God Is Red - Liao Yiwu [13]
Soon, the Communist troops moved into the city. People waved red flags and beat drums and gongs to welcome the soldiers. The whole country turned “red.” The mountains and the Erhai Lake turned “red.” Even the church was decorated with red flags and Chairman Mao’s portraits. Foreign missionaries were segregated in a row of small rooms with curtains drawn. The soldiers guarded their doors, and nobody was allowed to get close to them.
Liao: What year was that?
Zhang: It was in 1952. By February that year, all the foreigners had gone.
Liao: Did you hold a last Mass or something to see them off?
Zhang: No. The chapel was sealed and no one was allowed to enter. After the foreigners left, everyone at the church had to go through a political review process. Both laity and clergy were scared and quit in droves. They answered the government’s call and went home to farm. Some openly renounced the church. They said, “I will listen to the words of Chairman Mao and cut off all my ties with the Catholic Church which enslaves people.” The government targeted church assets all over China. Foreign bishops were forced to hand everything over to the new government, to sign documents prepared in advance. They said church property had been obtained through the exploitation of the masses. Just like that, all the assets were seized.
I can never forget 1952, the year when the church was left empty. It used to be so glorious. Overnight, everything was gone. Rats took over the place. We used to have four hundred people working at the church. Only three were left—me, my aunt, and Bishop Liu Hanchen. We were ordered out. Bishop Liu argued and refused to leave. “The church is our home and we don’t have anywhere to go.”
Initially, they allowed us to stay. At the end of the year members of the local militia came with guns and took us to a village at the foot of Cangshan Mountain. Local officials held a public meeting, announcing that we would be put under the supervision of villagers there. They ordered us to engage in physical labor and reform our thinking. They built an elementary school and a high school on the land they had taken from the church and converted the monastery into housing for government officials.
Liao: So, you became a farmer.
Zhang: A low-class citizen trampled on by the masses.
Liao: For how many years?
Zhang: From 1952 to 1983. That’s thirty-one years, isn’t it?
Liao: How did you manage to survive?
Zhang: We grew our own crops and vegetables to support ourselves. When we left the church, we weren’t allowed to bring anything with us. We walked all the way to the village, and before we even had a drink of water, the local leaders dragged us to a public denunciation meeting. They paraded us around in the village, along with some Buddhist monks and nuns, Taoist priests, and several leaders of the local Protestant churches. We were ordered to stand in three rows in front of a stage. We faced hundreds of villagers with raised fists shouting revolutionary slogans. Some spat at us. Such hatred. As the leader worked up the crowd, a peasant activist came up and slapped Bishop Liu on the face. My aunt stepped forward. “How dare you slap him.” The activist used to be a poor farmer, and when the Communists confiscated the property of landowners, he was one of the beneficiaries. He pointed at my aunt and yelled back, “You are a counterrevolutionary and we have defeated you. You are the lackey of the imperialists who exploited us.” My aunt said, “We are not. We came from poor families and we’ve never exploited anybody.” The activist shouted again, “You are still stubborn and won’t admit your defeat. You need to be punished.” Fists were raised and the crowd began chanting, “Down with the counterrevolutionary nun!” My aunt wouldn’t back down. She said to her abuser, “Slap me if you want. If you slap me on the left side of my face, I will give you the right side too.”
Liao: Turning the other cheek . . .
Zhang: Those guys had no idea what my aunt meant. We had to endure