The long-haired girls go to Little Miao and she turns them into short-haired girls, one by one, hacking with the scissors, steely-eyed, as though hair itself is the enemy. The ‘revolutionary haircuts’ are awful, but who dares complain? Little Miao holds up every severed pigtail and we cheer as though they are enemy scalps. When it is my turn, Little Miao is vicious with me.
‘Times have changed, Daughter of a Rightist!’ she shouts, cutting away. ‘From now on, haircuts must be short, practical and revolutionary!’ When her scissors have done their worst, she shoves me off the teaching platform. ‘Not so pretty now, eh? Go weep some capitalist tears over your lovely bourgeois locks!’ she calls after me.
But Little Miao is wrong. I couldn’t care less about my hair. The only person who cares is you. As I go back to my desk, I catch you staring at my short and stubbly head with sad, sentimental eyes.
I want to laugh in your face. My hair is the least of my problems right now.
In July, Teacher Zhao shuffles back into class to go on trial for her counter-revolutionary crimes and we see she has lost weight and now has more salt than pepper in her hair. As Teacher Zhao stands before us in her thick spectacles and chalk-dusty Mao jacket, patched and patched again, I remember her passionate teachings about Communism and can’t shake the conviction that Teacher Zhao is a loyal Maoist from my mind.
‘Comrades!’ Long March yells. ‘Teacher Zhao is a traitor to the People’s Republic, and opposed to the correct policy of our Great Leader Chairman Mao! This meeting, on 16 July 1966, is to denounce Teacher Zhao and her anti-Party teachings. But before we start, let’s give Teacher Zhao a chance to confess her crimes.’
Confronted by the fury of her former students, Teacher Zhao is shaking. But she speaks with her chin up, righteous and strong. ‘Comrades,’ she begins, ‘I am the daughter of poor peasants. My family background is revolutionary. My father fought the Japanese devils in the Eighth Route Army. My brother fought the American running dogs in the Korean War. I live a humble spinster’s life, devoted to the teaching and practice of Communism. I am not opposed to the Party, and I have never committed any crime. Therefore I have nothing to confess. Long live Chairman Mao!’
‘Class Enemy Zhao!’ Long March shouts. ‘You are in contempt of the People’s Court! You must assume the correct attitude of repentance and confess!’
‘Down with Teacher Zhao!’ Red Star chants. ‘No leniency to those who won’t confess!’
The rest of the class chants with Red Star, banging on desk lids and scaring Teacher Zhao out of her wits. When the chanting stops, Long March reads Teacher Zhao her crimes — the findings of the Cultural Revolution Committee’s investigation into her teaching and conduct: ‘1. Teacher Zhao is a loyal running dog of the Nationalists. 2. Teacher Zhao is a Nationalist spy. 3. Teacher Zhao is part of the plot to overthrow the Communist Party by taking over the military.’
Teacher Zhao stares at Long March, stunned. Long March then tells Teacher Zhao of the evidence we have. One day last October Teacher Zhao had chalked ‘Use Maoist Thought to Criticize Maoist Thought’ on the blackboard instead of ‘Use Maoist Thought to Criticize Bourgeois Thought’. Teacher Zhao had laughed and corrected her mistake. But it was too late. A slip of the chalk had shown us evidence of her secret anti-Party agenda.
‘Well, Class Enemy Zhao?’ Long March spits fiercely. ‘Did you or did you not write “Use Maoist Thought to Criticize Maoist Thought” on the blackboard last October? Think carefully before you answer. There are twenty-eight witnesses here in this room who will testify that you did.’
For the next three hours Teacher Zhao defends herself against the charges. Though she looks scared stiff when the class breaks into chanting ‘Down with Teacher Zhao!’ she still won’t confess. Eventually, Long March screams, ‘I am sick of this rightist whore!’ and slaps Teacher Zhao so hard she knocks her glasses off and sends them shattering to the floor. The class descends into silence. For a student to hit a teacher is an unthinkable thing. But Teacher Zhao hangs her head and does not reprimand Long March.
‘I am sick of Teacher Zhao’s lies,’ Long March spits. ‘As the Great Helmsman said, “To stain our hands with our enemies’ blood is an honour!” Comrades! The Anti-black Gang Capitalist rally has begun outside. Let’s take her out!’
The Ox Freaks and Snake Monsters are paraded around the running track behind the school. Tall dunce hats are placed on their heads and placards hung around their necks: Down with Headteacher Yang! Down with Black Gangster Zhao! The teachers are handed pots and pans, which they are forced to bang in percussion as they straggle around the field.
A third-year girl called Shaoli shrieks the headteacher’s crimes through a loudspeaker: ‘Headteacher Yang Attempted to Overthrow the Communist Government and Take Over the Military! Headteacher Yang Attempted to Assassinate Chairman Mao!’
Headteacher Yang is stony-faced and unrepentant. Shaoli calls over Teacher Wu and tells him to slap the headteacher. When he refuses, a second-year girl beats him with a broom. They call over Teacher Zhao and, scared of being beaten too, she slaps Headteacher Yang to loud cheers. ‘Harder! Harder!’ shout their former pupils. Shaoli orders Headteacher Yang and Teacher Zhao to knock heads, and they headbutt each other like rams. ‘Harder!’ Shaoli shouts through the loudspeaker, like a ringmaster in a circus of humiliation and cruelty.
Keen to lead the Anti-black Gang Capitalist rally, you take the loudspeaker from Shaoli, punch your fist in the air and shout, ‘The iron fist of the proletariat will crush the enemies of Chairman Mao! Heads will roll! Blood will flow! But we will never let go of Mao Zedong Thought! Long Live the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution!’
And hundreds of girls punch their fists up to the sky and shout, ‘Long Live the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution!’
You hurl your clenched fist up again: ‘Long Live the Anti-capitalist School for Revolutionary Girls!’
And I have no choice but to flail my fist to the heavens and shout with everyone else: ‘Long Live the Anti-capitalist School for Revolutionary Girls!’
That night I can’t sleep. I close my eyes and see Teacher Wu bleeding from his head as the second-year girl beats him with a broom. I see Teacher Lin on her hands and knees, her tongue lapping at Resist America’s boot leather. I see Teacher Zhao being slapped hard in the face by Long March, and her glasses shattering on the classroom floor.
I slip out of bed at daybreak and go to the Zhang residence in Ironmongers Lane. Though it’s not yet six o’clock, you are up and seated on the bench in the yard. Comrade Zhang Liya, leader of the newly established Red Guard of the Anticapitalist School for Revolutionary Girls, looking ready to fight the class enemies with your PLA uniform, red-star beret and militant gaze. Then you see me and break into a wide smile. We haven’t spoken in weeks. Not since the Cultural Revolution began.
‘Yi Moon,’ you smile. ‘How are you?’
I smile back thinly and say, ‘I am well, thank you. I have become very practised at writing Thought Reports and using the scalpel of Mao Zedong Thought to excise the malignant tumours of rightist thought from my mind. I can write Thought Reports in my sleep.’