Riding the Iron Rooster

That essay is an argument for action, I found, when I read it later. It is about learning by doing; and "practice" is like a synonym for living, in this down-to-earth approach to running a society. It is a tract against handbooks, against bookishness of any kind—Mao loved literature but hated books. Mao seemed to sum up the essay when he wrote, "All genuine knowledge originates in direct experience." It was a struggler's motto, and rather a good one, I thought: action was everything. It was also a good motto for a traveler.

"You must remember that China is unique," Comrade Hu said. "There is no model for China. We have to solve our problems in our own way."

I said, "Do you think it's a problem that China seeks the West's technology but not its ideology or influence?"

"No problem at all," he said breezily.

"But surely there have been negative influences that have come to China with the new technology."

"We have to educate people to make a distinction between what is good and what is bad influence."

The word educate in China always seemed to me somewhat ambiguous. Education was sometimes classroom work; but just as often it was prison, the workhouse, exile or even (as Deng had frankly emphasized) a bullet in the back of the neck.

"What do you think is especially decadent about Western culture?" I asked, hoping to provoke him.

"The music of Beethoven is good, and so are many other things," Comrade Hu said. "And I don't think drugs or violence are specifically Western. They are by-products. We can do without them—and prostitution, too."

Remembering what the taxi driver had said, I asked, "Will the reforms continue to increase or might they diminish?"

"They will continue as they are," Comrade Hu said. "We want to keep our open policy. We want trade with the United States to expand. We believe in reform—we want a growth rate of seven or eight percent."

There was an idea current among Chinese bureaucrats that the sole purpose of political reform was to produce economic growth. It had nothing to do with enlightenment, or people's minds, or the happy imagination. If liberalization did not yield material prosperity—a chicken in every pot—they would just put the screws on again. I talked around this subject but I was not sure where Comrade Hu stood on the issue, and indeed I had begun to be rather careful in my questions, for what they revealed about me.

He made me feel young, somewhat reckless and sceptical in just the same way my father had when I was sixteen. We were uneasily like father and son. There is something in the very nature of Chinese authority that makes anyone who asks questions seem childishly naive and credulous, not to say dangerous.

We talked about travel in China. He asked me about my experiences, and were they favorable? I said yes they were, and I gave him a few examples from the various trains I had ridden.

Comrade Hu said, "You have been to more places in China than I have."

"I'm sure that's not true," I said.

"It's true," he said. "I haven't traveled much."

"Have you been to Urumchi?"

"No."

"What about Langxiang in Heilongjiang?" It was a small logging town in the far north that I aimed to visit.

"I have never heard of it," Comrade Hu said.

"Tibet?"

He shook his head: No. "But I have traveled abroad a great deal."

He clawed his cuff in an obvious way and conspicuously consulted his watch. So I said that I was grateful for his valuable time, but that I had to go. He rose and took me to the door.

"You have interesting views," I said. "I am sure people will be fascinated by them."

"No, no, no," he said, smiling for the first time since I had entered the room—but it was of course a smile of anxiety. "Don't quote me."

"Not at all?"

"No. This is a private conversation."

"What about your mention of Mao's essay. 'On Practice'? I thought that was rather pertinent."

"Nothing," he said, and the feline look left his face. "And don't mention my name."

When he left me, Comrade Bai materialized among the sofas and the teacups. Comrade Bai escorted me to my taxi. "You heard what he said"—how did he know?—"Don't use his name. And don't mention the Ministry of Truth."

I said, "But what the official said was interesting. Why doesn't he want me to write it? You know I'm a writer!"

"Yes. You can write it. But just say, 'A Chinese official.'"

What was this, the Ming Dynasty, with all the mandarins scurrying around, whispering and shifting blame and doing it with mirrors? It was not a question of being bold but simply of not wishing to be held accountable.

"Okay," I said. "Can I quote you—that you said that?"

"Ha-ha! Better not!"

I changed the names, but as you can see I left that part in. As the Great Helmsman had said, All genuine knowledge originates in direct experience.

14: The International Express to Harbin: Train Number 17