October 17, 2019 marks the centennial of the birth of our beloved late father Zhao Ziyang.
In the century since his birth, the Chinese people have endured the ordeals of inferno and massacres, and have experienced high hopes and desperation, passion and misery. It was a century that witnessed carnage and millions of deaths.
Was it fortune or misfortune to have lived through this past century?
Our father was born to a peasant family in northern Henan Province. Our grandfather and great grandfather were country gentlemen, later classified by the Communist regime as landlords. In his late years, Father told us that they were merely peasants.
In China’s heartland, besides parsimony and saving to acquire land, there were limited ways for peasants to accumulate wealth. This was true for our ancestors, who had extremely frugal lives. What Father
remembered most vividly of his childhood were two gigantic earthen urns that the Zhao family used to preserve their vegetables. Instead of using the regular “big salt,” they used “little salt” gathered from saline soil because it was all they could afford.
In China’s heartland, traditional peasants, even if barely literate, were loyal to their country. This ancient spirit, although fading in society today, was strong among the country gentlemen of northern China. They did not hesitate to give their money, labor or lives to fight against the Japanese invasion.
In a traditional peasant family, boys were always favored over girls. Three generations of the Zhao clan lived under the same roof back then, and as head of the family, our great grandfather had the privilege of eating white steamed bread. Every now and then, he would give a bun to Father, his eldest grandson. According to our aunts, Father even enjoyed the privilege of eating the white steamed bread with sugar!
As the eldest grandson, and the only son in his nuclear family, Father enjoyed the best food under the watchful and envious eyes of his older sisters, who had no idea how white steamed bread tasted. One might think that such a privileged boy would grow up to be a selfish coward. On the contrary, Father unexpectedly turned out to be a man with empathy, compassion and concern for humanity.
With an innate sensitivity, Father could not tolerate other people’s sufferings. Nor could he put up with inequality and injustice. He had a hatred of exploitation and oppression. In the 1980s, he said, “It is inexcusable for China’s human rights situation to be worse than that of other countries.”
Father always put himself in others’ shoes and disliked troubling anyone. Excessive hospitality shown towards him only made him
nervous. Flattery, even if genuine, made him uneasy. When old friends came to visit, he viewed any gifts as an insult, but he would be at a loss because he did not know how to refuse them. High ranking government officials were trained to know what to say for any occasion, but Father found it difficult to say anything disingenuous, however appropriate it was supposed to be.
Father loved animals, both domestic and wild. During his final years, a weasel came to our courtyard. One day it was dying because it took the poisonous bait meant for rats. The security guard caught it and threw it outside the gate. When Father found out, he was unusually upset, and ordered the man to find the poor weasel and bring it back.
Father’s secretary recalled in an article that he was uncomfortable with sycophants and loathed those who showed off their power.
The secretary marveled that a man in such a high position of power could not be corrupted.
Father understood power differently from other people. He used to say, “If I cannot use power to do good, then what is the use of this power?”
His view was that state power belonged to the people, and officials were merely public servants. He always chose his words with great caution because with the responsibility of power, he felt as though he was walking along the edge of a cliff or treading on thin ice. When a mountain fell on him, however, he steadfastly stood his ground. He said, “The government owes too much and should repay their debt to the people.”
Father’s “debtor complex” troubled him for many years. Many of the older generation felt a heavy weight of guilt after the Cultural Revolution. They felt obligated to the Chinese people, especially the
peasants. Perhaps this was the impetus for reform, and why reform started in the rural areas.
This brought about an era of renewed enthusiasm. The Party worked hard, and the government and the people were unified in their efforts. The whole country was in high spirits. People believed the country was finally on the right track.
Although China is not rich in natural resources, it has accomplished much as a result of reform. Nonetheless, the reasons for such achievements are unclear. Independent scholars diligently explored this topic, working against the lack of data and the passing on of those who lived through that era. One scholar hoped to summarize the underlining reasons in a few sentences, but she finally lamented that the topic was too complex and profound. After much contemplation, Father’s solution was to suggest the theory of “the primary stage of socialism” based on Mao Zedong’s “new democracy theory” and Deng Xiaoping’s “reform and open-door policy” as the proper guideline for the nation to move forward, a path that was most feasible.
The Chinese people have seen over a century of misfortune. The odds were stacked against us for making the right choices at critical junctures of history. Now, facing another historical juncture, are we going to make the right choice?
History flows like a river. The fading glory at dusk will soon vanish altogether after sunset.
The Chinese Communist Party has seen ups and downs and learned its share of lessons. Such a unique experience is both a liability and an asset. The campaigns of the Cultural Revolution, such as “Criticize Lin Biao and Confucius” and “Criticize Deng Xiaoping,” cultivated an army of “mass movement experts.” Rank and file cadres at all levels learned
how to appease the masses and resolve standoffs. Father used to tell cadres, “You should be able to carry out your work even when faced with some opposition or conflict.” In retrospect, such skills, if they had been preserved, could have been a blessing to a society of peace and order. Excessive aggression simply cannot benefit the society at large.
If we lose the patience to convince people with reason, and if we lose the wisdom of compromise and tolerance, we will lose the ability to make progress.
In the early 1980s, a Cultural Revolution-era cadre in Hebei Province was facing punishment. He wrote a letter addressed to the Communist Party Central Committee in which he did not mention his personal ordeal, but presented his views on how to solve some problems in Hebei Province. After reading that letter, Father was impressed and praised him, “There really are talents among the rebels!”
Actually, many university graduates with leadership potential emerged from mass movements after the founding of the People’s Republic. If even a few of them had been rehabilitated, they could have become a significant asset of human talent. Unfortunately, however, the talents of the Cultural Revolution generation were almost entirely ruined. People of vision cannot help but lament this loss.
Many exceptional schools of thought and traditions that took hundreds of years to develop are now on the verge of extinction. Anything the current leaders do not understand, agree with or like, even if national treasures, are being destroyed and will be lost forever.
Today, we are facing retrogression of thought and philosophical poverty. We have stopped our vigorous probing, with not even a faint spark of wisdom in sight. We have neither the warmth of humanitarian concern, nor an iota of heart-touching affection. Even in the turmoil of
the last century, we have never before been in such a spiritual predicament.
Father used to say, “Gentlemen rely on reasoning rather than resorting to violence, because once people are killed, there is nothing left.” Unfortunately, people were killed. The effort to win people’s hearts, the resources dedicated to cultivating people’s moral values, the spirit to let hundreds of schools of thought bloom, and the designs for political reform all went down the drain. All that’s left is but a barren landscape.
During its early years, the Communist Party gathered a vast number of the nation’s elites with noble ideals, bravery and altruism. “There were so many valiant army generals and brilliant advisors forming an assembly of heroes,” as described in ancient texts.
It is difficult to understand how such a legacy and spirit could vanish without a trace in the blink of an eye. The few remaining elderly men of conscience pass away, one after another.
There is an ancient saying: “No worthy person should be left behind during the heyday of a society.” Years of “reverse elimination,” however, have led to the survival of the most unfit. Now, there are too few people of integrity left, while too many shameless people are thriving.
Although the sudden collapse of a prosperous dynasty is not a rare occurrence in Chinese history, it has never seen a regime collapse completely at such an amazing speed.
Father once made a casual remark that “a timid person may have his own principles.” This seemed like a paradox; how could a timid person stand by his principles? Later, we understood that by “timid,” he was describing a person who refrained from engaging in wonton and
reckless action. In an incident known all over the world, Father was known as a “timid person”, because he chose the difficult road, because he did not want to be condemned by future generations. With a clear conscience, Father did not regret his choice, even if he were to die nine times. His subsequent suffering, however, moved us to tears. Alas! Although there have been anecdotes of harmony between the monarch and his ministers, sadly enough, it is difficult for such harmony to last.
Such was Father’s life: He started as a student with his blood boiling, overcame hardships during the Anti-Japanese War, celebrated the founding of the People’s Republic of China, was utterly confused during the Great Famine and devastated during the Cultural Revolution. He rejoiced at the revival of the motherland, felt proud of the reform and open-door policy, suffered the pain of 1989, and undertook soul-searching during his final years.
All of this is now gone with the wind, slowly dissipating in the stream of history. All he could do was to appeal to the Chinese Communists, leaving an echo over his motherland: “We strive to change China and the world. Why can’t we change ourselves?”