Reading: James Palmer — Heaven Cracks, Earth Shakes: The Tangshan Earthquake and the Death of Mao’s China

The last of my current batch of reading … more soon to be procured. It’s a little gluttonous, no?

Heaven Cracks, Earth Shakes arrived shortly after I finished The Bloody White Baron, and it had been a book I’d heard about every so often, so I was hoping for something … well, earthquakes, the Great Helmsman; as a follow-up to the Baron I was hoping a for a lot.

I am supposed to write these things before I read, and any reviewing that may or may not be done, is done once a year in October; I’m getting sloppy here.

While my attention for all things Sinological is gradually drifting conspicuously south, and my personal feeling is that in another, slightly different outcome of history, China would be something between the idea of the EU and the reality of Confoederatio Helvetica; so it just helps to think of at least the provinces surrounding Han proper like a misshapen ‘C’ as individual countries (they are big enough, after all), and so while my interest is more towards Canton and the inner asian frontiers, I’m never too far away from picking up any book remotely Chinese.

The premise, that the Tangshan earthquake via invocation of the Mandate from Heaven was part of a series of events leading to not only the end of almost thirty years of Maoist destruction, but equally to the de facto abrogation of Maoism, for me was an attractive subject for a book. Much of this because there hasn’t been much written on one of the most devastating earthquakes in history, and how it affected a country, and I do also have a long-standing love affair with geology — my mental image of China and Central Asia is usually one overlaid with geologic and topographic maps.

I think the initial disappointment for me came around a third of the way in, when background events leading up to Mao’s death and the earthquake were still being worked through. It occurred to me that perhaps with all the reading I’ve done on China, I was not exactly the audience. I was wanting to get stuck in from the first page to some chunky primary source research from provincial and county archives along with fault plane solutions and other geological delights, as I have been in some other recent works, and instead found a summarising of the main events of Mao.

Which James does very well, and if I was coming to this stuff for the first time – when I tend to read a lot of works like this to get the broad idea plus some specifics – this would be a more suitable read for me. From my perspective though, I felt that the connection between earthquake and Mao, was not presented in a way where I was convinced of more than a tenuous, or generalist correlation.

Being more critical, there were a couple of things in James’ writing style that irritated me, being occasional slips into vernacular, and the use of various pop culture references as similes. Which makes me sound like a stuffy old toff decrying the loss of Queen’s English, but references to The Godfather and Dad’s Army while clever or apt have a tendency to limit the audience, and to render the both the simile and intent incomprehensible for anyone not familiar with the allusion.

As with the Baron, the concluding section summarised and put into context the aftermath of the events up to the current day (around early 2011), also drawing comparisons with the state of the Communist Party and the 2008 Wenchuan earthquake. Again, mirroring the lengthy lead up to the earthquake, I had this sense I was not really the intended audience, though equally, for a reader coming to this for the first time, he gets through many of the main points in an engagingly readable way.

As an aside, somehow I was expecting a mention of Ai Weiwei, considering the various artists, poets, writers who James mentions around the Tangshan era; for me Wenchuan is quite fixed in my mind with him.

Late in the book, there is a reference to the Republican era which is a common one, describing it as “the warlord era”, and by implication with “the Japanese invasion [and] Maoist insanities”, a very Bad Thing. This is also the Communist narrative and being an era I’ve been reading somewhat on lately-ish (Gourmets in the Land of Famine and The Age of Openness are two I’m thinking of) I would say even given that it was one very broad remark covering the entire Chinese 20th century in a score of words, it is a sloppy and poor choice of words. The mention of R. J. Rummel a couple of pages later, whom I’ve written about previously, also doesn’t help.

So now I feel like I’ve been rather harsh. I was wondering if I felt let down after the Baron, but contra that, if my knowledge of Mongolia and Siberia were commensurate with China, I would have found that work also lacking. I didn’t, because it was a new-ish topic for me — my reading for north of the Tian Shan tends more to the Xiongnu than anything as recent as the Russian Civil War.

Maybe to say that this is one of the better recent books on China you could read which covers both the Maoist era and the 35 years since, without missing many of the main points, and with enough to go on with further, more detailed reading if your attention is taken. I would though like to read the next book from him going to a similar level of research and detail as someone like Susan Mann, Gail Hershatter, or Paul A. van Dyke.

Reading: Gail Hershatter — The Gender of Memory: Rural Women and China’s Collective Past

This is the book I was so intimidated by I went off and read Charles Stross and Harry Potter for a couple of weeks. I heard of Gail Hershatter in 2008 (if I was paying attention), but it was an interview in The China Beat that made me put this book at the top of my next-to-buy reading list.

It’s been sitting there for quite a few weeks, now, as it reminded me of Susan Mann’s The Talented Women of the Zhang Family, which I’d never finished, so began once again and was utterly taken. So for the next two weeks in Brussels I needed something I wouldn’t finish in a night (Harry Potter) requiring me to buy something new.

The cover of The Gender of Memory is a thing of beauty in itself, and then to open it … 488 pages set in a very small typeface, of which perhaps a fifth are notes, appendices, bibliography.

I’ve begun reading it perhaps three times now, only getting to the second page before being distracted for a day or two, necessitating a restart. Not to say it’s turgid, on the contrary, it’s so dense and fascinating I’d rather go back and make sure I recall some details than adopt she blasé reading habit.

As for why I am reading this, I have decided to make a specific shift in my China, Asia and Central Asian reading, to concentrate as much as possible on the often missing 50% of the human population: women. I notice this especially when reading on Afghanistan, which has been one of the regions I’ve concentrated on the last ten years or so, where voices of women in the historical narrative, in the contemporary political and cultural situation, in both academic and more generalist texts are substantially, if not wholly absent.

Much the same can be said for all of Central Asian and Chinese scholarship, as well as much contemporary european writing. Or perhaps another way to phrase it is, that if a writer neglects to consciously include the situation of and for women in a particular context, under the supposition that his writing by default is inclusive, he is sorely mistaken and has managed to exclude half the population whose experiences do not necessarily accord to the default, male narrative. Additionally, one chapter devoted to the subject of women out of a whole book does not make things right.

So this book, along with Susan Mann’s form part of  a new direction in reading for me on my favourite subjects. Which is not to say I’ll only be reading a book if it meets these unfortunately stringent criteria. There are several Southern China works sneaking up on me which are unlikely to entirely or even partly satisfy this. Nonetheless, Gail Hershatter’s work from the few pages I’ve read so far is likely to be among the best reads I have this year.

lazy sunday cooking eating blogging …

A late night swirling Pernod with Bonnie at Orange and an early trip to the shops for Sunday fruit, now on with the important task of keeping you entertained.

Jean Baudrillard. Jean Baudrillard. Jean Baudrillard.

One film I never did manage to find in Guangzhou, despite being banned for decades was Michelangelo Antonioni’s Chung Kuo – Cina. Zhou Enlai and others were hoping for an ode to the marvelousness of the Cultural Revolution and communist China, what they got was not what they wanted. As for the four hour documentary now, The 88s tell all about it.

A Fifty year long provincial border war in China that only reached ceasefire a couple of years ago, Nationalist and Communist maps, enclaves, exclaves, and internal border adjustments that were only made legally binding in 2002. Mutant Palm has the cartography and the translation of 微山湖畔边界械斗50年 The Fifty Year War on the Banks of Weishan Lake.

“If Guangzhou’s problem with street crime makes southern China seem a dangerous place … denizens of the province of Guangdong were less worried about the odd mugging or bag snatching than they were about rampant banditry or pillaging rebel armies.” I thought it was Feng37 blogging about media reports of what a scary place Guangzhou is, especially with all those Fulan migrant workers. Actually it’s about the 开平碉楼 watchtowers in Kaiping that are on the verge of UNESCO World Heritage listing.

Uncoy one of my favourite dance/art/european blogs who has provided almost nightly coverage of ImPulsTanz in the past looks at the NYT review of Forsythe Company’s Three Atmospheric Studies, Joni Mitchell and political dance and thanks Bush and Cheney for making dance relevant again.

That’s enough, I’m going to eat dinner now.

the turmoil ended with his death

During 岭南启示录 Apocalypse PRD, China didn’t celebrate forty years since the start of the Cultural Revolution, and for various reasons I never got around to mentioning it either, though it was a very prominent concern during the rehearsals and performance. Last year the performance of bitches was ‘coincidentally’ arranged to land on June 4th, and the PSB had many questions about the colour red for me. This year while rehearsing, I had some quite grotesque thoughts about our immediate future had we all been making art forty years prior. The same thoughts lurked during the performance.

If being a victim of even the lesser insanities of those ten years was a checklist, repeatedly I found myself ticking every new box, and if in the highly unlikely case this didn’t hold true for the performers and artists and audience directly, then merely by association a room of some 300 people were certainly going to be on the receiving end of some revolutionary fervor.

If that’s not speaking plainly enough, then my overarching feeling during that time was that every last one of us would be cold, dead corpses. If not for the art itself, then for intellectual aspirations, for being educated and intelligent, for being bourgeois, or whatever asinine fucking excuse serves to turn one person against another, or as is so stultifyingly common amongst dictatorships, because some of us are gay or bi or trannys.

As much as we’d all like to think China has changed – the ceaseless coda to each and every article on the period inflicts the trope that the barbarity ended with Mao’s death in 1976, my pessimistic opinion is that nothing really has, that skyscrapers and elevated highways and boutique shops are not a valid substitute for the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, and that while a couple of million deaths and the destruction of entire cultures during the Cultural Revolution is recognised as a holocaust, half a million dying every year from the direct effects of rapacious capitalism has become somehow acceptable, because ‘they are trying to be like us’.

Some light reading:

The woman who sparked years of death and terror: Nie Yuanzi says the anniversary of the Cultural Revolution must not be ignored
The Fortieth Anniversary of the Cultural Revolution
Mao casts long shadow over China
Eyewitness: Cultural Revolution
Cultural Revolution memories fade
40 years on, the Cultural Revolution comes full circle
Negative images – Photographer risked all to document tyranny of China’s Cultural Revolution
The “textbook problem” – Ye Yonglie on Cultural Revolution education
Cultural Revolution? What revolution?
How “silent” were Chinese media on the fortieth anniversary of the Cultural Revolution? – China Media Project
How “silent” were Chinese media on the fortieth anniversary of the Cultural Revolution?
What China’s media minders had to say about the anniversary of the Cultural Revolution

The same cadres who starved more than thirty million farmers had stolen their land again. During the Mao Zedong reign, everything the peasants had to live on was taken by the state. Families had to visit collective kitchens with nothing to give. Anyone found cooking at home was beaten or worse. Cadres prowled through houses, searching for hidden grain or other essentials. An animal was a capital offense. Someone caught stealing resulted in the destruction of an entire family. Grain rotted in army storehouses or was shipped overseas as people dropped in the street. Some climbed hillsides and called to the heavens, begging their great helmsman to rescue them. Villages became collections of buildings with unburied bodies. During the Hu Jintao reign, the cadres took everything that remained. Not even houses were left. The land was sold for any proposal that could justify money. Loans were extracted from banks to build projects that were never expected to pay for themselves. When the loans did not perform, the banks were bailed out by the national government. In this manner, local officials stole both the land and the money that had once come from it. Villagers who knew better than to call from hilltops pooled their resources to avail themselves of the imperial petition system in Beijing. Once they got there, it was just as though they had gone nowhere. They had nowhere to go.

— fanfusuzi

happy anniversary happy anniversary

antonioni in china

Having made some of the most striking films of the new wave in L’Avventura, then setting The Yardbirds on fire in Blow Up, filmmaker Michelangelo Antonioni then took off for China to document the revolution in Chung Kuo – Cina. Despite having the blessing of the communist party, the film was banned and has not been officially screened in China until now. The Globe and Mail look at the screening and the audience reaction, and EastSouthWestNorth has an excellent essay by Susan Sontag on the Chinese press’ attacks after it’s release.

Chung Kuo bears all the marks of Mr. Antonioni’s distinctively oblique style, the same enigmatic approach that caused such controversy in the cinema world when L’Avventura was released in 1960. The film contains not a single interview and not a single sentence of political analysis. The filmmaker deliberately rejected the conventions of script or story.

“I went to China not in order to know it but to have a look and to record what was passing in front of my eyes,” he said later.

The film succeeds as an artistic work and as a portrait of ordinary life in an isolated country. With his customary detached tone and extremely long takes, the camera gazes at the Chinese people, their faces and movements. Long scenes pass without a word beyond the hubbub of background conversation and the sound of bicycle bells and street noise.

chung kuo - cina chung kuo – cina

cultural revisionism

In a piece of historical revisionism that marks Revolutionary Worker as the inbred cousin of David Irving, the ‘magazine’ offers The Truth About the Cultural Revolution by Bob Avakian, who is apparently pushing a ‘vibrant vision of communism’. It’s not often I read something as deeply offensive as this piece of trash, and all I can really hope is that he and these trolls suffer a lingering death riddled with syphilis and prostate cancer.

The Cultural Revolution was not about “round-ups,” people being sent to “forced-labor camps,” or “totalitarian group-think.” The methods of the Cultural Revolution were quite different. Workers, peasants, and people from all walks of life engaged in mass criticism of corrupt officialdom. They engaged in great debates about economic policy, the educational system, culture, and the relation between the Communist Party and the masses of people. Mao wasn’t interested in “purges.” He was calling for mass action from below to defeat the enemies of the revolution.

[...]

Standard Western accounts suggest that violent attacks on people and physical elimination of opponents had the official blessings of Mao–and that, policy or not, thuggish violence was widespread. Both of these claims are utterly false.

[...]

Artists, intellectuals, and professionals were not targeted as a social group or stratum. Artists were encouraged to engage in the revolutionary movement. This included carrying out self-examination of how their works either advanced the revolution or held it back, and viewing their work in the context of the struggle to create a new society. The Cultural Revolution was aiming to foster revolutionary art that would portray the masses and help the masses propel history forward.

A while ago, I spent an afternoon reading Red-Colour News Soldier, a book of photographs by Li Zhensheng of the cultural revolution, I think the pictures in this book are all the reply to Avakain’s brand of ignorance we need.

top party officials denounced in harbin 1966 top party officials denounced in harbin 1966

criminals and counter-revolutionaries near harbin 1968 criminals and counter-revolutionaries near harbin 1968

八九点钟的太阳 Morning Sun, A Documentary Film

Asialink is presenting the premiere screening in Melbourne next week of 八九点钟的太阳 bajiudian de taiyan – Morning Sun, on Tuesday at the Asialink Centre. Director Geremie Barme, Professor in the School of Pacific and Asian History at ANU and author of numerous books including ‘Shades of Mao: The Posthumous Cult of the Great Leader’ and the award winning documentary ‘The Gate of Heavenly Peace’ will be in attendance for the screening.

The film Morning Sun attempts in the space of a two-hour documentary film to create an inner history of the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution (c.1964-1976). It provides a multi-perspective view of a tumultuous period as seen through the eyes—and reflected in the hearts and minds—of members of the high-school generation that was born around the time of the founding of the People’s Republic of China in 1949, and that came of age in the 1960s. Others join them in creating in the film’s conversation about the period and the psycho-emotional topography of high-Maoist China, as well as the enduring legacy of that period.

Morning Sun is not a comprehensive or chronological history of the Cultural Revolution as such; nor is it a study of elite politics or of student factionalism. The film essays rather a psychological history. It attempts a cinematic account of experiences and emotions as reflected on by historical actors who themselves were enacting a history that they had learned and wished to recreate in their own lives. It is also a film about the cultures and convictions, as well as the historical events, that created the impetus, language, style and content of the period—the films and plays, the music and ideas, the rhetoric and ideologies, the education and the aspirations, the frustrations and fantasies, as well as the realities and ardor, that a new revolution that attempted to remake revolution itself entailed.

I’ve just finished reading Hungry Ghosts – Mao’s Sectre Famine which documents the atrocity of the Great Leap Forward, and like no other book explains simply and lucidly how and why the 文化大革命 Cultural Revolution is a continuation of this. The resurgence of Mao’s dominance during this period was a merciless annihilation of the leaders who had opposed him and saved the country at the end of the Great Leap Forward. This book leaves no doubt that Mao was a megalomanic whose entire leadership until his death was based on the genocide of China. Maybe the last word should go to him, from the winter of 1959:

Even if there’s a collapse, that’ll be alright. The worst that will happen is that the whole world will get a big laugh out of it.

八九点钟的太阳Morning Sun 八九点钟的太阳 Morning Sun

Rural poor get inane aphorisms instead of equality

I’ve been on a book-buying spree today, one of the luxuries of having an income at the moment. In all, I bought four books on China, which I’d seen mentioned around the blogsphere: The Tiananmen Papers, China’s New Rulers, Soul Mountain and the utterly horrific Hungry Ghosts – Mao’s Secret Famine, which documents in unrelenting detail the premeditated sadism of Mao’s Great Leap Forward and the ensuing famine which killed at least 30 million people, the vast majority peasants.

A striking feature of both this and the Soviet-induced famines of Stalin was the assault on the peasants, treating them as enemy forces and instigating a reign of terror while systematically bleeding them dry of all wealth, possessions and means of support in order to satisfy the urge for rapid industrialisation. Survivors described the period as a holocaust.

In Asia Pacific Media Network an essay on the continuing plight of the rural poor describes how the ostentatious consumerism of the urban showpiece cities is not mirrored in the countryside, and the costs of “single-minded pursuit of GDP growth” has on a continental scale devastated the environment to an unrecoverable degree.

Beyond the glamorous skyscrapers of Beijing, Shanghai, and other urban centers, the majority of Chinese who live in the countryside have gained little from the material progress of the past two decades. On the contrary, the initial benefits that peasants gained from the rural reforms of the late 1970′s and early 1980′s have disappeared; real income among farmers has dropped in recent years as their production costs rise and agricultural prices decline. In most parts of China, farming can no longer sustain a respectable standard of living.

Most worrying is the ever-growing tax burden placed on the rural population. While average agricultural income grew by 90% in the 1994-97 period, the rural tax burden jumped by 800%. More than 300 taxes and fees have been imposed on peasants by all levels of government. For example, some townships demand 14 kinds of fees to register a marriage.

Today, a farmer’s annual income is only one-sixth that of an urban dweller’s, but he has to pay three times more in taxes. This comes in addition to many other financial burdens exacted at the local level. Indeed, 25 years of reforms have changed nothing of China’s “one country with two systems” – a model that segregates China’s urban centers from its agricultural areas, with development of the former realized at the expense of the latter.

The article goes on to describe the change in priorities of the new leaders towards a “modernisation characterized as “balanced, human-centered, and environmentally friendly”, and how the leaders are serious about addressing the “peasant question”. Until western countries stop licking China’s arse and force recognition of corporate and government social responsibility in China, this new measure is about as “human-centered” as a hand-grenade.