Mao: The Unknown Story полностью

The fake spy-hunting created the excuse for torture. Sleep deprivation was the standard technique, sometimes lasting as long as two weeks on end. There were also old-fashioned tortures like whipping, hanging by the wrists, and wrenching people’s knees to breaking point (the “tiger-bench”); as well as psychological torment — from the threat of having poisonous snakes put in one’s cave to mock execution. At night, amid the quiet of the hills, from inside the rows of caves screams of lacerating pain traveled far and wide, within earshot of most who lived in Yenan.

Mao personally gave instructions about torture (which the regime euphemistically called bi-gong-xin, meaning use “force” to produce a “confession,” which then provides “reliable evidence”): “it is not good to correct it too early or too late,” he decreed on 15 August 1943. “Too early … the campaign cannot unfold properly; and too late … the damage [to torture victims] will be too profound. So the principle should be to watch meticulously and correct at the appropriate time.” Mao wanted his victims to be in good enough shape to serve his purposes.

For month after month, life in Yenan centered on interrogations — and terrifying mass rallies, at which some young volunteers were forced to confess to being spies and to name others in front of large crowds who had been whipped into a frenzy. People who were named were then hoisted onto the platform and pressed to admit their guilt. Those who stuck to their innocence were trussed up on the spot and dragged away to prison, and some to mock execution, amidst hysterical slogan-screaming. The fear generated by these rallies was unbearable. A close colleague of Mao’s remarked at the time that the rallies were “an extremely grave war on nerves. To some people, they are more devastating than any kind of torture.”

Outside the interrogations and rallies, people were pounded flat at indoctrination meetings. All forms of relaxation, like singing and dancing, were stopped. The only moments alone afforded no peace either, consumed as they were in writing “thought examinations”—a practice hitherto known only in fascist Japan. “Get everybody to write their thought examination,” Mao ordered, “and write three times, five times, again and again … Tell everyone to spill out every single thing they have ever harboured that is not so good for the Party.” In addition, everybody was told to write down information passed unofficially by other people — termed “small broadcasts” by the regime. “You had to write down what X or Y had said,” one Yenan veteran told us, “as well as what you yourself had said which was supposed to be not so good. You had to dig into your memory endlessly and write endlessly. It was most loathsome.” The criteria for “not so good” were kept deliberately vague, so that out of fear, people would err on the side of including more.

Many tried to resist. But any sign of doing so was considered “proof” that the person resisting was a spy, on the specious grounds that: “If you are innocent, there should be nothing that cannot be reported to the Party.” The concept of privacy could not be evoked, because a Communist was required to reject the private. One man at the Administration College, which was the place where aversion was most outspoken, took a small but brave step to protest by quipping: “Do we have to write down our pillow talk with our wives at night?” which aroused chuckles all round. Naturally, the man and most others there were “found” to be spies. “Apart from one [sic] person, all teachers and administration staff are spies” in this college, Mao announced on 8 August 1943, and “many of the students are spies, too, probably more than half.” Under this kind of pressure, one man wrote down no fewer than 800 items of conversation in a frantic attempt to get off the hook.

Through forcing people to report “small broadcasts,” Mao succeeded to a very large extent in getting people to inform on each other. He thus broke trust between people, and scared them off exchanging views not just at the time in Yenan, but in the future too. By suppressing “small broadcasts,” he also plugged what was virtually the only unofficial source of information, in a context where he completely controlled all other channels. No outside press was available, and no one had access to a radio. Nor could letters be exchanged with the outside world, including one’s family: any communication from a Nationalist area was evidence of espionage. Information starvation gradually induced brain death — assisted vastly by the absence of any outlet for thinking, since one could not communicate with anyone, or put one’s thoughts on paper, even privately. During the campaign, people were put under pressure to hand in their diaries. In many a mind, there also lurked the fear of thinking, which appeared not only futile but also dangerous. Independent thinking withered away.