1959.12中国之旅

shiyi18

Chinese Journey
A constant contributor to LE MONDE, ALFRED FABRELUCE is a French historian and man of letters who was in China thirty years ago and again this year. His observations filled four notebooks, from which these excerpts have been selected.

By Alfred Fabre-Luce
DECEMBER 1959 ISSUE
SHARE

BY ALFRED FABRE-LUCE

WESTERNERS once loved Peking not only for its beauty but also for the astonishing advantages they enjoyed there. In one quarter of the city they were rulers; at their feet they saw a nation of traders and artisans; and on their whims depended the coolies’ hope of life — if they all took a ricksha, the runner would die within a year from heart trouble; if they all went on foot, he would die within a week of hunger. I traveled in China thirty years ago, when it was in a state of anarchy, and I had a lordly status. I now told myself: “This time I’ll be cut down to my right size.” Not at all. The privileges accorded the tourist have, if anything, increased.


At railway stations, I automatically began to make my way to the platform by following other travelers. But the interpreter directed me toward a luxuriously furnished waiting room decorated with flowering plants. If I moved to pick up my suitcase, it was withdrawn from my grasp indignantly, as though I were about to lose face. In the sleeping-car compartment, designed for four persons, two berths were reserved for me, and in the restaurant car, an entire table, from which Chinese were strictly turned away. I would have liked to ask them to sit down but was not sure whether I had the right. (In addition, I suppose, segregation was a quarantine measure.)

Magazine Cover image
View This Story as a PDF
See this story as it appeared in the pages of The Atlantic magazine.

Open
I was not, as elsewhere in the Far East, a target for touts and beggars; I didn’t have to burrow every moment in wallet or pocket or keep an anxious eye on luggage. Everything fell into place around me as though by a miracle. In the train, I was not given my ticket but was entrusted by the interpreter to the guard. I was called at mealtime and conducted back to my compartment, surrounded with attention but deprived of all initiative, a silent traveler, both prince and prisoner.

I sometimes questioned the Communists with whom I was talking, but they never directly pressed me; I never found them lacking in courtesy. But why such a display of consideration? Would it really convert a bourgeois? That would be too naïve. Was it designed merely to show that the new China knows how to receive guests? Then I am happy to bear witness: the organization of tourism is perfect. Well, I have kept the rules. Now let us speak seriously.

Conversations, for the most part, are monopolized by Intourist. They ask you what you are interested in, whom you would like to meet. But your requests are not always granted. For days on end they repeat, “We are contacting. . . .” To me these mysterious words evoked a picture of endless telephoning, busy officials, the search of an ideal interlocutor. Nothing of the kind — the conversation never takes place. “Ask us anything you like! We are at your service!”

RECOMMENDED READING
Illustration of court cases piled up and a judge caught in the middle
The Cause of the Crime Wave Is Hiding in Plain Sight
ALEC MACGILLIS
Joe Biden in black-and-white
20 Reader Ideas for Who Could Replace Biden
CONOR FRIEDERSDORF

SPONSOR CONTENT
A Main Street of Small Businesses Created For You
FACEBOOK, INC.
Like conjurors able to produce rabbits from a hat, they are prepared to offer you a factory, a circus, a curiosity shop, a doctor, a workers’ club, and even a capitalist. I wanted to visit the rural communes; they agreed willingly. Most of the people I spoke with were young, lively, and intelligent, and our conversations were fairly free — more so in the South than in the North, and in the countryside rather than in the towns.

“How many Chinese are there? Four hundred million? Five hundred million? Give or take a hundred million, I really don’t know.”

This is what C. T. Wang, the Kuomintang Foreign Minister, said to me in 1930 as he looked at a map of China in his Nanking office. Twenty years later, Chou En-lai, Prime Minister of the People’s Republic, was equally uncertain. In 1950, he adopted as a working hypothesis the higher of Wang’s two figures. The census of June 30, 1953, was to show a population of more than 650 million. Was this surprise gratifying or disturbing? The sudden gift of a hundred million Chinese may explain the birth-control policy inaugurated the following year by the Government. It also explains Khrushchev’s appeal to Russian women to have at least three or four children, in which some have seen an anticipation of the need to defend Siberia.

Those who examine the figures closely will notice that they include eight million Formosans, twelve million Overseas Chinese, and eight million inhabitants of the desert regions all lumped together. Even according to the People’s Daily, a certain number of the inhabitants were recorded twice over. Many Chinese have only the haziest idea of their age (a child born on December 31 is said to be two years old on the following day, January 1). I have read a scholarly study from which I conclude that 10 to 20 per cent of this frightening figure may represent only imaginary Chinese.

The calculation of food resources is even more problematical. Last autumn, Mao Tse-tung boasted that the grain harvest had been doubled. Claims to a more modest increase would have been admitted by everybody — it was impossible for such immense efforts not to have results. But the claim to a doubled output causes raised eyebrows. What has become of this miraculous harvest? Traveling through China, I looked for signs of it but could find none. Bigger rations? On the contrary, supplies to the towns have fallen off, and I was able to ascertain in a rural commune that state deliveries had not been increased. Exports? They scarcely rose at all in 1958, and China’s recent failure to fulfill some trade undertakings suggests scarcities rather than plenty. Greater supplies of animal feeding stuffs? Unlikely. Stockpiling? I saw nothing of it. What struck me most of all was the lack of conviction on the part of officials whom I questioned. I still remember the look of anguish on the face of one of them when he asked me: “Are you satisfied with my explanations?” I tend to share the almost unanimous skepticism of foreign experts.

Magazine Cover image
Explore the December 1959 Issue
Check out more from this issue and find your next story to read.

View More
The amount of work done is tremendous and the increase in yield real, but for the time being the consumer does not benefit. In the West, production is destined in the end to satisfy the varied tastes of the population; in China, the population has to adapt itself to what is there. As bees feed their queen, the Chinese people are feeding an invisible goddess of production. She is flourishing, as the figures show, and the Party appears to be satisfied. But what does the ordinary workman think when he reads these victory bulletins in his paper and compares them with his own modest meals? I asked a workman what he hoped for in the immediate future. I formulated my question rather ambitiously. “Would you like, first of all, better housing, more leisure?” He answered, with a timid smile of very simple desire, “We would so much like ... a little more pork.”

CHINA,” say the Communists, “has made dazzling progress.” And the anti-Communists, entering into the game, add: “Yes, but only at the cost of putting all the Chinese into barracks.” Using figures which cannot be checked, the two schools continue unshaken in their debate. “Soon,” say the Communists, “a third of the arable area will be enough to feed the entire population. The rest will be forests, pasture, fallow land. The landscape will be changed by the hand of man to stop the wind and stabilize the rain.” And the antiCommunists reply: “The old people are interned, husbands separated from wives, mothers from children. Couples are allowed to meet at rare intervals for a few minutes, while other couples await their turn.”

I saw neither the miracle nor the torture in the two communes I visited. One was in Kwantung, the other, 1500 kilometers to the north, in Chekiang. In theory, the transition from cooperative to communal organization facilitates a “more rational use of labor” and the establishment in each production unit of “a happy balance between agriculture and industry.” In fact, the only change that had taken place in the life of the country people with whom I spoke was the introduction of communal kitchens, and even these did not have the all-embracing character attributed to them. The dining rooms were small and equipped with family tables. There was a choice of two menus, and these could be supplemented, on payment, in a canteen, and the people were free to prepare their meals at home on “rest days” or on days when they were receiving their families or their friends. In the crèches I saw fat children wrapped in flannel, smiling happily, and I saw them claimed by their families after five in the evening. And in the Houses of Happiness — now called more modestly Houses of Respect — only a few old people were without the comfort of their families.

A woman with a job cannot give all her time to her household and her children. Furthermore, she can save time by eating at her place of work. The Chinese are adapting themselves to these conditions, which are becoming a common practice in all countries.

These are some of my impressions of the communes I observed; I do not wish to generalize. Elsewhere the change may have been more radical. Remuneration of agricultural workers in China consists of a small wage payment supplemented by the free allocation of goods — food, clothes, social services. These allowances are called the “ ten guarantees.” In Kwantung I was told that this year wages had been increased and guarantees reduced. There are differences. Unevenly put into operation in the countryside and not yet applied in the towns, communization is at an experimental stage; it is too soon to pass any final judgment on it.

Nevertheless, the system is moving in an unmistakable direction. At Hangchow I examined the plan of the future town. One of the proposed buildings struck me by its size. I asked what it was intended to be. “It’s the dormitory.” That was the first time I heard the word that was soon to become very familiar. A dormitory is a dwelling place for workers separated from their families. The vast amount of construction work in progress in China requires the large-scale transfer of labor. I even heard — but that was in Hong Kong — of vast labor distribution centers, not unlike concentration camps. The work is of a temporary character — constructing dikes, barrages, kilns, storing the harvest. Town dwellers take part for a few weeks or months. It is, they say, a way of getting a change of air in a country where there are no holidays and of getting to know the life of rural workers, thus promoting the fusion of classes. The system is reminiscent of the labor service introduced by the fascists.


Where exactly is the boundary between volunteering and deportation, between the organization of labor and the destruction of the family? One would have to know a great deal about life in China to be able to draw it. The agricultural contribution made by the few intellectuals I met was, it seemed to me, symbolic rather than real. The requirements of production take precedence. The doctors in a hospital I visited in Shanghai sleep at home only once a week, on Saturday (“We have to keep an eye on all the patients”), and in comparison with others they are privileged. Here is the story of a Peking family: the husband’s qualifications made him more useful in Chungking, and he was sent there; his wife remained in Peking, but managed after a time to get a transfer to Chungking. All would have been well but for the fact that, just before her arrival, the administrative machine blindly dispatched the husband to a third city. The compensations? The dormitory is, as a rule, more comfortable than the individual’s home; the man deprived of his wife is consoled by a shower. Bourgeois degradation — socialist progress. No doubt there is an undercurrent of triumph in seeing the roots of reactionary attitudes torn up in this way. That, at least, is the feeling among the activists, against whom Mao, the man of the center, has often had to contend.

IMAGINE yourself dictator in Peking. You are in control of a country that is backward and without large natural resources but with a vast population. You play this trump card. You raise from the sweat of the people the capital which earlier generations failed to accumulate. You enhance their capacity to produce by stirring up enthusiasms, by mobilizing against two enemies: reaction and natural disasters. That is why the day’s work begins with rifle practice (the rifles are of wood) and ends with meetings denouncing floods. You try to rescue them from age-old passivity by encouraging sport and teaching them to use their wits. You praise them by saying that they can do everything and that their traditional medicine is better than modern medicine, that with their own hands they will be able to change the climate. You draw them into an exciting production romance, in which public works represent the ups and downs of life, statistics the spur; failures are sabotage. This technique of stimulation is of Soviet invention, but in Mao’s China, thirty-two years behind, the drug has to be administered in larger doses. In the U.S.S.R. it is possible to envisage machines replacing men, but such a policy applied on a large scale in China would only spread unemployment. The accent is therefore placed on the first — and inverse — phase of modernization: the transformation of men into machines by psychological conditioning.


It may also be that Mao has intended to reach the stage of Communism more quickly than Khrushchev. The Soviet leader’s criticism of the Chinese communes in his conversation with Senator Humphrey appears to corroborate this. But is this a matter of two Marxist and mutually jealous schools, or rather a case of two economies with different needs? Russia is an industrialized country, rich in resources, relatively underpopulated, its people well trained and even — whatever its rulers say — now rather bourgeois in outlook. China, 85 per cent agricultural, has twice as many peasants as the U.S.S.R. has citizens, and its technical backwardness is great. Its numbers are both its strength and its weakness; it must seek other solutions.

ONE evening in Shanghai, the lamps were giving only a dim light. Current was being diverted to the new industries being built in the suburbs. Since this city no longer trades with the rest of the world, a new means of livelihood had to be found for it. There are no raw materials in the locality, but it is being industrialized nonetheless. I saw the factories going up, vast buildings surrounded by wretched bamboo huts. First the machines must be set going; then the workmen can be housed. At the food shops in Hangchow, queues started forming at dawn. At Canton, from my room at the top of the Love of the Masses Hotel, I looked down on the rain-swept street. There were thousands of carts with large palm-leaf umbrellas, like walking flowers. Around each cart there was an entire family, some pulling, others pushing; it looked like an enormous beetle with human legs.


In 1956, when the Indian delegation visited the country, they were amazed to see men acting as draft animals. “But for you,” they said to the Chinese, “cows are not sacred; why don’t you make use of them?”

This animalization or mechanization of man has nothing sadistic about it. It is an inevitable sequel to the nature of the regime and the size of the population. Nor is it any longer imposed by bloody terror, except, I believe, in the Muslim and Buddhist outlying territories. In the middle of a commune I visited, I found a photograph of a reactionary being executed, but this kind of violence has become exceptional. The picture is reminder enough. Criticism has taken the place of direct force, and it is a powerful instrument in collectivized life.

The isolation of the Communist leaders may be their secret tragedy. They would, on occasion, like to engage in free conversation, but when they invite non-Communists to talk with them, the reply, only thinly disguised, is “Get away with you.” This is the fate of a regime determined to fight against human nature; every easing of tension endangers it. It can only advance on the same road, toward power or utopia. If the scale of the undertaking justifies the maintenance of mass mobilization, it also has its uses as a diversion. A great many Chinese are kept frantically busy only in order to make them forget that they are superfluous. The newspapers are full of citations, for children who collected large quantities of leaves, for old men who killed large numbers of flies. It is not a question of what all this activity yields; everybody must be kept interested.


Formerly, a visitor to China found a measure of intellectual exchange possible; he used to share a common frame of reference with his hosts. But nobody I now met had read a line of Confucius.

In Shanghai I visited a workers’ club. It was an enormous building, and the rooms were full of young men tinkering with jigsaw puzzles, making music, doing gymnastics. There was even one quiet room, where some men were sitting around a table. “Creative work,” I was told respectfully as we passed through. Then I was asked for my impressions. I said: “I have seen nobody who was idle and nobody bored. Everybody seemed to be entirely wrapped up in what he was doing. This large house swarming with youth is impressive. But this I find frightening: putting forward as models men who have studied less but spent more time among the people; the student who claims to have mastered in forty-eight hours of intensive work all the knowledge of his absent teacher; the peasant woman who prides herself on having written ten thousand lines without a break; the worker who wrote in one year six stories and four hundred and twenty-three poems and now announces his intention of stepping up his output. In one of your exhibitions I saw — and in the places of honor! — inventions which were no more than childish tinkerings. What a glorification of amateurism! Doesn’t all this arouse resentment among your professionals?”


The reply to this was the argument that the Chinese revolution was still in its early stages and that what was important now was to encourage people to take up creative work; later they could choose among the things created.

This is a Communist Sparta, and it is capable of still greater privations. It can plan and achieve and develop. But any flowering of personality would burst it asunder. It can reckon with war, but not with happiness. The immense labors should, logically, bring an improvement in the people’s standard of living; it will be granted only with reluctance. In any event, the bourgeois pleasures of disinterested culture will certainly be denied.

Can these people be kept indefinitely in their present state of hypertension? Think of a feverish adolescent driving himself too hard, every gesture proclaiming his exaltation. Is he in good health? Or would you expect a breakdown? China is that adolescent.





中国之旅
ALFRED FABRELUCE是法国历史学家和文学家，经常为《时代》杂志撰稿，三十年前和今年都来过中国。他的观察写满了四本笔记本，这些摘录被选入其中。

作者：Alfred Fabre-Luce
1959年12月号
分享

作者：阿尔弗雷德-法布尔-卢斯

西方人曾经喜欢北京，不仅因为它的美丽，还因为他们在那里享有惊人的优势。在城市的四分之一，他们是统治者；在他们的脚下，他们看到的是一个由商人和工匠组成的国家；而他们的奇思妙想取决于苦力们的生活希望--如果他们都坐人力车，跑者会在一年内死于心脏疾病；如果他们都步行，他将在一周内死于饥饿。三十年前我在中国旅行，当时中国处于无政府状态，我有一个贵族的身份。我现在告诉自己。"这一次我会被砍成合适的尺寸"。一点也不。赋予游客的特权，如果有的话，是增加了。


在火车站，我自动开始跟随其他旅客前往站台。但口译员把我引向了一个装饰着花草的豪华候车室。如果我动身去拿我的行李箱，它就会从我手中愤然收回，仿佛我就要丢脸。在为四人设计的卧铺车厢里，为我保留了两个铺位，在餐厅车厢里，有一整张桌子，中国人被严格拒之门外。我本想请他们坐下来，但不确定我是否有这个权利。(此外，我想，隔离是一种检疫措施）。

杂志封面图片
以PDF格式查看本故事
请看这个故事出现在《大西洋》杂志的页面上。

开放
我没有像在远东其他地方那样，成为兜售者和乞丐的目标；我不必每时每刻都埋头于钱包或口袋里，也不必焦虑地盯着行李箱。一切都像奇迹一样在我身边发生了变化。在火车上，我没有得到我的车票，而是被翻译托付给了警卫。吃饭的时候，我被叫住，并被带回到我的包厢，我被包围着，但被剥夺了所有的主动权，是一个沉默的旅行者，既是王子又是囚犯。

我有时会询问与我交谈的共产党人，但他们从未直接逼问我；我从未发现他们缺乏礼貌。但为什么要表现出这样的体贴呢？它真的能让一个资产阶级转变吗？那就太天真了。难道这只是为了表明新中国懂得如何接待客人？那么我很高兴地见证：旅游的组织是完美的。好了，我已经遵守了规则。现在让我们认真谈谈。

谈话，在大多数情况下，是由Intourist垄断的。他们问你对什么感兴趣，你想见谁。但你的要求并不总是被满足。一连几天，他们都在重复："我们正在联系。. . ." 对我来说，这些神秘的话语唤起了一幅无尽的电话、忙碌的官员、寻找理想的对话者的画面。没有这样的事--对话从未发生过。"你想问什么就问什么吧! 我们随时为您效劳！"

推荐阅读
插图：法院案件堆积如山，法官被夹在中间
犯罪浪潮的原因隐藏在众目睽睽之下
阿莱克-麦吉利斯
乔-拜登的黑白照片
20位读者关于谁可以取代拜登的想法
康纳-弗雷德斯多夫

赞助内容
为您打造的小企业主街
FACEBOOK, INC.
就像能够从帽子里变出兔子的魔术师一样，他们准备为你提供一个工厂、一个马戏团、一个好奇心商店、一个医生、一个工人俱乐部，甚至是一个资本家。我想访问农村的公社；他们心甘情愿地同意了。与我交谈的大多数人都很年轻、活泼、聪明，我们的谈话相当自由--在南方比在北方更自由，在农村而不是在城镇。

"中国有多少人？四亿人？五亿？给或不给一亿，我真的不知道。"

这是国民党外交部长C.T.Wang在1930年对我说的，当时他在南京的办公室里看着一张中国地图。20年后，人民共和国总理周恩来也同样感到不确定。1950年，他采用了王建国的两个数字中较高的一个作为工作假设。1953年6月30日的人口普查显示人口超过了6.5亿。这个惊喜是令人欣慰的还是令人不安的？突如其来的一亿中国人可能解释了政府在第二年开始实施的节育政策。这也解释了赫鲁晓夫呼吁俄罗斯妇女至少生三到四个孩子的原因，有些人认为这是对保卫西伯利亚的需要的预期。

仔细研究这些数字的人会注意到，它们包括800万台湾人，1200万海外华人，以及800万沙漠地区的居民，这些数字都是混在一起的。甚至根据《人民日报》的报道，有一定数量的居民被记录了两次。许多中国人对自己的年龄只有最模糊的概念（据说12月31日出生的孩子在第二天1月1日就两岁了）。我读过一项学术研究，从中得出结论，在这个可怕的数字中，有10%到20%可能只代表想象中的中国人。

粮食资源的计算甚至更有问题。去年秋天，毛泽东吹嘘说粮食收成已经翻了一番。如果声称增长幅度较小，大家都会承认--如此巨大的努力不可能不产生结果。但声称产量翻番却引起了人们的注意。这个奇迹般的收获变成了什么？在中国旅行时，我一直在寻找这方面的迹象，但是没有找到。更大的口粮？恰恰相反，对城镇的供应已经下降，我在一个农村公社能够确定，国家的供应并没有增加。出口呢？1958年的出口量几乎没有增加，而中国最近未能履行一些贸易承诺，这说明中国的出口匮乏，而不是丰富。增加动物饲料的供应？不太可能。囤积？我没有看到。最让我印象深刻的是，我询问过的官员们都缺乏信心。我仍然记得其中一位官员在问我时脸上的痛苦表情。"你对我的解释满意吗？" 我倾向于赞同外国专家们几乎一致的怀疑态度。

杂志封面图片
探索1959年12月号
查看本期的更多内容，并寻找你的下一个故事来阅读。

查看更多
工作量是巨大的，产量的增加也是真实的，但就目前而言，消费者并没有受益。在西方，生产最终注定要满足人们不同的口味；而在中国，人们必须自己适应那里的东西。就像蜜蜂喂养它们的女王一样，中国人民正在喂养一个无形的生产女神。正如数字显示的那样，她正在蓬勃发展，而党似乎也很满意。但是，当普通工人在报纸上读到这些胜利的公告，并将其与自己的简陋饭菜相比较时，他是怎么想的？我问过一个工人，他希望在不久的将来能得到什么。我的问题提得相当雄心勃勃。"你是否希望，首先是更好的住房，更多的休闲？" 他回答说，"我们非常希望......多一点猪肉。

共产党人说："中国已经取得了令人瞩目的进步"。而反共人士也加入了这个游戏，他们补充说："是的，但这是以把所有中国人送进兵营为代价的。" 两派利用无法核实的数字，继续辩论，毫不动摇。"共产党人说："很快，三分之一的可耕地面积将足以养活整个人口。剩下的将是森林、牧场、休耕地。景观将被人类的手改变，以阻止风，稳定雨。" 而反共分子则回答说 "老人被关押起来，丈夫与妻子分开，母亲与孩子分开。夫妇被允许在罕见的时间间隔内见面几分钟，而其他夫妇则在等待轮到他们。"

在我访问的两个公社中，我既没有看到奇迹也没有看到酷刑。一个在关东，另一个在北方1500公里处的赤江。从理论上讲，从合作社到公社组织的转变有利于 "更合理地使用劳动力"，并在每个生产单位建立 "农业和工业之间的愉快平衡"。事实上，与我交谈过的乡下人生活中发生的唯一变化是引入了公共厨房，而且即使是这些厨房也不具备归于它们的全能特性。饭厅很小，配备有家庭餐桌。有两种菜单可供选择，在付费的情况下，可以在食堂补充这些菜单，人们可以在 "休息日 "或接待家人或朋友的日子里自由地在家里准备他们的膳食。在托儿所里，我看到胖乎乎的孩子们裹着法兰绒，开心地笑着，我看到他们在傍晚五点后被家人领走。而在幸福之家--现在更谦虚地称为尊重之家--只有少数老人没有家人的安慰。

一个有工作的妇女不可能把所有的时间都给她的家庭和她的孩子。此外，她可以通过在工作地点吃饭来节省时间。中国人正在适应这些条件，这些条件正在成为所有国家的普遍做法。

以上是我对我所观察的公社的一些印象；我不想一概而论。在其他地方，这种变化可能更加彻底。在中国，农业工人的报酬包括少量的工资，并辅以免费分配的物品--食物、衣服和社会服务。这些津贴被称为 "十大保障"。在关东，我被告知，今年的工资已经增加，而保障则减少。这是有区别的。公社化在农村的实施不平衡，在城镇还没有应用，公社化处于试验阶段；现在对它作出任何最终判断还为时过早。

然而，这个系统正在朝着一个明确的方向发展。在杭州市，我考察了未来城镇的规划。其中一座拟建的建筑因其规模而令我印象深刻。我问它的用途是什么。"那是宿舍。" 这是我第一次听到这个很快就会变得非常熟悉的词。宿舍是与家人分开的工人的居住地。中国正在进行的大量建筑工程需要大规模转移劳动力。我甚至听说--但那是在香港--有庞大的劳动力分配中心，与集中营没有什么不同。这些工作都是临时性的--建造堤坝、水坝、窑洞、储存收成。城镇居民参加了几周或几个月的工作。他们说，这是在一个没有假期的国家换换空气的一种方式，也是了解农村工人生活的一种方式，从而促进阶级的融合。这种制度让人联想到法西斯分子推行的劳动服务。


志愿服务和驱逐出境之间，劳动组织和破坏家庭之间的界限究竟在哪里？人们必须对中国的生活有很深的了解，才能划出这个界限。在我看来，我遇到的几个知识分子所做的农业贡献是象征性的，而不是真实的。生产的要求是优先的。我在上海访问的一家医院的医生每周只在家睡一次觉，就是星期六（"我们必须看着所有的病人"），与其他人相比，他们是有特权的。这里有一个北京家庭的故事：丈夫的资历使他在重庆更有用处，于是他被派往那里；他的妻子留在北京，但在一段时间后设法调到了重庆。本来一切都很好，但就在她到达之前，行政机器盲目地将丈夫派往第三个城市。补偿？宿舍通常比个人的家更舒适；被剥夺了妻子的男人得到了淋浴的慰藉。资产阶级的堕落--社会主义的进步。毫无疑问，看到反动态度的根源以这种方式被撕碎，有一种胜利的暗流。这至少是积极分子的感觉，而毛泽东作为中心人物，经常不得不与他们抗争。

想象一下你在北京的独裁者。你控制着一个落后的、没有大量自然资源但人口众多的国家。你打出这张王牌。你从人民的汗水中筹集到前几代人未能积累的资本。你通过激起人们的热情，通过动员起来对付两个敌人：反应和自然灾害，来提高他们的生产能力。这就是为什么一天的工作从练习步枪开始（步枪是木制的），以谴责洪水的会议结束。你试图把他们从古老的被动中解救出来，鼓励他们运动，教他们运用自己的智慧。你赞扬他们，说他们可以做任何事情，他们的传统医学比现代医学更好，用他们自己的双手，他们将能够改变气候。你把他们吸引到一个激动人心的生产浪漫中，在这个浪漫中，公共工程代表着生活的起伏，统计数字是鞭策；失败是破坏。这种刺激技术是苏联发明的，但在落后32年的毛泽东的中国，这种药物必须以更大的剂量施用。在苏联，可以设想用机器代替人，但这种政策在中国的大规模应用，只会使失业率上升。因此，重点放在了现代化的第一个阶段--也是相反的阶段：通过心理调节将人变成机器。


也可能是毛泽东打算比赫鲁晓夫更快地达到共产主义的阶段。苏联领导人在与汉弗莱参议员的谈话中对中国公社的批评似乎也证实了这一点。但这是两个相互嫉妒的马克思主义流派的问题，还是两个有不同需求的经济体的情况？俄罗斯是一个工业化国家，资源丰富，人口相对较少，人民训练有素，甚至--不管其统治者怎么说--现在的观念相当资产阶级化。中国有85%的农业人口，其农民人数是苏联公民人数的两倍，而且其技术也很落后。它的人数既是它的优势，也是它的弱点；它必须寻求其他解决办法。

在上海的一个晚上，灯只发出微弱的光。电流被转移到正在郊区建造的新工业中。由于这个城市不再与世界其他地方进行贸易，必须为它找到新的谋生手段。当地没有原材料，但它还是在进行工业化。我看到工厂正在兴建，巨大的建筑周围都是破旧的竹屋。首先必须让机器运转起来，然后才能为工人提供住处。在杭州市的食品店，黎明时分就开始排队了。在广州，从我位于大众之爱酒店顶层的房间里，我俯视着被雨淋湿的街道。有数以千计的小车撑着大棕榈叶伞，像行走的花朵。每辆小车周围都有一整个家庭，有的在拉，有的在推；看起来就像一只巨大的甲虫，有人类的腿。


1956年，当印度代表团访问该国时，他们惊奇地看到男人充当草畜。"但对你们来说，"他们对中国人说，"牛不是神圣的，你们为什么不利用它们？"

人的这种动物化或机械化并没有什么虐待倾向。它是政权性质和人口规模的一个必然结果。它也不再是由血腥的恐怖所强加的，除了，我相信，在穆斯林和佛教的外围地区。在我访问的一个公社中间，我发现了一张反动分子被处决的照片，但这种暴力已经成为例外。这张照片有足够的提醒作用。批评已经取代了直接的武力，它是集体化生活中的一个强有力的工具。

共产党领导人的孤立可能是他们的秘密悲剧。他们偶尔也想进行自由交谈，但当他们邀请非共产党人与他们交谈时，得到的答复只是薄薄的伪装，是 "离你远点"。这就是一个决心与人性作斗争的政权的命运；每一次紧张局势的缓和都会危及它。它只能在同一条路上前进，走向权力或乌托邦。如果说这项事业的规模为维持大规模动员提供了理由，那么它也有转移注意力的作用。大量的中国人被疯狂地忙碌着，只是为了让他们忘记自己是多余的。报纸上充满了对收集大量树叶的儿童和杀死大量苍蝇的老人的嘉奖。这不是一个所有这些活动产生的问题；每个人都必须保持兴趣。


以前，来到中国的游客可以进行一定程度的知识交流；他曾经与他的主人分享一个共同的参考框架。但我现在遇到的人都没有读过一句孔子的文章。

在上海，我参观了一个工人俱乐部。那是一座巨大的建筑，房间里都是年轻人，他们在玩拼图，做音乐，做体操。甚至还有一个安静的房间，一些人围着一张桌子坐着。我们经过时，有人恭敬地告诉我："创造性的工作"。然后我被问到了我的印象。我说。"我看到没有人闲着，没有人无聊。每个人似乎都全身心地投入到他正在做的事情中。这座大房子里挤满了年轻人，令人印象深刻。但我觉得这很可怕：把那些学习较少但在民众中花费较多时间的人作为榜样；声称在四十八小时的紧张工作中掌握了他不在的老师的所有知识的学生；以不间断地写下一万行诗而自豪的农妇；在一年中写了六个故事和四百二十三首诗的工人，现在宣布他打算增加产量了。在你们的一次展览中，我看到了--而且是在荣誉的位置上! - 这些发明不过是幼稚的修补品。这是对业余主义的颂扬！这难道不会引起人们的反感吗？难道这一切没有引起你们专业人士的不满吗？"


对此的回答是，中国革命还处于早期阶段，现在重要的是鼓励人们从事创造性的工作；以后他们可以在所创造的东西中选择。

这是一个共产主义的斯巴达，它能够承受更多的苦难。它可以计划、实现和发展。但任何个性的绽放都会使它支离破碎。它可以考虑战争，但不能考虑幸福。从逻辑上讲，巨大的劳动应该带来人民生活水平的提高；但这只是在不情愿的情况下才会得到。在任何情况下，资产阶级的无私文化的乐趣肯定会被剥夺。

这些人可以无限期地保持他们目前的高血压状态吗？想想看，一个发烧的青少年把自己逼得太紧，每一个动作都在宣扬他的高尚。他的健康状况良好吗？或者你会期待他崩溃吗？中国就是那个青少年。