"No one is seen in deserted hills, only the echoes of speech are heard."

I felt incredibly angry while reading this memoir, more than any other one we have read this semester. I think this comes from the fact that I did not know much of anything about China's modernization or the path towards it,as well as the feeling of shame that derived from my own actions in the past.

When I was still absorbed in my early 20's and obsessed with socialist idealism (very much disconnected from context and the repercussions of implementation) I remember a friend telling me that he was a Maoist. Knowing very little about China or Mao, I asked him why. He said that he believed the communist revolution in China was one of the most impressive events in the 20th century, and that Mao as a figure was inspirational and less harmful when compared to other countries' modernization process.

Now, considering the fact that I very strongly reject formulating my personal and political feelings around a human figure, I chalk up a lot of those punk kids (who were usually between the ages of 17-23) who liked to categorize themselves according to prominent political figures in history as naive an ill-informed. They wanted to latch onto a counter narrative that was opposed to the american/western ideology they were born to believe in. In this way they setup a binary system where the opposite of the failing capitalist system they see at home becomes the communist systems in the east. The answers to their problems could be found across the water. 

I was right there with them. 

I put a hammer and a sickle on red and yellow t-shirts and sold them to 21st century kids across Eastern Europe. 

I pledged allegiance to the United States Socialist Party propaganda and promoted these ideas in places where those closely related ideologues were used against their grandparents, forcing them into subservience, or fear, or torture, or death. 

We condemned Nazi punks yet propped up the same talking points Stalin would use to torture and destroy thousands and thousands of lives.

Our hearts were in the right place, but we were so disconnected from the context of our historical time period, and even worse, so were the kids who were getting an earful from us Americans, the same kids whose grandparents and great grandparents lived through this torturous form of suppression we were reproducing in 2010. 

Understanding that you can't choose your favorite political system like you can your favorite color, that red is made up of many different shades and displayed differently depending on context, is something that I've been learning throughout this course. When I decided to quit my band back in 2010, effectively sabotaging the entirety of the band in of itself, I think I was just starting to realize how ideologies can't be reduced to talking points or slogans pasted on social media pages. Still, its taken me years to untangle the deep rooted thought control that breeds through binary thinking. Xiaodi's memoir helped to elucidate the human side of these political systems. That was the most powerful part of this memoir to me; to see the people and who they were instead of the invisible faces behind slogans, orders, and doctrines. It is much harder to hate or love when you see the real human faces rather than a mask. 

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Here are the notes I took, pointing to specific passages I find particularly interesting. 

"most Chinese believe that to take an individualistic stand was foolish. They had learned from experience or it had been drilled into them that the only way to survive was to go along with the tribe."




Right from the beginning of the book It's really interesting to see how the early communists in China were treated how radicals and anti-communists were treated in the Soviet Union. If you were suspected to be a communist or you were an activist of any kind you would be eliminated. We talk a lot of history repeating itself, and this is just another example of how it's not just about political groups being evil, but systems of power and control attempting to maintain their hegemonic positions through violence.




Even more complex is how the rise of communism in China came about: as a response to being occupied by another country while the government let it happen. I am wondering how violent that occupation was, and today even think about the reasons someone would feel nationalistic pride even if the opposing force was peaceful (which I doubt it was, but even hypothetically if they were, no one wants to be controlled ever).
"I still suspect that my fathers unexpected death in 1990 was accelerated by the student demonstrations in 1989. Although history never repeats itself exactly, events can be very similar. Witnessing such similar social tragedies must have been deeply painful to an aged man with such wide genuine social concerns. He certainly didn't want to see the event turn out to be such a tragedy (9)."




"It was true that a simple and thrifty lifestyle was encouraged for everyone, and especially for Communist government officials. It was considered sinful to waste, and officials were not allowed to live luxuriously (15)."


"When the word revolutionary was used in China it meant the opposite of what it means in the west. Instead of pertaining to radical change, the word implied conformity with the authority or being politically correct (27)."

"One of the articulated goals of the cultural revolution was to eliminate the 'four olds': old cultures, old thoughts, old customs, and old habits (37)."

This quote encapsulates a terrifying idea; erasing culture for the benefit of those in power. What's even more terrifying is to mobilize youth to turn against older customs and see old customs as threatening. To make anyone see their own cultures' history as an evil that needs to be eliminated, but also enact violence against those who carry even symbols of that culture, seems to me the most violent form of mind control there is.


"When they searched people's houses at night, some Red Guards liked to beat people. This made me believe that violence was a human instinct that would surface if it were not subdued by morals and other considerations such as punishment (39)."


Jesus Christ.


The exposing of people based on family history or past employment suggests that in this society there is no such thing as redemption. In addition, it feels like the same kind of system that attempts to expose people based on conjecture rather than punishable actions observed. What's even more ironic are the types of actions that are punishable or shameful. It seems that many of the sinful actions are things that were against old culture, such as divorcing wives after the communist revolution. That was a revolutionary act, yet now it is punished as unfaithfulness.

This all seems to culminate in the one quote on page 43: "the entire generation of youth at the time experienced a psychologically distorted adolescent development."

This immediately clashes with his father's philosophy that carries throughout the book, summed up in a passage on page 45:


"I often heard my father say, "it was the people who had supported is in our earlier struggles against Chiang Kai-shek's government. Now we the communists are in power, we should never forget their support and abandon their interest." He would always quote Lenin to end his talk, "Forgetting the past means betrayal."
















"Even at a personal level, I wondered if it was nobler to speak my criticism of our political system and to be put into prison as a dissident, or to keep a painful silence and use the limited freedom I had in my classroom to crib are independent thinking among my students. Which was nobler? 'To be or not to be: that is the question." Time has not her passes Shakespeare by, and the question he put forward is still meaningful today (211)."

Seeing Outside Your System

Throughout this memoir, I was impressed with Di's very sober and balanced take on growing up under the Chinese Communist system. There's a sense of the author emerging from childhood ignorance whenever he refers to the ways he used to see things, yet I was intrigued by the author's tone in such instances. He does not seem to claim that he was duped as a child, rather it seems more like the older "I" has widened his perspective. While Di experiences plenty of disillusionment and his family suffers through the Cultural Revolution and still after, the narration maintains a balanced tone. Rather than devolve into a bitter take down of Communist China, Di does not ignore "the positive values," both in the system and in his own experiences, and his analyses of the negative values are measured and thoughtful rather than vindictive. 

I was particularly taken with a passage in which Di jumps ahead to graduate school, and he recalls hearing American classmates remarking on the differences between the history they study now and the histories they were fed in middle and high school. Di realizes that his American contemporaries "had been taught mostly about the glorious part of American history and the advantage of its political and economic systems" (33). We can look back even further to a sort of indoctrination-lite in elementary school with the cheery, patriotic stories of the first Thanksgiving, George Washington and the cherry tree, etc, etc. We are told as children that America is the greatest country in the world and that capitalism and our brand of democracy are the only way to go, in a fashion not so dissimilar from the picture book propaganda that taught Di and other Chinese children that Communism was the only way to go, and that their heroes were doing constant battle with American and Japanese villains.

We extricate ourselves from these easy histories by exposing ourselves to worlds beyond our system. Much of the pain caused by the Communist system came because the Communist leadership was to insular. It sustained itself on the simple narrative that it had created, and leaders from Mao to Deng brutally repressed dissent or even ideas that didn't fall into line. Di does not fall into that line because it obscures the world beyond, and his father instilled in him the values that allowed him to grow outside of the narrow psychological plot provided by the state.

Questioning is Key

Although after completing Zhu Xiao Di's Thirty Years in a Red House I feel more aware of what I don’t know than I have throughout most of this course, I feel with even more certainty that reading this book has lessened that ignorance. Yes, I'd also been in the dark about much of the history we've encountered thus far, but I feel most ill-informed about the stories of China's history. 

Thus, I am grateful for Di's ability to tell the story of his life in China and of the political, social, and cultural issues surrounding that life while maintaining his determination to reveal the lack of logic and reason behind many of the decisions that were made by those in power. He is determined to chase his questions until he finds at least the beginning form of an answer. And he dissects the psychological causes and effects of this history. 

As he narrates his story, he reveals many "ironies of history," stacking up more and more evidence that there were few logical reasons for the country and its people to be living the way they were. It would have been enough to read of the impoverished conditions he lived in, of the camps his parents were sent to, the terror of the education system. But Di recounts much more, and necessarily so. His story would not be his story if it were not inextricably bound to the story of China and its government; in writing one, he must write the other. 

He does an immense job of bringing us closer to an understanding of why and how, psychologically, so many people would choose to follow communism, or choose to join certain waves of political groups. To us Westerners, it seems impossible to understand how a people could choose to be a part of a group that led to the country's misery, but Di's book helps us to understand the complexities (many of which are psychological) behind these issues. The following passage exemplifies his ability to clarify a people's thought process: "Yes, communism had such appeal that it seemed easy to understand!" he writes. "Anyone would believe that he understood communism while actually confusing the ideal with reality" (105).

I was similarly impressed by his ability to track the changes occurring in the people—in the country as a whole—throughout years and decades (and throughout the book). Though there are many of these moments to choose from, one that I recall particularly well is one in which he discusses learning English, and listening to the radio to do so. "My father found out what I was doing, but he didn't stop me. He just asked me to be careful," Di writes. "When I heard some interesting news related to China, I would tell my father and he seemed to be interested, too. Now it was more than just learning English. The society was gradually reopening to the outside world" (134). 

Interested as I was in reading of the impact that learning English had on Di and his country, I was perhaps even more interested in the explicit distinctions he makes for his Western audience. He writes of the difference between democracy and communism in a way that I'd never read before and in a way that helped me view these political terms with a new, important understanding. "Most Westerners thought of Communism and democracy as mutually exclusive systems, but in China, democracy had once been embraced by the communists, and democracy was both a method and a part of their goal" (201). After reading this, I realized that my inability to understand what these terms actually meant had been stopping me from truly understanding the problems within them and their roles (past and present) in different countries.

I was moved by his attempt to find an answer or cure to the “social disease” that plagues China, particularly by his interactions with his students. In the scene where he uses Shakespeare to plant questions in his students’ minds, where he admits that he doesn’t even have the answers himself, I found myself thinking how important this work (his work) is. Asking people to question what they believe and why they believe it; asking people to find the point where logic seems to have been set aside: this questioning is key to change, and it seems that if nothing more Di has begun a line of questioning that is integral to change in China, in communism, and in the countless situations that have and continue to lead to atrocities.

Writing with Fields of Light

As the semester has progressed, I am becoming increasingly aware of the complexity of the world and the toll these various forms of oppression has made upon entire cultures, races and countries. I had always considered my self fairly knowledgeable on world events, especially with the various world wars and the American Civil War. I could recite dates and numbers and even, in some cases, units and individuals involved in the events.

I remember reading Michael Shaara's The Killer Angels when I was in my teens and feeling for the first time that I understood some of the psychological motivations and the cost of going to war for some of these men and their families. I remember also walking Little Round Top at Gettysburg and seeing the woods where the 20th Maine Volunteer Regiment led by Lt. Col. Joshua Chamberlain held off the 15th Confederate Regiment and 47th Alabama Regiment all day on July 2, 1863.

The Confederates were attempting to flank the Union line at Gettysburg, and some historians speculate that had the 20th Maine failed, the course of the war would have been altered, in addition to jeopardizing a victory at the sleepy Pennsylvania junction.

Not too many years later, the movie Gettysburg was released and the first half (one of only two movies I've seen in my life with an intermission due to length) ended with the battle at Little Round Top. The entire audience was silent when the screen went blank after the harrowing stand. There were tears in many of the viewer's eyes and the stillness was extraordinary. The feeling lasting more than a full minute before the effect seemed to lift enough that people went out to use restrooms or stretch their legs. Even then, the patrons were hushed and seemed in awe of this moment in history come alive.

This combination of reading personal accounts combined with factual knowledge and the visceral experience of a movie has stayed with me my entire life. This semester seems to consist, more and more, of marrying this dry knowledge of events with the personal account. History lives in the words of the memoirs we've been reading. The true value of the idea of being witness is that humans seem to need a way to connect and understand the actual impact of these horrible events. The terror of one family is felt and can be wed to the data of the times.

That being said, the darkness of the 20th Century and it's toll on humanity is still almost incomprehensible. I think it would be easy to continue with memoir after memoir and find oneself almost overwhelmed with these stories. That's why Fields of Light came almost as balm for the soul. Hurka's lyrical writing and undercurrent of optimism were sorely needed and welcome. His account of his and his family's journey to find some space for freedom and triumph and perseverance was beautiful and very human.

The way Hurka incorporated the perspectives of his family directly into the text as internalized movements was also very interesting from a writing perspective. The construction is something I'm looking forward to discussing this evening.

Paranoia

In the books that we have read, we see how terror and fear are used to subdue entire countries. When people are arrested, tortured, and murdered without reason, it creates an uncontrollable, lasting paranoia. How does one live in a world in which nobody can be trusted? Can this really be called living, or is it simple being able to outlast the oppression? It is not just the secret police that people must fear, but they must also deal with betrayals by friends and neighbors. This type of atmosphere instills inescapable doubt and suspicion. Throughout the semester, we've seen this idea play out over and over again, which is why I wanted to examine the following passage in Fields of Light:

About four hours into Josef's stay, the door opened, and a man was shoved inside with such force that he landed, hard, against the far side of the cell. The steel door slammed shut behind him.  

"Bastards," the man said. He had a hard, unshaven face, and dark eyes. He rubbed his arms and legs. "I had an argument with the guard and he kicked me," he said. "He has no right to do that."

Then the newcomer seemed to take in Josef completely, for the first time. "I am glad to see that I shall not be alone," he said. "I am Franta Zeman." He held out his hand. (81-82)

 Upon my first reading of this excerpt, upon witnessing "Franta Zeman" being literally thrown into the page and hearing him insult the guards, my immediate reaction was to think, wow, what an introduction! In that split second, I believed that Zeman would be an interesting addition to the story, someone that could at least commiserate with Josef or give him knowledge that would help keep his spirits up. A few milliseconds after having these initial thoughts, the searing doubt crept in and my intrigue turned into the utmost suspicion. I realized that this was very likely a trap, and I took a moment to reflect on how gullible I had been.

All of these thought whirled through my mind in a time span of less than five seconds.

Of course, after meeting "Anton," I felt justified in my mistrust, like I was ahead of the game. But this short passage in the book made me realize just how easy it is to succumb to the type of distrust that we see in these novels. It makes me wonder. We'd all want to do the "right thing" if ever we meet difficult circumstances, but it's so easy to be swept away.

Thoughts After Hurka

As we've gotten further into the semester, and read more and more, I've started to consider my history. A history that, of course, traces back to an ancestry of which I know very little. In the first few months of my life, my mother filled out a "Family History" book for me to have later in life. (It's still sitting back at my parents' house in NY.) Each page is for a different family member, and she would fill in the blanks (name, birth date, death date, occupation, education, children, etc.). These simple facts, I've realized, are all I know of anyone older than my grandparents. And even now, without the book, I can't seem to remember much aside a couple of names. My parents were not first or even second-generation Americans. I'm not even sure who is. And so reading Hurka and Balakian in particular, who some of you have called "secondhand witnesses," has me wondering what kind of history I'm leaving uncovered. I also had the misfortune of losing my maternal grandparents at the age of two, and my paternal grandparents when I was in high school, well before I could have ever thought to talk to them about our family history, let alone consider what it would mean to write/document it. 

What I enjoyed in Hurka's book was to be able to see his research in action--conversations with his father in the hospital in Vermont, for example, and his trip to visit Mira. Balakian included this, too. And I also have been thinking of a book I read last semester called One Drop by Bliss Broyard, in which she seeks to find out the history of race in her family once she discovers her father's Creole history, which he had kept secret for much of his life. A long book, Broyard takes us on her journey of research and discovery, too. 

What all of this also makes me consider, though, is the notion of atrocities and survival that has seemed to hang over all of these twentieth-century memoirs. I wonder, if I were to look back, would either of those be present in my family history? This is related to Michaela's post, I think, in the questions of what is "memoir worthy," and what prompted Hurka, in this case, to feel that urgency to write this memoir. How did he know this was important? Or is it always important? History, it seems, is always important, especially in the way it informs the present. 

However, I'm also thinking of the other books we've read this semester that were firsthand accounts of history. Some written not long after the particular event or set of circumstances. And in that case, how can we know that we should write about our own present rather than telling the story of a family history and working to preserve that past. I'm not sure there is an answer to the question of which to write or focus on, and perhaps the solution or compromise is to understand that even if writing in a present context, history is still important. 

Where Do I Fit In It All? The Michaela Papa Story

As I read through other people's blog posts, I couldn't help but realize that a lot of us are thinking in terms of us.  Maybe that's the point of memoirs.  To read about somebody else's life through the lens of you--what I bring to the table when I read: my history, my thoughts, my beliefs.  Everybody takes something different from a memoir and it's interesting to see what and why that is. 

The more I read about other people's documented history and perspectives, the more I think about my own.  How much do I really know about my family?  I know the basic history, but I'm sure there is more.  My great-grandmother immigrated to America from Italy and got her eye shot out by a bullet machine while she was working in a factory in WWII.  But, should I wrote a memoir on her?  What makes something memoir worthy?  If there is a story to tell, write it--but there is ALWAYS a story to tell. 

I'm curious to find out what prompted Joseph Hurka to write this memoir.  Obviously, I read the book and know the events that lead up to it but was there one incendiary detail? Was there something he found out and he couldn't let it go unexplored, undocumented, unwritten?  Perhaps, the sad faces he describes his Czech family as having--exhausted and worn down.  Was there something that made him want to continue?  His dad working for the Resistance, seeing his grandmother's grave in Zebrak...what made him continue through this hard past?

Also, I was interested in the integration of Vaclav Havel's first major speech as president.  He worked that in really well.  I'm in an archival research class this semester and have been doing a lot of creative nonfiction writing.  The way he works in historical text and familial reactions and emotions is done very admirably. 

Moral of the story, I can't stop thinking about my family and my family history the more I read about other people's.  What if mine is super memoir-worthy?