Red State

  • Matthew Niederhauser / Institute for TIME

    Pledge of allegiance Residents of Chongqing take patriotic oaths at the city's Geleshan Martyrs' Cemetery

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    Following central-government policy to concentrate on the rural sector, which risks being left behind as China's coast races toward the future, Bo has vowed to raise Chongqing farmers' incomes by 10,000 yuan ($1,540) within three years. At the city's exhibition center, I am guided through the "Red Culture Resources Exhibition," where one display shows a middle-aged farmer feeding chickens in an orange grove. But we are the only visitors, and the whole scene has been crudely Photoshopped, though my guide assures me it depicts authentic rural happiness. The program may have a hard time convincing those to whom it needs to appeal. I ask Wang Hong, a farmers' son who moved to the city because he couldn't make a living in agriculture, whether he expects his family farmland to reap the dividends promised by the authorities. "No way," he laughs. "I can't see that happening in my area."

    Indeed, Bo's red revival is facing something of a backlash. For some Chinese, the color red brings back the bad memories of the 1966-76 Cultural Revolution, when frenzied Red Guards rampaged nationwide. The resurgent glorification of Mao, who even staunch supporters have grudgingly labeled "70% right and 30% wrong," has alarmed others. As the red-culture campaign reached a crescendo this spring, economist Mao Yushi of Beijing think tank Unirule Institute of Economics wrote an online essay blaming Mao for overseeing the deaths of some 50 million Chinese. The Great Helmsman was "a backstage orchestrator who wrecked the country and brought ruin to the people," the academic wrote. Censors quickly purged his comments.

    In an increasingly sophisticated nation, crude propaganda won't cut it. In late June the Chongqing Daily ran the story of a cancer patient who survived chemotherapy thanks to a regimen of red songs. The Chinese Internet howled in derision. The urban elite would have snickered if they had been with me when I was taken by an official guide on a staged visit to Chongqing's Oriental Garden, a comfortable apartment complex not far from a Ferrari and Maserati dealership, and whose community center is adorned with portraits of Marx, Lenin and Mao. As we strolled in, residents crowded around computers open to Web pages on Chongqing's red-culture drive. An elderly man gave a lecture on the hardships endured by China's founding communists.

    The East Is Red
    It would be a mistake, however, to imagine that none of these sentiments are genuine. For many Chinese of an older generation, "red" signifies an era in which equality and unity prevailed — or at least those virtues were cherished. To them, red culture denotes the blood spilled by communist soldiers and the selflessness of an idealistic generation of laborers and farmers. Wistfulness for this altruistic, can-do spirit infuses even young Chinese — who also recognize that a red affiliation doesn't look bad on a résumé. In 2009 the CCP welcomed 3 million new members; nearly half were university students. "We have great material conditions now, and we don't need to die for our country like the Red Army soldiers did," says Wei Zheng, a 22-year-old university student and party member from Hunan, Mao's home province. "So for me, red spirit means that I have to study harder and work harder."

    Nor is there anything staged about the fervor of the 60 or so Chongqing residents, mostly middle-aged or older, who gather twice a week under a fig tree to belt out their favorite red songs. "The sun will never set on China," they warble before embarking on a rousing war march: "Enemies, wherever you are fighting from, we will find you and kill you."

    The open question facing China is whether this backward-looking mood, with its celebration of the CCP, will resonate among those who have grown up in the 30 years since China has turned its back on Marxist economic planning and embraced the market. "These red songs teach very important values," says Yang Mingying, 60, a former teacher. "We cannot let the new generations forget that their happy lives today resulted from the sacrifices of all those Red Army soldiers." It's a universal sentiment: the old want the young to remember. But will they?

    — with reporting by Chengcheng Jiang / Chongqing

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