Qian Liqun, "Mao and his Era"

Qian Liqun, “A Few Questions Concerning Mao Zedong and his Era”*
 
Translation by Dayton Lekner and Song Hong

Introduction by Dayton Lekner
 
This text is drawn from the first of a series of lectures given at National Chiao Tung University in Taiwan in 2009, by Qian Liqun 錢理群 (b. 1939). Qian was Professor of Chinese literature at Peking University until his retirement in 2002. He remains an active and leading proponent of May Fourth humanism in post-Mao literary and cultural criticism. His key areas of research are modern Chinese literature, with a focus on Lu Xun - the continued relevance of whom he continues to advocate - and the plight of the intellectual in 20th century China. Particularly influential in the academic community have been his efforts toward a summation of, and reflection upon, the 20th century Chinese experience.
 
Introduction
 
This talk is a call , in Qian Liqun’s own words, for a “thorough clearing up of the Mao Zedong thought and culture,” which Qian sees as persisting as the major cultural and intellectual undercurrent of contemporary China. Without such an appraisal, Qian argues, China will remain under the influence of Mao – not the man, but the deeply ingrained social and intellectual practices that were formed both in conformity and in tension with his leadership of the CCP and China. A deeply reflexive work, in it Qian admits that any such “clearing up” must also be a critique not only of his generation (who he sees as complicit in the propagation of Mao culture), but of Qian himself – no less complicit. Qian claims ownership of this Mao Zedong culture, both for himself and his generation, and in the process illustrates the extent to which divisions between the Party and intellectuals and between the propagators and followers of Maoism are largely illusory and finally misleading. His own confession 交代 of culpability serves as starting point for a critique and an attempted purge of what he calls the “cancers” of Mao Zedong thought and culture.

​At the same time, however, as we translated we could not help but notice that the text itself is in many ways an artefact of the Mao era. In fact, Qian’s writing is so redolent of what Li Tuo calls the “Mao genre” 毛文體, and Geremie Barmé calls “New China Newspeak” 新華文體, [1] that it serves at once as critique and homage. Perhaps most striking is Qian’s adoption of Mao’s rhetorical strategy of positioning himself with, and among, the people. A member of the intellectual elite by education, career and status, Qian yet identifies himself (whether categorically or rhetorically) as part of that most elusive and nebulous group, the 民間 (loosely, “among the people” but Qian’s floating use of the term forced us to translate it with equally light feet as “folk,” “grassroots,” “popular,” “heterodox” or “outside the establishment”), a technique deployed by Mao throughout his political life and particularly at times when he felt his position threatened.

But far from rendering the text a cliché, Qian’s deployment of this mode is a testament to its potential elegance and attraction. For the reader, the result is a deeply layered experience, as Qian both critiques, and speaks from within, the Mao Zedong thought and culture that is his subject. Indeed, Qian helps those of us who study the Mao years with what I see as one of the biggest impediments to innovative research on the period – the tendency to paint its writing (if not its culture) with a drab grey brush. This outlook has left us flummoxed by the extent to which intellectuals such as Qian went along, often fervently, with Mao’s revolution, and resorting to explanations of Party discipline, United-Front coercion, or cult-like worship. What Qian gives us is a chance to sit behind the wheel and see what he saw – the allure he found in Mao and that he conjures again for us here. Our job, I think anyway, is to see the immense value in what Qian does for us – to show us the phenomenological state undergirding the totalitarian state. 

In four sections, Qian establishes Mao’s sweeping influence (as thinker and doer, as icon, as poet, and as culture) for his own life, his generation, contemporary China, and 20th century history. A rhetorical moonwalk (à la Michael Jackson, not Neil Armstrong), Qian’s text moves forward while looking back. In the closing sections, he argues that the clearing up of Mao Zedong thought and culture is necessary as part of a grander project: the summation of the global experience of the 20th century. The past century, Qian argues, has seen the dissolution of two great myths – the myth of the West as purveyor of universalist liberal capitalism, and the myth of communism as its counterpart. These, according to Qian, are two utopian dreams that have been shown to be misguided. With the monkey (and tiger) of Mao off his and his nation’s back, Qian hopes that the Chinese experience can combine with the global experience and form together the basis of a new kind of critical thought, one that transcends the cultures of both capitalism and socialism. But again, Qian finds himself channeling Mao’s utopian urges, and again I thank him for the ride. As Qian himself says, it is not so easy to “walk out from under the shadow of Mao.”
 
Translation
 
To begin with, let me express my thanks to National Chiao Tung University and the Institute of Social Research and Cultural Studies for inviting me to come and teach. It is a personal gratitude I feel, and an emotional one, because I have a kind of “blood bond” with Taiwan. During regime change 60 years ago, as the whole nation underwent division and turmoil, my father and I parted ways in Nanjing . [2] He moved to Taiwan in 1948 and my mother and many brothers and sisters remained behind in Mainland China. My father passed away in 1972 and is buried near here on Mount Yangming - we were never to meet again. I visited Taiwan in 1995 and 2007, but both were hurried trips. This time I have the chance to teach for three months, and I made a point of choosing the topic, “My 60 years with the Republic and Mao.” It is a subject laden with my own personal motives, because it is also 60 years since I was separated from my father. I wanted, through teaching this class, to recount to my father all my diverse experiences of the last 60 years. So today, as I teach, I feel as though he is here, listening to every word. This is a dream I have had for many years, so I thank you for today giving me the chance to fulfil it.

I also have another dream, which is to take this opportunity to have an exchange of the heart with the younger Taiwanese generation.  I have, in this life, always communed with the young, and have maintained a close spiritual connection with six decades of young mainland Chinese. First are those born in the late forties and fifties, the generation of the Cultural Revolution, the Red Guards 紅衛兵, and the Educated Youth 知青. Then came those born in the sixties and seventies, known in the mainland as the “June 4th” generation. Finally come those born in the eighties and nineties, known as “post 80” and “post 90.”[3] I have a close spiritual relationship with these generations born from the late forties to the late nineties - of this I am proud. Now, in coming to Taiwan I don’t know whether or not I will be able to make use of this opportunity to establish a dialog of the heart and an exchange of ideas with young Taiwanese. This is what I yearn for, and at the same time I can’t avoid feeling a little anxious, because while I have abundant experience conversing with young mainland Chinese, I have none with young Taiwanese.

So, in coming to Taiwan, what should I talk to these young Taiwanese about? This is a question I discussed at length with Professor Chen Kuan-Hsing 陳光興 (b. 1957- )[4] and many other friends, finally settling on two individuals as central subjects: Lu Xun (1881-1936) and Mao Zedong (1893-1976). I arranged two classes, one held on Tuesday evenings (tonight’s class) that focuses on Mao Zedong, and one held for undergraduate students on Thursdays at Tsing Hua University that will focus on Lu Xun. Why choose these two people? The decision is related to a theory of mine: I have previously raised the concept of the “20th Century Chinese experience” and emphasized the great importance of a summation of this experience.[5] Contemporary China, whether the Mainland or Taiwan, confronts many problems. In facing such problems, both spiritual and intellectual resources must be sought, for which the intellectual mainstream in mainland China advocates one of two paths - one that looks to the West, and one that looks to ancient China. I believe both sources to indeed be very important, but between them is lost something that I see as paramount, that is the 20th Century Chinese experience - which of course includes the experience of Taiwan.

It is this experience that most tightly enfolds us, but is neglected on the mainland and, I suppose, to an even greater degree in Taiwan. To understand this 20th Century Chinese experience, one must start from three people: Sun Yat-sen (1866-1925), Mao Zedong, and Lu Xun.[6] The 20th Century Chinese experience is concentrated and embodied within these three figures. Beginning with them will facilitate a concrete grasp of the 20th Century Chinese experience and a squaring up to the many problems facing us today. In Taiwan, all are very familiar with Sun Yat-sen, but are somewhat estranged from Mao Zedong and Lu Xun. This of course is related to the cold-war split of the two sides of the Taiwan strait beginning in the 1950s. On the Chinese mainland however, Mao Zedong and Lu Xun have had profound influence. Whether one’s assessment is positive or negative, whether enamoured with them or not, their existence cannot be ignored. In discussing or researching the 20th Century Chinese experience, we absolutely cannot skirt around these two figures.

Beyond the important status of these two people, my desire to speak on them is also personal. In my younger years, I grew up under their constant influence - they were my two spiritual teachers. Because of this, I have had to untangle my relationship with them through academic research. My research on Lu Xun, from one angle can be seen as a kind of sorting out of my relationship with the author, the results of which has already been published and read by a few friends. On Mao Zedong however, my research has remained in a state of primal chaos and never made public, except for a small section. I long ago wanted to research Mao Zedong. In early 1986, in writing the afterward to Soulsearching I felt I had already completely resolved my relationship with Lu Xun and wanted to turn my hand to clearing up my relationship with Mao Zedong.[7] I made several attempts at this endeavour, but in the end shelved these. Why, over such a long period of time, have I not carried out this work? At root, the problem is me, I haven’t yet been able to sort out my relationship with Mao, it’s too complicated, too tangled. Further, from beginning to end I have not been able to locate my own moral standpoint - I don’t know how I should evaluate Mao Zedong.  

Mainland China’s attitude towards Mao Zedong is either black or white: one group of people see him as a national hero, another group see him as a national villain. I don’t happen to be able to take such a clear-cut position. This is because while I cannot overlook the disasters that Mao brought upon the entire nation - disasters of which I have personal experience - deep in my heart neither can I shake off the allure that he holds for me. So, my research has never advanced, and it was only just before this visit to Taiwan that I pulled out my scattered notes and leafed through them. But confronted by this mess of material I have no idea how to begin. So, in talking to you all about Mao Zedong, I do so with contradiction and confusion, my account itself reflecting these same qualities. This is not the case with my work on Lu Xun, for while my relationship with Lu Xun is also very complex, in reading my work you can see that my standpoint is very clear.[8]

This kind of contradiction and confusion reflects an inner truth of my own, but whether or not it reflects a truth of history, I cannot be certain. Therefore, in teaching this class I hope to faithfully relay to you all the observations and experiences of a historical witness, I hope to arouse some interest in you, and perhaps among you a few will go on to your own research on Mao. The teaching materials I have prepared for this class, as well as the selections of Mao’s writings, I suspect will be new to those present here today. I’m extremely curious as to what sort of reaction you all will have upon reading Mao Zedong’s works. Maybe because of this some of you will become interested in Mao and go on to research him. Once you have researched Mao Zedong and reached your own conclusions, then my mission will be complete. I hope that at that time you can all forget everything that I have told you today. My class is a bridge, and I hope that you can all “cross the river and tear down that bridge,” that in your own research on Mao Zedong, you can leave my account behind.

The above may serve as my opening remarks.

Below, I would like to speak on four topics.

One: My relationship with Mao and the Mao era.  

This is perhaps a coincidence of history. I was born in Chongqing in January 1939, and Mao established his position as leader of the Chinese Communist Party in Yan’an in spring of the same year. In the past it was mistakenly believed that his position was established in 1935 at the Zunyi Conference,[9] but over the past few years there has been a breakthrough on this question by historians of Party history. Here I take the opportunity to introduce a book written by He Fang 何方 (b. 1922) entitled Notes on Party History.[10] He Fang served as secretary to Zhang Wentian 張聞天 (1900-1976) and can count as one involved with the history of that time. According to He Fang’s very persuasive research, at the 1935 Zunyi conference it was decided only that Mao would enter the highest level of Party leadership, particularly that concerned with military command. Zhang Wentian remained as General Secretary, and not, as was believed, in name only. Until at least 1939, Zhang Wentian’s position as General Secretary carried real leadership power, with Mao acting as only one member of the central leadership. The actual establishment of Mao’s leadership position within the Party took place in the second half of 1938. In July of that year, the leader of the Communist International, the Bulgarian Georgi Dimitrov (1882-1949), representing the Communist International, informed Wang Jiaxiang 王稼祥 (1906-1974), then in Moscow and preparing to return to China that, “the leadership organization should be headed by Mao Zedong,” to create “an atmosphere of close unity.” Dimitrov also passed on Stalin’s directive for “each nation’s party to propagandize its own leader, and to establish their power and prestige.”[11] This makes clear that it was the Communist International that appointed Mao leader of the Chinese Communist Party.  In September of that year, Wang Jiaxiang relayed this directive at the CCP Politburo Conference, and at the 6th Plenary Session of the 6th Politburo in October 1938,[12] Mao for the first time represented the central Politburo by delivering a political report.[13] According to CCP practice, it is the leader who usually gives political reports, so doing so meant that Mao had at that time had obtained the qualifications and status of leadership.

Even more importantly, at this meeting Mao raised for the first time the concept of the “Sinification of Marxism,” stressing that “a Communist is a Marxist internationalist, but we can put Marxism into practice only when it is integrated with the specific characteristics of our country and acquires a definite national form.”[14] It is here that Mao raises his own theoretical flag for the first time, one which was pivotal for two reasons. First, it became the key political weapon in his prosecution of intra-Party struggle, (primarily in opposing the “dogmatists” led by Wang Ming 王明 (1904-1974)). Second, as Gao Hua has pointed out, it proved to be of great benefit for the CCP’s effort to establish roots in Chinese society by “pouring the vitality of nationalism into the Chinese Communist movement” and “altering the then popular notion of the CCP as only a product of foreign ideology.”[15] Further, for Mao himself, this established a firm foundation for his leadership, both organizational and intellectual, within the CCP.

Thus, by the spring of 1939, Mao had in practice already become the leader of the Central Committee of the CCP.[16] So we could say that at this time, the CCP began to enter the Mao era, and it just so happens that I was born at this time. Ten years later in 1949, when I was ten years old, Mao became the leader of the People’s Republic of China, and the People’s Republic of China then entered the Mao era, which lasted right up until Mao’s death in 1976, at which time I was 37 years old. The years from 10 to 37 are one’s golden age - my childhood, my youth, my middle age were all lived under Mao’s rule. My intellectual makeup, my ideas, the path of my life, all took form and were established under the direct influence of Mao Zedong.

More importantly, when Mao launched the Cultural Revolution, I became a staunch Maoist (it wasn’t only internationally, but also inside China that such Maoists existed), which means that I actively participated in the Cultural Revolution led by Mao, this is something that sets me apart from many other intellectuals. It reflects a particular characteristic of our era, we grew up through revolution, a revolution that drew the most ordinary, most marginal people into the tide of history, something perhaps harder to directly experience in Taiwan. When the Cultural Revolution broke out I was in Guizhou, in a remote village deep in the mountains, but even there, there was revolution. Our generation has a flesh and blood relationship with history, these historical campaigns directly influenced our lives, our bodies, our emotions, and our spirits. Our “little-selves” 小我 and the historical “big-self” 歷史的大我 were tangled together,[17] - this is something that sets us apart from the students I teach, and from those present here today. What strikes my students when they read my book, My Retrospection and Reflection,[18] is that for them, history is something external, a subject that needs to be understood. For us, however, this is not the case, history is simply oneself. 

My generation has an extremely tangled relationship with the history and revolution led by Mao Zedong. Each person carries within them a great dilemma, a dilemma particular to each intellectual. The greatest problem of revolution is that it constricts the space for freedom of the individual. A great number of intellectuals felt this kind of constriction and sought impotently to break from its tethers - from this there comes confusion. But I am an intellectual of a different ilk, I actively sought to participate in, not break free from, revolution. My distress came from lacking the qualifications to participate, as described in Lu Xun’s The True Story of Ah Q, in which the titular hero is barred from revolution, or only able to carry out revolution according to the direction and design of others; he had his own way of thinking and critical awareness but was not permitted to act on them - from this state came great confusion. We too had our own style of thought, perhaps not consistent with Mao Zedong; but it remained only thought, and we were unable to realize this thought and influence the course of history. These dilemmas are likely foreign to you, my audience. But even when pushed aside and suppressed, I still resolutely and actively threw myself into the revolution, and in the process entangled myself irrevocably with the Mao era and revolutionary history. After Mao died and the Cultural Revolution drew to a close, as a staunch Maoist I faced the dilemma of reconsidering what I knew of Mao Zedong. But walking out from under the shadow of Mao has been an extremely difficult process.

My complicated relationship with the Mao era can be presented in two ways. On the one hand, I am shaped by that era. Mao Zedong culture has already seeped into my flesh and into my soul and its traces cannot be altered. No matter how I struggle, critique, or examine myself, I remain an incorrigible idealist, romantic and utopian. On the other hand, I am even more a self-conscious rebel of the Mao era. My historical mission is to turn on my old comrades, to carry out the thorough clearing up and critique of Mao as only those of the same generation can do. I’ve both been influenced by, and revolted against, Mao Zedong and have done my utmost to transform myself into the complete rebel. Of course, this standpoint of mine isn’t permitted in the post-Mao era, nor by those today who remain infatuated with Mao’s time, I am unable to please either side. So, I feel intense empathy when I read Lu Xun, in whose “The Shadow’s Farewell” we have: “The darkness will swallow me, but light will make me disappear. Yet I’m unwilling to hover between the two, I’d rather sink into the darkness. ... I shall, when I have lost track of time, make a distant journey alone.”[19] I feel that this is precisely my position and predicament. Lu Xun at that time was himself befuddled by his entanglement with several thousand years of Chinese traditional culture. He was both a resolute critic of traditional culture, and at the same time was the most outstanding scion of this culture - it’s this complicated relationship that inspires my empathy. Lu Xun called himself the last intellectual of traditional China - please allow me to brag and tell you that I am the last intellectual of the Mao era.

For me, sorting out and critiquing Mao Zedong culture is a kind of painful sorting out and critiquing of myself, and at the same time is a kind of self-redemption. I have already settled up my relationship with Lu Xun. If I can do the same for my relationship with Mao, then I can meet my maker with a clear conscience and account for my life. In Lu Xun’s “Tremors of Degradation,” he writes of that “old lady.” “In the dark of the night she walks endlessly, she walks and walks to the boundless wilderness; ... and in an instant reconciles everything: devotion and estrangement, affection and vengeance, nurture and annihilation, blessings and curses…. Thereupon she thrusts both hands toward heaven, and from between her lips spills forth an utterance born from the margins between human and animal - not of this world, and thus without words.”[20]  This is a fitting expression for my complicated feelings toward Mao Zedong culture: at once “blessing” and “cursing;” “estranged” and “devoted;” “vengeful” and “affectionate.” Because of this, my account of Mao Zedong simply cannot be so decisively authoritative as that of many others, nor can it be coldly objective. My critique is burdened with complex emotions, perhaps limiting it, but at the same time rendering it unique.    

You may have noticed that in my account above I repeatedly use two concepts: Mao Zedong thought, and Mao Zedong culture. What do I mean by Mao Zedong culture? This is the second question I wish to speak on. 

Two: A few fundamental features of Mao Zedong thought and culture.

Mao Zedong was no ordinary man. He is characterized by six traits which I have previously summarized. First, as Karl Marx once said, we cannot stop at interpreting the world, we must also transform it. As a Marxist, Mao was not only a thinker who interpreted the world, but also an agent who transformed it. Marxists believe that theory and practice must be reconciled, that thinkers and doers must bond as one - this is what distinguishes Mao. In general, the philosopher and the activist are distinct from one another, a division of labor existing between the two. To raise a simple example, in the French Revolution, Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712-1778) was a philosopher, while Maximillian de Robespierre (1758-1994) played the role of activist. Theory and practice are driven by different kinds of logic: theory is concerned with the absolute and is thus uncompromising, but practice must be negotiated; thought is visionary, while practice emphasizes the existing. If a person is both a thinker and a doer, then they will hold a great advantage, but if they are unable to correctly resolve the different logics of thought and practice, then from time to time they will bring disaster upon society.

In my Abundant Suffering: Hamlet and Don Quixote Head East, I put forward a proposition: “The realization of a thought implies the destruction of both the thought itself as well as the thinker.”[21] Rousseau’s thought became Robespierre’s dictatorship, undergoing a total transformation in the process. The ideals of the Encyclopédistes became realized as capitalist society; the otherworldly ideal of Marxist Communism, once realized in this world, became disaster. This is a complicated question, and I can only broach it here. If students are interested, we can discuss this more in private. For now, I would only like to emphasize one point: Because Mao’s thought transformed into a practice that influenced people’s life and fate, in observing, discussing, and researching Mao Zedong thought, we cannot only consider it in its textual form, but must pay even more attention to its practical form, that is, to examine Mao’s thought in its practical impact, its outcome, its influence - to look at the practical significance beyond his writing.

The second characteristic of Mao resides in the fact that he was also a poet and wielded a poet’s romantic and impractical way of thinking in his leadership of China. To govern a nation with a poet’s logic and vision can only lead to great catastrophe. In reading Mao’s works, you’ll notice they are extremely enchanting. Packed as they are with the imagination, passion, and the utopian ideals of a poet, they are endlessly moving. But as soon as such ideas are transformed into practice, they will often bring about disaster. Mao often exhibits just such a conversion: romanticism at the theoretical level mutating into despotism at the practical level. Of course, this is an extremely involved process, one that requires concrete research and description.

Third, neither was Mao a run of the mill activist, he was the nation’s paramount ruler. In previous comparisons of Lu Xun and Mao Zedong, I’ve suggested that while Lu Xun may have had his extreme side, he was not a national leader, and thus his extremes did not go on to influence the destiny of others. As an example, Lu Xun once called Liang Shiqiu a worn-out lacky of the capitalists,[22] but Liang Shiqiu was not undone by this reprimand by Lu Xun. Of course, we can say that Lu Xun had his right to speak, but Liang Shiqiu had this same right; they could, in practice, each exercise their own right to criticize the other without either inflicting a mortal injury. But Mao was different, he wielded tremendous political and economic power, and along with this came the absolute power of his speech. Every word and action decided the fate of others; any lapse influenced the nation’s path to development.

From this we arrive at the fourth characteristic of Mao: he was not the leader of a normal country, but the leader of a totalitarian nation. His power was neither supervised nor restricted. In democratic countries, it seems there’s a level of restriction to authority, corrective mechanisms temper the mistakes of national leaders, disasters thus rarely reach the irreparable stage. The calamity brought about by Mao’s mistakes, on the other hand, could only be addressed after his death.

Fifth, even among totalitarian rulers such as Stalin, Mao sets himself apart. Such dictators usually only control the bodies of the people; dissidents, heretics, and opponents are at most sent to prison or labor camps and thus are neutralized corporeally. Mao, however, sought also to remould thought. He said once that two types of people existed in Chinese tradition: heroes and sages. Heroes were extremely talented in some areas such as politics and economics; sages existed to influence people’s thought. Mao sought to position himself as a hero, but desired even more the role of sage.[23] He wanted to effect a spiritual control of people, to conquer the popular will, to influence and remould people’s thought, to have his dictatorship permeate into people’s minds, and he created an array of systems and methods to do so. This is both awesome and dreadful, and is without precedent.

Finally, what he sought to rule and transform is the nation with the largest population in the world, with an influence both widespread and far-reaching. In other words, for half a century Mao Zedong thought dominated the way of life, fundamental thinking, and behavioural patterns of the one third of the world’s population represented by the Chinese people. Mao was completely conscious in the use of his own thought to remould China and the world, as well as the spiritual world of the Chinese people, and further, to establish, according to his own way of thinking, a complete set of organizational structures for social life that extended from the center down to the most basic level of localities. This is not simply a phenomenon of thought, but one of matter and organization.
In this way, Mao Zedong thought fundamentally transformed the modes of thought, emotions, behaviour, and language of mainland China, leaving a profound impression on the national spirit, character, and temperament and thus forming the culture and spirit of a generation, which we can only describe accurately as “Mao Zedong culture.” To put this in another way, apart from Confucianism, Daoism, Moism, Legalism and other schools of the Chinese tradition, mainland China has also Mao Zedong culture. Of course, it has a tight link with Chinese traditional culture, which I won’t discuss today, but it also represents a new kind of culture external to the Chinese tradition. This kind of Mao Zedong culture, having passed through a long period of organized, planned, and guided inculcation, has already come to form the national collective unconscious in mainland China, a new national character.  

We absolutely cannot underestimate the success and consequence of Mao Zedong thought in its remoulding of the people and intellectuals of mainland China. I remember when the previously closed-off PRC began to open again to the world, many foreigners had quite a surprise when meeting mainland Chinese people again after so long. They discovered that the current Chinese individual had undergone a great transformation from the Chinese person of their historical memory. For example, the Doctrine of the Mean invoked in Chinese tradition, is now nowhere to be found in mainland China.[24] That Chinese people have become belligerent, fanatical, and fierce, is due precisely to this remoulding by Mao Zedong culture. Of course, there has also been positive change; that the mainland Chinese people now have greater self-confidence is related also to the influence of Mao. A few Taiwanese friends, including some here today, tell me that they sometimes feel that the way their mainland fellows think, behave, and speak, is a little odd and hard to fathom. I normally reply by saying that the reasons of course are complex and need concrete analysis, but that one reason is simply that mainlanders have undergone the influence of Mao Zedong thought and culture, and you haven’t. The issue lies in the fact that while the younger mainland Chinese generation haven’t personally experienced the Mao era, and perhaps haven’t even read any of Mao’s works, Mao Zedong culture has already infiltrated the national character, and has never been fully analysed. This means that its influence continues to be passed on from generation to generation.

More pertinent is that some of the concepts, as well as ways of thinking, behaving, feeling, and communicating of both those who currently wield power in China, as well as those who seek to rebel, bear remarkable similarities to those of Mao. I have even discovered a few “little Mao Zedongs” among dissidents and leaders of social movements; this has some positive aspects, but even more negative ones. We simply cannot underestimate the deep and lasting influence of Mao’s successive lessons to “cultivate successors,” “combat and prevent revisionism and oppose peaceful evolution,” and the later Red Guard and Sent-down youth movements. The generation that has grown up through long term exposure to, and the creeping influence of, these campaigns, has today become the leading and central force behind mainland China’s government, economy, thought, culture, education, and various fields of study. This also applies in practice to the leadership and nucleus of opposing factions. The influence of Mao Zedong culture on thought and ideology, spirit and personality, whether positive or negative, will profoundly affect the realities and developmental path of China. In my view, researching this influence is a very good point of entry for an examination of the many problems facing China today.

This kind of sorting out and critiquing of Mao Zedong culture cannot help but clarify and critique the national ideology, spirit and culture of an entire era; without this kind of conscientious and deep national self-reflection and critique it is fundamentally impossible for China to get out from under the shadow of Mao Zedong. Lu Xun, in his day, said: whatever kind of citizen you have, that will be the kind of government you have.[25] Which should remind us, that if we fail to fundamentally remould the national character shaped during the Mao era, then a reincarnation of the Great Cultural Revolution in some other guise is not beyond the realm of possibility.

Now let’s discuss the second characteristic of Mao Zedong culture, and talk about the relationship between its several aspects.

     First, is its relationship with the Communist Party. The Chinese authorities assert that Mao Zedong thought is a product of the collective wisdom of the Chinese Communist Party, and I think this reflects reality.[26] The creation and development of Mao Zedong culture is not the act of Mao the individual but involves the collective participation of Chinese Communist Party members. So, in researching Mao Zedong, we cannot stop at the researching of Mao the individual, but must also research other CCP leaders, such as Liu Shaoqi (1898-1969), Zhou Enlai (1898-1976), Deng Xiaoping (1904-1997), Lin Biao (1907-1971), Chen Yun (1905- 1995) and others. These peoples’ relationship with Mao Zedong is very complex, they not only participated in the creation of Mao Zedong culture, but also, on many particular issues, were at odds with Mao. Mao Zedong culture was formed through interaction with such people; interaction that includes cooperation and complementarity, as well as restriction and conflict.

But Mao Zedong culture does not belong to the Party alone, the Chinese people (including intellectuals) also participated its creation and development as they both buoyed up and reaped benefits from this culture. We cannot simply view Chinese intellectuals as subjects and victims of the Mao era, they were also active participants in history. They bear their own responsibility for the history that unfolded in China in the Twentieth Century. Mao Zedong culture, from thought to realization (that is the realization of thought), had to pass through many intermediaries. The role played by CCP cadres and members at various levels, as well as other intellectuals in this intermediate process, was in no way negative, or passive, and certainly had its own “creative contribution.”

Also worth attending to is the relationship between Mao Zedong and the masses. Mao Zedong culture emphasizes mass-campaigns and mass-participation and deploying the masses to carry out class struggle and construction. But the masses are made up of different interest groups, and each of these groups will seek to interpret Mao Zedong thought according to their group’s interests. So, there will be a mutation from Mao’s initial expectations to the final practice of the masses - a phenomena most obvious during the Cultural Revolution. History is a result of a combination of forces (Mao Zedong, the CCP, the intellectuals, the masses), although Mao represents the overall driving force, he was, in the end, not omnipotent. It is only in the complex interaction between these forces that Mao Zedong culture took shape.

I want to raise one point in particular - one central to the focus of my research. That is the relation of Mao Zedong thought to popular heterodoxy.[27] Over recent years I have constantly been engaged in the research of popular thought and popular resistance movements during the sixty years of the development of the People’s Republic, and in the process have discovered an extremely interesting phenomenon: Such renegades have, on the whole, been roused by Mao Zedong. In the Mao era, it was very difficult for the people to be exposed to other modes of thinking; the sources of thought were quite limited. Mao’s works were the only ones that could be read. But Mao’s thought itself contains an element of heresy. He claimed to have a “monkey spirit” 猴氣[28] and often called for a level of breakthrough and revolt against the current system. To those dissatisfied with, or holding a critical awareness of, the status quo, it is in this Mao that they often find inspiration and even encouragement. In this way, for heterodox thinkers in the mainland (and to some extent including myself), the primary spiritual godfather is none other than Mao Zedong.

Of course, Mao’s imparting of heretical thought was in order to realize ever more effective control over the nation, the society, and the Party. But this thought, once received by the people, developed according its own logic, one difficult for Mao to control. For example, at the outbreak of the Cultural Revolution, the promotion of the slogan “doubt everything” to eliminate superstitious faith in the Party bureaucracy, rested upon a bottom line - that Mao himself was not to be subjected to such doubt. But those of us who took on this “doubt everything” way of thinking, carried it out to its logical ends - a scepticism of Mao. At this point, Mao acted to suppress such rebels who crossed the bottom line; about this Mao was completely unambiguous. Here, Mao’s “Tiger spirit” 虎氣 was expressed,[29] and conflict with heterodox thinkers was unavoidable as they all in the end became Mao’s opposition. This also became another kind of interaction.

What I have said above orbits about one point, which is that Mao Zedong culture took form through the interaction of all kinds of complicated interactions, and only through the concrete observation of these manifold relationships, from inside the Party to outside, from the top to the bottom, can one grasp their complexity, and their abundance.
 
Three: Mao Zedong in Contemporary China

Lu Xun once said: “Those previously on top seek restoration, those currently on top seek to maintain, and those never yet on top seek reform. So it has been. So it is!”[30] These three kinds of people will be present in any society, and contemporary China is no exception. What is fascinating is that Mao Zedong holds an influence over all three - all three brandish Mao’s flag.

“Those previously on top seek restoration.” Those with a vested interest in the Mao era, now all pine for Mao. In 2007, on the eve of the 17th CCP National Congress,[31] more than a hundred old cadres presented a memorial in which they made a clear cut criticism of Deng Xiaoping and Jiang Zemin (b. 1926), bemoaning their betrayal of Mao. These old cadres called for a return to the Maoist line, as well as a relaunching of the Cultural Revolution. This intellectual current is now extremely popular in China, and these “old leftists” are the ones who trumpet it.

“Those currently on top seek to maintain.” As I see it, the political line implemented by the Chinese authorities is a continuation of the Self-Strengthening Movement’s “Chinese learning as essence, Western learning as means”.[32] But now, it is Mao Zedong thought, culture, and organization that serves as “Chinese learning” and thus as “essence.” The absolute authority of the single-party dictatorship - subject to no restriction, limitation, or supervision - that was established in the Mao era now acts as a lifeline to the current rulers of China. They absolutely will not abandon the system of one-party rule established by Mao.

More concretely, there are three points of inviolability. The first is that freedom of speech, association and publication will not be granted to the public; there may be a loosening, but never a total release. This is particularly true for the freedom of association, for which the CCP must remain “the one and only.” In 1949, the speed at which the KMT collapsed (and in fact the current state of corruption of the CCP is no less severe than that of the KMT of that time) was simply due to the existence of opposition-factions such as the CCP - if the people were unhappy with the KMT, they chose the CCP. Today however, no matter how discontent the people are with the status quo, there is no alternative in which to place their trust; they can only hope for the transformation of the CCP itself.

Second, the Party’s control of the military and that the military must not become nationalized, is another ironclad principle established and passed down by Mao.[33]  Third, in the Party’s system of bestowing authority, power must only be granted by the Party, it is not permissible for the people to grant such authority through the process of elections.

These three points are absolutely inviolable. But below these three immovable and central principles of Mao Zedong culture there remains much flexibility - herein resides “Western learning as means.” A great deal of Western technology, management theory, experience, and even institutions can all be actively and enthusiastically absorbed on a grand scale. Of course, this at the same time implies the forsaking of a few of Mao Zedong’s principles. Mao, for example, used class struggle to control the nation, whereas the current regime takes economic development as core. In today’s parlance, we could call this “no tossing and turning,” and no more large-scale class struggle among the masses. This policy has been extremely effective and is an important guarantee for China’s swift rise. We have also seen an end, (not total, as this is sometimes still in effect) to Mao’s economic romanticism, the key features of which are that development must be rapid and the economy managed through mass campaigns. These two principles have largely been abandoned by the current regime, but this regime from time to time also gets a little “hot headed” and wants to take a little “Leap.”[34] The third principle that has been let go of is political romanticism, including Mao’s utopian ideals and theories of social equality. But by and large the course pursued today is “Maoist learning as essence, Western learning as means.” It is a line that has indeed helped China to develop, but it has also brought about many serious problems - problems that Mao himself would have never wished to see.

“Those never yet on top seek reform.” All those whose interests have been encroached upon seek reform, and they too make use of Mao Zedong.  There are currently two kinds of forces that place their trust in the person of Mao. The first are those who resist at the grassroots, and in particular, workers. In the Mao era the status of workers was extremely high; in choosing a partner, women saw workers as second only to members of the People’s Liberation Army. At that time, the pay for a high-level craftsman was very close to a professor’s. Workers’ lives were hard, of course, but in status at least they were equal. During Reform and Opening however, the worker lost these benefits in large-scale unemployment and layoffs. Ill-equipped for resistance (and for this, intellectuals must accept some responsibility, having never provided the worker with critical resources), they were left with only Mao’s flag to brandish. This has changed a little of late. Following the introduction of a “rule of law” discourse, workers have gradually pursued legal avenues to defend their rights. Initially, however, it was Mao Zedong thought that served as the crucial resource. 

In China’s grassroots society, the deification of Mao Zedong has taken place to a staggering degree. In countless taxicabs dangle icons of Mao, warding off evil spirits. I investigated a little the question of which among China’s many emperors and generals could become deities and which could not. Zhuge Liang 諸葛亮 (181-234)[35] and Guan Yu 關羽  (d. 219)[36] were deified, but Qin Shihuang 秦始皇 (259-210 BCE),[37] Han Wudi 漢武帝 (141-87 BCE)[38] and Liu Bei 劉備 (161-223)[39] did not make the grade. There are two prerequisites for such a deification: one must either have preternatural wisdom, or a godlike ability to ward-off misfortune—Mao Zedong had both. Further bolstering Mao worship are those intellectuals, who, over recent years, have taken a Maoist turn. Some have, for example, proselytized the “three new traditions” 新三統 which advocate establishing a new national ideology through the aggregation of Mao Zedong, Deng Xiaoping, and Confucius.[40]  These intellectuals see themselves as “Imperial Tutors,” and their “three new traditions” as “Schemes for good government and security” offered to the current regime.[41] After the recent abrupt rise of China’s economy, there is now a push to strengthen Chinese soft-power. What China has to offer in this realm, other than Confucius, is Mao Zedong. In the present statist stream of thought, Mao’s status is extremely prominent, and he also carries influence among certain groups of young people, some of whom are even intent on establishing a “Maoist Party.”[42]

Here, I would like to point out to you all a divergence between myself and some young scholars from my students’ generation in our approach to Mao Zedong and the socialist revolution. I once wrote an essay entitled “How to look back on that period of revolutionary history,”[43] in which I suggested that the Chinese political, intellectual, cultural and academic spheres of the 1980s exhibited two shortcomings. The first was an absolute refutation of the socialism of the Mao Zedong era. The second was a failure to carry out an earnest assessment and rational critique of Mao Zedong thought and culture. The combination has left my students’ generation completely estranged from the Mao era and from its revolution. Since the 1990s, in confronting the problems associated with the return of capitalism in Chinese society, some among this generation attempt to simply retreat once more to the socialist experiment of Mao’s time, hoping to eke out from that revolutionary era some kind of resource for a critique of the current era. As I see it, this is understandable.

Between myself and the young scholars of my students’ generation, there is both concord and divergence on this point. I, too, stand for the deployment of certain rational elements of the Mao era as critical resources, but I believe a vital prerequisite to such a deployment is a thorough critique and assessment of Mao Zedong thought and culture; only after this has occurred can some kernel of wisdom be rescued. After all, what we are faced with is a problem not of method or attitude, but of real politics: many aspects of Mao Zedong thought and culture continue to this day and are practically put to use in the system of one-party dictatorship in China. If we blindly idealize, or even glamorize, Mao Zedong thought and culture, then we are at risk of, intentionally or not, identifying with the most important “legacy” handed down to us by Mao - the system of one-Party rule currently in effect in China. With this the position of the intellectual as independent critic is essentially lost.

Without a rational assessment and critique of Mao Zedong thought and culture, its cancers will be anointed along with its charms and passed down in this spirit. The effect very likely will be catastrophic. Speaking personally, such cancers are already internalized as a kind of poisonous gas deep within myself. Because of this, I must hold fast to the fundamental position of “in the process of critiquing and assessing Mao Zedong thought and culture, making a serious accounting of myself.”[44]

My students, on the other hand, believe that there is no need for their teacher to spend his days in reflection and repentance. They see a teacher with many good qualities and see these as endowed upon him by Mao Zedong. This is, indeed, in some ways true. The key reason for this generational gap rests in the fact that the challenges we face are different: my challenge remains to cast off the influence, not only historical but actual, of Mao Zedong; their challenge, lies in the fact that they are totally estranged from the Mao era; they know nothing of it, so they must start from scratch to seek out its reasonable elements. Therefore, between teacher and student there is a divergence of opinions and ideas. But, I have to say, I am most antipathetic to their “price theory.” They agree that the Mao era was replete with problems but believe that these were a price that had to be paid. Whenever I hear of this price theory, I get all fired up; do they really know what price was paid? The death of millions or even tens of millions. In my view, the death of one person is one too many, let alone tens of millions. Can we be so blasé as to use “price” to “settle this up”? They haven’t personally experienced that time and think they can look upon it objectively – “people died, so they died.” And this touches upon another key problem: the life of a person, in my view is of the utmost import.

I have many haunted memories, and my students criticize me for always wallowing in my personal recollections, for being unable to break free from them. But I still want to remind these young scholars: in summing up the thought and culture of the 1980s, there is one great lesson to be learned. The attempt to directly apply Western modernity without thinking through the problems of China, to believe that China’s developmental trajectory is simply to follow the road of Western modernity, will result in immense confusion. In the same vein, we absolutely cannot directly apply an unexamined Mao Zedong thought and culture to respond to the problems of contemporary China. This would lead not only to great confusion, but to catastrophe.
 
Four: Mao Zedong’s Global Influence

This is related also to the status and influence of 20th century China. In this century, the world experienced three great historical shifts: The first we find in the two world wars, and in the Korean, Vietnamese, and Syrian and other conflicts that sprung from them. Second is the rise of nation states, as many colonial and semi-colonial territories broke from the metropole and found independence. Third is the birth, development, crisis, and reform of the communist movement. China played a key role in each of these three great shifts: it was closely connected to all but the First World War; it was an archetypal 20th century nation state; and the transformation undergone by China has played a critical role in the communist movement. In 20th century history, China occupies a uniquely important place, and for half a century this China was under the leadership and influence of Mao Zedong. This makes patent that in the twentieth century, Mao Zedong occupied a pivotal position not only in China, but globally. Thus, in discussing global issues of this century, the existence of Mao cannot be ignored. How we assess this existence, however, is another question.

As well as being a nationalist, Mao concerned himself also with issues that transcend national boundaries (of course, Marxism is itself an international way of thinking that crosses these boundaries). By Mao’s own account, in his youth the topics he reflected upon and discussed were the great questions of humanity, the world, the universe and human nature. One such problem was how to confront the various contradictions produced by industrial civilization - a global problem of the twentieth century. In response, Mao envisioned a divergent and utopian ideal that has been called by some scholars a “non-Western path to modernization.” The pros and cons of this conception of a non-Western modernization will be discussed later, but the mooting of the idea itself exerted considerable influence on the world. When the intellectuals of Western nations grew discontent with Western civilization, Mao was waiting to entice them so that to this day Maoists live on in the West. I can understand the pull that Mao has for them, I lived through that time; but because I lived through that time I know also of its woes. The trouble with these Western Maoists, is that while Mao fused utopianism and despotism, they see only the utopian and (intentionally or not) play down or overlook the despotic. I think the naive thought of these Western Maoists is related to our own failure to have a thorough assessment of Mao Zedong thought. For Chinese intellectuals this is an historical responsibility.

I once gave a talk in Korea in which I suggested that two myths ran through the twentieth century. The first was the myth of the West, the second was the myth of communism. As the century came to a close, both myths were gradually debunked. That was in 1995, and today in 2009 as we look back, the trend is even clearer. The collapse of the Soviet Union and the Eastern Bloc, the Tiananmen incident - these have all exposed the problems of socialism. At the same time, the current global financial crisis has brought the internal contradictions of capitalism to the fore. Perhaps this is a historical opportunity, offering us the possibility of transcending the cultures of capitalism and socialism, and pursuing a third, more equitable kind of culture. We should now, I believe, sum up the global experience of the twentieth century, including the Chinese experience, and of course also the Taiwanese experience. Can we, upon this foundation, establish a new kind of critical thought? In this, Taiwan’s position may be more advantageous, connected to both sides and thus perhaps able to provide a clearer view of any one problem. This was also a key reason for my coming to Taiwan to teach - I wanted to discuss with the Taiwanese academic world how we may, on the foundation of a summation of the twentieth century Chinese and global experience, establish a kind of critical theory that has the ability to elucidate both history and the present. This is the current intellectual, cultural, and academic task we have before us, and the foundation on which it must be established is mutual understanding. In this there is much room for cooperation.
In the little time remaining let me say a few words about how I plan to teach this class  - which in itself implies a research methodology. I attempt to establish a three dimensional narrative space: at the upper layer is Mao Zedong space, in the middle is the space of the intellectuals, and at the base is where I and other thinkers outside the establishment, along with the ordinary people, reside. I will try to narrate this period of history through the interaction of these three layers.

This approach stems from a reflection on the current historical narrative and its focus, “only on historical events and not people, or only on key figures and not ordinary people; or only on collective politics and not the world of the individual spirit.”[45] In response to these major deficiencies of the dominant historical narrative, I want to tell the story of Mao, of the intellectuals, of the heterodox thinkers, of the ordinary people, and of myself all within one time and space, not only describing the historical process, but revealing the spiritual world of the people involved in that history. It is an attempt to speak of Mao’s internal contradictions, but also of the damage to the spirit, the intellectual confusion, and psychological struggle of those who lived under Mao’s totalitarian system, as well as the humanistic problems that lurk in the background.

Another point about which I am concerned, and on which I have thought, is the identity and position of the researcher. In China, the academic world often sees the historian as a judge of history and a pundit of historical principle. Behind this lies an impulse to execute political, historical, and moral judgement on the subject of our research, as well as a determinist and an essentialist view of history. I have no interest in all of this, and instead define myself as a narrator of history. Such narration, of course, includes an interrogation, and my questions are twofold: First, is why historical figures, under particular circumstances and in particular contexts make this or that kind of particular choice. According to what kind of logic, and under what psychological and emotional state did he or she make this kind of historical decision? Second, is what kind of consequences, perhaps unforeseen by those involved, have such historical decisions brought about? Therefore, my demands on myself are also twofold: The first is to have a sympathetic understanding, and the second is to face up squarely to these consequences. I hope that proceeding in this way will perhaps evoke a compassionate spirit and render Mao Zedong as a tragic figure of history.

Therefore, my primary duty is to tell stories, to create an historical narrative. Of course, this does not mean that I am totally without a standpoint; in the process of drawing together a story, a point of view is natural, but I don’t excessively critique or sum up, and leave narration and explanation as my key task. In this narrative, I hope to include as much historical specificity and sensibility as possible. I think also, that this narrative style might also be better suited to you all, because what I want to relate is totally unfamiliar to you. In one sense, you all came here to hear me relate stories, and I hope, by way of these stories, to help you understand the history of the People’s Republic, to help you gradually enter into that particular historical context, to touch the spiritual worlds of historical figures, and to give you a sense of history. With this, my goals will be met.

Today’s class serves as a sort of “preamble,” and I will stop here for now.

* This is the “Preamble” from Qian Liqun’s 2012 book on Mao published in Taiwan:, ‘The Mao era and the Post-Mao era: 1949-2009, an Alternative Historical Narrative, 《毛澤東時代和後毛澤東時代：1949-2009， 另一種歷史書寫》’, Taipei, Lianjing, 2012.
 
[1] See Li Tuo 李陀, ‘Ding Ling is Not Simple: The Complicated Role that Intellectuals Played in the Production of Discourse Under the Maoist Regime, 丁玲不簡單——毛體制下知識分子在話語生產中的複雜角色’ , Jintian 3 (1993), 236-40, and Geremie Barmé, “New China Speak.” China Heritage Quarterly 29, 2012. http://www.chinaheritagequarterly.org/glossary.php?searchterm=029_xinhua.inc&issue=029
 
[2] My late father was Qian Tianhe (1893-1972), also called Qian Zhilan, and with the courtesy name  字 Antao, from Hang Country in Zhejiang. He was among the pioneers of Modern Chinese agricultural science. He held successive posts including as chairman of the Department of Sericulture at Nanjing University; Director of the Academia Sinica Museum; bureau chief for agriculture and farming, ministry for economics; and advisor on the Far East region to the U.N. Food and Agriculture Organization. In 1948, he served as leader of the agriculture group for the Chinese Rural Rejuvenation Committee before following the Nanjing GMD government to Taiwan. In 1952 he was promoted to the Committee for Rural Rejuvenation, retiring in 1961, and passed away in 1972 due to heart failure. See ‘A Biographical Sketch of Qian Tianhe錢天鶴傳略’ , in ‘The collected works of Qian Tianhe, 《錢天鶴文集》’,  Beijing: China Agricultural Press, 1997.
 
[3] Trans: “Post 80” refers, beyond simply decade of birth, to the first generation of Chinese to grow up entirely in the reformist era as well as through the first years of the one-child policy. The “Post 90” generation were the second to grow up (mostly) as only children and the first of the post-Tiananmen era.
 
[4] Trans: Chen Kuan-Hsing is professor at the Institute of Social Research and Cultural Studies, National Jiaotong (Chiao Tung) University and a noted left-wing commentator and critical scholar active in the “Inter Asia Cultural Studies” group. His major work in English is Asia as Method: Toward Deimperialization, Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2010.
 
[5] Trans: See Qian Liqun, “Refusing to Forget,” Eileen Cheng, Trans., in Wang Chaohua, ed., One China Many Paths, London; New York: Verso, 2003, pp. 292-309.
 
[6] Some people think that Hu Shi 胡適 (1891-1962) is also a central figure.
 
[7] Trans: ‘Soulsearching - 心靈的探尋’ , Beijing: Peking University Press, 1999, is considered Qian’s representative work on Lu Xun. 
 
[8] Trans: Qian Liqun has written extensively on Lu Xun, repeatedly arguing for the author’s continued relevance as a critical and heterodox voice in contemporary China. His major work on Lu Xun, besides Soulsearching (see note above) is ‘Approaches to a Contemporary Lu Xun, 走進當代的魯迅’,  Beijing: Peking University Press, 1999. In English, see Qian’s “The Historical Fate of Lu Xun in Today’s China,” Todd, W. Foley, Trans., Frontiers of Literary Studies in China, Volume 7, Issue 4 (2013), 529-540.
 
[9] The Zunyi conference: An expanded meeting of the CCP Central Committee Politburo, held from January 15 to 17, 1935, in Zunyi, Guizhou. During the meeting, Mao Zedong was added as member of the Politburo Standing Committee but not made leader. 
 
[10] He Fang, ‘Notes on Party History: From the Zunyi Conference to Yan’an Rectification, 《黨史筆記一從遵義會議到延安整風》’, Hong Kong: Liwen Press, 2008). Trans: He Fang served for a long period as Zhang Wentian's assistant and is an expert on international relations of the period. Notes on Party History, written later in He's life,  sums up a lifetime of personal experience and six years of reading and reflection on CCP history. A major focus is on Yan'an rectification, but the Zunyi conference is also covered and He both describes and evaluates Zhang Wentian.
 
[11] Wang Jiaxiang王稼祥,  ‘Directive of the International, 〈國際指示報告〉’, September 1938, in ‘Documents and Research, 《文獻和研究》’,  No. 4, (April 1986). Cited from Yang Kuisong 楊奎松, ‘Mao Zedong and Moscow – Gratitude and Grudges,  《毛澤東與莫斯科的恩恩怨怨》’, Fourth Edition, (Nanchang: Jiangxi People’s Press, 2006), p. 66.
 
[12] The 6th plenary session of the 6th Central Committee of the CCP, held from September 29 to November 6, 1938. Mao presented the political report “The New Stage in the Development of the National Resistance War Against Japan and the Anti-Japanese National United Front.” The congress ratified Mao as representative of the political line of the central politburo, and criticized Wang Ming’s “rightist deviationism.” (“The Central Committee of the Communist Party of China” simplified as “Central Committee of the CCP,” “Party Central Committee,” or “中央” is the organization of central authority of the CCP,  elected by vote by the CCP national congress. The most important function of the Central Committee is the election of the Party’s Politburo, the Politburo Standing Committee, and the General Secretary of the Central Committee. It also decides the members of the Central Military Commission, who are nominated by the Standing Committee and then elected by the Central Committee Secretariat. Trans: For translations of these and related documents, see Tony Saich and Benjamin Yang, The Rise to Power of the Chinese Communist Party, NY: M.E.Sharpe, 1996.
 
[13] The Central Politburo of the CCP, abbreviated as “Central Politburo,” is elected by General Congress of the Central Committee of the CCP, its members are called “Central Politburo Committee members” or “Politburo Committee members.”
 
[14] Mao Zedong, “The Place of the Chinese Communist Party in the National War,” in Stuart R. Schram, ed., Mao’s Road to Power: Revolutionary Writings 1912-1949, Volume VI, The New Stage, August 1937-1938, M.E. Sharpe: Armonk, NY, 2004, pp. 538-539.
 
[15] Gao Hua高華, ‘This is the How the Red Sun Rose: The Origin and Development of the Yan'an Rectification Movement, 1930–1945, 《紅太陽是怎樣升起的：延安整風運動的來龍去脈》’,Hong Kong: CUHK Press, 2000, p. 180. It should be said that the search for China's own revolutionary and developmental path is a fundamental guiding thought that characterized Mao's leadership over China's revolution and construction. Mao mooted the "Sinification of Marxism" in 1939; a "middle zone" between America and Russia in 1946; China's own road to development in 1956; the expansion of "middle zone" thinking in the 1960s and finally in the late Cultural Revolution his "three worlds" theory. In this succession we can see a clear and continual developmental thread. For this point, see Yang Kuisong, ‘A "Middle Zone" Revolution -- Looking at the Chinese Communist Party's Road to Success from an International Context, 《「中間地帶」的革 命一一國際大背景下的中共成功之道》, Taiyuan: Shanxi People’s Publishing, 2010.

[16] According to Zhang Wentian’s memoirs, he himself in the Spring of 1939, had already “relocated the Politburo Conference to Yanjialing area of Yan’an where Mao lived. I was only Chairman for appearances, all major decisions were taken by Mao.” See, Yang Kuisong Mao Zedong and Moscow – Gratitude and Grudges, p. 67.
 
[17] Trans: Here Qian is alluding to early 20th century debates on the relationship between individual and community or nation state, which, by those such as Hu Shi, were rendered as the terms of 小我 (little-self) and 大我 (big-self) respectively. For discussion see Lydia Liu, Translingual Practice (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1995), pp. 77-99.
 
[18] Trans: This is the English title of Qian’s memoir, 〈我的精神自傳〉a direct translation of which would be My Spiritual Biography.
 
[19] Lu Xun, ‘Wild Grass, the Shadow’s Farewell, 野草，影的告別’  , December 8, 1924, in ‘The Complete Works of Lu Xun, 《魯迅全集》’, Vol. 2, Beijing: People’s Literature Press, 2005, p. 169.
 
[20] Lu Xun, ‘Wild Grass, Tremors of Degradation, 野草，頹敗線的顫動’ , July 13, 1925, in ‘The Complete Works of Lu Xun,  《魯迅全集》’, Vol. 2, pp. 210-211.
 
[21] For a closer analysis, see Chapter 5 of Qian Liqun, ‘Abundant Suffering -- Don Quixote and Hamlet Head East, 《豐富的痛苦一一堂吉訶德與哈姆雷特的東移》’, Beijing: Peking University Press, 2007, pp. 84-93.
 
[22] Trans: Liang Shiqiu 梁實秋 (1903-1987) was a noted literary intellectual famous for opposing the class centred deployment of literature as propaganda as well as Rousseau inspired romanticism. Such a stance positioned him squarely in opposition to Lu Xun.
 
[23] See Mao Zedong, “Classroom Notes,” October to December, 1913, in Stuart R. Schram, ed., Mao’s Road to Power, Volume I: The Pre-Marxist Period, 1912-1920, M.E. Sharpe: London, 1992, pp. 19,-22.
 
[24] Trans: The Doctrine of the Mean, or Zhong yong, is considered one of the “Four Books” of Confucian classics, along with the Annalects of Confucius. It counsels moderation.
 
[25] Lu Xun, ‘Inauspicious Star, Dispatch, 華蓋集，通訊’, March 20 - April 3, 1925, in ‘The Complete Works of Lu Xun, 《魯迅全集》’, Vol. 3, Beijing: People’s Literature Press, 2005, pp. 22-23. Trans: Qian paraphrases slightly here. A direct translation of Lu Xun’s words would render as, “with the people as they are, a good government is impossible; even if good government was obtained, it would easily collapse.”
 
[26] Trans: The official confirmation of this is given in the June 1981 CCP Historical Resolution. For an English translation see Beijing Review 27, (July 6, 1981), 10-39, or online at: https://www.marxists.org/subject/china/documents/cpc/history/01.htm.
 
[27] Trans: “Popular” here has been rendered from the Chinese minjian 民間, meaning literally “among the people,” and translated variously into English as “folk,” “popular,” and “grassroots.” Qian’s use of the term in this essay is both particularly problematic and particularly interesting, in that he deploys it to describe not only thought and culture among the lower socio-economic or political strata of society, but also to refer to intellectuals (including himself) who have fallen afoul of the Party or taken a heterodox line on key political issues. We therefore add a forth reading to an already multivalent term by rendering it in some cases as “outside the establishment” or “heterodox” – far from literal translations but closer to Qian’s usage and more helpful for the reader.
 
[28] Trans: For brief discussion of Mao’s “monkey spirit” See Geremie R. Barmé, “A Monkey King’s Journey to the West,” in China Heritage Quarterly, 1 January, 2017. Available online at: http://chinaheritage.net/journal/a-monkey-kings-journey-to-the-east/.
 
[29] Mao Zedong: "I have within me a tiger spirit, which is dominant, and also a monkey spirit, which is secondary." Mao Zedong, ‘A letter to Jiang Qing,  〈給江青的信〉 ‘, July 8, 1966, in ‘Mao Zedong's Manuscripts Since the Founding of the State, 《建國以來毛澤東文稿》’,  Beijing: Central Document Publishing House, 1998, Vol. 12, p. 72
 
[30] Lu Xun, ‘And that's that, Some miscellaneous thoughts, 而已集，小雜感’, December 17, 1927, in ‘The Complete works of Lu Xun, 《魯迅全集》’, Vol. 3, p. 555.
 
[31] The 17th CCP National Congress: The 17th Communist Party national congress, held from December 15 to 17, 2007 in Beijing. The major slogan of the congress was "holding high the great banner of socialism with Chinese characteristics," and its stated guiding thought was "Deng Xiaoping theory and the Three Represents." It was at this congress that Hu Jintao delivered his talk "Hold High the Great Banner of Socialism with Chinese Characteristics and Strive for New Victories in Building a Moderately Prosperous Society in All Respects."
 
[32] Trans: “Chinese learning as essence, Western learning as means” 中學為體，西學為用 is the formulation by which Zhang Zhidong 張之洞 (1837-1909), at the end of the 19th century, called for a balance between cultural conservatism and institutional and technological reform.
 
[33] Trans: Qian here invokes an infamous dictum on Party power from Mao. The original, found in Mao’s 1938, ‘Problems of War and Strategy, 戰爭和戰略問題’ reads: “Our principle is that the Party controls the gun, and must never allow the gun to control the party.” See Schram, Mao’s Road to Power: Volume VI, The New Stage, Armonk, NY: ME Sharpe, 1992, pp. 548-559.
 
[34] Trans: Qian here is alluding to the Great Leap Forward as archetype of the economic and developmental romanticism of the Mao era.
 
[35] Trans: Zhuge Liang, statesmen and strategist of the Three Kingdoms Era (220-265), who became a symbol of strategy and wisdom in Chinese folklore.
 
[36] Trans: Guan Yu (also Guan Gong), a general who was posthumously idolized and identified with the guardian Bodhisattva Sangharama.
 
[37] Trans: The first emperor to unite China, under the Qin dynasty.
 
[38] Trans: Emperor of the Han dynasty.
 
[39] Trans: Warlord of the Han, and founder of the Shu-Han dynasty.
 
[40] Trans: Qian is here invoking a line of thought popularized in Gan Yang’s ‘Connecting the Three Traditions 通三统’, published in 2007, a selection from which is translated elsewhere on this website.
 
[41] Trans: The speech marks are present in the original and suggest that Qian is invoking Jia Yi’s 賈誼 (200 – 169 BCE) work of the same name and thus comparing these fundamentalist Maoists with early Chinese autocracy and the scholar-official tradition.
 
[42] Trans: Qian identifies two such Maoist Parties, “The Maoist Communist Party” 毛澤東主義共產黨and the “China’s Workers (Communist) Party” 中國工人（共產） 黨 and discusses them further in chapter 14 of his The Mao era and the Post-Mao era: 1949-2009, an Alternative Historical Narrative, of which this essay serves as the preface.
 
[43] Qian Liqun, ‘How to Look Back on That Period of Revolutionary History? -  A Talk at the Conference 'Looking Back on that Early Work'), 如何回顧那段革命歷史？-一在「回顧那一次寫作」座談會上的講話’ ,   December 16, 2007, in ‘Grounds for Living, 《活著的理由》’, Guilin: Guangxi Normal University Publishing, 2010, pp. 250-256.
 
[44] Trans: Qian’s deployment of medical metaphors here echoes Mao’s own rhetorical habit, most obviously found in the cry to  “cure to the disease and save the patient” 治病救人. For a recent discussion of the centrality of this language to Party discourse, see Cristian Sorace, “Communist Party Immunology,” in Jane Golley, Linda Jaivin, Luigi Tomba eds., China Story Yearbook 2016: Control, ANU Press, 2017, pp. 99-107.

[45] Qian Liqun, ‘The Historical and Ethical Position Behind “Forgetting”, 「遺忘」背後的歷史觀與倫理觀’ , in ‘Sixty Stories of Calamity, 《六十劫語》’, Fuzhou: Fujian Education Press, 1995, p. 56.