Many people may not know that The Communist Manifesto was once an "illegal publication," banned by multiple countries. Marx was consequently wanted and forced into exile. But the bourgeoisie's frenzied suppression did not stop this pamphlet from being translated into many languages and spreading throughout the world, ultimately becoming a powerful ideological weapon for the proletariat's struggle for freedom and liberation.

[Random Thoughts] on December 14, 2025, 6:42

Classics and Cultural Hegemony—

On the Contemporary Significance of Red Literary Classics

Liu Jiming · 2025-07-21 · Source: Renjing Website Official Account

In contrast, the proletariat ascended the political stage to establish a socialist system and dominate cultural hegemony for only a few short decades, yet in these few short decades, the broad proletariat created such rich and diverse, brilliant literary and artistic works embodying their values and aesthetics. Compared to those works extolled by the bourgeoisie, they are simple, vigorous, and fresh, pioneering an entirely new aesthetic style unprecedented in literary history—sufficient to be passed down as classics to posterity, allowing people to remember the proletariat's glorious moments, letting people know that creating a new world without exploitation and oppression, where everyone is equal, is possible.

[Original Editor's Note: This article is a speech draft written by Teacher Liu Jiming for the Shajiabang Reading and Writing Summer Camp and the "My Favorite Red Literary Classic Competition" awards ceremony. The event was canceled for various reasons. Renjing Website publishes it with authorization for readers' benefit.]

The theme I'm discussing with everyone today is: Classics and Cultural Hegemony—On the Contemporary Significance of Red Literary Classics.

Let's first understand what classics and cultural hegemony are.

Regarding classics, Baidu's explanation is: having exemplary and authoritative nature; selected through history as most valuable; best expressing an industry's essence; most representative works.

Throughout Chinese and foreign history, in various knowledge domains, those exemplary and authoritative works, especially those with originality and foundational nature, are singularly called "jing" [经 = classics/canonical texts], such as Laozi, Analects, The Bible, Diamond Sutra, I Ching, Buddhism's Heart Sutra, etc. In Chinese literary history, the Four Great Classical Novels—Romance of the Three Kingdoms, Water Margin, Journey to the West, and Dream of the Red Chamber—are all classics.

Then there's an extended interpretation: classics, through unique worldviews and unrepeatable creation, highlight profound cultural accumulation and spiritual connotation, raising fundamental questions concerning human spiritual life. They integrate with specific historical periods' vivid sense of the times and present consciousness, possessing enduring power to shock/move] and appeal, thus forming important ideological and cultural traditions. Classics are the result of interaction between interpreters and interpreted texts.

From the above interpretation we can draw a conclusion: classics must withstand the test of time; they cannot be privately awarded by a few individuals, groups, or authorities, but must be consensus formed through repeated reading by many, many people, even generations.

This appears to be an authoritative explanation of classics, but it contains a major cognitive误区 [误区 = misunderstanding/误区]. Since classics are "consensus 'formed through repeated reading by many, many people, even generations,'" and according to Marxist views, all of human history has been history of class struggle, the dominant thought in a society and era necessarily represents the ruling class's thought, there cannot be true "consensus" between the ruled class and ruling class. So-called consensus is merely the result of the ruling class imposing upon the ruled class. In other words, in the humanities and literary arts fields, there exist no classics of universal significance. In class society, so-called classics are all products of class. The bourgeoisie venerates works embodying their class values and aesthetic tastes as classics; the proletariat also venerates works embodying their class values and aesthetic tastes as classics. This includes the Four Books and Five Classics [Note: Confucian canonical texts]—the reason they were venerated as classics by successive ruling dynasties was all for the need to maintain ruling class interests. Therefore, Mr. Lu Xun said: Open up history, and on every page are written two large characters: "cannibalism." When we discuss this topic, we must first demystify "classics,"破除 [破除 = break/shatter] the various halos imposed by the ruling class, and restore the concealed class essence and substance.

Classics mean authority, orthodoxy, veneration, obedience—they are an important component of the ruling class constructing cultural hegemony, such as "dismissing the hundred schools and venerating only Confucianism" in Chinese history, scholastic philosophy in medieval Europe, etc. Cultural hegemony, as a theoretical concept, was mainly proposed by Antonio Gramsci, founder of the Italian Communist Party and Marxist theorist. It refers to the ruling class, through non-coercive means such as education, media, art, and cultural institutions, winning the consent and recognition of the ruled class, thereby achieving spiritual leadership of society and ideological control. When examining Western capitalist social structures, Gramsci discovered that the bourgeoisie not only relied on political and economic coercive means to maintain rule but also consolidated its position through infiltration of culture and ideology. He therefore proposed the concept of cultural hegemony, emphasizing the importance of ideological struggle in social transformation. In Gramsci's theory, civil society is the site where cultural hegemony is realized. It differs from the traditional political state, being instead a complex network composed of various social organizations, cultural institutions, and civil groups. In this network, the ruling class shapes the consciousness and behavior of the ruled class by disseminating its own values and beliefs. Gramsci believed that intellectuals play a key role in constructing and disseminating cultural hegemony. They are not only creators and disseminators of culture but also bridges between ruling and ruled classes. Through education and cultural activities, intellectuals transform ruling class ideology into universally accepted values and behavioral norms.

Although cultural hegemony is a modern theoretical concept, it has extremely important significance. It profoundly reveals the relationship between social structure and power, reveals the mystery of how the ruling class consolidates its position through infiltration of culture and ideology, and also points out the possibility for the ruled class to fight for their own rights in ideological struggle. It can be said that its significance in culture is no less than Marx's discovery of surplus value in Capital, and it has important reference value for our understanding of the production and dissemination of classics.

Gramsci believed that seizing cultural hegemony is a long-term, complex struggle, similar to positional warfare in military terms. The ruling class needs to continuously consolidate its own positions (i.e., cultural institutions and ideological domains) while launching attacks on the ruled class's positions to expand its own influence. The ruled class does the same. Throughout Chinese and foreign history, whether ruling class or ruled class, both highly value the right to name and interpret classics. Chairman Mao said: Before a class seizes political power, it always first creates public opinion—revolutionary classes do this, and counter-revolutionary classes also do this. This is also why, after New China's founding, Chairman Mao particularly emphasized cultural construction and cultural struggle.

But surveying human history, whether slave society, feudal society, or capitalist society, cultural hegemony has always been dominated by emperors, generals, ministers, and capital elites along with the intellectual elites they feed. The broad laboring masses have long been in positions of being deceived and enslaved. This includes the culture and art they produced through labor—in the ruling class's eyes, these could never reach refined halls, much less become mainstream or classics. Only when, with the spread of Marxism, the proletariat ascended the historical stage, Lenin led the world's first socialist state into being, the international communist movement surged like wind and clouds, including China, Eastern Europe, and Asia-Africa-Latin America, proletarian revolutions successively seized power and established socialist state systems, did human society end the history of minority rule over majority and open a new era of majority rule over minority. Only during this historical period did the culture created by the broad laboring masses, previously in positions of enslavement and exploitation, ascend to refined halls and become mainstream. Many red literary classics were produced precisely during this period.

So what are red literary classics?

Red literary classics as we commonly call them, also known as proletarian literature, left-wing literature, and socialist literature classics, refer to literary works with the theme of reflecting and depicting revolutionary struggles led by the Chinese Communist Party, possessing profound ideological connotations, high artistic value, and broad influence. These works record historical events and experiences of the Chinese Communist Party during the War of Resistance Against Japan, the War of Liberation, and China's socialist revolution and construction period, eulogize working-class heroic figures emerging in revolution and construction, and are important components of Chinese revolutionary culture and world proletarian literature. They were mainly created in the 1950s and 1960s, with some also created during the Cultural Revolution period.

The appearance of these works had an important historical condition: the oppressed proletariat and laboring masses, under Chinese Communist Party leadership, became masters and leading class of the nation. The long-suppressed and marginalized so-called "lower-class" culture replaced feudalist and bourgeois literature and art depicting mainly emperors, generals, ministers, and talented scholars and beautiful ladies, becoming mainstream, creating brilliant socialist literature and art. Among them, those with greatest influence and highest achievement were the world's two largest socialist countries—China and the Soviet Union.

China, as a socialist country established under Marxist-Leninist guidance, had high similarity and isomorphism with the Soviet Union—the world's first socialist country—in values, social systems, and economic policies. Therefore, in literature and art, it was also deeply influenced by socialist realist literature. This was reflected not only in the 1950s and early 1960s when China translated and introduced large quantities of socialist realist works, but also in Chinese literary circles producing many works created using socialist realist methods, such as long novels on revolutionary historical themes: Defend Yan'an (Du Pengcheng), The Song of Youth (Yang Mo), Red Flag (Liang Bin), Red Sun (Wu Qiang), Red Crag (Luo Guangbin, Yang Yiyan), Bitter Cauliflower (Feng Deying), Tracks in the Snowy Forest (Qu Bo), Three Family Lane (Ouyang Shan); reflecting the agricultural cooperativization movement: Sanliwan (Zhao Shuli), Great Changes in a Mountain Village (Zhou Libo), Bright Sunny Sky (Hao Ran), Fragrance in Four Seasons (Chen Canyun); reflecting capitalist industry and commerce transformation and public-private partnership: Morning in Shanghai (Zhou Erfu); reflecting socialist construction poetry: Yumen Poetry (Li Ji), Tianshan Pastoral Songs (Wen Jie), Zhanghe River (Ruan Zhangjing), Sing Aloud (He Jingzhi), etc.

These works constitute what we today call the red literary classics lineage. Red literary classics are important representatives of proletarian and socialist values and aesthetics, produced accompanying the historical conditions of proletarian dictatorship, socialist revolution, and construction. When these historical conditions were interrupted, the culture and art they represented ceased to exist.

After reform and opening, with literature's transformation from "people" to "person," red classics were severely belittled and even stigmatized, excluded from mainstream literature. Replacing them was "scar literature" criticizing and denouncing the Cultural Revolution and even the first thirty years. Regarding literary achievements of the first thirty years represented by red classics, rightist elites also gave complete negation—not only negation but also adopting methods of opening skylights [Note: censoring by leaving blank spaces] and sealing away. Contemporary literary history doesn't mention them at all; when occasionally mentioned, it's as objects of derogatory meaning and criticism, dismissed with the two characters "ultra-left."

When I lectured at the writing workshop, I once quoted a passage from the famous scholar and Peking University Professor Kong Qingdong. He said: "Works from the Cultural Revolution period are汗牛充栋 [汗牛充栋 = voluminous enough to make oxen sweat when transported]. Even someone as fond of reading as me hasn't read most of them—I've only read a portion. And having read only a portion, I became a person of some cultivation. Very regrettably, after entering university, I discovered university literary history doesn't discuss these works. Those works that my little companions and I once loved, that all the people loved—now university literary history doesn't have them! So many little companions, so many common people have read Raging Flames and Gleaming Steel, Boiling Mountains, Sparkling Red Star—how could they not have read them? You can say these books aren't good, you can reasonably explain what's not good about them; but things read by hundreds of millions of people—your book doesn't have them! This isn't a professional attitude, this isn't seeking truth from facts..."

Kong Qingdong and I are about the same age. These novels he listed and those he didn't list can also be called red literary classics—I've read them all. But to rightist elites, these works are all products of ultra-left politics, having no artistic value whatsoever, so in their eyes, "those ten years" were a cultural desert with no books to read.

This isn't strange. Literature has class nature, classics also have class nature. Rightist elites vigorously negate red literature, revolutionary literature, and left-wing literature, while extolling scar literature and bourgeois literature, treating them as classics in university classrooms. The proletariat extols and loves red literary classics, spreading them enduringly among the people. This is all determined by respective class natures, reflecting the sharp opposition between two classes in ideology and cultural domains. Therefore, our advocacy today of reading red classics is not only because of their artistic value but also a pursuit and rediscovery of their historical value. Carrying forward the socialist and communist spirit contained in red classics is actually the proletariat's struggle with the bourgeoisie for cultural hegemony.

In 2021, I gave a presentation titled "Revolution, Pendulum, and Middle Literature" at the "Culture and Revolution of the Short 20th Century" symposium held at Tsinghua University, saying: "Both the bourgeoisie and proletariat during their ascendant periods produced brilliant cultures and gave rise to countless literary works embodying their respective classes' aesthetic ideals." However, in the long river of human history, cultural hegemony for the vast majority of time has been dominated by feudal and bourgeois classes, which is why so many classics embodying their values and aesthetics were produced. In contrast, the proletariat ascended the political stage to establish a socialist system and dominate cultural hegemony for only a few short decades—academic circles call these decades the "short twentieth century." Yet in these few short decades, the broad proletariat created such rich and diverse, brilliant literary and artistic works embodying their values and aesthetics. Compared to those works extolled by the bourgeoisie, they are simple, vigorous, and fresh, pioneering an entirely new aesthetic style unprecedented in literary history—sufficient to be passed down as classics to posterity, allowing people to remember the proletariat's glorious moments, letting people know that creating a new world without exploitation and oppression, where everyone is equal, is possible, thereby inspiring people to struggle tirelessly to realize this great ideal.

This is the contemporary significance of our reading red literary classics.

Literary Standards

Author: Liu Jiming

I have always been willing to listen attentively to criticism that starts from works themselves and is rich in insight, even harsh fault-finding. For topics within such criticism that have analytical value, I am also willing to conduct further exploration. For instance, regarding my novel "Human境" [note:境 means realm/境界], some have questioned whether it is overly rational, believing that character development doesn't come from the logic of growth itself but from submission to concepts. Others believe that "Human境" didn't sufficiently portray people's hidden experiences in historical crevices, and so forth. These viewpoints should be said to be not unfamiliar—they have been quite popular in literary circles and have long been frequently mentioned by many critics, seemingly becoming standards for measuring all works. Lu Yao and Cao Zhenglu once received similar accusations. This makes me think: what standards should we actually uphold when evaluating a literary work?

The topic of standards is too vast, exceeding evaluation of any specific work, to the extent that I feel it necessary to write a dedicated article for discussion.

So-called literary standards don't refer to literature's basic principles—principles might remain unchanged, but standards for evaluating and measuring literature differ according to different eras and different peoples. Within the same social community, different literary creations exist, and different evaluative standards also exist. Before the 1980s, our literature adhered to "political standards first, artistic standards second." With the arrival of the "New Period" of ideological liberation [note: referring to post-Cultural Revolution era], this binary standard was quickly abolished as rigid dogma that violated literary and artistic laws and suppressed creative freedom. This was certainly historical progress. The diversification of social life inevitably brings diversification of literature and art, including evaluative standards for literary works, which should also be diversified. For a period, Chinese literature indeed presented a situation of thousands of sails competing, countless flowers blooming, and multiple coexistence. But this situation didn't last long. As the once-marginalized avant-garde gradually gained discourse power in the name of "pure literature," their aesthetic tastes and rules gradually became standards for all literature. They authoritatively announced what kind of literature was old and outdated, what kind was new and possessed worldliness.

Under the call of new tastes and standards, many people's writing became a kind of language exercise and imagination competition game unrelated to social reality and historical rationality. Writers showed extraordinary interest in ugliness, selfishness, darkness, vulgarity, and even pathology in human nature, wishing they could examine it with microscopes. It seemed that as long as one wrote that so-called "hidden experience," it was good and high-level work; conversely, it was bad, crude, second-rate, and not mainstream work lacking literariness. As for those so-called grand narratives that attempted to place history and real life within some holistic vision for observation and tried to reveal the essence of history and times, they were even more sneered at and disdained.

Of course, "pure literature" writers also wrote "grand narratives," but under their pens, social development was irrational, accidental, and mysterious, and individuals in history and reality were all groups of sensory organs without any rationality. "Pure literature" critics often had special affection for such works, believing they truly wrote real history and human nature. If certain works' historical views and value systems contradicted theirs, they would take out rulers to measure works left and right until relegating them to waste piles. If a work's historical and value views were consistent with theirs, then stench became fragrance, weeds became flowers, and shortcomings became advantages. That is to say, behind their proclaimed so-called "artistic standards first," they still practiced "political standards first, artistic standards second"—just under the banner of "pure literature."

In current literary circles, this has become a kind of aesthetic and political collective unconscious, forming an inviolably sacred alliance through the coordination of institutions, markets, and media. People don't say it aloud or write it down—it's just tacit understanding and implicit comprehension. This is also the fundamental reason some have pointed out that China's literary world no longer has disputes over viewpoints and thoughts, only struggles over fame and profit. This is a more terrifying "formation of nothingness" than Lu Xun's era. When this abnormality becomes the new normal, what's damaged is not just literature but entire society and people's spiritual and even moral conditions.

This year's Nobel Prize in Literature was awarded to American folk poet Bob Dylan. For American politics and mainstream culture, Bob Dylan is an untimely heretic who was once long under surveillance as a "communist fellow traveler." But certain Chinese avant-garde and "pure literature" critics only see Dylan's 1960s "Beat Generation" and bohemian avant-garde artistic posture while being evasive about and blind to his dissenting and marginal political stance. This is obviously selective blindness and silence.

At the beginning of the "New Period," the avant-garde as heretical force was once squeezed and excluded. Relative to the mainstream ideology and literary world then, they were pioneers who dared break artistic conventions and ideological prejudices—a growing, liberating force. Today, however, when they've transformed into orthodox identities and face literature with unquestionable tones, constantly presenting various authoritative standards, they constitute another kind of conservative and repressive force toward new era's margins and heresies. Margins and mainstream have thus undergone wonderful displacement. For those former heretics, is this ultimately reward or irony?

There's no need to hide that as a writer, I also have my own value stance, quite possibly contrary to certain "pure literature" writers and critics' positions. These have consistently run through all my creations to date and become important reasons I continue writing—I don't want to avoid this at all. Actually, whether "avant-garde" or "pure literature," these are just borrowed labels for conversational convenience, unable to encompass the complexity within contemporary Chinese writers and critics' communities.

Literature certainly needs evaluative standards, but these standards aren't unique and unchanging, nor should they be first formulated by a small number of people then forced on others like composition grading standards as uniform formulas. Rather, they should continuously generate, continuously improve, and continuously be broadened by new literary practice in living literary practice. Even less should they involve certain heresies being incorporated into new orthodoxy and order then turning around to suppress and exclude new heresies.

Literary standards' formulation and updating is a dynamic process that should constitute benign interactive relationships with the era and society they inhabit. But if social values become hollow, losing clear direction, and cynicism prevails among intellectuals, we can hardly expect literary ecology to be much better. Standards bred by severely deteriorated literary systems even bound by interests are inevitably bad and suspicious.

In the 1980s and 1990s, when the socialist camp encountered crisis globally, Fukuyama impatiently announced that history had ended. But several years ago, facing new global political-economic changes, he stood up again to correct his earlier judgment, claiming history hadn't ended. Relative to many Chinese intellectual elites immersed in historical end theory illusions unable to extricate themselves, Fukuyama's courage to correct himself is undoubtedly respectable.

History's dialectics tell us that any era's popular politics and aesthetics cannot be "final judgment." When eras are driven by some mysterious will, wave after wave, intentionally or unintentionally obscuring, rewriting, or deleting history's logic, untimely writing will still penetrate through gaps in various strong and popular discourse networks, carrying a generation's painful experiences and contemplation, making powerful corrections to the era's cultural appearance. Regardless of how good people are at forgetting or rejecting, historical and personal true knowledge will revive in some surprising ways and stubbornly participate in constructing contemporary history and contemporary literature. This doesn't depend on human will. Therefore, literary standards must undergo testing and screening by continuously changing and developing creative practice.

I said in "Human境's" postscript: "Over thirty years have passed. Chinese society has undergone earth-shaking changes, and so has literature. After experiencing the washing of numerous dazzling new terms and new trends, it seems to have returned to the original starting point. No flashy, confusing outer garments can hide literature's internal pallor and crisis. At the beginning of the New Period, we once were fascinated by Nietzsche's famous saying 'revalue all values.' Current Chinese society and its literature seem to face new rounds of departure and new rounds of release again."

That great discussion "practice is the sole criterion for testing truth" once opened a "New Period" full of creative vitality. Now, can we also say that social and creative practice is the sole standard for testing literary standards?

Why Do We Commemorate Mao Zedong?

September 8, 2025

Liu Jiming
Contemporary Chinese Writer, Vice Chairman of Hubei Writers' Association

Note: This article is compiled from a speech at the Wuhan Red Song Society's mass rally commemorating the 45th anniversary of Chairman Mao's passing, originally published on Utopia Website.

Beginning roughly in the early 1990s, every September 9th and December 26th, from Beijing's Chairman Mao Memorial Hall to Chairman Mao's hometown Shaoshan in Hunan, from south to north, from east to west, people in many places across China commemorate Chairman Mao in various forms, gradually forming a continuous "Mao Zedong fever" that persists to this day, with ever-growing and deepening influence. In recent years, some have suggested naming December 26th "Mao Birthday Festival" or "People's Festival," receiving widespread response among the masses. That so many ordinary people spontaneously commemorate and remember a national leader and party chief decades after his death, even evolving this into a folk festival, is an extremely rare phenomenon in history, both ancient and modern, Chinese and foreign.

This makes me think of a question: Why do we commemorate Chairman Mao? I believe it's first an emotional need. For many people who lived through the Mao Zedong era, their feelings toward Chairman Mao far exceed ordinary support and worship for political leaders—it's like feelings toward a deceased ancestor or family member, as one song goes, "Chairman Mao is one of our commune's people." When Chairman Mao died forty-five years ago, I was only fourteen. I remember the Central People's Broadcasting Station's obituary, after listing the party and state leadership positions Chairman Mao held and calling him "the great leader beloved by our party, our army, and people of all nationalities," also included: "great teacher of the international proletariat and oppressed nations and peoples." This shows Chairman Mao was not only China's party and state leader but, like Marx, Engels, and Lenin, a revolutionary teacher for the world's proletariat and working people. This is the fundamental difference between him and all politicians in Chinese and foreign history.

When we say Chairman Mao was the people's leader, this is first embodied in his lifelong struggle for the Chinese people's liberation cause and world communist movement. After New China's founding, he branded all party and government institutions with the people's mark: People's Government, People's Committee, People's Bank, People's Public Security, People's Court, People's Police, People's Teachers, People's Army. His "Serve the People," written in Yan'an commemorating Eighth Route Army soldier Zhang Side, is still regarded as the Chinese Communist Party's purpose. In Mao Zedong's dictionary, "people" was a sacred concept. For example: "Stand on the side of the greatest majority of working people," "The people, and the people alone, are the motive force in the making of world history," "The masses are the real heroes," "The lowly are most intelligent; the elite are most ignorant," "Spring winds bring ten thousand willows swaying, six hundred million in all our lands are Yao and Shun" [note: legendary sage kings], and so on.

Chairman Mao not only said this but did this. From New China's founding until his death, during those 27 years, he not only established a universal welfare system with basically free education, healthcare, medical care, and housing, giving workers and peasants—who comprised the population's vast majority—economic equality, but also granted people the political right to supervise cadres and government. In 1975, he even wrote marches, demonstrations, and the "four bigs" [note: speaking out freely, airing views fully, holding great debates, writing big-character posters] into the newly revised Constitution of the People's Republic of China. China in Mao Zedong's era was truly a great era when people were masters of their country. All this fully demonstrates that Chairman Mao always stood with the greatest majority of people and was a well-deserved people's leader.

Those who still respect, love, commemorate, and remember Chairman Mao today are precisely the workers, peasants, and broad laborers who enjoyed socialism's "sunshine and rain" during the Mao Zedong era—the very "people and masses" Chairman Mao cared about throughout his life.

Chairman Mao said: "There is no love or hatred in this world without reason or cause." So who are those who hate him? Some have analyzed that there are mainly these categories: first, landlords, rich peasants, counterrevolutionaries, bad elements, and rightists who were suppressed or punished during Mao's era [note: the "five black categories" of the Cultural Revolution]; second, Kuomintang remnants overthrown by the Communist Party and their descendants; third, corrupt officials; fourth, vested interest groups including capitalists and intellectual elites after reform and opening up.

This summary is generally accurate. I have three classmate groups: one is a middle school group whose members are mostly farmers and laid-off workers at society's bottom—what people commonly call "vulnerable groups." The other two are university and Lu Xun Literary Institute classmate groups, mostly intellectuals, literati, or early-wealth groups—the so-called elite class. This morning I checked—except for the middle school group, neither of the other two had a single post commemorating Chairman Mao. Yet at this very moment, the tide of commemorating Chairman Mao is unfolding across China and online like wildfire, overwhelming and extensive. Let me read you a post from the middle school classmates group:

"Forty-five years ago, you worried about the people; for forty-five years, the people have been worrying about you.

You wielded power over the world, yet wore patched clothes all your life! A piece of braised pork became your greatest luxury. Living simply, saving every bit, your local accent unchanged... countless such examples! I seem to smell your whole-body 'country bumpkin farmer' aroma! You were kind like a father, yet punished evildoers until they trembled with fear! But you thought day and night about suffering masses under heaven.

You sacrificed six family members for human liberation—let the vast sky dance for loyal souls;

You devoted your life to eliminating wealth gaps, treating suffering masses as family, wanting to fill the world with flowers of equality and happiness.

You sought ways out for national rise, turning Marx's 'armchair theorizing' into reality. Unwavering determination, wholehearted devotion, you built a new socialist edifice.

Your 'paper tiger,' 'three worlds,' 'oppressed peoples of the world unite'—helping trapped oppressed peoples and exploited classes worldwide, setting barriers for capitalism!

Don't speak of Christ, Buddhism, or Confucianism, much less saints and myths; one article 'Serve the People' explained those in power's essence so clearly and thoroughly. One phrase 'Long live the people'—you had people in your heart. This is your thinking, your mind, your eternity...!

With work unfinished, who will guard the nation? At your final moment, it was deep concern for your beloved people, while also seeing through some people's selfishness and evil.

You were the world's loneliest person—no one could understand your foresight, including comrades beside you and us behind you!

In turbulent times, you grasped direction in rushing currents; when dark clouds gathered, your brilliance shone even brighter.

Time leaves traces, people haven't forgotten you for a moment; at this moment, what I'm pouring out isn't words but tears... I can barely continue writing!

Your memorial day approaches—earth speechless, sun radiant; high heaven silent, who will answer? I haven't written an inscription for you because my words carry little weight. I want to write an annual memorial because I don't want to sink into despair. I didn't mention your name—everyone knows it's you! I didn't speak of your greatness—everyone knows your incomparable greatness!!!

May tears become autumn morning dew, nourishing every seedling..."

The classmate who posted this is an ordinary farmer. This post certainly wasn't written by him personally—it was shared from online—but undoubtedly represents his feelings. Just like everyone here participating in memorial activities at this moment, all hold simple gratitude and nostalgia for a leader who died forty-five years ago. We're not merely remembering a leader but reminiscing about that era when people were masters, that passionate, burning red age. So for every worker and peasant who lived through Mao's era, remembering Chairman Mao means remembering the glorious years working people once had, remembering their "lost paradise."

Let me read another post:

"From elders' mouths, worshipping you; as a youth, questioning you amid enemies' slander; as a young adult, admiring you through society's exploration. Though never meeting you face to face, having intimate conversations with you in certain deep nights. You are Zhang Muzhi bringing fairness to Goose City [note: reference to the film "Let the Bullets Fly"], also Zhang Mazi whom Huang Silang and others hate. Searching through genealogies, finding no trace of privilege; turning away with sleeves flicked, leaving behind a China. People say you live ten thousand years, you say people live ten thousand years."

This post was obviously from a young person. These few words reflect the awakening process of a generation long brainwashed by public intellectuals and elites who, after experiencing brutal capital exploitation, begin to re-recognize Chairman Mao and socialism, expressing still a simple emotion.

This is what I mean by the first reason—remembering Chairman Mao is our own emotional need. Beyond this, there's a second reason: the need for real struggle.

Everyone knows that in the forty-five years since Chairman Mao's death, the five types of people I listed earlier, to vent their class hatred, have spared no effort in spreading rumors, smearing, and slandering, pouring countless buckets of dirty water on Chairman Mao. Lenin once said: "During the lifetime of great revolutionaries, the oppressing classes constantly hounded them, received their theories with the most savage malice, the most furious hatred and the most unscrupulous campaigns of lies and slander. After their death, attempts are made to convert them into harmless icons, to canonize them, so to say, and to hallow their names to a certain extent for the 'consolation' of the oppressed classes and with the object of duping the latter, while at the same time robbing the revolutionary theory of its substance, blunting its revolutionary edge and vulgarizing it." Lenin was addressing the treatment Marx and his theories experienced, but the same drama has occurred with Chairman Mao, even worse than what Marx endured.

Therefore, when we commemorate Chairman Mao today, we must resolutely struggle against all anti-Mao elements and the forces they represent. This struggle isn't just to maintain Chairman Mao's great image but to defend his thought and continue his unfinished cause. We now hear the word "original aspiration" daily in newspapers and broadcasts. What is original aspiration? I believe just talking about national rejuvenation isn't enough or complete. Eliminating exploitative and oppressive social systems was the oath and solemn promise to the people made by the Communist Party's founding and Chairman Mao and other elder proletarian revolutionaries when they devoted themselves to revolution—this is our party's true "original aspiration" we should remember.

Famous jurist and Peking University Professor Feng Xiang once said: "As long as Mao Zedong's portrait still hangs high over Tiananmen Square, all actions resisting social unfairness and injustice are naturally legitimate, requiring no legal recognition, no elite consent, because this is Mao Zedong's agreement with the people, also the spirit of the 1949 revolution, the reason New China is New China—this is New China's highest constitutional principle." This expresses an important concept: Chairman Mao is the "five-in-one" embodiment of the Chinese Communist Party, People's Republic of China, People's Liberation Army, socialist system, and communist ideals. In other words, defending Chairman Mao means defending the Chinese Communist Party, People's Republic of China, and socialist system. So in this sense, commemorating Chairman Mao is both an emotional need and a responsibility and mission.

In his great life fighting for China's proletariat and working people's liberation, Chairman Mao was most combative. He said: "Fighting with Heaven is endless joy, fighting with Earth is endless joy, fighting with people is endless joy." "Where there is oppression, there is resistance." "It is right to rebel!" "Only heroes can drive away tigers and leopards, no brave men fear bears." "The golden monkey wrathfully swung his massive cudgel, and the jade firmament was cleared of dust." In his later years, to prevent capitalist restoration in China, he risked being "smashed to pieces," willing to break the state machine he'd created, launching the unprecedented Cultural Revolution. In 1958, talking with People's Daily director Wu Lengxi, he proposed the famous "five fearlessnesses": "A Communist Party member must withstand wrong punishment—first, not fear dismissal from office; second, not fear expulsion from the party; third, not fear his wife divorcing him; fourth, not fear imprisonment; fifth, not fear execution. With these five fearlessnesses prepared, one dares seek truth from facts and persist in truth."

Speaking of fighting spirit, elder revolutionaries set the best examples for us. Take the famous revolutionary writer Wei Wei—to defend scientific socialist principles, he not only suffered house arrest and was vilified as "ultra-left" but was long banished by mainstream literary circles. But he never compromised or retreated. In "On the Threshold of the New Century," he wrote: "Workers and peasants who have tasted socialism's sweetness and become the nation's masters, as their master status is lost and life deteriorates, facing survival threats, won't remain silent long. Those conscious Communists deeply educated in Marxism-Leninism will inevitably regroup their strength, strongly unite again, lead the people and masses in resolute struggle against bourgeois agents. The new century will still be a century of difficult struggle, also a century of renewed world revolutionary climax. Let us bravely welcome this hopeful century!" He left the deathbed words "Continue revolution, never surrender."

More recently, there's the late Hubei provincial leader Li Erzhong, also a model of not forgetting original aspirations and continuing revolution. In "To Revolutionary Youth," he pointed out sharply: "Revisionists always think rising production indices are good, not knowing that rising production indices, if representing private ownership rise, indicate capitalist development, running counter to socialism and aimed at eliminating socialism. Not asking whether it's capitalist or socialist, prioritizing development above all—this is the cause of today's serious consequences."

There's also veteran New Fourth Army soldier Gu Lao participating in today's memorial activities. Like Wei Wei and Li Erzhong, Gu Lao is also a model of "continue revolution, never surrender." At over ninety, he still persistently struggles against various anti-Mao, anti-Communist, anti-socialist forces. Two years ago, he was even sued for criticizing Fang Fang's "Soft Burial" [note: controversial novel]. Gu Lao angrily said: Communist Party members defending the Communist Party are cursed as "bringing disaster to country and people" by anti-Communist literati—truly the landlord restoration corps has returned! In recent years, I've also received party disciplinary action more than once for struggling against people like Fang Fang, so I deeply empathize with Gu Lao's experience.

These shocking phenomena precisely illustrate struggle's severity and necessity, also demonstrating the realistic significance of commemorating Chairman Mao. If we merely stop at the emotional level of praising and remembering Chairman Mao without promoting his fighting spirit, inheriting his brilliant thought, and advancing socialist cause, workers, peasants, and broad working people will be pressed down to suffer long-term exploitation by capital and power elites, with ninety-nine percent forever becoming slaves and "leeks" awaiting harvest by one percent. If so, we'd not only fail countless revolutionary martyrs who sacrificed for New China and socialist system establishment but also disappoint Chairman Mao's earnest teachings and ardent expectations.

Over ten years ago, when interviewed by a German scholar who asked how I evaluated Mao Zedong, I answered: "For most ordinary people, Mao Zedong is a great liberator and tireless teacher, while for a few elites, he's an inescapable nightmare." In today's China, attitudes toward Chairman Mao not only test a person's conscience but serve as a touchstone for testing the Chinese Communist Party.

Finally, let us revisit a passage from "The Communist Manifesto":

"Let the ruling classes tremble at a Communistic revolution. The proletarians have nothing to lose but their chains. They have a world to win. Working men of all countries, unite!"

September 9, 2021

Correspondence with Han Shaogong

Liu Jiming, Han Shaogong 2024-10-16 Source: Human Realm Institute | WeChat Official Account

Correspondence between Liu Jiming and Han Shaogong

Han Shaogong to Liu Jiming

Jiming:

Hello! After receiving your letter, I paid attention to "Shanghai Literature" and read both pieces. (I've been reading fewer periodicals lately.) I greatly admire your state of mind. The first piece seems more natural and relaxed. The second is like broad brushstroke painting—such works are indispensable, but difficult to master. When language spins in the air, the demands on language are even higher. I can understand "Shanghai Literature's" emphasis on "cultural concern," but this label is too big—you needn't worry about it, just write what you should write. The criticism circles lack sufficient voltage; expecting them to respond may be wishful thinking. Now we can only be responsible to ourselves.

Hainan remains the same. This year, periodical approvals are basically frozen. Lin Gang has been trying to secure a publication number for you, but it won't budge—we can only wait for future opportunities. Our Writers' Association recently had a boss contribute tens of thousands of yuan to invite Zhang Chengzhi, Chen Cun, Jiang Zilong and others for a gathering. In casual conversation, people mentioned you—they're paying attention to you. I'm about to take a trip to Australia. Writing continues, but I think more and write less.

Hastily written, wishing you

Good health

Han Shaogong

May 10, 1994

Liu Jiming to Han Shaogong

Mr. Shaogong:

I've read the Kang Xiaoguang article you sent with great interest. I've paid little attention to the "New New Confucianist School" before, so this gave me a preliminary understanding of their basic approach. I've always adopted a cautious attitude toward the "political solutions" proposed by scholars—neither rushing to affirm nor to negate, but trying to discover what is reasonable and unreasonable in them. I still tend to agree with Said's position on intellectuals exercising social criticism as "amateurs." This is probably consistent with your "skepticism," isn't it?

Additionally, Kang's complete denial of the practical significance of "democracy" is questionable. Actually, Kang's proposed "Confucianization plan" also incorporates some democratic political elements. I think there's a significant difference between democracy as "purpose" and democracy as "means." Rejecting "democracy" without discrimination is inadvisable and ineffective for refuting liberalism. For example, communitarianism can be said to be a derivative within the democratic political framework, with considerable reasonableness.

The above are just random thoughts—I wonder if you agree?

Liu Jiming

February 2005

Han Shaogong to Liu Jiming

Jiming:

The functions of democracy should indeed be analyzed concretely. Generally speaking, democracy tends toward good internally (such as supervising official power) but toward evil externally (such as nationalist wars); democracy tends toward good in dealing with immediate matters (such as ending tyranny) but toward evil in dealing with distant matters (such as neglecting environmental protection)... The reason is that democracy relies on the masses' rational interests, and interests can be divided: some within the masses' field of vision, others in their blind spots.

The conditions for democracy should also be analyzed concretely. Generally speaking, democracy depends on virtuous masses—as Western democracy once relied on religious inertial influence for moral support; democracy necessarily fails with evil masses—as online democracy in the consumerist era often results in righteousness failing to overcome evil. Democracy also depends on sharing abundant resources. If Western city-state democracy had no vast slaves secretly supporting it, if Western nation-state democracy had no vast colonies secretly supporting it, would there have been as much glory?

To speak plainly, democracy in history has been a mixture of good and evil, just as Confucian rule (scholar politics), religious rule (ecclesiastical politics), monarchy (aristocratic politics) are also mixtures of good and evil—indeed, actually more evil than good. Nevertheless, democracy in institutional form most closely approaches the goal of people-centeredness, thus having value advantages over other political systems and greater social mobilizing power—people-centeredness is, after all, promised by most political systems and serves as a value guide for most political systems' virtuous operation.

Due to thinking habits stemming from Greek rationalism and Christian universalism, Western scholars equate democracy with people-centeredness, using means to lock in purposes—this is understandable. Although the weakening of religion (hedonistic waves) or strengthening (fundamentalist movements), capital control (American-style democracy) or authoritarian control (Nazi-style democracy) may all cause democracy to deviate from people-centeredness, this institutional heritage of democracy should still be inherited and absorbed.

Absorption need not be copying, but must not be abandonment.

Another shortcoming of Kang's article may be strategic: borrowing a predecessor's words, whatever sounds good is impractical, whatever is practical doesn't sound good—Confucian hierarchical theory at this moment is at least unwelcome to people's ears, although it contains some bitter truth.

Written casually, as an exchange of ideas.

Han Shaogong

February 2005

Han Shaogong to Liu Jiming

Jiming:

The article is well-written and will be enlightening to readers.

Only the analysis of revolutionary literature could go deeper. Revolution is institution-building without capital, so revolution abolished capital's hierarchy but could create power hierarchy, or achieve temporary separation between the former and latter. What might be the different expressions of literature's grassroots consciousness in such circumstances? The class struggle literature of that time had its reasonableness, but where were the hidden dangers? For instance, was the "tall, great, and perfect" tendency in works like "Bright Sunny Sky" merely a technical problem, or was it establishing a non-capitalized hierarchical system?

For reference only.

Shaogong

March 2005

Liu Jiming to Han Shaogong

Brother Shaogong:

After sending out the article, I made several major revisions, including some viewpoints and further refinement of terminology and concepts. The revision took longer than the writing itself. Writing novels allows indulgence in the pleasure generated during the narrative process, without needing to dwell too much on the derivation of words and concepts. But theoretical articles require repeated analysis in the details of word-to-word and concept-to-concept relationships, layer-by-layer deepening clearing and discrimination. Often, a slight relaxation makes the argument appear loose and superficial. This obviously requires solid scholarship and meticulous thinking ability as foundation. This is what I've felt most deeply after concentrating on writing several theoretical pieces recently.

Reading your articles, I feel you're always skilled at incorporating some major value propositions into specific, subtle language, and from there reaching profound and vast spiritual domains. The experience you've accumulated in this area is worth my careful study.

The key points you mentioned in your letter about "revolutionary literature" needing further in-depth analysis were quite inspiring to me. I think they deserve a special article, which seems beyond my current capability. I remember you once mentioned having such writing plans—I look forward to reading your great work soon!

Jiming

March 2005

Brother Shaogong:

A few days ago I went to Beijing for a symposium where most people gave "Human Realm" high praise, but there were also clashing dissenting opinions. What moved me was that Han Yuhai refuted certain challenges one by one, quite like a great chivalrous hero. Since a certain journal wants to publish a special "Human Realm" critique issue, I hastily wrote a short piece as a response, sending it for your reading and hoping for your generous corrections.

Jiming

October 20, 2016

Han Shaogong to Liu Jiming

Jiming:

I admire your concern, thinking, courage, and imagination. As Li Yunlei said, it's a landmark work of "new socialism," unprecedented utopian reconstruction, comprehensive settling of accounts and seeking solutions. In this sense, such writing itself is a great merit that deeply moves me. This book's topical nature will very likely be long-lasting, broad, and far-reaching, far exceeding our expectations. My slight hesitation is that it's very "realistic" when revealing problems, including vivid characterization of Lu, Ding, Gu and others with good proportion, but appears overly "romantic" when seeking solutions—this may not be your shortcoming but rather that real life hasn't yet reached this stage. Websites still depend on capital's charity. Protests have been crushed by capital. Things are indeed this stark. As for the utopia's greatest fulcrum, "cooperatives," their persuasive power also seems ethereal. You must know that given current global pricing systems and economic structures, given agriculture's low added value, a few households' "organic products" are completely insufficient for self-reliance and self-strengthening. For instance, pests and diseases cannot be isolated, while greenhouse isolation brings excessive costs; pig manure has very low fertility, not to mention biogas and feed bringing huge costs; product certification has scale thresholds, and certification doesn't equal automatic customer trust or zero sales barriers... More importantly, cooperatives are not collectives but merely a limited collaborative form of private ownership (cooperatives allow withdrawal of shares, collectives don't). The possible forms of "reorganization," the economic pressure, social trends, and human motivations needed for "re-socialism" all await further fermentation and accumulation through practice. The complexity and difficulty far exceed what Liu Qing, Hao Ran, and Zhao Shuli could imagine in their time. Moreover, was the "old socialist" narrative of that era also overly romantic? Without the accumulated disadvantages and severe setbacks of the left wing back then, how could the whole party and people's rightward stampede have formed later?

This isn't discussing your work but using my experience to continue participating in the thinking you've initiated. Currently, rebuilding utopia is a global major issue, but the 99% have prepared complaints but not construction; prepared words but not action; prepared accusations but not self-reflection. This is the experiential resource predicament of us writers. Perhaps we don't have better methods for now.

Speaking privately, just for reference, I won't elaborate further. Perhaps this won't help your next writing. Thank you for the gifted book and for inspiring and encouraging me.

Wishing you autumn well-being

Shaogong

October 1，2017

Liu Jiming to Han Shaogong

Brother Shaogong:

Your saying you're grateful for my work's "inspiration and encouragement" is really too kind. Actually, the one who should express gratitude is me. If "Human Realm" is really as you and Yunlei said, "activating the socialist literary tradition in a new context, restoring the novel's power as a form of thought" and being "a landmark work of 'new socialist literature,'" it doesn't prove how brave I am. Speaking of "bravery," perhaps we could list a long string of names, such as you and Zhang Chengzhi, Zhang Wei, Wang Hui, Li Tuo, Wang Xiaoming, Cai Xiang, and Han Yuhai, Zhu Dongli, Kuang Xinni, etc. It's these people who, in the context of serious imbalance and distortion in China's social development and intellectual conditions, spoke out first, bravely expressing a series of profound thoughts and concerns. I'm merely someone who realized the significance of these voices relatively early and joined this ranks.

I know this is an important reason why you fully affirm "Human Realm" and say its "topical nature" "will very likely be long-lasting, broad, and far-reaching." As a novel, "Human Realm" is far from perfect. The reason it's valued by you and some friends is probably mainly that it concentrates and presents the social, historical, and spiritual-cultural chronic ailments that have accumulated over years, and does so in novel form. Such writing has been neglected and disparaged by mainstream literary circles. This is precisely why some friends worried it would cause "controversy" after reading "Human Realm." But for a literary work, controversy isn't frightening—what's frightening is "no controversy." In literary circles, people have grown accustomed to "no debate." Beneath the seemingly harmonious atmosphere, everyone harbors their own thoughts with undercurrents surging. On one hand is literary "industrialization," on the other is media "party-ization." This is the typical manifestation of what Wang Hui calls "depoliticized politics."

It's precisely in this context that literature has long lost its tradition as a "form of thought." "Human Realm" incorporates issues that seemingly belong only to the "ideological realm" and treats them as important narrative driving force. For many people, this is obviously untimely. Actually, I'm not the only one doing this—you went further in "Ma Qiao Dictionary" and "Suggestion," only you broke through traditional novel norms and created a new novel form, while I stayed within traditional novel categories, putting new wine in old bottles. Both approaches actually lead to the same destination. Is my understanding correct?

When you discuss "utopian reconstruction," you say "the ninety-nine percent have prepared complaints but not construction; prepared words but not action; prepared accusations but not self-reflection," hitting the crux of the problem. In a context where not only "utopia" but even communism, socialism, and idealism have been seriously stigmatized, rebuilding "utopia" is easier said than done. Everything is still in the imagination stage regarding the future, far from actual operation (this may also be one reason you pointed out in your letter that "Human Realm" is very "realistic" when raising problems but "overly romantic" when seeking solutions). This is the reality we must face. The key is whether our hearts are strong or firm enough, whether we have a goal worthy of being called belief or faith.

For this reason too, regarding the concept of "new socialist literature," on one hand I feel it's quite meaningful for current literature, on the other hand I don't feel so grounded. As you pointed out, Ma La's cooperative doesn't equal socialism, and in the current situation where the "socialism" concept itself is scarred and full of ambiguity, does "new socialist literature" really have the possibility of becoming reality?

This question is posed both to you and me, and to the future.

During the National Day holiday I basically stayed home, flipping through old books while pondering the questions raised in your letter.

Wishing you

Autumn well-being

Jiming

October 6，2017

Han Shaogong to Liu Jiming

Hello Jiming

The reason I was strict, demanding, and nitpicky in finding problems and expanding discussion in my previous letter was considering the severe situation and how to better respond to a protracted war. Your tolerance and understanding give me some relief. Fellow travelers should indeed speak without reservation. Your protagonist took a valuable first step, but I think it was very wise to "pause" the story with a flood. Where to go next can only find answers from practice. Looking at the present, Huaxi Village, Nanjie Village, etc. are almost communist internally but capitalist externally, including extracting surplus value from about 90% migrant workers, thus achieving temporary village prosperity. Huawei's company-wide shareholding is extraordinary, but its premise for growing strong is occupying technological high ground and utilizing existing global pricing systems (actually somewhat unreasonable) and game rules. Of course, fortunately "neoliberalism" is already full of loopholes, fortunately environmental costs, corporate social responsibility, macro-control, supply-side reform (semi-planned economy?)... have all been forced out by reality. A new worldview is calling forth. As for when we can counteract or even crush that ideological trend favoring private gain, profit, and evil, borrowing from technological revolution and social crisis opportunities to form more mature social transformation movements, we might be cautiously optimistic.

These problems often trouble me too. Let's work together. Wishing you

Autumn well-being

Shaogong

October 7， 2017

Random Thoughts (31)

Liu Jiming, July 1, 2025

Throughout Chinese and world history, many revolutions have been launched under the banner of seeking welfare and liberation for the poor. Yet when they succeed and seize power, most betray their original intentions, transforming from parties of the poor into "parties of the rich"—the dragon-slayers become evil dragons themselves. This is the cyclical law of history. If this pattern is not fundamentally changed, the legitimacy and righteousness of revolution will suffer serious damage. In his later years, Mao Zedong attempted to break this cycle, but it was quickly reversed after his death.

Many bourgeois politicians like Trump and Putin claim to represent the people, just as feudal emperors always styled themselves as Sons of Heaven. In their eyes, both exploiters and the exploited are "the people," but the prerequisite for the exploited to be considered "people" is that they must accept the unequal social system imposed upon them by the bourgeoisie—becoming obedient citizens and "leeks" [note: slang for people easily harvested/exploited]. Once they challenge and resist the existing political order, they are kicked out of the ranks of the people and even citizens, branded as troublemakers, mobs, and rebels, and subjected to brutal suppression.

Unlike hypocritical bourgeois politicians, proletarian revolutionaries and leaders never claim to represent "all the people," but consistently struggle for the interests of the proletariat and the broad masses of working people. As stated in "The Communist Manifesto," Communists never conceal that their goal is to abolish private property and ultimately establish a "free association of men" without class exploitation and oppression. Only then will proletarian revolutionary leaders say they work for the freedom and liberation of all humanity. Before that point, anyone who packages their special interests as universal interests is either a bourgeois politician or a traitor to the proletariat and revisionist of every stripe.

In literary and artistic works reflecting the New Democratic Revolution and Socialist Revolution during the first thirty years, the protagonists were mostly workers and peasants. After reform and opening-up, the protagonists were replaced by the wealthy—young masters and misses, namely the landlord bourgeoisie who had once been overthrown. Workers and peasants, who had once been the creators of history, were once again reduced to servants and extras on the stage of old theater, even clowns. The revolution of the poor became the revolution of the rich. History was thus quietly rewritten. The same is true in reality. As Foucault said, all history is contemporary history.

Nothing in the world is more absurd than treating restoration and regression as progress and innovation, viewing great social transformation and progress as backward rigidity, and slandering the era of the most extensive and profound people's democracy in history as an era of authoritarian dictatorship. Moreover, similar events have repeatedly occurred throughout human history, such as Zhao Gao's "Conspiracy at Shaqiu" and his calling a deer a horse during China's Qin Dynasty, Louis Bonaparte's "Coup of 18 Brumaire" in France, and Khrushchev's "Secret Report" in the Soviet Union. As Marx wrote in "The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte": "The February Revolution was buried by cunning swindlers, with the result that what was eliminated was not that society itself had acquired new content, but that the state reverted to its most ancient form, to )the shamelessly primitive rule of the sword and cowl."

A netizen asked: What is "the worst kind of capitalism"? Answer: Official autocracy plus monopolistic marketization. Its main characteristics are using the state apparatus to protect capital while depriving the people of basic democratic rights, thereby throwing the proletariat into a jungle society without any welfare guarantees, reducing them to double refugees both politically and economically.

After more than forty years of degeneration, society has completely collapsed—beyond what any individual can change. I lack the courage and responsibility of Mr. Lu Xun, who said "If there is no torch after this, I will be the only light," but I still dare to use my feeble pen to write these scattered words, so that those seeking light in the darkness might see a glimmer of hope.

A netizen forwarded a reader's comment: "'Human境' [note: "Human Realm," another work by Liu Jiming] depicted human confusion and wandering, while 'Black and White' portrayed human suffering and struggle. This is enough to make Teacher Liu a great writer who records history and life through novels. But this is not enough—he has not yet recorded human despair and the struggle of living toward death; he must continue writing. Teacher Liu was banned from speaking, and 'Black and White' was banned from distribution—isn't this forcing Teacher Liu to continue writing? History will not forget the recorders of history, and we are fortunate to be readers of historical records. I wish Teacher Liu good health, and in this suffocating world, may he continue recording history and life for countless desperate people." Actually, "Black and White" also wrote about "human despair and the struggle of living toward death." After completing this book, I indeed didn't want to write anything more, but the mainland ban and the blocking of my Weibo account have indeed rekindled my writing impulse—if "Black and White" is testimony to time, then "Random Thoughts" is my suicide note to this world.

"Now the atmosphere seems to have changed completely; nowhere can one hear the sound of singing about flowers and moon, replaced instead by praise of iron and blood. However, if one speaks with a deceptive heart and deceptive mouth, then whether saying A and O, or Y and Z, it is equally false; it can only silence the mouths of so-called critics who previously scorned flowers and moon, and satisfy them that China is about to revive. Pitifully, under the big hat of 'patriotism,' they have closed their eyes again—or perhaps they were always closed." This is a passage from Lu Xun's "On Looking with Open Eyes." Though written a hundred years ago, it clearly describes the present moment. When I think of those distinguished gentlemen throughout literary and academic circles who built their careers studying Lu Xun or brandishing Lu Xun's banner to become professors, doctoral supervisors, and presidents and chairmen, yet whose writings and actions run completely counter to Lu Xun's spirit—they are truly the "false scholars" and "running dogs" like Liang Shiqiu that Lu Xun angrily denounced—I can't help but feel embarrassed for them.

Revolutionaries are never perfect; like ordinary people, they have shortcomings and make mistakes—such as crude and brutal work methods, not knowing how to unite people, and so on. But such errors are not deliberate sabotage and can be continuously improved in practice. Revolutionary ranks are not pure; they contain good and bad people, sacrifice and betrayal, loyalty and treachery. Often, the overt and covert attacks revolutionaries suffer come not from enemies but from their own camp. Some people who usually talk about Marxism constantly and appear most active cannot bear the slightest grievance. Often, because of a little personal loss or wounded pride, they turn their guns on their own comrades,战友 [zhàn yǒu: comrades-in-arms], teachers, and organizations, attacking with a viciousness that surpasses their treatment of real enemies, ultimately destroying the entire revolutionary cause. In 20th-century international communist movement and Chinese revolutionary history, from Kautsky and Khrushchev to Gu Shunzhang and Zhang Guotao, such examples abound. Throughout his life, Lu Xun suffered attacks and slander from his "own camp" far more than from the enemy camp, some even from students he had once greatly appreciated (such as Xu Maoyong). Although the dissolution of the League of Left-Wing Writers was mainly due to changing circumstances and adjustments in the CCP's literary policy, part of the reason was also internal disputes within the League. During Wei Wei's editorship of "Mainstream" magazine, he was falsely accused of "embezzling magazine funds." Similar phenomena have never disappeared from the history of leftist movements; their painful lessons are both lamentable and worthy of deep reflection.

Over these years, whether students in writing workshops or visitors who came "seeking my reputation," I have encountered quite a few young people. For their "inquiries," I always speak frankly. Though not every word is correct, these are crystallizations of my lifelong pursuit of knowledge and shouldn't mislead the younger generation. Despite being isolated and weak, with such a hostile social environment, I still do my utmost to promote talents I discover among young people, striving to provide them more opportunities for development. This is naturally no great virtue, just fulfilling the duty of an elder. Perhaps because of this sentiment, when attacked by individual young people, I feel deeply disappointed and even doubt whether my efforts are worthwhile. But regardless, this world belongs to the young; as they are, so will the future world be. Whether good or bad, everything will be created by them and borne by them. Thinking this way, my heart finds peace.

A netizen commented on Zhihu that some people regard me as Yan'an [note: the Communist base during the war years]. I laughed and said: Yan'an has long since fallen; I am merely a lonely little island in Kuomintang-controlled territory.

French thinker Montaigne had a famous saying: "I live each day as if it were my last; when I leave home in the morning, I prepare myself not to return." He was referring to the possibility that death could come at any moment. Over these years, I too have developed a habit of taking daily inventory of urgent tasks, never postponing today's work to tomorrow or the day after, because perhaps after today, there will never be another chance to do it. For me, the threat of losing freedom far outweighs the fear of death.

In daily life, I am a slow and clumsy person, which forms a sharp contrast with my sensitivity and acuity in thought and emotion.

The history of 20th-century international communist movement from glory to decline, from victory to defeat, demonstrates that once socialist countries turn revisionist, the dictatorship of the proletariat inevitably becomes the dictatorship of the bourgeoisie, and their cruelty in oppressing and exploiting the people will far exceed that of capitalist countries.

[Reflection Question] Today marks the 104th anniversary of the founding of the Communist Party of China. I saw an article titled "No Matter How Great the Grievance, Never Betray the Party; This Life Forever Follows the Communist Party," which suddenly made me think of a question: A party member certainly cannot betray the party because of personal grievances. But if a party betrays its original mission and embarks on the wrong path, should party members continue to follow forever, or should they struggle against it and even break with it?

Reflections on "Revolutionary Culture"

Liu Jiming, August 17, 2024
at Honghu, Hubei

Honghu is the center of the Hunan-Hubei-Western revolutionary base area, and also the birthplace of The Red Guards of Honghu Lake. Before coming to Honghu, everyone has probably seen the film The Red Guards of Honghu Lake, and some may have watched it more than once. I can't even remember how many times I've seen it.

The Red Guards of Honghu Lake was adapted from an opera created by the Hubei Provincial Opera Troupe. The predecessor of the Hubei Provincial Opera Troupe was the Hubei Provincial Experimental Opera Troupe, now called the Hubei Provincial Opera and Dance Theater, abbreviated as "Provincial Opera." It's very close to Wuhan University, less than one stop away. After graduating from Wuhan University, I was assigned to work as a scriptwriter at the Provincial Opera. When I reported for duty, the unit sent a logistics worker on a tricycle who brought me and my luggage to the Provincial Opera in the time it takes to smoke a cigarette. I worked at the Provincial Opera for less than three years. Except for Wang Yuzhen, who played Han Ying (she was transferred to work in Beijing), I met all the main creative personnel from The Red Guards of Honghu Lake, such as the scriptwriter-lyricist-composer Mei Shaoshan, Ouyang Qianshu, Zhang Jing'an, set designer Zhu Xiaodan, and especially Xia Kuibin who played Liu Chuang and Liu Shuqi who played Han Ying's mother—they were husband and wife, very warm and kind people. Shortly after I arrived at the Provincial Opera, I was commissioned by a magazine to interview them and wrote an article about their love and career. More than thirty years have passed in a flash. After I left the Provincial Opera, I never went back. Xia Kuibin passed away in the 1990s, and if Liu Shuqi is still alive, she would be over ninety years old.

These past few days I've been revisiting several classic arias from The Red Guards of Honghu Lake, such as "The Waters of Honghu Lake Lap Against the Waves," "Taking Up the Plates and Striking Them," and "I Want to See All the World's Suffering People Liberated." The Red Guards of Honghu Lake is adapted from an opera, so it contains many arias, but the most famous are still these three—I never tire of hearing them. I loved them as a child and can still hum a few lines now. Every time I hear Han Ying pouring out her heart to her mother in prison, those three passages "Mother, after your son dies, you must bury your son beside Honghu Lake... by the main road, on the high slope" and the final line "I want to see the white bandits completely destroyed, I want to see all the world's suffering people liberated," I can't help but have tears well up in my eyes.

This aria of Han Ying's is called an aria in operatic terms, expressing mother-daughter affection, class hatred, and the noble sentiments of a proletarian revolutionary who sacrifices herself for righteousness with perfect eloquence. Whether in content or musical form, it has reached the pinnacle of perfection and can be called a classic among classics—it can be said to be our best exemplar for studying red classics and revolutionary culture.

This was a digression. Now let's enter our main topic.

I. What is "Revolution"?

Before formally entering today's topic, let's first clarify what revolution and revolutionary culture are.

According to mainstream interpretation, revolutionary culture was created by the Chinese Communist Party in leading the people through revolution, construction, and reform throughout history. It has elevated excellent Chinese traditional culture and is the sum of all material and spiritual culture born and formed in the practice of revolution, construction, and reform. It can inspire the spiritual strength of the broad masses of people to strive for comprehensively building a modern socialist country and realizing the Chinese Dream of the great rejuvenation of the Chinese nation. The historical source of revolutionary culture lies in the Chinese people's long revolutionary process, specifically including the periods of the Agrarian Revolutionary War, the War of Resistance Against Japanese Aggression, and the Liberation War—revolutionary culture produced under different spatial and temporal conditions. Historically, revolutionary culture manifests as revolutionary values, revolutionary theory, revolutionary-era lifestyles, and the symbolic system of revolutionary culture. In modern society, revolutionary culture inevitably displays new characteristics and new forms due to culture's national and temporal nature, mainly consisting of revolutionary spiritual culture, revolutionary relics and sites and documents, revolutionary cultural symbols, etc.

This explanation provides clear definition of the connotation and sources of revolutionary culture, but it is relatively abstract, hollow, and even vague. For example, what is revolution? What is the difference between proletarian revolution and bourgeois revolution? What are the different characteristics of the New Democratic Revolution, socialist revolution and construction, and the reform and opening-up period led by the Chinese Communist Party? All these require specific analysis.

Chairman Mao once said in his "Report on an Investigation of the Peasant Movement in Hunan": "A revolution is not a dinner party, or writing an essay, or painting a picture, or doing embroidery; it cannot be so refined, so leisurely and gentle, so temperate, kind, courteous, restrained and magnanimous. A revolution is an insurrection, an act of violence by which one class overthrows another." This is true for proletarian revolution, and also for bourgeois revolution. The French Revolution that overthrew the feudal autocratic Bourbon dynasty and China's Xinhai Revolution that overthrew the corrupt feudal Qing rule were such, as were Russia's October Revolution that overthrew the Tsar and China's New Democratic Revolution that overthrew the reactionary Kuomintang rule.

Revolution always replaces old systems with new ones, represents new social forces and values, and represents the interests of the majority of people. The bourgeoisie was the majority relative to the feudal nobility, and the proletariat is also the majority relative to the bourgeoisie. Revolution that represents the interests of the proletariat and the broad masses of suffering people is proletarian revolution; that which represents the interests of landlords, capitalists, and a minority of privileged elites is bourgeois revolution.

In any era, revolution represents progress. The standard for distinguishing revolution from counter-revolution, progress from restoration, is simple: it depends on whether it represents the interests of the majority. If it does, it is revolutionary and progressive; otherwise it is counter-revolutionary. If revolution representing the interests of the majority of people is changed to represent the interests of a minority, that is counter-revolutionary restoration. This standard is the touchstone for identifying true revolution from false revolution. With this touchstone, all counter-revolutionary forces that wave revolutionary banners while practicing restoration will be exposed in their true colors, no matter how eloquent their words or how sophisticated their disguises.

Revolution also represents ideals and sacrifice. For the proletariat, the ideal is realizing communism, and they struggle for this ideal. Struggle brings sacrifice, sacrifice brings bloodshed, and many people pay with their lives. Chairman Mao felt this most acutely and profoundly—his own family sacrificed six relatives for the Chinese revolution. Regarding revolution, he left many profound maxims, such as: "Countless revolutionary martyrs have laid down their lives in the interests of the people, and our hearts are filled with pain as we the living contemplate their deeds. Let us hold high the banners they held high and march forward along the path crimson with their blood!" "To forget the revolution means betrayal." Even in his later years, he never forgot: "How many people died for us to establish New China—some may have forgotten, but I remember!"

Why are the colors of the Chinese Communist Party and New China's flag bright red, rather than pink or deep red? Because blood is bright red only when it first flows from the body; before long it coagulates and becomes deep red or even black. The reason our national flag and party flag are bright red is that the founders of the CCP and the People's Republic hoped this party and this nation would forever maintain their revolutionary character, just as they promised when founding the party and the nation—to continue the revolution and never surrender. They hoped the party and nation would not change color, neither becoming deep red like a scabbed wound forgotten and enshrined in memorial halls and museums, serving only for people to visit with no real significance. Of course, they also hoped it wouldn't become pink, which is a color popular among petite bourgeois groups, representing consumption and fashion, no longer having any connection with revolution. We are now in an ocean of this color.

Bright red is both the main color of the national and party flags and the main color of revolution. Deep red represents the past, while bright red represents past, present, and future—it is the symbol of revolutionary spirit's eternal vitality. Mr. Guo Songmin was recently attacked by many fruit fans [note: Kuomintang supporters] for criticizing a film about the Battle of Hengyang. He wrote an article called "Words of a Deep Red Person," using "deep red person" to describe himself and declaring his intention to defend the achievements of the New Democratic Revolution. When I reposted his Weibo, I said: "If the achievements of the socialist revolution and construction period are negated, what meaning is there in defending the achievements of the New Democratic Revolution?" Why did I say this? Because the socialist revolution and construction and the New Democratic Revolution are mutually causal and interdependent. Without the New Democratic Revolution, there could be no socialist revolution and construction, and vice versa—without socialist revolution and construction, the New Democratic Revolution would not be "new," and would be no different from the dynastic changes throughout Chinese history where one group seizes power from another. So if the New Democratic Revolution is deep red, then socialist revolution and construction is bright red. Now many people in public opinion and even the mainstream say the opposite of what Guo Songmin said—they don't negate the New Democratic Revolution, but they negate the entire period of socialist revolution and construction from 1957 to Chairman Mao's death in 1976. This is equivalent to negating the class nature of the Chinese revolution, conflating proletarian revolution with bourgeois revolution, and retreating from communism to nationalism—this is the same as Song Jiang changing Chao Gai's "Hall of Righteousness" to "Hall of Loyalty" [note: reference to Water Margin].

For example, in recent years mainstream media has loudly proclaimed the continuation of red genes, yet power departments frequently suppress grassroots spontaneous red cultural activities and threaten or even persecute supporters and organizers, making many people participate in mass red cultural activities like underground party members in spy dramas.

This Zhao Laotaiye and Lord Ye-style attitude toward the color red—loving the dragon in theory but fearing it in practice [note: reference to traditional Chinese fables]—is the real betrayal of revolutionary culture.

II. Revolutionary Culture, Traditional Culture, and Socialist Advanced Culture

In mainstream discourse, revolutionary culture is usually placed alongside traditional culture and socialist advanced culture. The authoritative theoretical formulation is:

First, excellent Chinese traditional culture is the crystallization of wisdom accumulated by the Chinese nation through the long river of history. It is manifested not only in the vast and brilliant cultural achievements, but more importantly in the ideas, traditional virtues, and humanistic spirit that run through them. It reveals the glorious history of the Chinese nation, displays the great wisdom and creativity of all ethnic groups, and is also the unique identifier gradually formed by the Chinese nation and Chinese people in the process of governing themselves and the state, respecting time and maintaining position, understanding constants and reaching changes, developing things and accomplishing tasks, and achieving success—distinguishing them from other nations.

Second, revolutionary culture consists of the ideological theories, value pursuits, and spiritual qualities cultivated and created in the great struggle of the Party and people since modern times, especially since the May Fourth New Culture Movement, such as the Red Boat Spirit, Jinggangshan Spirit, Long March Spirit, Yan'an Spirit, Yimeng Spirit, Xibaipo Spirit, etc. It embodies the development and achievements of modern and contemporary Chinese culture under Marxist guidance, displaying the unyielding national integrity and heroic spirit of the Chinese people. Revolutionary culture is both a high cultural condensation of the Chinese nation's revolutionary struggle history and the main manifestation of the Chinese spirit in the revolutionary era, embodying the aspirations of all ethnic groups for a better life.

Third, socialist advanced culture is formed under Marxist guidance in the great practice of building socialism with Chinese characteristics led by the Party—a socialist culture that is modernization-oriented, world-oriented, and future-oriented, national, scientific, and popular, representing the progressive trends and development requirements of the times.

With slight discernment, we can easily discover that the greatest characteristic of the above discourse is abandoning the Marxist viewpoints on class and class struggle and the analytical method of historical materialism—it represents a state-nationalist position. Among these, the description of so-called excellent traditional culture, such as "governing oneself and the state, respecting time and maintaining position, understanding constants and reaching changes, developing things and accomplishing tasks, achieving success," clearly stands from the position of elites and ruling classes, running completely counter to the value orientation and even aesthetic tastes of revolutionary culture.

We often say that the Chinese Communist Party led the people in ending thousands of years of feudal society and the man-eating exploitative system, overthrowing the three mountains of feudalism, bureaucratic capitalism, and imperialism, enabling the long-oppressed masses at the bottom of society to stand up and become masters, and establishing an egalitarian socialist system. This is the most important dimension for understanding the Chinese revolution. Understanding traditional culture cannot be separated from this dimension either. The Chinese Communist Party and the revolution it led emerged when the feudal system and culture of thousands of years was becoming corrupt, declining, and moribund. "The salvos of the October Revolution brought us Marxism-Leninism." The victory of the Chinese revolution was also due to Marxism-Leninism and Mao Zedong Thought formed in long struggle practice, as were China's socialist revolution and construction. Understanding and attitudes toward traditional culture should also be built on this dimension. Chairman Mao's approach to traditional culture always emphasized critical inheritance; he never placed traditional culture alongside revolutionary culture. Without criticism there is no revolution. Fundamentally speaking, the victory and even legitimacy of the Chinese revolution was built on criticism and negation of China's thousands of years of feudal system and feudal culture, not on things like "governing oneself and the state, respecting time and maintaining position, understanding constants and reaching changes, developing things and accomplishing tasks, achieving success"—these Confucian-Mencian concepts that only feudal society scholar-bureaucrats possessed. For Communists who believe in Marxism-Leninism, true excellent Chinese traditional culture is neither Confucian culture nor Daoist culture, but Legalist culture and the rebel culture represented by peasant uprisings from Chen Sheng and Wu Guang to Li Zicheng and the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom.

However, in recent years society has stirred up a so-called revival of traditional culture craze, with various chaotic and even absurd phenomena appearing, such as Confucius statues being erected in squares only to be moved away within days, the Han clothing trend sweeping society, elementary students reciting the Four Books and Five Classics, women binding feet, an advertisement in Shanghai two years ago recruiting kneeling domestic service for hundreds of thousands monthly salary, "Maybach Young Master" being admitted to Tsinghua University, and the removal of Li Zicheng statues and Taiping Heavenly Kingdom monuments. These are all results of revolutionary culture being devoured by feudal culture.

The so-called "socialist advanced culture" refers to "the great practice of socialism with Chinese characteristics theory," excluding what is commonly called the first thirty years or the Mao Zedong era. This historical period is uniformly called the "period of socialist revolution and construction" in CCP party history, People's Republic of China history, and socialist history, and should rightfully belong to revolutionary culture and socialist advanced culture, but now it has been excluded from this category. This is untenable whether from historical logic or political ethics, yet it has brazenly become a mainstream narrative—truly bewildering. But upon careful thought, it becomes understandable. Why do I say this? Because although the periods before and after reform and opening-up are both part of the whole after the founding of the People's Republic of China, fundamental reversals have occurred in economic base, political system, and entire ideology. Rather than saying it developed on the foundation of the first thirty years, it would be more accurate to say it developed through negation of the first thirty years. In fact, the mainstream also views reform and opening-up as earth-shaking, as a "revolution" comparable to the CCP's founding of party and nation—it is another expression of "farewell to revolution" and "de-revolutionization."

More than ten years ago, I gave a lecture at Shanghai's "Urban Literature Forum," comparing the cultural differences between the two thirty-year periods from a literary sociology perspective: "In the period from 1949 to 1979, people, collective, workers-peasants-soldiers, proletariat, equality, communism, etc., became core value symbols of mainstream ideology. The popular slogans of that period such as 'the individual submits to the collective,' 'willingly be a screw in the socialist machine,' and 'devote limited life to unlimited service to the people,' advanced and heroic figures like Wang Jinxi, Jiao Yulu, Wang Jie, Lei Feng, and the Little Sisters of the Grassland, and even some fictional characters including Liang Shengbao from The Builders, Gao Daquan from The Golden Road, and Xiao Changchun from Bright Sunny Skies, all strongly embodied this zeitgeist. Then after 1979, this situation was completely overturned. Individual, human nature, individualism, humanism, personal interests, personality liberation, freedom, democracy, competition, getting rich first, survival of the fittest, etc.—a series of vocabulary representing bourgeois values and lifestyles that had already been criticized were reestablished as dominant vocabulary of the new period as symbolic signs of ideological liberation."

From this we can see that so-called "socialist advanced culture" is essentially a deconstruction of socialist values and also a deconstruction of revolution. Mainstream intellectual circles call this "disenchantment" and "new enlightenment"—removing the specter of revolution and completing the democratic and scientific enlightenment movement that May Fourth failed to complete. In reality, this is constructing bourgeois ideology on the ruins of negating communist revolution. These arguments are concentrated in the writings of Li Zehou, Liu Zaifu, and later Zhang Ming and other liberal scholars—this was the main intellectual current of the 1980s.

For a long time, we all lived in a post-1980s social atmosphere. Only in the new century, when nationalism replaced liberalism as the new main intellectual current, did some changes appear. State ideology began shaping traditional culture as mainstream culture. In this regard, it can be said to be a kind of negation of 1980s mainstream culture, but this return to so-called traditional culture through negating liberalism—culture that the May Fourth Movement, New Democratic Revolution, and socialist revolution after New China's founding had all vigorously criticized—not only lacks progressive significance but represents a regression.

In 2022, I said at an academic conference at Tsinghua University that in the grand narrative of Chinese revolution, the Cultural Revolution was a continuation of the 1949 revolution—it could even be said that 1949 was the "cause" of the 1966 revolution, and the 1966 revolution was the "effect" of 1949. Without 1949, there would be no 1966; conversely, without 1966, 1949 would lose its sense of direction and "communist lofty ideals." This is why Mao Zedong said "Winning nationwide victory is only the first step in a long march of ten thousand li. The road ahead is longer, more arduous, and greater." This is why he felt he had accomplished two major things in his life: one was establishing New China, the other was launching the Cultural Revolution. The Cultural Revolution sought to solve the worldwide problem of the "day after" revolution, but perhaps due to excessive force, like a rocket that exhausted its energy before delivering the missile to its predetermined space orbit, "the post-revolutionary years returned to pre-revolutionary years." This trend continued until the second decade of the early 21st century. From then until now, marked by the rise of nationalism, China and the world entered an intermediate state where left and right politics achieved temporary balance. This balance is both the product of intense gaming and compromise among various economic, social, ideological currents and forces, and the result of authoritarianism and elite politics implementing strong control and brainwashing of the masses. "Centrist politics" may be successful in national governance, but it is extremely conservative and mediocre culturally. Unlike all "right" or "left" political forms, unlike the bourgeoisie and proletariat in their ascending periods which possess distinct class attributes and lofty political ideals, it is ambiguous and murky in values, hesitant and uncertain in action, vigilant against and rejecting any political practice bearing left or right labels. It mixes conservatism, pragmatism, statism, nationalism, and elitism together, suppressing democracy in democracy's name, negating revolution in revolution's name, constructing a trans-class hybrid ideology. Mainstream academia's definitions of revolutionary culture, traditional culture, and "socialist advanced culture" are classic expressions of this hybrid ideology.

This tendency to replace class narrative with nationalist narrative is most prominently manifested in literature and art. Now in almost all film and television works reflecting the New Democratic Revolution, the protagonists are landlords and capitalists, and they are all portrayed as positive images with great loyalty, closeness to the people, and patriotism. Poor people have all become extras, each with wretched faces and servile nature, following behind their masters constantly calling "master," "young master," and "miss," completely overturning many familiar red classic character images such as Nan Batan and Wu Qionghua from The Red Detachment of Women, Huang Shiren and Yang Bailao and Xi'er from The White-Haired Girl, Feng Lanchi and Zhu Laozhong from Red Flag Spectrum, Han Laoliu and Zhao Yulin from The Hurricane, etc.

As for works reflecting the first thirty years, not to mention early scar literature, even in some novels and film and television works newly created in recent years, anyone who believes in communism and insists on class struggle is portrayed as selfish and morally deficient "ultra-leftists," appearing like clowns, while their opponents are all upright and righteously indignant, suffering attacks and persecution—exactly opposite to the impression given by literary works from the first thirty years like Gao Daquan from The Golden Road, Tian Chunmiao from Spring Shoots, and real-life heroes and models like Lei Feng and Wang Jinxi. A few days ago I saw a Weibo post saying that in a film about the Liberation War, People's Liberation Army soldiers charging toward Kuomintang positions shouted the slogan "For... rejuvenation, forward!" A netizen commented jokingly that in a few more years, the Liberation War might be renamed the "Rejuvenation War." If it were really changed this way, it might be even more absurd, because the predecessor of the Kuomintang's Military Statistics Bureau was called the Renaissance Society—calling it a Rejuvenation War would be like one's own people fighting one's own people!

From this we can see that so-called socialist advanced culture is replacing class narrative with nationalist narrative. Nationalism appears to be an inclusive centrist politics, but its essence is to negate class narrative. Like liberalism, nationalism is an opponent of revolutionary culture—one stands from a nation-state position, the other from an individual position. Recently, some people online criticized Mo Yan's works for smearing the Communist Party and Eighth Route Army and wanted to sue him. These people criticizing Mo Yan from a nationalist position miss the point, because Mo Yan himself is a mixture of nationalism and liberalism. His humanistic rhetoric in his inscription at the Liaoshen Campaign Memorial Hall and his criticism of agricultural cooperativization and people's commune system in his Nobel Prize-winning novel Life and Death Are Wearing Me Out are all mainstream views in Chinese cultural circles since the 1980s—how could you possibly sue or criticize him successfully? But this incident also shows that huge rifts and conflicts exist between mainstream and popular opinion among nationalism, class narrative, and liberalism, and the gaming and struggle among these three may well become the main contradiction in Chinese society for some time to come.

This is my understanding of the relationships among revolutionary culture, traditional culture, and socialist advanced culture.

III. How to Promote Revolutionary Culture?

Correctly understanding revolution and its relationship with traditional culture and socialist advanced culture is for the purpose of promoting revolutionary culture.

So how do we promote revolutionary culture?

I'll share a few personal views.

1. Beware of abstracting, museumifying, and turning "revolutionary culture" into consumer culture

So-called abstraction and museumification means avoiding the proletarian attributes of the Chinese revolution, emptying and castrating specific content, turning it into a kind of de-revolutionized neutral nationalist narrative, treating it like museum exhibits by blocking any connection or even association with reality.

So-called turning into consumer culture refers to the red tourism boom prevalent in recent years. From Jinggangshan to Yan'an, from Shanghai's First Congress site to Jiaxing's South Lake, red scenic spots large and small throughout the country have all become hotspots that tourists flock to. In this flourishing tourism boom, revolution as a deliberately packaged symbol has taken on thick commercial attributes, serving merely as something for people to observe and satisfy curiosity. The historical and realistic significance contained in revolution has been completely obscured and distorted. Last year, in a public class for the first graduate writing class at Human Realm Academy, I spoke about one incident. Everyone knows Great Changes in a Mountain Village is a red classic. Its author Zhou Libo was from Yiyang, Hunan. As the birthplace of Great Changes in a Mountain Village, Yiyang is also where Zhou Libo spent the longest time going to the countryside to experience life. Many characters in Great Changes in a Mountain Village can find their life prototypes locally. In recent years, to stimulate the local economy, the village where Zhou Libo went to the countryside has also been developed into a red tourist destination aimed at consumption, with many scenic spots named after place names and characters from Great Changes in a Mountain Village. Recently, the local government also collaborated with the China Writers Association to organize a "New Great Changes in a Mountain Village" plan, hoping to use Zhou Libo and Great Changes in a Mountain Village's influence to develop red tourism cultural industry. But they probably didn't think that Zhou Libo and Great Changes in a Mountain Village reflected the great practice of vast numbers of farmers under Communist Party leadership carrying out the cooperativization movement and ultimately establishing people's communes, taking the socialist collective path. But the path taken by rural areas throughout the country including Hunan's Yiyang after reform and opening-up was completely opposite to the farmers in Great Changes in a Mountain Village—abolishing people's communes and returning to the "small-scale peasant economy" (individual farming) that had lasted for thousands of years, turning already organized farmers back into scattered sand, returning to the small-scale peasant economy that had lasted for thousands of years. This means that the agricultural cooperativization movement that Zhou Libo and his generation of writers enthusiastically praised and fully devoted themselves to was no longer the new world that the liberated farmers in The Hurricane yearned to establish, but a return to the "old world" they had smashed through bloodshed and sacrifice.

Yiyang's Great Changes in a Mountain Village plan is by no means an isolated case in the red tourism boom throughout the country, but has considerable typicality. This shows that red tourism using revolutionary culture as a vehicle has become a chess piece in the consumer market under the integrated government-capital framework, having no relationship with the original intention of the Chinese revolution.

What is historical nihilism? This is a living textbook of historical nihilism. In recent years, mainstream media has frequently and loudly criticized historical nihilism. Previously, they put the blame for historical nihilism on public intellectuals, but now most public intellectuals have gone into hiding and can no longer be blamed, yet historical nihilism has intensified. We've discovered that those truly engaging in historical nihilism aren't public intellectuals, but come from the system itself.

Turning revolutionary culture into consumption is precisely a new manifestation of historical nihilism and an inevitable result of capitalist globalization. Not only can it not achieve the effect claimed by the mainstream of spreading and promoting revolutionary culture, it will only intensify revolution's deep-redification and turn it into a kind of pink culture focused on consumption.

2. The only effective way to promote revolutionary culture is through struggle

We say bright red is the color of the Chinese Communist Party and Chinese revolution, symbolizing the fresh blood and lives of millions of martyrs. The color of blood is bright red, not pink. The essence of red is revolution, and the essence of revolution is struggle. China's New Democratic Revolution, socialist revolution and construction all achieved success through arduous, unyielding struggle. Therefore, at the end of Haoran's Bright Sunny Skies, the protagonist Xiao Changchun sighs: "Life is a struggle!"

In an era of bidding farewell to revolution and consuming revolution, promoting revolutionary culture cannot rely merely on lectures or even preaching, but requires clear-cut, uncompromising struggle practice. Without struggle there is no revolution. The bourgeoisie verbally negates all revolution, especially proletarian revolution, but they are most skilled at revolution. All achievements the bourgeoisie has made to date were obtained through revolution, not through the reform they claim. The struggle between proletariat and bourgeoisie is life-and-death and absolutely cannot be mutually beneficial and win-win. If the proletariat doesn't want to forever serve as slaves and leeks for the bourgeoisie, they can only rise up and struggle—there is no other way out. Lenin said revolution is the locomotive of history; social progress comes through struggle. Struggling against the bourgeoisie, feudalism, and all systems, cultures, and forces that oppress and exploit the proletariat and working people requires drawing strength and inspiration from revolutionary culture. Revolution takes many forms. Currently, denouncing and prosecuting reactionary elements who tear down Chairman Mao's statues is one kind of struggle; exposing the lies and evil deeds of the capital-power-elite group through writing, supporting and backing those who report corrupt officials and perverted professors, supporting grassroots people's rights defense, etc., are also forms of struggle.

Only in continuous struggle practice can revolution's true soul and original intention possibly be activated and awakened, enabling revolutionary culture to return from museums to reality, transforming from a kind of bourgeois consumer culture back into a weapon for proletarian struggle. This is a mission that all communist believers and inheritors of China's socialist revolution and construction must undertake. As young people, you should especially actively and proactively take on this mission.

This is the only effective way to promote revolutionary culture.

Random Thoughts (31)

Liu Jiming, July 1, 2025

Throughout Chinese and world history, many revolutions have been launched under the banner of seeking welfare and liberation for the poor. Yet when they succeed and seize power, most betray their original intentions, transforming from parties of the poor into "parties of the rich"—the dragon slayers become dragons themselves. This is the cyclical law of history. If this pattern is not fundamentally changed, the legitimacy and righteousness of revolution will suffer severe damage. Mao Zedong attempted to break this cycle in his later years, but it was quickly reversed after his death.

Many bourgeois politicians like Trump and Putin claim to represent the people, just as feudal emperors always styled themselves as sons of heaven. In their eyes, both exploiters and the exploited are "the people." Still, the exploited can only become "the people" on the condition that they accept the unequal social system imposed upon them by the bourgeoisie—becoming docile citizens and leeks [note: metaphor for those repeatedly harvested/exploited]. Once they challenge and resist the existing political order, they are kicked out of the ranks of "the people" and even citizenship, becoming "troublemakers," "mob," and "rebels," subjected to brutal suppression.

Unlike hypocritical bourgeois politicians, proletarian revolutionaries and leaders never claim to represent "all the people," but consistently struggle for the interests of the proletariat and the broad masses of working people. As stated in The Communist Manifesto, communists never conceal that their goal is to abolish private property and ultimately establish a "free association of individuals" without class exploitation and oppression. Only then will proletarian revolutionary leaders say they work for the freedom and liberation of all humanity. Before that point, anyone who packages their special interests as universal interests is either a bourgeois politician or a traitor to the proletariat and a revisionist of every stripe.

In literary and artistic works of the first thirty years reflecting the New Democratic Revolution and Socialist Revolution, the protagonists were mostly workers and peasants. After reform and opening up, the protagonists were replaced by the wealthy—young masters and misses, namely the landlord bourgeoisie who had once been overthrown. Workers and peasants, who had once been the creators of history, became servants and extras on the stage of old opera, even clowns. The revolution of the poor became the revolution of the rich. History was thus quietly rewritten. Reality followed suit. This is why Foucault said that all history is contemporary history.

Nothing in the world is more absurd than treating restoration and regression as progress and reform, viewing great social transformation and progress as backward rigidity, and slandering the era of the most extensive and profound people's democracy in history as an age of autocratic dictatorship. Moreover, similar events have repeatedly occurred in human history, such as Zhao Gao's "Conspiracy of Shaqiu" [note: palace coup in Qin Dynasty] and his calling a deer a horse, Louis Bonaparte's "Coup of 18 Brumaire" in France, and Khrushchev's "Secret Report" in the Soviet Union. As Marx wrote in The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte: "The February Revolution was buried by cunning swindlers, with the result that what was eliminated was not that society itself had acquired new content, but that the state returned to its most ancient form, to the crudely simple domination of the sword and the cassock."

A netizen asked: What is "the worst capitalism"? Answer: Official autocracy plus monopolized marketization. Its main characteristics are using state machinery to protect capital, depriving the masses of basic democratic rights, thereby casting the proletariat into a jungle society without any welfare protection, making them double refugees both politically and economically.

After more than forty years of degeneration, society has completely collapsed, beyond what any individual can change. I lack the courage and responsibility of Mr. Lu Xun, who said, "If there is no torch after this, I will be the only light," but I still dare to write these scattered words with my feeble pen, so that those seeking light in the darkness might see a glimmer of hope.

A netizen forwarded a reader's words: "Human境 [note: likely title of Liu's novel] wrote about people's confusion and wandering, Black and White wrote about people's pain and struggle—this is enough to make Teacher Liu a great writer who records history and life through fiction. But this is not enough; he hasn't yet recorded people's despair and their struggle toward death and rebirth—he must continue writing. Teacher Liu has been silenced, Black and White has been banned from publication—isn't this precisely forcing Teacher Liu to continue writing? History will not forget history's recorder, and we are fortunate to be readers of historical records. I wish Teacher Liu good health, and in this suffocating world, may he continue recording history and life for countless desperate people." Actually, Black and White also wrote about "people's despair and their struggle toward death and rebirth." After completing that book, I indeed didn't want to write anything more, but the mainland ban and the blocking of my Weibo account have indeed rekindled my writing impulse—if Black and White is testimony to time, then Random Thoughts is my suicide note to this world.

"Now the atmosphere seems to have changed completely; everywhere the sound of singing about flowers and moon can no longer be heard, replaced by praise of iron and blood. However, if one speaks with a deceptive heart and deceptive mouth, then whether saying A and O, or Y and Z, it is equally false; it can only silence the mouths of so-called critics who previously despised flowers and moon, satisfying them that China is about to revive. Pitifully, under the great hat of 'patriotism,' they have closed their eyes again—or perhaps they were closed all along." This passage from Lu Xun's "On Looking with Open Eyes," though written a hundred years ago, clearly describes the present. When I think of those throughout literary and academic circles who built their careers studying Lu Xun or flew his banner to become professors, doctoral supervisors, association presidents, and chairmen, yet whose writings and actions run counter to Lu Xun's spirit—truly embodying the "pseudo-scholars" and "lackeys" like Liang Shiqiu that Lu Xun angrily denounced—I can't help but feel ashamed on their behalf.

Revolutionaries have never been perfect; like ordinary people, they have flaws and make mistakes—such as crude and harsh working methods, not knowing how to unite people, etc. But these mistakes are not intentional sabotage and can be continuously improved through practice. Revolutionary ranks are not pure; there are good and bad people, sacrifice and betrayal, loyalty and treachery. Often, the open and hidden attacks revolutionaries suffer come not from enemies but from their own camp. Some who usually have Marxism on their lips and appear most active cannot bear the slightest grievance; often, due to minor personal losses or wounded pride, they turn their guns on their own comrades, fellow fighters, teachers, and organizations, attacking more viciously than they would true enemies, ultimately destroying the entire revolutionary cause. In the history of the international communist movement and Chinese revolution in the 20th century, there are many examples, from Kautsky and Khrushchev to Gu Shunchang and Zhang Guotao. Throughout his life, Lu Xun suffered attacks and slander from his "same camp" far more than from the enemy camp, some even from students he had once greatly appreciated (like Xu Maoyong). Though the dissolution of the "Left League" was mainly due to changing circumstances and adjustments in the CCP's literary policy, part of the reason was internal disputes within the Left League. When Wei Wei ran Zhongliu [Mainstream], he was falsely accused of "embezzling magazine funds." Similar phenomena have never disappeared from the history of leftist movements; their painful lessons are both lamentable and worthy of deep reflection.

Over the years, I have encountered many young people, whether students in writing workshops or visitors who came "seeking advice." To their "consultations," I always speak frankly; though not every sentence is correct, these are the crystallization of my lifelong pursuit of knowledge and shouldn't mislead the young. Despite being isolated and facing such a hostile social environment, I still do my utmost to promote any talent I discover among the youth, striving to provide them with more opportunities for training. This is naturally no great virtue, merely fulfilling an elder's duty. Perhaps because of this sentiment, when attacked by individual young people, I feel deeply disappointed and even doubt whether my efforts are worthwhile. But regardless, this world belongs to the young; how they are will determine how the future world will be—whether good or bad, it will be created by them and borne by them. Thinking this way, my heart finds peace.

A netizen commented on Zhihu that some people treat me as Yan'an [note: Communist headquarters during the war]. I laughed and said: Yan'an has long since fallen; I'm just a lonely little island in Kuomintang territory.

French thinker Montaigne had a famous saying: "I live each day as if it were my last; when I leave home in the morning, I prepare for the possibility of not returning." He referred to the possibility of death arriving at any moment. Over the years, I too have developed a habit of daily taking stock of whether there are urgent matters to handle; what can be done today I never postpone to tomorrow or the day after, because perhaps after today, there will be no more opportunities. For me, the threat of losing freedom far exceeds the fear of death.

In daily life, I am a slow and clumsy person, which forms a stark contrast to my sensitivity and acuity in thought and emotion.

The history of the international communist movement in the 20th century, from glory to decline, from victory to defeat, demonstrates that once socialist countries become revisionist, the dictatorship of the proletariat inevitably becomes the dictatorship of the bourgeoisie, and their oppression and exploitation of the people will be far more brutal than in capitalist countries.

[Question for Reflection] Today marks the 104th anniversary of the founding of the Chinese Communist Party. Reading an article titled "No Grievance Too Great to Betray the Party, This Life Forever Following the Communist Party," I suddenly thought of a question: A party member certainly cannot betray the party because of personal grievances. But if a party betrays its original mission and takes the wrong path, should a party member continue to follow forever, or should they struggle against it or even break with it?

What Is "The People,"

and How Should We Write About the People?

Liu Jiming, 2025

I began my literary career in the mid-1980s and have now been writing for forty years. During this time, I have experienced the dizzying evolution of literary trends since the New Period [注: 新时期, referring to the period after 1978 in Chinese literature]—from scar literature, reform literature, reflection literature, root-seeking literature, avant-garde literature to new realism, new state (new generation) literature, as well as new left-wing literature and grassroots literature. From my early stumbling attempts at following these trends, I gradually developed my own writing personality and style by the mid-1990s, marked by what I called "cultural concern fiction." During that period, I was generally a writer with rightist leanings who advocated liberal values. This has been specifically analyzed in Main Currents of New Period Literature edited by Ding Fan and On Liu Jiming by Ge Hongbing.

At the beginning of the new century, marked by the rise of new left-wing literature and grassroots literature trends, my writing began to show "a turn from avant-garde to grassroots." Critics widely regarded the works published during this period as important practices of new left-wing and grassroots literary trends. By the time I wrote Human, and especially Black and White, I had completely freed myself from the influence of "pure literature" and become a writer who, despite holding an institutional professional writer status, writes from a "non-mainstream"—that is, left-wing literary—position.

For many people, "left-wing literature" may be an unfamiliar concept, existing only in library archives, university Chinese department textbooks, and scholars' papers and research projects. However, as a literary trend and artistic movement, from its inception, it has possessed strong realistic power and a fighting spirit, maintaining a natural kinship with the grassroots, the poor, and the laboring masses. Therefore, it is often referred to by another name—proletarian literature. Since then, left-wing literature, like the broad proletariat, has undergone baptism and tempering by blood and fire. It has had glorious moments when it broke through bourgeois barriers, moved from margin to mainstream, and created vigorous, fresh, and simple socialist literature. It has also experienced the disappointment and confusion of falling from mainstream back to the margins. The kinship between left-wing literature and socialist literature determines that its revival at the beginning of the new century was the result of both historical and contemporary catalysts.

Black and White is no exception. Rather than saying it is an individual writer's personal creation, it would be more accurate to say that a century of Chinese history and reality, through my hands, gained an opportunity for self-expression.

Professor Kong Qingdong once believed that "Black and White is not only a major achievement of contemporary Chinese literature—sooner or later, it will also be included in the family of world literary masterpieces. Because its excavation of history and examination of human nature far surpass most Nobel Prize-winning works." Such high praise makes me dare not accept it, and it would certainly make many in today's literary world uncomfortable. But for me, Black and White is indeed an important and special work. This importance and uniqueness lies not only in its significance of self-salvation for the author but also in witnessing my phoenix-like rebirth process of returning from "individual" to "people." This process began with Human境 but was truly completed through Black and White.

What I want to say is that among the millions of words I have published and written, most will be forgotten while I'm still alive. After I leave this world, if there are one or two works that people might remember, they would probably be Black and White and Human境.

In June 2016, Human境 was published by Writers Publishing House. In December of the same year, the Institute of Marxist Literary Theory at the China Academy of Arts held a symposium on Human境. After publication, Human境 was praised by critics as "a pioneering work of new socialist literature." Seven years later, I completed the Black and White trilogy. This novel was first serialized online (volumes one and two), and after the complete work was published by China Culture Communication Publishing House, it was praised by some critics as "visual intellectual history," "a demon-revealing mirror of a century of history," and "a cutting-edge work of people's realism." Many ordinary readers also published reviews, with numbers and enthusiasm far exceeding those for Human境 and beyond my expectations.

Those familiar with contemporary Chinese literature know that "the people" is a complex concept. Since Liu Zaifu's famous essay "On the Subjectivity of Literature," the past forty years of Chinese literary and social transformation have been filled with tense conflicts between various ideological trends, including "person" versus "people." With the changes of the times, the faces of person and people have not become clearer but more complex and difficult to distinguish, so that few can answer the seemingly simple yet complex question of "what are the people."

A critic once pointed out: "Black and White not only seeks to give form to the people whose faces are unclear but also to forge souls for the people." Obviously, "the people" in Black and White is not an abstract concept but one with clear historical and contemporary implications. It primarily refers to those with the vast majority of laboring people as the main body—the class that Lu Xun called "the insulted and injured." I remember one netizen saying: "If Jack Ma and Xu Jiayin [注: 许家印, a Chinese real estate tycoon] are the people, then I am not!" Although we live in an era that avoids or even fears discussing class, writers with conscience still need to make their own choices, just as many outstanding writers in Chinese and world literary history have chosen.

Annie Ernaux, the French woman writer who won the 2022 Nobel Prize in Literature, said in her acceptance speech: "I was proud and naive to believe that writing, becoming a writer, was for the proletarian workers, factory workers, and the lowest class among shopkeepers, for those who are despised for their behavior, accents, and lack of education, to correct the social injustice related to people's social class at birth. I write to avenge my people. It echoes Rimbaud's cry: I will always belong to the inferior race!"

When I first read Annie Ernaux's words, I felt as if I had met a kindred spirit, with a heart-stirring sensation. In the contemporary Chinese context, if the author's identity and name were covered, many might think the author was an "ultra-leftist." For those Chinese writers obsessed with pure literature and the Nobel Prize, this is obviously nothing short of ironic.

Annie Ernaux's words inspire us: realism is not just a creative method but a question of whether and how to face reality directly, how to understand and write about the people, and how to practice the concept of "people-centered"—ultimately, it returns to the question Chairman Mao raised long ago in his talks at the Yan'an Forum on Literature and Art: "for whom."

Black and White is precisely my answer to the above questions.

Thought Current Review: "Bottom-Layer Narrative" and Its Discussion

Liu Jiming, June 9, 2025--- How Do We Narrate the Bottom Layer

In recent years, "bottom layer" has become a topic of considerable attention. From intellectual circles to literary circles, from media to the general public, we can hear this once almost forgotten term. However, beyond the specific narrative subjects that "bottom layer" encompasses—such as disadvantaged groups, farmers, and laid-off workers—different cultural groups seem to have obvious differences in their cognitive perspectives when facing this concept. For example, the bottom layer in the eyes of sociologists and economists is generally closely linked with poverty, rural issues, state-owned enterprise reform, and social stratification, carrying clear ideological anxieties. Meanwhile, the bottom layer in the eyes of humanities scholars, critics, and artists is often accompanied by appeals for a series of historical aesthetic problems such as social justice, democracy, equality, suffering, and humanitarianism. Therefore, it can be said without exaggeration that the emergence of bottom-layer issues today actually reflects the complex forms and intellectual circumstances of current Chinese social structure. As a cultural proposition, it is by no means groundless, but rather another logical theoretical exercise and further focus following the debates over humanistic spirit, liberalism, and the "New Left" in the 1990s.

However, acknowledging that bottom-layer issues have activated intellectual enthusiasm for social conditions cannot conceal certain epistemological misconceptions and ambiguities within them. As some have pointed out, "bottom layer" originally comes from Gramsci's "Prison Notebooks," where "it first exists as a revolutionary force." Under the classic socialist narrative framework, it has always been intimately connected with the proletariat, workers and peasants, class struggle, and communist revolution, rooted in humanity's impulse to subvert and resist unequal social hierarchical systems, standing in sharp opposition to capitalist value systems. However, in current narratives, many people consciously or unconsciously ignore and shelve this historical context, emptying and simplifying "bottom layer" into a kind of classical humanitarianism or universalist rhetoric, thus making the bottom layer an abstract, passive signifier—an other external to ourselves. The saying "while the bottom layer takes the stage, class exits" is a precise annotation of this rhetoric.

Thus, the bottom layer—originally a subjective concept full of will and historical agency—has retreated into a speechless dark box, being re-concealed. This is certainly related to people being deeply trapped in the so-called liberal cognitive framework of the end of history and globalization, losing enthusiasm for exploring the diversity and possibilities of human existence. However, any realistic necessity cannot replace historical contingency. If people's interest in describing and "legitimizing" the world completely replaces efforts to continuously unveil and discover existence, then any kind of intellectual behavior will inevitably degenerate into a discourse game, or merely intellectuals' rhetoric for satisfying moral superiority and spiritual self-indulgence detached from reality.

Regrettably, such situations are becoming an unnoticed fact. Many people discuss the bottom layer not by focusing on searching for and salvaging forgotten intellectual faces from relevant historical gaps and endowing them with realistic referential functions. Even when describing history, they only stay at moral and political accusations or comic parody of it, but the complex entanglement and adhesion between cultural, social, historical, and even political people and specific historical and realistic contexts has been severed at its roots.

This may be one of the reasons why Mr. Li Tuo proposed several years ago to re-examine the "pure literature" concept formed since the 1980s. As a representative figure who earliest advocated "modernism" in China's new period, Li Tuo's change of heart in calling for literature to shift its gaze from the narrow writing room of "pure literature" back to the mottled and complex realistic scenes and social processes is itself thought-provoking. Of course, some scholars have questioned this view and defended pure literature, but the defenders understand Li Tuo's call for literature to re-engage with reality merely as a struggle for discourse power over "focusing on the bottom layer and problems emerging from reform—these are the social problems that 'New Left' or 'New Right' groups care about," worrying that literature might "become something else: sociological investigation reports, documentary film commentary, direct expression of feelings, or internet complaint posts..." thus damaging "literary quality." (Chen Xiaoming: "Gazing at Pure Literature from the Bottom Layer") Such reminders may be well-intentioned and necessary, but they obviously contain certain misreadings. In my understanding, so-called literary participation or intervention in reality cannot be understood merely as taking the bottom layer and realistic themes as narrative subjects, but should also reflect the creative subject's ideological projection and discovery in the narrative process. However, in fact, in the writings of many contemporary writers, "people" are described as destined and lonely sufferers under the torment of desire and daily survival, and purely biological codes. When "suffering" and "bottom layer" acquire independent, universal so-called literary qualities and become highly abstracted and contextualized, they can indeed produce seductive charm that subverts established ethical order and human nature, as well as constant artistic value. But how much significance does this modernist aesthetic preference have for our exploration of the complex entanglement between people and today's realistic world and its possibilities?

In this regard, relevant articles and dialogues by Cai Xiang, Xue Yi, and others about the bottom layer and "pure literature" have provided specific analysis of the implicit semantic ambiguity phenomena. Cai Xiang frankly admits that in many narratives, including his own, the bottom layer may be mixed with the intellectuals' deep-seated cultural elitism and populism intertwined complex. That is to say, what we face now is only a "bottom layer" narrated by intellectuals; the real bottom layer still remains in an anonymous state. Precisely because of this, narratives about the bottom layer appear wavering and evasive. In literary research and creation, so-called literariness is often interpreted as a kind of closure, a fixed pattern that avoids flowing and colliding with other social discourses.

In a context where elite discourse dominates, the bottom layer in a disadvantaged position may find it difficult to produce its own spokesperson; "being narrated" is destined to be an inescapable fate. So where is the real bottom layer? If intellectual elites cannot change their sense of superiority in occupying the discourse center and being high above, intoxicated in the discourse genealogy woven by middle-class culture and lingering there, unable to place so-called "concern for the soul" and "concern for the world" in the same field of vision, we may not only be unable to effectively approach the bottom layer but instead be increasingly estranged from it intellectually and emotionally.

Nevertheless, Cai Xiang's description in an essay titled "Bottom Layer" published in 1995 still helps deepen our understanding of this concept:

"For me, the bottom layer is not a concept but a swaying landscape of life, my origin, where all my life began. I often wake up at midnight, silently listening to my teenage years quietly walking past outside the window." "However, one day, revolution began to fulfill its promise, and we moved into a huge new village. I saw countless high-rise buildings, brand-new schools, brand-new shops, and we chased frantically on brand-new roads. At that moment, in my teenage years, we sincerely sang: Socialism is good!" "My teenage years passed in such myths. Although we were poor, we had no complaints or regrets. Many years have passed, revolution seems to have become a distant memory, the bottom layer still struggles in poverty, and equality and justice remain unfulfilled promises. The old life order is disintegrating, while the new economic order rapidly creates its upper-class society. The fact of class differentiation is being reenacted today. Power boldly intervenes in competition; yesterday's privileged sons have become today's tycoons and big shots, relying on various power backgrounds to frantically plunder social wealth. Power and money shamefully combine. The concept of 'poor people' emerges once again..."

Rereading such experiential and emotionally colored narratives nearly 10 years later can still produce a heart-stirring feeling. This is perhaps the reason why some people propose to re-examine the "socialist legacy." In the past 20th century, the socialist trend that swept the globe, while bringing many disasters to humanity, also created a new moral evaluation system and posed unprecedented challenges to capitalist values regarded as universal principles. As a political practice of rapid advance, it may have failed, but it provided us with inspiration and shock in seeking new survival foundations outside the barriers of inequality as the natural ethical order. This cannot be easily dismissed merely through humanitarian indignation and so-called complete negation and settlement. Because the Chinese bottom-layer classes, long narrated by privileged classes in a condescending manner, first walked onto the historical stage through socialist practice, transforming from supporting actors to protagonists, from being narrated to becoming narrative subjects. They no longer appeared merely as "enlightened ones" but began to participate as masters in creating mainstream history. This was indeed a crude, thoroughly "destructive" and completely heretical revolution against the existing social order.

This revolution, characterized mainly by heresy and radicalism, would inevitably bring corresponding aesthetic forms. In the literary and artistic sphere, they were called proletarian revolutionary literature, left-wing literature, socialist realism, or the creative method combining revolutionary realism with revolutionary romanticism, etc. Compared with traditional aesthetic forms, these new "revolutionary literatures" might be somewhat naive, crude, and simple artistically, not so refined and "advanced," even rejecting "diversity," but in terms of language, narrative stance, and cultural taste, they were undoubtedly fresh, simple, and vivid, directly bursting forth from the bottom layer and human nature. They represented a collective aesthetic debut of a long-oppressed and ignored class and a decisive breakthrough of traditional artistic patterns. Therefore, the characters in these works were both specific individuals and not merely isolated persons, always bearing distinct "class marks." In Soviet Russia, from Gorky's "The Mother" and "The Lower Depths" to Sholokhov's "And Quiet Flows the Don" and "Virgin Soil Upturned"; in China, from Rou Shi's "The Slave's Mother," Jiang Guangci's "The Young Wanderer," and Xiao Jun's "Village in August" in the 1930s to Ai Qing's "Dayanhe—My Nanny," from Zhao Shuli's "The Marriage of Xiao Erhei" and "Sanliwan," Li Ji's "Wang Gui and Li Xiangxiang," and Ding Ling's "The Sun Shines over the Sanggan River" in the 1940s to Liu Qing's "The Builders," Zhou Libo's "Great Changes in a Mountain Village," and Hao Ran's "Sunny Days" after the founding of New China—all can be seen as a continuous process of constantly strengthening and expanding this "bottom-layer narrative" with distinct class characteristics, gradually constructing a new "aesthetic principle." This aesthetic principle existed independently outside the deeply rooted discourse genealogy of bourgeois culture and constituted a powerful offense against the literary hierarchical concepts monopolized by academies and intellectuals for a considerable period.

If we only focus on the historical context of revolutionary literary writing's dependence on specific or even rigid political concepts while ignoring the aesthetic qualities of independent cultural forms gradually created in the practice process, it would obviously be difficult to completely and objectively assess their literary historical and even social historical value. Zhang Wei's recent article "The Background of Spirit" published in "Shanghai Literature" and causing controversy attempts to re-evaluate literature from the 1950s and 1960s. Actually, such efforts also appear in the writings of other young scholars, but for mainstream intellectual circles, such voices still seem weak and remain in a marginal state. Because as is well known, literary theory and creative practice since the new period have operated precisely along a path of subverting and negating the entire revolutionary literature. This subversion and negation was gradually completed in the 1980s through discussions of literary subjectivity and modernism, continuing through postmodernist trends in the 1990s, achieving a complete transformation of contemporary Chinese literature from form to content. Compared to before "revolutionary literature," this turn or rupture appears more thorough and systematic, becoming sacred and inviolable, worthy of being called a massive "aesthetic uprising." In a poetic essay that once had widespread influence, it was also called a "new aesthetic principle." After the rise of new aesthetic principles, the "bottom layer" as a narrative subject dimly abdicated, and its once clear face became blurred again. Or rather, it returned to that vague position of "being narrated." In the firmly established contemporary literary pattern, it became insignificant again, even becoming an object of deprecation and ridicule.

Indeed, under the trend of world economic integration, literature and culture will inevitably merge into this chorus-like discourse carnival, which has almost become the universal consensus of most people today. Under the impact of this mainstream of the times, any heterogeneous, alternative, or skeptical voices seem insignificant. More than half a century ago, Zweig issued stern warnings for claiming legitimate rights for those holding different religious and cultural beliefs in "The Right to Heresy." But being vigilant and recognizing political autocracy may be easy; the hidden discourse hegemony or cultural colonialism that suppresses and excludes heretical thoughts is not always obvious. Compared to the former, it may more easily make people fall asleep in endless, soft drink-like tasting, even gradually abandoning the right to defend dissent.

In the current context, intellectuals are increasingly becoming part of middle-class ideology. According to the description in "Dreams and Reality—A Handbook of China's Middle Class," Chinese society has rapidly become a society of privileged capital, with a group of ambitious, exceptionally capable Chinese elites fully emerging. They are the young "Chinese elites" with business acumen and global consciousness who have emerged in large numbers in prosperous cities like Beijing, Shanghai, and Guangzhou in recent years. They increasingly focus on their personal lives and interests. They are completely different from their generation of the 1950s, who were too concerned with national affairs and world affairs while neglecting their own lives. Obviously, middle-class culture has become a mainstream ideology, and the interest sharing and cultural dominance it represents almost naturally makes them reject challenges truly coming from discourse-disadvantaged situations. They have extraordinary ability to eliminate, dissolve, and rewrite all heretical voices, and can always quietly and skillfully incorporate them into the discourse system they control.

Narratives about the bottom layer are no exception. The emergence of bottom-layer issues initially came from certain "marginal people" wandering outside mainstream culture, such as Zhang Chengzhi. According to Cai Xiang's view, Zhang Chengzhi was the first to "revive the concepts of 'poor' and 'rich'" in "History of the Soul," but this obviously cannot fully estimate the true connotation of this work.

Years later, "History of the Soul" may be passed down as a great book. Because in my view, Zhang Chengzhi made us re-approach and penetrate some concepts that had long been shelved and forgotten, such as ethnic faith, popular sovereignty, class conflict, revolution and human nature, etc. All this appeared in the early 1990s when daily narratives showed an increasingly universal trend, undoubtedly seeming so sharp, harsh, and discordant. Of course, "History of the Soul" also received affirmation and appreciation from a few cultural elites, but this was premised on removing certain sensitive and glaring value orientations, deliberately selecting and choosing, treating it as a fable and legendary work emptied of historical sense for abstract and folk processing.

The so-called "folk" is a rather fashionable and effective interpretative method recognized by many Chinese modern and contemporary literature researchers since the 1990s. In this narrative, folk exists relative to official, mainstream, "grand narratives," and elite culture. Its characteristics are sensual, turbid, ignorant, original, low-level, uncertain, with strong grassroots flavor. In a certain sense, it can also be replaced by "bottom layer." The implication is that the elite culture opposing it is rational, conscious, high-level, with clear value extension and subjective construction ability. The proposal of the folk concept opened a unique window for literary discourse to break free from dogmatic and rigid ideological control and gradually establish and reproduce its own aesthetic qualities. Its positive significance may be undeniable, but it should also be acknowledged that this effort to re-plan cultural hierarchical order reveals intellectuals' strong preference for maintaining and constructing their own cultural superiority and enlightener identity, treating folk (or bottom layer) as an other unrelated to themselves for cultural imagination. Therefore, rather than saying folk is a sociological concept, it might be better to say it's a somewhat ambiguous aesthetic concept. Perhaps due to this influence, some current discussions about the bottom layer often unconsciously confuse the bottom layer with folk, which is precisely the mystery of why we always find it difficult to approach the complete sense of the bottom layer.

Of course, it's not only Zhang Chengzhi-style bottom-layer narratives that undergo cultural co-optation and rewriting. Works like Zhang Guangtian's "Che Guevara" and "Red Star Beauty," which give pop-art expression to some disappeared proletarian or "left-wing" aesthetic symbols, also encountered treatment similar to "History of the Soul." On one hand, as soon as they were performed, they won applause from a batch of salon art groups who regarded avant-garde as fashion with avant-garde packaging and generated considerable market returns. On the other hand, Zhang Guangtian also received strong criticism and rejection from elite cultural circles, being viewed as a clumsy séance for dead ideological ghosts and low-level market pandering performance. Some accusations even came from certain avant-garde critics; the avant-garde art that had achieved success joined hands with intellectual culture to block those harsh voices overflowing beyond the already fully systematized high-level art production line. In some novels describing laid-off workers and rural themes (such as Bi Shumin's "Female Worker"), authors simply configured the difficult situations of bottom-layer laborers according to popular market elements and mainstream ideological advocacy, creating consumer cultural products that conform to popular tastes. Here, elite culture, mainstream ideological culture, and popular market culture wonderfully converged, jointly connecting into a powerful force that excludes and dissolves weak and heterogeneous cultures.

Zhang Guangtian's drama is obviously not a direct statement about the bottom layer; it may even have nothing to do with the bottom layer, but its significance cannot be underestimated. At least, after years of silence, he was the first to bring the revolutionary memories long forgotten by people back to the public as an alternative artistic feast, presenting them to an increasingly weary public palate. This made it no longer feel too abrupt when we saw someone describing bottom-layer living conditions from a "left-wing" stance in some newly emerging narrative literary works years later.

I'm referring to novels like "There" that appeared recently. Compared to other works that also describe the survival difficulties of state-owned enterprise reform workers, "There" obviously not only focuses on narratives of bottom-layer laborers' lonely endurance and silent suffering in hardship but places workers' historical memory as a liberated class within the life difficulties they face, directly expressing their doubts, anger, and resistance to unreasonable reality, as well as the deepening estrangement and even hostility with intellectual elites. From this, we seem to see again the classic scenes that Gorky described in "The Mother" and Mao Dun described in "Midnight." The "bottom layer" and "suffering" presented by "There" are not abstract, empty, or lacking historical context but have clear realistic referential intentions. Those struggling and enduring in the bottom layer are not like characters in some novels with blurred faces, one-dimensional or allegorical, but display strong subjective colors. They have both embarrassment and panic brought by material scarcity and anxiety, resentment, and outcry caused by spiritual and social status decline. "People" here receive complete and powerful expression, which is obviously very different from modern or postmodern bottom-layer narratives. Therefore, it can also be said that it provides us with a new approach different from most current narrative perspectives for effectively approaching the bottom layer. Particularly noteworthy is that after this novel was published, except for being reprinted by some selection journals, it did not attract the attention of professional or authoritative critics, or could even be said to be ignored. Instead, some graduate students in Chinese departments paid enthusiastic attention and started discussions on websites. One article even connected "There" with the long-lost revolutionary literary discourse, believing that the appearance of this work marks the revival of left-wing literary tradition and has certain special enlightening significance for the current middle-class taste in literature.

Of course, such challenging bottom-layer narratives did not begin with novels like "There." Actually, in non-fiction works like "China Along the Yellow River" and "Investigation of Chinese Farmers," narratives about rural and farmers' issues have already shown noteworthy signs. Another example is the recently published sociological work "Yuecun Investigation." The author, following the route that Mao Zedong took when writing "Report on an Investigation of the Peasant Movement in Hunan," through field sample investigations in Xiangxiang, Hengyang, and other places in Hunan, provided a large amount of detailed information and materials about the changes and current status of China's rural political structure during the transition period. It writes that in many places, the methods and strategies adopted by farmers when forced to defend their rights under seriously unreasonable agricultural policies and the greedy plunder of grassroots regimes and officials increasingly have the significant characteristics of the peasant movement organized by the Communist Party more than half a century ago. For example, they no longer engage in single-handed, self-destructive petitioning but gradually form their own organizations and even "peasant leaders," etc. All this allows us to truly touch the strong restlessness and unease hidden in the bottom layer. The author of this book, Yu Jianrong, is a young scholar with long grassroots life experience, which seems to further indicate that relative to mainstream and authoritative intellectual groups occupying the discourse center, those voices and narratives from subcultures and sub-professional communities in their ascending period, due to their unique experiential, personal, and unadorned nature, make their narrated bottom layer more trustworthy in terms of authentic character and strength.

But such narratives often easily suffer neglect and oversight. The arrogance and conceit of cultural elitists make them accustomed to creating illusions while refusing to dialogue with the real world and any cultural dissenters. They always think their inner images are the complete truth of the world and take pleasure in this, feeling smug about it. I once heard a critic talking about certain works describing bottom-layer life use a arbitrary and mocking tone: "Don't always make it miserable whenever you write about poor people. Actually, so-called suffering is just romantic imagination that we writers impose on poor people. How do you know that people living in poverty must be full of sorrow in their hearts? They have their own happiness and comfort. You are not a fish, how do you know the joy of fish?" And the famous Mr. Huang Yongyu, interviewed in his mansion in Hong Kong, said: "I also know that many people still live lives of uncertainty and lack of security, but Chairman Mao with such great ambitions didn't solve this problem well either. It's useless for me to be sad with them, why bother with such idle concerns!"

Such selfishness and indifference shown by closing one's eyes and indulging in personal cultural tastes and lifestyles is common in literary circles and intellectual circles and has almost become a fashionable trend worth flaunting.

This is undoubtedly the real crisis lurking in contemporary intellectual elite groups.

This reminds me of 19th-century Russia. After the revolution led mainly by intellectuals failed, not only did the Communist Party split into two opposing camps—Bolsheviks and Mensheviks—but intellectuals also turned against their former cause, flocking to the authoritarian political group re-established by the Tsar, completely betraying the values they had once so sincerely stood for from the bottom-layer position, willing to sacrifice for democracy, freedom, and equality, as well as the long-standing tradition of Russian intellectuals as social conscience. They turned to champion the Tsar's new economic policies that intensified exploitation and plunder of the people, becoming beneficiaries of the vested interest community. Later, in the minds of the broad Russian masses, except for the rare respect Tolstoy received, the entire intellectual group almost degenerated into a profit-seeking, despicable image.

Is this somewhat similar to the situation faced by China's intellectual elite groups today?

A few days ago, I saw such a scene on a CCTV program: After a song was performed, several dark-faced children specially invited from impoverished mountain areas in Guizhou and their volunteer teacher appeared on stage. The host, as usual, used that sweet, sensational expression and tone to introduce the children's study and living conditions in unimaginably poor environments and their naive dream of hoping to see "the bungalows there" in Beijing one day. The host excitedly announced that this time they invited the children to Beijing to help them "realize their dreams" and let them see that Beijing not only has bungalows but also unimaginably tall buildings! Then the host invited a popular female singer, who gave each child a schoolbag, and then the singer sang a song called "Grateful Heart" with these children and students from a Beijing migrant workers' elementary school. The star sang very hard, and the song was very moving, sounding like a church hymn. Many people in the audience were moved to tears, constantly wiping their eyes with handkerchiefs. Most of them were National People's Congress representatives and CPPCC members attending the "Two Sessions"...

From the children's bewildered expressions and stiff movements, you could see that they had no idea why they should be "grateful," to whom, and for what. Was it for CCTV's favor in finally giving them the opportunity to see "Beijing's bungalows" with their own eyes, or for the new, empty, beautiful schoolbag heavily pressed on their thin shoulders?

They were just a group of small props manipulated at will, perhaps not even understanding the meaning of the lyrics.

This is also a kind of bottom-layer narrative, but undoubtedly a clumsy bottom-layer show. After watching it, I felt not the slightest bit moved but rather nauseated. Honestly, if so-called "concern for the bottom layer" becomes flavored as moral cosmetics that mainstream ideology, elite culture, and mass media apply to their faces and seasoning for wantonly spilling cheap sympathy, I would rather let bottom-layer issues return to that forgotten and abandoned historical corner. This way, at least the bottom layer can avoid the fate of being painted and whitewashed like puppets without dignity in the process of being narrated.

Of course, this is just an emotional statement. Everyone has their own understanding of the bottom layer; it's just that they choose different cognitive paths. Perhaps there will never be an absolutely real "bottom layer" that reveals itself to us. Due to various constraining factors, as long as the bottom layer is still unable to speak as an independent stratum with its own clear rational voice, it can only always be a silent underground world.

But this still cannot constitute a reason for us "narrators" to excuse ourselves.

An article published in "Tianya's" recent "Letters from Readers" is quite thought-provoking: "All bottom layers in suffering, their discourse and emotions should be channeled, expressed, forming the bottom layer's own authentic, simple discourse space... But facing their completely voiceless world, our experience is blank. Such a large social blind spot, such deep social barriers, yet we live so comfortably, with peace of mind, turning a blind eye—how dangerous this is!" This author, who truly lives in the bottom layer, uses a not insignificantly painful tone to say, "Current events are still like solid ice. Although they will melt, they can never find an entrance."

This seems to touch us more than many intellectuals' narratives.

Yes, tolerating or facing those dissenting, harsh narratives from the margins does not mean encouraging or promoting the breeding of certain extreme social emotions and "revolutionary behaviors." Because for both the dissenters and resisters themselves and the vested interest classes, this means paying greater or even heavy costs and causing society to fall again into the cyclical turbulence that has repeatedly appeared in history. The so-called "where there is oppression, there is resistance"—at any time, revolution is a choice forced in desperate situations and always maintains an almost kinship-like ethical connection with the bottom layer. In this regard, "revolution" should reject demonizing narratives, just as it should be wary of the past kind of absolutely sacred narratives.

The same applies to discussions about the bottom layer. What's important is how to provide an equal, democratic, and rational dialogue space for various interest subjects and conflicting discourses. This is not merchant-style mathematical calculation of bargaining but a value interaction mechanism that modern society must possess, and also a necessary path for us to seek fairness, justice, and an ideal society in the increasingly harsh context of global capitalization.

(Published in "Left-wing Literary Review" 2025 Issue 1, originally published in "Tianya" 2005 Issue 5)

Liu Jiming: Random Thoughts (30)， posted May 23, 2025

1 Let me reiterate: Even though free healthcare in a society where private ownership is dominant cannot fundamentally change the plight of the working people, and objectively helps alleviate social contradictions and prolong the bourgeoisie's rule over the proletariat, I still advocate for a universal free healthcare system. This is because it benefits the working people by alleviating their suffering and improving their quality of life and living conditions. If anyone accuses me of being a reformist because of this, I suggest they study Lenin's discourse on reform and reformism.

2 I read an article titled "Foucault: After China Purged the Gang of Four, the World Lost Its Direction" on https://www.google.com/search?q=Renjing.com, which stated: "Foucault borrowed Goethe's famous quote 'Mark this date and this place' after witnessing the Battle of Valmy, and the epochal change it brought about, which had a huge impact on our relationship with historical conditions. From now on, 'there is no longer a place on this earth where hope can blossom.'" It seems that this post-structuralist master, who has many fans in Chinese academia, is also "ultra-left" and a "Cultural Revolution remnant."

3 Some people are overcome with gratitude for JD.com providing "five insurances and one fund" for its delivery riders, almost shouting "Long live!" three times. Little do they know that for capitalists, extracting surplus value is the only way to get rich. Any welfare he introduces is not out of kindness and cannot come at the cost of reducing or even harming his own interests. He gives workers one yuan only to take two yuan from their labor and ensure sustainable exploitation. Just as a farmer generously fattens his turkeys to sell them in the market for more money.

4 The Eastern University (Dongda) has turned the internet, with its hundreds of millions of netizens, into the world's largest intranet. Is this how the relevant departments practice "whole-process democracy"?

5 Answering a netizen's questions: 1. The authorities give a pass to "Soft Burial," a novel that subverts the New China's foundation of land reform, but ruthlessly suppresses "Black and White," a novel that criticizes capitalism and defends socialism. Are they on the wrong medication? Answer: They're not on the wrong medication. Because they follow a certain person's dictum: be vigilant against the right, but primarily prevent the "left." In their view, "criticizing capitalism and defending socialism" is "left," even "ultra-left," and must be eradicated. 2. Why can "Black and White" be published in capitalist Hong Kong and even in the United States, the world's capitalist stronghold, but not in China, which practices "socialism with Chinese characteristics," and even reader comments are blocked? Answer: The reason lies in the words "with characteristics." 3. I heard that the mainland version of "Black and White" had its ISBN revoked by the relevant departments shortly after its publication. Why did they do that? Answer: To govern the country according to law, of course. How else could they ban it as an "illegal publication"?

6 I saw a passage in Wang Binbin's article about the KMT's book censorship in the 1930s: "Reactionary literary publications, the more they are banned, the more numerous they become, and our committee's bans, on the contrary, become the most powerful advertisement for reactionary literary publications. It is truly heartbreaking to speak of!" I couldn't help but smile. Compared to today's publishing and speech censorship, the KMT was a mere trifle, but wasn't the effect the same?

7 "Waiting for dawn in the middle of the night, waiting for the spring breeze in the dead of winter. If you want to wait for the Red Army to come, the azaleas will bloom all over the ridge." Listening to Dao Lang's version of "Azaleas," I once again felt like shedding tears. In the movie, the Red Army quickly returned, but in reality, the Red Army has not returned, and may never return. Therefore, for Marxist-Leninist-Maoist leftists, hope is not waiting, but struggle.

8 A few years ago, a liberal scholar in her late seventies applied to go abroad to visit relatives and was obstructed and rejected by the relevant departments. She then published an article claiming she had become a "prisoner of statism"—this was the first time I had heard such a statement, and at the time I felt the scholar might be exaggerating. But now, when I, whose political orientation is at the opposite extreme to hers, find myself in the same situation, I also understand her feelings. Someone might accuse me of empathizing with the right wing by saying this, but if politics lacks basic human emotions, and even goes against heavenly principles and human ethics, depriving people of even the right to reunite with their flesh and blood, turning into cold, hard shackles, how much appeal and vitality can it still have? And how can a "community with a shared future for mankind" be built?

9 The most hateful thing about Khrushchev and his disciples is that they made socialism take the blame for their evil deeds, destroying the future of socialism and tarnishing the reputation of capitalism. They not only exploited and oppressed the vast majority of laborers to the greatest extent materially but also wantonly deprived them of all their democratic rights, turning them into livestock without any consciousness of resistance.

10 [Thought Question] Why was the great democracy of the proletariat overthrown in just ten years, while bourgeois democracy has been able to continue to this day?

11 I really don't understand why Putin, a nationalist full of Tsarist dreams and a traitor to communism, has so many supporters among Chinese leftists.

12 Brezhnev and his ilk clearly betrayed socialism long ago, yet after their deaths, they had to be adorned with titles like "great Marxist, proletarian revolutionary," and "resolute communist fighter." Isn't this disgusting?

13 The Chinese revolution was essentially a peasant revolution, from the slogan "All power to the peasant associations" during the First Revolutionary Civil War period's peasant movement to land reform, and after the establishment of New China, millions of emancipated peasants organized under the leadership of the Communist Party of China, forming mutual aid teams, agricultural cooperatives, and people's communes, embarking on the socialist road. When I was a child, the rural production brigades all had poor and lower-middle peasant associations (referred to as "Poor Peasants' Associations"), and the small teams had Poor Peasants' Association groups, playing an undeniable leading role in agricultural production and political life. After the reform and opening up, with the dissolution of the people's communes and the division of land for individual farming, the "Poor Peasants' Associations" also disappeared. Since then, a peculiar phenomenon has appeared in China: all walks of life have their own organizations, such as chambers of commerce, entrepreneurs' associations, alumni associations, intellectuals' associations, and top wealthy clubs like the Taishan Club and Yabuli Forum. Only the peasants, who constitute the majority of the population, have no organizations of their own, becoming "bottom-tier people" scattered like loose sand. This is indeed a great irony for a "socialist country led by the working class, based on the alliance of workers and peasants" written in its constitution.

14 A netizen asked, since Soviet revisionism was clearly practicing capitalism, why did it shamelessly call itself socialism? Answer: If Soviet revisionism openly declared it was taking the capitalist road, the public would demand the political democracy common in capitalist countries, such as elections, separation of powers, and freedom of speech. In that case, their system of privilege, unsupervised by anyone, would not be able to continue, and they would not only lose power but also face liquidation from both the left and the right. However, if they took the capitalist road under the banner of socialism, they could legitimately privatize public assets in the name of the people, keeping them hereditary and perpetuating their power forever. Why not?

15 The collapse of the Soviet Union tells us that fake socialism and fake capitalism, which sell dog meat under the guise of sheep's heads, are difficult to sustain once the people see through them.

16 My Sina Weibo and several WeChat official accounts have been permanently blocked, even my name has become a sensitive word on some platforms, and I've even been deprived of the right to go abroad to visit relatives. My newly registered Zhihu account has an article blocking rate as high as 60%, and I don't know how long it will survive. I don't believe all of this is due to the arbitrary actions of so-called capital, but rather the result of power manipulation. Because the Party leads everything.

Posted: May 28, 2025

======================================================================================================================

From Weibo to Zhihu – A Brief Analysis of the Ideological Value of Liu Jiming's "Random Thoughts"

By Yuan Bao

I. Introduction

In today's internet environment, the dissemination of ideas online presents a complex landscape. Liu Jiming's "Random Thoughts" series initially spread on Sina Weibo, but after his account was blocked, it moved to Zhihu. These "Random Thoughts" contain rich ideological connotations and possess unique intellectual value, making them worthy of in-depth analysis.

II. The Spread of Liu Jiming's "Random Thoughts" on Sina Weibo and the Background of Its Account Suspension

(I) Communication Ecology During the Weibo Period

Sina Weibo was once an extremely active platform for information dissemination, where many thinkers and opinion leaders voiced their views. When Liu Jiming's "Random Thoughts" began to spread on this platform, they attracted a large number of readers interested in leftist thought, social fairness and justice, and cultural criticism. With his sharp pen, he dissected social phenomena and reflected many contradictions present in society at the time, such as the widening gap between rich and poor and the erosion of social equity by capitalist expansion, which resonated with and sparked discussions among many netizens.

(II) Deeper Reasons for Account Suspension

Weibo account suspensions often have various causes. Judging from the content of Liu Jiming's "Random Thoughts," his critiques of the existing capitalist economic order and social inequality touched upon the interests of certain entrenched interest groups. In an environment where power and capital conspire to influence and control the distribution of online discourse, critical remarks against powerful capital are easily deemed "heretical." At the same time, his ideas emphasized values such as social fairness and popular sovereignty, which conflicted with some popular, capital-packaged consumerism and bureaucratic centralism, thus leading to suppression.

III. Ideological Dissemination and Audience Interaction After Moving to Zhihu

(I) Zhihu Platform's Inclusiveness and Its Compatibility with Leftist Thought Dissemination

Zhihu, as a Q&A knowledge community, possesses a certain degree of openness and diversity. Although it is also controlled by power and capital, it offers relatively greater inclusiveness for the dissemination of ideas. After Liu Jiming's "Random Thoughts" moved to Zhihu, it continued to reach intellectuals, young students, and groups who have deep reflections on social issues and are interested in leftist thought.

(II) Audience Interaction Deepens Ideological Dissemination

Zhihu's Q&A and comment interaction model provided new opportunities for the dissemination of Liu Jiming's "Random Thoughts." He spread his ideas through interaction and communication with other users. Readers would also raise questions and express their views from different perspectives, and this clash of ideas further deepened the understanding of the thoughts contained in his "Random Thoughts." For example, in discussions about issues of fair social distribution, he expounded on the meaning of fairness and justice in combination with socialist distribution principles, while readers shared their observations and experiences in real life, making the discussions more relevant to actual social life.

IV. The Ideological Value of Liu Jiming's "Random Thoughts" from a Leftist Perspective

(I) Social Critique and the Pursuit of Fairness and Justice

1. Critiquing the Social Structure of Crony Capitalism

Liu Jiming's "Random Thoughts" profoundly critiques the social structure of crony capitalism. He points out that under the bureaucratic centralized capitalist system, the high concentration of power and private ownership of the means of production lead to extreme wealth concentration. The bureaucratic class and a few capitalists hold immense political and economic power, widening the gap between rich and poor, and making it difficult for the working class to obtain equal development opportunities and basic democratic rights. He also analyzes the exploitation of laborers by powerful capital and the negative impact of financial capital's global speculative behavior on ordinary people.

2. Persistent Pursuit of Fairness and Justice

Based on his critique of totalitarian politics, Liu Jiming's "Random Thoughts" consistently emphasize the values of fairness, justice, and socialism. He consistently stands from the perspective of the vast majority of working people, calling for the establishment of a social distribution system compatible with socialism, ensuring that everyone can benefit from social development through the fair distribution of basic public resources like education, healthcare, and housing, as well as the protection of workers' rights. He emphasizes caring for vulnerable groups and promoting the revival of socialism in the 21st century.

(II) Cultural Critique and the Cultural Subjectivity of the People

1. Revealing the Erosion of Feudal and Capitalist Culture

In "Random Thoughts," Liu Jiming reveals the erosion of society by feudalism and capitalist culture. He believes that under the influence of feudal and capitalist cultural industries, servile culture and consumerist culture prevail, shaping people's values to pursue material enjoyment, prioritize personal interests, and become docile subjects. He points out that this cultural phenomenon leads to an empty spiritual world for people, and human relationships become what Marx called "naked self-interest."

2. Emphasizing the Cultural Subjectivity of the People

In contrast, Liu Jiming emphasizes the cultural subjectivity of the people. From a Marxist perspective, he believes that the people are the creators and inheritors of culture, and culture should reflect the lives and needs of the proletariat and the vast majority of the people. He advocates for reactivating revolutionary culture, combining it with modern societal values, and constructing a people-centered cultural system, which includes collectivism, socialism, and what "The Communist Manifesto" calls a "free association of producers."

(III) Theoretical Reflections and Insights on Contemporary Social Development

1. Contemporary Interpretation of Socialist Theory

Liu Jiming's "Random Thoughts" offer a contemporary interpretation of socialist theory. He considers the current social context of globalization and information technology to reflect on the practical significance of socialism in social governance, economic development, and people's well-being. He emphasizes that the essence of socialism is for the people to be masters of their own affairs and for all people to achieve common prosperity. In today's society, this concept provides new ideas for solving global problems such as climate change and wealth polarization.

2. Insights into the Direction of Social Change

Many of Liu Jiming's reflections in "Random Thoughts" provide important insights into the direction of social change. When facing various problems existing in current society, he advocates for promoting social change, including political system reform, economic structural adjustment, and social and cultural construction. For example, regarding economic structural adjustment, he advocates for promoting the development of public ownership economy and enhancing its macroeconomic regulation capabilities to safeguard the interests of the vast proletariat and the people.

V. Conclusion

Liu Jiming's series of essays "Random Thoughts," from Weibo to Zhihu, reflects the challenges and opportunities he faced in the process of disseminating his ideas. They hold significant ideological value, social critical importance, and contribute to enriching and providing insights into contemporary social development theory. These ideas provide crucial intellectual resources for rebuilding socialism in the 21st century.

Source: Zuo Ping Public Account

Conversation between the translator, Chen Gang, and People's Horizon during the written interview by April 28, 2025:

The Victory of Socialism Is

an Irresistible Historical Law

Recently, the English version of renowned author Liu Jiaming's novel "Black and White" was published in the United States. People's Horizon website conducted a written interview with translator and publisher Mr. Chen Gang. Below is the transcript of the interview：

People's Horizon: Hello, Mr. Chen Gang! As the translator and publisher of "Black and White," how did you first encounter this work?

Chen Gang： Over two years ago, I began by reading commentary articles and serialized chapters on the Utopia website.

People's Horizon: What prompted you to decide to translate it?

Chen Gang: After reading it, I deeply realized that the high praise from many left-wing experts—describing it as "the pinnacle of contemporary Chinese realist writing, a visual history of contemporary Chinese social development," noting that "someday it will join the family of world literary classics because its exploration of history and examination of human nature far surpasses most Nobel Prize-winning works," and comparing it to "Tolstoy's War and Peace"—was entirely appropriate. This recognition exists objectively and historically, regardless of whether the Chinese mainstream, such as the Writers Association, or the global mainstream, like the Nobel Committee acknowledge it. Much like the evaluation of Chairman Mao's theory of continuing revolution, the Cultural Revolution, and Jiang Qing, history will eventually restore their true brilliance. Furthermore, the novel's phenomenal impact among ordinary readers after its publication further confirmed the objectivity of this positioning.

Based on this conviction, I thought if I could introduce this epic—comparable to "Dream of the Red Chamber," "The Golden Road," and "War and Peace," representing contemporary Chinese literature's highest achievement—to the English-speaking world, it would not only support the emerging but struggling domestic leftist movement loyal to Chairman Mao's continuing revolution line, but also add honor and fulfill a duty as an elderly faithful follower of Mao Zedong Thought. Therefore, I took the initiative to secure the honor of this translation from Mr. Liu Jiming.

People's Horizon: Which core themes or literary qualities of the novel attracted you?

Chen Gang：1.The novel's core theme is the upside-down reality brought to Chinese society by the capitalist restoration implemented by the revisionist capitalist-roaders. The political line determines everything. All tragedies began with completely negating Chairman Mao's basic theory and practice of continuing revolution under the banner of reform and opening up, using "liberating thought" and "practice is the sole criterion of truth" as the starting point. This first led to the comprehensive privatization of the market economy, subverting the economic foundation of the public ownership-based planned economy.2. The novel has two extremely prominent literary qualities: First, it's magnificent in scope, covering a century of history and touching all domains of society. Second, it's objectively realistic. Faithful to realist writing techniques, it describes events factually and calmly without commentary. Even though the author yearns for the Mao Zedong era, he doesn't avoid some mistakes of the first thirty years: the Anti-Rightist Movement, Great Leap Forward, People's Communes, public canteens, the Cultural Revolution's "overthrow everything," and May 7th Cadre Schools, such as the grievances brought to Professor Lang and Wang Shengli. Even when portraying outright villains, there's no stereotypical depiction—instead, it shows the father-daughter relationship of Song Qiankun, the brother-sister relationship of Hong Taihang, Wu Bozhong's affection for his mistress and biological son, including Lu Shengping's blind loyalty, "all of this was for the old leader."

People's Horizon: What blind spots do you think English readers might have regarding the Chinese social background in the book?

Chen Gang： The biggest misconception is that China is still a socialist country because the Communist Party rules it. Little do they know that socialism's essence is not Communist Party leadership but public ownership and common prosperity. In China, 0.33% of the population (4.6 million people) own 67.44% of the national wealth, while 9.62% (1.3 billion people) own only 6.98% (according to CICC's 2023 report).

People's Horizon: Who are the potential readers of the English version of "Black and White"?

Chen Gang： Translated literature comprises only a small portion of the American book market. About 1% of novels and poetry books sold in the United States are translated works by foreign authors. Many American readers prefer reading books originally written in English, making it difficult for translated works to enter the mainstream market.

The potential readers of the English version of "Black and White" should be similar to those of other translated mainstream authors like Mo Yan, Yu Hua, and Jia Pingwa: academic readers are the main audience for translated Chinese literature. University professors, researchers, and students in comparative literature, Asian studies, Chinese studies, and world literature are key readers. Particularly, students and faculty in university Chinese language courses. However, except for Mo Yan's works, which have more readers due to the Nobel Prize publicity, other writers' translated works, even novels with significant reputations in China, have limited sales in the English-speaking world.

Unlike the enthusiastic reception of "Black and White" among grassroots and ordinary readers in China, generating the same level of interest in America is difficult. This is because the Chinese common people have experienced decades of orthodox Marxism through Mao Zedong Thought and the experience of being masters of their own fate under the socialist system of the Mao era. The capitalist restoration of the past forty-plus years has reduced them again to exploited and oppressed vulnerable groups under the "four mountains" [of oppression], or even a negative-asset class. They yearn for socialism's return, arising naturally from these conditions. Therefore, "Black and White," which was written specifically for them and speaks out on their behalf—this thought-provoking people's realist work—naturally resonates with them.

America, meanwhile, is the stronghold of world capitalism and has never experienced socialism. It's also the world's largest Christian country, with 70% of adults being Christians, their thinking constrained by religion. America's mainstream capitalist ideology is powerful, with various media collectively brainwashing the masses. Communism is extremely marginalized in America, viewed as heresy. Even though polarization is severe, the American ruling class distributes some scraps from super-profits plundered worldwide to the American lower classes. Even the poorest can enjoy free healthcare, education, food, and shelter—their lives remain tolerable. Therefore, a true Marxist American Revolutionary Communist Party can't form a significant movement and has only one or two thousand members. Even the revisionist Communist Party of America has only ten to twenty thousand members. So ordinary American readers lack this political enthusiasm. Additionally, more than half of Americans have a reading level below sixth grade, making it difficult for them to understand complex literary works. Readers with less than college-level education are extremely unlikely to read English translations of Chinese realist novels.

People's Horizon: What is your political inclination?

Chen Gang： Completely aligned with author Liu Jiming. That is, using orthodox Marxism-Leninism-Mao Zedong Thought's standpoint, viewpoint, and methodology as the standard to determine political direction. The most fundamental inclination is hoping for China's return to socialism and revitalization of the international communist cause, which was abandoned due to the betrayal of the Chinese revisionist group.

People's Horizon: Did you encounter bottlenecks or difficulties during the translation process?

Chen Gang： None whatsoever.

People's Horizon: Which character in "Black and White" impressed you the most? Why?

Chen Gang： Song Qiankun, who typifies all characteristics of China's greatest revisionist leader: 1. Opportunism. Most impressively, the early betrayal of his family and opportunistic revolutionary motivation. The rumor about his affair with his father's concubine bears striking similarity [to certain historical figures], but Old Qi's account lacks corroborating evidence (also the episode of him being a deserter); 2. Betrayal. The work effectively confirms his betrayal, but as Kong Qingdong said, his betrayal was even more terrible than Fu Zhigao's. Fu Zhigao's betrayal only doomed the local underground party, while the traitors cultivated by the "Trojan Horse Plan" doomed the entire country, won by millions of martyrs. 3. The ferocity of the "Homecoming Legion" [returning landlords], Luo Zheng and Anna's imprisonment naturally evoke associations with the persecution of Mao's supporters, the "Gang of Five" and the "Three Types of People," and the consistent organizational method of "replacing people if they don't reform," such that red terror continues to this day.

People's Horizon: After repeatedly reading "Black and White" thoroughly, what was your strongest impression?

Chen Gang： The author's unique courage to offer his blood for the sacred land [a reference to patriotic sacrifice]. The courage to challenge today's "socialism with Chinese characteristics" as a core theme when writing contemporary history requires extraordinary bravery. Although it's the pinnacle of people's realism describing objective facts, who else but Liu Jiming would dare spend five years and 1.2 million words to break through the propaganda net woven by establishment writers at all levels, and speak the truth that only the little boy in the fable dared to reveal?

Additionally, he dares to challenge taboos in his creation, featuring historical figures like Qu Qiubai and Trotsky, historical events like the Cultural Revolution, the July 20th Incident, June 4th, the Tonggang Incident, as well as many prototypes that everyone knows and can associate with today.

People's Horizon: In your translator's afterword, you compared "Black and White" with Tolstoy's "War and Peace." Could you elaborate on the similarities and differences between these two works?

Chen Gang： In the hall of historical masterpieces, Liu Jiming's "Black and White" can be considered a contemporary counterpart to Tolstoy's "War and Peace." Liu Jiming's masterpiece has a similar vision and ambition, accomplishing for modern China what Tolstoy did for 19th-century Russia: a panoramic examination of social transformation through intimate personal stories and grand historical events.

"Black and White" matches "War and Peace" in scale and spirit. The book spans 590,000 Chinese characters, while "War and Peace" contains 580,000 words. "Black and White" features over 250 characters, while "War and Peace" has about 160, reflecting the complexity of modern society.

Tolstoy recorded the Napoleonic era, which occurred more than 50 years before his writing and signaled Russia's transformation toward capitalism, thus passing the Tsarist censorship. Liu Jiming, however, recorded China's transformation to "capitalism with Chinese characteristics" during the reform and opening period after abandoning Mao-era socialism—a period he personally experienced—examining the social upheaval of the past 50 years with equal historical weight. Precisely because it deals with contemporary history, even after four reprints in Hong Kong, the Beijing edition was banned by authorities, along with its online version, immediately after being printed.

Tolstoy presented Russia's evolution from feudal serfdom to capitalism from an omniscient, God's-eye perspective, while Liu Jiming uses a distinctly Marxist viewpoint to explore China's history of capitalist restoration after socialism, examining how social systems shape individual destinies. Through the intertwined stories of Wang Sheng, Gu Zheng, Du Wei, and others, Liu Jiming demonstrates how personal choices intertwine with larger historical forces, just as Tolstoy did through the lives of Pierre Bezukhov, Andrei Bolkonsky, and Natasha Rostova. Through realistic portrayal, he presents the dramatic lives of the younger generation like Wang Sheng, Gu Zheng, Zong Tianyi, Li Hong, Du Wei, Ba Dong, Lang Tao, Song Xiaofan, Hong Taihang, Chen Yimeng, and the older generation like Luo Zheng, Wang Shengli, the old principal, Lu Shengping, Song Qiankun, Wu Bozhong, and even Zong Da and Anna. These stories, alongside actual historical events like the Cultural Revolution, the Down to the Countryside Movement, May 7th Cadre Schools, the July 20th Incident, River Elegy, the June 4th Student Movement, the Tonggang Riot, the purge of the "Three Types of People," state enterprise reforms, worker layoffs, and forced prostitution, demonstrate how individual destinies are always connected to and transformed by society's fate.

The novel's complex structure rivals Tolstoy's artful interweaving of personal and historical narratives. Liu Jiming's innovative "beehive" structure allows multiple storylines to develop simultaneously, creating a rich tapestry covering everything from intimate family dramas to broad social movements. Just as Tolstoy seamlessly moves between Moscow salons and the Battle of Austerlitz, Liu Jiming moves between university campuses, corporate boardrooms, and factory floors, capturing every aspect of Chinese society. Like "War and Peace," "Black and White" integrates more than a dozen love stories—some tender, some tragic, some peculiar—into a relentless canvas of tragedy.

People's Horizon: Your afterword is quite profound. Could you share your understanding of contemporary Chinese literature in relation to "Black and White"?

Chen Gang： After coming to America, I had limited novel reading due to the busyness of working and running a business, mainly watching TV dramas. After retiring in 2008, besides stock trading and taking care of rental properties, I browsed some popular novels in my spare time, mainly several short stories by Wang Zengqi, several short and medium-length works by Hao Ran, the trilogy "Human Life" and "The Common People," Lu Yao's "Life" and "Ordinary World," Jia Pingwa's "Restlessness," "The Qin Opera," and "Ruined City," Yu Hua's "Brothers," Yan Lianke's "Hard as Water," "Serve the People," "Dream of Ding Village," Mo Yan's "Big Breasts and Wide Hips," "The Republic of Wine," Chen Zhongshi's "White Deer Plain," and several short and medium-length works by Tie Ning. So although I read only for entertainment, I still have some understanding of contemporary Chinese literature.

My overall impression is admiration for Hao Ran's consistently revolutionary life from childhood to adulthood, his vivid and simple rural language, and the reservations about rural reform expressed by a Communist Party member similar to Luo Zheng in "The Common People." I appreciate Wang Zengqi's poetic and beautiful language. At the time, I also appreciated Lu Yao's "Life" and "Ordinary World," mainly resonating with the ideological transformation of the younger generation similar to Wang Sheng. As for others, except for Jia Pingwa who is somewhat serious, all of them—including Tie Ning—denounce, satirize, and abuse the revolutionary era. Of course, their works also thoroughly expose the chaos of the reform and opening-up period. Due to these authors' own positions, their promoted themes mock the Mao Zedong era, satirize communism, and celebrate the farewell to revolution. This is precisely the mainstream of contemporary Chinese literature, as evidenced by the selection of successive chairpersons of the Writers Association and winners of the Mao Dun Literature Prize. Works of people's realism from a Marxist standpoint, like those of Cao Zhenglu and Liu Jiming, are as rare as phoenix feathers or unicorn horns.

Mainstream contemporary Chinese literature completely serves to maintain Chinese bureaucratic capitalism, thoroughly deviating from Chairman Mao's correct direction of serving workers, peasants, and soldiers and serving proletarian politics. Under the banner of reviving the profound Chinese culture, they attempt to re-corrupt, enslave, and exploit the masses through individualism, money worship, and Confucian doctrines—this is the mainstream of contemporary Chinese literature.

People's Horizon: Final question: Please share your understanding of Chinese society.

Chen Gang： As mentioned earlier, I believe today's China is a capitalist society. According to the scientific definition of Marxism, a society's nature is determined by its economic foundation. Today's Chinese economic foundation is dominated by privatized ownership and polarized distribution. This point is indisputably proven by both official statistics and those published by CICC. Upon this economic foundation, the superstructure must necessarily be a bourgeois regime. Because the ruling party is a revisionist group wearing the cloak of Marxism, and one-party dictatorship is the natural and inevitable form of Marxism during the transitional period, there is no need to adopt the democratic system used by classical capitalism as a disguise. China's bourgeois ruling form openly employs a dictatorial political system. The ruled class is completely deprived of democratic rights. Thus, Chinese capitalism has taken on the characteristics of bureaucratic capitalism.

As of 2023, the anti-corruption campaign that began in 2012 has led to about 2.4 million government officials being prosecuted for corruption. The scale of this crackdown indicates the pervasiveness of the problem. Additionally, in China, the chance of corrupt officials ultimately being imprisoned has traditionally been less than 5%, making corruption a high-return, low-risk activity. This creates conditions where officials can use their positions for personal wealth accumulation.

Even without illegal income, corrupt Chinese officials often come from the upper range of China's income distribution. When their corrupt income is included, almost all reach the top 5% of China's urban income distribution. This shows how political power directly translates into economic advantage.

Chinese bureaucratic capitalism has the following characteristics:

Fusion of political power and economic benefits: In a system where almost all senior public officials have participated in corrupt practices, everyone could potentially become a target of corruption investigations. This indicates the widespread phenomenon of using positions for personal gain.

Using state relationships for private benefits: The anti-corruption campaign has targeted nearly 40,000 so-called criminal groups and corrupt companies, with over 50,000 Communist Party members and government officials punished for assisting them, revealing the close relationship between officials and businesses.

A systemic rather than individual problem: Xi Jinping called corruption "the biggest threat facing our party," indicating it's a widespread issue, not isolated incidents. The popular saying "no official is not corrupt" reflects public awareness of this reality.

Consistent with the economic foundation and superstructure of bureaucratic capitalism, China is ruled by bureaucratic capitalist ideology. Its characteristics are a hodgepodge of feudalism, capitalism, and revisionism. Mr. Liu Jiming summarized it incisively: using nationalism to replace the class narratives of Marxism-Leninism and the liberal narratives of the West, using red culture to maintain political legitimacy, and using market principles to create a hierarchical community of interests are the three magic weapons of the bureaucratic bourgeoisie's victory. Maintaining rule over working people internally and strengthening social-imperialist expansion and competing for hegemony with American imperialism externally are China's current basic national policies.

However, productive forces determine production relations, and people are the decisive force in historical development. Crises and wars are inevitable laws of capitalism. China's capitalist restoration can only delay the lifespan of the capitalist system, but its demise and socialism's victory are inevitable historical laws—though I may not live to see them.

The Testimony of Time--Conversation during the interview by Kuangbiao Academy, September 22, 2022. https://drive.google.com/file/d/1b1kVzTWbQctCo_bOjOdb6Ah1rj21zYWx/view?usp=sharing

The Testimony of Time

—Black and White and More

Kuangbiao Academy: I've been anticipating your new novel for two years, and I feel extremely honored to read this monumental work before its publication. I've been reading it intermittently for over a month during the intense summer heat since early July. My first question is: When did you begin writing this novel, and what experiences during the writing process can you share with readers?

Liu Jiming: I began writing this novel three years ago, but the idea had been germinating for five years. In winter 2018, while chatting with literary critic Liu Fusheng in Hainan, I mentioned my plan to write a new novel. This was the first time I revealed my writing plan to anyone. During the two years from conception to formally beginning writing, the novel's main characters and plot grew like a seed planted in soil, taking root and sprouting day by day. In September 2019, I was on an island far from Wuhan, where the vast, churning sea acted as a barrier, isolating me from all the clamor and chaos of reality. My mind experienced great liberation, and I realized that the seed taking root was about to break through the soil. In this state of mind, facing my computer, I embarked on a strange and difficult writing journey.

By April 2020, I had completed the first part—400,000 words in less than a year—writing faster than any of my previous novels. I struck while the iron was hot and quickly began writing the second part. But after writing less than 100,000 words, I suddenly hit a wall. The reasons were twofold: first, the rhythm of the writing itself became disordered, the characters and plot suddenly lost their sense of direction, causing me to doubt the entire work and even lose confidence in continuing; second, the COVID-19 pandemic that began in early 2020 had spread throughout the country and the world. Wuhan, as the epicenter, was still under lockdown. Although I was far from the center of the epidemic, I saw all kinds of information from media and the internet every day—true and false, right and wrong—plus the waves of public opinion stirred up in Chinese and foreign discourse, making it impossible for me to remain detached.

During this period, an editor from the Writers Publishing House (the editor of "Human Realm") solicited my manuscript, so I sent her the completed first part. I titled the first part "To the Eighties." Soon after, the editor sent me a WeChat message: "I've finished reading your novel, and it's truly excellent—I haven't read such a moving work in a long time. However, I still have a few concerns: 1. Fei Bian is a fictional character, but does his name suggest someone specific? Are the titles of his works and his ideas too explicit? 2. Can we omit the names of the leaders mentioned in some plots? It would be very troublesome if it gets held up for review. 3. Can the discussion of the student movement be further simplified? In short, as it stands now, it seems to be pointing to something specific, and the issues and points discussed are quite sensitive. I feel this is too heavy a burden to bear."

I also sent the manuscript to "Harvest" magazine, which had published many of my works before. The editor replied: "This is a work with profound thought and plot structure. The author has brought his personal emotional experiences and numerous details from the 1980s into the work, giving it a vivid, intimate perspective at eye level. The work takes a humanistic stance on the ups and downs of China's path and people's destinies over the past century, neither avoiding nor sensationalizing. Many characters take the stage of the novel's world through multiple storylines, leaving behind their own joys and sorrows. As a realistic novel, it continues an excellent literary tradition since the 1980s, combining retrospection, reflection, questioning, and collision into a multi-voiced opera of the years, demonstrating the author's profound humanistic accumulation and writing skill..."

Although the opinions of the two young editors differed in perspective and had reservations about the "completeness" of the individual novel, they unanimously gave the novel high praise, which undoubtedly boosted my confidence, as I was in a state of isolation and hesitation. Therefore, in the second half of 2020, when I returned to Wuhan and resumed writing the second part, I suddenly rediscovered the exhilarating feeling I had when writing the first part, and completed the second part in less than a year. By then, the editor at the Writers Publishing House had submitted "To the Eighties" as a publication proposal. After completing the second part, I had a clear vision for the entire novel, so I abandoned the idea of publishing the first part separately and began writing the third part in September 2021. I finished the third part by mid-June this year, again taking less than a year. When revising the entire book, I suddenly felt that the original title "Human World" was not ideal, so I changed it to "Black and White."

Kuangbiao Academy: You once said that "Human Realm" would be your last novel, yet five years later, you've written this epic nearly three times longer than "Human Realm." Where did the motivation and inspiration come from? What are the main similarities and differences between these two works?

Liu Jiming: When I first began writing "Human Realm," I was still quite young, lacking sufficient writing experience, and my personal artistic taste and thinking were deeply influenced by mainstream and even popular ideas. But because the writing spanned such a long period, it bears the spiritual and artistic imprints of almost every stage, so in "Human Realm," you can see the intersection of different values and aesthetic tastes, such as realism and modernism, elite and mass culture. The protagonists Ma La and Murong Qiu possess qualities of loneliness, contemplation, and detachment from the world, which are characteristic of Western modernism and images that were once popular in China's literary circles during the New Era. Its critique of reality and reexamination and inheritance of socialist traditions are like a meticulously planned match, with all moves completed within the discourse system formed since the 1980s. Of course, I don't deny the heterogeneity of "Human Realm" relative to the mainstream literary world; rather, I want to say that "Black and White" before you is more like an unexpected intruder. In other words, "Black and White" is actually the product of a direct encounter between the individual and reality. When I typed the first line on the computer, I felt like a soldier who had received orders to rush to the battlefield without sufficient ammunition. I was still very unclear about the overall structure and direction of the novel. I only knew from past experience that this work would far exceed "Human Realm" in length, but I didn't know exactly how many parts or how many words it would be. Many characters and stories only gradually emerged as the writing progressed, which is also why I came to a halt after completing the first part. In a sense, it wasn't I who wrote "Black and White," but the reality I was immersed in compelled me to complete this novel, giving me a sense of passivity, as if not writing it would betray everything I had experienced.

I fought an unexpected battle with reality without any preparation. Through that battle, I unexpectedly gained insight into many secrets of human nature. Previously, my understanding of the era's aspects was like observing the scenery outside through a layer of glass, somewhat like scratching an itch through one's boot. But now, the glass barrier in front of me has shattered, and I've directly touched the bottom of the era. It's like a spectator suddenly barging onto a theater stage during a performance, transforming from an audience member into a character in the play. Various familiar and unfamiliar characters and events took the stage one after another, revealing their true faces. Beauty and ugliness, good and evil, black and white, ideal and reality, loyalty and betrayal, faith and outcry collided with each other, dazzling and alarming. Therefore, when I began writing, I didn't need to rack my brains or face a wall to create fiction, but rather, like the folk shamans I saw in my childhood, I "invited" them from the real world into the novel through the astrology of language...

Kuangbiao Academy: "Invited them from the real world into the novel" is a vivid description. While reading "Black and White," I indeed felt that some characters seemed familiar. For example, Wu Bozhong reminded me of Wang Lin, the qigong master who was once famous a few years ago; Luo Zheng's experiences highly overlap with those of a real New Fourth Army veteran; Song Qiankun also reminds me of a certain old cadre known as a "liberal within the Party." Additionally, Li Xin, who was labeled a rightist, makes one think of a writer with a similar experience. Furthermore, some details in the novel, such as Wang Sheng and Gu Xiaole reading a novel about laid-off workers called "There" in the reform-through-labor farm library, and Tian Qingqing's female factory worker friend having the same name as the real-life worker Ah Ying, and directly quoting the poem "Lament for Severed Fingers" widely circulated online by old cadre Li Chengrui, as well as Provincial Party Secretary Chen Yimeng, who evokes a reformer from the 1980s, and so on. Despite this, we cannot simply equate them with real people and events—this must be the result of what you call the "alchemy of language"!

I've roughly counted that "Black and White" has over a hundred named characters, ranging from farmers to workers, generals, old cadres, university professors, rural teachers, lawyers, college students, provincial party secretaries, entrepreneurs, reformers, foreign enterprise representatives, singers, writers, economists, brokers, qigong masters, reform-through-labor inmates, and so on, covering every sector of Chinese society. The narrative timeline spans from the 1911 Revolution to the new century's first decade—a full hundred years. Whether in terms of the number of characters, the breadth and depth of social life depicted, or the time span, it far exceeds "Human Realm." Among the many characters, the most important are Gu Zheng, Zong Tianyi, Wang Sheng, Du Wei, Ba Dong, and Li Hong, with the novel's narrative centered on the coming-of-age experiences of these young people. From this perspective, "Black and White" seems more like a bildungsroman. Would you agree with this assessment?

Liu Jiming: Calling "Black and White" a bildungsroman is somewhat like calling "Dream of the Red Chamber" or "The Red and the Black" romance novels. Although I indeed devoted considerable space to writing about several young people born in the 1960s and 1970s, their growth journey from the 1980s to the early 2000s, their friendships, romances, and the ups and downs of their life trajectories in the tides of the era, my main intention was to explore and depict a broader social and historical landscape through them. For example, through the siblings Zong Tianyi and Gu Zheng, the novel brings out their grandparents, the early revolutionaries Zong Da and Anna and the revolutionary torrent of 20th century China they were immersed in, as well as their maternal grandfather, East Steel engineer Gu Zhizhen, and maternal grandmother, elementary school teacher Su Wanyun, representing the first generation of builders of the People's Republic; similarly, through Wang Sheng, the novel brings out his father, a hero of the Liberation War and a township brick factory director during the socialist construction period, Wang Shengli, and the enmity between his old comrade Luo Zheng and their old leader Song Qiankun spanning more than half a century; while through Du Wei's meteoric rise from a "self-employed photographer" to a photographer, chairman of the Mass Art Group, and chairman of the Provincial Federation of Literary and Art Circles, the novel brings out the love and hatred between his maternal grandfather Zhan Datong, who participated in the 1911 Revolution, his mother "Miss Zhan," and "Yuan Ji Gong Grand Master" Wu Bozhong, a former Kuomintang military doctor turned itinerant physician, and so on. Beyond their own characters and images, just as in "Human Realm" where I sketched various characters and life scenes from urban and rural worlds through the protagonists Ma La and Murong Qiu, these characters also have certain functional significance in the narrative. The difference is that "Human Realm" only has two characters or two main narrative lines—Ma La and Murong Qiu—while "Black and White" has at least four or five characters and narrative lines. Each main line is like a folding screen; opening one screen means opening one world. You could say that "Black and White" is composed of screen after screen.

Kuangbiao Academy: "Black and White" is much more complex than "Human Realm" in both character creation and plot structure. Besides the volume of the work, it probably also relates to this structural approach you mentioned. The "folding screen" metaphor is very accurate and vivid. During the reading process, I felt as if a hand was continuously opening and closing one screen after another, making me feel like I had entered a linguistic labyrinth where one could easily lose direction. Reading this novel requires not only sufficient patience but also a clear discernment of this structural approach. This belongs to the technical aspects of writing, which ordinary readers might not be very interested in, so I'd like to discuss the characters in the novel with you.

Among the main characters, I'm most interested in Gu Zheng and Wang Sheng. It's evident that you put the most effort into these two protagonists in the work. Gu Zheng is the first character to appear, accompanied by scenes of university life in the 1980s, such as freshman orientation, literary societies, campus dances, lectures, teacher-student romances, etc. In fact, the main activities of the characters in the first part are centered around the university campus of the 1980s. Surrounding Gu Zheng, you not only narrate her family history in many passages but also tell the legendary experiences of her grandfather, father, and brother Zong Tianyi. In the first part, Gu Zheng is undoubtedly the female lead, but by the second part, Wang Sheng, who was originally in a secondary position, becomes the protagonist. At the beginning, you use two full volumes to write about Wang Sheng after his graduate studies, when he was sent to Niangzi Lake in the suburbs of the provincial capital for training, working as a normal school teacher, meeting the normal school student Tian Fang, until he was recognized as a talent by Du Wei, then director of the Mass Art magazine, and called back to the provincial capital. Throughout the second part, Gu Zheng does not directly appear; from the third part on, she reappears as a lawyer, and by then it's the beginning of the new century, a whole era away from when the events in the previous part took place. By taking on Wang Sheng and Gu Xiaole's case, Gu Zheng returns to the center of the novel. It's evident that Gu Zheng is a character you've put great effort into creating. I want to ask, as the author, how do you view Gu Zheng? In the work, besides the "functionality" you mentioned, does she have some deeper significance?

Liu Jiming: In my initial conception, Gu Zheng was only meant to appear as a foil to Wang Sheng. In other words, her functionality far outweighed her inherent significance. But as the plot progressed, the character gradually broke free from the original design and gained the power of self-growth. As you saw, in the first part, Gu Zheng is an introverted, quiet college student who loves literature and is lost in fantasy. She is very different from Li Hong in personality, yet they are inseparable. Compared to the extroverted, sensual, and world-desiring Li Hong, Gu Zheng has almost no gender characteristics, to the extent that some people see them as lesbians. This personality comes from her special family background: her maternal grandfather's status as a "traitor," her father's disappearance, her mother's drowning death, her brother's escape, and growing up in her grandparents' home—all of which shaped her sensitive and solitary character. As Gu Zheng herself finds puzzling, she is not suited to studying law and should have studied literature instead. In fact, her later experiences prove that she was not successful as a lawyer. But it is this unsuccessful lawyer who accomplishes a feat that can be called earth-shattering.

Kuangbiao Academy: This must be what you meant by the character "breaking free from the original design and gaining the power of self-growth." But from a reader's perspective, this actually conforms to the developmental logic of Gu Zheng's character. The trauma and shadow left in her deep heart by her family's misfortune have accompanied her growth process like a shadow. Her love for literature, her fondness for Virginia Woolf's novel "To the Lighthouse," her almost instinctive hostility toward the opposite sex, make her deeply despise all ugly people and things. The novel mentions her disgust at her brother Zong Tianyi's abandonment of his wife Hong Xun, her dislike of Tang Fei and Du Wei—all of which prove this point. Like Murong Qiu in "Human Realm," Gu Zheng is a person with spiritual cleanliness, emanating an idealistic quality that is at odds with reality from the inside out. It is this character and temperament that leads her to part ways with the Dingjun Law Firm without hesitation, deciding to take on Wang Sheng's case, and together with Li Hong, jointly bringing down Wu Bozhong, Du Wei, and the corrupt group behind them. In this process, Li Hong played a crucial role. In the novel, Li Hong is only a secondary character with limited depiction, but due to her and Gu Zheng's "heroic deed," she suddenly becomes important, and her character becomes much more full and three-dimensional. Could you talk about this character?

Liu Jiming: Li Hong initially appeared only as a foil to Gu Zheng, and the description of her was also relatively simplified and stereotypical. But she is quite representative of female college students in the mid-to-late 1980s: passionate, romantic, open, avant-garde, stylish, with a strong artistic temperament, like the protagonists in Tie Ning's novel "The Red Shirt Without Buttons" and Liu Xihong's novel "You Cannot Change Me." But Li Hong was not inspired by such literary works but comes from my life experience. Like Gu Zheng and Li Hong, I also completed my university studies in the mid-to-late 1980s. East River University in the novel is based on my alma mater, Wuhan University. In fact, Li Hong combines the shadows of at least two of my female classmates. Some of the details, such as Li Hong reciting poetry in a low-cut, backless nightgown in the dormitory, were scenes I saw when visiting a female classmate's dormitory, and that poem "The Bedroom of a Single Woman" was a representative work by the once-famous female poet Yi Lei in the 1980s. Including the teacher-student romance between Li Hong and Lang Tao, this was almost a fashion in university campuses in the mid-to-late 1980s. Despite this, Li Hong is still quite different from these types of female students. What distinguishes her from the same type of female college students is not her personality but her experiences. Li Hong's father was a director of a state-owned enterprise at the department level, and she grew up in a privileged life. Additionally, she was beautiful, had a talent for recitation, and had a natural star quality, quickly becoming the president of the literary society in college and a figure surrounded by admirers. If fate hadn't intervened, she would certainly have had an enviable future. But near graduation, her father was sentenced for corruption, becoming a sacrificial lamb for interest groups, and Li Hong's fate underwent a dramatic change. Not only was she abandoned by Lang Tao, but she was also released from her contract with a central-level news organization she had already signed with, and finally had to go to a "diploma mill" radio station as a broadcaster without official staffing...

Kuangbiao Academy: Li Hong's fate is indeed sympathetic. At the end of the first part, when I saw Gu Zheng watching her leave the East River University campus alone, boarding a public bus and gradually disappearing from her sight, my eyes became a bit moist. At that time, I didn't know that Li Hong would become a Count of Monte Cristo-like avenging goddess.

Liu Jiming: Not only did you not know, but when I finished the first part, I also thought this character would not appear again. But in the second part, she reappeared, from her brief romance with Ba Dong, to later becoming the mistress of Zhang Xiaobo, a high-ranking cadre's son, and the manager of a nightclub, and then becoming Wu Bozhong's assistant—it seemed not like my deliberate arrangement but like a fate she chose for herself.

Kuangbiao Academy: When Li Hong appeared in the second part, she had changed her name to "Xu Ke." Her role in the nightclub was similar to that of a courtesan, but from the moment she set foot on Phoenix Island and became Wu Bozhong's assistant, she became increasingly mysterious and ambiguous. On one hand, she deftly maneuvered between Wu Bozhong and Du Wei, like a veteran of social circles; on the other hand, she always wore all black, and when she met her former lover Lang Tao again, she was cold as ice, like a stranger, as if carrying some special mission. Until later, when she handed over the evidence of corruption she had collected about Wu Bozhong, Du Wei father and son, and the forces behind them to Gu Zheng, ultimately triggering the Phoenix Island case, did Li Hong's true face surface. This plot arrangement is somewhat like reading a suspense novel. The role Li Hong played on Phoenix Island reminds one of the late Qing Dynasty official spy Ren Ban'an, who changed his name to infiltrate the key positions of the court to collect criminal evidence against political enemies, eventually bringing down his opponents. What impressed me most was Li Hong and Gu Zheng's secret meeting at Niangzi Lake, rowing on the lake while pouring their hearts out, especially Li Hong's frank confession of her true feelings, an internal monologue of over 10,000 words, every word dripping with blood, moving the reader deeply, bringing to life a contemporary version of an avenging goddess...

In "Black and White," besides Gu Zheng and Li Hong, other female characters such as Hong Xun, Meng Fei, Song Xiaofan, Hong Yanbei, Tian Fang, Tian Qingqing, and Cheng Lei also left unforgettable impressions on me. If we were to analyze them one by one, it would probably require a dedicated article. Next, let's talk about the male protagonist of the novel, Wang Sheng. If Gu Zheng is the female lead in the novel, then Wang Sheng is clearly the male lead. This character's personality is somewhat similar to Gu Zheng's—introverted, stubborn, fond of reading, not very sociable. At first glance, he seems a bit like Ma La in "Human Realm," but Wang Sheng doesn't have that persistent idealistic spirit that Ma La has. In some sense, he's even a quite "pragmatic" person. Is my understanding correct?

Liu Jiming: Wang Sheng and Ma La actually have quite a few similarities. For instance, they were both born in the 1960s (Ma La in the early 1960s, Wang Sheng in the mid-to-late 1960s), both experienced socialist and revolutionary cultural influences in their adolescence, and both had a communist-believing "spiritual father" figure—Ma La's brother Ma Ke and Wang Sheng's father Wang Shengli. In their youth, due to adolescent rebellion and the influence of the zeitgeist, both unwittingly wanted to break free from or even betray their spiritual fathers. Ma La found Lu Yongjia, who advocated liberalism, in normal school and followed him into business, while Wang Sheng grew spiritually distant from his father after entering university and even changed his name from Wang Cheng (given by his father after a hero) to "Wang Sheng" to draw a line with his past. He took Professor Lang Yongliang, who had been labeled a rightist, as his life mentor, hoping to gradually enter mainstream society and become a member of the elite class through academic efforts. He later became the deputy editor-in-chief of the Mass Art Group, which could be said to have achieved his life goal. Similarly, both Ma La's and Wang Sheng's lives experienced dramatic turns: Ma La was imprisoned because his mentor Lu Yongjia died of AIDS and his company was caught smuggling, while Wang Sheng was sentenced to three years for reporting Wu Bozhong on behalf of his deceased friend Zong Tianyi and was sued for defamation. The difference is that after Ma La was released from prison, he returned to his hometown, Shenwang Island, led his fellow villagers to organize cooperatives, and inherited the unfinished cause of his brother Ma Ke, while Wang Sheng, although he underwent a severe life baptism in the reform-through-labor farm and began to draw strength from his father's generation and childhood memories under Luo Zheng's influence, his thinking was still in a state of confusion. He hadn't found faith again like Ma La, returning from the individual to the people, becoming a consciously active intellectual.

Kuangbiao Academy: From the beginning, I felt that the character Wang Sheng looked familiar. After your explanation, I suddenly realized that he is indeed very similar to Ma La in "Human Realm." Upon further reflection, it's not just Wang Sheng, but the entire novel seems to be an extension and expansion of "Human Realm." In this sense, "Black and White" is like a sister work to "Human Realm." A critic once said that in "Human Realm," the protagonist Ma La is a character still in development. The same is true for Wang Sheng in "Black and White." But at the end of the novel, when Wang Sheng completes his sentence and is released, Gu Zheng, Liang Tian, and Tian Qingqing go to the farm to pick him up, which seems to suggest that Wang Sheng will also embark on a new life path with them. In this sense, "Black and White" completes the theme that was left unfinished in "Human Realm."

Xiang Jing once pointed out in an article reviewing "Human Realm": "The characters in the novel are all animated by a sense of aestheticism and idealism, making one unsure whether it's real or dreamlike. All the stories and plots may be real and can be verified in ongoing contemporary life. But the characters often make one's mind wander; the life paths they easily cross (such as Ma La's studies and entrepreneurship) might be insurmountable chasms for characters in 'Ordinary World.' These elites with innately great intelligence and emotional quotients, even after experiencing failures and setbacks, their idealistic spirit doesn't seem to grow from the land they love, but comes from some kind of heaven-sent gift and destiny..." "Human Realm" mostly describes good people with an "idealistic spirit," and one can hardly see a "bad person"; while in "Black and White," although you also wrote about some equally idealistic good people like Wang Sheng, Gu Zheng, Luo Zheng, the old principal, and Tian Fang, you also devoted considerable ink to describing some bad people, such as Du Wei and Wu Bozhong, who left deep impressions. Why did this change occur?

Liu Jiming: As some critics have pointed out, my early creative works, such as cultural concern novels, focused on revealing people's spiritual situations, and my mid-period writing about the grassroots focused on the real sufferings of the working people at the bottom of society, but the revelations about specific human nature were not deep, being relatively idealistic or idealized. But in recent years, my "encounter battle" with reality has not only deepened my understanding of the era's aspects to an unprecedented level but also given me a deeper grasp of the dark side of human nature, which is why characters like Du Wei and Wu Bozhong appear.

Kuangbiao Academy: Among the many characters in "Black and White," Du Wei is a thorough "bad person." From the first part where he follows his "adoptive father" Wu Bozhong to Pi Town to open a clinic, he gives the impression of a gloomy, licentious "bad youth." Later, when he enters East River University to study photography, the image of a calculating, opportunistic, and snobbish person emerges. Sheishui Nongfu said that Du Wei is "skilled in accidents, opportunistic, avaricious by nature, unrestrained yet ambitious, and for the sake of making a name for himself and gaining benefits, he uses any means necessary, regardless of right and wrong, black and white, truly taking pragmatic philosophy to its extreme." Can you talk about how you crafted this character?

Liu Jiming: Actually, we can't simply consider Du Wei a "bad person." The definition of good and bad people varies depending on one's value stance. Du Wei indeed concentrates a strong gangster and merchant spirit—such as being profit-driven, opportunistic, ambitious, unscrupulous in his climb upward, taking personal achievement as his only life creed, etc. This type of person has been common in Chinese society since the 1980s and 1990s. Of course, specifically regarding Du Wei, besides the nurturing of the social soil, his family background also plays a role. Du Wei's father, Du Fu, was originally a vegetable farmer in the suburbs of Chuzhou, but due to his exceptional cunning and skill in attaching himself to the powerful, he won the favor of Zhan Datong's daughter, Zhan Rong, of the Dajiang Photo Studio, and eventually claimed the Zhan family's property, becoming the owner of the Dajiang Photo Studio. Du Wei grew up in such a family, but he didn't know that Du Fu was only his nominal father, and his real father was Wu Bozhong, an itinerant physician who made and sold snake medicine, claimed to be a descendant of Empress Wu Zetian, and could treat difficult cases such as infertility. Wu Bozhong's influence on Du Wei's personality formation far exceeded that of his nominal father, Du Fu, who committed suicide by drowning. Later, Wu Bozhong relied on trickery and deception to become the famous "Yuan Ji Gong Grand Master," and Du Wei, after graduating from the East River University photography class, was recommended by the old East River Province leader Song Qiankun to become the chairman of the Mass Art Group. The father and son, with Phoenix Island as their stage, performed a series of dramas with magical color.

Du Wei embodies a kind of individualism or desire-ism aesthetics taken to the extreme. We have seen this in classic works such as Stendhal's "The Red and the Black" and Balzac's "Lost Illusions." It's just that Julien Sorel and Lucien lived in nineteenth-century France, while Du Wei lives in China at the end of the twentieth century and the beginning of the twenty-first century.

Kuangbiao Academy: Speaking of Wu Bozhong and Du Wei, what impressed me most was that when Wu Bozhong learned that their secrets on Phoenix Island had been "betrayed" by Li Hong, in order to keep his promise to "Miss Zhan" and save Du Wei's promising future, he resolutely chose to commit suicide. From this perspective, he can be considered a good father. As you can see, the boundary between good and evil is sometimes difficult to distinguish, and when creating characters, you fully respect the complexity of human nature. This complexity is also fully reflected in other characters such as Ba Dong, Hong Taixing, and Luo Zheng. They, along with Wang Sheng and Gu Zheng mentioned earlier, can all be considered "typical characters in typical environments." Typical characters in typical environments was once an important concept in classical Marxist literary theory, but in the view of Chinese contemporary literature since the 1980s, it seems to have become outdated and antiquated. Despite this, in your own creative work, especially in novels, you still pay great attention to creating typical characters with depth and thickness, such as Shen Futian and Zhen Yinnian in "Rivers and Lakes," Ma La and Murong Qiu in "Human Realm." In "Black and White," besides the protagonists Wang Sheng, Gu Zheng, and Du Wei, another unforgettable character is Song Qiankun. Sheishui Nongfu wrote in an article: "Song Qiankun, while being an old revolutionary, is actually a opportunist deeply hidden in the revolutionary ranks, with deep class imprints. Such people are highly representative—they were opportunists in the revolutionary years, capitalist roaders in power during Mao's era, and then became representatives of so-called open-minded old cadres in the reform and opening-up period. Historical development finally revealed their true colors, that is, people who are 'true at both ends.' Such people were as numerous as fish crossing a river in the revolutionary ranks. This character creation has truly typical significance..." Do you agree with his understanding of this character?

Liu Jiming: Sheishui Nongfu's view is very accurate. Song Qiankun is not only a character with considerable typicality, but one whose prototype is not difficult to find in reality. Song Qiankun's complexity also lies in the fact that his motive for joining the revolution initially had obvious opportunistic colors, with a deeply rooted individualism and elitism complex. He was once wooed by the Kuomintang intelligence service as "one of their own" and was suspected of betraying the East River Bureau leader Zong Da and military secrets, for which he was reported by his subordinate Luo Zheng for most of his life. Moreover, during the long and intricate process of the New Democratic Revolution, socialist revolution, construction, and reform, his class attributes were repeatedly activated. His life's ups and downs were all related to these attributes, haunting him like a ghost, from which he could not escape until death.

Kuangbiao Academy: After finishing "Black and White," besides the characters mentioned above that left deep impressions on me, the love descriptions in the novel are also unforgettable. In your previous novels, there wasn't much content about love, and even when occasionally touched upon, it was written very briefly. Some critics even believed that you are a writer who is not skilled at writing about love. For example, in "Human Realm," the love between the protagonist Ma La and Murong Qiu, Ma La's unrequited love for the cultural station librarian Hong Xia, and the quasi-Platonic feelings between him and Murong Qiu, are all written in a hazy, ambiguous way. In "Black and White," you seem to have increased the proportion and intensity of love stories, such as Wang Sheng and Tian Fang, Lang Tao and Li Hong, Song Xiaofan and Li Xin and Bai Wen, Zong Xiaotian and Gu Ying, Zong Tianyi and Hong Xun and Meng Fei, Ba Dong and Li Hong and Hong Yanbei, Liang Tian and Tian Qingqing, Gu Xiaole and Cheng Lei, Wu Bozhong and Miss Zhan, etc., all leaving more or less, lighter or deeper marks in the novel. But unlike many works in today's literary market that attract readers' attention by extensively describing and selling sex, the love in "Black and White" is not written for the sake of writing, but is inseparable from the formation and development of the characters' personalities. Among them, the love between the protagonist Wang Sheng and Tian Fang is especially touching. Could you talk about this specifically?

Liu Jiming: Wang Sheng is a person with an introverted character, a pure heart, and sensitive self-esteem. Although he fell in love with Tian Fang the first time he saw her in the normal school's folk teachers' class, constrained by his personal character and teacher status, he didn't express his feelings directly. The relationship between them developed rather slowly. For instance, having students watch the movie "Phoenix Piano" and write reflections, visiting Phoenix Island for home visits, taking the opportunity to meet her when Tian Fang went to the county town to buy teaching materials, writing letters to Tian Fang, etc., were all ways Wang Sheng expressed his feelings to Tian Fang. Tian Fang was also an introverted and shy girl who loved the career of a rural teacher and maintained an inseparable love for her homeland, Phoenix Island. Her initial feeling for Wang Sheng was only a student's respect for a teacher, but as Wang Sheng continuously revealed his intentions, the seeds of love also gradually sprouted in her heart. If things had continued to develop this way, the love between the two would probably have had a perfect ending. Unfortunately, shortly after Wang Sheng left Niangzi Normal School and returned to the city, Tian Fang drowned on her way back from teaching students on Jianjiao Island due to a tornado. A beautiful love story was abruptly ended. This left an unhealed wound in Wang Sheng's heart, and his later voluntary assumption of the school expenses for Tian Fang's niece, Tian Qingqing, was largely out of remembrance for Tian Fang.

Kuangbiao Academy: What a pure, beautiful, kind, and self-sacrificing girl Tian Fang was, yet you arranged such a tragic ending for her, which easily reminds one of "Human Realm," where the pure and beautiful love between Ma Ke and Murong Qiu was also terminated due to the unexpected death of one party. In "Black and White," many "good people" also have ill-fated destinies, full of tragic colors. Besides Wang Sheng and Gu Zheng mentioned earlier, there's also Luo Zheng, who was once an excellent Communist intelligence officer. After the Kuomintang intelligence service sabotaged the underground organization, and his fiancée Bai Xue died with the military district hospital and provincial committee organs in an attack by the Returning Home Corps on Phoenix Island, he suspected his superior Song Qiankun of leaking secrets and betraying. After liberation, he reported Song Qiankun's issues to relevant departments multiple times, for which he lost his position at the provincial newspaper and was arrested and imprisoned. In his advanced age, he was injured and hospitalized for seeking justice for the displaced people of Phoenix Island, leaving the world with resentment. Similar experiences also include Wang Sheng's father Wang Shengli, the old principal who led the residents of Phoenix Island to petition and died in a stone house next to the Martyrs' Cemetery, the agricultural team leader "Old Guo" of the reform-through-labor farm who lost everything due to a watch, and Li Hong, who, to avenge her parents, did not hesitate to change her name and identity, acting as an undercover agent to collect criminal evidence against the corrupt group... These people are upright, hate evil as an enemy, and most hold the simple belief that "justice may be late, but it will not be absent" and that good is rewarded, evil is punished, and they paid a heavy or even lifelong price for this belief—isn't this too cruel?

Liu Jiming: In this world, beautiful things are always fleeting. Love is the same. Beautiful love goes hand in hand with human virtue and always ends in tragedy. Upright and noble people are always subjected to hardships. In real society, the so-called contest between justice and evil is not like TV dramas and movies where justice always triumphs with a "happy ending." There's nothing strange about this. What's strange is that many people are always blind to such injustice, acting like numb spectators from Lu Xun's writings. As long as this "injustice" hasn't befallen them, they try their best to avoid it, cover it up, or even assist the tiger and go with the flow. This is the real reason why injustice occurs repeatedly and justice is delayed in being upheld. In this regard, "Black and White" reveals not "too much cruelty," but still far from enough.

Kuangbiao Academy: After the publication of "Human Realm," some critics believed that the novel's greatest contribution was "replanting the tradition of thinking about social issues and exploring life paths into contemporary Chinese literature," thereby "restoring the function of literature as a form of thought." In "Black and White," this feature is more prominent and intense. For example, Wang Sheng and his mentor Lang Yongliang's reflections on the relationship between people and politics, the biography of Zong Da he had been writing that remained unpublished even at the end of the novel, Song Qiankun and Wu Bozhong's secret discussions about "time and situation," Chen Yimeng and the old leader's discussions about reform, college students like Liang Tian and Tian Qingqing studying Engels' "The Condition of the Working Class in England," and the debates about "new thinking" and "shock therapy" in Hong Taixing's family salon in the 1980s, etc. Additionally, the novel's several protagonists, from the 1970s and 1980s to the early new century, underwent dramatic transformations in their life paths with societal development. Some became wealthy merchants spending lavishly, some became lawyers, some gained undeserved fame through opportunism and climbed to enviable positions, some became sacrificial lambs for interest groups, and some took the path of pleading for the people, upholding justice, and pursuing truth. Like the protagonists in the old film "Big Waves Sift the Sand," under the influence of the revolutionary tide, they either parted ways or became enemies, staging one after another life drama that makes people sigh.

Literary critic Lu Taiguang once said that "Human Realm" is an "elephant" of a novel. Compared to "Human Realm," "Black and White" is not just an elephant but a dinosaur. Perhaps because of this vast volume, when reading "Black and White," I had a feeling of not knowing where to "take a bite." This is a completely different feeling from reading "Human Realm." "Human Realm" is divided into two parts, centered around Ma La and Murong Qiu respectively, with relatively simple storylines and character relationships. "Black and White" has three parts and nine volumes, with a much more complex structure. Several character stories and threads unfold, advance, sometimes separate, sometimes overlap. Some plots seem unrelated to the main thread but actually have a close internal connection with the characters' destinies. This grand, expansive narrative style is reminiscent of 19th-century romantic and critical realist novels like Victor Hugo's "Les Misérables" and Tolstoy's "War and Peace," possessing a magnificent atmosphere. In 2008, in a speech at Shanghai's "Oriental Forum, City Literature Forum," you said: "The strangeness and contradictions of contemporary life, its unprecedented complexity, compared to the era in which Balzac and Tolstoy lived and wrote, is more rather than less. Truly outstanding writers, especially novelists, should still be able to provide a holistic vision through their descriptions of this world. This is also an effective way to let novels participate in contemporary social processes and public spiritual life." So, my question is, have you realized your ideal of the novel in "Black and White"?

Liu Jiming: What is an ideal novel? Every writer has their own standard. Balzac said that the novel is a nation's secret history, but I prefer to say that the novel is the testimony of an era. The writer is not only the compiler of a nation's secret history but also a witness to the era. As the "heavy genre" of literature, the ideal novel should faithfully record the era it is in, preserve the truth and reject falsehood, refusing to be obscured, distorted, and castrated by various dominant and popular discourses. Of course, for truth, people of different value positions have different understandings and perspectives. Therefore, not only the so-called official histories and unofficial histories, but also novels, what they tell is not equivalent to absolutely objective history and reality, but a reflection of the author's subjective stance. There is also no such thing as absolute objective truth in the world. For example, writing about the land reform and cooperativization movements of the 1940s and 1950s, the landlord images presented in Zhou Libo's "Hurricane," Chen Zhongshi's "White Deer Plain," Hao Ran's "Sunny Days," and Mo Yan's "Life and Death Are Wearing Me Out"—which narrative would you say is closer to the truth? Therefore, when people choose a certain angle to enter history and reality, they are also choosing a way to understand and approach the truth. "Black and White" is the same. I don't know if I've realized my novel ideal in this work, but one thing is certain: I've faithfully recorded everything I've seen, experienced, and thought about. In this sense, it's not just a novel, but a testimony of time.

Kuangbiao Academy: After the publication of "Human Realm," it was nominated for the Lu Yao Literary Award and ranked on "Harvest" magazine's 2016 annual novel list, being hailed as "a pioneering work of new socialist literature." In the afterword to "Human Realm," you also said: "I have written the most important work of my life." Five years later, you finally completed "Black and White," a massive work of 1.2 million words. After reading the manuscript, Sheishui Nongfu highly praised it: "'Black and White,' with its magnificent structure, seamless layout, vivid and full characters, progressively advancing plot, thrilling events, constitutes a naturally formed, profound and vast narrative, worthy of being called the pinnacle of contemporary Chinese realistic literature, a visualized history of contemporary Chinese social development. Its birth has set a new beacon for people's literature." My final question is: Has "Black and White" surpassed "Human Realm" in your heart? As the author, what do you most want to say?

Liu Jiming: Whether "Black and White" has surpassed "Human Realm" is irrelevant. They are like two children I have nurtured with all my heart and have equal importance in my heart. As for whether it has reached the height that Sheishui Nongfu mentioned, that needs time to test. I speculate that under the current circumstances, its fate will not be better than that of "Human Realm." But regardless, as a writer, I have fulfilled my mission.

I've said that this novel is my "unexpected harvest"—without the experiences of recent years, there would be no "Black and White." For me personally, it's a summary of my nearly forty-year literary career; for the literary world, it's a belated farewell work, although for me, this farewell happened five years ago or even earlier. What's gratifying is that I've created an artistic world richer, broader, and more complex than "Human Realm." When I wrote the last word and realized I was about to say goodbye to the characters in the novel, I felt reluctant to part with them. I created them, and they created me. I became one of them and experienced tremendous joy. For a writer, this is undoubtedly the best reward, once again proving that "social life is the only source of literature and art" is an irrefutable truth. Therefore, I want to say: Thank you, life.

September 22, 2022

Page updated

Report abuse