15 LIVING IN THE COW SHED (PART TWO)

    (6) Developing Secret Agents

Even without formal education, our young jailers were quick to learn about and to emulate the Gestapo and KGB abroad as well as KMT's Bureau of the Investigation and Statistics of the Central Executive Committee and Bureau of the Investigation of Statistics of the Military Council at home. They learned to rule via a system of secret agents. Obviously, they didn't call them secret agents. Instead these chosen men were called "reporters." Each room in the Cow Shed had a person assigned as the "reporter." What kind of person among us prisoners qualified for this special mission? How did these fortunate men receive assignments from the jailers? These things were extremely confidential in respect to us "non-reporters." On the basis of my observation, designated reporters enjoyed special privileges. For example, they were allowed to go home each Sunday and usually stayed longer at home than we "non-reporters." Here I have to make one point. Some of us were never allowed to go home during our stay in the Cow Shed; some of us could go home at longer intervals, while others went home weekly. This so-called "different treatment" was decided absolutely by the reform guards. "A gentleman only works for the master under whose leadership the talent is treasured and put into full use."[1] To repay his master for such rewards, a reporter strove to be productive in his "reports." He took trifles into account and was quick to submit findings to his boss. Some of the reporters certainly knew what they were doing. When observing that a "criminal" was becoming "out of favor" with the jailers, a reporter would be rather picky and harsh in telling on him in an attempt to attain more privileges. One day I saw a reporter in a room, bending his back and saying something in front of a jailer. Immediately one of his roommates was pulled into a room specially used for torture. I had no way of peeping in the room. But what was going on there was beyond doubt.

    (7) Coping with the Dossier Investigation

The "dossier investigation" was a special term for an examination of someone's file of political background. Such an analysis usually was conducted by a person sent to the Cow Shed by a work unit outside Beida because the person under scrutiny used to work in that unit. Whether or not he had been called a "criminal" in his original work unit was not known. Probably the coinage of this term was claimed as Beida's intellectual property. At that time numerous persons were sent at high costs to conduct dossier investigations in all parts of the country, even some of the most remote and poorest villages. The detectives gathered evidence in support of false charges against former employees of the original work unit; as a result the "criminals" would be politically outlawed forever. Take me for example. I indiscreetly offended that tyrannical "Old Dowager." So her followers regarded me as a thorn in the side and went out of their way to gather evidence around the country about my "crimes." One of my childhood friends told me that probably two investigators from Beida came to my home village and wanted to label me a "landlord." My friend rebuked them by saying, "If you want to find who was poor or rich before the liberation, Ji Xianlin should rank first in poverty and suffered the most!" So the investigators slunk off. From the context of my friend's conversation, I knew they later made a second tour there. As I said before, when my home at Beida was raided, the Red Guards made sure to take away my book of correspondence in order to use it for "dossier investigations" according to the addresses I listed in it. In conducting an investigation of this kind, other work units did not differ from Beida. For a period of time, great numbers of investigating persons ran everywhere around the country.

Since I was detained in the Cow Shed, I had got involved with the investigators. These people raised different requirements. Some of them only gave me the name of the man to be examined and required me to write something on whatever I knew before my written response was forwarded by a reform guard. Others requested a face-to-face talk with me, which usually proceeded with a certain degree of courtesy and respect. But some of the investigators were rather rude. One morning two men came from Shandong University and wanted to see me personally. I was sent into the interrogation room to meet these men from my home province. They wanted to check the relations between a Shandong University professor of Classical Chinese, who grew up in Beijing, and me. I knew then that this friend of mine was in trouble, too. I might have been of some help to him, if I had not been a counter-revolutionary gangster. Unfortunately I had to be worried about myself at this time and could not give him a hand. Suddenly I found myself, a former "convict" to the "New Beida Commune," also a "convict" to Shandong University. The two fellow native men banged on the table and looked daggers at me. They plucked my hair, struck and kicked me. They spoke in the typical Jinan accent, which reminded me of a line by Wu Mi, "Such language uttered in the native accent sounds so terrible."[2] With such rough yells in the familiar accent blaring in my ears and ferocious expressions glaring at me, I was grimly disgusted. Different from that of Beijing, the vulgar Jinan verbal expression comes in three characters, "Fuck your mother!" With the language peppered with such expression, the two men forced me to confess my "reactionary" relations with that professor and my own crimes. Their overbearing manners made me shudder with revulsion, sweat streaming down my body, even though I was a "hardened criminal." The interrogation went on for two hours and well passed the lunch time. Even our reform guards thought the visitors had gone too far, so they stopped them. My fellow native men had to beat a retreat, their enjoyment nipped in the bud. Their torture left me physically and mentally paralyzed. But what came to my mind first, then, was the concern for my friend's safety instead of my own, "At the hands of these brutes, you will have little chance to come off well!"

    (8) Ceaseless Torture Sessions

During those days we were led away each morning to our labor sites by reform guards or workers that came to the Cow Shed to take us for assignments. Past experiences sprang to my mind. During the late 1950s when the cooperative transformation of agriculture, or People's Commune, was in full swing, brigade leaders assigned farm cattle to peasants before work started each morning. We were not far removed from the cattle now. The cow, unable to speak and think, was led away by the person that wanted to use it. Yet we, with speaking ability, feared to utter any thoughts.

Physical labor, however, was not the sole item on our routine agenda. In other words, it was not the only way of "reforming us." Didn't we often say, "Reforming through physical labor"? Now many years have passed, but I still have not come to terms with the validity of this theory, despite the fact that I have had many years of experiencing this practice under my belt. Reform through physical labor could only hurt the body but failed to encourage ideological transformation. It inflicted suffering on the bodies of "criminals" such as swelling, bleeding and scars. It definitely infuriated the "criminals." What else could be done, if physical labor failed to achieve its purpose? The torture session was an alternative. Before physical labor was adopted, reform depended upon torture session alone. Later after physical labor came into being, overall reform was strengthened by an incorporation of the two dimensions. As I remarked earlier, torture sessions imposed harsher and more violent agonies even though, in comparison to the physical aspect of labor reform, it may have been only six of one and half a dozen of the other.

The difference between the labor reform and the torture session could not be ignored. If we had been allowed to make a choice, we would have picked the former. Unfortunately, we were left with no choice. Therefore we were very apprehensive during our confinement in the Cow Shed. In the morning, whenever we followed the workers to some labor site for the day's assignment, we feared that one of us would be taken away for a torture session at a certain hour by a certain work unit for a certain reason, probably out of someone's desire to enjoy himself. When such a need arose, the Red Guards of the Commune, wearing their red armbands, haughty and swaggering, rushed over to the "office" of the Cow Shed. The one in charge of the "office" granted the request for the designated man. The duration of the torture session varied. But the victim, when brought back, was invariably downcast, with rumpled hair like weeds and, occasionally, badly battered.

I had no way of calculating the total number of us marched off for daily torture sessions, but things like this happened all the time. Among my fellow inmates in the Cow Shed, I was an "important criminal." Due to the fact that I, an orderly of "Jinggangshan", committed unpardonable crimes of opposing the "Old Dowager," I was a lot more likely to be chosen for torture sessions. Each morning when breakfast was over, I started to worry about whether I was to be the one to be taken away and not allowed to work for the day. I was on tenterhooks, as seconds ticked by like years. Each time when left waiting in a room from which I would be marched off, I thought of my fellow Cow Shed men who were then working somewhere, comfortable and carefree, as if they were elevated to the existence of paradise. I tried to imagine what kind of calamity was lying ahead of me. Soon Red Guards arrived to get me as the reform guards called me to the front of something like a reed mat screen, which bore many characters I could not remember. I bent double, listening to the instruction, "Behave yourself, Ji Xianlin, at the session of denouncement!" It sounded like what a parent says to a child on leaving, "Behave, sweetie." My stay in the Cow Shed saw me taken away to many places for torture sessions. I will not talk about these experiences in detail because their procedures ran exactly the same way; the chants of "Down with Ji Xianlin" roared up first, followed by speeches full of slander and nonsense as the major part of the mission. Once in a while emotions ran high and I was given a couple of slaps in the face. The sessions wound up with the shout, "March Ji Xianlin away!" Then I got back to the Cow Shed, my home to some extent, depressed with disheveled hair.

    (9) The Grand Torture Session of June 18, 1968

I reviewed the history of the Cultural Revolution at Peking University earlier in this book. The first grand session of "torturing devils" took place in the university on June 18, 1966. At that time I did not qualify for being a "devil." So on that day I lay in bed at home, listening to the shrieks and hubbubs in the distance. One year later, June 18 was marked as the first "anniversary" of the activity, when the second "devil" torturing session took place. This time I still did not qualify as a "devil" so I narrowly missed the hit.

When June 18, 1968 arrived, I was a member of the Cow Shed, having stayed there more than one month. I was now a qualified "devil" for the occasion. The day came as a heavy blow to me, a disaster I hadn't had for a long time. Early in the morning our reform guards busily sorted us out on the basis of some so-called guidelines of "careful selection." Not every one of us was considered fit for this rare opportunity. As we lined up and got ready to leave, I noticed only a few of us were chosen this time, among whom the old professor and I were singled out as representatives of the Department of Eastern Languages. Instead of a reform guard, the man marching us off was surnamed Zhang, who used to be in charge of the Instructional Media Center of the department. This change in formality indicated that the list of chosen targets for this grand torture session was decided jointly by individual departments and research institutions. This old colleague of mine, Zhang, upon seeing us, uttered no insults like "son of a bitch." He was even cordial and courteous. I felt uneasy. We were used to inhuman treatment; at least I felt that way. Once we were treated a little better, it felt "abnormal." Zhang's sympathy will live in my memory for the rest of my life.

But the devil victimizers behaved quite differently. Who were they? I had no idea. I dared not raise my head to take a look at the crowds standing by the road, nor did I know which road I took. I vaguely traced the path out of the Cow Shed and around the Lake-overlooking Pavilion and Russian Buidling up the slope.[3] At that time the University's main library was not built yet. There was only one route leading to the southern Beida campus and Philosophy Building. Probably we went along the foliage-shaded path to a place near that building. I had no idea at which place I eventually arrived, nor did I know how I was treated at that day's torture session before I was brought back "home." That day, it seemed, I was not forced to take the jet plane posture long and no criticism was pointed particularly toward me. I got the impression that it was a tumultuous gathering, with uproars around me and occasional chants rising and falling. Maybe we were dealt with by the individual departments or institutions to which we belonged. I seemed to be sleep-walking forward, hanging the head and bending the back. I glanced at the men and women who flocked around, not only in front and at the back of me but by my sides as well. At times I found myself closed in on by the throngs from above and below. What I saw was only shoes and pant legs. On my way back "home" it seemed that I was drawing more spectators about me, hearing louder noises and being hit by more rubble. Meanwhile, I was numbed, feeling little pain when struck by fists. Back in the Cow Shed, I took off my shirt and found a big turtle drawn on it with the shirt's corner tied up with a leafy willow twig. I guessed it symbolized a dog tail. The Cow Shed, which used to seem fearsome, like a satanic abode, now appeared as extremely tranquil and neat, an incredible pleasant dwelling place.

I calmed down and tried to recall the day's occurrences. Why was the torture session administered on such a large and boisterous scale? Small-scale sessions took place every day and were quite enough for the purpose. According to psychological theory, curiosity fades from repetition while exception sparks interest. Those small-scale sessions became flat to most people. So the anniversary of the grand session became a day of celebration and attraction on the campus.

    (10) A Few Scraps of Tabloid News of the Cow Shed

I call these stories "scraps of tabloid news" because they were different from the news people read in the newspaper. Because I can't think of a better term off the top of my head, let me use it for the moment. What I want to tell you about are some unusual experiences that my Cow Shed mates went through, some insignificant events that left deep impressions on me. Though these happenings look routine, they are rather illustrative and suggestive of life in the Cow Shed. Because most readers are interested in stories, I will remove those names concerned. But those involved would identify them immediately without a scholarly index to this book.

1. A Professor of Library Science

This professor was once head of the Beijing Library and a well-known scholar on library science and the Dunhuang Caves.[4] We got to know each other and became close friends long before the Cultural Revolution. The fact that he was in trouble during that terrible period is no surprise. For a while I did not learn of the false charges imposed on him and the way he was tormented at torture sessions. Even when we met in the Cow Shed I could not ask about his recent experiences because we were rendered mute. Luckily, not struck blind, I was able to see.

Writing a report of thought was required every day. One day, when the routine evening admonishment speech was going on, my friend received a clear slap across his face, followed by fist blows and kicks, until he was punched to the ground and forced on his knees. This punishment happened because he wrote his report of thought on coarse toilet paper and turned it in. In those months of terror I was never delighted by any event. But this occurrence cheered me up for some time. I wondered whether this professor was confused at the moment of emergency when he needed appropriate paper for writing or if he purposely challenged the arrogant reform guards by courageously performing this act of ridicule. If the latter was true, he certainly insulted, as dregs of society, those men who held power over his life. In old China his legendary deed, in the form of written notes, would have gone down in history. I at once was worried about him and deeply admired his audacity. He was the hero who released us from long repressed rage.

2. A Professor of Law

This professor was a veteran revolutionary official, who joined the revolution before the Anti-Japanese War. I was not clear about his biographical background. He came to see me soon after he was transferred to Beida and asked me to translate a famous ancient Hindu code. Then we struck up an acquaintance. In the years that followed we saw each other a lot at conferences on and outside campus. He was kind and congenial with a noble personality that a revolutionary veteran should possess. We shared a great deal in chats. Who knew that we would end up as Cow Shed mates during this political turmoil?

During the Cow Shed days, unless particularly necessary, we were not allowed to talk to each other. Encounters among us fellow men took place as we rushed by each other silently without raising our heads. What happened between the law professor and me was no exception.

One Sunday afternoon, those of us who had received permission to go home returned on time successively. Sitting in my room, I suddenly saw this professor brought inside by a reform guard. Holding a board bearing his name on it, he toured around each room and said loudly, on entering, "I'm so-and-so. I was late in getting back on time. I'm being sent here to make self-criticism and ask for punishment!" I did not know how others felt. I was frightened and perplexed.

3. A Female Instructor from the Department of Eastern Languages

She was an instructor of Mongolian from the Department of Eastern Languages, frank and honest. At the beginning of the Revolution, someone tattled on her, saying that she used to be a competent member of the Youth League of Three Principles of the People of the KMT. It was sheer fabrication. Probably, because she was not reverent toward that female political climber, false charges rained down on her, bringing her to the verge of being accused of the "crimes." For a period of time, another professor from her department and I gathered rubble together, under the supervision of a single worker, in an out-of-the-way place outside the eastern gate of the university. One day the female instructor of Mongolian joined us. I was puzzled and asked her whether she was sent by the Revolutionary Committee of her department. She answered, "No." "If not, why do you come here?" "Because people say I have committed crimes. I think I'm guilty, so I'm coming of my own accord to reform." What a weird mind! "The stupidity is beyond comparison." Theidea flashed across my mind that Christian orthodoxy about "original sin" is very peculiar and puzzling. But the event showed her personality. As an object of the dictatorship and a person who tried to get out of harm's way, I had to follow the directive, "Be humble and subservient. Don't talk and move around without permission." What could I say to her then?

Things went on like this for a while. When we were sent to Taiping Village to work, of course, she was not with us as a "criminal." An old saying goes like this, "One is struck by blows of evil fortune in succession." Later, after coming back from Taiping Village, we moved into the Cow Shed that we had built for ourselves. I didn't see her there either. I thought her absence was reasonable. One evening, a new Cow Shed fellow was suddenly jostled into our compound. A sidelong glance told me it was she. I was stunned. I thought she had been left out of the trouble and would keep out of misfortune instead of "getting mixed up with us counter-revolutionary gangsters." Now she had come! What was on her mind that she wanted to be in the infernal plot? However, I could tell that, this time, she was marched here instead of coming on her own accord. I said nothing to her, as if I had not seen her, though I searched for an answer.

A reform guard asked her, "What's your first name?"

"Hua."

"Which Hua?"

"The Hua as in Zhong Hua Min Guo (the Republic of China)."

The candid answer exploded! A "counter-revolutionary criminal" dared to flaunt the name of the Republic of China, ruled by the KMT, in public, in the Cow Shed, a place run by the holy and untouchable Beida Revolutionary Committee? It was absolutely offensive and outrageous! She certainly deserved harsh punishment. The immediate consequence was that she was labeled an "active counter-revolutionary," knocked down on the ground and pounded soundly. Then a smart reform guard hit upon an idea, so she was led to a tree. This tree was in a peculiar shape, one branch slanting from the trunk. She was first ordered to stand below the branch, her head touching it. The reform guard said,

"March forward!"

As she stepped forward, she had to incline her head backward. Another order came,

"Move forward one more step!"

Now the trunk bent lower, making her head turn backward further and forcing her body to incline as well in order to keep her balance. Yet a third order followed,

"Move forward one more step!"

Now the crooked trunk came very low. She had not been trained in acrobatics and couldn't perform the feat of bending backward to that degree. No further order was given. She stood there, bending her back backward. She was barely able to hold that position for one minute before collapsing to the ground, sweat all over her body. Here, I don't need talk about what happened next. To my mind, the Cow Shed rascals reached a new level of torturing their victims. Her suffering left me deeply disturbed.

I was certainly ignorant of the other tortures she went through that night. The next morning I saw her with a swollen face, black and blue below her eyes.

4. The Party General Secretary of the Department of Biology

I worked as an administrator for decades at Beida and attended many meetings at various levels. Therefore I knew the Party general secretary of the Department of Biology from the beginning of my career at the university; we were old friends.

Unsurprisingly he became a target of torture at the outset of the Cultural Revolution in the first rounding-up of capitalist roaders; thus, he was at the grand session on June 18, 1966. He was no doubt a veteran of victimization.

I was always puzzled about why many supporters of the "Old Dowager" and most of our reform guards were from the Department of Biology. After the construction of the Cow Shed, many denounced "capitalist roaders" were not thrown into the Cow Shed to be with us "devils" of "bourgeois reactionary scholars." Thus, I was shocked to see this Party general secretary show up there.

Probably, because many reform guards were students of biology, the secretary was "privileged" in some fashion. I can't tell exactly why. But I will present one example for you, which is truly frightening.

One day in August, the hottest month in Beijing, right after lunch hour, the sunshine scorched the earth; it was "burning," to use a local Shandong expression. I saw a man standing in the center of the yard as I walked across. Looking up, he was staring at the dazzling sun. Nor far away, in the shade of trees, a reform guard, a student from the Department of Biology, sat idly. I was perplexed. Later I was told that the Party general secretary was being punished; he was required to stare at the sun without a blink, or he would invite a round of beating. I shuddered. In the history of China and the world, from the slavery society down to the capitalist society, did the ruler of any country in any dynasty punish a criminal this way? If someone is interested in having a try for personal experience, I'm sure he won't be able to hang on for even a second. Could he survive it without being struck blind?

I heard another story. It is about two professors of biology, who offended their students one way or another in the past. The students, now being reform guards, first made the two professors stand in the center of the yard, head against head, and then start to move their feet backward gradually. In other words, the weight of their bodies lay on the pushing of their heads against each other.

There are more stories of this kind. I will stop here. The "art" of torture improved rather rapidly. It is a shame that I haven't seen a scholarly book written on this subject. It will be a tremendous loss if the legacy is not handed down in history.

5. An Instructor from the Elementary School Affiliated with Beida

Originally I did not know who she was and where she worked. I had no idea why she was put with us either.

On the basis of my observations during a few months in the Cow Shed, I learned there probably was a division of the torture work, according to the "expertise" of each person, among the reform guards. This division was carried out strictly. The man who beat this elementary school teacher was never replaced by others.

One morning I saw the teacher with her arm wrapped up in a bandage and hung on a strip of white cloth over her shoulder. I heard the story that she had been badly flogged in the torture room one night; one of her arms had been broken. But she was ordered to work in the following day. I did not know about other details and what happened to her later. At that time, we "black gangsters" all followed the rule, "Don't snoop in personal affairs of others." I have stayed away from that sort of business so far.

6. A "Long-term Rightist" Student

This student was surnamed Zhou. I did not know him before and had not heard of him either. Now he suddenly came to the Cow Shed.

Certainly there was a story about him, as he was called a "long-term Rightist" student. In China, the Anti-Rightist Movement broke out in 1957.[5] Was this student labeled a Rightist that year? By the time he was brought to the Cow Shed, he had suffered for nearly ten years as a Rightist. How did he survive that ordeal? I had no idea. When I met him, he looked like a sick elder, with a sallow complexion, a swollen face, and a lot of missing hair. It was said that he was once an intelligent student. But now he appeared dull-witted and slow in action. Obviously, this mental change resulted from the torture inflicted on his body and mind, definitely a tragic life experience. It was true that I was in such a plight myself, with my life so endangered that I could be killed casually any time by a spear of a reform guard. But, at the sight of this "long-term Rightist," this partially insane young man, I was profoundly touched and sympathetic. I shed tears in secret.

However, in the eye of the reform guards, he was an object for casual beating and humiliation, a toy to be played with for fun. Could they find a two-legged animal somewhere else? According to the victimizers' division of work, a young worker, smart as he looked, was assigned the job of torturing the Rightist. I never saw this young worker beat any other "criminal." However, he randomly beat and kicked the man anytime he wanted. Many times, on the way to the cafeteria for dinner, the worker, with loud taunts and swearwords leaping out of his mouth, drove the hapless man forward. At night, much of the lashing and yelling in the torture room also involved this partially insane man. I took vows that I would never swear in my memoir. However, I have to break my vow here. I'm swearing at that young worker and his fellow men, "What sons of bitches you are! You're trash, more worthless than swine!"

One day I saw a big white turtle drawn on the back of this mad man. It seemed he did not have a family and no one cared about him. He wore his greasy-all-over jacket without change throughout his Cow Shed days. Thus, the big white turtle was rather eye-catching. The sign, visible even in the distance, made people laugh, those "free people" who had the right to laugh. Deprived of such a right we "criminals" were simply sorry for the man and deplored his sad state, while trying to hold back our tears.

7. An Instructor of Physics

A physics instructor was the son of a Beida psychology professor, probably his sole son. For some unknown reason, one of his legs was  shorter than the other, and he walked as if he was lame.

Originally I did not know him. I did not see him in the early days of the Cow Shed, nor in Taiping Village. Instead I first encountered him one afternoon right after lunch. By that time we had been "physically reformed" for a period of time. At this point I think I have to add something for clarification. We were not allowed to take a break after lunch; that professor from the Department of Eastern Languages had been forced at noon to stand in the scorching heat and stare at the sun, simply because of his offense of sitting down and dozing off after lunch. On the day in question I suddenly heard someone being beaten outside the Cow Shed gate. The noise sounded like the person's body was being struck with clubs or bike chains wrapped in inner rubber tubes. Things like this were normal in our place and usually would not arouse our attention. But our numbed conscience was awakened this time by the high pitch and the sound that lasted longer than usual. Because these irregularities triggered my curiosity, I moved close to the window and saw the crippled instructor knocked to the ground by a few "heroes" who waved their weapons and showed no sign of stopping. What I saw was one man trampled by many as he rolled over in the mud with something like blood running down his cheeks.

Why was he brought back late? What crime had he committed? Was he "convicted" recently? I was completely in the dark. Today I still have no idea about what happened to him at that time. Even though I am usually interested in getting to the bottom of a research question like Chinese scholar Dr. Hu Shih, I would not like to show off my academic knowledge here.

From then on, one lame "Cow Shed mate," conspicuous and incongruous in the formation, was added to our neat line as we waited for dinner in the cafeteria every day.

I can write many more "scraps of tabloid news," if necessary, but now I'm not in the mood for expansion. It is painful to bring these stories back from memory and commit them to paper. I will leave the reader with these tales described above, which, I hope, will provide enough material to perceive the magnitude of our suffering.

[1] A popular saying.

[2] Wu Mi (1894-1978), a contemporary Chinese poet and scholar, who went to America in 1917 and earned an undergraduate degree in English from the University of Virginia and a Master in comparative literature from Harvard University; he returned to China in 1921 to teach in a few universities including National Southeastern University, Tsinghua University, National Southwestern Associated University and Wuhan University. He was persecuted during the Cultural Revolution.

[3] Lake-overlooking Pavilion, the residence of the first president of Yenching University, John Leighton Stuart, and a historical spot at Peking University.

[4] The Dunhuang Caves, caves discovered in 1900 in western Gansu, which contain Buddhist statues, frescoes and valuable manuscripts dating from A.D. 366.

[5] The Anti-Rightist Movement, a political movement launched in China in 1957, in which about half a million people, most of them well educated and artistically established, were labeled Rightists and sent to labor camps.