创作声明
本系列文章基于我与家人的真实交流、记忆片段与个人反思，旨在探索个体在历史洪流中的情感遗产与代际影响。写作过程中参考了部分公开资料与学术文献，但不代表任何官方立场，也不构成对任何特定组织或意识形态的支持或反对。
作为移居海外的创作者，我相信个体经验的讲述具有不可替代的价值。历史不仅属于宏大叙事，也存在于家庭结构、口语片段与未被记录的日常中。希望这些书写能为类似经历的人提供共鸣、思考与见证的空间。
Part Four：文化大革命
4-0: 写在前面
这是一篇写得非常吃力的文章。写的不是“历史事件”，而是一个普通人在历史中长大的方式。我的母亲出生在文化大革命元年，她的童年、青春、成年都被那场动荡裹挟，而我，是那个动荡延续下来的下一代。我写这篇文章，不是为了批判谁、证明谁错，而是想理解——理解那段历史是如何塑造我母亲、塑造我们家、最终也影响了我的情绪结构与自我认知。写作中，我会回到一些被遮蔽的角落，也会表达我的疑惑、愤怒与爱。这些文字是我与母亲之间，某种迟到又可能永远不会完成的对话。如果你也在努力理解自己的上一代，也许我们在某个句子里会相遇。
4-A：母亲的记忆
为了了解文革的细节，我特地发消息给我妈，问她文革的时候她多大了，还记得些什么事件。我和她沟通一直有障碍，我问她的问题，她要么过度解释、要么不回答。我没告诉她我已经开始在网上乱写“反动”的内容，如果她这个资深党员、兼居委会主席、兼妇联主任知道，可能会晕倒（笑）。我只是问，您是什么时候参加高考的？文革的时候您多大？
她给我发来了百度百科的词条：“文化大革命全称“无产阶级文化大革命”，发生于1966年5月至1976年10月，是一场由领导者错误发动，被反革命集团利用，给党、国家和各族人民带来严重灾难的内乱，留下了极其惨痛的教训。” 我哭笑不得，说，我是问你自己的经历和体验，词条我也能查到。我问，1976年你是十岁吗？
她应该是用微信语音转了文字，开始大段大段的连着发了我十几条文字消息，原来，她恰巧是文化大革命开始的那一年的农历新年出生的。关于她确切的出生日期，我和我爸都不清楚。我爸说，之前以为她是属马的，最近才发现她是属蛇的。我一直记得她是属马，但他这样一说，结合我妈说话向来避重就轻，我一时之间也不知道她到底生日是什么时候。
但不论她确切的生日是何时，应该是新年左右。也就是说，她出生之后几个月，便爆发了文化大革命，一直持续到她10岁才慢慢结束，加上之后的清算、恢复高考、她自学19岁考上大学，文化大革命影响了她的整个青少年以及成年的formative years。我无法想象这件事情对她造成的影响，我只能从我侧面的观察、和从小和她一起的生活去推测：她到现在还没消化这件比肩 Salem Witch Trials 事件的疯狂、失智、睁眼说瞎话、人人自危、相互告发、陷害给她造成的恐惧和焦虑。
我稍微了解了一下，我妈是文革元年出生的第一代婴儿，这时候毛泽东刚刚重新掌权，她的童年几乎与文革完全重叠。这时候的家庭教育完全失序，父母接受“斗争教育”，学校教育基本瘫痪。群体生活中讲 “阶级斗争”，少有童年自由。这样一看，似乎有些理解为何我从小也没童年自由，因为我的父母都没有童年自由。
他们随时处于“被组织观察、被批判”的环境里长大，可能也是为什么他们对我也是“观察”“质疑”“批判”的态度，让我从小觉得自己被各种gaze、finger-pointed for no reason all the time， 莫名其妙的被指桑骂槐、阴阳怪气的指责，或者直接被破口大骂、以最坏的恶意推测。如果我哭，被我妈说是“装样子” “博取同情”。如果我生气，她会取笑我，说我情绪不稳定。我很怀疑，她不会觉得这样对待我、和包括她之前这样被对待，是合理的吧？
4-B：湖南永安镇
我妈1966年出生于湖南省浏阳市的永安镇，位于浏阳西部、长沙市东郊，距离长沙市区约25公里，即便是现在开车，走长沙-浏阳的高速公路，再换省道，也需要大概一小时。当时是浏阳县下辖的一个重要农村镇，是典型的农业乡镇。即便是今天，永安也不到7万人口。根据百度百科永安镇词条：
三国时，属东吴长沙郡。 民国元年（1912年），设永安乡。 1950年4月，属浏阳县第十区。 1958年10月，永安、丰裕、洞阳3乡合并为永跃公社，后更名永安公社。 1969年4月，永安公社析置永安、丰裕2公社。 1983年3月，由永安公社改为永安乡。 1988年，由永安乡改为永安镇。 1995年6月，丰裕乡并入永安镇。截至2020年6月，永安镇下辖12个行政村， 镇人民政府驻新河街1号。 截至2019年末，永安镇有工业企业309个，其中规模以上142个，有营业面积超过50平方米以上的综合商店或超市99个。 2023年9月24日，2023中国百强镇揭晓，永安镇排名中国百强镇第72位，较去年前进10位；位列中部百强镇第3位。
但1966年前后的永安镇，人口似乎是在1.5到2.5万人左右，这真的不算多，尤其考虑到我高中一年级就有1200多人：省理科竞赛班、英语特长班、普通班，和长雅班，每班大概快70人。一所较大的学校的初高中部，初一到初三，加上高一到高三，再加上学校的老师等及其周围的支持人员，就快到了永安镇1966年的规模。当时的永安，以村组为基本单位，家族集中、熟人社会、讲宗族、重血缘。这些习俗延续到了现在，我每次回湖南都能感觉到浓厚的家族连带关系、地头蛇政治系统（笑）。当时，广播喇叭、标语、毛主席语， “大字报”到处都是。我妈跟我说过好多次，我自己也在不少文学、影视作品里看到，有点二战时Walt Disney给美国画propaganda art那意思。
我妈说，她小时候会去永安镇看电影，她从小就喜欢看美国的科幻电影，对此我表示怀疑。那时的永安镇，应该很少接触的到美国的东西：没有真正的市场经济，“供销社”（还是农业社？）是唯一的官方物资供应点。粮食、布料、火柴、肥皂等基本生活物资得考票证系统领取，我爷爷奶奶经常说那时候的事情，肥皂票、包括后来的电视、单车、radio都是稀缺物品。肥皂是一定要票的，但可以想办法“搞到”。其他的洋东西应该是很后面才开始进入人们的生活。这样一想，我九几年、还几岁的时候，能接触到笔记本电脑，是有点奇怪的事情。
文革期间据说每隔几个月会有一次露天电影放映，《天浴》里李小璐也有提到要去城里看电影。但当时的电影应该都是谢晋导演的一些《地道战》《红色娘子军》《上甘岭》等抗日战争影片，或者苏联友好影片。当时中美尚未建交，直到1972年尼克松才打开关系。而且，文革时期最主要的敌人之一就是美帝国主义，美国电影应该是全面被封禁的。我很难想象，一边打到资本主义、连英文书籍都得偷偷看、被发现还会被教育批评的环境下，居委会会公开放映美国的科幻电影。看到这里，我怀疑我妈在瞎说。文革中科幻、爱情、奇幻类电影都被视为“脱离现实”，“宣扬小资产阶级趣味”，连国内科幻小说作者郑文光都遭到批斗。
我心想：没问她电影，她怎么突然提这个？是不是她又在和我做比较？我知道她喜欢以此来偷偷了解我、也了解她自己。我们很相似，但我们做的几乎所有选择都完全不同。她会放弃事业，生孩子、“相夫教子”。她选择安稳生活，我想继续探索。她非常传统，我好像和传统两个字几乎不沾边。去年，我写了一本很粗糙的、以小时候的记忆为基础的、很碎片式的剧本，我发给我爸，向他求证细节。那时候，我已经和我妈很久没有联系过了，可能有4年没见了。她偷偷看我爸的手机，看了我的剧本，还告诉我，让我别问我爸，问她。我很奇怪，第一：偷看别人的东西，不应该不让人知道吗？第二，我之前问了她，她说的很不靠谱，我才问我爸的。第三，她到底啥时候能尊重我的隐私？我一脸黑线。
她说，”我记得我小时候是到永安镇的那个电影院去看电影，而且我记得看的是那个美国的科幻电影，叫做未来的世界。” 我查了一下，1976年上映的《未来世界》是1973年《西部世界》的续集，这应该是80年代，通过流动放映队看到的。我问她文革，她回复改革开放之后的事情，我又开始无奈。她说话总是前言不搭后语，极难理解。我总是听不懂，没有逻辑、时间线跳跃、组织能力差。果然她的房间混乱，表达也混乱，信息不知道如何链接和在大脑中置放。每次我跟她沟通，都需要阅读理解、查资料、思考，前后逻辑得我自己去找。虽然我很好奇她的经历，但沟通成本过高，还不如去看书。
4-C: 毛泽东
要解释文革，必须先解释毛泽东这个人。毛先生是湖南湘潭韶山人，和写《芙蓉镇》的古华都是湘潭老乡。他的父亲毛顺生，精明、强势，曾当过兵，后回家经商种田，是比较富裕的中农，略有积蓄，自己耕种的同事也雇佣少量长工。那时候的中国，是清朝光绪十九年，处于封建帝制的最后阶段。在那个年代，家里有地，雇佣长工，据说这叫富农（？）。毛小时候据说不是在书房里长大的少年，要挑水、砍柴、插秧、割稻。我妈小时候也是“双抢”长大的，我对这个说法基本信服。
“长工”这个词我似乎在鲁迅的文章里读到过，《阿Q正传》的阿Q应该就是长工。长工，是中国传统农村社会里，被地主或富裕农民长期雇佣、全年干活、吃住在主家家的人。他们的雇佣关系长期化，不是临时干几天活，而是常年为一家人服务。工作内容广泛，种田、养牲口、砍柴、挑水、打杂。住的是“工棚”或造访，几乎没有隐私。报酬基地，每年只给极少的钱或者粮食，大多是打工换地方住、混口饭吃。经常被看作下等人，不许上桌吃饭、不能与主家平等的说话，有时甚至签年契（？）。
小时候，我奶奶和我说她儿时帮父母种地的事情，我总是很心疼。我说，如果我可以回到过去，我要带一堆钱，一堆吃的，发给所有人。现在想起来，这不是资源的问题，中国地大物博，之前缺的可能是自动化。currency本身毫无价值，没有金融系统和政权支撑，没用。以及，时间是幻觉、一切应该发生的早就发生了，我们只是在体验已经发生的事情。我奶奶辈的痛苦，遇到了我爷爷，被改变了。我妈妈的痛苦，遇到我爸，被改变了。到我这一辈，能不能别再靠结婚改变命运了，但似乎还是大差不差，虽然至少这次是双向的。
他的生平wikipedia说的很仔细了。小时候，湖南台每年暑假除了放《还珠格格》，就是放《恰同学少年》，我没仔细看过，只记得大家文绉绉的、一副理想主义的样子、屁话一堆、每天不知道在干嘛，不理解剧情是怎么推进的，有点烦人（笑）。我知道毛一直很喜欢读书，进私塾，后来去了现在的长沙市一中（是的，一中的你们都是他校友），再后来去了湖南第一师范。维基百科说：
由于第一中学课程有限，毛泽东认为在校学习不如自学，便退学寄居在湘乡会馆，每日到湖南省立图书馆读书；在半年中，广泛涉猎18、19世纪欧洲社会科学和自然科学书籍；读了严复译亚当·斯密《原富》，孟德斯鸠《法意》，卢梭《民约论》，约翰·穆勒《穆勒名学》，赫胥黎《天演论》和达尔文关于物种起源的书，还读俄、美、英、法等国的历史、地理书籍，以及古代希腊、罗马的文艺作品；在图书馆第一次看到世界大地图，兴趣很大，反复细看，受到启发。
看到这里我头都大了。他看的书也太多了，我知道他脑门大，但不知道这么大。这些书我一本都没看过，我不知道我是否能在“共产主义”这个话题上有深刻的发言。但我想，从这么多年的史料来看，我的理解可能大差不差。以及，省图书馆是不是我家旁边那个？我爸是特地把我安那的吗？还是只是刚好在隔壁？这样的重合让我有点害怕（笑）。但我还是非必要不看书，我喜欢看电影。从我个人体验来说，书读的越多，越迷糊。最重要的决定，往往不是靠知识、脑子，得靠心、靠情感、靠直觉。
湘乡会馆在长沙市新安巷，离省图书馆三里路。他每天步行往返，白天在图书馆自学，晚上会回关住宿。三里路，大概20分钟的路程。那时的省图也不是现在的省图，是浏阳门外、长沙老城区的第一代省图。现在的省图是第三代了，在开福区。这样一看，虽然年代变了，但大家的活动范围都差不多：去图书馆读书，回家，思考如何构建自己的未来。
家境优渥的毛泽东，从小很叛逆，跟父亲经常起冲突，反封建。他的父亲不支持他读书，很强权，不给他提供费用，他便自己勤工俭学，离开长沙去北京，认识李大钊之后，开始旁听北大的课程。1919年，开始在《湘江评论》宣传“新思潮”，揭露和抨击帝国主义和封建势力。维基百科说：
12月1日，毛泽东把《学生之工作》发表在《湖南教育月刊》上，设计理想社会蓝图：创造新学校，实行新教育，让学生们在农村半工读；再由这些新学生，创造新家庭，把若干个新家庭合在一起，就可以创造一新社会；在这个社会里，设立公共育儿院，公共蒙养院，公共学校，公共图书馆，公共银行，公共农场，公共工厂，公共剧院，公共病院，公园，博物馆等等；以后，把这些一个个新社会连成一片，国家便可以逐渐地从根本上改造成一个大的理想的新村。
他说的不难理解，看了《奥本海默》才知道，Bekeley以前也那么多共产主义者。也不怪他们，实践之前，确实听着真的很美好。后来各国的实践都失败了，大跃进也没有跃成。我不理解毛先生的执着，是对父亲的反抗？以及父亲代表的整个封建父权社会的反抗？或许是这么开始的。但在时代的节点上，用现在的话说，他站在了风口上，起飞了。
Creative Statement
This series of articles is based on real conversations with my family, fragments of memory, and personal reflections. It aims to explore the emotional legacy and intergenerational impact of individuals within the tides of history. Some publicly available materials and academic literature were referenced during the writing process, but this does not represent any official position, nor does it constitute support or opposition to any specific organization or ideology.
As a creator living overseas, I believe that the narration of individual experience holds irreplaceable value. History does not only belong to grand narratives—it also lives in family structures, spoken fragments, and unrecorded daily life. I hope these writings can offer space for resonance, reflection, and witnessing for those with similar experiences.
Part Four: The Cultural Revolution
4-0: A Note Before Beginning
This is an extremely difficult article to write. What I’m writing is not a “historical event,” but the way an ordinary person grew up within history. My mother was born in the first year of the Cultural Revolution. Her childhood, youth, and adulthood were all swept up in that upheaval. And I am the next generation shaped by that same turmoil.
I’m not writing this to criticize anyone or to prove who was right or wrong. I’m writing to understand—to understand how that period of history shaped my mother, shaped our family, and ultimately affected my own emotional structure and self-perception. In this piece, I will revisit some hidden corners, and I will also express my doubts, anger, and love. These words form a kind of belated, and possibly never-to-be-completed, conversation between me and my mother.
If you are also trying to understand the generation before you, perhaps we will meet in a sentence somewhere.
4-A: My Mother’s Memory
To understand the details of the Cultural Revolution, I specifically messaged my mom, asking how old she was during that time and whether she remembered any events. Communication between us has always been difficult—when I ask her questions, she either over-explains or doesn’t answer at all. I didn’t tell her that I’ve already started posting “counter-revolutionary” content online. If she, a seasoned Party member, community committee chairwoman, and head of the women’s federation, knew, she might faint (lol). I just asked, when did you take the college entrance exam? How old were you during the Cultural Revolution?
She sent me a Baidu Encyclopedia entry: “The full name of the Cultural Revolution is the ‘Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution,’ which took place from May 1966 to October 1976. It was an internal political turmoil mistakenly launched by the leadership and exploited by counter-revolutionary groups, bringing severe disaster to the Party, the country, and the people of all ethnic groups, and left extremely painful lessons behind.”
I couldn’t help but laugh and cry. I said, I’m asking about your personal experience—I can look up encyclopedia entries myself. I asked, were you ten years old in 1976?
She must have used voice-to-text in WeChat, because she started sending me a dozen long messages in a row. It turns out she happened to be born during the Lunar New Year of the first year of the Cultural Revolution. As for her exact date of birth, neither my dad nor I know for sure. My dad said he used to think she was born in the Year of the Horse, but only recently found out she’s actually born in the Year of the Snake. I always remembered she was a Horse, but after hearing that—and considering how my mom always avoids giving straight answers—I suddenly didn’t know when exactly her birthday was either.
But regardless of the precise date, it should be around the Chinese New Year. In other words, just a few months after she was born, the Cultural Revolution erupted. It continued until she was about ten years old. Then came the post-revolution purges and eventual reinstatement of the college entrance exams. She self-studied and got into university at 19. The Cultural Revolution affected her entire adolescence and the formative years of her adulthood. I can’t imagine what kind of impact this had on her. I can only speculate through what I’ve observed on the sidelines, and from growing up with her: to this day, I don’t think she’s fully digested the madness, irrationality, blatant lies, paranoia, and mutual denunciations—an era comparable to the Salem Witch Trials—that left her with deep fear and anxiety.
I did a bit of research. My mom was among the first generation of babies born in the Cultural Revolution. This was when Mao Zedong had just regained power, and her childhood completely overlapped with that period. Family education was entirely disrupted—parents were subjected to “struggle sessions,” and the school system basically collapsed. Group life emphasized “class struggle,” and children had little to no childhood freedom. Seeing this, it becomes a little easier to understand why I also had no childhood freedom—because neither of my parents did.
They grew up constantly under “organizational observation and criticism,” which is probably why they also treated me with the same “observation,” “suspicion,” and “criticism.” I grew up feeling constantly watched, accused, finger-pointed for no reason. I was inexplicably scolded in passive-aggressive tones or directly yelled at, assumed to have the worst intentions. If I cried, my mom would say I was “putting on an act” or “seeking pity.” If I got angry, she’d mock me, saying I was emotionally unstable. I really doubt she ever thought this way of treating me—or the way she was treated herself—was justifiable.
4-B: Yong’an Town, Hunan
My mother was born in 1966 in Yong’an Town, Liuyang City, Hunan Province. It’s located in the western part of Liuyang, in the eastern suburbs of Changsha City, about 25 kilometers from downtown Changsha. Even now, driving there via the Changsha–Liuyang expressway and then switching to a provincial road still takes about an hour. Back then, it was an important rural township under Liuyang County’s administration, a typical agricultural town. Even today, Yong’an has fewer than 70,000 residents.
According to the Baidu Encyclopedia entry for Yong’an Town:
During the Three Kingdoms period, it belonged to Changsha Commandery under Eastern Wu. In the first year of the Republic of China (1912), Yong’an Township was established. In April 1950, it was part of the 10th district of Liuyang County. In October 1958, the townships of Yong’an, Fengyu, and Dongyang merged to form Yongyue People’s Commune, later renamed Yong’an Commune. In April 1969, Yong’an Commune was split into Yong’an and Fengyu Communes. In March 1983, Yong’an Commune was changed to Yong’an Township. In 1988, Yong’an Township was upgraded to Yong’an Town. In June 1995, Fengyu Township was merged into Yong’an Town. As of June 2020, Yong’an Town has jurisdiction over 12 administrative villages, with the town government located at No.1 Xinhe Street. As of the end of 2019, Yong’an had 309 industrial enterprises, 142 of which were above designated size, and 99 general stores or supermarkets with a business area over 50 square meters. On September 24, 2023, the list of China’s Top 100 Towns for 2023 was released—Yong’an ranked 72nd nationwide, moving up 10 spots from the previous year; it ranked 3rd among central China’s top towns.
But around 1966, Yong’an had a population of roughly 15,000 to 25,000—not a lot, especially considering that in my first year of high school, we had over 1,200 students: provincial science competition classes, English specialty classes, general classes, and the Changya experimental class, each with nearly 70 students. A large school with middle and high school divisions—from 7th to 12th grade—plus teachers and surrounding support staff, would almost equal the size of 1966-era Yong’an. At the time, the town was organized around village units, with tight-knit family networks, a society of acquaintances, emphasis on clans and bloodlines. These customs still linger. Every time I return to Hunan, I can feel the strong sense of family bonds and “local boss” political systems (lol). Back then, loudspeakers, slogans, Mao quotations, and big-character posters were everywhere. My mother has told me this many times, and I’ve seen similar scenes in literature and film—somewhat like Walt Disney’s propaganda art for the U.S. during WWII.
My mom said she used to go to the movies in Yong’an Town as a child. She’s always liked American sci-fi films. I’m skeptical about that. Back then, it was highly unlikely that Yong’an had any access to American content: there was no real market economy, and the “supply and marketing cooperative” (or was it an agricultural commune?) was the only official goods distributor. Basics like grain, cloth, matches, and soap were obtained via a ration system. My grandparents often talked about that era—soap coupons, and later, things like TVs, bicycles, and radios were all scarce items. Soap definitely required ration tickets, though sometimes you could find ways to “get some.” Western goods probably didn’t start entering people’s lives until much later. Thinking about it now, it’s kind of odd that I had access to a laptop when I was just a few years old in the 1990s.
During the Cultural Revolution, open-air film screenings were said to occur every few months. In Xiu Xiu: The Sent Down Girl, the character played by Li Xiaolu also mentions going to the city to see a movie. But back then, the films must have been mostly Xie Jin’s Tunnel Warfare, The Red Detachment of Women, Battle on Shangganling Mountain, and other anti-Japanese war films, or Soviet friendship films. At the time, China and the U.S. had not yet established diplomatic relations—Nixon didn’t visit until 1972. Plus, one of the main enemies during the Cultural Revolution was “American imperialism,” so American films would have been completely banned. It’s hard to imagine that in an environment where capitalist influences were under attack—even English books had to be read in secret and could get you criticized—neighborhood committees would publicly screen American sci-fi movies. At this point, I started to suspect my mom was making things up. During the Cultural Revolution, genres like sci-fi, romance, and fantasy were considered “detached from reality,” “promoting petty-bourgeois tastes”—even Chinese sci-fi author Zheng Wenguang was criticized.
I thought: I didn’t even ask her about movies, why is she suddenly bringing this up? Is she comparing herself to me again? I know she likes to use this kind of thing to secretly understand me, and understand herself. We’re very similar, but nearly all our choices have been completely different. She gave up her career to have children and “be a good wife and mother.” She chose a stable life. I want to keep exploring. She’s very traditional. I’m practically the opposite of “traditional.” Last year, I wrote a very rough, fragmentary screenplay based on childhood memories. I sent it to my dad to confirm some details. At the time, I hadn’t been in touch with my mom for years—probably hadn’t seen her in four years. She secretly looked at my dad’s phone, read my script, and told me not to ask my dad, but to ask her instead. I thought it was strange—first: if you sneak a look at someone else’s things, shouldn’t you at least not let them know? Second, I had already asked her, but her info was so unreliable that I went to my dad. Third, when is she ever going to respect my privacy? I was speechless.
She said, “I remember going to that movie theater in Yong’an Town when I was a child, and I remember watching that American sci-fi movie, it was called Futureworld.”
I looked it up—Futureworld was released in 1976, the sequel to Westworld (1973). She probably saw it in the 1980s through a mobile projection team. I asked her about the Cultural Revolution, and she answered with a post–Reform Era anecdote. Once again, I was exasperated. She always talks in disjointed fragments—it’s incredibly hard to follow. I can never understand what she’s saying: no logic, jumping timelines, poor organization. Her room is messy, and so is her expression. She doesn’t know how to connect information or arrange it in her mind. Every time I talk with her, it’s like I have to do reading comprehension, fact-checking, and logic reconstruction on my own. Even though I’m really curious about her experiences, the cost of communication is just too high—it’s easier to read books instead.
4-C: Mao Zedong
To explain the Cultural Revolution, one must first explain Mao Zedong as a person. Mr. Mao was from Shaoshan, Xiangtan, Hunan—incidentally, the same hometown as Gu Hua, the author of Hibiscus Town. His father, Mao Shunsheng, was shrewd and domineering, had served in the army, then returned home to farm and do business. He was a relatively well-off middle peasant with some savings, farming his own land while also hiring a few long-term laborers. At that time, China was still in the 19th year of Emperor Guangxu of the Qing dynasty—at the very end of the feudal imperial system. In that era, owning land and employing long-term laborers apparently meant you were considered a “rich farmer”. Though it is just a landowner, but that word is politically incorrect in modern Chinese history. More on this later.
As a child, Mao reportedly didn’t grow up reading in a study room. He had to carry water, chop wood, plant rice, harvest grain. My mom also grew up with “double harvest” agricultural labor, so I basically believe that part.
I think I read the word “long-term laborer” (长工) in one of Lu Xun’s essays. The character Ah Q from The True Story of Ah Q was probably a long-term laborer. In traditional rural Chinese society, long-term laborers were people hired year-round by landlords or wealthy peasants. They lived and worked on the employer’s land, and the employment relationship was long-term—not just a few days of work, but continuous service for one household. Their tasks were broad: farming, livestock care, chopping wood, hauling water, doing chores. They lived in worker huts or outbuildings, had almost no privacy, were paid meager wages—sometimes just food or a little grain. Often seen as inferior, they couldn’t eat at the same table as the host family, weren’t allowed to speak as equals, and sometimes even signed annual labor contracts. So basically a slave. Mao’s father had land, contracted part-time slaves, and because of that, he was able to get an education when he was six.
When I was little, my grandma used to tell me about helping her parents with farm work in her childhood, and I always felt heartbroken. I told her, if I could go back in time, I’d bring loads of money and food to give to everyone. But thinking back now, it wasn’t really a problem of resources—China has always been vast and rich in natural resources. What was lacking back then might have been automation. Currency in itself is worthless—without a functioning financial system and state apparatus, it’s useless. Also, time is an illusion—everything that was supposed to happen has already happened. We are merely experiencing what has already occurred. My grandmother’s pain was altered when she met my grandfather. My mother’s pain was altered when she met my father. Now for my generation—can we stop relying on marriage to change our fate? But maybe things are still more or less the same, though at least this time, it’s mutual.
Wikipedia gives a very detailed account of his life. When I was a kid, every summer Hunan TV would either air My Fair Princess or When We Were Young: Mao Zedong. I never really watched the latter closely—just remember everyone speaking in flowery language, with an air of idealism, full of nonsense, doing God-knows-what every day. I couldn’t understand how the plot moved forward. It was kind of annoying (lol). I knew Mao loved reading—he went to a private school, then attended what is now Changsha No.1 High School (yes, all of you from No.1 High, he’s your alumnus), and later went to the First Normal School of Hunan. According to Wikipedia:
Due to the limited curriculum at No.1 High School, Mao believed self-study was more effective than formal education, so he dropped out and lodged at the Xiangxiang Guild Hall in Changsha. Every day, he went to the Hunan Provincial Library to study on his own. In six months, he read widely across 18th- and 19th-century European social science and natural science texts. He read Yan Fu’s translations of Adam Smith’s The Wealth of Nations, Montesquieu’s The Spirit of the Laws, Rousseau’s The Social Contract, John Stuart Mill’s works, Huxley’s Evolution and Ethics, and Darwin’s On the Origin of Species. He also read histories and geographies of Russia, America, Britain, and France, as well as classical Greek and Roman literature. In the library, he saw a world map for the first time, which captivated him and inspired him deeply.
Reading this gave me a headache. He read so many books. I knew his forehead was big, but not that big. I’ve never read any of those books myself—I’m not sure I’m qualified to speak deeply on “communism” as a topic. But based on years of reading historical material, I feel like my understanding is probably not too far off. Also—is that provincial library the one next to my house? Did my dad place me there on purpose? Or was it just a coincidence? This overlap kind of scares me (lol). But I still try not to read books unless necessary. I prefer watching movies. From personal experience, the more books you read, the more confused you get. The most important decisions are rarely made with knowledge or logic—they require heart, emotion, intuition.
The Xiangxiang Guild Hall was on Xin’an Lane in Changsha, about three li (roughly 1 mile) from the provincial library. He would walk back and forth every day—studying at the library by day, returning to the guild hall at night. Three li is about a 20-minute walk. That version of the library wasn’t the current one; it was the first-generation provincial library outside Liuyang Gate in the old city of Changsha. The current provincial library is the third-generation version, located in Kaifu District. So in a way, despite the era having changed, everyone’s range of activity is still similar: go to the library, go home, think about how to shape your future.
Mao, born into a well-off family, was rebellious from a young age. He clashed often with his authoritarian father, resisted feudal norms. His father didn’t support his studies and refused to fund him, so Mao worked and studied on his own. He left Changsha for Beijing, where he met Li Dazhao and started auditing classes at Peking University. In 1919, he began using Xiangjiang Review to promote “new thinking” and criticize imperialism and feudalism. Wikipedia says:
On December 1, Mao published The Work of Students in Hunan Education Monthly, designing a blueprint for an ideal society: create new schools and implement new education, allowing students to study while working in rural areas. These new students would go on to form new families, and by combining these families, a new society could be created. This society would include public childcare centers, public kindergartens, public schools, public libraries, public banks, public farms, public factories, public theaters, public hospitals, parks, museums, etc. Eventually, by linking together many such new societies, the entire nation could be gradually transformed into a grand, ideal “new village.”
This is actually not hard to understand. After watching Oppenheimer, I learned how many communists used to be at UC Berkeley. Can’t really blame them—before practice proved otherwise, the theory did sound beautiful. Later, though, every country’s attempt failed. The Great Leap Forward didn’t leap forward either. I don’t quite understand Mao’s obsession. Was it rebellion against his father? Or against everything his father represented—an entire patriarchal, feudal society? Maybe it started that way. But at a key historical moment, as people say today, he stood at the eye of the storm and took off.