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Authors: Emily Wu, Larry Engelmann
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forget what they’d seen. As I slipped toward the rear of the crowd, I could not hold back my tears. I shielded my eyes with my open hand. Suddenly, out of nowhere, someone grasped my shoulder. I looked up to see one of Papa’s students, a young man who had visited our apartment. Half a dozen others stood with him in a semicircle, watching me. They were all smiling.
“You can read this, can’t you?” asked the student holding me. He pointed to the nearest poster.
“No,” I responded timidly.
He pointed to the characters near the bottom of the poster and read them aloud: OUR GREAT LEADER CHAIRMAN MAO SAID THE U.S. IMPERIALISTS AND REACTIONARIES ARE PAPER TIGERS .
I stared at the poster and said nothing.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said, and the others chimed in. “We are your friends. Wu Ningkun is your enemy.”
The lead student spoke solicitously. “You love Chairman Mao. We love Chairman Mao. We are comrades. All of us.”
Another whispered into his ear, and he beamed and said, “Come with us. We’ll help you make a poster like this. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
I was too frightened to say no.
A student took my hand firmly in hers and led me through the crowd. Those escorting me chattered enthusiastically about the poster they planned to construct. One of them asked, “Are you a revolutionary or an anti-revolutionary?”
I knew the only correct answer to that question and responded meekly, “A revolutionary.”
Everyone laughed.
On the second floor of their dormitory stood a tall stack of old newspapers. Someone had lined up several large pots of black and red ink. The student leader said, “Yimao, little revolutionary, you are going to make a poster denouncing your father.”
“I don’t know how to do that,” I said, my voice quivering.
“We’ll show you,” he said.
The students unfolded newspaper pages and pasted them together into a single large sheet. One student dipped a brush in the black ink and handed it to me. “I’ll help you,” he said and grasped my wrist and guided the movement of my hand to make the large characters. As our locked hands made each stroke of a character, he pronounced it. Together we wrote, DOWN WITH THE COW DEMON , SNAKE SPIRIT , COUNTERREVOLUTIONARY , SMILING PAPER TIGER , ULTRA - RIGHTIST , U . S . SPY , WU NINGKUN ! LONG LIVE THE GREAT LEADER CHAIRMAN MAO !
At the bottom of the poster we signed my name, Wu Yimao.
The other students read it aloud approvingly.
Two students carefully picked up the poster, and we proceeded out onto campus. They put up my poster. A crowd quickly gathered to read it.
The students lost interest in me, and I pushed my way through the crowd and returned home, troubled by what had happened. I prayed that Papa and Mama would not see my poster and that no one would tell them about it. I hoped someone would soon paste another over it.
At dinner Yiding said he had seen the posters on campus, and he asked Papa what snake spirits and cow demons were. Papa explained, “They’re nothing. You shouldn’t worry about them.”
I sensed at that moment that my father had seen my poster. I wanted to confess everything, to tell him all I’d done and that I was sorry, and that they had made me do it. But I did not have the courage. I stared at the table and clenched my teeth.
14
Mass rallies were held every night. Students sang revolutionary songs and marched through campus pounding on drums and cymbals while chanting slogans. The incessant nocturnal cacophony kept us awake. The admiring and attentive students who once crowded Papa’s classes and called him “Mr. Chips” seemed transformed overnight into a crowing and hateful herd. The nearby thunder of their rallies sent chills of fear through me.
Before long, militant students became bolder and began seizing those they termed “class enemies,” dragging them to the university’s athletic grounds for public interrogation and punishment. They vowed to expose every enemy
“You can read this, can’t you?” asked the student holding me. He pointed to the nearest poster.
“No,” I responded timidly.
He pointed to the characters near the bottom of the poster and read them aloud: OUR GREAT LEADER CHAIRMAN MAO SAID THE U.S. IMPERIALISTS AND REACTIONARIES ARE PAPER TIGERS .
I stared at the poster and said nothing.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said, and the others chimed in. “We are your friends. Wu Ningkun is your enemy.”
The lead student spoke solicitously. “You love Chairman Mao. We love Chairman Mao. We are comrades. All of us.”
Another whispered into his ear, and he beamed and said, “Come with us. We’ll help you make a poster like this. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
I was too frightened to say no.
A student took my hand firmly in hers and led me through the crowd. Those escorting me chattered enthusiastically about the poster they planned to construct. One of them asked, “Are you a revolutionary or an anti-revolutionary?”
I knew the only correct answer to that question and responded meekly, “A revolutionary.”
Everyone laughed.
On the second floor of their dormitory stood a tall stack of old newspapers. Someone had lined up several large pots of black and red ink. The student leader said, “Yimao, little revolutionary, you are going to make a poster denouncing your father.”
“I don’t know how to do that,” I said, my voice quivering.
“We’ll show you,” he said.
The students unfolded newspaper pages and pasted them together into a single large sheet. One student dipped a brush in the black ink and handed it to me. “I’ll help you,” he said and grasped my wrist and guided the movement of my hand to make the large characters. As our locked hands made each stroke of a character, he pronounced it. Together we wrote, DOWN WITH THE COW DEMON , SNAKE SPIRIT , COUNTERREVOLUTIONARY , SMILING PAPER TIGER , ULTRA - RIGHTIST , U . S . SPY , WU NINGKUN ! LONG LIVE THE GREAT LEADER CHAIRMAN MAO !
At the bottom of the poster we signed my name, Wu Yimao.
The other students read it aloud approvingly.
Two students carefully picked up the poster, and we proceeded out onto campus. They put up my poster. A crowd quickly gathered to read it.
The students lost interest in me, and I pushed my way through the crowd and returned home, troubled by what had happened. I prayed that Papa and Mama would not see my poster and that no one would tell them about it. I hoped someone would soon paste another over it.
At dinner Yiding said he had seen the posters on campus, and he asked Papa what snake spirits and cow demons were. Papa explained, “They’re nothing. You shouldn’t worry about them.”
I sensed at that moment that my father had seen my poster. I wanted to confess everything, to tell him all I’d done and that I was sorry, and that they had made me do it. But I did not have the courage. I stared at the table and clenched my teeth.
14
Mass rallies were held every night. Students sang revolutionary songs and marched through campus pounding on drums and cymbals while chanting slogans. The incessant nocturnal cacophony kept us awake. The admiring and attentive students who once crowded Papa’s classes and called him “Mr. Chips” seemed transformed overnight into a crowing and hateful herd. The nearby thunder of their rallies sent chills of fear through me.
Before long, militant students became bolder and began seizing those they termed “class enemies,” dragging them to the university’s athletic grounds for public interrogation and punishment. They vowed to expose every enemy
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