Two poems from the Cultural Revolution reveal the precious sincerity of young people during that period.

Li Yousheng

I recently read a lecture transcript by Tsinghua University professor Qin Hui online. He said that after the Cultural Revolution rebels went abroad, they became democrats who promoted the democratization of mainland China. He also said, “In my personal opinion, the most important fact of the Cultural Revolution is that the ruling faction persecuted the people far more cruelly than the people persecuted the ruling faction… The deadliest thing during the Cultural Revolution was not rebellion or armed struggle, but the large-scale suppression by the authorities.”

When I was at the University of Chicago in the late 1980s, I heard that in early 1966, after hearing news of the Chinese Cultural Revolution, the young students were so excited they couldn’t sleep all night—not unlike the situation at Peking University, where I was at the time. The Chinese Cultural Revolution was part of a global trend in the 1960s, which also included the self-liberation movements of women and Black people in the United States. While in Chicago, I chatted with an elderly white couple who mentioned that after the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. in April 1968, they didn’t dare leave their homes for three days, thankfully having enough food to avoid starvation. They said many people in Chicago didn’t go to work for a week, and the streets were almost deserted, like a ghost town. The chaos in the United States wasn’t necessarily much better than during the Chinese Cultural Revolution: Westerners were used to such chaos and didn’t react with the same fascination as the Chinese.

Having said all that, I now have the courage to share two poems I wrote during the Cultural Revolution, unchanged, with readers. I have no intention of participating in the domestic debate on the praise or criticism of the Cultural Revolution, but the youth of the Cultural Revolution and the student movement in Hong Kong today share some similarities.

Poems I and II, Climbing Qianling

Four autumns have passed,
my heart is filled with longing and sorrow,
I regret the heartless passing of dreams.
In my youth,
innocent and carefree,
without a single selfish thought.
My will was as strong as steel,
my passion as fiery as fire,
my heart burning with patriotism.
Thus,
this revolutionary bond was forged,
etched forever in the mountains and rivers.

Seeking the old haunts of Qianling,
nestled among the peaks,
Guiyang shrouded in mist and clouds.
Recalling the past,
those turbulent years are now but a bitter memory;
I sigh for my present self.
Heaven is merciless,
and man ages easily;
the Nanming River flows wide and mighty.
Come,
let’s sit idly by the window, sipping a cup of light tea.
(Note: In 1971, I visited Guiyang with a classmate surnamed Hu, and was able to revisit Qianling Mountain. I also met a local acquaintance from my first visit four years earlier. This poem records my feelings at the time. The Nanming River flows through Guiyang city.)

Poetry II, Water Melody: Reading Chairman Mao’s Poems

With spirit as majestic as mountains and rivers, and
a heart as vast as the cosmos,
my will resonates with the drifting clouds and flowing waters,
a rainbow reflected in the azure sea.
I coldly confront the anti-China tidal wave,
the two superpowers dominating the world, their
cries like the croaking of frogs.
A song that shakes the earth, a whirlwind sweeping across the clear universe.

Disdainful of
the ancient poems,
all are but fleeting sentiments:
parting sorrows and resentments,
how can I bear to face the lightness of flowing water and falling flowers?
I intend to climb the mountain with scrolls in hand,
to sing aloud of the rosy dawn and
rising sun, their melodies carried by the east wind,
dyeing the sky and clouds crimson,
reflecting a deep, radiant red.

The two poems above were written during the Cultural Revolution. One reads: “In my youth, innocent and carefree, without a trace of selfishness. My will was as strong as steel, my passion as fiery, my heart full of fervor for the motherland. This revolutionary friendship is etched in the mountains and rivers forever.” After graduating from university, I was assigned to a remote mountainous area in Guizhou, without a trace of resentment. A classmate of mine was assigned to the desolate Northwest. In early winter of 1971, he sent me a poem in the style of “Shuidiao Getou,” and I responded with a poem in the same rhyme scheme. At the end of my poem, I wrote, “How can I pour this fervent passion onto the barren mountains and rocks, warming the frost and cold? When the rain comes, the border grass sprouts, and verdant green spreads across the plateau.” These poems reflected the feelings of most young people at the time—sincere, without fanaticism, and possessing the perspective of an ordinary person sitting idly with tea. Only a few individuals took radical actions on specific occasions, even though most of these people were carrying out orders from above and conforming to the trend of the times.

When the Gang of Four fell in 1976, I, like the rest of the nation, cheered the victory over them and condemned the absurdity of the Cultural Revolution, without giving it much further thought. It wasn’t until Han Suyin’s death in November 2012 that I had the opportunity to reflect on my own experiences during the Cultural Revolution. In 1970s China, at least 100 million people had heard of Han Suyin. She was the only foreigner who frequently visited China during that era. In an era dominated by the passion expressed in her poems, which felt somewhat monotonous, reading and discussing news about Han Suyin became a rare treat for the staff of my hospital, something everyone enjoyed immensely.

Like most people in China, Han Suyin held drastically different attitudes towards the Cultural Revolution before and after its inception. Reading her writings from the early days of the Cultural Revolution, I deeply felt that there was no reason, nor any need, to deny the original intentions of the Cultural Revolution; there was no reason, nor any need, to demonize the Red Guards and the rebels. If it was merely a child’s innocent smile, it was precisely because of that innocence that the smile was so charming; let that childlike smile remain forever in the world. (By Li Yousheng)