Mao's Last Dancer - Li Cunxin [68]
I kept resisting my doubts all the way home on the plane back to China. I tried to tell myself that my strong communist faith was still unshakeable, but I knew I was lying to myself. I knew I had to believe what the Chinese government wanted me to believe, or at least to pretend to. All this made me even more afraid. I was never supposed to question my communist beliefs. I never, ever thought that I would. So I kept telling myself that I was happy to return to China, because that’s where my family, friends, and teachers were.
But still the doubts persisted. I had tasted freedom, and I couldn’t lie to myself about that.
NINETEEN
Good-bye, China
The first thing I did when I returned to the Beijing Dance Academy was to tell Teacher Xiao, Zhang Shu, the Bandit, and all my friends about my new discoveries in dance: the Gershwin pas de deux, the Martha Graham technique, the body conditioning classes. I couldn’t hide my excitement and enthusiasm. I had decided, however, that I wouldn’t say anything about how much I liked America. I especially wouldn’t mention the sense of freedom I had experienced. I knew it would give the authorities reason to deny me permission to return to America. As an old Chinese saying goes, “The wind will carry the words to other people’s ears.”
That freedom occupied my mind constantly. In China, Chairman Mao and his government’s absolute authority could never have been challenged. We didn’t have individual rights. We were told what to do, how long to work each day, how much we would be paid, where we would live, how many children we were allowed to have. I struggled with my communist beliefs: memories of America were so fresh. What if I were to have that same freedom? What could I do with my ballet then?
I talked myself into believing that if I had stayed in America any longer I would surely have seen so many bad things about capitalism that I wouldn’t have liked America at all. Even so, I was surprised that I was wavering after spending only six weeks there. How could eighteen years of communism be so easily influenced by six short weeks of capitalism? Without Chairman Mao I was lost. Would I still die for him? I wasn’t sure anymore.
I also started to question aspects of our ballet training in China. I couldn’t wait for the two months to pass so I could go back to America and continue my learning.
Zhang and I had to report to Director Song of our academy and to the Ministry of Culture, which required a written report from us about our American trip.
“Would you like to meet this evening to work on the report with me?” I asked Zhang.
“Why don’t you just write it yourself,” replied Zhang. “I trust you.”
I was happy that Zhang trusted me to complete this task but I found it very difficult to write bad things about America. I made up some bad things about “rotten capitalist influences.” First I described the daily routine at the Houston Ballet Academy and the new experiences in Ben’s ballet classes. I emphasized the goodwill Zhang and I had generated for China. Then I put a considerable amount of effort into describing the diseased aspects of America. I described the restaurant owner from Taiwan as one of our class enemies and a black neighborhood in Houston with its decaying houses. I expressed sorrow for the poor black people. I emphasized our superior communist system and Chairman Mao’s principles.
“This is great! Thank you, Cunxin!” Zhang said enthusiastically after he’d read the report.
But I felt angry that I’d had to do this at all.
When we handed in our report and returned the borrowed suitcases, ties, and suits to the ministry, Wang Zicheng’s deputy also asked us to relinquish any living allowance