Situation), internal publication dated October 1978, reproduced in Deng Xian, Zhongguo zhiqing meng, pp. 157–58.

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PART FOUR

Social Resistance

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One might wonder why xiaxiang lasted for so long, given the number of problems it entailed and its rejection by the population. Clearly the answer lies in the prevailing social control system, and that is what I shall describe briefly in the beginning of Part Four. We will then see that the efficiency of this system had its limitations. It did not prevent the emergence of numerous forms of passive resistance, which had the perverse effect of further degrading social ethics and human relations during this period. Then, as soon as the system of control was relaxed, active and sometimes violent resistance broke out. I shall try to identify the historical and political significance of this open resistance by comparing it to that in the Cultural Revolution.

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The Social Control System

To get the zhiqing to accept and comply with the regime’s demands, the government had a complex and graduated system of social control at its disposal,1 comprising indoctrination, monitoring thoughts and deeds, rewards, criticisms, and outright repression. Here I will only deal with the methods used and not the set of institutions, groups, and persons charged with implementing them. At the national level, as we have seen, pro-xiaxiang propaganda always had an important place in the press and radio, but the publication of an article or a “supreme directive” was just the first step. After that it was necessary to organize the “masses” targeted by the propaganda to “study,” discuss, and publicly approve the article or directive in question. Group political study, which could also consist of discussing one of Mao’s works, was a vital aspect of this indoctrination. It was far less developed in the villages than in the cities or farms, but during the first two or three years of xiaxiang, attempts were made to remedy the situation by appointing

1

For more on social control, see David  L. Sills (ed.), International Encyclopedia of the Social Sciences, vol.  14 (New York: Macmillan and Free Press, 1968), pp. 381–402; Franz Schurmann, Ideology and Organization in Communist China, 2nd ed. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1968), pp. 309–10.

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political instructors (zhengzhi zhidaoyuan 政治指導員) and Mao Zedong Thought coaches (Mao Zedong sixiang fudaoyuan 毛澤東思想輔導員), who assisted the instructors. Some of these instructors and coaches were specially charged with ideological work on the zhiqing. After the death of Lin Biao, this practice was gradually abandoned and the political training of the masses was only dealt with in meetings at team or brigade level, during which most participants were very passive, merely listening to their bosses’ speeches, if not actually dozing (or knitting in the case of women), and approving whatever they were supposed to approve without enthusiasm. Meetings specifically organized for zhiqing took place once or twice a year at the commune or county level, with others held specifically for activists and advanced elements. Between 1969 and 1970, these meetings were more frequent and were called “meetings to discuss the practical applications of Mao Zedong Thought” (abbreviated to jiangyonghui 講 用會), based on the “study and real-life application” (huo xue huo yong 活學 2 活用) method advocated by Lin Biao in his preface to the Little Red Book. Later on, such meetings were mainly held when a new movement was launched or to celebrate the anniversary of Mao’s December 22, 1968 directive.3 In both small groups and big gatherings, the aim of political study was to reassert xiaxiang values, glorify those who supported them, and denounce those who did not, or who did not support them fervently enough. Being awarded the title of activist or advanced element was an incentive to encourage all zhiqing to behave well. The title conferred not only prestige but the promise of a material reward at some point in the future. However, being an activist was not always easy or sufficiently enviable to be that much of an inducement. The activist’s role was to convince others, by speech and action, that xiaxiang values were valid. Activists therefore always had to set an example, rigorously following the leaders’ instructions and closely tracking political about-turns. At activists’ meetings, the “representatives” of model units were in fact chosen by the authorities,4 their speeches were read by the

2 3 4

For a critical assessment of this “30 character principle,” see Beijing Information 5 (February 5, 1979), pp. 16–19. Mao’s December 27, 1955 directive on the same subject was celebrated at the same time. See Jilin Radio, December 19, 1975, in SWB, December 30, 1975. Even when selected by the base-level cadres, the most zealous activists had little chance of participating in these meetings if they had bad class origins or were known to speak their minds. Interview with R. C. G., January 23, 1986, and Kong

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cadres beforehand, and anything that did not correspond to the correct “line” of the moment was expurgated or altered. The resulting meetings were therefore stereotyped and dull for most zhiqing, although difficult for them to avoid. Not only would absence be frowned upon by the cadres, but the zhiqing would lose work points, because they were paid to take part in them. Furthermore they provided opportunities to meet up with other zhiqing living in distant teams. On the farms, especially during the period when they were run by the military, indoctrination was far more intense. Political study was held almost every evening of the week and sometimes even on Sunday.5 In the early years, the zhiqing were obliged to march in step chanting quotations from Chairman Mao, and there was an oppressive atmosphere of ideological and political study. Class struggle was omnipresent, even in the virgin forest where a political instructor might advise zhiqing to watch out for poisonous snakes, wild animals, and … the class struggle.6 Indeed, the leaders were not content with just indoctrinating the zhiqing, they wanted to flush out all deviant expressions of thought, word, and deed in order to criticize them. The activists were to help the authorities in this work by watching over their comrades and issuing “little reports” (xiao baogao 小報告). Criticism of ideas and persons was systematically used to edify the broad masses, even in ordinary political meetings. As we have seen, propaganda accused Liu Shaoqi, Confucius, Lin Biao, and Deng Xiaoping in succession followed by the Gang of Four, of having denigrated xiaxiang. The method whereby anti-xiaxiang thoughts or actions were attributed to the villain of the moment was meant to frighten anyone who might, in their heart of hearts, harbor similar feelings, and find scapegoats to explain the existence of such feelings. In post–Cultural Revolution demonology, any zhiqing who refused xiaxiang must be egotistical, selfish, and lazy, which was not only Liu Shaoqi’s fault but that of the “class enemies” the zhiqing frequented in the villages.7 The meetings to denounce, humiliate, and repress such class enemies dissuaded the zhiqing from expressing the slightest opposition or criticism. Political struggle was therefore a favorite means of social control.

5

6 7

Jiesheng, “Dalinmang,” p. 141. On one farm on Hainan Island, every afternoon was devoted to political study for six months. The leaders hoped that this would boost production, but of course the reverse happened. See Frolic, Mao’s People, p. 202. Kong Jiesheng, Nanfang de an, p. 23. See HQ 9 (1969), pp. 61–62.

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On the farms, where there were hardly any local class enemies, the zhiqing often paid the price of the atmosphere of constant struggle maintained by the leaders. Young people with bad social backgrounds were under constant surveillance. They had to avoid any contact with local class enemies lest they be “recruited,” and had to constantly prove their desire to reform. As one such zhiqing said, “I am determined to fully betray (chedi beipan) my own family, which belongs to the exploiting classes.”8 The others were also under intense political surveillance, so to sing a love song to oneself, lose a hat with a Mao slogan on it, or drop a grain of rice in the canteen without picking it up, read a forbidden book, or go for a walk with a zhiqing of the opposite sex could lead to violent criticism sessions at a public meeting.9 A more serious “error” would invariably lead to punishment. In the tense post–Cultural Revolution atmosphere, a word of discontent could easily be considered counterrevolutionary and a blunder at work, an act of sabotage. The guilty party would then be arrested, publicly criticized, and sentenced to a labor camp or a work team under special guard. In 1970–1971 a real witch hunt for counterrevolutionaries took place on the military farms, with the largest number of arrests occurring during the campaign to dismantle an alleged “May 16 movement.” In 1967–1968, the discovery of a plot hatched by a mysterious “May 16 Corps” (Wuyaoliu bingtuan 五一六兵團) was a pretext to get rid of Cultural Revolution leaders perceived as being extremists (such as Wang Li, Guan Feng, and Qi Benyu). This affair was dragged out again in 1970, especially in the army—and therefore on the military farms—to get rid of former minor rebel leaders still at large. Two of my respondents from Beijing were arrested, one in Hebei, the other in Inner Mongolia, for being “May 16 elements” (wuyaoliu fenzi 五一六分子). The method used by the authorities was to lock up all the former active rebels and make them “confess” their part in the plot and give the names of their “accomplices.” Confessions were obtained by harsh treatment that could even go as far as torture,10

8 9

10

GMRB, July 10, 1970, p. 3. Various interviews as well as Zhang Xinxin and Sang Ye, “Dougen,” in Beijingren, p.  425; Zhang Kangkang, “Ta,” p.  15; Michel and Huang He, Avoir 20 ans en Chine, p.  43. In Liang Xiaosheng’s farm, taking a walk with a zhiqing of the opposite sex was considered gross “political” misconduct. The cadres claimed that the young people were there “to be reeducated, and not to have capitalistic activities such as walking” (interview with Liang Xiaosheng, September 21, 1986). Only one of my two respondents had actually been tortured.

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leading to an extremely tense atmosphere in some units since anyone might breakdown under pressure and denounce a friend. In the team of one of my respondents who was sent to Hebei, thirty zhiqing out of a total of eighty were arrested and only five people, himself included, refused to admit their guilt to the bitter end. These witch hunts stopped after the death of Lin Biao, but the zhiqing who had been arrested were not cleared for all that. One of my respondents was released at this time but placed under surveillance until 1973. The other was only released in 1974 thanks to the intervention of his father, a high-ranking cadre in Beijing. Neither received any excuses, nor were they rehabilitated.11 Such cases maintained an atmosphere of terror on the farms at the time. To take another example, in 1970 thousands of zhiqing in Xishuangbanna were accused of taking part in an alleged counterrevolutionary organization called the Socialist Party (Shehuidang 社會黨). This turned out to be a prank by a few young people who had seen the film Lenin in October and amused themselves by inventing a party and naming “presidents,” “secretaries” and so on among themselves. They were denounced and tortured and had to sign confessions that really snowballed from there on. Fortunately a number of children of high-ranking cadres were involved and managed to warn their parents and the business finally was brought to a close after a year and a half.12 In 1969, shortly after the zhiqing arrived in the Great North, there was a manhunt for Soviet spies. A young man from Harbin, disliked by the leaders of the army corps (bingtuan) because of his politically incorrect speech and overly liberal attitude, was unjustly arrested. The head of the investigation team put pressure on his girlfriend, a Youth League member, to break off with him by writing him a threatening letter, failing which she too would be arrested. She agreed to write the letter, hoping that her boyfriend would understand the lack of sincerity behind it, but the young man committed suicide the same night, at the age of 20. The leaders claimed that his suicide was proof of guilt and he was never rehabilitated.13 After the death of Lin Biao, the terror disappeared, but ideological and moral control remained very strict in the farms. Repression was less 11 12 13

Interviews with C. Y. L., January 8, 1986, and with M. J. L., June 30, 1986. Interview with T. X., October 25, 1984. This affair was related by a witness who is a journalist and writer today. See Jia Hongtu, “Chongxin shuoqi shi weile bu zai fasheng” (Talking about the Past to Prevent It Happening Again), in Sha Fei et al. (eds.), Kule nianhua, pp. 17–26.

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widespread in the villages, but still considerable until 1972. I have heard of arrests for uttering a “reactionary” sentence or quarreling with cadres. The zhiqing rusticated in the early 1960s who had “rebelled” during the Cultural Revolution were the main victims of the repression. In 1969 in a Guangdong commune the peasants used the pretext of a quarrel during which one of these “old zhiqing” had raised a fist to a peasant, to demand a twenty-year sentence for him, finally set at eight years by the county. The person who reported this believed that the heavy sentence was not just a desire for vengeance, but a desire to frighten the zhiqing.14 At the time, any young people guilty of returning home too frequently or suspected of plotting an escape to Hong Kong were obliged to take part in “study classes” organized at the commune or county level.15 After 1971, however, there was less control over the zhiqing’s thoughts and deeds in the villages than in the farms. One result of the introduction of the Zhuzhou system was that it remedied the problem of the zhiqing being left to themselves, although it appears that the accompanying cadres in new educated youth centers (zhiqingdian) were not very successful in their attempts at ideological and moral control, as can be seen in the newspaper articles denouncing this shortcoming, and this account by an accompanying cadre: In the evenings I was supposed to get the zhiqing to read the papers and study, but often they went out and only two or three of them remained. They discussed love between themselves and I was fearful of an incident. What should I do if a girl got pregnant? I was in charge! I would ask them not to come back too late, but they thought that I was interfering in things that didn’t concern me.16

One major form of social control in China, and doubtless also one of the most original, is the household registration system (hukou), which we have already mentioned.17 In the case of the zhiqing, controlling their place of residence was an essential aspect of social control. We have seen that in the countryside failure to respect the residence obligation, that is to say returning to the city outside of the authorized periods, was sometimes dealt with by force and often punished by withholding grain rations. It was always punished by the withdrawal of work points, and therefore income, for the period in

14 15 16 17

Interviews with J. S. G., July 8, 1978. Interviews with M. J. Z., June 28, 1978, and N. Y. S., August 5, 1978. Interview with H. Z. W., June 13, 1984. See above, p. 55.

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question. But that was not enough to dissuade a large number of zhiqing. The urban authorities had to take an active part in persuading the zhiqing on family visits to return to the countryside, as well as in the supervision and repression of those who were living illegally in the cities. The main form of surveillance was hukou controls by the police and neighborhood activists who turned up unannounced at the homes of suspects to check the residence books (cha hukou 查戶口) of all persons present. Sometimes this turned into major roundups. The degree of control over the zhiqing’s thoughts, speech, and acts depended on the period and the place but as a general rule was always sufficient to prevent them from giving free reign to any expression of resistance to xiaxiang policy or anyone in charge of applying it. Ideology and organization were the most visible aspects of social control but repression always hovered in the background.18 Normally, the leaders only used it in exceptional circumstances, but when they did it was always exemplary and aimed to impress people. Indeed, the leaders advocated justice by example, as in the regular practice of holding public executions according to the traditional concept of “killing one person to frighten a hundred” (sha yi jing bai 殺一警 百). During troubled times such as the period immediately after the Cultural Revolution, terror was used—in other words it was necessary to kill five, ten, or twenty persons to frighten one hundred. But repression was never used alone. It was always accompanied by a massive dose of political indoctrination. The social control of the zhiqing in the countryside was no exception to the rule. The problem was that the control system was mainly effective in preventing open resistance, but not in convincing the zhiqing of the use of the rustication policy, and mass indoctrination led to saturation and rejection in most of them. Faced as they were with the harsh realities of rural backwardness and serious personal problems, they were aware of the ritual and “unreal” nature of the political activities they were obliged to take part in. The Lin

18

I am referring here to the well-known book by Franz  Schurmann, Ideology and Organization in Communist China. Schurmann believed that “what holds it together [Communist China] is ideology and organization” (p.  1), but he does not broach that part of the organization that comprised the repressive public security and legal bodies and the various types of militia, which I believe were fundamental, in the true sense of the word. It was this foundation, all the more powerful for being secret and mysterious, that explained the solidity of the social control system, which in its more visible aspect, was far more refined and sophisticated than the underlying repressive system.

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Biao affair revealed the extent of the power struggles at the summit, and brought disgust with official policy to a head for most young people: It was only after the Lin Biao affair that I got the idea of fleeing to Hong Kong. I thought, if that’s what they call “serving the people,” they are taking us for a ride! After that, young people no longer found it glorious to be activists, and moreover they wondered if it was worthwhile, because there had been too many political about-turns.19

Under these circumstances, the government could, at best, obtain acquiescence from its people under duress, but behind the façade of acceptance lay many kinds of passive resistance. Only the negative function of social control was really efficient, not the positive one.20

19 20

Interview with X. C., July 6, 1978. This statement, which I will try to illustrate in the next chapter, ties in with Whyte’s conclusion about the functions and efficiency of the “small groups” (xiaozu) and political ritual in China. See Martin  K. Whyte, Small Groups and Political Rituals in China (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1974), especially pp. 230–35.

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Passive Resistance and Its Effects

As a result of the persistent popular resistance to rustication over the years, the quotas set by the municipalities were rarely met. That resistance grew particularly strong in the slack period that followed the first great wave of departures in 1968–1969. From 1970, the early return of the zhiqing who managed to pull strings to leave and the greater number of urban employment opportunities had a demoralizing effect on the zhiqing left behind in the countryside, giving rise to expressions such as, “Those who left were the losers, those who stayed the winners,” or “Whoever can pull strings will stay in town.” Resistance sometimes even took the form of physical assaults against the “press gangs” of recruiting cadres. In 1972, in Suzhou, 98 cadres worked relentlessly for two months to persuade 124 zhiqing to leave for the farms, but after some of them were beaten up they refused to continue and in the end only 24 young people left. The same year Harbin had a quota of 35,000 zhiqing to be rusticated. The authorities bent over backward, even succeeding in mobilizing the 300,000 people originally sent to greet Prince Sihanouk to attend a departure ceremony for a group of zhiqing. Despite that, only 700 young people actually left that year.1 Clearly, the fall in departures 1

Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, p. 113.

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in 1970–1972 was not only because factories were hiring again. Social resistance was another factor. Once rusticated, young people engaged in various forms of passive resistance, which I have placed in two major categories: a refusal to conform to the attitude expected of them in the countryside, and a refusal to remain in the countryside. The reason for the former was mainly the poor living conditions, the difficulties in adapting to the rural environment, and the zhiqing’s social status, whereas the latter were reactions to issues about the young people’s own future.2

Deviancy, Delinquency, and Parallel Culture We have seen how the zhiqing lost faith in the values extolled by the regime after the end of the Cultural Revolution, the quashing of the Red Guards, the forced rustication to the villages and farms, the discovery of the extreme backwardness of the countryside and the peasant mentality. Combined with a deep-seated resentment over their material and moral difficulties, this resulted in a refusal to comply with the behavior models promoted by the leaders. Negative attitudes and accompanying nonconformist tendencies became widespread among the zhiqing, often displayed collectively. In some circumstances, for instance when the young people’s individual situations were especially difficult, if not at a dead end, and weaknesses in the control system enabled them to transform thoughts into deeds, those tendencies resulted in delinquency.

Negative Attitudes and Deviant Behavior The official press recognized that after the initial discovery period there was a general slump in the zhiqing’s morale. This expressed itself in a variety of ways, such as apathy, laziness, quarrelsomeness, and absenteeism. It led to a detachment from collective life and incited people to return to the city as often as they possibly could. All sources confirm that this demoralization became widespread over time. Far from following the example of the official models, many zhiqing were content to live from day to day, unmotivated by lofty ideals and enthusiasm. This state was expressed in Chinese by a single character, hun 混, and the hunke 混客, as they became known, sought to do

2

See Chapter 9 above.

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as little as possible.3 They failed to turn up for work and attempts to persuade them were met with total inertia:4 “When we slept in instead of going to work we’d get a visit from the team leader. But we’d pretend not to hear him, or make as though we were getting up and then go straight back to bed again.”5 This was not so easy to do in the farms so the zhiqing there used other methods to get more rest, such as bribing the peasants in charge of supervising their work or contriving to cause agricultural machinery to break down.6 Such behavior was only possible if the zhiqing acted as a group against the cadres. The collective nature of the zhiqing’s passive resistance was also reflected in their “crimes” and may have been the result of their marginal status in rural society, which obliged them to unite to defend their interests. However, it also deprived them of any external model of behavior. Cut off from their families and living through an entirely new experience, they had no parents around on which to model their behavior, and unlike the children of immigrants, could not model their behavior on their peers in the receiving community—or rather they did not want to, because they had no desire to integrate with that community. They therefore tended to model their behavior on each other, as prisoners might, which explains the importance of the group and its relative cohesion in the face of the outside world, as well as the influence of the first arrivals on subsequent ones.7 Most of the petty crimes committed by the zhiqing were collective ones, such as the occasional theft of animals or produce belonging to the peasants. Such acts were not only an economic necessity, but were also a form of protest against their fate and a way of taking vengeance on society. One inter3 4

5 6 7

Hunke is a slang term that roughly translates as “layabout.” In the farms, where unauthorized return to the cities was usually punished, some zhiqing persuaded people to send them telegrams announcing deaths, weddings, and feigned illnesses. Sometimes the cadres reacted by forbidding all returns, even for valid reasons. See, for example, Sha Yexin et al., Jiaru wo shi zhende (The Impostor), in Li Yi (ed.), Zhongguo xin xieshizhuyi wenyi zuopinxuan (A Selection of Neo-Realist Works in Chinese Literature), 2 (Hong Kong: Qishi niandai zazhishe, 1980), p. 292; Liang Xiaosheng, “Zhe shi yipian shenqi de tudi,” p. 10. Interview with M. Y. S., July 24, 1978. In “The Pagoda,” Zhang Kangkang gives the example of jamming a threshing machine. See Zhang Kangkang, “Ta,” p. 10. For a discussion on these types of behavioral problems, see Margaret Mead, Culture and Commitment: A Study of the Generation Gap (London: Bodley Head, 1970), especially chap. 2.

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viewee told me that the zhiqing sometimes burned their stolen goods.8 Another, fairly frequent form of collective petty crime would be to eat in small restaurants after taking part in meetings at commune or county headquarters, and leave without paying, taking safety in numbers. Antisocial behavior of that kind was usually done away from their “home” villages, in places where the zhiqing were less likely to be recognized. While the xiaxiang movement did lead to a rise in rural petty crime (which seems clear from the firsthand accounts), it was not just because of the difficulties the zhiqing had in surviving in their new rural environment or because they felt no solidarity there, but also because they enjoyed more freedom of movement and could escape the social control system more easily than the rest of the population. The most common form of delinquency among the zhiqing was illegal or speculative trading (touji daoba 投機倒把), especially between city and countryside. We have seen that many of them illegally sold the grain they bought at state prices on the free market. In every region zhiqing exploited loopholes in the distribution system by buying products in one place and selling them at a higher price in another. In Guangdong province there was considerable demand for wood for the construction industry and furniture making due to a shortage of supply in some regions and in most big cities, as well as electric wire, which was difficult to find in the countryside. This illicit trade was quite amateurish and erratic, entailing for instance, a couple of zhiqing transporting some chickens or a pile of wood on their bicycles racks and avoiding the main roads. But there were larger-scale ventures in which several zhiqing organized illegal haulage companies, sometimes together with unemployed people in the cities. This kind of activity could only function if one or several rural cadres turned a blind eye. Another form of organized delinquency involved of gangs of zhiqing hooligans. According to my sources, these mostly operated in backward regions, particularly border areas. They were mainly involved in theft and their principal victims appear to have been other zhiqing. They obtained what they wanted with violence and took revenge on anyone who denounced them. A notice of a legal sentence (bugao 布告) that reached Hong Kong stated that a zhiqing from Chengdu, sent to a military farm in Yunnan, had set up a gang of ten zhiqing who stole in the streets in broad daylight, burgled the dormitories, and took violent action against anyone criticizing them. In the same

8

Interview with T. X., October 25, 1984.

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region, six young people who had been caught stealing chickens from a zhiqing in another military farm returned the very same night to stab the person who had given them away. The gangs also did some smuggling with nearby Burma,9 while others got into illegal gambling.10 Violence was not only for terrorizing victims or potential informers, but a way of letting off steam in response to the boredom and frustration of their lives in the countryside. The writer A Cheng told me about the bands of zhiqing in Yunnan province who mainly fought among themselves. He believed that the fights were not mere territorial conflicts (since as “outsiders” the zhiqing had no territory as such) but catered to a taste they had developed for violence. A fight could start over a misinterpreted comment or look and end in organized duels and pitched battles with firearms saved from the Cultural Revolution. Such weapons were not loaded with bullets but bits of metal and glass that usually did not kill but certainly wounded, and since the injured parties could not be treated in hospital, the victims had to rely on the medical skills of their comrades, who used knives as scalpels and salt as disinfectant,11 sometimes with dramatic results. Although organized crime was “men’s business,” a very small number of female zhiqing were also members of these gangs and prostituted themselves. However, this was more frequent in the cities than in the countryside. The “crimes” carried out by the young people in the countryside clearly caused problems for the rural cadres and had long-term effects on the mentalities of the young people, although that is hard to assess. Xiaxiang did produce a few highly dangerous individuals who later formed mobster gangs in Chinese cities, and even in Hong Kong.12 But the proportion was small in 9

10

11

12

Mingbao yuekan, July 1979, pp. 51, 52. Although none of their victims died, the main leaders of these gangs received prison sentences of between five and twenty years. In another case reported by one of my respondents, two zhiqing who had stolen a large quantity of electrical wire from a dam were sentenced to between six and ten years. Interview with X. C., July 3, 1978. That was one of the activities carried out by a gang of thugs in Guizhou described by Ye Xin in “Cuotuo suiyue,” Shouhuo 5, pp. 4–83, and 6, pp. 156–254. Ye Xin’s detailed description of these gangs matches the reports in the two sentence notices (bugao) quoted above (see preceding Note). Interview with A Cheng, July 3, 1986. A Cheng mentions armed combat between zhiqing in “Qiwang,” pp. 58–59. Another writer, Lao Gui, described the mentality of hooligan zhiqing in detail and admits to having been one of them. See Lao Gui, Xuese huanghun (Blood-Colored Twilight) (Beijing: Gongren chubanshe, 1987). See below, pp. 372–74 and 384–85.

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relation to the total number of zhiqing and even among zhiqing carrying out illegal activities in the countryside. In most cases delinquency was circumstantial and had no effect on the young people’s subsequent behavior. However, their cultural and political deviancy had a more serious and lasting impact on the regime. In 1978 a specialized cadre made the following comment, speaking from experience: “If we don’t organize healthy activities for them, the zhiqing will inevitably drift into meaningless and even harmful ones, which will provide an opportunity for them to be corrupted by capitalist thinking.”13 The zhiqing’s parallel culture emerged from the very early days of the xiaxiang movement and developed over the 1970s to fill a void. That void was not only a result of the lack of recreational possibilities on offer in the countryside, but also a consequence of the rejection of those activities that were available—in other words the gap between official culture and ideology on the one hand, and the tastes and aspirations of the zhiqing on the other. The zhiqing could have devoted their free time to revolutionary opera (yangbanxi), which the authorities were trying to promote in the countryside. They could have listened to the official radio programs, read the newspapers, studied MarxistLeninist works and Mao’s Thought and discussed them at length during political meetings. But needless to say, none of that satisfied them. They aspired to other things. As Zhang Kangkang wrote, “I had no books that I wanted to read, and I forced myself to read books that I didn’t want to read. It was a real waste of time.”14 Many others did not even try to force themselves. As we saw, the zhiqing mostly passed the time playing cards, smoking, drinking, and sometimes, flirting. That was the most basic form of zhiqing culture and part of the life of the layabout hunke. Those who devoted too much time to it were considered “decadent” (tuifei). At the other end of the spectrum were those who crammed up on textbooks, which required a great deal of courage and effort but in the early years was perceived as being just as abnormal. Officially, book knowledge was frowned upon, so books usually had to be read in secret, especially in the farms, where ideological discipline was stricter. Sometimes the cadres and peasants merely thought the zhiqing were eccentric, like the young man from Beijing who started learning French in the first year of junior high school and continued to do so on his own by listening to a French radio

13 14

RMRB, April 10, 1978, p. 2. Wang Meng et al., Zou xiang wenxue zhi lu, p. 161.

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station in his farm in Heilongjiang, where reception was surprisingly good. His determination ultimately paid off because in 1975 he was transferred and became an interpreter.15 The most usual way to spend time was in evening discussions among zhiqing after the day’s work, and these spontaneous events were not quite as innocuous as they appeared since they often provided opportunities to express unconventional ideas. The young people spoke out freely, sharing their thoughts, feelings, and desires, except when a known informer was present to spoil the atmosphere. Sometimes, after a meager meal, the evenings would be transformed into “spiritual banquets” where everyone dreamed about all the wonderful dishes they wanted to eat and described how they were prepared.16 Food from the past was not the only subject; the young people also discussed films they had seen and books they had read, while those with storytelling skills enchanted their audience with their tales. In this way the former city dwellers rediscovered a storytelling tradition that had been lost in the cities. The zhiqing frequently visited each other from village to village and enjoyed their comrades’ hospitality. Even though there was no obligation to repay it, one good way of doing so was by telling a story. Like the itinerant storytellers, the best narrators could find board and lodging wherever they went. Sometimes the peasants joined the zhiqing to listen to these stories, or invited a storyteller themselves. The stories were sometimes taken from traditional Chinese literature, notably cloak-and-dagger tales, but there were also world classics that were considered reactionary and capitalistic at the time. For safety reasons—and to make up for bits they had forgotten—the zhiqing often altered the original story and thus became the authors of a new type of oral literature. Some of them actually went on to become writers, the most famous example being A Cheng, who was considered a great narrator and willingly admits to having been influenced by the long evenings telling yarns to his fellow zhiqing in Xishuangbanna.17

15 16

17

Interview with S. M. W., June 22, 1986. Several interviewees discussed these “spiritual banquets,” which also come up in literary works. See Zhang Xinxin, Women zheige nianji de meng, p. 173; A Cheng, “Qiwang,” p. 41. Interview with A  Cheng, July 3, 1986. In an account obtained by Feng Jicai there is another example of a zhiqing narrator who became attracted to literature (“Yige laohongweibing de zibai,” pp. 6–22). About the advantages good narrators might obtain from their talents, see also Dai Sijie, Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress.

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Underground Literature Forbidden or suspect literature did not only get around in oral form. The zhiqing exchanged books that had managed to escape the Cultural Revolution. The great classics of Russian, French, and English literature, old Chinese novels or even more recent ones such as the works of Ba Jin, were all read in secret, concealed by politically correct covers. Even though (or perhaps because) they referred to cultures that were distant in both time and space, such books were considered to be real treasures. Wang Xiaobo managed to carry a few books with him to the countryside, including Ovid’s Metamorphoses. It was read so much by his comrades that the book became “like a roll of algae.” It was borrowed by zhiqing from other production teams, grew increasingly tattered until “it disappeared altogether.”18 In the villages, reading was not too dangerous because the cadres were unable to tell “good” books from “bad” ones. The main problem for the zhiqing was that so very few books were available, so people often grouped together to copy them by hand. When the young people returned home on family visits, they would try to find new books to take back with them to the countryside and were often prepared to pay a high price for that by “going though the back door.” Of course there was also a large body of official literature, some of which was specifically for the zhiqing but that type of propaganda met with little success among its targeted readership.19 The zhiqing did not stop at reading and disseminating heretical literature; some also produced it. Many felt a need to express themselves and communicate outside of the official framework. Discussions and stories exchanged between comrades were one way of doing that, but many also wanted to write. For some it was a way of expressing their thoughts, while others wrote diaries that had to be carefully hidden away or even buried, for fear of the criticisms and prosecutions if they fell into the hands of a cadre or the police. Sometimes the diaries were written to be read by close friends and since the zhiqing often wrote letters to each other these became another form of literary exercise, to be circulated among groups of friends who would analyze

18

19

Li Yinhe and Zheng Hongxia, Wang Xiaobo huazhuan, p.  22. The extraordinary value the zhiqing placed on these books is the main theme of Dai Sijie’s novel, Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress. There were specialized collections for zhiqing, such as the Collection of Zhiqing Works, published by the Shanghai People’s Publishing House, and Works for the Zhiqing, published by the Tianjin People’s Publishing House.

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the form and content, just as they would discuss some of each other’s literary works, which included poetry, essays, short stories, and novels. As in any period of political oppression, poetry was the most widespread literary form used. Generally shorter than works of prose, poems were easier to conceal and circulate. Furthermore they were a good means of indirect expression, conveying a great deal between the lines. That did not prevent a large number of zhiqing from being subjected to criticism meetings and even heavy punishment for writing reactionary poetry. Anyone caught disseminating such literature, or indeed anyone suspected of having a bad ideology or who, for one reason or another, had dealings with the police, would have all their personal papers confiscated, especially diaries and poems, which were then “dissected” by the cadres.20 There was less risk of being caught in the countryside than in the cities, where the ideological control system formed a tightly meshed web. The cadres in the villages had neither the time nor the skills to monitor what the zhiqing read and wrote. The risk lay in denunciation, which would lead to intervention by the county authorities, and explains why clandestine literature was so well developed among the educated youth. The solidarity between small groups of zhiqing and the contacts they had with friends in other villages and regions, or those who had stayed behind in the cities, also explain how they managed to establish informal networks for creating and disseminating literature. The young people generally did not intend to create a form of underground literature, and were unaware that was what they were doing. They were merely trying to express themselves and knew that they could only do so by taking a number of precautions. They were producing underground literature quite unwittingly.21 To these external reasons explaining the development of underground literary activity among the zhiqing I should add the internal ones that explain why a fairly large number of them were interested in literature and wanted to write. For one thing they wanted to testify and speak on behalf of a group of

20

21

See Xiao Fuxing, “Zai Beidahuang he zai Beijing” (In the Great Northern Wilderness and in Beijing), as a postface to Beidahuang qiyu (Astonishing Encounters in the Great Northern Wilderness) (Beijing: Shiyue wenyi chubanshe, 1985), p.  342. One notice of a court sentence (bugao) stated that a Shanghai zhiqing in Xishuangbanna was sentenced to ten years imprisonment in 1971 for several “counterrevolutionary” crimes, including producing “reactionary” poetry and paintings. See Mingbao, July 1979, p. 50. Interview with Wu Mang on July 16, 1978, who compiled, prefaced and wrote some of the texts in the collection mentioned below in Note 25.

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young people living through a specific and difficult experience.22 They also needed some kind of intellectual stimulation to fill the spiritual vacuum and boredom of their lives. Kong Jiesheng reported that he got addicted to card games before getting a hold on himself and finding literature a more satisfying way to occupy his mind.23 Of course some zhiqing did want to get published, but many were discouraged by the massive concessions they would have to make to satisfy government propaganda requirements and preferred to express themselves in an authentic way to a restricted audience. That audience of a few friends and friends-of-friends, had one unique quality: it shared the same experiences and aspirations as the author, and in many cases the desire to write as well. To get one’s talent recognized in such a small informal group was pleasant and fulfilling. It triggered considerable artistic emulation and fermented a new underground literature that emerged in the light of day after 1978, once the political situation had changed. The best example is the small poetry group that formed the core of the unofficial literary magazine Jintian 今天 (Today) that came out during the Peking Spring. Mang Ke, a young Beijinger sent to Baiyangdian (Hebei province) in 1969 began to exchange poems with a small group of friends in the early 1970s. In 1971 or 1972, one of his poems reached Bei Dao (Zhao Zhenkai) through the intermediary of a friend who had also started to write but in Beijing, where he had managed to stay and obtain a job as a worker in 1969. The two young men got in touch, appreciated each other’s work and formed a friendship. Bei Dao even went to spend a few days with the zhiqing in Baiyangdian. When circumstances allowed it at the end of 1978, the two decided to set up a literary magazine to publish their works and those of their friends. When the first issue came out, young people from all over China who had followed a similar trajectory, got in touch and sent in manuscripts.24 Some of the poetry that had circulated covertly among a restricted group of young people for years now reached a wider audience. After 1979 some poems were even reprinted in official reviews or collections, while others were published in Hong Kong as early as

22 23 24

I shall return to this later. See below, pp. 431–33. Kong Jiesheng, “Wode huida” (My Reply), ZGQNB, November 11, 1980, p. 4. Interview with Mang Ke, June 25, 1986, and Bei Dao, June 26, 1986. Detailed information about the underground poetry of the 1970s is found in Liao Yiwu (ed.), Chenlun de shengdian—Zhongguo yijiuqining niandai de dixia shiren gushi (The Decadent Temple—The Story of Underground Poets in 1970s’ China) (Urumqi: Xinjiang qingshaonian chubanshe, 1999).

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in 1974 by Guangdong zhiqing who had managed to swim across.25 I will not analyze that poetry here but simply say that in both form and content it broke completely with everything that was published at the time and even with everything that had been published since 1949.26 The marginal lives of the young poets, the fact that they had neither the possibility nor the desire to be accepted by official literary circles, gave them a freedom to research and innovate and resulted in a truly original creation, which became the starting point of a new era in the history of Chinese poetry in the modern language.27 During the same period, some zhiqing also began to write short stories and unorthodox novels. This was more conspicuous and therefore more dangerous, and rarely done in the cities.28 Even in the countryside, the zhiqing who dared to write lived in constant fear of discovery. Wang Xiaobo wrote by moonlight.29 Zhu Lin, whose novel Life’s Path was the first to be officially published that provided a fairly realistic image of xiaxiang, wrote the first version while she was a zhiqing in a village in Anhui province.30 She burned the draft and only rewrote the novel from memory many years later.31 Other zhiqing wrote short stories and novels and passed them on to friends to

25 26

27

28

29 30 31

Wu Mang et al., Gan you ge yin dongdi ai (Let Us Dare to Sing of EarthShattering Grief) (Hong Kong: Qishi niandai shuangzhoukan, 1974). The historical and literary analysis of underground literature from the 1960s and 1970s (a subject that was long taboo) is dealt with in Yang Jian, Wenhua da geming zhong de dixia wenxue (Underground Literature during the Cultural Revolution) (Beijing: Chaohua chubanshe, 1993). See also by the same author, Zhongguo zhiqing wenxueshi. For more on the new poetry, see the articles by Bonnie McDougall on Bei Dao, especially “Bei Dao’s Poetry: Revelation and Communication,” Modern Chinese Literature 1(2) (Spring 1985), pp.  225–49, as well as David  Goodman, Beijing Street Voices: The Poetry and Politics of China’s Democracy Movement (London: Marion Boyars, 1981); Wojtek Zafanolli, “Le nouveau cours littéraire: portrait d’une génération individualiste,” in Claude Aubert et al., La société chinoise après Mao (Paris: Fayard, 1986), pp. 155–228. The writer Feng Jicai reported having written many works during this period, when “the only reader was God,” and burned them all, never satisfied with the ingenious places he found to hide them in. See Jiushi niandai, February 1987, pp. 94–95. Li Yinhe and Zheng Hongxia, Wang Xiaobo huazhuan, p. 24. Zhu Lin, Shenghuo de lu. Zhu Lin, “Wode qibu” (My First Steps), Shiyue 3 (1982), pp. 246–47.

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read, who then copied them by hand, or even managed to mimeograph a few dozen copies before passing them on in turn. As a result, some works became known nationally even though the authors were unknown. Indeed, they insisted on remaining anonymous, since the punishment for this type of offense was very severe. The most famous case was the underground novel The Second Handshake (Di erci woshou), by Zhang Yang, a zhiqing who had been rusticated before the Cultural Revolution. This novel, called The Return (Guilai) for a long time, does not deal with xiaxiang. The only “daring” thing about the book was that it was a love story and showed intellectuals in a favorable light, notably those who, like the heroine, had studied abroad. It also presented Zhou Enlai, who played a part in the story, in a positive light. That was enough to attract the wrath of Yao Wenyuan, who demanded that the author be unmasked and punished. Zhang Yang was arrested in early 1975, and only escaped the death penalty thanks to the fall from grace of the Gang of Four. He was not freed from prison until 1979, after several journalists fought for his rehabilitation. His work was finally printed, having circulated all around the country in manuscript form.32 Zheng Yi, the future author of “The Maple Tree” (Feng),33 used a classic strategy to disseminate his first underground story while he was a zhiqing in Shanxi province. He transposed the tragic story of two young people rusticated to Manchuria to Siberia and prefaced the work with a “translator’s note” explaining that the story was by a young Russian author, taken from a Soviet monthly magazine.34 In 1979, when the conditions had changed, he transferred the story back to its original context and published it in an official review.35 Many of the underground short stories and novels that circulated at the time were set against a political background and had political meaning. The violence and consequences of the Cultural Revolution, notably xiaxiang, played an important part, but so did love affairs and erotica.36 Sometimes the

32 33

34 35 36

Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 624–29, 697–99. This short story, which denounced the absurd violence of the Cultural Revolution and the Mao personality cult, caused a sensation when it appeared in Wenhuibao dated February 11, 1979, and even more of one when it came out in comic form in Lianhuan huabao, August 1979. Zheng Yi, “Xiangwang ziyou,” p. 478. Zheng Yi, “Ningjie de weixiao,” (The Fixed Smile), Huacheng 3 (Nov. 1979), pp. 1–11. Mingbao, January 7, 1980, p. 12; Ding Wangyi, “Zhongguo dalu de dixia wenxue” (Clandestine Literature in Mainland China), Huang He 3 (n.d.), pp.  18–20, 4,

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same story circulated under different names and in different versions, as with Zhang Yang’s work, which showed how popular they were and how widely disseminated. Occasionally the readers were not content to copy a work but wanted to improve it or rearrange it to their taste. The more a piece of writing was passed around, the more likely it was to be altered (for better or worse). It is impossible to assess the extent to which these underground works were disseminated, for they only concerned young urbanites and certainly the zhiqing more than the young people who had remained in the cities. About a third of my respondents had read at least one of these works, and all of them had heard about them. Even if they were not so widely disseminated, the fact that such attempts at independent literature existed was very important and explains the sudden blossoming of fiction in 1978–1979. Many works published during that period, whether in underground publications or by official publishers, had been written, or at least drafted, in the preceding years, often in the countryside.

Schmaltzy Music as a Political Crime Zhiqing deviancy was not only expressed in literature. Painting could also be perceived as a “reactionary” activity and punished as such.37 Some zhiqing had musical instruments and played classical Western music, which was officially criticized although I have not heard of any amateur musicians getting into trouble over that. Singing, however, was the most widely practiced artistic activity among the zhiqing, often acquiring illicit aspects that led to criticism and arrests. They sang prerevolutionary songs, alone or in groups, at a time when all love songs and even many revolutionary songs were banned. Some sang love songs by the great prewar singer Zhou Xuan that were considered “erotic.” In Guangdong province many zhiqing sang pop songs they heard on foreign radio stations, even though listening to them was also forbidden and could lead to public criticism and a note in the zhiqing’s personal file. However, in Guangdong and Yunnan provinces, it happened so frequently that local cadres paid less attention to it. Some Cantonese zhiqing learned the pop songs broadcast by Hong Kong and Macao radio stations and sang them with their friends, occasionally accompanied on the guitar, which meant that

37

pp.  29–31, and 5, pp.  18–24. This article summarizes five underground short stories and novels, and quotes sections of poems, letters, and diaries. See Note 20 above.

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these “products of bourgeois decadence” spread very rapidly. Old Chinese songs, like the foreign ones, were mainly about love. Quite apart from giving pleasure to the singers and listeners, they also expressed the young people’s feeling of being both oppressed and repressed by official culture. The zhiqing also composed songs to express their feelings about their fate or borrowed from existing ones, such as some Russian folk songs that expressed homesickness,38 or “My House Is on the Songhua River,” a wellknown nostalgic song about resistance under the Japanese occupation.39 Singing these rather than “the songs of the fighter land-clearers” was a form of resistance in itself, as well as a means of expression.40 In the second half of 1978 and throughout 1979, the song called “The Vagabond” (Liulangzhe), from the Indian film of the same name, was on every zhiqing’s lips. This very popular 1950s film was screened again in 1978. The Chinese version of the song had been toned down slightly, but the one everyone sang in the streets was the 1950s version. The sheet music could be bought from stalls in the newly emerging street markets: “Everywhere I wander, destiny pushes me further. [...] I have neither parents nor friends in this world. [...] Answer me, my destiny, my star, tell me why you make such cruel fun of me.”41 The zhiqing also wrote their own songs, which they sang in chorus in the evenings or in the fields, standing on carts or in ferry boats, that expressed their deepest feelings and briefly allowed them respite from their day’s exhaustion. These songs were the zhiqing’s most important form of collective expression and were even more inconspicuous than poetry or novels since there was no need to write anything down. Music was easily learned by heart, which deprived potential critics of any material evidence. That was important since in many cases the words of the songs were altered or new words were put to traditional tunes, such as the famous yuluge 語錄歌 (quotations of Mao put to music), which, together with the arias from revolutionary opera, formed the official repertoire at the time. Music allowed the zhiqing to give free rein to their most “reactionary” feelings, while the peasants and cadres believed that they were expressing

38 39 40 41

Liang Xiaosheng, “Zhe shi yipian shenqi de tudi,” p. 15; Xu Naijian, “Yangbai de ‘wuran,’” p. 84. See the article by Shu Ting, in Wang Meng et al., Zou xiang wenxue zhi lu, p. 283. Liang Xiaosheng, “Zhe shi yipian shenqi de tudi.” Gold, “Back to the City,” pp. 756–57; Mingbao, November 1, 1979, p. 8. In 1979 I was able to observe how popular this song was myself, and bought the sheet music, which was in the form of two small-format photographs.

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their revolutionary ardor. Not that the young song writers were entirely protected from the political police, and the consequences of being caught could be very serious, as for instance, in the case of the author of the most popular song at the time, “The Nanjing Zhiqing’s Song” (Nanjing zhiqing zhi ge), also known as “The Song of Nanjing” or “The Zhiqing Song.” It was written in May  1969 by Ren Yi, an educated youth from Nanjing, who had been living in a village in Jiangsu province for five months.42 It caught on like wildfire and spread throughout the country. In August, a friend of Ren Yi’s who was listening to “forbidden radio stations” told him that his song was being broadcast with an orchestral accompaniment by a Chinese radio station broadcasting on Radio Moscow. In that period of Sino-Soviet tensions, this conferred a serious political aspect on a song that had none whatsoever to begin with. It contained no hint of criticism or revolt, but only conveyed the songwriter’s feeling of homesickness for his hometown of Nanjing, and missing his mother and the time when he was a high school student, and expressed concern for his own future. In other words, the song only reflected what a growing number of young people felt after a few months in the countryside. But that was precisely what the government could not tolerate. Although Ren Yi never claimed ownership of the song and had burned all written traces of it, he was arrested in the night of February 19, 1970. During the interrogation, he was shown a number of variations of his work that differed in both form and content because it had been altered as it was passed around, and occasionally this conferred a more critical tone to the words. As a result, Ren Yi was obliged to spend many nights on end swearing that he had not added a given character but had used another. His very life depended on this literary nitpicking. The Nanjing courts gave him a two-year suspended death sentence and he was traipsed from one criticism meeting to another. Jiangsu province, which had the final say in the matter, finally handed out a “mere” ten-year prison sentence, which he almost completed. He was only able to obtain his rehabilitation and leave the labor camp nine years later, in 1979. He was not the only zhiqing to get into trouble over this specific work. Some zhiqing in the military farms who had merely sung the song also got into trouble. A one-time activist reported how he had to rack his brains to write a denunciation of this song for a public meeting in a farm in

42

On this affair, see Ren Yi, Shengsi beige (A Sad Song of Life and Death) (Beijing: Zhongguo shehui kexue chubanshe, 1998).

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Heilongjiang province. He could not for the life of him see what was wrong with it. But as far as his leaders were concerned, allowing the zhiqing to express real feelings was political misconduct that “sabotaged the spring sowing”—particularly since sobs had been heard from the girls’ dormitory when the song was sung.43 Some other songs or snippets of songs still remain44 but “The Song of the Zhiqing” is the only one to have really spread nationwide. Interestingly, there is a striking resemblance between songs composed in quite different and distant regions, sometimes thousands of kilometers away, and even in different dialects.45 The recurrent themes may be explained by the young people’s shared experience, but the similarity of language is surprising and shows that zhiqing underground culture did have a national scope.46 The main themes expressed in the songs were the zhiqing’s longing for their hometowns, their parents, possibly a girl- or boy-friend, discontent with their living conditions, fear of the future, and regrets over their fate. The words of the following song, reproduced in Liang Xiaosheng’s novel,47 are a good illustration of those themes, and being short, I have translated it: In the dim light of the oil lamp We think of our fathers and mothers. We leave with the sun, And return with the moon, Worn out by labor, like cattle or horses. Who will take pity on us, the city kids? Oh! Mother and Father, how I regret Not having listened to your advice and stayed! Now all I do is repair the earth. Destiny is a bitter brew, I have no joy, only sorrow. When will it all end? When will it all end? 43 44

45 46

47

Beidahuang fengyunlu, pp. 118–20. Some of these songs were published in two short-lived reviews started in Hong Kong by former zhiqing who managed to swim across (See Huang He 2, 3, and 4; Beidou 1, 2, 3, 5, 6; all undated). Liang Xiaosheng included one song in his novel Jinye you baofengxue, pp. 251–52. I collected a few songs from two of my interviewees who knew how to write music. Four of the songs I collected were in Cantonese. For instance, the expression to “repair the earth” which was specific zhiqing jargon, was found in songs popular among the zhiqing from Heilongjiang province to Guangdong province. See Note 44 above.

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This song written in Cantonese by the zhiqing in Heilongjiang province is very similar and also very short: I do protest about my bad fate. In this world where I have to toil in mud, Labor and earn nothing. Repair the earth with a hoe, Strive and struggle to earn a pittance. I have no hope in this life. What must I do to live the life of a man? Oh what a harsh existence this is!48

The words of “The Zhiqing Song” are less negative about xiaxiang and more nostalgic. Ren Yi had originally called it “My Country” (Wode jiaxiang), after the refrain. But regret for the past was in itself “reactionary,” particularly since it went hand in hand with a manifest fear about the future, as in this verse: How long and arduous is the path to the future! My life trundles forward, on this foreign and distant land.

But the unorthodox forms of expressions used by these young people could also be less sentimental and more satirical about culture, especially official political culture, as for instance when the Cantonese zhiqing replaced the words “The Communist Party is the driving force leading us; MarxismLeninism is the theoretical base that guides our thoughts” by “When I see her two moist and shining eyes, I feel they are about to speak; when she smiles she reveals two dimples on her cheeks and a lovely set of small white teeth.”49 The pleasure they derived was not only from evoking an “erotic” image, but the satisfaction of sacrilege. One novel with a tragic end describes a group of zhiqing who had produced an impressive repertoire of modified, satirical, or just totally absurd songs to pass the time, let off steam, and cheer themselves up.50 The way zhiqing ridiculed official political values was also reflected in their 48

49 50

The author’s personal collection. In addition to themes found everywhere, most of the Cantonese zhiqing’s songs dealt with a subject that was very dear to them, namely defection to Hong Kong (see below, pp. 383–84). This song was very popular in Guangdong province and most of my respondents knew it. Qiao Yu, “Niezhangmen de ge” (The Bad Boys’ Song), Dangdai 6 (1986), pp. 4–50.

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day-to-day conversation in jokes about slogans and political leaders. For instance, some Cantonese zhiqing would use the expression “two-line struggle” to describe knitting,51 while others used the signature tune of BBC Radio (which they listened to in secret) to sing “Chen Boda, why don’t you swim over to Hong Kong?”52 One of my interviewees used to play a game with his friends for a penalty, which consisted of turning over a chamber pot and shouting “Long live Mao Zedong.” Such high school pranks could be very dangerous for the young people at a time when many people got into serious trouble for far less. But interestingly the social control system in the 1970s was unable to prevent this type of political deviancy among the zhiqing, or at least those living in the villages.

Political Deviancy Political deviancy was not only expressed by derision. A number of very active former Red Guards had left for the countryside with the intention of continuing political discussions between comrades and, if possible, combining that with a certain amount of independent political action. At the time the political situation made that impossible, but discussions in small groups continued. The ideological culture shock caused by the discovery of the rural backwardness, the atmosphere of terror, and the post–Cultural Revolution personality cult of Lin Biao followed by his fall, resulted in a widespread skepticism about Maoist ideology. Satiation with illusory propaganda left a void in the minds of the young people, and the feeling of perplexity, which in some cases (usually in those who had been most active in the Red Guards), led them to seek different intellectual foundations. While the majority of zhiqing was fed up with politics, a minority continued to think, read all the political literature (i.e., Marxist) they could get their hands on, and exchange books and ideas. Some wrote theoretical political essays and showed them to friends. These small informal “think tanks” were sometimes bold enough to

51 52

In Chinese the word “line” (luxian) includes the character for “yarn” (xian). Chen Boda, the former head of the Cultural Revolution Group, began to be attacked for being a “leftist” in 1967, and made his last public appearance in 1969. The play WM provides another illustration of this form of mockery: a zhiqing who had just stolen a chicken shouts to his comrades, imitating Lin Biao’s high-pitched voice, “Little Red Guard generals! Once again concrete facts have proven that if young people are sent to the countryside they will accomplish great deeds!” See Wang Peigong, “WM Women,” p. 83.

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refuse certain political rituals. For example, one respondent who had been in a group of twenty-one Beijing zhiqing sent to Inner Mongolia in 1967 refused to practice the Mao cult ritual imposed by Lin Biao at the time. It goes without saying that this kind of political deviancy was severely punished. In some cases, the zhiqing stuck by each other sufficiently to foil the organized system of informers, but in the early years at least, the system often gained the upper hand. The respondent in question was arrested at the end of 1970 because a very young member of his group had carelessly mentioned the group’s critical attitude to Lin Biao in a letter to his elder sister. Horrified, the sister forwarded the letter to the farm leaders and asked them to discover the bad elements who were perverting the mind of her poor little brother. My respondent decided to accept full responsibility for this “crime” (for that was what it was), to the great joy of his superior cadres who had it in for him.53 As with the songs and literature, some political information and writings also circulated among the zhiqing. In the border regions, they were able to learn about Chinese political events that were censored in China by listening to foreign radio stations. The death of Lin Biao was known in the border regions before it was officially announced via internal channels. The underground political information network covered the entire country. In 1974 my respondent in the depths of Inner Mongolia in northern China was able to read the famous Li Yizhe dazibao posted in Guangzhou, in the southernmost part of the country. The text had been brought from Beijing by a zhiqing in his production team.54 This underground political life ultimately gave rise to open forms of political expression, as we shall see later.55 The many forms of ideological, moral, and cultural deviancy showed that there was an alternative zhiqing culture. It was the first time in the history of the PRC that a relatively large social group produced a radically different culture from the dominant norm. Above all, this was the culture of a group that had specific reasons for rejecting official ideology as being hypocritical and deceitful, and a group that was morally and physically abandoned to its own fate, excluded from normal society and cut off from all family ties. A group that, despite its large size, was marginal and needed to create its own culture in order to survive.56 Given the means at the government’s disposal to 53 54 55 56

See above, p. 268. Interview with M.  J.  L., June 30, 1986. About this famous dazibao, see below, pp. 390–91. See below, pp. 387–97. It could also be called a marginal culture or subculture, but I prefer to use

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control the material and mental lives of its citizens and to repress any form of deviancy, this culture could not be openly expressed, and still less develop to the extent of being a counterculture, comprising a global vision of society in opposition to the dominant model and able to defy it. But the existence of a certain secret space for independent and genuine reflection and expression in a totalitarian regime was very important. That space, greater in the countryside than in the cities, where social control was stricter, gave rise to an underground ferment that generated original ideas, values, and artistic works that finally emerged into the light of day and played an important role in forming a new culture.

The Stampede Home and Its Consequences After a spell in the countryside, every zhiqing dreamed of returning to the city, which was “the main subject of every discussion.”57 But they could not express this publicly for fear of getting into serious trouble, and still less demand their return. As a result, instead of leading to some conscious collective action, this widespread desire to return gave rise to a “run for your life” attitude. Until 1978, most zhiqing were unable to apply the famous Chinese maxim “Of the 36 stratagems, fleeing is the best,” so they expressed their refusal of xiaxiang passively by devising strategies to obtain an urban registration (hukou) or by returning illegally to the city or fleeing abroad.

Strategies for Returning Legally Both the zhiqing and their parents devoted a great deal of energy and made great sacrifices for a mere scrap of paper, namely the authorization to transfer a hukou.

Tricks and intrigues The authorities always had a very ambiguous attitude about the zhiqing’s return to the cities. As we have seen, the most sought-after way to return was by getting into university or a job in an urban work unit. Young people who

57

“alternative culture” to stress that it developed on a separate plane from official culture and that the two ignored each other superbly. Ye Xin, “Cuotuo suiyue,” Shouhuo 5, p. 237; Xu Naijian, “Yangbai de ‘wuran,’” p. 82.

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believed they had little hope of succeeding in either resorted to intrigue to return for health reasons (gao bingtui 搞病退). Imaginary or exaggerated illnesses that allowed people to leave the countryside were considered “saving illnesses”58 and people who had neither contacts nor the means for obtaining fake medical certificates sometimes went as far as to mutilate themselves by injuring on purpose one of their hands or feet, or swallow a screw to show a black spot on an X-ray.59 For some zhiqing, desperation to leave the countryside became obsessive and alienated them: “Being transferred back was purely and simply his life, his faith, his God.”60 In some cases that caused mental problems. A young woman from Shanghai “went mad” in a commune in Zhejiang province because someone snatched her place at university, even though her name was on the list.61 Studies have shown that resistance to certain policies at the time, notably xiaxiang, was expressed by neurotic or psychosomatic problems.62 The symptoms were a form of protest in themselves, albeit not very efficient since the first victim was the protester. One young woman whose rejection of the countryside expressed itself in insomnia, headaches, and dizzy spells was able to avoid leaving despite the cadres’ suspicions. Here her genuine subconscious reaction served its purpose. But twelve years later, the individual still suffered the same symptoms. Suicide

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Zhang Kangkang, “Zai qiuling, zai huban” (On the Hill by the Lake), in Zhang Kangkang zhongpian xiaoshuoji (Collection of Stories by Zhang Kangkang) (Beijing: Zhongguo qingnian chubanshe, 1982), p. 421. Feng Jicai, “Weida de shounanzhemen,” p. 12. A disabled zhiqing reported bitterly that many of her fellow-zhiqing envied her for having “the best pretext” to return to the city. See Qian Yi, “Ai zai Beidahuang,” p. 149. Xu Mingxu, “Diaodong,” p. 213. The hero of this novel is a Shanghai university graduate sent to “the third front” in 1970, in a tiny hamlet in Guizhou province. Although he was not strictly speaking a zhiqing, his experience and the tragicomic trials and tribulations he went through to return were very similar to those experienced by the zhiqing. Interview with H.  Z.  W., June 17, 1984. Other cases of mental illness were reported in Michel and Huang He, Avoir 20 ans en Chine, pp. 77–84. In literature, see Bai Hua, “Tingluju shengshuaiji,” p. 87; Yu Xue, “Guangkuo tiandi” (A Vast Universe), Beidou 2 (n.d.), pp. 19–27. Arthur  Kleinman and Joan  Kleinman, “Remembering the Cultural Revolution: Alienating Pains and the Pain of Alienation/Transformation,” in T.  Y. Lin, W.  S. Tseng, and E.  K. Yeh (eds.), Chinese Societies and Mental Health (Hong Kong: Oxford University Press, 1995), pp.  141–55. Of the seven cases reported by the authors, four are related to rustication.

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was another, extreme, form of resistance,63 even though it was considered a crime at the time. “Those who could not bear to go on living didn’t even have the right to die”64 since suicide conferred the posthumous title of “active counterrevolutionary” on the deceased and a great deal of trouble for his or her parents.65 Only a small minority of zhiqing lost their minds or their lives as a result of wanting to return to the cities. But most of them did lose the “moral innocence” they had as high school students when they arrived. Indeed, for most zhiqing the only way to leave was to “go through the back door.” The children of high-ranking cadres could use their parents’ contacts, but the others had to resign themselves to use whatever means they had at their disposal to get into the cadres’ good books: flattery, bribery, various services, or sexual favors.66 Indeed, some people were prepared to do anything to achieve their aim. This (sometimes rapid) moral decline usually went with a feeling of despair.67 There were generally limits beyond which the zhiqing did not go, but most had to do things they themselves perceived as immoral and humiliating. Of course, this general transgression of moral taboos weakened the hold those taboos had on people’s mentalities. Practices that the zhiqing had once disapproved of came to be seen as normal. “The first time I offered a cadre a gift, it was so that I could return to Hangzhou. After that I became an expert.”68

63

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Michel and Huang He, Avoir 20 ans en Chine, pp. 81–84. There are many cases of zhiqing suicide in literature. See, for example, the characters called Juanjuan (Zhu Lin, Shenghuo de lu), Yanru (Ye Xin, Feng linlie), and Qiuxia (Gan Tiesheng, “Juhui,” pp. 104–7). Interview with H. C., July 12, 1978. Michel and Huang He, Avoir 20 ans en Chine, pp. 81–82. Another method consisted of pretending to be the offspring of a very important cadre in order to return to the city or obtain certain advantages in exchange for fictitious promises. That was the solution chosen by the zhiqing hero in the play The Impostor (Sha Yexin et al., Jiaru wo shi zhende, pp. 272–301), also known as And What If I Really Were? The play was extremely successful in 1979, especially among the zhiqing, before the censors banned it. The true story the play was based on was reported in Jiefang ribao, September 11, 1979, p. 3. The case was certainly not unique, but one needed a real talent for intrigue and lying to succeed by this means. Joan Chen’s film Xiuxiu, The Sent-Down Girl, which came out in 1998, shows a dramatic view of this painful outcome for a zhiqing in Chengdu, whose despair led to suicide. Zhang Kangkang, “Ta,” p. 37.

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The widespread use of bribery in their return strategies gave rise to a jargon of corruption, which ironically they borrowed from the former Communist guerrilla’s vocabulary: cigarettes, bottles of various alcoholic beverages, and other gifts for cadres and doctors thus became known variously as “munitions,” “dynamite,” “grenades,” or “shells,” to be used in “beating” the enemy or “bombarding” a “high position.”69 While most zhiqing found the intrigues and corruption painful and humiliating, they had no compunction about indulging in them, for the xiaxiang experience taught them that having a high moral stance came at a high price. “If we don’t go down to hell, we won’t go up to heaven,” as the hero in one novel put it.70 In their relations with the authorities, lying became increasingly commonplace over time, even in its extreme forms. “There’s always someone smarter than you” was the rule of the game between zhiqing and bureaucrats. A fictional account by Xiao Fuxing provides a good example of their continual struggle, where every trick devised by the zhiqing was countered by a new regulation, to be parried in turn by the zhiqing.71 Xiao’s hero was a Beijing zhiqing sent to a village in Inner Mongolia where, because of the shortage of housing in the capital, he missed out on the “return wind” and regretted it bitterly when his child reached school age. To save at least his child, he was prepared to go through a fake divorce, followed by a fake marriage to a nonexistent person. At one point the hero even wondered if he should simply fake his death, as other zhiqing had done before him. Of course all these maneuvers were only possible thanks to corrupt local cadres. New problems arose at every stage of the process of legally returning individual family members to the city, which became even more complicated when the zhiqing in question was 40 years old. Xiao Fuxing shows how the sequence of lies seemed quite normal to the hero. Xiaxiang policy therefore played an important role in that generation’s amoral and utilitarian attitude—just as using political activism as a means to leave the countryside in the early years of the xiaxiang movement made the zhiqing increasingly skeptical and cynical. The maneuvers young people had to engage in to return home also changed their conception of relationships between individuals in society. The altruistic values they had been taught did not stand up to the competitive 69 70 71

See Xu Mingxu, “Diaodong,” pp. 182–219; Xu Zidong, “Kelian de ren” (A Poor Guy), Baihuazhou 2 (1981), p. 46; Wang Peigong, “WM Women,” p. 85. Xu Naijian, “Yangbai de ‘wuran,’” p. 81. Xiao Fuxing and Xiao Fuhua, A, lao sanjie, pp. 156–65.

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situation in which they subsequently found themselves. Observing that the most scheming among them left one after the other, they reached the conclusion that their only chance of leaving was to imitate them. They kept any information about return possibilities to themselves, became secretive, tried to outdo their rivals in corruption, resorted to slanderous denunciation, physical and emotional blackmail, even, in a few cases, to the extent of contemplating the physical elimination of their competitors. One Beijing zhiqing who had been duped by a young woman he had fallen in love with, and who slandered him behind his back, subsequently became an expert in the law of the jungle, using every means at his disposal, including blackmail and physical violence, to get a place at university to make up for the one that had been snatched away from him.72 Machiavelli, Darwin, and Julien Sorel replaced Confucius, Mao, and Lei Feng as intellectual references and behavioral models for the zhiqing.73 What they sought in those foreign models above all was some kind of justification for abandoning moral principles to survive in a hostile world. But they also found a concept of the world that took into account the reality of their day-to-day lives. Writers describing such things were criticized in China for promoting hyper-individualism and social Darwinism, but they were only reflecting a widespread intellectual change among the zhiqing that owed much more to the “concrete analysis of a concrete situation” so dear to Lenin, than to any theses by Herbert Spencer or William Sumner.74 Indeed, many of them deduced from their experience that

72 73

74

See the firsthand accounts gathered by Zhang Xinxin and Sang Ye, “Di sanci langchao” (The Third Wave), in Beijingren, pp. 151–58. Machiavelli was cited in Xu Mingxu’s “Diaodong,” pp.  182–219, along with Darwin. Darwin and social Darwinism are to be found in “Yangbai de ‘wuran,’” pp.  74–85, by Xu Naijian; in “Zai tong yi dipingxian,” pp.  172–233, by Zhang Xinxin; and in “Diexian,” pp.  50–52, by Ping Ming. Julien Sorel was quoted in Shenghuo de lu by Zhu Lin, in “Diaodong” by Xu Mingxu, and in the account to be found in Feng Jicai’s “Dangdai Yulian,” pp. 6–8. (This is not an exhaustive list.) Social Darwinism was known in China in the early twentieth century thanks to Yan Fu’s translations. See Benjamin Schwartz, In Search of Wealth and Power: Yen Fu and the West (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1964), and Vera Schwarcz, The Chinese Enlightenment (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1986). Some works translated by Yan Fu were certainly still being passed around in secret, but in very small numbers. (Xu Naijian describes one zhiqing reading Thomas Huxley’s Evolution and Ethics. See Xu Naijian, “Yangbai de ‘wuran,’” p. 81.) Conversely, Stendhal’s The Red and the Black was a well-known and popular book. The hero, Julien Sorel, was considered a model because the

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“if we didn’t fight individually, we would stay in the countryside until our dying day”75 and that in order to survive in a world without morals it was necessary to adapt. Like the Bengal tigers, they were living in increasingly difficult conditions, and consequently, like the animals, were obliged to become stronger and fiercer.76 So the young people in whom Mao wanted to instill the merit and need for individual sacrifice for the nation and the people discovered the need for egotistical social combat—and even took pleasure in it. This scheming utilization of political activism often went hand in hand with a kind of fatalism and a revival of superstition in a generation that had always ignored or opposed such things.77 This combination, which may seem surprising given Durkheim’s opposition of the concepts of anomie and fatalism,78 is in fact quite easy to explain. The zhiqing’s situation was anomic in the sense that there were no “clear and restrictive” rules governing their return. On the other hand, only a limited number of them could return and the means available to them had no proven efficacy, unless they were the children of high-ranking cadres.79 Their frenzied attempts to return did not prevent them from feeling the burden of their destinies or from seeking to assuage their fears of the future with divinatory practices. The word “destiny”

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obstacles to his social success were not so very different from those faced by the zhiqing. Interview with H. Z. W., June 13, 1984. Zhang Xinxin, “Zai tong yi dipingxian,” p. 228 and passim. Superstition was one of the “Four Olds” the Red Guards tried to combat. Émile Durkheim, Le Suicide (Paris: Alcan, 1930), pp.  264–311, especially note 1, p.  311. Raymond Boudon and François  Bourricaud summarized the antithesis in this way (my translation): “Anomie exists when the individual’s actions are no longer regulated by clear and restrictive norms. In that case, they are likely to set themselves unattainable objectives and give free rein to an escalation of desire and passion, giving in to hybris. Fatalism exists when norms limit individuals’ freedom to choose their ends and the means to achieve them, in an extreme way” (Dictionnaire critique de la sociologie [Paris: PUF, 1982], p. 21). The coexistence of anomie and fatalism is certainly not exceptional for in many situations if everything is possible it is also because nothing is certain. In the specific case of zhiqing from very bad backgrounds, their class status played an inexorable role in their destinies. Their attitude was consequently purely fatalistic since there was nothing they could do except hope for a hypothetical change of policy—except in the border regions where defection was a possible way out. See above, pp. 312–19.

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(mingyun 命運) was often used by zhiqing and is found in xiaxiang literature. Many of them considered that being kept in the countryside against their wishes was a “bad destiny” (e yun 惡運). Their efforts to return to the cities or defect abroad were attempts to “change their destinies” (zhuan yun 轉運), but only destiny itself would know if they would succeed. That was why a fairly large number of zhiqing took up divination. Sometimes they sought out fortunetellers, who had disappeared from the large cities but could still be found in large numbers in the countryside. More often, they managed among themselves. Some practiced physiognomy or read the lines in the palms of hands,80 others organized spiritualism evenings, or called up the “saucer fairy” to ask questions, the replies coming from a sheet of paper covered with Chinese characters underneath an upside-down saucer. Each participant would place a finger on the saucer in the dark. Other spirits replied with the help of chopsticks tracing the shape of characters on a table covered in white powder or by various other traditional Chinese methods.81 Some zhiqing invented their own ways of predicting the future, seeing signs of their future success or failure in all kinds of details in their everyday lives.82 Some tried to influence their fate with lucky charms or praying to Buddha or even the Christian God to help them.83 Thus young people who had left for the countryside as atheists and had fought superstition in the early days of the Cultural Revolution came to implore gods and revert to old-fashioned superstitious practices. Some zhiqing felt ridiculous to be acting in that way but needed the spiritual reassurance.84

80

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83 84

See for example, Zhang Xinxin, “Women zheige nianji de meng,” p. 160. A former zhiqing who was arrested during a first attempt to cross over to Hong Kong told me that in the prison where he was held the zhiqing practiced physiognomy to find out when their fates might improve. Interview with X. C., July 3, 1978. There is a report about an evening spiritualism session among zhiqing in the January 1980 edition of Guanchajia, pp. 40–41. Another such evening is described in “The Saucer Fairy” (“Diexian”) by Ping Ming. This short story was directly inspired by an event the author had participated in as a zhiqing in Zhongshan county (interview with Ping Ming, July 30, 1978). Other methods of divination are described in Whyte and Parish, Urban Life in Contemporary China, pp. 322–23. See for example, Xu Mingxu, “Diaodong,” p.  200. There is an example of this form of superstition in The Red and the Black when Julien Sorel compares himself to a candle that is blown out by the head of the seminary, predicting his death. See Yu Luojin, Le Nouveau conte d’hiver, p. 142; Mingbao, May 5, 1979, p. 8, and September 27, 1980, p. 18. Interview with X. C., July 3, 1978; and Xu Mingxu, “Diaodong,” p. 200.

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Others became profoundly marked by the experience and, if their prayers were answered or their predictions proved correct, remained convinced of the existence of the god or spirit they had invoked.85 These practices apparently spread throughout the 1970s. The intrigues and scheming required to return to the city not only affected the zhiqing’s mentality but helped to demoralize Chinese society as a whole. It was around this time that corruption became widespread among rural cadres, and while xiaxiang was not the only reason for this, it certainly provided the cadres with some excellent corruption opportunities. One zhiqing in Yunnan province, whose name had suddenly disappeared from a first list of people to be hired in the city, hastened to correct his error by giving some velvet cloth to the team head’s wife, and also making that fact known in the village to put pressure on the team head. Since he had “paid his due,” the villagers concurred that he should not be deprived of his wish.86 The rise in the number of returns after 1975 simply increased the number of opportunities to corrupt the cadres. Xiaxiang also provided opportunities for doctors and city cadres to obtain some illicit advantages. Many of the zhiqing’s parents were put through a series of hurdles to get their children home, and found themselves bribing cadres—often for their first time in their lives.87 Parents who were particularly reluctant to “go though the back door” finally resigned themselves to doing so after being subjected to an “ideological reeducation” by their children and realizing that there were no other solutions: “In the beginning my parents were against the idea of going through the back door. They said that before the Cultural Revolution that type of practice was not so widespread. [...] Finally they understood that if they didn’t go through the back door nothing would happen.”88 Thus “comfort groups” of rural cadres who were supposed to comfort the parents, usually came to pick up presents and be wined and dined in exchange for promises that the children would be sent home “at the

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For example, that was the case of Ping Ming, the author of “The Saucer Fairy”; interview with Ping Ming, July 30, 1978. Interview with M. Z. W., December 29, 1984. A good example of how time-consuming it was for parents to try to get their children back can be found in Yue and Wakeman, To the Storm, pp. 331–32, 376– 77. The time and energy they devoted to it certainly impacted labor productivity. Chance, China’s Urban Villagers, p. 91. One female respondent told me something very similar. Interview with R. C. G., January 30, 1986.

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earliest opportunity.”89 Nor did the parents, accompanied by urban cadres, who went to “comfort” their children in the countryside, travel empty-handed. As we have seen, when the parents were cadres themselves there was a strong likelihood that they would use their privileges to bring their offspring back, and cadres who failed to do so for their children and other family members were considered “good for nothing.”90 That contributed to the loss of prestige suffered by the cadres and the party, which was officially recognized at the end of the 1970s.91 The changes in the zhiqing’s mentalities had a contagious effect on the population as a whole. Corruption, “unhealthy practices,” and going through the back door were necessary because of the difficulties in obtaining certain sought-after goods and services. At the time, the single most important thing for a city dweller was to be able to stay in the city or return to it. That was why xiaxiang played such an important part in the erosion of social morality, even though it was not the only cause. When they returned to the cities, the zhiqing also brought back certain ways of thinking and behavior that had been rare beforehand but became commonplace at the end of the 1970s. “Social Darwinism” is one example, meaning here the abandonment of altruistic values and the determination to fight for personal success. Pan Xiao observed this and regretted the influence it had on young city dwellers in her famous letter to China Youth Magazine.92 The revival of superstition and religious beliefs among young people in the cities at this time was chronologically later than its emergence among a segment of the zhiqing. In the 1970s they pursued these practices in the countryside and continued to do so when they returned home. They visited the few temples that were still open and where religious devotion was more or less tolerated. In Zu temple in Foshan (Guangdong province) they threw coins onto the back of a stone turtle in a pond, hoping that the coin would land on the stone rather than the water, which would presage luck in transferring their hukou registration or in crossing over to Hong Kong.93 At the end of the 1970s, when religious activi-

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Yue and Wakeman, To the Storm, pp. 338–39. Zhengming, September 1984, p. 68. See RMRB, June 8, 1979, pp. 1, 4, and HQ 8 (1979), p. 62. See Note 54, Chapter 8. According to Whyte and Parish (Urban Life in Contemporary China, p. 323), that pond was full of coins throughout the 1970s. I saw it myself at the end of 1974 and photographed the famous tortoise, which has a snake carved out on its back. Many respondents confirmed that the zhiqing used to throw coins.

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ties became more broadly tolerated, foreign observers—and indeed the Chinese government itself—were astonished that older people were not alone in religious practice. The zhiqing made up a large proportion of young religious devotees, the others being mainly high school pupils eager to find out if they would be able to stay on in the city or pass the university entrance exam, and unemployed persons hoping for work.94 True, those young people had their own reasons for indulging in these practices, but it was the zhiqing who had set the example.

Extended celibacy, divorce, and marriage motivated by self-interest Refusal of xiaxiang had perverse and fairly long-term effects, even in marriage. That was true of zhiqing of a certain age who had refused to marry, those who married in the countryside but still tried to return, and those who married a city dweller for the sole purpose of returning to the city. At the end of the 1970s and the early 1980s, a new problem emerged in Chinese cities: the large number of unmarried people aged around 30. That was particularly serious for the women, since their chances of finding a husband at that age were poor. Following a number of articles in the press and academic studies on the subject, the government moved at the highest level, with Hu Yaobang and Chen Yun issuing directives on the subject, and held a meeting of the Central Committee Secretariat.95 To solve a problem they feared would have disastrous social consequences, marriage bureaus were set up in all the large cities and go-betweens returned to favor in a modern form. Xiaxiang was one of the main causes of this problem and several surveys showed that a large number of unmarried women of a certain age were former zhiqing. The men were less affected by it because age was considered less important for them since men were usually older than women when they married. The problem was exacerbated by the fact that there were more female zhiqing than male ones in the countryside at the end of the 1970s,96 since the factories preferred to hire men. Many female zhiqing who returned to the city after many years in the countryside had a hard time finding jobs, 94 95 96

Jiefang ribao, n.d., in Mingbao, May 5, 1979, p. 8; Mingbao, September 27, 1980, p. 18; Guangjiaojing, November 16, 1980, p. 12. See for example, RMRB, June 1, 1984, p. 1; Beijing wanbao, July 4, 1984, p. 1; Zhongguo funü 7 (1984), pp. 14–15, and 9 (a special issue devoted to the problem). Thus among the 26,463 unmarried zhiqing aged over 25 who returned to the cities in Jilin province after 1979, 16,856 (64 percent) were women; the oldest was aged 36. See Jilin shengzhi, p. 96.

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and when they finally had time to consider marriage, they discovered that they had reached an age where it was difficult to find a partner.97 Others who had passed university entrance exams in 1977 or 1978 were not authorized to marry or even have a relationship during their studies, and found that their age and their qualifications were a disadvantage when they graduated since men apparently preferred women who were not only younger, but also less clever and educated.98 The xiaxiang policy authorizing one child per family to stay in the city or return home exacerbated the problem by creating a shortage of men in the cities during the 1970s. The imbalance was created by the parents, who usually chose daughters to stay with them,99 believing they would look after them better and that rustication was harder and more dangerous for a girl. In Beijing in the 1970s there was an unusual ratio of women to men, but with so many zhiqing coming back in 1979, there was a return to what was considered equilibrium, that is to say a slightly higher proportion of young men than young women.100 However, there continued to be a shortage of young men for a number of years, and when the men returned they preferred to choose young women below the age of 30, even when they were not so young themselves. Xiaxiang policy was therefore an important factor in this social problem too.101

97 98

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See Xin guancha 8 (1981), pp.  24–25; Shehui 3 (1984), pp.  27–29; and Pékin Information, February 10, 1986, pp. 15–19. Which explains why 46.5 percent of university graduates were “difficult cases” for the matrimonial agency in Haidian (a district of Beijing, where most of the higher education establishments are located). See Xin guancha 8 (1981), p. 24. Ibid., p. 25. BJRB, May 31, 1980, p.  2. On the surface, this “shortage” of young women in the 1970s seems to contradict the fact that at the end of 1978 more women were remaining in the countryside than men. In fact it does not, since the female zhiqing remaining in the countryside were among those who left at the start of the movement, before the 1973 reforms. Their younger counterparts had more luck in avoiding rustication. Among the other factors, the late marriage policy and the “puritan revolutionary” perception of love also played an important role. While not denying these factors, Chinese demographers have tried to explain the phenomenon mainly as a combination of a cultural factor (at least 80 percent of couples were composed of men who were older than their wives, the average age difference being two years) and a demographic one (rapid demographic growth until 1963). Thus the problem would be because any cohort of women of a given age is always numerically

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If xiaxiang caused problems for zhiqing who had refused to envisage marriage in the countryside, it also caused problems for those who did marry, because a fairly large number of them divorced their local spouses or broke off their engagements.102 Sometimes couples had to arrange fake divorces to achieve their ends. One Shanghai zhiqing married to a truck driver from Nanchang (Jiangxi province) and living in that town but without a household registration (hukou) persuaded her husband to fake a divorce certificate so that she could return to Shanghai. The husband hoped that she could then obtain a permit to live in Nanchang, but thanks to the fake certificate she returned to Shanghai and got a job there on the pretext of replacing a retired parent (dingti). She then remarried a man who believed that she had really divorced. However, she was found out and her first husband took her to court to oblige her to return to Nanchang. As a result, she was fired by her work unit and received an 18-month prison sentence for bigamy (one year of which was suspended).103 The situation was even more difficult when the separating couple had children and gave rise to a new social phenomenon in the 1980s and 1990s that was both emotionally difficult and legally complex: the arrival in the cities of the children of former zhiqing in search of their parents. One

102

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superior to that of the men born two years earlier. See, for instance, Zheng Yefu, “Beijing chengqu nan nü hunpei bili shitiao yuanyin chutan” (First Thoughts on the Causes of the Imbalance between Men and Women in the Beijing Urban Area Wanting to Marry), Shehui 2 (1982), pp.  20–25, and Zheng Yefu, “Duiyu hunpei shitiao yuanyin de tantao” (Research on the Causes of the Imbalance in Candidates for Marriage), RKYJ 5 (1983), pp.  47–49. These factors should certainly be taken into account, but do not fully explain the problem. Indeed, while these parameters were more or less the same in the city and in the countryside, the problem of extended spinsterhood for women was a purely urban one. In Shanghai at the end of 1979, 24 percent of women aged 30 were single, whereas the rate in the suburban areas was only 3 percent and the national level was even lower. The situation was similar in Beijing. See Shehui kexue 6 (1980), p.  36, and Beijing wanbao, July 4, 1984, p. 1. An official report mentions two legal disputes in which zhiqing from Shanghai tried to break off their commitments to local women with whom they had had sexual relations in order to return to the city. Obliged to marry following police and legal intervention, they nevertheless succeeded in transferring their hukou in the meantime. In one case the forced marriage ended rapidly in divorce, and in the other by a de facto separation. See Hunyin anjian yibai li, pp. 8–9, 10–14. Ibid., pp. 114–15.

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successful novel, turned into an equally successful TV movie, told such a story about children searching for their Shanghai-born fathers who had abandoned them in Xishuangbanna.104 Divorces for married zhiqing couples from different cities were usually genuine but short-lived ones, because the former spouses remarried once they obtained their urban residency. Transferring a hukou from one large city to another was easier, and the couple was usually able to get together again. After 1978 it was no longer even necessary to divorce, but getting back together in the same city remained difficult. The following quotation is from a study of immigration from Beijing between 1980 and 1982: “A majority of the population transiting in Beijing on its way to Tianjin comprises female educated youth from Beijing who married another educated youth from elsewhere while in the countryside and emigrated again after having returned to Beijing.”105 While it was possible to “go down” to another city from Beijing, the reverse was not so easy. In 1981, I met a former zhiqing in Beijing who had spent ten years in the Great North, and whose wife, from Harbin, was unable to obtain a Beijing residency. She was therefore living illegally in Beijing and unable to find work. The husband had obtained a job managing a newsstand from the Street Committee and the couple was living in the newsstand itself.106 For many years, some zhiqing lived in the major cities with their husbands or wives (former zhiqing from other cities or from the countryside) but without a hukou. I met one zhiqing in 1986 whose wife, an ethnic Mongol, lived illegally in Beijing. Their problems were not so much financial; their main concern was that they could not have children under those conditions because children automatically take on their mother’s residency.107 Another way of refusing xiaxiang for women was for them to find a husband in their hometowns. That was fairly commonplace but was also problematic.108 The young women felt they were both socially and morally

104 105 106 107 108

Ye Xin, Niezhai (The Bad Debt) (Nanjing: Jiangsu wenyi chubanshe, 1992). Renkou yu jingji (RKYJJ) 5 (1984), p. 36. Interview with Q. Z., May 29, 1981. Interview with C. B. Y., June 15, 1986. That was the case of one respondent (interview with R.  C.  G., January 30, 1986) and a friend of a former zhiqing whose story was reported by Feng Jicai. According to him, “many zhiqing took this path” (“Weida de shounanzhemen,” p. 12). One widely discussed case was that of Yu Luojin, Yu Luoke’s young sister, who used this means a first time to move from a poor rural area to a rich one, and then after divorcing, used it again to return to Beijing. Her second husband

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degraded by going into a loveless marriage for utilitarian purposes and accepting a spouse who was usually far older and less educated, or who had some physical defect or disability.109 They felt they were subjected to unfair social degradation solely because they did not have an urban residency and that “their unique worth lay in being female.”110 That way of escaping their rural destiny contributed to the growing utilitarianism in interpersonal relationships that began at that time and continued throughout the 1980s.111 It also contributed to the sharp number of divorces at the end of the 1970s and early 1980s. Indeed, unions formed under those conditions were rarely happy ones, and when the young women got their urban registration back, they were tempted to ask for a divorce. They did not do so with an easy heart, for being a 30-plus divorcee strongly reduced their chances of finding that ideal husband, and they often found themselves in even more difficult situations than the zhiqing who had remained single.112

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accused her of using him unscrupulously when she asked for a divorce again in 1980. A national debate raged in the legal review Minzhu yu fazhi between those for and against the divorce, which was granted by the court. The book published by Yu justifying her utilitarian attitude was criticized by the entire Chinese press. See Yu Luojin, Le Nouveau conte d’hiver, as well as the second part of her autobiography, “Chuntian de tonghua” (Spring Tale), which appeared in the magazine Huacheng 1 (1982), pp. 141–221. See also, Minzhu yu fazhi 1 (1981), pp. 26–29, and 2, pp. 13–22; GRRB, May 17, 1982, p. 5; Yangcheng wanbao, May 20, 1982, p. 2; Nanfang ribao, May 14, 1982, p. 4. Interviews with R.  C.  G., January 30, 1986, and G.  M., May 25, 1984. This problem is also dealt with in literature; see, for example, Liu Feng, “Bonne chance!” in Le retour du père (Paris: Belfond, 1981), p.  200, and Xu Mingxu, “Diaodong,” p. 212. Feng Jicai, “Weida de shounanzhemen,” p. 12. Thomas  B. Gold, “After Comradeship: Personal Relations in China since the Cultural Revolution,” China Quarterly 104 (December 1985), pp.  657–75. In this interesting article Gold does not sufficiently demonstrate, in my view, the continuity between the utilitarianism of the 1966–1978 period and the commercialization of human relations in the later period. The egotistical and self-interested nature of interpersonal relations remained the same, but whereas previously “status” was sought (urban, class, etc.), after the opening up of the market and the production of consumer goods, money and material goods gained the upper hand. Interviews with R. C. G., January 30, 1986, and with K. Z., July 8, 1986.

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Hit and Run Some zhiqing preferred more direct methods to the devious strategies mentioned above. When Zhang Xinxin was sent to a military farm in the great Manchurian north in 1969, she found that the land had been cleared but was infested with mosquitos. Very disappointed by this new environment, she and several equally young and foolish friends hastily planned to flee by truck. Of course this childish plan was doomed to failure and the young people were thereafter treated as bad elements.113 At that time and in that kind of place, any spontaneous reaction to flee could only abort. But a few years later, returning illegally to the city or, in some regions, defecting abroad, became a common means of fleeing the countryside, especially among zhiqing in the villages.

Illegal return to the city From the early 1970s many zhiqing who had given up all hope of being able to return home legally decided to prolong family visits indefinitely, or at most return to their production teams once a year to buy their grain rations. Since their stay in the city was illegal and they were officially registered in the countryside, they became known as hei ren hei hu 黑人黑戶 (“black” residents, or illegals). Their numbers grew throughout the 1970s and by 1975 there were already hundreds of thousands of them across the country.114 The extent of this phenomenon showed that the residence control system in the cities was far from perfect, and that passive—and massive—resistance by zhiqing was fairly effective. In March 1979 the authorities estimated that more than 1,500 Shanghai zhiqing had returned illegally from Xinjiang

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Interview with Zhang Xinxin, July 2, 1984. Having refused to take part in such an unrealistic escape plan, Zhang Xinxin was considered a good element. Less than a year later, she joined the army thanks to her father’s connections (ibid.). Interviews, and Richard J. R. Kirkby, Urbanization in China: Town and Country in a Developing Economy, 1949–2000 A.D. (New York: Columbia University Press, 1985), p. 27. It is difficult to be more precise. While official figures at the time were already suspect, it is harder to deal with rumors about illegals, which by their very nature are impossible to count. At the end of the 1970s, there were allegedly between 200,000 and 300,000 illegal residents in Shanghai. Interviews, and Libération, January 5, 1979. Even if the real number did not exceed 100,000, it would still be 10 percent of all the Shanghai zhiqing who had been rusticated, and perhaps 15 percent or 20 percent of those still in the countryside.

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province over the past ten years115 even though it was harder for the young people on the farms to flee, especially in Xinjiang where the leaders generally went looking for them, which was not usually the case for the village production teams. Often the district and residents’ committees in charge of supervising urban inhabitants turned a blind eye to illegal returns. Perhaps they grew tired of sending back zhiqing who returned a few months later, or they were afraid of these very determined young people “hardened” by their marginal existence, or they may have been sympathetic to their problems.116 However, from time to time they were obliged to organize massive hukou checks with the police. These usually occurred before and after the Chinese New Year holiday, and most young people managed to hide during these roundups, helped by their parents and friends. The residency checks were not the most dissuasive measures against the illegals. By preventing work units from hiring them, the authorities ensured that they were unable to obtain the ration tickets necessary to buy food and vital necessities. These measures also applied to the zhiqing who refused to leave for the countryside. While that “economic blockade” did prevent the majority of zhiqing from returning to the cities, the inconvenient result was a population of idle young “illegals” living on the fringes of society and drawn to petty crime and delinquency. While the city provided more (official) amusements and cultural activities than the countryside, these were still insufficient to fill the days of the young unemployed, so they quickly reverted to their illicit rural distractions: gaming, flirting, reading illegal books, and so on.117 Now, however, they had to take greater precautions. In 1977, zhiqing in Shanghai who enjoyed listening to old records of Zhou Xuan’s songs and playing mah-jongg—both of which were illegal—devised a system whereby one person stood on guard to warn the others if anyone was coming down their alleyway, to give them time to put away the records and mah-jongg board and hoist them up a floor above.118 Thanks to their families, some young people found menial temporary 115 116

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Xinjiang tongzhi—Laodongzhi, p. 67. These positions were usually held by retired women who “liked to boss people around and stick their noses into other people’s business,” but who could also be frightened or capable of compassion. Interviews, and Whyte and Parish, Urban Life in Contemporary China, p. 259. In Guangdong province, many prepared their departure for Hong Kong. Zhengming, July 1984, p. 70.

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jobs for one yuan a day, on construction sites for instance.119 Others sold their blood.120 Many carried out some kind of illegal trade, either touting tickets for shows on the black market, making furniture, selling fish they had caught, or raising domestic animals.121 Some went into the black market in a big way, or, in Guangdong, falsified ID papers to sell to zhiqing wanting to defect to Hong Kong. Several of my interviewees had known zhiqing who became pickpockets in Guangdong. They mainly worked in the rush-hour buses, especially on payday.122 The use of knives in armed robberies was quite frequent. In 1978 one of my respondents, the daughter of a high-ranking cadre in Shanghai, was obliged to hand over her watch to a thief who told her, either to justify himself or to scare her, that he was a zhiqing. She didn’t protest because one of her friends had been knifed shortly before for having attempted to resist a similar kind of robbery.123 It was also during this time that organized gangs of hoodlums were formed and sometimes fought each other for territorial control, usually with knives but sometimes even with guns stolen during the Cultural Revolution. Some female zhiqing also stole and a larger number became prostitutes. Until the end of xiaxiang, urban prostitution seems mainly to have been the preserve of illegally returned young female zhiqing. Toward the end of the 1970s, they were quite visible in Guangdong, where the “engines” (as they were called) would approach Hong Kong Chinese visitors. That was how one resident of the then British colony was held for fifteen days in 1979 and sentenced to a fine before being deported back to Hong Kong for having had sexual relations with a 19-year-old zhiqing prostitute in Guangdong.124 Despite the considerable means at their disposal, the urban authorities were unable to deal with the zhiqing and other unemployed youths since they could provide them with no alternatives. The ineffectiveness of the normal

119 120 121 122 123 124

Interviews with J. S. G., July 9, 1978, and M. Z. L., July 18, 1978. Beijing zhi chun 2 (January 27, 1979), in Widor, Documents sur le Mouvement démocratique chinois, p. 166. In Guangzhou, some went into “sea-earth-air” raising (goldfish, dogs, and pigeons). Interview with J. S. G., July 9, 1978. Before bank transfers became commonplace, wages were paid in cash. Interview with N. G. G., October 4, 1979. Mingbao, January 9, 1980, p.  2. See also a reader’s account in Mingbao, July 22, 1978, p. 14; Michel and Huang He, Avoir 20 ans en Chine, pp. 112, 116–17. A defense plea by a zhiqing prostitute can be found in the short story called “At Nightfall” (Guo Bing, “Wanjian,” Guanchajia 10 [1979], pp. 74–76).

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means of control and repression led to a deterioration of policing methods and beating became commonplace for petty crime. When zhiqing pickpockets in Guangdong were caught they usually received a beating at the police station before being locked up in the Shahe detention center prior to being transferred to prison in the county they had been rusticated to and ultimately being sent back to their production teams. Second offenders, people taking part in armed robbery, or members of an organized gang, together with anyone carrying out wide-scale illicit trade, were punished by several years in a reform- or reeducation-through-labor camp.125 Prostitutes were usually sent to reform-throughlabor camps for a year or two. However, these measures did little to stop the rise in delinquency, which was prompted by the continuation of xiaxiang policy. So when the authorities had exhausted all other resources, they organized crime-fighting campaigns to eliminate some of the hooligans and frighten off others. In 1977, a major nationwide campaign was launched, during which heavy sentences were passed out, including several death sentences.126 During the xiaxiang period, illegally returned zhiqing were “the most serious threat to the social control system in the cities.”127 The reason this was such a problem was that the young people needed to find ways to survive outside the legal framework,128 and indeed, had nothing to gain by obeying the law. A compliant attitude would not get them what they most wanted: permission to stay in the city and a job in a work unit, so running the risk of a prison sentence was perfectly justified to avoid the pain of a prolonged spell in the countryside. The rise in urban delinquency during this period was therefore largely attributable to xiaxiang policy and, more specifically, to the young people’s rejection of it, since it mainly concerned illegally returned zhiqing. Nor did the prospect of rustication for high school students, whatever their attitude at school or on the streets, encourage them to respect the law

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Sentences varied considerably depending on the political atmosphere at the moment, the degree to which the accused wished to repent and assist the police, and the victim’s status. One zhiqing from Guangdong who had stolen from a soldier was sentenced to fifteen years in prison in 1977. See Baixing, March 16, 1982, p. 27. See, for example, Zafanolli, “Hua Guofeng justicier”; Mingbao, May 29, 1977. Whyte and Parish, Urban Life in Contemporary China, p. 257. All my respondents agreed about the rise in crime and juvenile delinquency, as did all the “official” specialists in China, but the figures they provided were so variable that it is best not to even attempt to quantify the rise.

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and social conventions. The lack of any relationship between personal attitudes and social sanctions, which characterized the period 1968–1976, largely explains the erosion of the social climate at the time.129 The influence of xiaxiang on urban delinquency continued after rustication ended, because the massive return of the zhiqing at the end of the 1970s and the early 1980s seriously exacerbated the problem of youth unemployment. Out of 122 prostitutes aged between 15 and 25 arrested in the city of Guangdong between January and April 1980, only 7 percent were zhiqing who had not yet obtained their urban residency. That low rate may be explained by the fact that nearly all the zhiqing had by then been authorized to return to the cities, but half of them were “waiting for work.”130 There were certainly zhiqing among them who had returned legally but were still unemployed, while the youngest of them were indirect victims of xiaxiang, since the returned zhiqing were low in priority when it came to filling the jobs available.131

Defecting abroad Despite the large scale of illegal returns to the city, they only concerned a minority of zhiqing. Most did not consider illegal return to be a solution since illegals had even less chance than zhiqing remaining in the countryside of regaining their urban residency and finding a job. However, in the border regions there was a far more radical solution for “leaving the sea of bitterness,” and that was to leave China by illegally crossing the border. The only mass occurrence of that kind was the crossing over to Hong Kong by young Cantonese, but some zhiqing did flee in all the border regions. I heard of some defections to North Korea and Mongolia, but without further details.132 Several sources confirmed stories of zhiqing in Manchuria defecting

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Viewed from this angle, the concomitant rise in delinquency among the children of high-ranking cadres can be explained in the same way as delinquency among the less-privileged segment of society, whereas Whyte and Parish (Urban Life in Contemporary China, p.  257) see a contradiction here. Indeed, if the “golden jackets” as they were known, could steal, carry out illegal trafficking, and even kill with impunity, protected by their status, it was because the connection between behavior and social sanctions had been broken for them too. Guangjiaojing, November 16, 1980, p. 10. See below, p. 404–5. Interview with B. C. G., January 10, 1984; and Michel and Huang He, Avoir 20 ans en Chine, p. 176.

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to the Soviet Union, but that was exceptional.133 Crossing over to the USSR was considered “treason to the motherland” and led to severe sentences for anyone caught, as well as the many who were returned by the Soviet authorities.134 If they did succeed, such an act could cause problems for their families and friends. Defecting to Taiwan from Fujian province was also considered treason, since the Nationalist government there was still theoretically at war with the Communist government on the mainland.135 Apparently the zhiqing who risked crossing over to the USSR or to Taiwan did so not only to flee rural life, but because they had specific reasons for leaving the country, such as fear of arrest. The zhiqing in Yunnan and Guangxi provinces who crossed over to Vietnam and those in Yunnan who fled to Laos and Burma went for very different reasons. In the early years of xiaxiang, it appeared as an heroic alternative to the dreadful life in the countryside. As one hero in a short story put it, “My life was uninteresting, I felt useless. [...] So I thought to myself, I’d feel better if there was a war.”136 At the time every young person dreamed of joining the army since that generation had been raised in a cult of military-hero-worship. According to a documentary made by former zhiqing, “Since childhood, the Three Promotions were trained to have a fatal admiration for war. Propaganda constantly presented war as a path to glory. That was what had made heroes of their fathers.”137 Many zhiqing hoped for a third

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Interviews with K.  K.  Z., July 11, 1984, and with a Soviet sinologist in 1977 (following footnote). See also Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, p. 509; Zhang Kangkang, “Ta,” p. 7; Liang Xiaosheng, “Zhe shi yipian shenqi de tudi,” p. 12. A famous Soviet sinologist confirmed this fact in 1977, explaining that the Soviet authorities sent back a large number of these “illegal immigrants” because they were afraid they had been sent as spies by the Chinese government. Even those who were authorized to remain were kept under special surveillance. There are two firsthand reports of this. One was from a Red Guard who feared political problems as well as the prospect of xiaxiang, while the second was a former zhiqing also with political problems. See Ken Ling, The Revenge of Heaven (New York: Putnam, 1972), pp.  384–96; A Lao, Jiaoyin (Footprints) (Taibei: Youshi wenhua shiye gongsi, 1976), pp. 319–34. Wang Xiaobo, “Si shui liu nian,” p. 168. Xiao Jian and Guo Xiaodong, Lao sanjie yu gongheguo tong xing, p.  150. This is the script of a long documentary, part of which deals with the zhiqing crossing the border to Vietnam and Laos. According to a person who worked on the film, the reference to this type of revolutionary export may have explained why the documentary was never aired on Chinese state TV, even though it had been made specifically for that purpose.

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world war, thinking, like one interviewee: “At least a conflict like that would change things. And if I had to die, well at least I would die on a battlefield— and who knows, perhaps become a hero—rather than rot in this hole!”138 At the time, young people thought, like Mao, that China should be “the source and the headquarters of the world revolution.”139 It was therefore natural to want to go to one of the three neighboring countries that were waging a war “against imperialism.” Many zhiqing throughout China shared that dream,140 but only those who were rusticated to the southwest border regions could actually make that a reality. Some zhiqing who “admired Che Guevara,”141 went to Vietnam, fired by the spirit of international brigades. Those who went to Burma usually had no choice but to join the army of the Maoist-leaning Communist Party of Burma (CPB).142 In the early years of xiaxiang, zhiqing who crossed the border ready to sacrifice themselves “so that Mao Zedong Thought could make the whole world red,”143 or at least live like soldiers rather than peasants, were neither actively encouraged nor forbidden by the Chinese government, but simply tolerated. It is impossible to know how many zhiqing crossed into these countries. Not only were such departures clandestine at the time, but they remain a state secret even today. As one zhiqing who had fought in Laos said, “Many people of our generation sacrificed their youths there, but at the time nobody knew about it and now all traces have disappeared.” However, the families of the “martyrs” who died in combat in

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Michel and Huang He, Avoir 20 ans en Chine, p. 133. Xiao Jian and Guo Xiaodong, Lao sanjie yu gongheguo tong xing, p.  150; interview with P. H. Z., July 27, 2000. A zhiqing who was then in Hainan Island, said: “I dreamed of the day the world revolution would break out and we educated youth could say goodbye to the countryside and rush to Europe and America.” See Yazhou zhoukan 26 (July 2, 2000), p. 46. Bai Hua, “Tingluju shengshuaiji,” p. 87. Interviews with M. Z. W., October 5, 1979, and January 23, 1986; with M. X. Y., June 19, 1981; Michel and Huang He, Avoir 20 ans en Chine, p.  164; Chen Mingjie, “Yige hongweibing canjia Miangong de gushi” (Story of a Red Guard Who Joined the Communist Party of Burma), Jiushi niandai, October 1984, pp.  68–72. This short story, a blend of reportage and fiction, was written by a former Yunnan zhiqing who emigrated to the United States. While he was a zhiqing in the Dehong region, his cousin and several friends crossed over into Burma. More than half of them, including his cousin, lost their lives there. Chen Mingjie, “Yige hongweibing canjia Miangong de gushi,” p. 68.

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Vietnam were recognized as such.144 In southwest China more people crossed over into Burma, doubtless because of the Burmese government’s inability to control the long border between the two countries. Once they succeeded in crossing the junglecovered mountains, the young people arrived in regions controlled by the CPB. The zhiqing fled for a variety of reasons, sometimes a mere quarrel with a superior or a lover’s tiff. Those who did not want to enlist in the army were promptly taken back to the Chinese border.145 The others became soldiers and after a time were allowed to join the CPB, but opportunities for promotion were limited, since the Burmese (or to be precise the Kachin who made up the CPB membership in these regions) held on to all the important posts and only gave deputy positions to the Chinese. The soldiers’ life was a dangerous one and many were wounded or killed. If a young zhiqing died in combat, the CPB army would send his family a “martyr’s certificate” (lieshi zhengmingshu 烈士證明書), but this was not recognized by the Chinese government and gave the grieving parents no advantages whatsoever. In 1975, when the CPB was on the verge of collapse as a result of internecine quarrels, most zhiqing returned to China. They were not treated as ordinary zhiqing, and in Kunming the military region’s administrative offices had a special unit charged with placing them. Those who stayed on in Burma met with rather sad fates and for many the only solution was to join drug trafficking gangs in the region.146 Throughout the early xiaxiang period, zhiqing crossed to Burma in the hope of getting to Thailand, and possibly from there to the West, but very few succeeded. Others simply left without having given it much thought, having lost all their illusions.147 Later, getting to the West became the goal for 144

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Xiao Jian and Guo Xiaodong, Lao sanjie yu gongheguo tong xing, p.  152. The mother of Zhao Jianjun, a zhiqing who was killed in Vietnam, was interviewed in this documentary (ibid., p. 151). Doubtless because of the close ties between the CPB and the Chinese authorities, one Xishuangbanna zhiqing, who was wanted by the police, preferred to attempt the long passage to the USSR rather than into nearby Burma (see the sentencing notice reproduced in the July 1979 issue of Mingbao yuekan, p. 50). A writer from Sichuan province who had crossed over to Burma briefly when he was a zhiqing in Yunnan province provided some information about their fate during a trip there in 1998. See Deng Xian, Liulang Jinsanjiao (Peregrinations in the Golden Triangle) (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 2000). That was the case for a writer who then went to Taiwan and recounted her tragic experience in a novel. Zeng Yan, Chuangdang Jinsanjiao (Wandering in the Golden Triangle) (Beijing: Zhongguo gongren chubanshe, 2002).

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all those crossing into Burma, but by then border controls had grown much tighter. Undoubtedly the greatest magnet for the zhiqing was Hong Kong. Despite the risks involved, crossing over into the British colony became a common practice among young Cantonese (the zhiqing from other provinces had little chance of reaching the border region without being noticed).148 It was the only region where a relatively large number of zhiqing defected. Nearly all the zhiqing originally from Guangdong province and all those sent to counties along the Pearl River Delta considered crossing over to Hong Kong.149 The British authorities observed a regular increase in illegal arrivals into the colony from 1970. According to official estimates, the number of illegal immigrants rose from 7,000 in 1970, to 12,000 in 1971, 20,000 in 1972, 25,000 in 1973, and 30,000 in 1974.150 The majority of these migrants were certainly zhiqing, but it would be unrealistic to even attempt to put a precise figure on that, let alone the percentage of Cantonese zhiqing crossing over to

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Some zhiqing first crossed over into the Portuguese colony of Macau, the other side of the Pearl River estuary, but this small town was only a brief stopover on the way to Hong Kong since anyone caught there was sent straight back to China. Anyone fleeing to Macau had to find a place in the hold of a ship that specialized in illegal passage to Hong Kong, which was not too difficult if they had a family member living in the colony prepared to pay the price. Even Cantonese zhiqing sent to remote areas succeeded in crossing over by taking advantage of a long family visit to Guangzhou or another southern town to prepare their departure. Among my respondents who made it to Hong Kong, two had been rusticated to Hainan Island and one to the Leizhou Peninsula. See Director of Immigration, Hong Kong Annual Departmental Report, quoted in Anita Chan, Children of Mao, p. 237. These figures are reliable because at the time the Chinese crossing over to Hong Kong were considered refugees and were not sent back to China. It was in their interest to report to the immigration services to obtain an ID card. Numbers for the years 1970 to 1974 were far higher than those recorded since the early 1950s, except for 1962, when 142,000 persons, mainly peasants, crossed the frontier illegally. However, the two periods are not comparable because from the end of April to the end of May 1962 the Chinese border guards ceased to control the frontier and allowed the peasants hit by the famine resulting from the Great Leap Forward to cross over. This exodus mainly took place during those six weeks. See Hong Kong Government, Hong Kong, Report for the Year 1962 (Hong Kong: Hong Kong Government Press, 1963), pp. 211–13, and Hong Kong, Report for the Year 1963 (Hong Kong: Hong Kong Government Press, 1964), p. 231.

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Hong Kong.151 Then from 1975–1976, most Cantonese zhiqing managed to return to the cities and subsequent rustication was carried out under more acceptable conditions, so the proportion of zhiqing among the illegal immigrants dropped sharply. By then the peasants had taken over and formed the majority. Here I shall only give a brief outline of the preparations and the way the Cantonese zhiqing crossed over to Hong Kong. Interested readers may refer to the detailed chapter on the subject in a book I coauthored.152 Some disappointed Red Guards who feared political problems crossed over to Hong Kong in 1967–1968 and some zhiqing crossed over as early as 1969.153 But it was only from 1970 (and still more in 1972) that crossing over to Hong Kong became a solution to their problems for a large number of zhiqing. For many, it even became an obsessive raison d’être. Crossing over to Hong Kong was not an individual matter but a collective clandestine activity. To help each other and give each other courage, zhiqing often crossed over in groups of two, three, or four and more. Even those who left alone needed to obtain information or specific items from the others. Making the illegal passage (toudu 偷渡) therefore became an important subject of conversation between friends, who discussed the best ways of doing so and the best places to do it, how to find a detailed map of the region, or to buy or make some kind of compass or falsify papers to allow them to travel around the border region, how to buy the rubber required to make an inflatable dinghy, and so on. The illegal crossing triggered all kinds of illicit trade that involved more people than just the zhiqing.154 The young people who decided to leave formed a kind of brotherhood 151

152 153

154

Our Cantonese respondents, who were not all posted to counties directly bordering Hong Kong, reported zhiqing defection rates in their production teams ranging from 30 percent to 75 percent. However, these percentages have no overall value since departures were often collective, with some zhiqing influencing their comrades. Michel and Huang He, Avoir 20 ans en Chine, pp. 155–81. See, for example, Gordon Bennett and Ronald Montaperto, Red Guard: The Political Biography of Dai Hsiao-ai (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1971). Only one of our interviewees had made a first failed attempt in 1969. There were professional “people smugglers,” but their price (around 500 yuan at the time) was too high for most zhiqing. Peasants and fishermen came in their boats. A zoo employee from Guangzhou was apparently arrested for having regularly sold tiger excrement to zhiqing, since the smell was supposed to frighten the police dogs sent to catch the runaways (interview with G.  M., December 1, 1980).

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united by a common and secret goal. Unlike zhiqing wanting to return legally to the city, they were not in competition. It was in their interest to help each other, exchange addresses and plans and even past experience in the case of those who had already unsuccessfully attempted the venture. However, caution was also necessary to prevent their plans from reaching the ears of the cadres, so terms such as “K-city” (K cheng K 城)155 were used to designate Hong Kong. Like the other zhiqing, they expressed their desire to leave in song. Most of the Cantonese zhiqing’s songs were about fleeing to Hong Kong, but even those who had not yet made up their minds enjoyed singing them.156 The possibility of crossing over to Hong Kong thus reinforced the dissident nature of the Guangdong zhiqing’s underground culture, which was similar to a counterculture in the sense that those conveying it had a solution to their problems with government policy. One might say that the zhiqing who decided to leave formed a counter-society, since they expected nothing from the government and could disregard certain proprieties and official values. The only case I know of an open demand for sexual freedom concerned a female zhiqing in Guangdong province. Caught in bed with a zhiqing from her team by some cadres, she was asked to make her self-criticism and accuse her “seducer,” but she was bold enough to reply that she had fully consented and that this was a private matter that did not concern them. The simple explanation for this act of daring was that the lovers had already decided to leave, the young man having already made a previous failed attempt. A few months later, after being duly criticized by the cadres, both succeeded in getting to Hong Kong.157 The zhiqing rallied around when any of them decided to flee and united against the police, and I heard many examples of this.158 They also tended to consult each other, and attempt to influence their future by means of various superstitious practices,159 for they were undertaking an extremely dangerous and precarious project. Each crossing was a dramatic experience that put the individuals’ lives at risk,160 although if they were caught the consequences

155 156 157 158 159 160

The letter K was pronounced the English way. We have portions of seven of these, five of which were published in Huang He and Bei Dou magazines. See Note 44 in this chapter. Interview with Y. S., July 26, 1978. See Michel and Huang He, Avoir 20 ans en Chine, pp. 134–35, 137. See Ping Ming, “Diexian.” By chance I witnessed the arrival of two “freedom swimmers” during the same night in 1973, on the little island of Pingzhou, close to China but still part of

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were not as serious as in the case of crossing into the USSR or Taiwan. If they were not accused of any other crimes, the fugitives were not sentenced but kept in a detention center (shourongsuo 收容所) for about one month, or longer in the case of repeat offenders.161 The extent of the problem may explain the relatively light punishments meted out to those who were caught. The authorities were probably unwilling to overload the prisons or trivialize the “counterrevolutionary” label, but above all they were wary of the special ties between the British colony and Guangdong province. Considered to be Chinese territory provisionally under British administration, Hong Kong was inhabited by a majority of Cantonese who still had many family members living in the province they had left not so long ago. Anything that happened in Guangdong province was soon known in Hong Kong and from there, spread to the entire Chinese diaspora. Hong Kong compatriots and the Overseas Chinese were the objects of intense rivalry between the Communists on the mainland and the Nationalists in Taiwan, with each seeking their political and economic support. It would not therefore have been appropriate to impose severe punishments on young people from this community, since most of them had family of one kind or another in Hong Kong. Furthermore, the fact of being a zhiqing was considered a mitigating factor, so when the fugitives were released after being detained for an unpleasant but short period, and sent back to their production teams, the peasants often felt sorry for them and the cadres usually kept their mandatory criticism to a minimum. Attempts to flee were, however, marked in people’s individual files and were a disadvantage in any attempt to return legally to the

161

Hong Kong. The first swimmer, from the northern part of Guangdong, had been obliged to leave his brother behind when he was shot and wounded by militia. The second had left with a friend, who was not a good swimmer and failed to make it. The difficulties in crossing over to Pingzhou Island were mentioned in two short stories: Hong Xiang, “Haizhou” (The Curse of the Sea), in Wu Mang et al., Gan you ge yin dongdi ai (Let Us Dare to Sing of Earth-Shattering Grief) (Hong Kong: Qishi niandai, 1975), p.  265, and Liu Feng, “Bonne chance!” The second, published in an underground review in Guangzhou in 1979, matches what I learned about the motivations of the zhiqing wanting to get to Hong Kong, and how they prepared for it. But the two zhiqing who attempted the crossing armed with guns they had obtained during the Cultural Revolution, and who opened fire on the border guards, although without wounding any, were sentenced to twenty years in prison. Interview with M. W. C., July 14, 1978.

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city. Because the sanctions on failed attempts to reach Hong Kong were insufficient to prevent them from attempting the journey again, there was a high rate of recurrences. The majority of zhiqing only succeeded in crossing over after two to four attempts, if not more.162 Why did so many young people risk their lives crossing over to Hong Kong and face the shame and pain of arrest?163 The press in the colony, especially the English-language press, often claimed that rumors in Guangdong painted Hong Kong as some kind of marvelous Eldorado with streets paved in gold. None of my sources could confirm such rumors, which, given the ties that existed between the colony and its original province, were highly unlikely. At most, some of the would-be fugitives underestimated the amount of work it would take to acquire a decent standard of living in Hong Kong. But on the whole the zhiqing I met found that life in K-city was, if anything, less difficult than they expected. We should not forget that hundreds of thousands of mainland Chinese, including numerous Cantonese, who had taken refuge in the colony during the Sino-Japanese War and Chinese Civil War, returned to China in the early 1950s because of anticolonial sentiment and because of the difficult living conditions in Hong Kong.164 Those people were from the zhiqing’s parents’ generation and indeed several of our interviewees had inherited a very poor view of Hong Kong from their parents. Many were quite aware of the negative counterpart to the colony’s prosperity: difficult living conditions for the poor, especially the new arrivals, the lack of security, and the every-man-for-himself attitude. But while the difference in the standard of living between Hong Kong and the Guangdong countryside was well known and part of K-city’s attraction, it was insufficient to explain the zhiqing’s decision. In contrast with their hopeless situation in China, Hong Kong seemed like a land of freedom and opportunity. Political freedom for one thing, but above all the freedom to lead their own private lives as they wished and develop their abilities, even if it meant struggling under difficult circumstances. For many, crossing over to Hong Kong meant the hope of taking up their studies again, if only in evening classes, of learning English and going abroad, or succeeding in business. For all of them, it was the hope of making

162 163

164

Only a third of our respondents succeeded in the first attempt. When they were arrested, zhiqing were sometimes beaten by the militia or bitten by police dogs. Conditions in the detention centers were very bad and beatings were commonplace. Henri Leuwen (ed.), Hong Kong/Macao/Canton (Paris: Éditions Autrement, 1983), p. 118.

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a new start in life. Not that the decision was an easy one. Aside from the risks involved, it meant leaving behind parents, friends, and roots, possibly forever. It was a real dilemma for some, and they thought long and hard before deciding, especially only-children, or zhiqing who were engaged to be married and whose partner refused to leave. Sometimes the decision was so painful that it affected people’s mental health. One young woman whose boyfriend asked her to decide in 24 hours whether or not she wanted to go with him to Hong Kong became so upset that the cadres got wind of the plot.165 The songs of the Guangdong zhiqing reflected the many feelings they felt about leaving. What they reveal is not so much naive enthusiasm, as a number of important themes, such as the zhiqing’s sadness at having to leave their country and their loved ones, promises that they would never forget them and would return one day, the hope of finding freedom in Hong Kong and their determination to overcome the difficulties of the crossing, the feeling that there was no other possible solution for getting out of a desperate situation, and the belief that destiny had forced them to leave. The two songs translated below, provide a good illustration of these themes:166 Night Race In this ink-black night, sitting in a boat, I row silently to flee far away. The sea sweeps over me, howling with rage, there is emptiness as far as the eye can see. Oh, roaring wave, roll over and push me further out. Oh, roaring wave, roll over and push me to the shores of freedom. Goodbye my dear friends, my dear country, I must leave you in the name of freedom. But wherever these waves take me I will never forget the feelings I once had.167 A Narrow Path Night, a night without stars or moon, Nothing, just a narrow path lying quietly along the fallow land. Walking, walking, perhaps this path has no end, 165 166 167

Michel and Huang He, Avoir 20 ans en Chine, pp. 83–84. The song “Goodbye, Guangzhou,” too long to be included here, provides an even better illustration of these themes; Huang He 3 (n.d.), and Beidou 5 (n.d.). Huang He 4 (n.d.).

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but since I’ve already lost everything, I just keep walking straight ahead, straight ahead, without turning my head.168

Nor was the result entirely positive for those who succeeded in crossing over to Hong Kong. Although only a few regretted it and wanted to return (if they were dissatisfied with their lives in Hong Kong they were far more likely to try to emigrate to another country), many suffered the pain of exile and wanted to see their families again, although until 1979 it was very dangerous to return. In February 1979, one group of zhiqing who arrived in Hong Kong illegally wrote to the daily paper Mingbao: Recently many people returned to visit their families for the Spring Festival, some of whom were in our situation. We have heard that some were able to return to Hong Kong without any problem, but that others had been arrested or were obliged to pay a fine. [...] We would like the Communist Party authorities in Hong Kong, after consultation with the Chinese government, to state clearly their policy regarding the zhiqing who fled to Hong Kong, which would enable us to visit our families with peace of mind. That is what we have been hoping for many years.169

Although the Communist authorities never answered this request officially, the following year the zhiqing were able to return to China without fear of arrest or having their ID card confiscated, which would have prevented them from going back to Hong Kong. For the regime, people leaving the country in this way represented a challenge and loss of face. Furthermore, in Guangdong the zhiqing set a bad example for the peasants. Before the 1970s, people attempting the crossing usually had bad class backgrounds or were cadres with political problems, but during the 1970s, apparently in the wake of the zhiqing, and sometimes even with their help, ordinary peasants began to cross over in such large numbers that in certain border regions in the mainland there was a shortage of male manpower. For the authorities and citizens of Hong Kong there were also negative outcomes, not so much because of the arrival of new immigrants (who crammed into the tiny territory just like their predecessors), but mainly because a small minority formed a secret society called the Big Circle whose violence and crimes made the headlines. Many were young people from poor social backgrounds who had been looked down 168 169

Huang He 2 (n.d.). Mingbao, February 18, 1979, p. 10. The ambiguity of the last sentence was in the Chinese text.

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on since their childhoods and lived in misery and despair. They feared neither the Hong Kong police nor its prisons, and resorted more easily to murder than the local gangsters. Furthermore there was greater solidarity between them and they were far less likely to be infiltrated by the police.170 Xiaxiang policy therefore led to a deep-seated resistance among the parties concerned: the zhiqing, their parents, the peasants, and the local cadres. Unable to manifest itself openly, that resistance took devious forms leading to serious consequences, which became part of xiaxiang’s negative outcomes. Even if the government’s attitude to resistance was denial or demonological explanation, it could not ignore it completely. Measures to soften xiaxiang policy, especially in 1973–1974, proved that some leaders at least were aware of the need to make concessions. But on the whole, the regime managed to impose its will long after society had massively rejected xiaxiang. The negative effects of people’s passive resistance certainly influenced the final decision to stop it—and that decision was precipitated by the transition from passive to open resistance.

170

For a legal case involving one of these gangsters, see Zhengming 12 (1983), pp. 33–35.

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Open Resistance

End-of-reign Tremors Before 1978, the population-control apparatus put in place by the CCP had succeeded in preventing society from openly and massively expressing its resistance to xiaxiang. Despite that, resistance from the end of 1968 to the end of 1978 was not merely surreptitious and passive; some segments of the population, notably the zhiqing, also made open social demands and protests, but they were limited in scope. Several examples are recorded in literature, such as a strike for better conditions by zhiqing working in a local factory,1 or a revolt in a company of educated youths in Yunnan province following a comrade’s death, with demands for sanctions against the cadre responsible for the death in addition to normal working hours and health care, among other things, which were accepted in part.2 At the end of 1972 in Fuzhou (Fujian province), zhiqing who had been legally transferred to urban enterprises refused to return to the countryside after the central government decided that too many people had

1 2

Wang Anyi, “Madaochang chunqiu.” Mi Shu, “Ruilijiang ban.”

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been hired. They even occupied their workplace and after several months were allowed to stay on in the city, but were paid a pittance in consequence.3 Because of the absolute state control over all information, limited actions of this kind were unlikely to resonate around in China. The traditional form of protest, which consisted of writing to the highest authority about an abnormal situation and request that pressure be put on the local authorities to change the situation, fared no better. If Li Qinglin’s letter to Mao obtained a national audience, it was only because the government decided to use it to reorient xiaxiang policy.4 As a general rule, such letters were not released publicly and were more likely to cause the writer serious difficulties, since the letters were simply sent back to the local cadres. Thus zhiqing and their parents wanting to follow in Li Qinglin’s footsteps were massively suppressed.5 At first the zhiqing’s claims were usually for improvements in their living conditions, but after 1977 they dared to ask quite simply to return home. Shanghai zhiqing in Heilongjiang province profited from the campaign against the Gang of Four to make such a demand in daizibaos posted in Shanghai. They justified their demands by claiming that they had been rusticated as a result of their attacks against Zhang Chunqiao at the end of the Cultural Revolution. In their dazibao they also denounced the hardships they suffered on the farms.6 They were unlikely to have won their case since the situation at the time was not ripe for such demands, despite the political reasons used. Before 1978, the zhiqing expressed their discontent and desire for a change of policy in actions that went beyond the scope of xiaxiang and included other segments of China’s youth. For instance, there were many returned zhiqing among the demonstrators in Beijing on April 5, 1976.7 That “incident,” during which young people in Beijing expressed their rejection of

3

4 5 6 7

Li Yizhe, Guanyu shehuizhuyi de minzhu yu fazhi, p.  83. On the zhiqing’s hesitations to use this mode of protest, see Michel and Huang He, Avoir 20 ans en Chine, pp. 176–77. See above, pp. 89–91. Michael Frolic, Le peuple de Mao (Paris: Gallimard, 1982), p. 136. Bernstein, Up to the Mountains and Down to the Villages, p. 288; Rosen, The Role of Sent-Down Youth in the Chinese Cultural Revolution, p. 70. See for example, Beijing zhi chun 2, in Widor (comp.), Documents sur le Mouvement démocratique chinois, p. 194.

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Maoist dictatorship, is well known.8 What is less known, however, is the incident at Mount Baiyun, near Guangzhou, in which more than a hundred thousand young people gathered together on October 23, 1974, on the occasion of another festival of the dead.9 Less important than Qingming, the Chongyang Festival on the “double ninth” (the ninth day of the ninth lunar month),10 is nevertheless a traditional opportunity to pay one’s respects to the dead and sweep their graves, which are usually located on a hillside. Even without that purpose, it is a day in which people enjoy going to the hills, for it is said to bring luck for the following year. In particular, people who are dissatisfied with their lives must walk right around the hill to “turn their luck” (zhuanyun). In some areas, people release kites into the sky, another sign of luck, or fly the kites in circles to “turn” their luck. This festival is not a public holiday, since the government does not wish to pander to superstitious practices. No one knew how it started, but on that day in October 1974, a rumor spread among the inhabitants of Guangzhou as well as among the zhiqing in Guangdong province that “all the young people in the south of the province were going to Mount Baiyun that day.” As a result an enormous crowd gathered to climb the hill. There were many young workers and employees from Guangzhou who had taken unauthorized leave, in addition to many zhiqing from all around the province who had traveled by various means, such as hitchhiking rides on trucks. Having a huge gathering on that specific day and place was both a challenge to the authorities and an expression of discontent. Many young people made that quite clear by holding open discussions about topics such as the cadres’ privileges, the absence of democracy, the political campaigns, and the seizure of power by the beneficiaries of the Cultural Revolution. They also criticized xiaxiang. Furthermore, they released hundreds of kites from the top of the hill, some with inscriptions that clearly expressed the young people’s main wish: success in crossing over to Hong Kong. These inscriptions were usually in verse, for instance: Shun feng shun shui, qu dao Jianshazui 順風順水，去到尖沙咀 (May the

8 9 10

See above, p. 115. Nanbeiji 70 (March 1976), pp.  43–44; Frolic, Le peuple de Mao, pp.  247–53; interview with J. Q. W., May 16, 1977. Rosen situated this incident on September 9, 1974 by mistake, confusing the lunar and solar calendar. Rosen, The Role of Sent-Down Youth in the Chinese Cultural Revolution, p. 69. The author of the quoted article from Nanbeiji also confused the two calendars and gave the erroneous date of October 9.

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wind and the water be favorable for my crossing to Tsimshatsui).11 Some young people also threw coins on a stele bearing the inscription nan (south), Hong Kong being south of Guangzhou. However, there were altercations and fights between the potential defectors and some of the workers, who told them that “Leaving China is an anti-Chinese act. We are here to improve things in China, not to be traitors to the motherland.”12 By around noon, the news of this hillside walk-cum-demonstration had spread around the factories in Guangzhou, and other workers left their units to take part, often in company trucks. The authorities were clearly taken by surprise, and it was only in the afternoon that the workers’ militia (gongren jiuchadui 工人糾察隊) and some soldiers from the nearby garrison were sent on the spot. They blocked access to the vehicles but would not arrest all the “strollers.” Only a few young people who got into fights were taken away. However, some of the buses that were supposed to take passengers back to the city, drove instead straight to the workers’ militia headquarters where some people were obliged to state their names and work unit, while others merely had to show their bus tickets. The police seemed unsure about how to deal with the matter. The following day, the Southern Daily violently condemned these events and the authorities began a systematic search for all participants. However, the population refused to cooperate, and the results were slim.13 At around the same time, on November 10, 1974, Li Yizhe posted the definitive text of their dazibao in Guangzhou, headed “On Democracy and Socialist Legality” which caused ripples in the local population. Li Yizhe had been quoted a great deal on that “double ninth,” for they had already posted a shorter text in April.14 The Mount Baiyun incident and the dazibaos were the 11

12 13 14

Nanbeiji, March 1976, p.  43. Jianshazui (or Tsimshatsui according to the usual Hong Kong transcription, based on the Cantonese pronunciation), is a tourist district of Hong Kong at the extreme tip of the Kowloon Peninsula. Frolic, Le peuple de Mao, p. 252. Nanfang ribao, October 24, 1974. Li Yizhe, Guanyu shehuizhuyi de minzhu yu fazhi, p.  2. About Li Yizhe, their dazibao, arrest, liberation, conflicts, and dissolution, see Qi Hao’s introduction in Li Yizhe, ibid., pp.  1–44, as well as Stanley  Rosen (ed.), “The Rehabilitation and Dissolution of ‘Li Yizhe,’” Chinese Law and Government, Summer 1981, and Chan, Rosen, and Unger (eds.), On Socialist Democracy and the Chinese Legal System. Of the three leading members of Li Yizhe, Li Zhengtian was the only non-zhiqing. He was born in 1944 and was therefore older than the others, and on the point of graduating from the Guangzhou Institute of Fine Arts when the Cultural Revolution broke out. He was arrested in 1968 for his leadership

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result of the same political atmosphere.15 The party provincial secretary, Zhao Ziyang, was sympathetic to some extent to the young people’s ideas, for they matched the interpretation he wanted to give the movement to criticize Lin Biao and Confucius. This relative tolerance certainly explains the boldness of the Mount Baiyun protesters. Such a massive demonstration of the young people’s true state of mind certainly impressed the leaders, already concerned by the rise in illegal crossings to Hong Kong. It was therefore probably no coincidence that shortly after this event xiaxiang was transformed into a rotation system in Guangdong province and zhiqing who had been rusticated several years before were recalled to the cities.16 Apart from this specific incident, I know of very few examples of open protest against xiaxiang in the period from the end of the Cultural Revolution up to 1978. There were some fairly large demonstrations in Nanjing in April 1974, but they seem to have mobilized other categories of the population that had been rusticated, rather than the zhiqing. There were also violent clashes in Kaifeng (Henan province) in April 1976 between illegal residents including some zhiqing and the militia, which were attempting to send them back to the countryside.17

15

16 17

role among the rebel Red Guards and was only released in 1972. He then found temporary employment in the library of his former Institute. Wang Xizhe was born in Sichuan in 1949 under the name of Zeng and in 1966 was a student at the No. 17 High School in Guangzhou. In 1968 he was rusticated to Yingde county, after a few months in prison for his participation in the same Red Guard group as Li. However, he managed to return legally to Guangzhou in 1969, possibly thanks to his family’s intervention (his adopted father worked for the Zhujiang Film Studios). Chen Yiyang had been in the same high school as Wang, and was also rusticated in 1968, but to Zijin county. (Interview with S. G. C., a former fellow student of both Wang and Chen, on July 19, 1978.) Also at the end of 1974 demobilized soldiers organized protest actions in Guangzhou to obtain better conditions. See Zhonghua yuebao, August 1975, pp.  31–34; Nanbeiji, October 1975, p.  19. In December 1974 I was able to photograph a number of slogans written by protesters in the streets of Guangzhou. See above, p. 114. Sebastian Heilmann, “Turning Away from the Cultural Revolution: Political Grass-Roots Activism in the Mid-Seventies,” Center for Pacific Asia Studies at Stockholm University, Occasional Paper 28 (September 1996), p. 17.

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1978–1979: A Trial of Strength between the Government and Society From the end of 1978 the educated youth took advantage of a favorable political situation and began to express open resistance to the xiaxiang policy, using just about every method usually available to any social group wanting to assert its rejection of a policy: posters, leaflets, petitions, committees of all kinds, strikes, hunger strikes, peaceful or violent demonstrations, occupation of administrative premises, blocking traffic, and so on. The rush to every available means of transport during the mass returns for Chinese New Year in 1979 turned into a riot, and that, together with the general refusal to return to the countryside after the holiday, was also a form of protest and collective resistance. As we have seen, the various demonstrations of open resistance between 1978 and 1979 were effective. Here I must disagree with Stanley Rosen, who, in the epilogue to his fascinating book on the role of the Guangdong zhiqing during the Cultural Revolution, draws a parallel between the zhiqing’s protest action during this period and at the end of the 1970s, to conclude that the same ineffectiveness existed due to the same “structural constraints.”18 That point of view is certainly the result of lack of historical perspective given when the book was written. However, the comparison between the two periods deserves to be examined in greater detail to try to understand, on the contrary, what was new in the situation at the end of the 1970s. Rosen believes that the ineffectivenss of the zhiqing’s action during the Cultural Revolution was due to their fragmentation rather than their low numbers. Sent to the countryside at different moments and under different circumstances, they did not feel that they were part of a coherent group. Some even sought to prove that they were not really zhiqing to justify their demands to return. The situation in 1978–1979 was very different. There were far more zhiqing, which I believe to be a vital factor in the power struggle between the government and the protesters as well as in the support the zhiqing could muster in urban public opinion. In 1978, the entire urban population was affected to some extent by this problem.19 Furthermore, all the zhiqing did

18 19

Rosen, The Role of Sent-Down Youth in the Chinese Cultural Revolution, pp. 66– 76. Some of the strike leaders in Yunnan province also considered starting strikes in their parents’ work units in Beijing, Shanghai, and Sichuan if their demands were not met. See Zhongguo zhi chun, April 1987, p. 83.

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now consider themselves part of the same group. Although the authorities treated them according to their different statuses (the zhiqing in the villages and those in the farms, married and single ones, agricultural and nonagricultural workers), they all considered themselves to be zhiqing, and those who were not technically considered as such (young people on the farms, married zhiqing, and nonagricultural workers) actually claimed that designation and often took part in the same demonstrations. Rosen shows how during the Cultural Revolution the zhiqing were caught up in factional conflict between Red Guards despite themselves, and were obliged to ally with whoever was willing to support them. In 1978–1979 the zhiqing were not obliged to affiliate themselves with any political group. There was both a difference and a complementarity between their movement and the democracy movement. Even though their demands were purely social ones, the latter’s discourse on democracy and human rights struck a chord. While remaining quite separate, the two movements mutually reinforced each other, whereas during the Cultural Revolution the extreme value placed on individual sacrifice for the collective good prevented any individual or sectional demands. That was why the zhiqing at the time could not challenge the principle of xiaxiang, which was fundamentally Maoist, but only its application, attributed to Liu Shaoqi. Conversely, the zhiqing at the end of the 1970s did not hesitate to criticize xiaxiang itself and demand that it be abolished. Their position vis-à-vis the government was therefore much stronger, not only because of their numbers, but because of their clear demands. Of course, there were also similarities between the two periods and Rosen’s “feeling of déjà vu” is not entirely unfounded.20 He is right to insist on the government’s systematic intention to fragment society, to compartmentalize it and punish all attempts at contact (chuanlian 串聯) between different compartments.21 But even though the government was still obsessed by totalitarianism at the end of the 1970s, economic reality obliged it to partially alter its relationship with society. Indeed, as in 1957 and again in 1966–1968, the social protests of 1978–1979 were only possible because of specific political circumstances where a fraction in power encouraged society to express itself in order to solve an internal crisis.22 However, in this case the protests did not 20 21 22

Rosen, The Role of Sent-Down Youth in the Chinese Cultural Revolution, p. 1. I believe he was also right in stating (p. 75) that this fragmentation of society was the result of political constraint and not a cultural predisposition. On the comparison between these three periods, see Jean-Philippe  Béja and Michel Bonnin, “La Chine ou la crise comme mode d’exercice du pouvoir (1949–

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end with a massive wave of arrests (as in 1957 and from 1968 to 1971), nor by massacres and a forced exodus to the countryside (as in 1968). While the government still wanted to limit attempts at independent expression and organization in society, and maintain its role as the unique representative of social interests, in practice it no longer sought to oblige entire swathes of the population to behave according to some utopic model that was the visionary creation of a supreme leader. That was why the expressions of social and political demands were not brutally cut short in 1979, as they had been in 1957 and in 1968. The relations between the zhiqing and the government established during this turning point in 1978–1979 were representative of a new political order that was to last for many years, and even on the whole until today. The term “counterrevolutionary” was no longer used as easily as it had been under Mao and social protest was no longer treated in such a simplistic fashion by the authorities. Any protest that could not be passed over in silence was criticized, presented as the manifestation of “anarchistic hyper-individualism” inherited from the Cultural Revolution that showed the persistent pernicious influence of the Gang of Four. Emphasis was placed on the damage and losses that resulted from protest actions and the inconvenience to the public, particularly since such actions were not only bad but useless, inasmuch as the party never gave in to pressure and would not alter a correct policy. 23 As a “commentator” wrote in the People’s Daily: “Some people think that they can use disorder to ‘put pressure on’ and force the leadership bodies to break the established rules. That is a complete error and quite impossible.” 24 The authorities always sought to discover and punish the “ringleaders” or get them to make a self-criticism. They were often said to have misled the other demonstrators. As a rule, the press only reported a protest action once it was

23

24

1981),” in Pierre Kende, Dominique Moïsi, and Ilios Yannakakis (eds.), Le système communiste: un monde en expansion (Paris: IFRI, 1982), pp. 127–40. The Mount Baiyun incident and the Li Yizhe dazibaos posted in 1974 in Guangzhou also correspond to this pattern of official tolerance linked to an internal power struggle, albeit on a smaller scale. See for example, JFRB, February 7, 1979, p.  1; RMRB, February 9, 10, and 11, 1979, p. 1, October 22, 1979, p. 1; GRRB, January 31, 1981, p. 1. Identical terms and arguments can be found in later conflicts between the authorities and the zhiqing; see Xinhua, April 29, 1985, in SWB, May 2, 1985; and Xinhua, May 4, 1985, in FBIS, May 6, 1985. RMRB, October 22, 1979, p. 1.

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over, or after some of the participants had already made a self-criticism. Where possible, the press avoided the subject altogether, so as not to give it any publicity. The presence of foreigners, particularly journalists, was a great disadvantage in this cover-up strategy. That was why the authorities put pressure on foreign journalists and especially the Chinese demonstrators to prevent any contact between them.25 The Chinese press never explained the reasons for the demonstrations, usually presenting them as “unreasonable demands” and launching propaganda campaigns to foster unfavorable opinions about the protestors.26 When on some occasions, the reasons for their discontent were recognized, the protesters were immediately reminded that this in no way justified the disorder caused by their actions and that their personal interests should come after the national interest. The government wanted as usual to assert itself as the sole guarantor of the public interest and opposed each claim with the same aphorism: xiaoju yao fucong daju 小局要 服從大局 (the small fraction must obey the large one, in other words, personal interests are subordinate to the general interest). In the face of the government’s strategy, the zhiqing’s attitude also showed a few abiding features. They sought to convince public opinion as well as the leaders of the legitimacy of their demands by denouncing the injustice of their fate and using official discourse to justify them. For instance, they claimed that they could participate more effectively in the Four Modernizations in the city than in the countryside, and that “to fully repudiate the Great Cultural Revolution, the policy of rusticating educated youth must also be repudiated.”27 This tactic was neither new nor very effective, since it was a case of fighting with the opponent’s weapons, which made it very easy for the opponent to demonstrate that these were just pretexts. That may perhaps have been necessary to protect them from the accusations of having “counterrevolutionary” intentions. However, the demonstrators refused to be cowed by the specter of “public interest” as seen in the following quotation from a dazibao posted in Beijing by some zhiqing from Hangzhou: “We’re always being told that ‘the small fraction must obey the large one’ but we should not forget that the large one is composed of the small ones. Furthermore, the zhiqing problem cannot be said to concern ‘a small fraction.’”28 Quite often, to avoid 25 26 27 28

See AFP Beijing, April 26 and 29, 1985. See how Yang Yongqing was honored in 1979, and the 1950s volunteers in 1985. See above, pp. 163–64 and 201–2. Xinhua, April 29, 1985, in SWB, May 2, 1985. Dazibao dated January 20, 1979 signed by “the Hangzhou zhiqing,” photographed

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any disturbances that might lead to criticism or manipulation, the zhiqing set up fairly well-structured organizations with heads elected at several levels who really had authority. The heads were necessarily young people who were prepared to sacrifice themselves, for they knew that they would have to pay for their commitment in one way or another, even if their action succeeded. That of course reduced the number of willing candidates, but also conferred considerable prestige on those who did take on the task. Despite official attempts to prove the contrary, belief in the efficacy of social action was fairly widespread. It was expressed in sayings such as “a big disturbance for a big solution, a small disturbance for a small solution, no disturbance, no solution,”29 denounced by the authorities. A sort of social rule of the game thus was tacitly established after 1978 that entailed concessions on both sides. The demonstrators never challenged the legitimacy of the central government and often agreed to self-criticisms, while the government took care never to appear to give in and attempted to contain the damage as much as possible, and accepted certain concessions, which in some cases, were considerable, when the power struggle required it. The best example is the way the zhiqing strikes were dealt with in Yunnan.30 The discrepancy between the outward firmness and the flexibility in the practical treatment of the demands enabled the authorities to save face and prevent a local movement from spreading. Absolute control of all the media was, of course, a prerequisite to succeed in these tactics. While this information monopoly did not prevent information from circulating by word of mouth or letter, it did limit the extent and speed of its dissemination, which reduced the potential for massive and simultaneous action. Open resistance was only possible thanks to a specific political situation, which established a very different relationship between the state and society from any in place up to then. True, the government continued to refuse the formation of a society pour soi (for itself), a civil society with legitimate representatives, which could organize itself and dialogue with the government. But it did accept the existence of a society en soi (in itself), a social body to which concessions had to be made in order to obtain relative sociopolitical harmony and the economic dynamism required to achieve the Four

29 30

by the author at Democracy Wall in Beijing, February 1979. GRRB, January 31, 1981, p. 1; Xinhua, April 29, 1985, in SWB, May 2, 1985. See above, pp. 146–48.

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Modernizations.31 By making economic objectives the priority, the government became more sensitive to any form of discontent and resistance. At the same time, society, which had never been amorphous and infinitely malleable, even in the period of the tightest possible social control system, began to assert itself more clearly in relation to the government. That is why, even though the regime had not changed fundamentally, it would have been unthinkable in 1978 to launch a new xiaxiang movement similar to the one launched ten years earlier.

31

See, for instance, the statement by a Shanghai cadre quoted above, p. 143.

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PART FIVE

Assessment of the Xiaxiang “Movement” in History

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The perverse effects of xiaxiang described earlier are certainly part of the movement’s failings. I shall now attempt an overall assessment, in reverse order, of the four principal motivations behind the launch of the movement, as demonstrated in the first part of this book.

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Socioeconomic Assessment

Diverting away from the Cities Xiaxiang and Urban Employment If, in 1968, rustication solved the employment problem for several million young city dwellers who suddenly found themselves “waiting for work” because of the Cultural Revolution, the solution was only a short-term one, since the root of the problem was political rather than demographic or economic. True, the cohorts born in the cities from the early 1950s to 1960 were very large and consequently the numbers entering the urban labor market from 1966 to 1976 were high.1 But after a slight drop, corresponding to a fall in the birth rate in 1961, an even larger wave of young people flooded

1

I have taken 16 years as the age of labor market entry since that was the minimum age; see Zhuang Qidong et al. (eds.), Laodong gongzi shouce (Handbook of Labor and Wages) (Tianjin: Tianjin renmin chubanshe, 1984). That was in fact the age for the majority of the population as shown in the 1982 census data. It was also the age when most zhiqing left in the early years of the movement. However, in the large cities, the age of labor-force entry or rustication was usually 17 in the 1970s when the shortened secondary school cycle had become widespread.

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the urban labor market at the end of the 1970s and in the early 1980s. The urban birth rate had exploded between 1962 and 1964, with the record in China’s entire history to this very day being 1963 with a total of 4,400,000 births. After that the number of labor market entrants stayed around the two million mark until the end of the 1980s and then fell considerably.2 For xiaxiang to be a long-term solution to the employment of young city dwellers it would have needed to continue for some twenty years and be definitive. Instead, massive rustication lasted for about ten years and the large-scale returns occurred just at the time when the exceptionally large number of young people was reaching employment age. Demographically speaking, 1979 was the year when pressure on urban employment was the strongest in China’s history, and yet that was the year when the greatest number of zhiqing returned, while new departures continued to fall, as they had done since 1978. Figure 4 shows that there was no correlation between the number of labor market entrants and the number of people rusticated. Xiaxiang cannot therefore be considered a rational solution to a demographic problem. Figure 4. Rustication of Zhiqing and New Entrants to Urban Employment (in millions)

Sources: Zhongguo laodong gongzi tongji ziliao, 1949–1985, p. 110; Zhongguo renkou tongji nianjian (Yearbook of Demographic Statistics in China) (Beijing: Zhongguo shehui kexue chubanshe, 1990), p. 592; Zhongguo tongji nianjian, 1983, p. 105; Harry

2

See Zhongguo renkou tongji nianjian, 1990, p.  592, Zhongguo tongji nianjian, 1983, p. 105, and Harry Xiaoying Wu, “Rural to Urban Migration in the People’s Republic of China,” China Quarterly 139 (September 1994), pp. 672–73.

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Xiaoying Wu, “Rural to Urban Migration in the People’s Republic of China,” China Quarterly 139 (September 1994), pp. 672–73.

Furthermore it seems that most, if not all, the young urban school-leavers from 1966 to 1977 could have found urban jobs if xiaxiang policy had not prevented it, for while 8–9 million young people were lastingly removed from urban employment as a result of rustication, a similar number of peasants were being hired in the cities.3 Xiaxiang had actually made it necessary to employ rural workers in the cities. Zhiqing who had spent at least two years in the countryside formed a part of that labor force, but a larger number of peasants slipped into the breach. As one demographer wrote regarding the return of a number of zhiqing to the cities: “In the hiring process, the young country people pulled all sorts of strings to slip through in large numbers. As a result, for every person leaving the urban population, two returned from the countryside, so ultimately the urban population grew.”4 In Yunnan, between 1971 and 1975, because production had started up again, 150,790 people from the countryside were hired in the cities, of which 68,108 were zhiqing and 82,682 peasants.5 In Shanxi, peasants who got hired as permanent workers either directly or after having obtained a temporary job accounted for 53 percent of migratory urban growth in 1974.6 True, a slight rural increase in new hires was also inevitable, notably in the mines, and following the expansion of the industrial zones,7 but not on the same scale. Hiring peasants could be justified because it was cheaper, but that was only true for temporary and contract workers, not for permanent ones. The only financial advantage of rural workers was that they were not allowed to bring their families, which reduced the cost of housing, children’s education, and so on. But such gains were certainly far less than the financial cost of xiaxiang, which accounted for approximately 1.6 percent of the total state budget between 1968 and 1979, not to mention the cost to the parents and the rural communities.8 If xiaxiang had been essentially a measure for reducing the cost of industrialization, which I do not believe to be the case, it would not 3 4 5 6 7 8

See pp. 37–45. Zhongguo renkou—Hunan fence, p. 184. Yunnan shengzhi—Laodongzhi (Annals of Yunnan Province—Labor) (Kunming: Yunnan renmin chubanshe, 1993), p. 70. Zhongguo renkou—Shanxi fence, p. 151. Some zhengdi nongmin 徵 地 農 民 , peasants from suburban areas whose land was confiscated to build factories, were authorized to work in them. See pp. 190–91.

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have been very effective either, since industrial productivity fell overall from 1967 to 1977, and only returned to 1966 levels after 1978. Furthermore, the return on industrial investment in the state sector fell by 44.1 percent between 1966 and 1976.9 The replacement of an urban workforce by a rural one during this period was not only unprofitable but very risky in the event of the former urbanites returning home. And that is precisely what happened: the rusticated urbanites returned and the rural workers stayed on. Indeed, being permanent workers, the former peasants could not be fired and, as we have seen earlier, they had even acquired the right to bring one of their children from the countryside to replace them when they retired.10 In the early 1980s the rural workers who had “stolen” the city dwellers’ jobs triggered considerable resentment in the urban population. Parents of unemployed young people expressed their displeasure in the press and denounced anyone who cheated,11 even though the authorities had by now taken measures to stop the hiring of peasants. In April 1979 the State Council even decided to send more than two million workers not included in the state plan back to their villages. In the long term therefore, xiaxiang exacerbated the unemployment problem rather than solved it. In Beijing, 800,000 young people were waiting for job allocations during the two-year period 1979–1980, but without xiaxiang the figure would only have been 320,000 because in 1962 the number of births in Beijing was 148,000 and 180,000 in 1963.12 At the national level, the number of new labor market entrants in 1980 only accounted for 27.27 percent of the total number of people seeking work in the cities.13 Even without the massive return of the zhiqing, xiaxiang would not have been an efficient way of solving the employment problem since it merely transferred it from the cities to the countryside. In most villages, the rusticated youth merely added to the demographic burden of the rural areas. Rural

9 10 11 12

13

Zhongguo laodong gongzi tongji ziliao, 1949–1985, p.  224; Beijing Information 12 (March 19, 1984), p. 26. See above, pp. 42–43. BJRB, April 4, 1981, p. 3. Qian Lingjuan et al., “Beijingshi de renkou fazhan qingkuang he dangqian de renwu” (Population Changes in Beijing Municipality and Current Tasks), RKYJ 1 (1980), p. 41; Zheng Yefu, “Beijing chengqu nan nü hunpei bili shitiao yuanyin chutan,” p. 20. (At that time in Beijing people usually started working at the age of 17 rather than 16.) Feng Lanrui and Zhao Lükuan, “Urban Unemployment in China,” p. 132.

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underemployment was certainly less visible and less politically dangerous than urban unemployment, and the zhiqing did not increase it spectacularly, particularly since they were submerged among the peasant masses. But as far as their families back in the cities were concerned, they remained semiunemployed and unable to subsist without their parents’ help. Those who returned illegally to the cities formed a loose group of several hundred thousand unregistered unemployed. Xiaxiang was therefore a way of concealing the employment problem rather than of solving it. It allowed the government to neglect possibilities for creating employment (the cuts in the services sector eliminated 1,700,000 private-sector jobs between 1966 and 1977 for ideological reasons)14 and reinforced a hiring system that was not only unsuited to economic requirements but was profoundly unfair. During this period all fixed-term job allocations were bureaucratically centralized, preventing enterprises from selecting the manpower they needed and employees from choosing a job they liked.15 Above all, polarizing jobs into two categories, the “iron rice bowls” on the one hand (meaning jobs for life and secure wages, whatever the quality of the work) and rustication on the other, created such a divide between peoples’ destinies that to get into the right category all means were permissible. Not only did xiaxiang fail to solve the employment problem, but its abrupt end considerably added to it. In 1979 it was necessary to find 20 million jobs in the cities, which was clearly impossible,16 and left millions of young people unemployed for several years without any benefits, or having to accept temporary and poorly paid jobs. They included a majority of recent high school graduates as well as many zhiqing who had spent between five and ten years in the countryside and who were obliged to live with their parents, and mostly depended on them for a living. They either had to wait for a job or set up makeshift stands to sell drinks, newspapers, pictures of film stars, and other such items, or else work in “labor and services companies” for 40  yuan per month including bonuses.17 After a time, most zhiqing ulti-

14 15 16 17

Zhongguo laodong gongzi tongji ziliao, 1949–1985, p. 5. Feng Lanrui and Zhao Lükuan, “Urban Unemployment in China,” p. 131. See above, p. 179. See for example Mingbao, October 27, 1979, p. 9, and August 22, 1980, p. 8, and the report of the Amitiés franco-chinoises (Franco-Chinese Friendship Association) trip to Shanghai, “A Visit to a Public Services Company,” quoted in Note 222, Chapter 6. I observed this myself during two trips to China in 1979, when I talked to zhiqing selling a range of products in the streets. None were satisfied with their

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mately found jobs and housing, and even if they weren’t fully satisfied, their problem at least was solved. However, those who were not allowed to return in 1979–1980 continued to face numerous difficulties. An article published in 1987 reported that people were still returning illegally to Shanghai, and therefore without household registration (hukou), were contributing to the black labor market and delinquency. There were certainly a large number of married zhiqing among them, as well as zhiqing rusticated to Xinjiang province. Others had returned legally but were unable to find decent employment, usually young people who had been sent to suburban farms but had not been hired by local factories and who had lost their agricultural jobs after the introduction of the household responsibility system, when all agricultural labor was put under contract to peasants who had come from elsewhere.18 By this time most of the zhiqing had been absorbed into the urban labor force, but that considerably exacerbated the employment problem for the large next generations graduating from high school. In the mid-1980s, the unemployment problem was therefore still far from being solved.19 Another long-term negative effect of xiaxiang was that after 1978 it obliged the government to use expedients that went against the stated economic objectives of modernization and efficiency, such as the automatic replacement of a retiree by one of his/her children (dingti), and the system whereby the responsibility for hiring the young people was assigned directly to their parents’ work units (guikou baogan). The hereditary employment system that ensued was not only damaging to the quality of labor (and therefore economic productivity),20 but went against the Maoist tenet of reducing inequalities from one generation to the next. Yet these systems were the direct result of xiaxiang. They were imposed because of the urgency of the problem

18 19

20

present situation, but all of them preferred it to staying on in the countryside. Chen Yonghu, “Wuzheng jingying weihe lü jin bu jue” (Why Unauthorized Trade Continues Despite Repeated Injunctions), Shehui 3 (1987), pp. 24–26. See for example, Hong Yingfang, “Shilun wo guo 15–19 sui renkou de fei laodonglihua wenti” (On the Question of Removing the Population’s 15–19 Yearolds from Working Life), RKYJ 5 (1987), pp. 26–31. Chinese specialists give the example of a company in Shenyang that employed 2,248 people in 1980, including 22 delinquents, 33 disabled people, and a number of people suffering from mental illness who “were not only incapable of working but who prevented three or four other persons working when they had medical crises.” They also mention a restaurant in the same city where half of the 50 employees were from the same family. See Zhuang Qidong et al., “Liaoningsheng chengzhen laodong jiuye wenti diaocha,” p. 29.

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caused by returning zhiqing and were a consequence of the reinforcement of the family as the economic base unit in the cities, which in itself was a result of xiaxiang rather than the end of that policy. Since most zhiqing needed help from their parents, the family income was a basic reality and any alteration to it had repercussions on all family members. Li Qinglin stated that quite clearly in his letter to Mao in 1973. He was concerned about what would happen to his children in the countryside when he retired and therefore suffered a loss of income.21 As we have seen, dingti was “a policy to ensure the family income” in response to this problem.22 Despite these perverse long-term effects, the end of xiaxiang, which was in any case imposed on the leadership as a social and political necessity, did not just have a negative effect on the economy. It obliged the leaders to rethink the rigid and inefficient system and hastened the implementation of a new one better suited to the objective of modernization and economic stimulation.23 Chinese scholars and leaders alike recognize how unemployment influenced the economic reforms, notably the repeal of the ban on the services sector (private and cooperative enterprises in particular), and official prejudice concerning it, as well as the decision to develop light industry. Here is just one example: After the Third Plenum of the Eleventh Central Committee, during the process of freeing thought and reviving the economy, the party and the government gradually realized that in a situation with a considerable surplus labor force, jobs were needed in our nation’s cities and the countryside, and the practice that consisted of trying to solve the problem of urban youth unemployment mainly by sending the young people to the countryside was a failure. […] Our country followed a tortuous route with regard to the employment of urban youth, but after comparing the positive and negative aspects of practical experience, it finally found a way suited to the conditions in China. The party and the government supported the reform of our economic system and implemented a system of diversified economic ownership by promoting the new employment channels in the collective and individual economies. In this way our country was able to find employment for more than 26 million persons between 1979 and 1981.24

21 22 23 24

See above, p. 89. Lin Zili, “Initial Reform in China’s Economic Structure,” Social Sciences in China 3 (1980), p. 182. See above, pp. 179–80. Zhang Hua, “Shilun ‘wenhua da geming,’” pp. 153–54. On the importance of the

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The Influence of Xiaxiang on Urban Growth Employment apart, the problem of overpopulation (leading to shortages in supplies, housing, transport, etc.) and delinquency provided a justification for emptying the cities of a part of their youth. Certainly within a year and a half after the xiaxiang movement was launched, it had succeeded in ridding the cities of some 5 million young people, or approximately 5 percent of the urban population. After a peak in departures and returns that more or less balanced each other out, the numbers grew regularly after 1974, to reach 9 million at the end of 1977, or 7.5 percent of the urban population at the time.25 This net emigration was several times higher than that of the “sent down” cadres and intellectuals. It concerned young people who would normally have set up home and started a family after a few years. In that sense, it could have been a way of reducing the social “burden” in the cities. But, despite the scale of the organized emigration of city dwellers to the countryside, it did not lead to a lasting reduction in the size of the urban population. The growth of the nonagricultural urban population from 1968 to 1977 shows that the emigration of the zhiqing, cadres, intellectuals, and “layabouts” during that period was offset by an almost identical immigration,26 largely comprised of the peasants hired as permanent workers in the city. The nonagricultural urban population therefore continued to grow during this period, despite the great xiaxiang and xiafang migrations (the latter being rustication of cadres and intellectuals). Since emigration and immigration balanced out, this growth was natural growth, which was rela-

25

26

employment problem in the economic reforms, see also Zhuang Qidong et al. (eds.), Laodong gongzi shouce, pp. 10–13, as well as the report on the major employment conference held in August 1980 (Xinhua, August 12, 1980, in FBIS, August 13, 1980). See Figure 2, p.  177; and Gordon White, “Urban Employment and Labour Allocation Policies in Post-Mao China,” World Development 10(8) (1982), p. 615; Zhongguo renkou tongji nianjian, 1985, p. 813; Zhongguo jingji nianjian (Yearbook of China’s Economy) (Beijing: Jingji guanli chubanshe, 1982), p.  VIII-3. The definition of urban population I use here is the one with a nonagricultural status, which was the only one involving rustication. Since 1982, the definition used by officials and most scholars has encompassed the large agricultural population in the suburbs. This all-inclusive definition is not relevant to a discussion of xiaxiang. White, “Urban Employment and Labour Allocation Policies in Post-Mao China; Zhongguo renkou tongji nianjian, 1985, p. 813; Zhongguo jingji nianjian, p. VIII-3.

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tively low at the time. The official employment and urban population figures in the 1970s clearly show that xiaxiang could not be justified mainly by employment issues or demographic pressure in the cities. For the entire period prior to the collapse of the movement there was an exchange of manpower and populations between the cities and the countryside. The gains obtained by replacing one population with another are not clear. In fact, taking the period 1968– 1980 as a whole, official policy appears to be totally irrational. The forced emigration of millions of zhiqing, cadres, and intellectuals, which at first was offset by an equivalent rural immigration, resulted in a net immigration to the cities of about 15.5 million nonagricultural workers when most people returned between 1978–1980. As we have seen, the return of the zhiqing and other exiles led to numerous problems. One Chinese specialist wrote as follows with regard to Shanghai: The 1,080,000 zhiqing masses sent to the countryside during the “ten years of the Cultural Revolution” ultimately had to return to the city. That massive to-ing and fro-ing created considerable tensions and problems in employment, marriage, the birth rate and housing. That lesson cost us a great deal, and we have to take it on board.27

Indeed, the advantages obtained by xiaxiang in areas such as marriage and the birth rate (at a high cost to the zhiqing themselves)28 were partially lost when the zhiqing returned and quickly made up for lost time in marriage and childbirth—something that has not been sufficiently understood even today. Jacques Calot, a French demographer, has shown that contrary to claims by his Chinese counterparts, the 1980 law on marriage could not alone explain the rise in nuptiality and fertility at the time.29 Clearly, the other factor in the cities was the massive return of the zhiqing. As soon as their material situation allowed it, the young people who had postponed marriage as part of their refusal to settle in the countryside hastened to marry. I know of no wide-scale survey of the subject, but the following two cases shed some light on the matter. In Beijing, 139,000 weddings were held in 1979, whereas in the 1950s the number of births per year never exceeded 143,000 (in 1957).30 There were therefore twice as many marriages compared with the 27 28 29 30

Tian Fang et al. (eds.), Zhongguo renkou qianyi, p. 310. See above, pp. 319–26. Aujourd’hui la Chine 33 (Paris, September 1984), pp. 9–10. Qian Lingjuan et al., “Beijingshi de renkou fazhan qingkuang he dangqian de

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normal average, which in this instance cannot be attributed to the 1980 law on marriage. As for the birth rate, in the Huwan district of Shanghai for example, the birth rate for women in the 20–34 year age group compared to all women of childbearing age fell from 49.42 percent in 1952 to 31.68 percent in 1973, rose slightly to 40 percent in 1977, and then sharply to 53.03 percent in 1980.31 True, there were other factors at play in the variations in the number of women of childbearing age, but I believe that this would be impossible to explain without any reference to xiaxiang. Xiaxiang’s very limited gains in reducing the urban population were therefore counteracted by the difficulties resulting from the end of the movement. I should add here that xiaxiang was not the only example of painful population flows between the cities and the countryside. The Great Leap Forward and the necessary adjustments that followed led to a net immigration to the cities of nearly 25 million rural inhabitants from 1958 to 1960, and a net emigration of more than 23  million persons over the next three years (1961–1963). Another important flow, albeit less spectacular, also took place in the mid-1950s, with a net emigration of 2 million persons in 1955, followed by more than 6  million in 1956.32 Totalitarian-type state population control over geographic mobility is no guarantee of any rationality in migration. Whereas “in theory, we had long considered urbanization as a harmful consequence of the capitalist mode of production,”33 cities actually returned to favor in the 1980s. That was expressed in the Decision on the Reform of the Urban Economy enacted in October  1984, which included the following sentence: “As the economic, political, scientific, technical and cultural centers of our country, in which modern industry and the working class are concentrated, cities play a predominant role in socialist modernization.” 34

31

32

33 34

renwu,” p.  41, and Zheng Yefu, “Beijing chengqu nan nü hunpei bili shitiao yuanyin chutan,” p. 20. Gao Ersheng and Gu Xingyuan, “Shanghai shiqu sanshinian lai shengyulü de bianhua ji qi yingxiang yinsu” (Changes in the Birth Rate over the Past Thirty Years in Shanghai and the Factors Influencing Them), RKYJ 1 (1984), p. 33. These are my calculations based on population data and the natural growth figures provided by Zhongguo tongji nianjian, 1983, pp. 103, 105. They concern the total urban population. Li Chunlin, “Chengshi he nongcun: liangge shehui dengji” (City and Countryside: Two Levels of Society), Shehui 2 (1987), p. 4. “Decision of the Central Committee of the Chinese Communist Party on the Reform of the Economic System,” Beijing Information, October 29, 1984, p. ii.

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Consequently the urban population was set to double by the year 2000.35 The rehabilitation of the city went hand in hand with a rehabilitation of the services sector.36 The impact of xiaxiang in reducing the urban population was not only very limited, the very need for such a reduction only made sense when it was accompanied by a development strategy that stressed autarky versus exchange, “productive” economic sectors (primary and secondary) versus “nonproductive” ones, and production versus consumption. The objectives of the so-called Chinese way were in fact very similar to Stalinist-type economic policies aiming to make the countryside pay for the rapid development of heavy industry. But successive Chinese government strategies were abandoned due to their proven ineffectiveness in raising China out of its underdevelopment. Thus in urbanization as in employment, the extent of the problems caused by the xiaxiang policy obliged the leaders to find original solutions not only to a policy resulting from the Cultural Revolution, but to the policy preceding it. These changes affected the entire urban economic strategy. In the long term, the real change resulting from xiaxiang policy was certainly not the one originally intended by those who initiated it, least of all Mao Zedong—quite the opposite.

Xiaxiang and Delinquency The impact of xiaxiang on urban delinquency was not much better. The fear of youth unemployment in the early 1960s led to a concomitant fear about a rise in delinquency. In fact, the rise in delinquency was a direct result of the Cultural Revolution and xiaxiang, the former because it got so many young people used to violence, and because the imprisonment, rustication, or death of so many of their parents had left countless children and very young people abandoned to their fates for months on end. And xiaxiang because the zhiqing’s illegal return to the cities in the 1970s was the main cause of delinquency, which, by all accounts, was far higher than any that had existed prior to the Cultural Revolution.37 The end of xiaxiang and the ensuing employment problem clearly did not 35 36

37

Xinhua, February 4, 1986, in FBIS, February 5, 1986. Xu Tianqi and Ye Zhendong, “Tiaozheng laodongli jiegou, da li fazhan di san chanye” (Readjust the Structure of the Labor Force and Powerfully Develop the Services Sector), RKYJJ 6 (1985), pp. 39–44. See above, pp. 372–74.

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improve the situation even if it did solve the problem of the “illegals.” Furthermore, economic liberalization and the partial relaxation of social control provided new opportunities for delinquency. “Disguised reform through labor” (bianxiang laogai) no longer being the order of the day, the government resorted to traditional crime-fighting methods (which, incidentally, they had never stopped using) such as “real” reform though labor and executions.38 They even codified a practice as old as the regime itself, namely the lifetime banishment of convicts from cities. A decision by the Permanent Committee of the National People’s Congress dated June 10, 1981 stipulated that in the event of a subsequent offense or an attempt to flee by citizens condemned to reform or reeducation through labor, offenders’ personal hukou (household registration) would be withdrawn, in addition to the normal punishment, and they would be forbidden to return to their hometowns. Once they finished their sentences they would be employed as free workers in the same camp.39 In the case of people sentenced to reform through labor, this additional punishment would be applied automatically. For those sentenced to reeducation though labor, the decision depended on the police, who freely used that as a way of putting pressure on people. As one Chinese specialist in hukou-related issues put it: “The hukou even became a means of punishing criminals. Some people who regularly frequented the police stations and thought nothing of going to prison, suddenly ‘cooperated’ when they heard that their urban hukou might be removed.”40 Stressing the punitive aspect of these practices, the government made full use of rustication to deprived border regions and the withdrawal of the urban hukou to try to stop crime, and especially juvenile delinquency. During the massive anti-crime movement in the fall of 1983, 40,000 people were arrested in Shanghai, most of whom were dispatched to camps in Qinghai. At the time, work unit heads often raised the threat to unruly young people in order to bring them into line.41 The 1983 campaign largely focused on delinquent and nonconformist youth and was a reflection of the failure of the previous decade’s youth policy.

38 39 40 41

On reform through labor, see above, p. 21. See Zhonghua renmin gongheguo guowuyuan gongbao, August 20, 1981, p. 368. Ding Shuimu, “Xian xing huji guanli zhidu chuyi” (Preliminary Reflections on the Current System for Controlling Residence), Shehui 1 (1987), p. 19. Zhengming, July 1984, p. 37.

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Rural Development and the Closing of the Urban-Rural Gap Xiaxiang and Development The preceding chapters have shown that the vast majority of zhiqing worked as agricultural laborers in regions that did not need them. The land area under cultivation nationwide fell by 11 percent between 1957 and 1977, whereas the population rose by 47 percent in the same period. In 1978, a Chinese agricultural worker farmed an area of only 0.3 hectares compared with 0.7 hectares in Japan, 1 hectare in India, and 48 hectares in the United States.42 The zhiqing who were sent to very backward regions, notably near the borders, did, however, make some contribution, as did those who did nonmanual labor. Clearing and working the land and populating some of the most impoverished inland and border regions may be considered a positive contribution made by the zhiqing and remain a source of pride for many of them, even though they chose to return to the cities when they were allowed to do so.43 However, from the early 1980s, articles by Chinese scholars were revealing the limitations of those achievements. The policy had two principal defects: it did not take into account either economic profitability or ecological sustainability. According to one specialist, during the “ten years of the Cultural Revolution” there was a deficit of 3.2 billion yuan from the 4.6 billion invested by the government in land-clearing farms.44 The zhiqing were sent in numbers that far exceeded the local capacity to receive them.45 Furthermore, the “reeducation” ideology and excessive optimism regarding man’s ability to dominate nature were often responsible for totally unrealistic settlements that subsequently had to be abandoned. One Chinese author described the problem thus: Some regions sent vast numbers of zhiqing to places where the living and working conditions were extremely poor, and where vegetables and coal had to be brought from their hometowns. The state, the work units concerned and the parents spent on average more than 1,000 yuan per year per zhiqing. Ultimately the burden was too great and it was necessary to leave and find

42 43 44 45

K.  C. Yeh, “Macroeconomic Changes in the Chinese Economy during the Readjustment,” China Quarterly 100 (December 1984), p. 692. See, for example, Liang Xiaosheng, “Zhe shi yipian shenqi de tudi,” p. 17. Tian Fang et al. (eds.), Zhongguo renkou qianyi, pp. 76–77. Heilongjiangsheng, pp. 214–18.

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another place to settle.46

One former Beijing zhiqing (who is a sociologist today) sent to a military farm in Inner Mongolia in 1969 described the Sisyphean task demanded of the zhiqing, such as cultivating alkaline soil and digging ditches that immediately filled up with sand: “Psychologists believe that pointless physical labor is far more tiring than useful labor that produces results. The former can lead to madness, yet the best years of our lives were wasted on that type of utterly pointless labor.”47 The results of this policy were hardly brilliant. Between 1965 and 1978, the number of state employees in the land-clearing farms doubled, as did the number of combine harvesters, while the number of tractors almost tripled, but the number of farms remained the same. Yet only 28 percent more land was cleared and grain production rose by only 59 percent.48 Furthermore, in some regions, especially the northwest, major works were undertaken without factoring in the ecological repercussions. Forests were destroyed and cattle rearing abandoned in favor of growing grain, leading to catastrophic land erosion.49 As a result, in the 1980s the entire policy of massive, organized migration to the border regions was called into question. The “human tide” strategy having proved to be expensive and ineffective, emphasis was then shifted to quality immigration by specialists and technicians, and the spontaneous migration of manual labor returned to favor. It may have been “anarchic” but it did have the merit of not costing anything to the state, and being voluntary, lasted longer.50 46 47 48 49

50

Zhang Hua, “Shilun ‘wenhua da geming’ zhong zhishi qingnian shangshan xiaxiang yundong,” p. 150. Li Yinhe, “Wode rensheng di yi ke” (My First Lesson in Life), Beijing wenxue 6 (1998), p. 102. Zhongguo tongji nianjian, 1986, p.  211. On the poor results in the farms, especially the military farms, see above, pp. 100–1. “Hu Huanyong jiaoshou tan xiang Xibei diqu yimin wenti” (Professor Hu Huanyong Discusses the Issue of Migration to the Northwest Region), account of the article in RKYJ 4 (1985), p.  32; Yuan Huarong, “Lun Xibei de huanjing yu yimin” (On the Environment and Immigration in the Northwest), Jingji dili 3 (1985), pp. 197–201. Yu Ruihou and Li Yanjun, “Qinghai renkou wenti tantao” (Research into Demographic Problems in Qinghai), RKYJJ 4 (1981), pp.  23–26; Li Debin, “Jiefanghou Heilongjiang yimin wenti tantao” (Research on Immigration Problems in Heilongjiang since Liberation), Shehui 1 (1983), pp.  13–17; Tian Fang et al. (eds.), Zhongguo renkou qianyi, pp. 321–22; Jiping Yanrui, “Neimenggu de renkou qianyi” (Population Movements in Inner Mongolia), RKYJJ 1 (1987), pp. 29–37.

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All types of migration to the border regions, whether organized or spontaneous, were far less stable in the countryside than in the cities. In Qinghai and Ningxia, migrations to rural regions resulted in complete failure (except, it seems, to labor camps), while in Inner Mongolia the proportion of immigrants in the cities in 1984 was 28.8 percent but only 8 percent in the countryside.51 So while there may have been a few exceptions, on the whole the massive presence of zhiqing in the backward and border regions produced little in the way of results. Their abrupt departure from the farms in most of these regions caused no major upheavals, with the exception of a brief period during the spring planting season of 1979 in southern China. They were quickly replaced by local peasants or spontaneous immigrant laborers and in fact the farms were successfully reorganized after the zhiqing left.52 In Yunnan province, they made profits of 41  million yuan in 1980, whereas they had been lossmaking for many years, with a shortfall of 18  million yuan in 1979. 53 Replacing the zhiqing with peasants was not the only factor explaining this turnaround; the overall economic policy was certainly the main reason. However, it does show that sending the zhiqing to the farms was not absolutely vital to the economy. It appears to me that the only zhiqing who were really useful to China’s development were those who obtained jobs requiring a certain educational level, but these only represented some 10–15 percent of the total.54 Their contribution was mainly in the backward areas, especially the border regions,55 since the more developed ones were also more likely to have young peasants with a certain amount of education. However, the educational level in the countryside was often inferior to that in the cities, so even in more developed regions the young urbanites may have been useful. They mainly contributed to rural development by being teachers and

51

52 53 54 55

Feng Haohua, “Dui Qinghai yimin yu kenhuang de lishi kaocha” (Historical Survey on Immigration and Land Clearing in Qinghai), Jingji yanjiu 5 (1983), pp.  52–57; Zhongguo renkou tongji nianjian, 1985, p.  567; Jiping Yanrui, “Neimenggu de renkou qianyi,” p. 29. These spontaneous immigrants were peasants from overpopulated regions or regions that had suffered natural disasters. See above, pp. 148–49. Gu Hongzhang and Hu Mengzhou (eds.), Shimo, p. 184. See above, p. 310. For an example in Gannan county in Heilongjiang province, see Tian Fang et al. (eds.), Zhongguo renkou qianyi, pp. 97–98.

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“barefoot doctors,” but a few of them became cadres, notably in the Youth League and in propaganda departments. But even this hardly justified massive rustication. The question raised in the 1980s was how to find a policy that really catered to the need to develop the rural and border regions but without the cost of xiaxiang. Two changes were then implemented: quality took priority over quantity, which is to say higher education graduates,56 technicians, and specialists were sent to rural areas, and second, they were encouraged to go to these regions, rather than being asked to make sacrifices or forced. They were lured with “perks” such as higher salaries and faster promotion opportunities.57 The first candidate with a PhD to volunteer to go to the Ningxia Autonomous Region was immediately appointed deputy director of the Provincial Bureau of Education.58 Such people were allowed to retain their urban hukou as well as their urban rations, and permitted to return after a given number of years.59 Despite that, the policy ran into difficulties. After 1978 a large number of the specialists who had left between 1950 and 1960 managed to return, and in some places this “brain drain” was not entirely offset by the new arrivals.60 Some local young people were trained in nearby towns and assigned to the functions that had often been the zhiqing’s (primary and secondary school teachers, nurses, midwives, etc.). The emphasis was on the better utilization of the capacities of these rural young people and on giving them additional training.61 Some even went to university or to technical schools despite having below-requirement grades, on condition they agreed to return to the countryside once they graduated.62 The desire to make better use of local talent was far more realistic than the policy of rusticating zhiqing who, even when they were willing, had trouble adapting to a difficult environment and remained forever “strangers.” True, the reforms did not solve the problem of the modernization and

56 57 58 59

60 61 62

See above, pp. 206–7. See, for example, Tian Fang et al. (eds.), Zhongguo renkou qianyi, pp. 135–40. RMRB (haiwaiban), April 16, 1986, p. 8. See Tian Fang et al. (eds.), Zhongguo renkou qianyi, pp. 140–42; Huang Guochu, “Jingji fazhan zhanlüe he renkou qianyi zhengce” (Economic Development Strategy and Migratory Policy), RKYJJ 1 (1985), pp. 36–37. See also above, p. 207. Tian Fang et al. (eds.), Zhongguo renkou qianyi, pp.  139–40; Zhongguo renkou tongji nianjian, 1985, p. 573. RMRB, January 18, 1981, p. 3; RMRB, March 17, 1983, and Heilongjiang Radio, July 18, 1984, in FBIS, March 21, 1983, and July 20, 1984. GMRB, March 16, 1983, p. 1.

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development of the countryside and the gap between the rich regions and the poor ones grew. But the prerequisite for agricultural modernization and improving education and health in the countryside was to make those areas better off—or at least get them out of poverty and a subsistence economy. In that sense, the rural reforms that were initiated at the end of the 1970s were far more beneficial to developing the countryside than the rustication of some 18 million young urbanites, of whom only a few thousand were able, for a few short years, to make a limited contribution, the remainder being a burden on their hosts.

Reducing the Urban-Rural Gap Although one of the most often used justifications for xiaxiang was that it would reduce the gap between the cities and the countryside, the only noteworthy impact was in fact a sociocultural one. The young city dwellers in the countryside gave the peasants a clearer view of their very different world, for vast as rural China may be, a fairly large proportion of villages did receive zhiqing. In Jilin province, which was very active in the movement, one production team in three had a zhiqing center in 1977.63 The indirect discovery of urban life in the more backward regions and the minority areas certainly had some long-term effects on people’s mentalities and promoted cultural integration, although in some cases it also led to rejection and conflict. Furthermore, thanks to their rural experience, thousands of zhiqing also acquired better knowledge of rural life, and for some, of totally “exotic” cultures, and shared this knowledge with their parents and friends, in other words a large segment of the urban population. Later, some of those young people became writers, film directors, and painters, and disseminated their impressions, images, and feelings about their experience more broadly.64 In some cases, relationships formed between peasants and former zhiqing were kept up, further extending the impact of xiaxiang. In a country where movement and contact between city and countryside and between different regions was very limited because of the hukou system and trade restrictions, xiaxiang 63 64

Jilin shengzhi—Jingji zonghe guanlizhi—Laodong, p. 84. Xi Yang, “Zhiqing bixia de Zhongguo nongcun” (The Zhiqing’s Description of Rural China), Dangdai wenyi sichao 6 (1987), pp.  56–63. In films, see the example of Huang tudi (Yellow Earth), whose director, Chen Kaige, is a former zhiqing from Beijing sent to Xishuangbanna. For painting, see Meishu 11 (1984), pp. 10–11.

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helped to improve knowledge between the two segments of society. However, the importance of this contact should not be exaggerated. I believe that the young peasants who studied in the city had a far more important modernizing role than the young city dwellers. For one thing, when they returned, the peasants were more likely to give them positions of responsibility, and even though many might have preferred to live in the city, on the whole they were more motivated than the young urbanites by the objective of rural development. While xiaxiang may have improved mutual knowledge about rural and urban life, it did little to alter the pecking order in people’s minds. If anything it reinforced it,65 whereas it clearly ranked the difference between manual labor and intellectual work second place as a criterion of social stratification. A manual job in the city was far preferable to nearly all zhiqing and their parents than a nonmanual job in the countryside. In addition, xiaxiang left such a mark on the collective memory of city dwellers that even unemployment seemed preferable to rustication. One young unemployed 19-year-old interviewed in 1984 bluntly expressed his discontent and frustrations, but nevertheless thanked Deng Xiaoping, for without him he would have been obliged to go to the countryside.66 Several polls carried out in the early 1980s showed the failure to transform people’s mind-sets about the superiority of the city over the countryside. That attitude was especially clear among young people in Shanghai, the city with the highest rustication rate.67 In matrimonial advertisements, having an urban hukou was the main criterion for selecting a future spouse.68 Nor did xiaxiang reduce the traditional urban disdain for agricultural labor, let alone eradicate it, thus at the end of 1978 the authorities were still attempting to “create a new attitude in society to perceive agricultural labor as honorable.”69

65 66 67

68

69

See above, p. 292. Zhang Xinxin and Sang Ye, Beijingren, p. 204. Qingnian jiuye de tansuo yu shijian, pp.  299–301; Lan Chengdong and Zhang Zhongru, “Yingjie gaozhong biyesheng de zhiyuan qingxiang” (Aspirations of Future High School Graduates), Shehui 2 (1982), pp.  22–25; Alan P. L. Liu, “Opinions and Attitudes of Youth in the People’s Republic of China,” Asian Survey 24(9) (September 1984), p. 982. For example, a high school teacher sought with a view to marriage “a young girl […] who eats purchased cereals” (an urban privilege). See Zhongguo funü 12 (1984), p. 43. RMRB, December 15, 1978, p. 4.

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If anything, the concept of urban superiority over the countryside was reinforced during the xiaxiang period because improved mutual knowledge made each side more aware of the real differences between them. Neither xiaxiang nor any other policy at the time actually curtailed the advantages of urban life. The inequality between city and country was never really challenged, and the gap between the two grew. While city dwellers consumed on average 2.33 times more than peasants in 1964, in 1978 they were consuming 3.15 more.70 The main reason for this rural deterioration certainly lay in policies that encouraged autarky and strict limits on trade.71 Instead of reducing the gap in living standards, xiaxiang increased it, since the zhiqing added to the demographic burden of the rural regions. Nor did it challenge the fundamental difference in status between rural and urban citizens that was introduced by the hukou and rationing systems. In the 1980s some Chinese scholars recognized the importance of this structural gap: An urban hukou is superior to a rural one, a city hukou is superior to a town one, and a hukou for a large city is even greater than a hukou for a mediumsized or small town. That is a social phenomenon recognized by all. The city hukou (especially for a large city) has become more valuable than anything else.72

To effectively reduce the inequality between rural and urban status it would have been necessary to deal with the hukou system itself, and not just withdraw the privileges of urban residency from several million unlucky zhiqing, only to offer the same privileges to an equal number of country people. It cannot be said, therefore, that xiaxiang bridged the urban-rural gap.73 Given the forced nature of the migration, rustication was more of a 70

71 72 73

Claude Aubert, “Capitalisme rural ou économie socialiste? Les relations villescampagnes et les réformes agricoles en Chine” (paper presented at the Eighth International Conference on Agriculture in the USSR and the Eastern Bloc Countries, University of California, Berkeley, August 7–10, 1987), p.  12. These figures were based on sample surveys carried out by the relevant Chinese departments. Another way of calculating them taking global consumption figures produced a similar trend: a ratio of 1 to 2.26 in 1967 between “agricultural” and “nonagricultural” (mostly urban) consumption, 1 to 2.91 in 1977, and 1 to 2.36 in 1982; Zhongguo tongji nianjian, 1983, p. 484. See Fei Xiaotong’s theses on the subject, summarized in China News Analysis 1259 (April 23, 1984), especially p. 5. Ding Shuimu, “Xian xing huji guanli zhidu chuyi,” p. 19. As Richard C. Kraus does, in “The Limits of Maoist Egalitarianism,” Asian Survey

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catapult than a bridge. The problems it created obliged the Maoists to implement a better-organized system in which the economic and culture shocks the zhiqing were subjected to were less drastic. This was the differently organized rustication system to suburban farms and production teams as initiated by the town of Zhuzhou. While this system only concerned a minority of zhiqing, it was a genuine attempt to create a bridge between city and countryside by means of organizational and economic ties created between the parents’ work units and the receiving rural community.74 But since this attempt was also imposed it was not fully accepted by the people concerned either, namely the zhiqing, the peasants, and the urban enterprises. The reformers in power since 1978 did not proceed to dismantle the hukou system either, despite the recommendations of numerous Chinese specialists. However, after the economic reforms, the hukou lost some of its importance. The abolition of rationing, and greater tolerance for the immigration of rural workers to the cities and the creation of a temporary hukou especially for them, did more to establish bridges between the cities and the countryside than rusticating city dwellers during the Maoist era. Nevertheless, those rural workers are still second-rate citizens in their own country,75 and the difference between a city dweller and a “peasant” (even one living in the city and no longer working the land) is still perceptible in Chinese society, although less palpably than during the Maoist era thanks to the reforms. The socioeconomic results of the xiaxiang movement launched in 1968 were therefore very negative. However, since the main motives for it were, I believe, political and ideological, it should be assessed according to those criteria first and foremost.

74 75

16(11) (November 1976), p. 1095. See above, pp. 93–95. Dorothy  J. Solinger, Contesting Citizenship in Urban China: Peasant Migrants, the State, and the Logic of the Market (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999); Jean-Philippe Béja and Michel Bonnin, “La mort du village du Zhejiang,” Perspectives Chinoises 32 (November–December 1995), pp. 6–10.

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CHAPTER 14

Political and Ideological Assessment

Xiaxiang’s Political Stakes Xiaxiang’s political stakes, as I’ve defined them, were two-fold: to put an end to the Cultural Revolution by dispersing the Red Guards, and to prolong the revolution by launching a new movement to prevent society from stabilizing. These two objectives may appear contradictory on the surface, but both enabled Mao to strengthen his own power.1 There is no doubt that for Mao the massive rustication of the Red Guards and other young city dwellers was an effective way of ridding himself of a political force that had become a cumbersome nuisance and preventing opposition to the new order he was trying to establish from forming in the cities. From that point of view the results of xiaxiang policy were clearly positive for Mao, at least in the short term. In the longer term, the results were mixed. Rustication and the new university entrance system temporarily prevented a new intellectual and political elite from being formed that might have opposed Mao and taken sides with his opponents. However, the discontent caused by xiaxiang and the relative weakness of social control in the

1

See above, pp. 19–24.

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countryside did enable deviant cultural and political attitudes to ferment. While that mostly remained underground and without any formal organization, on some occasions it was expressed in the light of day, and even in the cities themselves.2 Similarly, xiaxiang as a means for the Great Helmsman to assert himself over his adversaries and assert his “charismatic” power over society may have had positive results in the short term but not in the long term. By launching a succession of political movements, Mao succeeded in maintaining this type of power until his death. He managed to prevent xiaxiang from being transformed into a kind of excess urban labor-force management program, despite a few concessions made to society and the “managers” within the leadership. The movement remained a charismatic one, in which ideology and revolutionary virtue were preeminent and closely linked to Mao’s person. Not only did this vast population displacement have no legal or regulatory foundation other than a directive from the Chairman, but Mao constantly showed how much store he set by the continuation of the movement, whose main objectives were typically Maoist ones. The movement attempted to forge the new generation in his own image by making it relive his own experience. The heads of the small leadership groups in charge of sending the zhiqing to the countryside were correct when they wrote, shortly after Mao’s death, “Without Chairman Mao’s personal concern, this vigorous movement to send our educated youth to the countryside and to the mountains would not exist.”3 On the other hand, the discontent generated by the movement turned against its instigator. The zhiqing held a personal grudge against Mao for their suffering, to the extent that having been a zhiqing seemed to be a sufficient reason to be anti-Mao. One underground Shanghai review wrote the following in defense of Wang Fuchen, who took part in the democracy movement, was arrested in April 1979 and sentenced to three years in prison for “calumny” at the end of December 1980: With regard to the charge of calumny, that is because Wang hung a large banner on People’s Square on which he had written roughly these words: “Mao Zedong, the grand lord of the party, warlord and tyrant, the people of Shanghai will never forgive you!” Wang was an educated youth sent to a village. The rustication policy promoted by Mao Zedong hit him personally, and he saw the disaster Mao Zedong’s leftist policies caused the country

2 3

See above, pp. 387–91. GMRB, September 27, 1976, p. 3.

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with his own two eyes, which explains why he has no respect for him. […] It was an assessment of Mao Zedong based on his feelings, and a very understandable way of expressing his anger.4

Certainly there were a number of reasons for the growing disaffection with Mao that followed the Cultural Revolution. People were tired of the uninterrupted flow of political movements, abrupt policy changes, and poor economic results. But Mao’s prestige was lowest among the former Red Guards and the zhiqing—the very generation that Mao had wanted to purify of all traces of revisionism, and which had supported him during the Cultural Revolution. Mao’s failure in this became clear when that generation allied itself strategically and explicitly with the old party cadres it had once attacked at Mao’s behest in 1966. The Li Yizhe dazibao (big character poster), the 1976 events in Tiananmen, and then, after Mao’s death, the Peking Spring of 1978–1979, were the most visible manifestations of this alliance of convenience, if not of the heart, between the generation Mao wanted to form and Mao’s historic opponents in the party. Mao’s failure in this was clear even though the extent of it only became apparent after his death. As we have seen, emphasizing the priority of ideological objectives in political action reinforced Mao’s charismatic power to the extent that he acquired a kind of monopoly in the field. The fact that Maoist-type xiaxiang, that is to say a movement primarily based on ideological objectives, was able to continue until his death, and even a short time after, can therefore be considered Mao’s political victory in the “two line struggle.” But the Great Helmsman may not have been so cynical about his ideological objectives and sincerely wanted to achieve them, if only to survive politically after his death. That is the most interesting aspect to study in assessing xiaxiang.

The Ideological Objectives There were many ideological objectives for xiaxiang when it was launched in 1968, but they all converged.5 These were principally to reeducate young urbanites who had been perverted by revisionism and turn them into Mao’s “revolutionary successors” thereby preventing China from “changing color” as a result of their betrayal. Uniting with the masses and doing manual labor were therefore a prerequisite before any possibility of university entrance or

4 5

Minzhu zhi sheng, special issue as a supplement to no. 6, January 6, 1981, p. 2. See above, pp. 3–18.

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promotion to a cadre’s position. Selection was not based on academic criteria, but depended on the extent of a person’s “revolutionary” attitude.

Selection by Virtue According to Max Weber,6 outside exceptional periods such as wars or revolutions, when the meaning and sincerity of individual actors are relatively easy to judge, charismatic authority (based on “virtue” and not on birth or ability) encourages hypocrisy, conformism, and denouncement. That was clear in the case of xiaxiang. The vast majority of zhiqing very quickly refused permanent rustication, but since university entrance, return to the city, or promotion to a nonagricultural position in the countryside depended on the zhiqing’s ideological reform, they were obliged to prove their inner reform by showing the correct external attitude, which, in most cases, was pure hypocrisy. The system did not eliminate competition for good positions, but substituted the blend of academic and political competition that had existed previously with political competition. The system of selection by virtue was therefore no guarantee of the revolutionary sincerity of future leaders. Furthermore, the discrepancy between the zhiqing’s real feelings and their professions of faith was too great to be convincing, and reality proved that the most enthusiastic activists, who were put in charge of leading the others, were often the first to abandon the fields. Little wonder then that selection by virtue led to widespread cynicism. Hypocrisy and cynicism were not the only flaws in this selection system. Indeed, government by virtue cannot withstand the constraints of law, and in the case of xiaxiang the objective and regulatory criteria for exemption were few and far between. In principle, having a good attitude and showing good ideology would be the determining factors. That conferred considerable discretionary power on the cadres, for Mao’s charismatic leadership did not provide his country with anything more to go by than a few directives of a few lines each, and relied on the intermediary layer of cadres for the practical application of his instructions. Thus in fact it was the cadres and not “the masses” who decided the zhiqing’s fate, and the system of selection by virtue merely encouraged flattery and various forms of corruption such as bribery and the exchange of services or illicit favors. Nor were these perverse effects offset by any real gains in diversifying

6

Weber, Economy and Society.

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the recruitment of a new elite. Not only were the children of cadres still at a special advantage, but that advantage was justified by the greater importance placed on class status. True, young people from working class or poor peasant backgrounds did benefit from the policy of class preference to some extent, but far less than the children of cadres. The theoretical selection by virtue was therefore usually transformed in practice to selection by birth and, where the cadre class was concerned, the hereditary transmission of the status it was supposed to prevent was strengthened.7 That occurred to the detriment of a large number of children of intellectuals who joined the excluded “bad classes,” whereas before the Cultural Revolution they, with the children of cadres, had formed one of the main pools of high school and university students for training future specialists and cadres. Maoist policy did not prevent the reproduction of the “new class,” far from it, but it did serve to rid that class of elements Mao considered detestable and dangerous. This reinforcement of selection by birth led to a growing fatalism in that urban generation, even though it had been trained from an early age to have a materialistic conception of the world. The results of selection by virtue therefore were not positive from the point of view of preparing a new, ideologically “pure” elite, but what Mao’s successors found to be especially serious was that while the “revolutionary successors” were being trained, real high-level specialists were not, and people weren’t even getting an average education. Today that shortfall has been estimated at more than one million college students and two million technical school students during the period 1966–1976. The secondary school system was also disrupted, and during the first years that followed the Cultural Revolution, “in some places, since all the junior high school students had left for the countryside, the senior high school cycle was stopped.”8 However, the most serious problem was certainly the general deterioration of teaching quality, and therefore the level of education. This was due in part to the type of education provided, which stressed political indoctrination and manual labor, but more to the demotivation that resulted from the 7

8

My own sources confirm those of Whyte and Parish on this point (Urban Life in Contemporary China, pp.  51–53). According to a sample survey in 1966–1977, children of high-ranking cadres were 1.7 times more likely to enter high school and 2.7 times more likely to enter university than the children of workers. See Zhou, Tuma, and Moen, “Educational Stratification in Urban China: 1949–1994,” p. 213. Zhang Hua, “Shilun ‘wenhua da geming,’” pp. 150–51.

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selection system implemented in 1968. When exams were no longer required to pass from one grade to the next, and the teachers’ authority was weakened, students were hardly inspired to make any effort or even show up for classes. In particular, when school results had no bearing on their future after high school graduation, they really felt there was no point in studying. The “uselessness-of-study theory” (dushu wuyong lun 讀書無用論) was widespread among students and their parents, both in the city and in the countryside. In the city, pupils were totally demotivated because they knew that their school results had no impact whatsoever on their being able to escape xiaxiang, or on their job allocation, if they were lucky enough to be able to stay in the city. In the countryside, seeing young high school graduates from the cities plowing the fields and the students from the countryside being systematically sent back to their villages did nothing to enhance the prestige of education. Since any knowledge acquired by the zhiqing during their studies (before or after the Cultural Revolution) was scarcely of use in the countryside, it is safe to say that xiaxiang and its related selection system were responsible for a massive waste of talent that weighs heavily in the political assessment of Mao Zedong. According to an unofficial source, when Deng Xiaoping reintroduced university entrance exams at the end of 1977, the conservative mayor of Tianjin, observing that these changes had led to a fall in the number of workers and peasants in the quotas of new students, apparently sent a report to denounce this “modification of the composition of the student class.” Apparently Deng immediately replied, “the important thing is to save the country.”9 In fact the waste caused by Maoist education policy was not offset by any real progress in reducing inequalities. Stopping the “key school” (zhongdian xuexiao) system not only failed to level out the type of education on offer to pupils, but it also failed to end social segregation in elite high schools,10 and overall the children of cadres continued to have privileged access to high school and university. Furthermore, on leaving education, selection by birth still prevailed, possibly more than before since it was no longer tempered by

9 10

Hu Zonghua, “Deng Xiaoping de gushi” (Stories about Deng Xiaoping), Mingbao yuekan 156 (December 1978), p. 16. Removing those differences did not mean the end of social segregation in high schools, since the elite schools continued to receive a high proportion of children of cadres. Interview on September 10, 1981, with Y. J. F., a high school teacher at No. 4 High School in Beijing in the early 1970s.

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academic results. So the education system introduced in 1968 failed to eradicate social injustice and selection by birth prevailed, making an entire urban generation the victim of injustice since it was refused the right to study as a means of social promotion and personal fulfillment.

Transforming Zhiqing into “New-type Peasants” An even more ambitious objective of xiaxiang than selecting the new revolutionary elite by virtue was the transformation of millions of young urban “intellectuals” into “new-type peasants” and thereby eliminating two of the “three great differences”: those between intellectual and manual work, and town and country. That transformation took the form of voluntary reeducation and implied that the zhiqing would rid themselves of their “bourgeois” mentality (essentially their egotism and dislike of manual labor and peasants), and turn into “new people” whose sole ideal would be to serve the people and the revolution.11 To achieve that, they merely had to integrate and identify with the masses, since the poor and lower-middle peasants already possessed the proletarian moral qualities the young “intellectuals” lacked. But as we saw in Chapter 9, the zhiqing were unable to identify with those ideal peasants for the simple reason that they did not exist.12 Nor did they integrate with the real peasant community. Even when they volunteered, their belief in sacrifice rarely withstood the poor standard of living, the peasants’ mistrust and, above all, the lack of any possibilities for self-fulfillment in the countryside for more than a couple of years. Mao had promised them that they would “accomplish great things” in that “vast domain,” but most were subjected to tedious and exhausting agricultural labor. For educated young urbanites, being reduced to an agricultural laborer could only lead to unbearable frustration in the long term. Even the young people from the countryside who returned to their villages after studying in the city often felt they were taking a step back into a stultifying existence. One of those returned educated youths (huixiang zhiqing) expressed his complaints to a youth magazine thus: “In the countryside there is nothing to do but eat, sleep, earn work points, marry, set up a household and have children. It’s not even worth thinking about anything else.”13 That explains why only an infinitely small number of zhiqing were

11 12 13

The term “new people” was not used at the time but renders the idea perfectly. See above, pp. 275–78. Qingnian yidai 2 (1980), p. 3.

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actually transformed into peasants. All those who left voluntarily with the ideal of serving the peasants wanted to help with something more specific. Agricultural labor could only be a provisional occupation, to allow them to “reform” and integrate with the population. Later the logic of the division of labor led them to leave the fields and become full-time teachers, “barefoot doctors,” technicians, or cadres. In most cases, the small number who, for better or worse, remained in the countryside after the “return wind” no longer did agricultural work. They usually left the villages to become specialized cadres or workers at the county (xian) level in the same region or province, and many later succeeded in transferring back to their hometowns.14 The transformation of educated young urbanites into “new-type peasants” did not therefore occur. In reality, despite any ideological gratification xiaxiang may have conferred, it was a rare peacetime example of rapid and wide-scale “downward mobility.”15 Eliminating the “three great differences” could hardly be a powerful stimulus if it merely meant turning educated young people and intellectual workers from the cities into manual workers in the countryside. Both zhiqing and intellectuals considered that a backward practice (“turning back the wheel of history”) and also, because some people were able to avoid it, profoundly unjust. Possibly Mao had no illusions about the goodwill he might expect from the zhiqing and hoped to reform and transform them anyway, hence the coercive nature of xiaxiang. But this “disguised reform through labor,” to use an expression attributed to Lin Biao, was insufficiently rigorous to be effective. Jean Pasqualini has described the daily ideological work and the web of constraints and surveillance used to obtain moral submission from convicts in the reform-through-labor camps during the 1950s and 1960s.16 Even there, the results were apparently mixed and did not last. It seems that human brains can never be definitively “washed.” At any rate, the social control system in the villages, and even in the farms, never succeeded in transforming the zhiqing into peasants.

14

15 16

In border regions such as Inner Mongolia and Yunnan province, some former zhiqing from big cities such as Beijing or Shanghai did obtain fairly high-ranking cadre positions at the provincial level. Interview on August 21, 1985, with several researchers from the Academy of Social Sciences. See the example of Zhou Bingjian, Note 166, Chapter 6. Deborah Davis, “‘Skidding’: Downward Mobility among Children of the Maoist Middle Class,” Modern China 18(4) (October 1992), pp. 410–37. Jean Pasqualini, Prisonnier de Mao (Paris: Gallimard, 1975).

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Nor did the zhiqing become New People rid of their egotism and prepared to devote themselves entirely to the common good. They soon realized that the poor and lower-middle peasants held up as models for this did not correspond to the ideal touted in propaganda. Furthermore, they were hard-pressed to find other models to replace them in Chinese society when party leaders, including Mao and Lin Biao, set such bad examples in their bitter leadership battles. Transforming man at the core therefore remained a utopic idea, but while the zhiqing may not have been transformed, they were certainly marked by their experience. The question is, how?

Training “Revolutionary Successors” or Remodeling Youth By launching the Cultural Revolution followed by the “down to the countryside” (xiaxiang) movement, Mao hoped, among other things, to train a generation of “revolutionary successors” who would be loyal to him and his policies and prevent “revisionist” deviation from gaining ground, and give a lie to the hopes the capitalists placed in the third or fourth generation of Chinese revolutionaries.17 Undoubtedly, by making all those young urbanites live through such an exceptional experience, Mao created a very specific political generation, but instead of producing a generation of successors to his revolution, he produced one that broke totally with the values of the regime, and especially with the values that he had tried to impose in the last ten years of his life. A historic shared experience during the formative years shapes a generation. It leads to specific behavior and ways of thinking, as well as group awareness, which is all the stronger when the historic experience is unique or traumatic.18 The Cultural Revolution and the xiaxiang generation comprises former Red Guards, as well as all the young urbanites who were subjected to xiaxiang or were sent to work in factories, mines, or the army after graduating from high school during the period when the Maoist education system prevailed, that is to say up until 1977.19 That generation roughly corresponds

17 18

19

See above, pp. 4–6. See Karl Mannheim, “The Problem of Generations,” in Essays in the Sociology of Knowledge (Boston: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1952), pp. 276–322, and Claudine Attias-Donfut, Sociologie des générations (Paris: PUF, 1988). On the other hand, the “Mao generation” invented by Helen Siu and Zelda Stern seems to me to be a concept with no scientific basis; Mao’s Harvest: Voices from

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to the young people born in the cities between 1947 and 1960. According to my estimates, approximately half of them were rusticated. At the end of 1997, the zhiqing in the countryside and those who had returned accounted for nearly 15 percent of the urban population. The average duration of xiaxiang was approximately six years but in fact many zhiqing stayed either for much shorter periods (between two and four years) or for much longer ones (between eight and eleven years).20 Those who had the most significant experience were those from the “three graduation years” (lao sanjie) in the first half of that age bracket, who first took part in the Cultural Revolution when in high school, were subsequently declared to have graduated, and were massively rusticated. The Cultural Revolution taught them to think for themselves, which they had never had occasion to do before. True, they lived during the period of the Mao cult and Mao Zedong Thought, but since that was sufficiently vague to enable all Red Guard groups to claim it for themselves, the young people’s partisan and ideological choices entailed a fair share of individual decision making. Thanks to the Cultural Revolution, they acquired greater political awareness than the same generation in other Communist countries. Indeed, for two years politics was not just a rite in which they were obliged to take part, but the subject of their day-to-day concerns and sometimes, a matter of life and death. The Cultural Revolution also gave them experience of independent political organization, which was a rare thing in that type of regime. It gave them an opportunity to express the idealism instilled in them by their education. Even

20

China’s New Generation (New York: Oxford University Press, 1983), pp.  15, 24. I do not believe it possible to place writers formed in the 1950s and the early 1960s, like Zhang Jie and Liu Xinwu, in the same category as writers formed by the Cultural Revolution and the period that followed. Nor do I believe that the authors concerned would approve. Zhang Jie for one, clearly stated, through one of her heroines, that she belonged to a different generation, “neither so blindly optimistic as some members of the old generation, nor so blindly pessimistic as some members of the young generation”—precisely the Red Guard and zhiqing generation. See Zhang Jie, “Fangzhou” (The Arch), Shouhuo 2 (1982), p. 43. A broad survey carried out in 1993 and 1994 in twenty Chinese cities on a representative sample of urban residents, found the average duration of rustication for those who had been zhiqing to be six years; Xueguang Zhou and Liren Hou, “Children of the Cultural Revolution,” p.  16. I made my own calculation of the average length of stay of 108 former zhiqing who had participated in a collection of accounts about their lives; see Sha Fei et al. (eds.), Kule nianhua. The sample was in no way representative, but the result was 6.61 years.

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though their hopes were subsequently dashed, a great many of them retained that insatiable thirst for an ideal. There was no question for that generation to set off unthinkingly down any path opened up by one of the leaders. The repression of the Red Guards and the Lin Biao affair had taught them to be wary of their idols and their grandiose political ideals. Xiaxiang taught them that there was a difference between propaganda and reality. The “three graduation years” (lao sanjie) had a considerable influence on their younger counterparts who were too young to have fully lived through the Cultural Revolution but who had nevertheless learned about the basic social realities (whether in the countryside or in factories) and who were also deprived of being able to use their intellectual capacities or having a job that matched their educational level. Because of the Cultural Revolution, that entire generation had considerable group awareness. Mao had confided the sacred task of saving China and Socialism to them—the country’s youth—alone. Then the abstract feeling of being part of a chosen generation was offset by the reality of partisan splits between the Red Guards, but rustication did create a feeling of solidarity among the excluded and quickly erased any former divisions. The end of xiaxiang and the return to the pre–Cultural Revolution educational system reinforced that feeling, because it symbolized the end of an experience that no one else would have after them. Furthermore, the difficulties the zhiqing had in reinserting themselves when they returned massively to the cities heightened their feeling of being a class apart and one that was bullied and misunderstood. That was when a number of writers began to publish their works and became the spokespeople for their generation, asserting their belonging to a specific social group with a unique experience. All those writers have stated that their desire to speak for their generation was one of the main motivations for their literary vocation and very often attributed the origin to xiaxiang. One example from many, is this extract from the poetess Shu Ting: Huddled with my companions in a ruined temple, listening to sentimental guitar music; sitting with my companions on a sandbank in hazy moonlight, singing “My Home Is on the Songhua River”; lying on a pile of scented hay, listening to cold and distant sound of barking dogs and weeping soundlessly. […] But even though the days were harder still, they had something that now inspires nostalgia. Like my companions, I marched from one mountain village to another, welcomed in each by the educated youth. The things we saw, the stories we heard, and the shadows of those faces, both familiar and distant, are pressed into the firmament of my memory like

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stars. I swore then that I would write something like Ai Wu’s Journey to the South so that I would bear witness to that entire sacrificed generation. That is why I took up my pen.21

The titles of their works often included the word or concept of generation,22 and many were dedicated to the “17  million zhiqing,” or “the three graduation years,” or even “to the zhiqing who died in the countryside.” Their characters often expressed that generation’s demands, first and foremost of which was to be recognized and accepted as being different from the preceding generation. In one novel, a zhiqing says to his mother and girlfriend, “The road our generation took was not the same as the one you took. It was different, very different!”23 In 1966, when Mao launched the country’s youth against his enemies and the “Four Olds,” the Red Guards found themselves in direct opposition to the preceding generations, including their own parents. Add to that the very specific experience of xiaxiang that followed, and the process of differentiating them from other age groups was completed. The existence of a gap separating that generation from others was not only asserted by the members of that generation themselves, but recognized by society in general, especially by the preceding generations, who often expressed surprise at the young people’s ideas and behavior, including their own children’s.24 That feeling of belonging to a specific generation has not faded over time.25 Zhang Kangkang 21

22

23 24 25

Shu Ting, “Shenghuo, shuji yu shi” (Life, Books, and Poetry), in Wang Meng et al., Zou xiang wenxue zhi lu, p. 283. “My home ...” is the first verse of a very popular sentimental song at the time of the Japanese invasion of Manchuria. Journey to the South is a collection of short stories describing the peregrinations of a young Chinese man in Yunnan province and in Burma in the 1920s and 1930s, and denounces the evils of colonialism. See Ye Xin, Women zhe yidai nianqingren; Zhang Xinxin, “Women zheige nianji de meng”; Wang Peigong, “WM Women”; Cheng Zhenghe, “Women dou shi nianqingren.” See also “Cry of a Generation,” Shu Ting’s poem quoted at the beginning of this book; Shu Ting, “Yidai ren de husheng” (Cry of a Generation), in Shu Ting, Shuang wei chuan (The Boat with Two Masts) (Shanghai: Shanghai wenyi chubanshe, 1982). I could easily fill several pages with similar quotations. Ye Xin, Women zhe yidai nianqingren, p. 427. See Gu Gong, “Liangdai ren” (The Two Generations), Shikan, October 1980, pp. 49–51. There are many novels dealing with xiaxiang and that generation’s experience, and they are still being published. In one, the hero describes to a foreign journalist the characteristics of the five generations currently in China. He insists on the

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has shown how it subsisted despite former comrades being scattered around and enduring different fates on their return to urban society.26 In practical terms, that feeling was expressed after their return to the city by solidarity between former zhiqing. For instance, a manager of a collective enterprise gave priority to hiring former zhiqing having been a zhiqing himself,27 while another, who had become a cadre in the Organization Department of the Central Committee, would plead the cause of former zhiqing who had become cadres in the countryside to his superiors;28 and yet another, who became a literary critic, defended a zhiqing writer from attacks.29 That type of solidarity did not alter the gaps that existed between different social strata, but like regional solidarity, softened and complicated them at one and the same time since it established ties between members of different social classes while introducing other divisions within each layer. The two characteristics of that generation, as perceived by the generation itself as well as by others, gave rise to two definitions: the lost generation (shiluo de yidai 失落的一代 or miwang de yidai 迷惘的一代) and the thoughtful generation (sikao de yidai 思考的一代). The lost generation because, like the young intellectuals and artists who lived through the slaughter of World War I, they had drastically lost their illusions and respect for the values they learned in their childhoods.30 Having been misled by grand speeches and paid dearly for their naivety, they now believed only in

26 27 28 29

30

exceptional qualities and the historic importance of the fourth generation, that of the former Red Guards and the zhiqing, which was that character’s generation as well as the author’s. See Ke Yunlu, Ye yu zhou, xia juan (Night and Day, Vol. 2) (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1986), pp. 631–34. Zhang Kangkang, “Ta.” Several interviews carried out in China since 1979. Qingnian yidai 6 (1984), pp. 35–36. See Xu Mingxu, “Lun ‘Xin Xing,’ ‘Ye yu zhou’ de zhengzhi, wenhua jiazhi” (On the Political and Cultural Value of “New Stars” and “Night and Day”), Dangdai 1 (1987), pp. 260–65. Xu Mingxu, like Ke Yunlu, whom he defends in this article, is a writer from that generation as well as the author of a short story that was violently criticized: “Diaodong” (The Transfer). The expression “lost generation” was apparently coined by Gertrude Stein in Paris just after World War I. She heard it from her garage mechanic and said to Hemingway, “That is what you are. That’s what you all are, all of you young people who served in the war. You are a lost generation. […] You have no respect for anything.” See Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast (New York: Scribner, 1966 edition), p. 29.

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what they saw—and only if they wanted to.31 In some people, the void created by the loss of ideals led to a cynical attitude, while in others it led to a desperate desire to seek more solid values. A lost generation too because it lost the opportunity to study at the age when that is what people normally do, as reflected in the expression danwule de yidai 耽誤了的一代, or “those who were made to waste their time.”32 That was particularly significant because after the regime’s Four Modernizations turnaround, education and diplomas were key to achieving any social prestige. For most zhiqing that loss was permanent. When exams were reintroduced in 1977, many zhiqing tried to take up their studies again, but only a fraction were able to get into university. Many others had to fall back on night classes or distance learning via TV. Courageously, they partially succeeded in making up for lost time, even though many were already working and had a family and children. That they were obliged to “start from scratch”33 only served to strengthen that feeling of belonging to a lost generation. According to an official author, this was “one of the social causes of the ‘crisis of confidence’ in the CCP and the socialist way affecting a segment of the youth during a certain period.”34 In families of intellectuals and artists, where education and culture were even more highly prized, the bitterness of a generation that was denied the means to pursue its intellectual ambitions was especially strong. Wu Huan, son of the famous playwright Wu Zuguang, who was rusticated after the Cultural Revolution, even though he had only finished primary school in 1966, expressed that bitterness ironically: Apparently China has a 5,000-year-old culture and has practiced socialism for a few decades. And after all that, a primary school education is enough to be counted as an “educated youth.” All right, let’s accept that. So I left as an educated youth, but when I returned I was a young idiot. So in the end,

31

32

33 34

The skepticism of this generation is clearly expressed in Bei Dao’s poem “Reply,” the most famous verse of which just says, “I—don’t—believe!” Bei Dao, “Huida” (Reply), in Bei Dao shixuan (Selection of Poems by Bei Dao) (Guangzhou: Xin shijie chubanshe, 1986), pp. 25–26. This expression was used, for instance, by Wang Zhaohua, permanent member of the Chinese People’s Consultative Political Committee and vice-president of the Committee for the Concern for the Next Generation (sic), in Zhongguo nongmin 12 (1994), p. 19. Xiao Fuxing, “Chaidamu zuo zheng,” p. 34. Zhang Hua, “Shilun ‘wenhua da geming,’” p. 152.

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what kind of young person was I? I still don’t know today. Ten years passed in a flash and I’m not even young any more. All that remains is my uselessness and bitterness. When I think of the past, I blanch.35

In the same tone of self-mockery, Wu Huan calls his works “young idiot literature” (shaqing wenxue 傻青文學) in reference to the “educated youth literature” (zhiqing wenxue 知青文學). Humor gives way to pure rage described symbolically in a short story about a zhiqing who traveled a long way one snowy night just to borrow a book and then lost it in a fight with two wolves: Every cell in his body began to hum and to scream. […] He thought the world was really horrible and that he’d really had no luck these past years, life had been too hard, he had been too repressed, he had suffered too much, and everything was just shit. And this night simply was not funny, he had had enough. He smashed the wolf’s head against the tree again until the creature fainted and then died, blood spewing out of its mouth. Only then did he stop.36

One might consider that Mao’s revolutionary desire to fight social reproduction through education was justified. But for one thing that reduction in educational advantage did not affect the cadre class, and for another, while the children of intellectuals certainly paid the highest price from the point of view of social mobility, they were far from being alone. The entire generation suffered an educational loss.37 But that generation cannot be defined purely negatively by educational deprivation and lost illusions. It also acquired a unique experience of the country’s economic, social, and political realities that the following generation, trained after 1978, did not have, and which became a considerable advantage in many areas. It has generally been recognized that the cadres, workshop managers, and company directors from that generation stood out

35 36 37

Jiefang yuebao, February 1988, p. 60. Wu Huan, “Heiye, senlin, shaqing” (Dark Night, Forest, Young Idiot), Dangdai 6 (1985), p. 212. In China, as elsewhere, the policy of spreading education that generally started in 1977, rather than the earlier policy that benefitted one social group to the detriment of another, ultimately had the greater impact on equal opportunities in education; see Zhong Deng and Donald J. Treiman, “The Impact of the Cultural Revolution on Trends in Educational Attainment in the People’s Republic of China,” American Journal of Sociology 103(2) (September 1997), p. 425.

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for their sense of reality, pragmatism, and determination. That generation also produced artists and writers, who have created original works from their personal experience. In the 1980s, Zhang Xinxin estimated that their works accounted for more than a third of the total published in literary reviews.38 In the social sciences, researchers from that generation quickly profited from their particular awareness of social issues and made an important contribution.39 Former zhiqing who succeeded in getting into university played an important role in implementing rural reforms after 1980. Chen Yizi, a former “rightist” specialized in agricultural matters, paid homage to the qualities of the former educated youths he worked with when he founded the Research Group on Agricultural Development in 1980, whose large-scale field surveys and original proposals greatly helped the reformist leaders in their decision making. Cadres from earlier periods, even when they spent a little time in the villages, rarely had such intimate knowledge as the zhiqing of the rural realities, let alone the same idealism, independence of spirit, or even the same feelings about the countryside and the peasants.40 In political terms, the “thoughtful generation” also proved to be creative and original. The “great democracy” ideal and people’s participation in political life during the Cultural Revolution had given them a taste for democracy. But they learned by thinking about the Red Guards’ excesses and coming into firsthand contact with the arbitrary powers of the cadres that democracy would only be possible if there was respect for the law. Criticisms of bad bureaucrats that were expressed during the Cultural Revolution were transformed into criticism of bureaucracy itself when the former Red Guards realized that the new cadres, who came to power as a result of the Cultural Revolution, were even worse than those who preceded them. Furthermore, the excesses in glorifying individual sacrifice produced a new awareness of the existence of individuals and their rights among the young people who, having sacrificed so much to Maoist

38

39

40

Zhang Xinxin, ““Zhishi qingnian zuojia” qunluo de xingcheng he yanbian” (The Formation and Development of the Zhiqing Writers’ Community) (paper presented at the International Conference on Contemporary Chinese Literature, Shanghai, November 4–6, 1986). See, for example, Jiang Guangyu, “‘Lao sanjie’ shi woguo rencai ziyuan de fukuang” (“The Three Graduation Years” Are a Mine of Talent for Our Country), Shehui 4 (1985), pp. 14–16. Chen Yizi, Zhongguo: shinian gaige yu ba jiu minyun (China: The Ten Years of Reforms and the 1989 Democracy Movement) (Taibei: Lianjing chuban shiye gongsi, 1991), p. 36.

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ideals, whether voluntarily or not, finally asked themselves, “I fought for society and ideals, but what did I get out of it for myself?”41 Of course that does not mean that every member of that generation became particularly egotistical or egocentric. Moral loss is difficult to quantify but it must be recognized that it occurred, while specifying that it was widely shared throughout Chinese society, and that the corrupted were more immoral than those who did the corrupting. As a rule, the former zhiqing were very aware of the society around them and their country’s destiny. Many showed that they were still prepared to make sacrifices, or at least to take risks for a cause they believed in. But they did so as aware individuals and no longer as the “little screws” in the big revolutionary machine. As I mentioned earlier, that generation played an important role in the events on Tiananmen Square of April 5, 1976, and the democracy movement in 1978–1980, and when it demanded to return to the cities, it was able to organize social protest actions on a scale never seen before in the history of the regime.42 The Cultural Revolution and xiaxiang induced changes in the mentalities of that generation that were not only different, but even radically opposed to what Mao intended. From the Maoist point of view, the former Red Guards and zhiqing had become more revisionist than the “revisionists” he had denounced in the mid-1960s.43 That paradox was summed up perfectly by a former educated youth: After the xiaxiang period we preferred to rely on the truth of experience. We no longer trusted anyone so easily. At the outset the person who told us to “go into this vast world” to be “reeducated” could not have imagined

41

42 43

Tang Can et al., “Sikao yidai de ziwo fansi” (The Thoughtful Generation’s Soul Searching), Qingnian yanjiu 12 (1986), p. 15. This article (the first part of which appeared in the preceding issue) was the first quality study to be published in China on a subject that was still difficult to broach officially at the time. See above, pp. 140–53, 387–97. That is true in many areas, including the relationship between intellectuals and manual workers. The members of that generation in intellectual positions today do not believe in having to be continually reformed through contact with workers and peasants, but instead have rid themselves of the complexes and bad conscience of “leftwing intellectuals” with regard to the working classes. Having been peasants and workers themselves, they do not feel they have anything to apologize for and have no compunction about asserting their status as intellectuals while fully being part of the people. See the interview with the writer Han Shaogong, in Zhengming 11 (1986), p. 53.

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what the effect of his cruel decision would be, what sort of people would be formed by it. His idealism forged our realism; his dogmatism gave rise to our freedom of thought, his policy of making the people mindless was the origin of our independence of spirit.44

One of the official propaganda clichés about the reassessment of xiaxiang, often repeated by the zhiqing themselves, was that after having suffered so much in the countryside, this generation was “able to eat bitterness” (neng chi ku 能吃苦). In other words, it could boast that it was better able to bear all kinds of hardships. The question is, both from the point of view of individuals and people as a whole, whether the ability to bear suffering and privation can be considered positive. For the government it was clearly desirable that the people could content themselves with little, but for the people concerned and for the future of the country that was a handicap more than anything else, for people who readily accept poor living conditions are less likely to want to improve them. Similarly, while toughening up physically was glorified at the time and is still a subject of pride for the former educated youth, it made them age faster than city dwellers. As a rule, nothing the zhiqing learned in the countryside was much use to them in readapting to urban society. From the point of view of the country’s interest, the waste of intellectual resources of an entire generation as a result of the Cultural Revolution and xiaxiang was a great loss. However, it has to be said that some of those young people did succeed in getting a decent education by individual study or by getting the most out of the opportunities available in the universities for catching up between 1977 and 1979 or various kinds of evening schools. Those young people’s special qualities, with their good level of knowledge and rich experience, certainly helped to compensate for the lack of specialists at the time. Furthermore, their radical questioning of Marxist-Leninist-Maoist orthodoxy as a result of their experience enabled them to break the shackles of dogma, taught them to be wary of misleading ideology, and opened them up to new ideas. It was largely because they considered that the Cultural Revolution and xiaxiang had allowed them to shed their ideological and political illusions, learn to think for themselves, and understand social realities that this generation was, on the whole, against the “total negation” (quanpan fouding 全盤否 定) of the Cultural Revolution, advocated by the Deng Xiaoping government

44

Li Yinhe, “Wode rensheng di yi ke.”

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in the early days of the reforms. Certainly that would have meant rejecting a whole part of themselves they were attached to and without which they were no longer themselves. That generation was very aware of having “something more” than the others and some of its members clearly expressed that feeling of generational superiority. Zhang Chengzhi, for instance, wrote the following: Despite the terrible hurt we suffered, despite the disorder introduced into the progress of our lives, and even though we often sighed over our youth and continue to do so today, I still believe that our generation was blessed by the heavens and that we are lucky.45

Another reason why the former Red Guards and zhiqing refused “total negation” of the Cultural Revolution was because that was their youth, and no one ever entirely repudiates that. Many writers and a large number of my own respondents felt a certain nostalgia for that xiaxiang period after they returned. Here is the writer Shi Tiesheng on the subject: I know that even if I had not become paralyzed I would not have spent the rest of my life in Qingpingwan and that if my legs were to mend now, I would not return to live there […] but I really do feel nostalgic about the place, and I’ve come to realize that many former zhiqing really feel quite homesick for their Qingpingwan.46

A character in a novel by Zhang Kangkang also said: I must have cursed this place a thousand times but since I left it I often feel quite sentimental about it. Never again will we dream endlessly about the future, lying on the autumn hay and watching the wild geese flying across the sky above. Nor will we ever be that age again.47

This contradictory sentimentality, which further reinforced the group awareness of the former zhiqing, is typical of any generation that has lived through difficult times that marked their youth. World War I veterans tended to highlight “brotherhood in the trenches” and, while never forgetting the horrors of

45 46

47

Zhang Chengzhi, “Houji” (Postface), in Laoqiao (The Old Bridge) (Beijing: Beijing Shiyue wenyi chubanshe, 1984), p. 305. Shi Tiesheng, “Jihui hui mengli hui Yan’an” (Returning to Yan’an in Dreams), in Ma Shangrui et al. (eds.), Beijing zuojia tan chuangzuo (Beijing Writers Discuss Literary Creation) (Beijing: Beijing Shiyue wenyi chubanshe, 1985), pp. 195–96. Zhang Kangkang, “Ta,” p. 19.

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war, sometimes referred to it “with a sort of tenderness.”48 There was a kind of “veteran” spirit among the former zhiqing when in the 1980s they began to return in groups to the places where they had spent their xiaxiang.49 While we need to recognize the importance of the generational aspect of the former Red Guards and zhiqing, we should not exaggerate its impact on individual actions. The writer Liang Xiaosheng provided one example about a certain Zhu Shengwen, a zhiqing from Harbin who later became the deputy mayor of that city. Liang had personally expressed his pride in seeing a former zhiqing in such a responsible position and praised his devotion to the job. He was then surprised and disappointed when Zhu lost his job following a corruption scandal.50 * * * Overall then, the assessment of xiaxiang is very negative. The movement’s few positive aspects were not enough to offset the losses to the state, to society in general, and to the zhiqing in particular. None of the official objectives used to justify it were really achieved. Moreover, xiaxiang was responsible for many serious perverse effects, some of which were lasting. In particular, it was an important factor in the deterioration of the social climate that began during this period. Nevertheless, as so often is the case in history, the movement did have positive consequences as a result of its actual failure. The extent of the problems it caused forced Mao’s successors to innovate. It also enabled the young generation to become aware of a number of issues related to the type of regime in which they had grown up. Because of its radical and excessive nature, Mao’s policy in this domain as in others provoked an acceleration of history but in the opposite direction to the one Mao intended. Thus after his death, China found itself ahead of the USSR on the road to “revisionism,” in the sense of renouncing certain dogma and ideological ambitions in favor of economic ones, which, while failing to solve all the country’s problems, did at least provide the people with a modicum of well-being.

48 49

50

Antoine Prost, Les Anciens Combattants, 1914–1940 (Paris: Gallimard-Julliard, 1977), pp. 33, 45. Nearly all the educated youth I know returned at least once to their former village or farm, often in groups. In some cases, the better off among them got together to help pay the travel expenses of their less-well-off comrades. This was quite common practice from the mid-1980s on. See Qingnian yidai 6 (1985), pp. 8–9; Wenhuibao (Hong Kong), July 30, 1986, p. 20. Xiao Jian and Guo Xiaodong, Lao sanjie yu gongheguo tong xing, pp. 141–42.

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Economic Program or Political Movement? Massive post–Cultural Revolution xiaxiang as a “movement” with political and ideological objectives specifically related to the history of the CCP and Mao’s person did not have the “rationality” that some economists and political scientists conferred on it in the 1970s. It would be wrong, I believe, to want to rationalize regimes that assert nonutilitarian motives and reduce their ideological objectives to mere irrelevant facades. We know that even some highranking Nazis did not understand or accept Hitler’s irrational, anti-utilitarian emphasis on the ideological objective of exterminating Jews, often regardless of the regime’s economic and military interests.1 Reducing the desire for extermination to mere material interests would be missing a vital aspect. Similarly, in the case of xiaxiang, stressing the economic motives and forgetting the political ones, especially the fact that the zhiqing were rusticated in order to be reeducated (and not, for instance, to become “a new rural elite” functionally comparable to the literati who returned to their villages in former

1

See Arendt, The Origins of Totalitarianism, p. 342.

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times),2 would be to make a very unfortunate selective reading of official discourse. It must be recognized, however, that the confusion regarding the importance of the various factors at play may be explained by the seeming continuity with the pre–Cultural Revolution movement, when economic motives, such as employment and the cost of education, dominated. As we have seen, those motives persisted after 1968, at least in the minds of some of the leaders. But xiaxiang was not the only possible solution to these problems and only appeared rational within a certain development logic that, while outwardly economic, was basically determined by political and ideological factors. In fact, the first, pre–Cultural Revolution xiaxiang was a result of the CCP’s inability to govern the country according to a rational plan, as it claimed to be doing. In terms of economic development, education, and population movements, the 1950–1960 decade was a succession of feverish periods followed by cooling off ones. The problem of outlets for graduates occurred sporadically during the 1950s. The catastrophic failure of the Great Leap Forward led to a severe economic readjustment, in which the “managers” (notably Liu Shaoqi and Zhou Enlai) convinced themselves of the need to rid the cities of a portion of their young people for a number of years. However, they were unable to obtain the consent of the parties concerned simply by telling them that this sacrifice was necessary to develop a specific economic model. They had to find additional high-minded reasons and moral constraints, which only Maoist ideology could supply. But for Mao, ideology was not a secondary factor, since it was directly related to his power and desire for social transformation. So xiaxiang, launched just when he eliminated (or brought to order) the managers, was clearly governed by a different logic than pre–Cultural Revolution xiaxiang. The ideological and political objectives played a vital role and were inextricably linked to the Great Helmsman’s prestige, thus conferring a sacred element on them. Of course, economic considerations were not forgotten in the practical application of xiaxiang and they remained a priority for those managers who survived the Cultural Revolution (Zhou Enlai, and later Deng Xiaoping). They attempted to reintroduce their own logic, which led to tensions, but they could not openly challenge the major trends decided by Mao. After his death, when the 2

Here I refer in particular to the article by Chen Pi-chao, “Overurbanization, Rustication of Urban-Educated Youths, and Politics of Rural Transformation.” But many other outside researchers at the time fell into the trap of economism or of idealizing the PRC’s political operating methods.

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managers took up the reins they tried to impose their earlier model of a type of xiaxiang principally driven by economic motivations, but they ran into fierce social resistance. As pragmatists, they understood that the cost of maintaining that policy would far exceed any benefits, and despite the very unfavorable demographic situation, they found other solutions to the urban employment problem by introducing wide-scale economic policy reforms. When they finally abandoned the Stalinist model once and for all, the Chinese leaders discovered that the “constraints” that had imposed xiaxiang were not as constraining as they had appeared. When assessing this movement we must, therefore, avoid the temptation of economism. That the movement existed at all and lasted for a decade was because Mao wanted it, and if it died, it was because the Chairman died, or more precisely because he died politically once the supporters of his teachings were swept aside from decision making. Just as one can say that “without Mao there would have been no Great Leap Forward,”3 so one can also say that without Mao there would have been no xiaxiang, or at least in the form it took after 1968. The question is, why did Mao want this movement and defend it so fiercely until his death? As we have seen, Mao’s motives were first and foremost political and ideological. Xiaxiang in 1968 was circumstantially related to his desire to finish with the Red Guards while continuing to mobilize China to prevent it from stabilizing and “concentrating more on rice than revolution.”4 But its actual roots were older and deeper. The movement was an external manifestation of the anti-intellectual populist attitude that had been Mao’s since adolescence and was translated into action in the 1942 xiaxiang, and later in the movement he initiated in 1955 with his own directive. Mao’s attitude toward intellectuals was the result not only of a visceral antipathy resulting from personal resentment, or the desire to reduce social differences, but also of a political wariness of a social stratum that had shown independence of spirit.5 His anti-intellectual policy led to a massive waste of

3 4 5

Roderick MacFarquhar, The Origins of the Cultural Revolution, 2. The Great Leap Forward, 1958–1960 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1983), p. 333. D. S. Zagoria quoted in Bennett, Yundong, p. 75. So when Mao sent heads of educational establishments to the countryside and replaced them with workers, peasants, or soldiers without any intellectual skills but who were ready to “apply an unfailing dictatorship in the superstructure,” they were reinforcing his control over education. See Li Honglin, “Cong zeyou luqu tan xiaomie chabie” (The Eradication of Difference and Problems in Selecting the

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talent, only a part of which was due to xiaxiang, that started in the mid-1950s with attacks against various intellectuals and the anti-rightist movement. Xiaxiang and Maoist policy regarding the education and training of the nation’s youth should be seen as measures to stultify a people to prevent the emergence of intellectuals or a people with any critical faculties in the next generation. As we have seen, he failed to achieve his objective, although in quantitative terms, the number of people with a decent education certainly fell sharply during that period. Mao’s populist tendencies, related to his revolution’s rural origins and the influence of the Russian populists as transmitted to China by Li Dazhao, also explain his desire to send millions of young people to the countryside. The need for peasants to reeducate half an urban generation would have seemed less necessary to him had Mao not been suspicious in principle of the entire urban population not actually employed in the major state factories or government bodies, and had he not considered the countryside and the peasants to be morally superior to the city and to city dwellers. When looking into the rationality of xiaxiang, we should not forget that while the economic situation played a role in its practical application, widescale xiaxiang was never a well-planned economic program. That can be seen in the huge variations in the number of departures depending on the year and the place.6 Xiaxiang was always a rather badly organized movement, subject to the vagaries of the political climate and entailing massive mobilization of the population on political and ideological themes. Among the many movements (yundong 運動) launched by the CCP since its inception, xiaxiang was one of the most authoritarian. As a forced displacement of a people to a distant region to carry out manual labor, it resembled nothing more than deportation, but it is difficult to place in that category since officially it was not a sentence, it was not usually applied by force, and it kept up the pretense of being voluntary. Xiaxiang is hard to define, being a hybrid movement that entailed both mobilization and constraint, and while it was partly inspired by a Soviet model, it was really an original CCP creation, with roots in the party’s history and its leader’s ideology. Xiaxiang is especially interesting as an illustration of the relationship that existed at the end of the Maoist era between the party-state and society. It

6

Best), RMRB, February 11, 1978, p. 2. Needless to say, Li does not attribute that objective to Mao, but to the Gang of Four. See p. xxxii and Figure 1, p. 176. See also Liu Xiaomeng, Zhongguo zhiqing shi, pp. 386–87.

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revealed the considerable power the authorities wielded over the population, and correlatively the poor means available to the population to defend its interests. The fate of the zhiqing is symbolic of that of the entire Chinese society during that period, and xiaxiang is a revealing indicator of the political power that launched it. The rare examples of comparable practices outside China, whether or not they were influenced by the Chinese example, show how such movements are only able to develop in certain kinds of regime. That explains why during the period when its serious shortcomings were unknown outside the country, it was not able to serve as a model to the Third World, as some thought it could.

International Influence The Tanzanian government under Julius Nyerere (a great admirer of Mao) tried to imitate China by sending the urban unemployed to the villages. However, with no appropriate system of social control, “the vast majority of those who were transferred by force managed to return to the cities after a day or two.7 On the other hand, Vietnam after reunification in 1975 had a regime that resembled China’s and a household registration system based on the Chinese hukou model, and the country did succeed in organizing a transfer of the urban population from the Red River Delta and the central plains, to land-clearing regions called “new economic zones.”8 According to the Vietnamese 1976–1980 five-year plan, the number should have been four million migrants, but only one and a half million actually left. Subsequently, despite the ambitious objectives numbers fell regularly, from an average of 300,000 per year to approximately 100,000 in 1997.9 Furthermore, these migrations did not concern city dwellers only (their ratio probably fell increasingly in relation to peasants from overpopulated regions) and the majority of the people who were displaced by force left the “new economic zones”

7 8

9

New York Times, January 17, 1977, quoted in Bernstein, Up to the Mountains and Down to the Villages, p. 291. Scharping, Umsiedlungsprogramme für Chinas Jugend, p.  448, and Francis Gendreau et al., “Les migrations internes,” in Patrick Gubry (ed.), Population et développement au Vietnam (Paris: Karthala-Ceped, 2000), pp. 195–217. The government estimated that 7 million people would be transferred during 1986–1990, while recognizing that the figure was “optimistic” (Le Monde, October 30, 1985, p. 6, and February 7, 1986, p. 6). The objective was reduced to 1.6 million and 1,142,600 persons actually left.

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because of the insufficient infrastructure. As in China, implementing a “socialist market economy” led to greater flexibility in the household registration system, and spontaneous migration began to play a far greater role than organized migration. It is important to stress here that many justifications for this program recall those used for pre–Cultural Revolution xiaxiang as well as other measures used in China for displacing the urban population. In Vietnam there was a desire to limit urbanization and rid the cities of a surplus labor force and factors of insecurity such as delinquency, as well as a desire to clear land and develop underpopulated rural regions, while reinforcing a strategic Vietnamese presence in the border regions and regions with ethnic minorities.10 When the Khmer Rouge took over Cambodia in 1975, they went much further than the Chinese or the Vietnamese by brutally emptying the cities of their entire population (even people in hospitals), and distributing people in villages, where they were obliged to work in labor camp conditions.11 During this evacuation, anything that evoked Western modern life was systematically destroyed. This forced ruralization of an entire country certainly settled urban issues. But the motivations were political and ideological, aiming to control the population better and above all, to accomplish the fundamental task of cleansing and regenerating the Khmer people.12 Urban dwellers were part of the “fallen” who no longer had a place in the new society and could only be saved by agricultural labor.13 One political commissar justified the evacuation of the capital thus: “In the cities there is money and trade, and all of that leads to inequalities and corruption. By working in the fields people will learn that they are born from a grain of rice. By sweating to clear the land, till the soil, sow seeds and harvest, they will find out the real value of 10 11

12

13

Gendreau et al., “Les migrations internes,” pp. 198–99. See François Ponchaud, Cambodge année zéro (Paris: Julliard, 1977); Pin Yathai, L’utopie meurtrière (Brussels: Complexe, 1989); David  P.  Chandler, Brother Number One: A Political Biography of Pol Pot (Boulder, Colo.: Westview, 1992); Ben Kiernan, Le génocide au Cambodge 1975–1979: race, idéologie et pouvoir (Paris: Gallimard, 1998). “It is infinitely easier to control citizens without cities,” wrote Ben Kiernan (Le génocide au Cambodge 1975–1979, p. 80). However, the word “citizen” (from the Latin civitas, “city”) is a poor choice of words for ruralization when it actually means transforming potential citizens into a herd of disorganized, isolated individuals, lacking any rights and endlessly liable to forced labor. In 1976 an official review stated: “We have evacuated the city people, which is our class struggle” (ibid.).

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things.”14 Those words could have come straight out of Mao’s mouth. But while the ideology was similar, Mao never drew such extreme practical conclusions as Pol Pot. Sending an entire population to do agricultural labor did not lead to any advances in agriculture, far from it, since food shortages and starvation quickly followed. Those who died of starvation added to the heavy toll of what has been called the Cambodian “genocide,” despite an incidental ethnic aspect, but it certainly was a massacre deliberately perpetrated by a totalitarian power on a large portion (perhaps as much as 20 percent) of its people in the name of a national regeneration ideology.15 My intention is not to compare the xiaxiang movement with what the Cambodians suffered under Pol Pot. However, there is a clear link, if not a filiation, since the bloody Khmer Rouge epic seems like a terrible caricature of Maoism, especially some of its characteristics as expressed in xiaxiang. Pol Pot was a great admirer of Mao, whom he met in 1975. He had apparently been very impressed by his first trip to China in late 1965 and early 1966, when Mao was preparing to launch the Cultural Revolution. The ten-year period Pol Pot spent in poor rural regions, which enabled him to build up an army of young peasants with some basic indoctrination and ultimately take control of the country, is comparable, on a small scale, to what Mao achieved in his own path to power. The Khmer Rouge’s social and economic policy was partly inspired by Mao’s, and they borrowed a number of concepts such as the “poor and lowerer-middle peasants.” Like Mao, the Cambodian leaders were convinced of the ideological benefits of agricultural work and were proud to have reformed their intellectual failings by contact with peasants.16 However, they distrusted all city dwellers and the small number of workers

14 15

16

Benoît Fidelin, Prêtre au Cambodge (Paris: Albin Michel, 1999), p. 97. According to Pol Pot, “We only need one or two million young people to make the new Kampuchea.” See Paul Dreyfus, Pol Pot: le bourreau du Cambodge (Paris: Stock, 2000), p. 305. Like Jean-Loup Amselle, I believe that Ben Kiernan, whose work on that period is a remarkable contribution to research and historical memory, tends in his analysis to overestimate the “racist” specificity of the Khmer Rouge actions and underestimate the logic of power, for which the history of revolutions, notably Communist ones, had already provided examples. See JeanLoup Amselle, Branchements: anthropologie de l’universalité des cultures (Paris: Flammarion, 2001), pp. 225–27. “Through our contact with peasants in the depths of the Khmer countryside, we had to relearn everything we had learned in Paris.” These words from Ieng Sary (Dreyfus, Le bourreau du Cambodge, p. 178) recall those of Mao quoted on p. 11.

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who returned to Phnom Penh to work in the few existing factories were rapidly replaced by poor peasants, who were deemed more reliable.17 The Khmer Rouge and the Great Helmsman also shared an anti-intellectual and voluntarist stance, with varying degrees of sophistication. And if the former’s antiurban frenzy had specifically Cambodian social and historic causes and took on the extreme forms characteristic of Pol Pot’s reign, the similarity of attitudes regarding cities is clear. No sooner was the CCP victorious than it rid the city centers of undesirable elements. In addition to dispatching members of the former regime to camps, the CCP “mobilized the unemployed left behind by the old society and persons with incorrect occupations (prostitutes, persons dealing in superstition, etc.) to leave for the countryside and take part in production.”18 At the same time, Mao warned his pure-hearted peasant-soldiers against the dangers of the “sugar-coated bullets” that lurked in the corrupt cities they were going to “liberate.”19 And the Chinese Communists too, were keen to rid the cities, especially Shanghai, of any Western influence that remained. In comparison with that characteristic of Asian Communism (a deviant form from the Marxist point of view), it is interesting to note that the Romanian Communist leader Nicolae Ceausescu was fired by the same utopic and totalitarian desire to reduce the differences between city and countryside,20 but chose the opposite solution to that implemented by Mao and Pol Pot. He demolished 7,000 traditional Romanian villages and forced the inhabitants to

17

18

19

20

Charles H. Twining, “The Economy,” in Karl D. Jackson (ed.), Cambodia 1975– 1978: Rendezvous with Death (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1989), p. 134. In Jiangsu province several hundred thousand people were transferred, which explains why the population of Nanjing fell from 1,100,000  inhabitants in 1949 to 995,000 in 1953, despite immigration. See Zhongguo renkou—Jiangsu fence, p. 151. See p. 35. The Khmer Rouge officially announced the existence of a plot to corrupt their soldiers by “women, alcohol and money” as a justification for the evacuation of Phnom Penh. See Dreyfus, Le bourreau du Cambodge, p. 128. In order to produce a “new socialist man,” Ceausescu advocated the homogenization (omogeneizare) of society, which meant gradually eliminating the differences between the villages and the cities, between the various social classes, and between manual labor and intellectual work. See his speech at the party’s National Conference in 1972, quoted in Gail Kligman, The Politics of Duplicity: Controlling Reproduction in Ceausescu’s Romania (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998), p. 33.

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live in imitation cities comprising “modern” high-rise buildings, many of which did not even have running water.21 In the 1980s, the only country other than Vietnam to advocate and implement a forced population displacement as a solution to urbanization problems was South Africa. The government used “ordered urbanization” to oblige, or try to oblige, what it called “surplus people” (all Blacks), to leave their cities and settle elsewhere, usually in underdeveloped Bantustans.22 True, the farright South African leaders responsible for apartheid could hardly be suspected of wanting to imitate Communist China or Vietnam. Their methods were different. They were mainly administrative, and in theory at least, the parties concerned could appeal for a legal ruling. In France, Chinese xiaxiang influenced a small number of Maoist students who, in the fall of 1967, launched a “settlement movement,” which, over the next few years, led several hundred young people to abandon their studies to “settle” in factories or, occasionally, in the countryside.23 This movement was not inspired by the xiaxiang movement of late 1968, which it preceded by more than a year, but Mao’s theses about the need to integrate intellectuals with the masses. Following a trip to China during the summer of 1967, the leaders of the Union of Communist Youth (Marxist-Leninist) changed direction from a theoretical line inspired by the works of Louis Althusser to one of integration with the masses and social practice.24 At the outset the “settlement” was not intended to last for more than a few years. It aimed to allow young revolutionaries to discover social realities and learn “correct ideas” from the masses, as well as to carry out Maoist propaganda work and help train “advanced elements” among the “fundamental masses.” The “long marches” of the summer of 1968 took many students to rural regions for the same purpose but for a shorter time. 25 Both the long 21

22 23

24 25

Juan Linz and Alfred Stepan, Problems of Democratic Transition and Consolidation (Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 1996), p. 360; Kligman, The Politics of Duplicity, pp. 34–35. See Le Monde, April 1, 1987, pp. 1, 8, and April 1, 1988, p. 6. Marnix Dressen, “Mais l’usine est-elle une fée? Sur la naissance du mouvement d’établissement maoïste à la veille de mai  1968” (master’s thesis in history, Paris VII University, 1985). (Marnix Dressen was a “settler” himself.) See also Roger Linhart, L’établi (Paris: Éditions de Minuit, 1978). Jean-Pierre Le Dantec, Les dangers du soleil (Paris: Presses d’aujourd’hui, 1978), especially pp. 86–98. Ibid., pp.  131–36. These “long marches” were directly inspired by those of the Red Guards during the Cultural Revolution.

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marches and the settlement movement resembled the Russian populist actions and the 1942-type of Chinese xiaxiang more than the movement launched at the end of 1968. It is interesting to note that in the documents they drew up when founding the settlement movement, the young French Maoists inadvertently and ahead of time made a criticism of 1968-type Maoist xiaxiang. They not only refused any “ideological terrorism” type of constraints to oblige the militants to go into factories, but above all they rejected in the name of “MaoZedong-thought”26 what was to become the essence of 1968-type xiaxiang, namely the importance of the objective of ideologically reforming intellectuals. They argued that this could only be an outcome resulting from the “settling movement” (la ligne d’établissement) and not its objective, since that would equate with promoting “a Communist line of perfecting individuals,” a supremely dreadful thing at a time when in China people were railing against Liu Shaoqi’s individual self-cultivation (xiuyang 修養).27 Clearly the French Maoists had no idea that Mao was at least as favorable as Liu Shaoqi to philosophical idealism and that their Chinese interlocutors had been too polite to tell them on their visit they were “stinking bourgeois intellectuals” urgently in need of reeducation. The settlement movement was geared more to the factories and less to farms since for French Marxists the working class was a far more attractive prospect than the peasantry. But in early 1970s France there was a fairly large movement to settle in the countryside. This was not inspired by Maoism, but by ecology, libertarianism, and even religion, and involved members of the same generation as the settlement movement. These people were disappointed by the political failure of May 1968 and despairing of being able to change society as a whole, decided to change their lifestyles immediately.28 However, their success rate was pretty poor. Integration into a rural community proved 26

27

28

“La pensée-mao-tsé-toung” (instead of “la pensée de Mao Tsé-toung”) was the hypocritical term used during a certain period by the French Maoists. By refusing to recognize that this “thought” was Mao’s, they tried to conceal their participation in the Great Helmsman’s personality cult. Dressen, “Mais l’usine est-elle une fée?,” pp.  81–82. About the Liu Shaoqi concept of “individual self-cultivation” of Communists, see Liu Shaoqi, “How to Be a Good Communist,” Selected Works of Liu Shaoqi, vol.  1 (Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1984). Danièle  Léger and Bertrand  Hervieu, Le retour à la nature: “Au fond de la forêt ... l’État” (Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 1979), and Des communautés pour les temps difficiles: néo-ruraux ou nouveaux moines (Paris: Le Centurion, 1983). See also Bernard Lacroix, L’Utopie communautaire (Paris: PUF, 1981).

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difficult, and here too, a “return wind” blew at the end of the 1970s for the several thousand young French men and women. Even those who stayed on in the countryside ended up, in most cases, with most of what they had wanted to flee: couples, family, and the state.29

Xiaxiang and the Limits of Totalitarian Power The unique historic experience of xiaxiang is a good example of the limits of totalitarian power. Initiative and organizational capacity were entirely on the government’s side and the people could only react to a government initiative, usually by complying. However, most of the people concerned did manage to express their inner resistance by passive means but on a massive scale, creating perverse effects that the government could not entirely neglect and which obliged it to alter its plans in the long run. Xiaxiang showed that Chinese society was not a blank page on which Mao could freely transcribe any grandiose dream that came into his head.30 It was made up of social players, individuals with personal needs and aspirations as well as group interests, all wanting a certain amount of control over their own destinies and a role to play in society. True, they were capable of altruism and idealism when they felt they were taking part in a great national endeavor, but they could not be asked indefinitely to sacrifice their individual interests for a cause that was not theirs and, as experience was to show, proved to be illusory. Indeed, unlike the young revolutionaries from 1920 to 1940 who voluntarily made the detour to the countryside, to the Jinggang Mountains, and Yan’an to win a revolution that had seriously failed in the cities, “reducing the three great differences” was not an historic task that this generation of young urbanites took up themselves. It was one that Mao himself imposed.

29 30

Léger and Hervieu, Le retour à la nature, and Des communautés pour les temps difficiles; Lacroix, L’Utopie communautaire; Quinsat, “Le retour de la terre.” In 1958 Mao said while launching the Great Leap Forward: “The Chinese people have two remarkable characteristics: they are poor and blank. [...] On a sheet of blank paper you can write the newest and most beautiful words.” See Mao Zedong, “Jieshao yige hezuoshe” (Introducing a Cooperative), HQ 1(1) (June 1, 1958), pp. 3–4. On the relationship between the idea of the “blank page” and the Cultural Revolution, see Lucien Bianco, “La page blanche,” Politique aujourd’hui, May 1970, pp. 96–112, and June 1970, pp. 59–72, reprinted in Lucien Bianco, La révolution fourvoyée: parcours dans la Chine du XXe siècle (La Tour d’Aigues: L’Aube, 2010), pp. 17–51.

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Perhaps Mao was sincerely fired by the idea of abolishing the division of labor and all divisions in society, as demonstrated in the system of people’s communes at the outset of the Great Leap Forward and the famous directive of May 7, 1966. This utopia was related to the “fantasy of One,” which, according to Claude Lefort is a characteristic of totalitarian regimes, based on the denial of the division between state and society and the divisions within society. The single party, incarnated by its head, is the main homogenizing agent.31 Thus for Mao, who was regularly compared to a red sun, everything should melt into a vast and radiant unity, of which he was of course the center, as depicted in countless propaganda posters at the time. However, putting this ideal into practice through xiaxiang failed to abolish the fundamental divisions in society. It simply led to the formation of a marginal group of millions of young people who ended up being neither urbanites nor peasants, neither intellectuals nor manual workers, but a group of “displaced” people, both geographically and socially. Under those conditions, the social body resisted, even in the absence of any organizations, legal means of expression, or independence from the state that characterizes civil society. At first passive, the multifaceted individual and collective resistance led to a deterioration of the social climate, which, while difficult to quantify, weighed heavily on the cost of the movement. After Mao’s death, a massive and open resistance to xiaxiang was expressed, despite the desire of the new leaders to limit the number of returns and pursue the rustication policy in a different form. Without abandoning anything in its structural relationship of domination over society, the regime did, however, on the whole give in to the social demands in the belief that the cost of maintaining such an unpopular policy would have been far too high. Consequently, the return of the zhiqing to the cities coincided with the return of a social realm in Chinese political life, and the end of xiaxiang marked the end of totalitarian utopianism, already severely shaken by the death of the charismatic leader. Like the new agricultural policy put in place around the same time, ceasing the rustication of young people consecrated the victory of society against imposed utopia, the victory of real man against “new man.” Mao had that demiurgic ambition characteristic of totalitarian leaders that make them want to change man himself, if necessary by force,32 and 31 32

Claude Lefort, L’Invention démocratique: les limites de la domination totalitaire (Paris: Fayard, 1981). This same demiurgic ambition, taken to the extreme, led the Khmer Rouge to transform their country into a labor camp and massacre all those whom

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push him willy-nilly into the mold cast by their ideological plan. Bertolt Brecht showed the absurdity of that ambition in these famous lines: [...] Would it not be easier in that case for the government to dissolve the people and elect another?33

But the movement did not succeed in transforming the young people’s values and aspirations, and had to rely almost solely on constraint, despite official calls to idealism and the spirit of sacrifice. Here manipulation not only failed but had the reverse result to that intended. Excess, iniquity, and the poor results of the sacrifice that was demanded resulted in a reaction by that generation of urbanites that led to a rediscovery of self—something that had almost been forgotten in the propaganda and the Confucian-Marxist education of the 1949–1965 period. Indeed, it was not too hard to accept the role of a small obedient screw in the service of the revolution and the party when that entailed becoming an engineer, cadre, technician, teacher, or worker with a secure job and fairly high social status. It was far harder to bear when it entailed leaving home to till the soil in the depths of the countryside, while other people remained in the cities.

Death of Utopia and the Rebirth of Society Since the peasants and workers did not become “new men,” and socialist emulation, rid of material stimuli, prevented the economy from taking any leaps forward at all, Mao’s successors decided to abandon any pretense of creating new men and adopt a more realistic attitude regarding society that took into account the interests and aspirations of the economic agents. All government policies were affected by the abandonment of utopia, including the development of the border regions, as reflected in this extract by a specialist in migratory issues in the early 1980s:

33

the “Organization” deemed incapable to reforming themselves sufficiently to be part of the ideal people who would lead Kampuchea to a glorious future. Their extremism may be explained in part by the fact that, unlike the Chinese Communists, they were not optimistic about the possibility of reforming man. Bertolt Brecht, “Die Lösung,” Gesammelte Werke, Band 10 (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp Verlag, 1967), p.  1010. The English translation is from Bertolt Brecht, Poems 1913–1956, ed. John Willett and Ralph Manheim (London: Methuen, 1976), p. 440.

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In this world there are regions that are relatively difficult and backward, and at the same time there are people who are not afraid of difficulties and who will commit themselves totally to a cause, and who have a desire to undertake something. But those people will only ever be a minority. One cannot take those comrades’ high conscience as a basis for policy in this area.34

As soon as the constraints on society were relaxed, there occurred what Marie-Claire Bergère has called “the return of the socially repressed.”35 The “old man” who had been obliged to hide but who had resisted silently, reemerged into the light of day. Nor was he content to occupy the areas of freedom conceded by the government; he sometimes fought to conquer new ones. However, the metaphor of the “return of the old man” should not lead us to believe that Chinese history from 1949 to 1978, and especially from 1966 to 1978, was just an absurd parenthesis, after which the old man went back to being himself. While the old man did not die or transform himself into the new man, what he experienced did mark and change him in many ways. That is particularly true of the generation formed during the troubled times of the Cultural Revolution and xiaxiang. Compared to the preceding generation, which benefitted from a return to peace and the first successes of the revolution in the 1950s, and the following generation, which grew up during the reforms and economic development, this one was severely penalized. The “Children of Mao,”36 born with the revolution, were unlucky in that their “father” sacrificed them on the altar of power and concepts that were unsuited to the modern world. In China, the Cultural Revolution and xiaxiang triggered a special interest in the generational phenomenon, both in literature and social science. That interest may also be explained by the fact that the upheavals in China’s twentieth-century history produced fairly typical political generations. More fundamentally, it coincided with the rediscovery, after the Third Plenum at the end of 1978, of the existence of society and the groups that compose it.37 This resurgence concerned the social body itself, which was trying to assert

34 35 36 37

Tian Fang et al. (eds.), Zhongguo renkou qianyi, p. 140. Marie-Claire Bergère, “Après Mao, le retour du vieil homme,” Vingtième siècle, Revue d’Histoire 1 (1984), p. 37. According to Anita Chan’s expression, in the title of her already cited Children of Mao. It was at that time that sociology reappeared in Chinese universities and research institutes for the first time in thirty years.

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455

and transform itself into civil society, and the party-state, which began to factor the interests of individuals and different social groups into its economic strategy. Mao used to say, after 1961, regarding the return to the countryside of some 20 million peasants who had been authorized to go to the cities during the Great Leap Forward (1958–1960): “Our people and our cadres are really good people! Twenty million persons come when we call them and return when we tell them to. What other party in power other than the CCP could say as much?”38 After Mao’s death and the eviction of Hua Guofeng, the government knew that it could no longer say that, and that in any case a regime had nothing to be proud of in that kind of performance. At the end of the 1970s, society was no longer prepared to respond to a mobilization of that kind. The supreme disdain for social and economic interests in the name of a superior view of history ceased to be possible after Mao’s death. The CCP only regained a kind of legitimacy by restricting its ambitions to economic objectives and defining a general interest that no longer ignored individual interests,39 and granting social players a relative margin of initiative and freedom of expression. Certainly one should not overestimate the extent of the changes in the relationship between the state and society that have occurred since that time. The party has kept up its pretense of being the sole representative of the general interest. It has fiercely defended its political monopoly and systematically opposed any attempts at independent organization in society. However, by abandoning its utopic aspirations and concentrating on economic development, the CCP introduced a factor of rationality in its decision making that seems to ensure that economic and human wastefulness such as the Great Leap Forward and xiaxiang will never occur again.

38 39

Bo Yibo, “Chongjing he huainian” (Respect and Memories), HQ 13 (July 1, 1981), pp. 66–67. The idea that the Chinese government should take into account the interests of different social groups to obtain a dynamic society, and that the economic stagnation during the Cultural Revolution was due to the imposition of a falsely consensual general interest, was expressed at the time in an article written by a Chinese scholarship student studying politics in the United States. See Li Fan, “The Question of Interests in the Chinese Policy Making Process,” China Quarterly 109 (March 1987), pp. 64–71.

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N

Glossary

Anzhi bangongshi Anzhi jiuye bangongshi Anzhiban axiang bagen ban gong ban du ban nong ban du banjiezi geming bei laor bei laoxiang Beidahuang Beijingzhuang

Settlement Bureau 安置辦公室 Resettlement and Hiring 安置就業辦公室 Bureau Resettlement and Hiring 安置辦 Bureau country bumpkin 阿鄉 uproot 拔根 half-work half-study (school) 半工半讀 half-agricultural work half半農半讀 study (school) a revolutionary who stops 半節子革命 half-way a guy from the Great North 北老兒 an old country bumpkin from 北老鄉 the Great North the (Manchurian) Great North 北大荒 Beijing (educated youth) 北京莊 Village disguised reform though labor 變相勞改

bianxiang laogai bingtuan, see shengchan jianshe bingtuan bingtui 病退 cha hukou

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查戶口

return (to the city) for reasons of sickness to check residence books

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458

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G L O S S A RY

chadui chadui luohu

插隊 插隊落戶

chaozhi

超支

chaxiong chengbao chengshi hukou baoliuzheng chijiao yisheng chou lao jiu

插兄 承包 城市戶口保留證 赤腳醫生 臭老九

chou zhishifenzi chuangzuotan chushen bu hao da chuanlian da fa zhiqing cai

臭知識分子 創作談 出身不好 大串聯 大發知青財

da pipan daidui ganbu daiye qingnian

大批判 帶隊幹部 待業青年

danding danwei danwei baogan danwule de yidai

單頂 單位 單位包干 耽誤了的一代

dao nongcun qu dazibao di san xian dingti

到農村去 大字報 第三線 頂替

dou si pi xiu

斗私批修

duibu

隊部

dushu wuyong lun

讀書無用論

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join a team join a team and establish residence being in deficit, spending more than one earns a long-settled guy production contracts a certificate for maintaining urban residency barefoot doctor a ninth category stinker (intellectual) stinking intellectual thoughts on creation to have bad origins revolutionary networking to make money on the backs of the zhiqing mass criticism accompanying cadres young person waiting for employment single replacement work unit responsibility per unit the generation that was made to waste its time going to the villages big character poster the third front replacing a retiree by one of his/her children combating egotism and criticizing revisionism a production team’s administrative offices the theory of the uselessness of study

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G L O S S A RY

e yun er laogai fan chaoliu feige fen zao fudaoyuan gaizao gaizaodui gao bingtui

gaokao geminghua getihu gongfen gongnongbing gongnongbing xueyuan gongnongshang lianhe qiye gongren jiuchadui gongshe gongxuandui gongzuozheng gua gou guanxiwang guanxixue gudinggong guikou baogan guojia xuyao guoluke guoying nongchang guxiang hao ernü zhi zai sifang

hei an zhi

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|

459

bad destiny a second-time convict going against the tide carrier pigeon separating the ovens instructor reform reform team scheming to obtain authorization to return for reasons of sickness national higher education 高考 entrance exam revolutionize 革命化 self-employed 個體戶 work point 工分 worker-peasant-soldier 工農兵 worker-peasant-soldier students 工農兵學員 工農商聯合企業 an enterprise combining agriculture, industry, and commerce workers’ militia 工人糾察隊 people’s commune 公社 workers’ propaganda team 工宣隊 work card 工作證 establishing close ties 掛鈎 network of contacts 關係網 the art of networking 關係學 permanent worker 固定工 responsibility per branch 歸口包干 the country’s needs 國家需要 passing guest 過路客 state farm 國營農場 place of birth (native place) 故鄉 好兒女志在四方 good young men and women are determined to go to the four corners of the country “black” assignment system 黑安制 惡運 二勞改 反潮流 飛鴿 分灶 輔導員 改造 改造隊 搞病退

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460

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G L O S S A RY

hei ren hei hu hei wulei Heigui

black (illegal) resident Five Black Categories a Heilongjiang devil, black devil hetonggong worker under contract 合同工 hua denghao to draw an equal sign (=) 劃等號 huangyou buddy from the Great North 荒友 huichengfeng the return to the city wind 回城風 huixiang return to one’s home region 回鄉 huixiang zhiqing an educated youth from the 回鄉知青 countryside, returning to his/ her home village hukou legal residence certificate 戶口 (household registration) hun living from day to day, hanging 混 around hunke layabout 混客 huo xue huo yong study and living application (of 活學活用 Mao Zedong Thought) huzhang household head 戶長 jiandu laodong labor under surveillance 監督勞動 jiangyonghui meeting for the practical 講用會 application (of Mao Zedong Thought) jianwu nü zhishi qingnian 姦污女知識青年 the crime of raping a female zui educated youth 罪 jiaoxin having an open-hearted 交心 conversation jiating chushen family origins 家庭出身 jiedu going to a school outside of 借讀 one’s place of residence jiehun anjia marrying and starting a family 結婚安家 jieji chengfen class status 階級成分 jitihu collective households 集體戶 Jiuyesi Employment Department 就業司 junxuandui army propaganda team 軍宣隊 junxunzu military training groups 軍訓組 K cheng “K-city”: Hong Kong K城

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黑人黑戶 黑五類 黑鬼

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G L O S S A RY

kang keyi jiaoyuhao de zinü

|

461

heated brick bed a child who can be potentially rehabilitated (literally: who can be educated correctly) kuntui return (to the city) because of 困退 family difficulties lao da’nan wenti a nagging and difficult problem 老大難問題 lao liujie the six graduation years 老六屆 lao sanjie the three graduation years 老三屆 lao wujie the five graduation years 老五屆 lao yundongyuan old athlete, meaning here: old 老運動員 regular of (political) movements laocha old settlers 老插 laodong fuwu gongsi work and services company 勞動服務公司 laodong fuwudui work and services team 勞動服務隊 laodong gaizao reform through labor 勞動改造 laodong jiaoyang reeducation through labor 勞動教養 laodonghua transform into a manual worker 勞動化 laogai reform through labor 勞改 laogaichang reform-through-labor camp 勞改場 laojiao reeducation through labor 勞教 laoxiang country bumpkin 老鄉 Laozi you neng, er fan 老子有能，兒返 “If the father is capable, the cheng; laozi wu neng, er 城；老子無能，兒 son returns to the city; if the wu nong father is incapable, the son 務農 works in the fields” liandui brigade 連隊 liangge guji the two assessments 兩個估計 liangzhong jiaoyu zhidu 兩種教育制度 the two types of education system lieshi zhengmingshu martyr’s certificate 烈士證明書 linshigong temporary worker 臨時工 Lixiang zhi ge “Ode to an ideal” 理想之歌 Longjiangger brothers (buddies) from 龍江哥兒 Heilongjiang lunhuangong rotating worker 輪換工

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炕 可以教育好的子 女

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462

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G L O S S A RY

Mao Zedong sixiang fudaoyuan Mao Zedong sixiang xuexiban minban gongzhu xuexiao minban xuexiao

毛澤東思想輔導 員 毛澤東思想學習 班 民辦公助學校 民辦學校

mingyun minzhu shenghuohui minzhu yundong Nanjing zhiqing zhi ge neibu Neirendang

命運 民主生活會 民主運動 南京知青之歌 內部 內人黨

neng chi ku

能吃苦

nongchang nongcun ye shi daxue

農場 農村也是大學

nongfuye jidi nonggong Nongken zongju

農副業基地 農工 農墾總局

Nongkenbu

農墾部

Nongkenju

農墾局

nongmang

農忙

pi Lin pi Kong yundong

批林批孔運動

po si jiu pohuai shangshan xiaxiang zui

破四舊 破壞上山下鄉罪

qingnian jizhong juzhudian

青年集中居住點

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Mao Zedong Thought coach Mao Zedong Thought study classes a state-subsidized local school a school managed by the local authorities destiny democratic life meeting democracy movement The Nanjing Zhiqing’s Song published internally Inner Mongolian People’s Revolutionary Party to be tough, able to “eat bitterness” a farm the countryside is also a university market gardening base agricultural worker State Bureau of Agricultural Land Clearing Ministry of Agricultural Land Clearing provincial bureaus of land reclamation and cultivation the height of the agricultural season Movement to Criticize Lin Biao and Confucius Destroy the Four Olds the crime of sabotaging the movement to send (people) up to the mountains and down to the countryside youth concentration center

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G L O S S A RY

qingniandian quanpan fouding

青年點 全盤否定

saigou san bu san da geming yundong

賽狗 三不 三大革命運動

san jian qi fa

三箭齊發

san jizhong yi fensan

三集中一分散

san tong san zi yi bao

三同 三自一包

san’ge mianxiang sha yi jing bai

三個面向 殺一警百

shang guidao shangdiao chikui

上軌道 上調吃虧

shangfang yundong Shanghai qingnian lianhe weiyuanhui Shangqinglian shangshan shangshan xiaxiang

上訪運動 上海青年聯合委 員會 上青聯 上山 上山下鄉

shangshan xiaxiang yundong shaqing wenxue she lai she qu

上山下鄉運動

shehui qingnian shehui xiansan renyuan shengchan dadui shengchan jianshe bingtuan shengchandui

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傻青文學 社來社去 社會青年 社會閒散人員 生產大隊 生產建設兵團 生產隊

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463

youth center total negation (of the Cultural Revolution) running in a dog’s race the Three Noes Three Great Revolutionary Movements three arrows launched simultaneously three concentrations and one dispersion the three withs three freedoms and one contract the three directions kill one person to frighten a hundred getting back on track those who were promoted are the losers petitioners movement Committee of Young Shanghainese (abbreviation of the above) go up to the mountains going up to the mountains and down to the countryside the rustication movement young idiot literature from the commune back to the commune unemployed youth idle unemployed in society production brigade production and construction corps (military farms) production team

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464

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G L O S S A RY

shenghuohui shengzhi sheyuan shiluo de yidai shourongsuo

生活會 省志 社員 失落的一代 收容所

shuang Wang shuangding Shun feng shun shui, qu dao Jianshazui

雙王 雙頂 順風順水，去到 尖沙咀

sige mianxiang sikao de yidai sixiang gaizao sixiang jiefang song zi wu nong jiazhang

四個面向 思考的一代 思想改造 思想解放 送子務農家長

tekun tong gong tong chou toudu touji daoba touqin kaoyou

特困 同工同酬 偷渡 投機倒把 投親靠友

tulao tuochan waixingren

土佬 脫產 外姓人

wasu yundong

挖肅運動

weiwen weiwentuan weiwenxin wuqi ganxiao wuqi nongchang wuxuhui Wuyaoliu bingtuan wuyaoliu fenzi xiafang

慰問 慰問團 慰問信 五七幹校 五七農場 務虛會 五一六兵團 五一六分子 下放

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life meetings provincial annals member of a people’s commune the lost generation detention center for petty criminals the two Wangs double replacement “May the wind and the water be favorable for my crossing to Tsimshatsui” the four directions the thoughtful generation ideological reform liberation of thought parents who send their children to work in the countryside particularly serious difficulties equal pay for equal work crossing over illegally illegal trade finding refuge among family or friends country bumpkin leaving production people with foreign names (i.e., outsiders) movement to extirpate and liquidate to comfort comfort group comfort letter May 7 cadre school May 7 farm theoretical discussion meeting May 16 Corps May 16 element to send (or be sent) down

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G L O S S A RY

xiafang ganbu

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465

sent-down cadre (often to the countryside) xiangbalao country bumpkin 鄉巴佬 xiao baogao little report 小報告 xiaodao xiaoxi back alley news (rumors) 小道消息 xiaoju yao fucong daju 小局要服從大局 the small (“fraction” or “part”) must obey the large one xiaxiang going (down) to the 下鄉 countryside xiaxiang dujinlun theory of gilding by xiaxiang 下鄉鍍金論 xiaxiang shangshan going down to the countryside 下鄉上山 and up to the mountains xiaxiang zhiqing educated youth sent to the 下鄉知青 countryside xinsheng shiwu new things (resulting from the 新生事物 Cultural Revolution) xitong baogan responsibility per branch 系統包幹 xiuli diqiu repairing the earth 修理地球 xiuyang self-cultivation 修養 xueshu blood letter 血書 xuetonglun lineage/blood theory 血統論 xuxin modesty 虛心 yangbanxi model revolutionary opera 樣板戲 yi gong yi nong both worker and peasant 亦工亦農 yi ku si tian remembering the bitterness and 憶苦思甜 thinking of sweetness all red yi pian hong 一片紅 yike hongxin, liangzhong 一顆紅心，兩種準 one red heart, two preparations zhunbei 備 yuan Beijing qingnian a young person originally from 原北京青年 Beijing yuluge a sung quotation of Mao 語錄歌 yundong political movement (or sport) 運動 zai jiaoyu reeducation 再教育 zhagen taking root 扎根 zhagen yibeizi taking root for life 扎根一輩子 zhanshi soldier 戰士 zhengdi nongmin peasants whose land has been 徵地農民 requisitioned

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下放幹部

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466

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G L O S S A RY

zhengzhi zhidaoyuan zhi zai tiannan haibei, bu qu Xin Xilan zhibian qingnian zhigong zhijiang qingnian zhinong qingnian zhiqing zhiqing nongchang zhiqing wenxue Zhiqingban

political instructor “I’m determined to go south of the sky and north of the sea, but not to New Zealand” young people helping the 支邊青年 border regions employee 職工 young people helping the 支疆青年 border regions young people helping 支農青年 agriculture abbreviation of zhishi qingnian 知青 educated youth farm 知青農場 educated youth literature 知青文學 abbreviation of Zhishi qingnian 知青辦 bangongshi educated youth center 知青點 educated youth 知識青年 知識青年辦公室 Bureau (in charge) of educated youth (Educated Youth Bureau) 知識青年上山下 small leadership group for rusticating educated youth 鄉領導小組 政治指導員 志在天南海北， 不去新西蘭

zhiqingdian zhishi qingnian Zhishi qingnian bangongshi zhishi qingnian shangshan xiaxiang lingdao xiaozu zhishihua 知識化 zhiyuan nongye yundong 支援農業運動 zhongdian xuexiao zhuan yun zhuanzhengdui zibao zixing tuizhi zou houmen zui jianku de difang

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重點學校 轉運 專政隊 自保 自行退職 走後門 最艱苦的地方

transform into an intellectual the movement to help agriculture key schools to change one’s destiny dictatorship team local police (self-defense) unilaterally resign going through the back door the harshest regions

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Shouhuo (Harvest), Shanghai. Siwu luntan (April 5 Tribune), Beijing. Wenhui yuekan (Meetings Monthly), Shanghai. WHB: Wenhuibao (Meetings), Shanghai. Xin guancha (New Observer), Beijing. Xuexi yu pipan (Study and Criticism), Shanghai. Yangcheng wanbao (Guangdong Evening), Guangdong. Yazhou zhoukan (Asiaweek), Hong Kong. ZGQN: Zhongguo qingnian (China Youth Magazine), Beijing. ZGQNB: Zhongguo qingnianbao (China Youth Daily), Beijing. Zhengming (Debates), Hong Kong. Zhinong Hongqi (The Red Flag for Agriculture), Guangzhou. Zhongbao (The Center), Hong Kong. Zhongguo funü (Women of China), Beijing. Zhongguo funübao (Chinese Women’s Journal), Beijing. Zhongguo nongmin (China Peasant), Beijing. Zhongguo shehui kexue (Social Sciences in China), Beijing. Zhongguo xinwen (China News), Beijing. Zhongguo zhi chun (Chinese Spring), New York. Zhonghua renmin gongheguo guowuyuan gongbao (Bulletin of the State Council of the People’s Republic of China), Beijing. Zhonghua yuebao (China Monthly), Hong Kong. In Western Languages AFP: Agence France-Presse, Paris. American Journal of Sociology, Chicago. American Sociological Review, New York. Asahi Evening News, Osaka. Asian Survey, Berkeley, Calif. Asiaweek, Hong Kong. Aujourd’hui la Chine, Paris. Aujourd’hui la Chine, Beijing. Australian Journal of Chinese Affairs, Canberra. Beijing Information, Beijing (followed on from Pékin Information). Cahiers de la Chine nouvelle, Paris. China News Analysis, Hong Kong. China Quarterly, London. China Report, Joint Publications Research Service, Springfield, Ill.

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BIBLIOGRAPHY

China Youth Bulletin, Beijing. Chinese Law and Government, White Plains, N.Y. Chinese Sociology and Anthropology, White Plains, N.Y. Comparative Politics, New York. Contemporary China, New York. Current Scene, Hong Kong. Esprit, Paris. Far Eastern Economic Review, Hong Kong. FBIS: Foreign Broadcast Information Service: Daily Report, People’s Republic of China, Springfield, Ill. Hsinhua News Bulletin, Prague. International Herald Tribune, Paris. Issues and Studies, Taibei. Journal of Contemporary China, Princeton, N.J. JPRS: Joint Publications Research Service. Translations on Communist China, Springfield, Ill. La Chine en Construction, Beijing. Le Débat, Paris. Le Monde, Paris. Le Monde Dimanche, Paris (a supplement to Le Monde). Libération, Paris. Littérature Chinoise, Beijing. Modern China, Thousand Oaks, Calif. Modern Chinese Literature, San Francisco. Pacific Affairs, Vancouver. Pékin Information, Beijing. Perspectives Chinoises, Hong Kong. Politique aujourd’hui, Paris. Revue française de science politique, Paris. SCMP: Survey of the China Mainland Press, Hong Kong. Social Sciences in China, Beijing. Sociology of Education, Albany, N.Y. South China Morning Post, Hong Kong. SWB: Summary of World Broadcasts: The Far East, Reading, UK. Vingtième siècle, Revue d’Histoire, Paris. World Development, London. World Politics, Princeton, N.J.

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Index of Places

Aksu (Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region) lvii–lviii, 193–95, 199–200 Anhui (province) 151, 189, 237, 347 Anshan (Liaoning province) 160 Anyuan (Jiangxi province) 69, 80, 231

359–60, 366–68, 388, 392, 395–96, 404, 409, 414, 417, 426, 428 Beijingzhuang (Heilongjiang province) 51 Benxi (Liaoning province) 158 Burma 341, 375–78, 432

Baiyangdian (Hebei province) 346 Baodi (Tianjin) 166 Beidahuang (Heilongjiang province) xxix, 51, 221 Beijing (provincial-level municipality) xiv, xix–xx, xxxiii, xli, lv, 15, 17, 21, 51–52, 54, 59, 63–64, 66–70, 74, 76–77, 79, 83, 92–93, 112–13, 115–17, 120, 123, 129, 131, 143–47, 150–51, 153, 165, 174, 178–79, 182, 184, 190, 193–94, 196, 201, 203–10, 215, 218–19, 225, 228–31, 236, 241–42, 259–60, 268–69, 283–84, 287–90, 297–99, 304, 308, 316, 332–33, 342, 346, 355,

Cambodia (Kingdom of Cambodia) 148, 446. See also Kampuchea Changchun (Jilin province) 93, 118, 174 Changsha (Hunan province) 150 Chengdu (Sichuan province) 144, 146, 225, 340, 358 Chifeng (Inner Mongolia Autonomous Region) 166 Chongqing (Sichuan province) 144–45, 151, 225

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Dalizhuang (Henan province) 26, 107 Dazhai (Shanxi province) 16, 123, 131, 253

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500

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I N D E X O F P L AC E S

Foshan (Guangdong province) 364 Fujian (province) 89–90, 105, 130, 375, 387 Fuzhou (Fujian province) 171, 387 Gansu (province) 34, 130, 200, 325 Great Wild North, see Beidahuang Guangdong (province) xiv, xxiv– xxvi, xxxviii, 54, 61, 100, 114, 181, 227, 237, 239, 249, 252, 270, 277, 285, 291–92, 306, 319, 324, 334, 340, 347, 349, 352–53, 364, 371–74, 378, 380, 381–84, 389, 391–92 Guangxi (province) 148, 307, 375 Guangzhou (Guangdong province) xxv, xxxvii, 34, 60–61, 83, 131, 222, 226–28, 282, 291–92, 297, 302, 304, 355, 372, 378–79, 381, 383, 389–91, 394 Guilin (Guangxi province) 83, 222 Guizhou (province) 83, 99, 100, 130, 200, 257, 264, 288, 301, 323, 341, 357 Haifeng (farm in northern Jiangsu) 196 Hainan (Guangdong province) xxxiii, liii, 219, 228, 255–56, 258, 283, 302, 331, 376, 378 Hangzhou (Zhejiang province) 151, 153, 225, 264, 294, 358, 395 Harbin (Heilongjiang province) 51, 149, 187, 201, 333, 337, 368, 440 Hebei (province) 42, 51, 110–11, 113, 148, 168, 332–33, 346 Hefei (Anhui province) 151 Heihe (Heilongjiang province) 232, 255

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Heilongjiang (province) 20, 31, 68–69, 72, 74, 86, 91, 97, 99, 101, 130, 140, 148–49, 152–53, 174, 187, 195, 202, 210, 221, 225, 236, 246, 249, 255–56, 273, 294, 296, 343, 352–53, 388, 415 Henan (province) 26, 28, 107, 116, 148, 166, 391 Hohot (Inner Mongolia Autonomous Region) 204, 259, 268 Hong Kong (Special Administrative Region, British colony before 1997) xiii–xv, xxiv, xxvi–xxvii, xxxi, xxxiv, xxxvi, xxxviii, 42, 131, 192, 226, 285–86, 302, 304, 311, 313, 324, 334, 336, 340–41, 346, 349, 352–54, 362, 364, 371–72, 374, 378–85, 389–91 Huaide (Jilin province) 116 Hubei (province) xxv, 129, 162, 174, 209, 227–28 Huining (Gansu province) 34, 233 Hunan (province) 17, 20, 79, 93, 125, 157–58, 201, 211 India 413 Inner Mongolia (Autonomous Region) xxxv, xlii, xlvi, 20, 31, 66, 68, 70, 95, 140, 165–66, 223, 225, 228, 236, 240, 246, 254, 256, 268–69, 279, 287, 290, 298, 332, 355, 359, 414–15, 428 Japan 103, 413 Jiangsu (province) 98, 105, 151, 183, 193, 196, 227, 251, 351, 448 Jiangxi (province) xix, 16, 74, 80, 104–5, 151, 201, 210, 367

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I N D E X O F P L AC E S

Jilin (province) 74, 116, 155, 160, 168, 171–72, 174, 189, 203–4, 251, 258, 306, 365, 417 Jinggang Mountains (Jiangxi province) 17, 70, 451 Jinghong (Yunnan province) 144–45, 325 K-city (Hong Kong) 380, 382 Kaifeng (Henan province) 391 Kampuchea 447, 453. See also Cambodia Kashgar (Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region) 195, 199 Kazakhstan 26 Korla (Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region) 195 Kowloon (Hong Kong) 390 Kremlin (Moscow) 218 Kunming (Yunnan province) 83, 145, 147, 166, 220, 377

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501

Mengding (Yunnan province) lvi, 147 Mengla (Yunnan province) 147 Mongolia 85, 164–65, 231, 298, 374 Mount Baiyun (Guangdong province) 389–91, 394 Mudanjiang (Heilongjiang province) 86 Nanchang (Jiangxi province) 151, 159, 181, 367 Nanjiang (southern Xinjiang) 195 Nanjing (Jiangsu province) 104, 151, 208, 225, 351, 391, 448 Nanniwan (Shaanxi province) 17, 257 Ningxia (Hui Autonomous Region) 168, 200, 325, 415–16 North Korea 164, 374 Nunjiang (Heilongjiang province) 221, 232

Lanzhou (Gansu province) 195, 199, 208 Laos (Lao People’s Democratic Republic) 375–76 Liaoning (province) 74, 102–4, 108–9, 112, 115–16, 131–32, 140, 155–56, 158, 160, 166–67, 169, 174, 187, 241, 318–19 Liming (Yunnan province) 325 Lüda (Liaoning province) 167

Paris (France) 218, 433, 447 Phnom Penh (Cambodia) 448 Pingzhou (Hong Kong) 380–81 Putian (Fujian province) 89–90

Macao (Special Administrative Region, Portuguese colony before 1999) 286, 349 Manchuria (northeast China) 27, 51, 66, 72, 74, 221, 255, 290, 348, 374, 432

Shaanxi (province) 54, 118, 174, 200, 242 Shandong (province) 51, 69, 148, 199 Shanghai (provincial-level municipality) xxvi, xxix, xxxvii, lvii–lviii, 20, 29–30, 36, 54, 61,

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Qinghai (province) 112, 174, 200, 208, 218, 412, 415 Ruijin (Jiangxi province) 105 Ruili (Yunnan province) 236

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502

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I N D E X O F P L AC E S

64, 71, 73–74, 77, 83–84, 98–99, 103, 108–9, 116–17, 134, 140, 143–45, 147, 149–55, 158–59, 163–64, 168–69, 173, 178–81, 183, 191–203, 208–9, 211, 215, 221, 225, 227, 251, 260–61, 264, 288, 294–95, 301, 304, 323, 344–45, 357, 367–68, 370–72, 388, 392, 397, 405–6, 409–10, 412, 418, 422, 428, 448 Shanxi (province) 67, 69, 116, 155, 166, 168, 170, 205–7, 209, 228, 236, 274, 348, 403 Shenyang (Liaoning province) 40, 68, 72, 74, 160, 318–19, 406 Shihezi (Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region) 163 Shulu (Hebei province) 42 Siberia (region of the USSR) 26, 348 Sichuan (province) xxviii, 54, 94, 130, 144, 147, 172, 301, 304, 320, 377, 391–92 Suzhou (Jiangsu province) 337 Taishan (Guangdong province) 270, 324 Taiwan (Republic of China) xxvii, xxxii, 286, 375, 377, 381 Tangshan (Hebei province) 120 Tiananmen (Beijing) xli, lv, 143, 229, 231, 423, 437 Tianjin (provincial-level municipality) 51, 69, 74, 140, 151, 153, 178, 180, 191, 193, 207–9, 225, 236, 368, 426 Tianshan (Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region) 201 Tibet (Xizang Autonomous Region) 112, 200–1, 208

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Tsimshatsui (district of Hong Kong) 390 United States 256, 376, 413, 455 Urumqi (Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region) lviii, 163, 194–95, 201 USSR (former Soviet Union) 27, 31, 83, 85, 375, 377, 381, 440 Vietnam 147, 375–77, 445–46, 449 Village of Beijing, see Beijingzhuang White House (Washington, D.C.) 218 Wuhan (Hubei province) 184, 193, 225, 227 Xiamen (Fujian province) 84, 293 Xi’an (Shaanxi province) 150, 183 Xiangtan (Hunan province) 157–58 Xilin Gol (Inner Mongolia Autonomous Region) 165 Xilin Hot (Inner Mongolia Autonomous Region) 165 Xinjiang (Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region) lvii–lviii, 26, 31, 56, 61, 95, 112–13, 152–53, 163–64, 170, 191–93, 195–202, 208, 216, 224, 254, 260–61, 283, 299, 325, 370–71, 406 Xishuangbanna (Yunnan province) lv–lvi, 66–67, 109, 144–48, 161, 228, 258, 260, 333, 343, 345, 368, 377, 417 Yan’an (Shaanxi province) xviii, xliii, 8, 12, 14–17, 45, 50, 67, 70, 112, 231, 237, 257–58, 266, 288, 299, 451

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I N D E X O F P L AC E S

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503

Yingde (Guangdong province) 219, 391 Yunnan (province) xlviii, lv–lvii, 66, 83, 97, 109, 116, 130, 134, 144–48, 150, 152, 159, 166, 192–93, 195, 200, 202, 236, 258–59, 272, 280, 284, 325, 340–41, 349, 363, 375–77, 387, 392, 396, 403, 415, 428, 432 Zhangjiakou (Hebei province) 231 Zhanyi (Yunnan province) 166 Zhejiang (province) xxvi, 74, 153, 155, 162, 193, 209, 227, 239, 247, 304, 357 Zhengzhou (Henan province) 108 Zhongnanhai (Beijing) 116, 146 Zhongshan (Guangdong province) 252, 362 Zhuzhou (Hunan province) 93–97, 100, 111, 114, 125, 132, 179, 242, 245, 281, 334, 420

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THE LOST GENERATION_FA02_17June2013.indd 504

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Index of Persons

A Cheng xxviii, 228, 240, 286, 341, 343 Ai Wu 432 Althusser, Louis 449 Arendt, Hannah 23 Ba Jin 344 Bai Qixian 110–11, 288 Bakunin, Mikhail 14 Bei Dao (Zhao Zhenkai) xxviii, 346–47, 434 Bergère, Marie-Claire 454 Bernstein, Thomas xv, xxxiv, xxxvi, 37, 231, 233, 270 Bethune, Norman 71 Bianco, Lucien 23 Blecher, Marc 42 Brecht, Bertolt 453 Brezhnev, Leonid 27 Bu Dahua 219 Cai Lijian 67, 166 Calot, Jacques 409 Cao Yu 164 Ceausescu, Nicolae 448

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Chai Chunze 104, 116–17, 166 Chan, Anita xxxviii, 454 Chen Boda 354 Chen Pi-chao 46, 442 Chen Pixian 162, 201–2 Chen Xilian 74 Chen Xitong 206 Chen Yiyang 391 Chen Yizi 436 Chen Yonggui 39, 119, 125, 129–30, 135, 139, 163, 319 Chen Yun 365 Cheng Zihua 146 Confucius xx, 88, 103, 106–9, 111–12, 331, 360, 391 Dai Sijie 344 Darwin, Charles 360 Deng Lin 222 Deng Xian xxviii Deng Xiaoping xxi, xxiv, 2, 29, 42–43, 57, 61, 64–65, 102, 111–16, 120–21, 124–28, 132, 135–36, 142, 144–46, 152, 172, 199, 222, 331, 418, 426, 438, 442

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506

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INDEX OF PERSONS

Ding Huimin 144–46 Ding Yizhuang xxxv, 192 Dong Jiageng 60, 166–67, 216 Du Honglin xxxiv Emerson, John Philip 42 Frolic, Michael xxvii Gao Hongshi 112 Gold, Thomas xxxvii, 369 Gu Hongzhang xxxv, 93, 138, 175, 192, 205 Gu Hua 302 Gu Shengfa 164 Gu Xiulian 119 Guan Feng 332 Guevara, Ernesto “Che” 376 Hao Jianxiu 207 Hao Liang 108 He Lan xxxv Hemingway, Ernest 433 Hitler, Adolf 441 Hou Jun 110, 119, 166, 216 Hu Qili 207 Hu Yaobang 33, 52, 134, 158, 173, 200–1, 208, 211, 365 Hua Guofeng 92, 99, 115, 123–25, 128–29, 131, 135–36, 142, 144–46, 150, 156–57, 455 Huo Mu (Chen Shixu) xxxv Ji Dengkui 135–37 Jiang Qing 44, 69, 103, 105, 107–8 Jin Xunhua 9, 10, 259 Kang Sheng 268 Kang Shi’en 136

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Kang Yonghe 135, 157, 187 Ke Yunlu 206, 433 Khrushchev, Nikita xvii, 26–27, 51, 83 Kong Jiesheng xxviii, 228, 259, 308, 346 Lavrov, Pyotr 14 Lefort, Claude 452 Lei Feng 9, 71, 164, 259, 360 Lenin, Vladimir 333, 360 Li Dazhao 16, 50, 444 Li Lisan 69 Li Peng 207 Li Qinglin 88–92, 124, 167, 312, 388, 407 Li Xiannian 135–36 Li Ximing 206 Li Yizhe 88, 114, 355, 390, 394, 423 Li Zhengtian 390–91 Liang Heng xxvii, 85, 223 Liang Xiaosheng xxviii, 216, 225, 232, 257, 259, 278, 300–1, 305, 332, 352, 440 Lin Biao xv, xx, li, 17, 22, 65, 73, 85–88, 91, 103, 105–9, 111, 133–34, 154, 284, 317, 330–31, 333, 335–36, 354–55, 391, 428–29, 431 Liu Jiya 166 Liu Shaoqi xix, 2, 10, 17, 22, 33, 44, 58–59, 61–62, 64–65, 69, 211, 237–38, 317, 331, 393, 442, 450 Liu Xiaomeng xxxiv–xxxv, 89, 93, 138, 192–93 Machiavelli, Niccolò 360 Madsen, Richard xxxviii, 277 Mang Ke xxviii, 170, 266, 346

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INDEX OF PERSONS

Mao Yuanxin 11, 74, 103–4, 109, 116–17, 131 Mao Zedong xvii, xx–xxi, xxiv, xli–xlii, 2, 4–8, 10–12, 14–21, 23–29, 33, 35, 44–45, 50, 52, 58, 60, 62, 65–66, 68–72, 74–75, 78, 81, 84, 87–92, 101, 103, 106–8, 113–16, 118–21, 123–25, 133, 136, 150, 162, 167, 181, 201, 211, 217, 229–31, 233, 237, 246, 259, 262–63, 267, 273–74, 284, 295–96, 303, 330–32, 348, 350, 354–55, 360–61, 376, 388, 394, 407, 411, 421–23, 425–32, 437, 440, 442–45, 447–48, 450–52, 454–55 McLaren, Anne xxxvii, 149

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507

Sha Feng 93, 119 Shi Mingjun 162 Shi Tiesheng 237, 258, 439 Shi Weimin xxxv Shu Ting v, 84, 431 Sihanouk, Norodom 337 Sorel, Julien 360, 362 Spencer, Herbert 360 Stalin, Joseph 12–13 Stein, Gertrude 433 Sumner, William 360 Tan Zhenlin 34, 37, 56, 58, 62, 78 Tao Zhu 61, 114 Teng Husheng 150 Tong Dalin 59 Unger, Jonathan xxxviii, 222

Nyerere, Julius 445 Ouyang Lian lviii, 194 Pan Xiao 226, 230, 364 Parish, William 41, 239, 283, 319, 364, 374, 425 Peng Chong 151 Peng Pai 50 Pol Pot 447–48 Pye, Lucian xxvi Qi Benyu 332 Qin Hui 307 Qu Zhe 66, 229 Ren Yi 351, 353 Rosen, Stanley xxxvii, 222, 389, 392–93 Scharping, Thomas xxxvii, 37, 52

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Wang Anyi 285, 322–23 Wang Dongmei 167 Wang Dongxing 91 Wang Enmao 171, 199, 201 Wang Fuchen 422 Wang Hairong 89 Wang Hongwen 103, 109 Wang Li 332 Wang Renzhong 158, 163 Wang Xiaobo 218, 263, 344, 347 Wang Xizhe 219, 391 Wang Zhaojun 164, 201 Wang Zhen 17, 146, 158–59, 171, 199–201, 289 Wang Zhigang 205 Weber, Max 6, 424 Wei Jingsheng 153 Whyte, Martin 41, 239, 283, 319, 336, 364, 374, 425 Wu Guixian 43, 119

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508

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INDEX OF PERSONS

Wu Huan 434–35 Wu Xianzhong 108–9, 116–17, 166 Wu Zuguang 434 Xiao Fuxing xxviii, 359 Xie Jingyi 167 Xing Bensi 129, 148 Xing Yanzi 53, 110, 216 Xu Minguang 110 Xu Naijian 322, 360 Xu Shiping 135 Xue Ximei 166 Yang Hua 51–52 Yang Yongqing 163–64, 395 Yao Wenyuan 109, 348 Ye Qun 284 Ye Xin 257, 264, 288, 294, 304, 323–24, 341 Yu Chiqian 93, 119 Yu Guangyuan 129, 148 Yu Luoke 53–54, 368 Yu Qiuli 158 Yue Daiyun xxvii

Zhao Fan lv, 146–47 Zhao Junxiang 168 Zhao Ziyang 114, 196, 200, 391 Zheng Yi 226, 348 Zhong Zhimin 104–6, 116, 316 Zhou Bingjian 164–65, 428 Zhou Enlai 43–44, 56–57, 62, 64–67, 77–79, 82, 85, 90–91, 93, 96, 99, 101, 103, 105–8, 110, 112–14, 124, 164–66, 191, 211, 348, 442 Zhou Rongxin 112–14 Zhou Xuan 349, 371 Zhu Kejia xlviii, 109, 116, 124, 166 Zhu Lin 237, 347 Zhu Shengwen 440

Zhai Xiuzhen 10 Zhang Chengzhi xxviii, 287, 298, 439 Zhang Chunqiao 20, 109, 388 Zhang Jingfu 207 Zhang Kangkang xxviii, 191, 216, 228, 247, 264, 278, 294, 305, 314, 339, 342, 432, 439 Zhang Tiesheng 102–3, 115, 124, 131, 165, 167, 182 Zhang Xinxin xxviii, 231, 253, 298, 370, 436 Zhang Yang 348–49 Zhang Yaqun 93

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Thematic Index

accidents, see health accompanying cadres xxvi, 94, 190, 244–45, 302, 334 active resistance, see protest actions agricultural work, manual labor 10–11, 15–18, 26–30, 33, 59, 83–84, 236, 248–57, 261–62, 280, 413–15, 418, 427–28, 438, 444 army 14, 19, 65, 77–81, 86–87, 187, 199, 204, 216, 221–22, 247, 375–76. See also military farms assessment/evaluation of the movement xxiii, 132–33, 136–37, 154, 161–62, 167–68, 171, 173, 206–9, 385, 401–40 barefoot doctors 28, 270, 274–75, 309–10, 415–16, 428 border regions 30–32, 45, 51–52, 68, 109, 115, 144–49, 152, 156, 163–64, 178, 192–202, 207–8, 224, 246, 278–79, 374–85, 411–12, 417, 453–54 children of educated youths 192–97,

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203, 209, 290, 320, 324–25, 359, 367–68 Chinese Communist revolution (as a model) 17–18, 50, 243, 257 choice of destination 69–70, 217, 224–29 cities: gender imbalance 365–66 illegal residents 370–74, 391 limiting growth xxii–xxiii, 21, 29, 32–46, 52–54, 135, 200, 401–3, 408–11, 444 class origin, see class status class status 6–7, 22, 53–54, 59–61, 63, 68, 71–72, 77–78, 84, 91, 102, 120, 126, 165, 217–24, 228, 244, 258, 276, 280, 289, 292–98, 306, 310–11, 316–19, 330–32, 362, 373–74, 384–85, 424–25 class struggle 6–7, 15, 60 Communist Youth League 26–27, 51–52, 87, 96, 102–4, 108, 163, 222, 239, 310, 318, 333, 416 connections (guanxi), see corruption, privileges

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510

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T H E M AT I C I N D E X

corruption, privileges 40–43, 72, 85–87, 104–7, 120–21, 133, 140, 145, 161, 189, 221–22, 227–28, 240–41, 280–82, 290–91, 295–303, 310–11, 312–19, 321, 323–24, 357–64, 424–26 cost of the movement 57, 62, 81, 95–98, 100–1, 135, 138–39, 172–73, 188–91, 238–41, 246, 403, 413–15, 443, 452 criticisms of the movement 87–88, 129, 132–35, 144–45, 149–50, 393, 395 Cultural Revolution (definition) xx–xxii culture: official culture 29, 261–65, 273, 342, 344, 350, 371 parallel culture 263–65, 286, 342–56, 371, 380–84 thirst for culture 261–65, 434–36 cynicism, see demoralization, despair, disillusion delinquency 36–37, 55, 182, 281–82, 289, 293, 295, 339–42, 370–74, 384–85, 406, 411–12 democracy movement 143–44, 149–50, 151–54, 393, 422–23, 436–37 demoralization, despair, disillusion 182, 236–38, 248–54, 259–61, 270, 275–79, 306–7, 318, 325–26, 337–42, 351–54, 355–56, 360–65, 368–69, 374–76, 382–85, 414, 424–25, 433–35, 451 destiny, see projecting into the future deviancy 244, 263–64, 281–83,

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285–86, 304–6, 311, 331, 337–85, 421–22 dingti, see replacing a retired parent Educated Youth Bureau, see institutions in charge of the movement educated youth farms 94, 97, 138–39, 157–58, 170–71, 174–76, 188, 300, 420 educated youth of rural origin (huixiang zhiqing) xx, 26, 32–33, 53, 63, 118–19, 216, 310, 418, 426–27 education, studies xvii, 4–6, 26–27, 33, 55, 57–60, 67–68, 74–76, 81, 83–87, 98, 101–5, 112–14, 125–29, 130–31, 181–84, 192–93, 209, 215, 307–9, 313–16, 415–16, 425–26, 434–35, 438, 443–44 educational policy, see education, studies educational system, see education, studies employment 33–46, 52–56, 61, 67–68, 79–83, 88, 95, 100, 131–39, 154, 168–69, 175–76, 178–84, 187–91, 203–4, 209–12, 217, 221, 315, 320, 371–74, 387, 401–7, 443 family 43, 95, 98, 105–6, 132, 217–19, 223–24, 226–29, 239, 251–52, 262, 264–65, 271–72, 285, 288–91, 294–95, 297, 301–2, 322, 363, 384, 406–7 fatalism, see projecting into the future feeling of being downgraded/loss of status 291–95, 427–28, 431–32, 452

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T H E M AT I C I N D E X

feeling of being victimized 181–82, 204–6, 261, 428, 431 figures and statistics for the movement xxiv, xxxi–xxxii, xxxvi, 38–39, 51–54, 62–63, 71–74, 78, 82–84, 99–100, 112–13, 118, 125, 128, 130, 138, 168–69, 175–78, 191, 192–93, 196, 211, 312, 429–30 financing, see cost of the movement fleeing abroad 226, 285–86, 304, 311, 313, 325, 334, 336, 346–47, 362, 364, 372, 374–85, 389–90 four directions, see job allocations for graduates Gang of Four xxi, 123–25, 132–37, 162, 165–67, 181, 331, 388, 394, 443. See also radical leaders generation 6–7, 45, 215, 359, 361, 364, 422–23, 426–27, 429–40, 444, 454–55 guanxi (contacts), see corruption, privileges half-work half-study school 55, 58–59, 174 health 203–4, 220–21, 257–61, 299, 303, 312, 325, 357–58 hiring peasants in the city 38–45, 52–53, 119, 133, 151, 409 household registration (hukou) xxii, 32, 39–45, 55, 61, 140, 171, 174–75, 191–93, 195, 203–4, 209–10, 219, 228, 288, 290–91, 295, 320, 356, 367–71, 406, 412, 416–20 huixiang zhiqing, see educated youth of rural origins

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hukou, see household registration idealism of the educated youth 57, 162–63, 168, 216–18, 223, 225, 229–30, 236, 243–44, 248, 268–69, 275–77, 360, 375–76, 430–32, 436–38, 451–52 illegal activities, see delinquency and deviancy indoctrination, see propaganda influence, see corruption, privileges institutions in charge of the movement xxxv–xxxvi, 57–58, 63, 78–81, 93–94, 107, 119–20, 125, 127–28, 134–35, 155, 157–58, 188–91, 209–10 international influence of the movement 445–51 job allocations for graduates xviii, 5, 15, 26, 33–34, 45, 55, 59, 61, 67–68, 72, 78–81, 112–14, 125–26, 129, 137–38, 155–57, 169, 174, 180–83, 207–8, 216–24, 405 land clearing 26–27, 33, 51–52, 68, 153, 193–94, 201, 206, 216, 224, 246, 255, 259, 413–14 lao sanjie, see three graduation years leisure 261–65. See also culture literature xxvii–xxix, 209, 216, 228, 232, 240, 242, 259–60, 264–65, 287–88, 293–95, 302–5, 322, 344–49, 353, 361, 380, 431–32, 435, 439–40, 453–54 living conditions in the countryside 89, 91, 93–96, 125, 130–31, 132, 138–39, 144, 172, 175, 200–2,

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224–28, 238–57, 309–10, 319–20, 325 love, see marriage, celibacy managers (pragmatists), see moderate leaders Mao Zedong, see also Index of Persons: anti-intellectualism 5, 11, 16, 443–44 directives and quotations 4, 11–13, 16, 25, 28, 62, 70–73, 83, 89, 99, 103, 107, 112, 119, 274 object of devotion 11–12, 69–71, 89–90, 229–30, 354, 430 personal ties with the movement xix, 2, 16–18, 64, 123, 162, 422–23, 443–44 power (founded on ideology and charisma) 22–24, 45–46, 60, 88–89, 421–23, 443–44, 455 utopian thought xxii, 11, 14, 18, 46, 394, 451–52, 455 Mao Zedong Thought study classes 216–17, 233, 334 Maoist ideologues, see radical leaders Maoist utopia, see Mao Zedong marriage, celibacy 110–12, 125, 130, 133, 138, 140, 163, 164–65, 175, 192, 196–97, 203, 220, 243, 288–91, 297, 304–5, 307, 319–26, 359, 365–69, 406, 409–10, 418 May 7 cadre school 15, 72, 78, 138, 229 May 7 directive 14, 44, 80

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memory of the movement xxix–xxx, 418, 438–40 military farms xxv, 30–32, 56, 68, 80–81, 96–97, 100–1, 144, 192–203, 224, 236, 246, 254–56, 259–60, 273, 278–79, 300–1, 325, 331–32, 341, 342–43, 351, 413–14. See also army mobilization for departures 60–61, 70–74, 86, 95, 155–56, 159–61, 169, 174, 187, 216–24, 229–35 models (educated youth) 9–10, 27, 31, 51, 53, 66–67, 69–70, 102–13, 124, 127, 130, 132, 157–58, 162–68, 170, 207, 216, 248 moderate leaders 43–45, 60–62, 65, 84–86, 88, 90–91, 98, 101–21, 135–37, 211–12, 348, 423, 442–43 morality and immorality, see idealism of the educated youth and demoralization, despair, disillusion motivations of the movement xxii–xxiii, xxxiv, 3–46, 132–33, 401–4, 408–12, 417, 421, 423, 427, 429, 441–45 national minorities (ethnic minorities) 30–32, 73–74, 109, 164–65, 199, 246, 266, 268–69, 280, 283, 289–90, 298, 368, 417 new-type peasants 12–13, 28, 427–29 nonagricultural work in the city, see employment nonagricultural work in the countryside 26, 28–29, 270–75, 292, 309, 413, 415–17, 428

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official image of the countryside and of peasants 10–11, 215, 275–76, 279 passive resistance 61–64, 71–73, 86–87, 99, 130, 139, 154, 159–61, 169–70, 173–74, 209–10, 220, 277, 337–85, 442–43, 451–52 peasant mentality and customs 273–79, 288–91, 297–99, 320 planning departures 56–57, 60–63, 74, 76–77, 78–80, 86–87, 92–94, 99, 130, 169–70, 444 political activities 29, 87, 117–18, 261–62, 267–69, 280, 305–6, 309–10, 318–19, 325, 329–36, 342, 351 political status of the educated youth, see class status and feeling of being downgraded political struggle, see moderate leaders and radical leaders power/society relations xxii, 140, 143, 154, 159, 212, 355–56, 385, 387, 392–97, 444–45, 451–55 production and construction corps, see military farms production teams, see villages projecting into the future 216, 302, 306–7, 311–12, 317–18, 320–26, 352–54, 361–62, 426 promotion on the spot (in the countryside) 6, 142, 204–6, 244, 287, 291, 292, 296, 299, 306, 309–12, 318, 424 propaganda 3, 29, 52–53, 60–61, 65–69, 71, 73, 86, 88, 105, 107–118, 126, 136, 159–70, 206–9, 216–17, 233, 236, 248,

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263, 273, 309, 329–30, 335, 344, 346, 354, 394–95, 416, 431, 438 protest actions xxxvii, 134, 140–54, 158–59, 182, 192–97, 204–6, 277–78, 307, 387–97, 452 radical leaders 36, 43–45, 65–66, 74, 78, 84, 85, 88, 91, 98–99, 101–21, 131, 211–12, 268–69, 332, 348, 441–43. See also Gang of Four and Mao Zedong rape and bad treatment xxvii, 87, 96–97, 120, 144, 289–90, 295–303, 332–33 Red Guards xviii, xxi–xxii, xxv, xxxvii, 19–22, 28, 45, 63–64, 65–67, 70, 72, 86, 215–22, 225, 237, 308, 354, 379, 393, 421–23, 429–30, 437, 439, 443 reducing the Three Great Differences 13–18, 43–44, 63, 112, 119, 133, 136, 145, 427–28, 451 reeducation, thought reform xxiii, 3–18, 45–46, 67, 70, 74, 81, 87, 98, 118, 130, 136, 157, 235, 267, 273–80, 286, 292, 295, 303, 331–32, 413, 423–24, 427–29, 437–38, 441, 453 relationship between cities and countryside: gaps and hierarchy xxiii, 44, 99, 119, 136, 156, 288–89, 295, 410–11, 417–20, 427–29 population exchange 38–44, 133, 136, 401–5, 408–9 relationship between educated youth and cadres 260, 295–305, 307, 314–15, 318, 358–59

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relationship between educated youth (or intellectuals) and the peasants xxvi, 7–14, 94, 117, 238–47, 265–95, 304–5, 307, 319–20, 343, 417–18, 427, 436 relationship between educated youths 242–44, 247, 250–51, 263, 290, 293, 303–7, 320–25, 338–45, 359–62, 379–80, 431–33 replacing a retired parent (dingti) 43, 141, 152, 168, 180–81, 194, 196, 367, 404, 406–7 repression, constraint xx, xxx, 19–22, 36–37, 44–45, 63–64, 70, 151–54, 159, 165–67, 192–98, 219–20, 256, 268, 278, 295–303, 324–25, 330–36, 345, 348, 351, 355, 358, 371–73, 380–81, 390, 412, 422, 428, 444, 452–53 research on the movement xxxiii– xxxix, 441–42 return to the city 38, 52, 63–64, 95, 98, 99–100, 108, 113, 118–20, 127–28, 135, 137, 138–42, 168–69, 175–77, 183–84, 193–94, 209–10, 271–72, 291, 294, 299, 306–7, 311–21, 323, 326, 335, 356–65, 367–68, 370–74, 381–82, 402–4, 411, 424, 431 revisionism 4, 7, 10, 17, 22, 31, 35, 98, 131, 423, 437, 440 rotation departure system 61–62, 100, 114, 118, 120, 181, 306–7, 312–13, 391 rural cadres 161, 170, 189–90, 239–41, 242, 247, 252, 267, 269–70, 273, 277–81, 290, 295–303, 309–11, 313–16, 320, 340, 345, 363, 381

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rural development 2, 8, 14, 25–32, 45–46, 53, 66, 130, 156, 162–63, 170–71, 207, 236, 270–75, 413–17 Russia: Russian and Soviet influence 16–17, 26–27, 33, 34–35, 49–51, 83–84, 350–51, 444 Sino-Soviet relations 31, 63, 68, 83, 218, 224, 279, 351, 374–75, 440 selection of persons departing 54–55, 74–78, 82–83, 95, 98, 129, 138, 218–24 sex, see marriage, celibacy shehui qingnian, see unemployed youth sickness, see health social control 329–37, 340, 345, 354–56, 370–73, 387, 396–97, 412, 421–22, 428 social discontent 52, 87–89, 97, 99, 105, 133, 134–35, 142, 175–76, 202, 204, 254, 260, 272, 299, 352–53, 389, 396–97, 404, 418, 421–23 state farms xxxv, 52, 56–57, 80, 100–1, 135, 138, 140, 142, 144–49, 152–55, 160–61, 169, 192–202, 224–26, 228, 246–47, 254–55, 259–61, 296, 303–4, 325–26, 413–15 suicide 205, 289–90, 325, 333, 357–58 superstition 361–65, 380, 389 three directions, see job allocations for graduates

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three graduation years (lao sanjie) 67, 72, 74–77, 375, 430–32 Three Great Differences, see reducing the Three Great Differences totalitarian power xxii, 356, 393, 410, 444–45, 451–53 touqin kaoyou (being housed by family or friends in the countryside) xx, 227–29, 239 training revolutionary successors 4–7, 15–16, 98, 120, 124, 425, 429, 437–38 unemployed youth (shehui qingnian) unemployment, see employment urban demography, see cities urbanization, see cities USSR, see Russia villages 53–54, 57, 155, 157, 224–29, 238–54, 270–71, 309, 329–31 writers, see literature

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