Red Scarf Girl

by Ji-li Jiang

I thought about my beautiful dreams and wondered if they would drift away just like those lovely soap bubbles.

“Search!” She cut Dad off with a shouted order and shoved him aside. At the wave of her arm the Red Guards behind her stormed in. Without speaking to each other, they split into three groups and charged toward our drawers, cabinets, and chests. The floor was instantly strewn with their contents.

My stamp album! It had been a birthday gift from Grandma when I started school, and it was my dearest treasure. For six years I had been getting canceled stamps from my friends, carefully soaking them to get every bit of envelope paper off. I had collected them one by one until I had complete sets. I had even bought some inexpensive sets with my own allowance. I loved my collection, even though I knew I should not. With the start of the Cultural Revolution all the stamp shops were closed down, because stamp collecting was considered bourgeois. Now I just knew something terrible was going to happen to it.

I looked for my things. The wing of the butterfly had been completely knocked off the body. The bottle holding the glass beads had smashed, and beads were rolling all over the floor. The trampled candy wrappers looked like trash. And the stamp album was gone forever.

The Red Guards at her school held struggle meetings to criticize her almost every day. During those struggle meetings they beat her and whipped her with their belts.

I had seen her coming home, surrounded by an escort of six or seven shouting Red Guards. Her head was bowed down by a sign that read, REACTIONARY MONSTER WEI DONG-LI. She beat a gong and shouted, “I am a reactionary teacher. I am a reactionary monster.” While I watched, she stopped shouting and tried to catch her breath. Immediately one of the Red Guards kicked her. Another cuffed her, and she began to croak out her chant once more.

Du Hai’s mother was standing on a stool, her head lowered to her chest. Two torn shoes, the symbol of immorality, were hung around her neck, along with a sign that read, SANG HONG-ZHEN, OPPRESSOR OF THE YOUNG, DESERVES TEN THOUSAND DEATHS. Her disheveled hair dangled around her shocked, gray face. I hardly recognized the once-powerful Neighborhood Party Committee Secretary.

Ji-yong had told us that Xiao-cheng’s father was having a very difficult time now. Almost every day he was criticized in struggle meetings. In addition, as the highest official of our district before the Cultural Revolution, he was often taken as a companion target to struggle meetings against his junior officers. It could not have been easy for Xiao-cheng to appear so calm.

We were all shocked. Xiao-cheng’s father was standing in the first truck. He was wearing a tall dunce cap covered with red X’s, the sign for a criminal. His wrists were tied together behind his back, and his arms were lifted high behind him. His head had been forced down so that we could not see his face. Around his neck was a heavy wooden sign: CAPITALIST EXECUTIONER SHAN YI-DAN. The name had been written in black ink and crossed out in red paint.

“You are different from your parents. You were born and raised in New China. You are a child of Chairman Mao. You can choose your own destiny: You can make a clean break with your parents and follow Chairman Mao, and have a bright future; or you can follow your parents, and then… you will not come to a good end.”

“We cannot choose our families or our class sums. But we can choose our own futures.” He spoke very slowly and clearly. “No, you are not a leader, but you are still an ‘educable child.’ You can overcome your family background.” He paused. “You have self-esteem, and you always try to excel. That’s why I believe you are brave enough to face and eventually overcome the difficulties of life.”

“Chairman Mao says you can’t choose your class status but you can choose your future. You couldn’t choose the family you were born into, but now that you’ve grown up, it’s time for you to choose your future. You can tell your parents you’ll follow Chairman Mao, not them. If they give you any trouble, just come here and tell us. We’ll go to their work units and hold struggle meetings against them… .”

Thin-Face came straight to the point. “Your father’s problems are very serious.” His cold eyes nailed me to my seat. “You may have read the article in the Workers’ Revolt that exposed your family’s filthy past.” I slumped down in my chair without taking my eyes off his face. “In addition to coming from a landlord family, your father committed some serious mistakes during the Antirightist Movement several years ago, but he still obstinately refuses to confess.” His cold manner became a little more animated. “Of course we won’t tolerate this. We have decided to make an example of him. We are going to have a struggle meeting of the entire theater system to criticize him and force him to confess.” He suddenly pounded the table with his fist. The cups on the table rattled.

“Now, you have to choose between two roads.” Thin-Face looked straight into my eyes. “You can break with your family and follow Chairman Mao, or you can follow your father and become an enemy of the people.” His voice grew more severe. “In that case we would have many more study sessions, with your brother and sister too, and the Red Guard Committee and the school leaders. Think about it. We will come back to talk to you again.”

It was only after Mao’s death in 1976 that people woke up. We finally learned that the whole Cultural Revolution had been part of a power struggle at the highest levels of the Party. Our leader had taken advantage of our trust and loyalty to manipulate the whole country. This is the most frightening lesson of the Cultural Revolution: Without a sound legal system, a small group or even a single person can take control of an entire country. This is as true now as it was then.