Yukui Liu is a doctor of Chinese medicine now living in the United States. The story that follows is his personal experience, that of his mother and father, and of Chinese communism, from the Cultural Revolution to today. The account was prepared and edited as an exclusive memoir to be published in The Epoch Times. The names have been changed to protect family members still in China.

Part I

I grew up in communist China during the Great Cultural Revolution. Life for Chinese people was bitter when the state-initiated “class struggle” swept through our country like a wildfire of violence, lasting ten long years. Although the central figure of this story is my father, the things perpetrated upon him affected our entire family. For me, the eldest son, the suffering and stress is still ever-present in my mind—as intended by this regime that uses extreme brutality to make examples of people in order to spread fear and subjugate the masses.  

When I was six years old, in 1963, during a period called “Socialist Education Movement” just prior to the Cultural Revolution, our family was banished to a small village in northeastern China because my father had received a few years of Japanese education during World War II. The area we were sent to was poor and undeveloped, without transportation or electricity, and there were no jobs. My father was a university professor and suddenly had to become a farmer to support the family—my parents, grandmother, younger sister and myself. Since my father had never farmed before, we could not grow enough food on the countryside paddies, and we suffered much hunger during those years. My parents had no income, so my mom raised a few chickens to sell eggs so she could buy paper and pencils for me to go to school.
 
It was an unusually cold winter in the year of 1968, when I was 11 years old. It continued snowing every day, covering the village. We never saw the sun or the moon all winter, while enduring freezing cold days and nights of up to -30 degrees Celsius (-22 degrees Fahrenheit). I was attending the village elementary school. One day, an event at school caused an unforgettable blow to my soul. As usual, I walked the two miles of snow-covered mountain road to school. But when I walked into my classroom, there was nobody there—no teacher, no students. Instead, the walls were covered with posters filled with Chinese brush characters in black ink. As a fourth grader I could already read all the Chinese characters, and I was startled by the content of those posters. They were all attacking my father, saying things like: “Overthrow counterrevolutionary Liu Shibao!”

Scared and confused I walked around the campus and saw more of these posters everywhere, all over the school. I realized that many village people, including some students, had posted these.

This was in the third year of the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution, a political movement launched by the Chinese communist party (CCP) in May 1966, to control and purge the educated elite, including teachers and scientists, through terror and persecution. This cruel and destructive movement in total lasted for 10 years and spread all over the country.

From that day on, my father was ordered to attend nightly public criticism meetings, also called “struggle sessions” (Pi Dou Da Hui or Pi Pan Da Hui in Chinese). Several hundred villagers were also ordered by authorities to attend and to “struggle” with the “struggle target” or “class enemy” by verbally, and sometime physically, abusing him or her.  

My father was labeled a “history counterrevolutionary” and was required to have that title pinned to his clothes on a card at all times, in public and at home. The criticizing meetings were organized by a Cultural Revolution Leading Committee, a special governing agency of the Communist Party. During the meetings my father had to kneel for over three hours while people berated him loudly and violently. People shouted over and over: “Beat down Liu Shibao! Beat down Liu Shibao!” Some people made up false stories about my father, making people hate him. Some people became very riled-up and out of control that they would spit at him and beat him.

With this kind of abuse being repeated over and over, night after night, my father was eventually nearing breakdown. He became sick and exhausted, always dizzy, with headaches, nausea, and sometime he nearly passed out. His emotions went between anger, fear, hate, hopeless, helplessness, and depression.
 
We were very scared and worried for my father. My grandmother was crying all the time. My mom and I were afraid that he might die. Every night before the struggle sessions started, my mom and I hid outside the meeting place. With temperatures at -22 degrees Fahrenheit, we were shaking from the cold, and our feet were painful and numb. Even so, we still kept staying there to listen to the meeting, and maybe help my father, should his situation become dire. My mom’s plan was that if my father became too weak, we would go into the meeting room and kneel down in front of the village people, begging them to stop.

“If they still have a little bit of human heart left, they may stop, and we may be able to save your father’s life,” mom said.
 
The struggle session sometimes went on until midnight. After it was finally over, we helped my already exhausted father to walk back home. On the way home, we passed a well—the only well from which the village people got their water. My mom always worried if my dad walked home by himself, he might commit suicide by jumping into the well. This was another reason why my mom and I waited outside the meeting place during those freezing cold nights to take my father back home.
 
Such dark days and nights continued. Each struggle session produced more fake stories about my father, so people’s hatred against him became ever more extreme. Those fake accusations were made up under pressure from the leaders of Cultural Revolution Leading Committee, the Communist Party members. Without providing any factual evidence, these fabricated reports were used to slander and destroy “the enemy.” They were loudly read in front of the people and then posted on walls at school and all public places throughout the village, for everyone to see.

The frenzied and irrational mob-like environment of these class struggle meetings created such hateful energy that it even pushed people into a killing mood. Many innocent teachers, professors, engineers, scientists, and religious leaders were thus beaten to death. My father was facing this situation too. Our whole family was in fear that any day my father would be beaten to death.  
 
One night, after the struggle session had finished at about 1 am and all lights in the village were out, with everything dark and quiet, we had a visitor come to our home. Our family had just fallen into light sleep, when my mom heard a man’s voice outside our house, saying over and over: “Brother, open the door! Brother, open the door!”  
 
My mom ignored the voice as she thought it was an illusion in her head because she worried about my father too much. Then I too woke up, but I was scared and kept quiet. However, the man’s voice kept pleading, “Brother, open the door!”  

We finally realized that it was my uncle, my paternal aunt’s husband, who was outside our home in this dark, cold night. He said he had something important to tell us.
 
My uncle was one of the members of the Cultural Revolution Leading Committee in our village, and a Communist Party member, and he was a major participant in the criticizing meetings against my father. His wife, my father’s younger sister, was very worried about this, but neither she nor my uncle could have any contact with us because anyone who has close relationships with an “enemy” of the Cultural Revolution would also be in trouble. So in public, my uncle had to actively participate in all the activities of the struggle sessions against my father, but when he came home, he would suffer from guilt, especially when he saw his wife silently crying. Sometime my aunt would ask him if there wasn’t any way that he could help, but his answer was always, “There is nothing I can do, I am upset about it too.”
 
My uncle, and countless millions of Chinese people, were trapped like this. The class-struggle was devised by the communist regime to force people into doing the regime’s dirty work for them. Many people were thus drawn into committing crimes against others against their own conscience, simply out of fear. The regime’s plan was to replace people’s conscience with the “party spirit.” Party spirit is about putting the regime’s survival first, and treating one’s “enemies” without mercy or humanity even though they may be one’s own family members or best friends.  
 
My uncle finally could not endure and be silent anymore because the criticizing meeting was supposed to be upgraded to another level—physically torturing my father. My uncle told us that there had been a meeting about it within the leadership on that day, and afterwards they started to prepare many torture instruments such as bricks, wire, metal whips and sticks. It was decided that in next criticizing meeting, they would force my father to kneel down on the bricks, and they planned to bundle together several bricks and hang them on my father’s neck. Then they would have people use the metal whips and sticks to beat him.

They decided that if my father would still not admit to being a Japanese spy, they would beat him to death. My uncle has been a close friend of my father’s before the Cultural Revolution. He knew that my father would not admit to something that is untrue. He also knew that this would be the last struggle session, and that my father would be killed if they did as planned.

The conflict in my uncle’s mind became intense. If he kept silent, my father would be killed, and if he tried to stop those people, he would then be in the same situation as my father. If he warned my father about it, it would be considered that he had divulged secrets to the enemy, and he would become a counterrevolutionary himself and receive the same or worse torture.

After painful mental struggle, my uncle decided to secretly come to our house and persuade my father to flee. My uncle had thus walked through the very heavy snow in the dark of night. He had to be very careful and quiet not to make any dogs bark. If anyone saw him going to our house, he would have been arrested right away.  
 
We all sat on the floor in the dark room, listening to my uncle talk to my parents in a hushed voice: “Brother and sister, please take my words very seriously. They have already prepared everything to torture brother at tomorrow’s struggle session. The only way to save yourself is to escape before daybreak, otherwise they will kill you. I finally decided to come tell you under risk of my own life. Now there are only a few hours left, so please hurry up and get ready to escape somewhere far away!”

After this, my uncle left quietly, and we hastily moved into action. My mom used the only two pounds of bread flour we had for the entire year to bake a few Chinese pancakes for my father to take along. I sat on the floor, helping my mom by keeping the wooden fire going.

We got my father ready to leave in about 30 minutes. All our family members, including my little sister and my grandmother, were crying as we said goodbye and watched my father gradually vanish into the darkness of the blizzardy night.

With just a few pancakes and 50 yuan my uncle had given him, my father left home in that cold winter night of 1968 to escape being beaten to death at the struggle session set up for the following evening.  

Part II

My father had no time to think about leaving his wife, children, and old mother behind to fend for themselves as he needed to quickly decide which direction to take, and to get away from the village as quickly as possible so he would not be caught by militiamen who would be screening the area soon.

The snow was higher than his thigh boots, making every step difficult and slow. He followed the general direction of the mountain road, not sure where to go. Everywhere the raging fire of the Cultural Revolution was burning. If he was caught, the guilty verdict and punishment against him would be doubled, and his death would be certain.

Gradually, his mind calmed down, and a thought rose in his mind, “I am innocent! I need to appeal to the government and protest for my freedom and right!”

He decided to go to Beijing to appeal at the Central Committee of the CCP State Council, the top authority of the government of the country. Strengthened by this thought, he also started walking much faster towards the capital city of the county where he would take the train to Beijing.

It was about 40 miles to the train station, and to keep focused my father kept telling himself to keep going, keep going. And soon he was moving forward faster and faster. Suddenly my father noticed that our dog, Won, had been following him. My father was very touched. With Won by his side, his spirit lifted.

The road passed through many villages, but they walked around the villages to avoid any trouble. As they got further and further away from home, my father was worried that the dog might not find his way back home. He started talking to Won: “You should go back home now. Don’t follow me anymore, please, otherwise you won’t know your way back home. You cannot follow me forever because I will be taking the train to Beijing. Our family at home needs you to protect them, especially now when I am not home.”

Won waved his tail as if to express his confidence, and continued to accompany my father all the way to the train station. My father shared some of the food my mom had packed for him with Won. When they had finished eating he told Won again to go back home to protect the family until he would be back. Won wagged his tail and left.

At the Train Station

My father purchased a ticket for Beijing. But he had to wait another four hours for the next train. Inside the train station many people were waiting for their train, there were also red guards (Hong Weibing) and militiamen (Minbing) with red armbands everywhere. They walked back and forth to check people. They would check tickets and ask questions of any people they thought looked suspicious.

They were not police, but they had the exclusive authority to arrest anyone that might belong to the “monsters and freaks,” also known as the “Seven Black” categories—landowners, rightists, capitalists, etc., most of them educated intellectuals.

My father was hoping that after his long walk he could relax a little, and maybe get some sleep as he was extremely tired. But he realized he was not safe even in a big city far away from his home village. He tried his best to mingle in with groups of people, so he wouldn’t be easy spotted by the red guards and militiamen. He also took off his eyeglasses as they too obviously gave him the appearance of an intellectual.

The station hall was cold and many people were smoking, making the air very bad. People all looked worried and nervous. No one was smiling. All over the station posters with revolutionary slogans were hung on walls, windows, and from the ceiling. Slogans such as:

“Carry Out the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution to the End!”

“Sweep Away All Monsters and Freaks!”

“Bury Capitalism!”

“The East Wind Blows, the Battle Drum Strikes, Now Who Is Afraid of Whom?”

“The Downfall of U.S. Imperialism is Inevitable, the World’s People Certainly Win!”

“Fight with Heaven, Earth, and People, and Reap Endless Enjoyment!”

Exhausted as he was, my father kept looking with sadness at the joyless expression of the people around him, and wondering what this “great” Cultural Revolution was really all about, and what good it was bringing to people.

Troubles at Home

Early the next morning, after my father had left, the head of the village militiamen came to our house to notify my father to be on time at the struggle session that night. When he realized my father wasn’t home, he became upset and wanted to know where my father was. My mom was very nervous and said he had gone for a few days to see his aunt who had gotten very sick. So the man left.

We were all very quiet that day; nobody said much as we were worried about my father and unsure about our future. Around 2 pm in the afternoon we realized that our dog, Won, was gone. We found it strange as the dog had never run away before. But just as we were talking about him, we noticed the dog running toward to the house.

As my father had suddenly left home, there was nothing the village Cultural Revolution committee could do but cancel their scheduled struggle session. However, they were under great pressure from higher levels, and so they sent the militiaman to our house every day to ask when my father would be back. The man even carried a gun and talked in a loud and rude manner. Eventually he came several times a day, staying at our house longer and longer each day.

One day the head of the village came with several militiamen. He threatened my mom that he would take away our yearly grain rations if my father didn’t come back. Taking away our grain rations meant that we would have nothing to eat. Peasants had no income. Even though they worked the entire year for the People's Commune Production Brigade, they were compensated at the end of the year with grain. But that was generally not enough to feed a family. Even if a farmer’s family had several full-time adults working, the grain they earned was sometimes not enough to feed them all.

A family like ours could never earn enough food. As my father was labeled a counterrevolutionary, his full day work was worth only 70 percent of that of a regular laborer. My work, as a youth, was treated as half-labor, meaning for one day work I received half the number of work points compared to an adult—and only during the days of school breaks, when I could work. As a result, our family never had enough food. Only on Chinese New Year did my mom make a special meal of dumplings; and on my birthday she would boil two eggs, one for me and one for my sister. Such birthday treats were only for our grandmother and us kids: my parents never treated themselves.

As the head of the village Party branch said, if they really deducted all our food points, our whole year’s work would be turned to nothing and our lives would be at risk. My mom became very angry and scared, but she could not talk back because if she said something that made him angry, they might arrest my mom or take her to the struggle session. Then there would be no one to take care of us.

With my father gone, however, the Cultural Revolution committee people had nothing to do. So they ransacked our house, and took away all books my father had collected. Luckily we had already burned all the Japanese books, otherwise they would have used them as further evidence that my father was a Japanese spy.

Every day we lived in fear. And while we were hoping that my father would be coming home soon, we were also afraid that if he did come back he would be tortured or killed by the village’s Cultural Revolution leaders.

On the Way to Beijing

The train finally came in at 8 pm. My father got on the train and was finally able to rest a bit. On the train, many soldiers were walking back and forth to screen people, and travelers kept silent and looking straight ahead. Everyone was at risk and in fear of becoming the next target of the revolution. The Central People’s Radio was nonstop broadcasting the Central Committee’s editorial program “Carry Out to the End the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution.”

Again, my father kept thinking and wondering: “What exactly is this Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution? What is it for?”

At that time, my father still believed that the Party did things for a good reason, and to benefit the nation and the people. He also truly wanted to figure out the true meaning of the Cultural Revolution so he could find a way to follow it. While most people blindly followed the Party’s directives, my father, being an intellectual, wanted to figure things out. While he felt that something was wrong at lower level of the government, he thought the top level of the CCP had to be right. Even during the struggle sessions, he still thought there was some big misunderstanding on the part of the lower level Cultural Revolution committee people. In addition he thought that he, himself, had also not studied and comprehended thoroughly enough the meaning and intention for the CCP’s launching of the movement.

It was a very long trip from China’s north to the center of the county, taking full two days on the train at that time. My father bought a copy of the newly established People’s Daily, the main regime-controlled newspaper to this day, and kept reading it. Sometime the train’s conductor came to check people’s ticket, and the soldiers with their red armbands also kept passing through, checking people.

There were many stops—hundreds of them—in major cities and small towns. As many travelers got off, and new ones constantly got on, my father stayed in his seat all the times, obviously causing attention. Three soldiers with serious expressions asked him where he came from and where he was going.

My father answered calmly that he was from Changchun, going to Beijing. They wanted to know his purpose for going to Beijing, and whether he had a government introduction letter. My father did not answer right away as he did not have such a letter, so the soldiers repeated their question, this time more forcefully.

Finally, my father answered, “I was a well achieved official in the national education institution and hold many award certificates issued by the Central Committee of the State Council. I am going to visit the Central Committee in Beijing to make sure all these certificates are still valid, so I won’t be affected during the Cultural Revolution.”

While saying this, he reached into his coat pocket to take out his award certificates which my mom had carefully sewn into his coat’s internal pocket incase he needed them to prove his identity. It took my father quite a while to get them out the pocket because my mom’s stitches were really solid. The soldiers got a bit impatient, and my father a bit nervous as he struggled to rip the threads to get to the booklets.

The soldiers took my father’s certificate booklets away to show them to their supervisor. After a while they brought them back, saying nothing, and let him continue his journey.

Appeal at the Central Committee

My father finally arrived in Beijing. He looked like a countryman with long hair and beard because he had not had a chance to cut his hair or shave for many days. He thought it wouldn’t be a good idea to appeal at the State Central Committee like this. So he got a haircut and shave, and got ready to visit Zhongnanhai (the communist Party headquarters, and seat of the State Council.

At that time—different from today—people were still allowed to appeal there, and there was a long line of people waiting for their turn. After many hours of waiting, my father presented his case. He took out his award certificates and asked if they were still valid and proved that he was a good person in the past.

The official told him that they were still good, but that my father should have “a broad heart and accept the soul revolution.”

Mystified by this comment, my father asked, “Our local Cultural Revolution committee refuses to accept my certificates and has declared me a counterrevolutionary. What should I do? Why would the Cultural Revolution target people like me, and what is the purpose of Cultural Revolution?”

The official answered, “Well, the Cultural Revolution is a movement that touches everyone’s soul. All the old culture in people’s mind will be washed clear. It is why it is called the Great Cultural Revolution, meaning that the proletariat destroys the ‘Old Fours’—all the old customs, old culture, old habits and old ideas—and replaces them with the proletariat’s revolutionary spirit and the Great Mao Zedong Thought.

“Regarding your case, your award certificates are still valid as proving you were a good person for the nation, but your thoughts still need to receive the Cultural Revolution’s cleansing. Again, this is a great movement, and everyone’s soul will be touched.”

My father asked, “If the Cultural Revolution is to touch everyone’s soul, why is there physical torture involved? Are the local people doing wrong or is there a misunderstanding?”

The official said, “Chairman Mao has said: ‘During the Cultural Revolution we should use the pen and mouth, but not force.’ Torture is not allowed, although it has happened in some provinces.”

My father thanked the official and left Zhongnanhai. He felt somewhat clearer in his mind, at least his certificates were still valid, and he now knew that torture was not allowed, but there was still confusion in his mind: Why did all the old culture, customs, habits and ideas have to be destroyed, why were they all no good?”

The ‘Four Olds’ referred to the Old Ideas, Old Customs, Old Culture, and Old Habits, including the teachings of Confucianism, Buddhism and Taoism. Why did all these ‘Olds’ have to be destroyed? Did it mean the CCP wanted to do away with all the moral teaching and spirituality? It seemed to be the case; weren’t many temples, churches, works of art, architecture and books already smashed and burnt? Weren’t many spiritual leaders, religion people, educated people and intellectuals already killed? It seemed they really truly did mean to destroy all these traditional things and also the people upholding the ‘Four Olds’. It meant the nation would suddenly lose its cultural roots. My father felt a shiver of fear, as he thought what would happen next, and what the future would bring to the country, the people, and himself.

With the little money he had left, my father bought a train ticket and a little bread and set off on his journey home. On the train he still kept pondering the contradiction of the official’s answer. On one hand, the government said physical abuse and torture were not allowed, because this was just a soul-touching revolution, but on the other hand, they actively encouraged people to completely destroy all traditional culture, the education system, temples, books and as well as believers and good people. Because he was an honest person and raised in a traditional way, my father was confused by the fact that the words and deeds of the government did not match. He also thought about how he should deal with the village Cultural Revolution committee when he came home.

Part III

One week after my father left home to escape being beaten to death by the village Cultural Revolution committee, the people from the committee still came to terrorize us every day. We became more and more scared, and my grandmother became sick and stayed in bed.

I was now the only man at home, an 11-year-old boy, and I felt a great responsibility. I told myself that I had to be strong, and kept encouraging my mom and grandmother not to worry, father would soon come back home with good news. As our house was very cold, I went to the mountains to get firewood with a simple snow sled I had built. At least we could keep warm. We didn’t have much to eat; potatoes were our main food. At night we’d sit near the mud-brick fireplace and sometimes my grandmother would roast a few potatoes while I studied the homework my father had given me. The smell and taste of the potatoes was such a treat.

One day, as usual after dinner, my mom opened the door to check on the dog and make sure he had enough food. But Won wasn’t there. I realized that I had not seen Won the whole afternoon.
 
While we were looking around for the dog, we suddenly saw my father coming home with Won by his side. Somehow the dog sensed that my father was on his way back home, so he had run all the way to the train station to meet him. My father was touched to tears. He looked thinner, but calm and confident.

My mother however was very anxious, and she quickly pulled my father to the storage room, asking him to be quiet and hide because the militiaman would be here any time. I followed my parents into the storage room and my father told us not to worry anymore, he had been to Beijing and talked to an official at the Central Committee of the State Council. “My award certificates are still valid and prove that I am not guilty of any crimes. Besides, this Cultural Revolution is just a soul-revolution movement; force and torture are not allowed. They cannot do anything to me.”

Suddenly we heard our dog barking, and knew the militiaman had come and was already outside our house. My father opened the door of the storage room while my mom started shaking uncontrollably. My father said calmly, “Don’t worry, I will talk to him. I am ready to talk to them.”

My father went to the door and let the militiaman in. The man looked startled at first, and then happily greeted my father, “How have you been? Has your aunt recovered? We missed you so much, and I came to your home everyday to look for you. Are you ready to follow me to the meeting tonight?”

My father looked at him kindness and confidence and said, “I did not visit my aunt. I went to Beijing and met an official at the Central Committee of the State Council at Zhongnanhai to discuss my case. I was told that I am an honorary person of the nation and not guilty of any crimes. I will share more with everyone. Please go with me to the meeting.”
 
The militiaman was silent for a moment. Then he said, “You have so much courage, you even went to the top level of the government. I am proud of you. Aren’t you afraid the committee may now brand you a ‘present-day’ counterrevolutionary in addition to ‘historic’ one?”  
The Village Meeting

My father went to the village criticizing meeting with high spirits. After the villagers heard that my father went to Beijing and came back, most all of them came to the meeting that night. All the leaders of the Cultural Revolution committee also attended, including my uncle who was very anxious. My mom and I also went. We didn’t know what to expect, but I was hopeful and proud because of my father’s courage.  

At the meeting my father gave a speech: “Dear fellow villagers, greetings! I have missed you all during these 10 days while I was on a long trip to Beijing. I met an official at the Central Committee of the State Council in Zhongnanhai. I felt my appeal would be meaningful not only for myself, but also for all of you. I wanted to find the truth and tell everyone. I inquired about my case and also about this Great Cultural Revolution movement. I now have a much clearer understanding of everything. You can continue to criticize me as before, but please give me the opportunity to share what I found out.”

People seemed moved by my father’s courage, and surprised by his appealing in Beijing. It seemed the leaders too were interested in listening and all remained silent.

My father continued: “I was told that the certificates the government issued to me previously are still valid and demonstrate that I am a well-achieved person and have benefited the nation.

“I was also told that this Great Cultural Revolution is just for touching everyone’s soul to improve ourselves as individuals. You may criticize me if I am wrong, but I am a person of value who has contributed to the nation, and not an enemy. Chairman Mao himself said the Cultural Revolution is not meant to torture or abuse people. From now on you can criticize me if you have evidence, but not slander me. And you also cannot physically and psychologically abuse me and my family. Anyone doing so, he will be held accountable in the future.”
 
A few of people were looking at each other while my father continued: “Dear fellow villagers, during the past five years since I and my family have come to this village, we have been good neighbors. Do you really think I am a bad person or your enemy? Do you remember, when your children were sick in the middle of the night, I went with you to see the doctor, and on the long mountain road, we took turns carrying your child on our backs?

“Do you still remember, most of you have come to my house to ask me to write and read letters for you because you cannot read?

“Do you remember when you had problems in your marriage, you came to me for advice and I helped you save your marriage?

“Do you remember that I started a project to bring electricity to our village, and we hoped to have electric lights by New Year’s Eve this year? Unfortunately it seems this is now impossible because I have been treated as your enemy and all of you also stopped the project. I believe none of us really want this to happen.

“And do you remember every year before New Year, you all used to come to my house and ask me and my son to write ‘duilian’ poems for you so your family would have good luck during the next year. This year, we have not started yet, and I’m not sure we still have time.”

People lowered their heads and started murmuring, “It’s true.” Some of them looked sad and regretful.
 
Then the head of Cultural Revolution committee stood up and said in a loud voice, “Quiet, everyone! We need to be careful! This is how our class enemy uses sugarcoated bullets to lull our class struggle vigilance!”
 
Everyone’s eyes turned to him. My father also looked at him, and then continued his speaking while looking at the head leader.

“Someone with political ambition and selfishness wants to achieve his political goal and takes advantage of a political movement to slander innocent people. Such a person has lost his conscience and heart. By causing innocent people suffering he satisfies his own interests. How ugly is such a person's soul!

“Remember, I am giving a friendly warning to such a one here: Good is rewarded with good, and evil receives retribution, this is a heavenly law that delivers justice for everyone. If you are such a person, you should feel conscience-stricken, and then stop doing bad things right now. Otherwise it will be too late for you.”
 
My father’s words hit the head leader like a bomb. His face became contorted from anger and humiliation. People all turned their attention to him. They all knew that he was the instigator of the accusations against my father. There were in fact no “class enemies” in the village, but he needed one to advance his political career.

My father had made his points, and the people were moved. In a moment of silence, another leader said, “We better end our meeting here and will reopen after our committee has had a discussion.”

After the meeting people seemed a little friendlier to us, and a few showed guarded support with a nod or a smile.  

Labor Camp

Once someone was branded a “counterrevolutionary,” it was not easy for that label to be removed. After my father's appeal in Beijing, and his fearless and rational speech at the meeting, the Cultural Revolution committee of the village no longer organized such criticizing meetings. Because they knew that without strong factual evidence, it was no longer easy for them to arrange speakers to continue slandering my father. In fact, up to that point most of the speakers at the meetings had been hired by the Cultural Revolution committee. Each criticizing speech was rewarded 10 work points, corresponding to one day work on the village farmlands. If someone did not comply, 10 work points would be deducted from his account.

Instead, the Cultural Revolution committee of the village decided to put my father in a labor camp, also called a labor-reeducation-camp. At that time, labor camps could be set up anywhere by the Cultural Revolution committees at any level. The village was the lowest level in the country, but the Cultural Revolution leading committee of the village also had such authority. A labor camp could simply be established in any storage facility, a school's empty classroom, or the like. There was not any legal paper work or judicial process involved. All it took was for a CCP leader, Red Guard or militiaman to verbally tell you to go to the labor camp, and you would lose your freedom.
 
During the long winter break the village elementary school had many empty classrooms. One of the classrooms became the village's labor camp. They took my father there and locked him inside the classroom. The room was barely heated and very cold. No food was provided. My mom and I had to deliverer food to my father every day by walking about two miles through the snow. There was a watchman in the room next door.

My father had to clear the snow on campus, clean toilets, and tidy up classrooms and so on. When there was no work, he had to write so-called self-criticism papers, admitting to mistakes, crimes and incorrect thoughts toward the Communist Party. Based on his writing, the Cultural Revolution committee then made up stories and accusations about him and asked him to accept them. If he refused, he had to write another self-criticism paper. This was repeated over and over, and caused extreme psychological stress.
 
Several weeks went by. Every day, my mom and I made the four-mile round-trip to take food to my father. We were not allowed to see my father but had to leave the food with the watchman. Often the snow storm was very strong, piercing through our cotton-padded jackets. My mom was emotionally and physically exhausted. She looked emaciated and cried a lot.

I thought of things to comfort her and cheer her up on our long trek to the school “labor camp.” New Year, the most important holiday in China, was not far off.
 
“Mom,” I said, “you know this year we may not have dad back home to celebrate New Year. Our 'duilian' poems have not been written yet. But dad composed the first line already, and he wants me to write the second line and the headline as homework. I have already done it. Do you want to hear it?”
 
My mom's face lit up a little. “Yes. Of course,” she said.
 
I said, “Dad's first line goes like this: The Weather is Cold, the Earth is Frozen, and People are Cold-Hearted (天寒地凍人心冷).
 
“My second line is: My Spirit is High, my Mind is Pure, and my Heart is Sincerely Kind (志高念純心善誠).
 
“The headline is like this: Evil Cannot Prevail Over Goodness (邪不勝正).”
 
I looked at my mother and was so happy to finally see her beautiful sweet smile again. “You should tell your father, it will make him very pleased,” she said.  
 
We arrived at the labor camp, and as usual we went to leave the food with the watchman, but he was not in his room. To our surprise, we found my father's door unlocked. We cautiously opened the door, and saw my father beckoning us to come in. “Come in, don't worry, the watchman purposely went away so we could see each other,” he said.

We walked into the room, and my mom was still nervous, asking, “What happened? Where did the watchman go? Are you all right?”

My father opened the lunch box and started eating while continuing to explain that he and the watchman had become friends. Since there was very little work, most of the time my father was confined to the room and required to write self-criticism essays. Under such isolated conditions, with no human contact, no news, no hope, my father felt he was becoming mentally ill. He knew if it continues like that, he would die. He didn't want to die this way.

He started to pen poems he had memorized, and sang songs he remembered. He felt that it gave him energy and relieved his depression. He kept doing this every day and sometimes during the night. The watchman often listened to my father's singing and reciting poetry, and they started talking and gradually became friends. The watchman was actually an elementary school teacher and the Cultural Revolution committee also had some issues with him. They tried to also label him a counterrevolutionary, but there was not that much benefit to them, so they gave up. But they did not want to release him altogether because they wanted to use him as free labor. So they came up with the idea to use him as watchman to monitor my father.
 
As the watchman got to know my father more, he was moved by my father's courage. He loved the story of my father appealing to the Beijing government. Although he didn't dare to release him, he felt he could at least allow my father to meet with us when we delivered food. He also trusted that my father would not escape and get him in trouble.

The village Cultural Revolution committee kept my father locked up at the school labor camp until the beginning of spring break. They released him but didn't remove the counterrevolutionary label. My father's official status was now “Outside Labor Camp Reform-Through-Labor.” It meant that they allowed him to go back home, but he had to work in the village under their monitoring and control. And once-in-awhile he still had to write “thought reports.” The reports had to reflect how he had “benefited” from reeducation and improved thoughts. If something in the reports didn't satisfy them, they could arrest him and put him back into a labor camp again.

My father was also required to continue wearing his name card with the title “counterrevolutionary” on his upper left jacket pocket, at all times. He had to work on the commune's farmland, but without an income or work points. We were only given a minimal amount of food, barely enough to survive.

Stockholm Syndrome

The terror of the Cultural Revolution finally ended after Mao's death in 1976 under then Party leader Deng Xiaopeng. The entire country was in a state of economic paralysis. To develop the economy, intellectuals became useful persons again, and some people who had been persecuted were rehabilitated, including my father. His counterrevolutionary label was removed, and in 1983 he was invited by his university to teach again. By then he had spent 20 years in the countryside as a farmer and slave-laborer. My grandmother died in the village in December 1982 just before our family moved back to the city.      
 
Quite paradoxically, although my parents had been so viciously persecuted by the CCP for so long, they still praised the Party for ending the Cultural Revolution.

The Communist Party has a pattern of starting a persecution, and after it ends it, the CCP has a way to make people appreciate the Party instead of criticizing it. The government will tell people to be proud of the Party because even though the Party made a mistake, it also corrected the mistake. They call themselves the great, honorable and correct Party. And the people, the victims of persecution, are then grateful to the Party for ending the persecution. This psychological illness is called Stockholm syndrome, where the victim sides with and defends his captors. After having been traumatized in so many political movements, most Chinese people stay in this Stockholm syndrome all the time.

Falun Gong

When my parents returned to the city, they thought they were finally free and had a better life. My father worked another 10 years teaching. They were getting old and plagued by many illnesses. In 1995 they heard about the health benefits of practicing Falun Gong.

Falun Gong, also known as Falun Dafa, is a traditional Chinese spiritual discipline that consists of the practice of five meditative exercises and the study of moral teachings based on the principles of truthfulness, compassion, and forbearance. They took up the practice and their health did indeed improve a lot.

But soon Jiang Zemin, then leader of the Party, initiated the persecution of Falun in July 1999. My parents’ practice group at the university was dismissed and their Falun Gong books and tapes were burned. Some of the fellow practitioners from their group were killed in the persecution, and telephones were monitored. None of their friends or coworkers dared to talk to them, because Falun Gong had become a “sensitive issue.”

To my parents it felt as if the Cultural Revolution had returned and was merely targeting a different group in society. But my parents were in that group again.   They lowered their voices when talking, just as they had during the Cultural Revolution. They stopped practicing Falun Gong in public, which caused some of their health issues to return.

With the persecution of Falun Gong, my parents finally, fully understood the evil nature of the CCP. They realized that it will not stop destroying people even if they live by the principles of truthfulness, compassion, and forbearance.

Seeking Closure

In 2008, forty years after the Cultural Revolution persecution of our family had begun, my father, aged 84, returned with my mother to the village for a visit. The village had not changed much. Our house was still there, looking even older. But when they looked for familiar faces, they found only a few. They were told that all the people who had participated in persecuting our family were long dead. Especially the leaders of the Cultural Revolution committee who had been in their 20s and 30s, all died at a young age, many of them of cancer, others were killed in car accidents, or at the hands of their own relatives during fights. My father was sad for them because he felt that they were also victims of the Cultural Revolution, having been brainwashed and deceived.

In recent decades, with the economic boom, people have had the illusion that the CCP has or would change. The changes are only on the surface; nothing has changed fundamentally. The CCP's true nature showed itself in the 1989 student massacre, the treatment of minorities, and in the 11-year persecution of Falun Gong. The pattern of violence perpetrated upon the Chinese people has gone on during the entire 60 plus years of communist rule.

The economic boom has been achieved through exploitation of the people, forced labor, and destruction of the environment. More than one billion Chinese are living in abject poverty, and no person has the right of free speech or free thought. Brainwashing, torture, and forced labor are still widely “administered” by the state.

My parents, like many Chinese people their age, have suffered through four major political movements and persecutions that are all based on so-called class struggle. All these movements have the same purpose: to create an environment that brings fear and confusion to the general public so that the CCP can easily control the country, select bad people to strengthen their power, and suppress political opponents.

Communism has already been purged from nearly every country where it once terrorized people. A movement to renounce the CCP, calling ‘tuidang’, is a silent revolution that has already freed the minds of over 80 million Chinese during the last six years. I have renounced the Chinese Communist Party. When many more of my countrymen do this in the not-too-distant future, I am confident that China will be free.

(Source: The Epochtimes)