The GI’s had constant trouble with money. The Communists manipulated the exchange any way they wished, but always in their own favor. Nobody knew exactly how much money he was worth at any one time. Eager to procure all the American dollars and Nationalist currency possible to finance trips to the South for their agents, the Communists put up their special script in small packages to entice the Americans to purchase them for one United States dollar. They were counting heavily on the GI’s never-failing interest in a “souvenir to take home.”
Every foreigner, on entering Yenan, was thoroughly briefed by the Commander of the American Observer Group, who boarded incoming planes. This presented a clear indication of Moscow influence. All entrants were told never to use the word “coolie,” as it signified class consciousness. They were not to mention the words “Reds” or “Commies,” as these terms cast aspersions upon the dignity of their hosts. All, Communists and non-Communists must be referred to as “local people.”
American movies were shown almost nightly out of doors in summer. These were so superior to the Chinese or Russian movies that the enthusiastic natives would pull down the gates of the Compound if any effort was made to keep them out. In the winter, however, the movies were shown indoors, and only guests invited by the Chinese Communists were allowed to attend. Chu Teh was on hand almost nightly and was a particular fan of Betty Hutton’s. He returned eight times to drink in her charms as the heroine of the picture “Texas Guinan.”
The only other movies were those supplied by the Chinese Communists. Crude and boring, they were largely sent from the Kremlin, and were in Russian with no Chinese sub-titles. A leader, in a sing-song voice, gave the general idea of the picture, particularly stressing the propaganda line it illustrated. The audience, not understanding Russian, could hope for only slight amusement.
Even the Hierarchy gave every evidence of preferring American films. The lavish background in the Guinan picture made a particularly deep impression, as it was such a far cry from the way even the most important Chinese and Red Army officers and their families lived. In the upper tiers of mud caves, dug into the soft cliffs, they existed as primitively as had their ancestors thousands of years before them. Little or no furniture cluttered the Reds’ caves, and almost all their utensils were wooden bowls and horn cups. After the Americans and the British came, the local people salvaged the tin cans thrown out by the visitors and had them beaten into plates and dishes, copied faithfully from the originals by the blacksmith. Unused to comfort, their beds were skins thrown on boards or spread on the mud floors—a sharp contrast to the luxury of the sleeping arrangement built for Ambassador Hurley when he was in Yenan. This crude approach to a truly beautiful Chinese bed was seven feet long, with rope slats for a spring, rough unbleached sheets, and a pillow filled with bird seed, or millet. It later became the property of the American Military Commander and was always greatly admired and coveted by the Chinese visitors.
During these years, although life in Yenan was primitive and often carefree, the Hierarchy never lost sight of the responsibilities that lay ahead of them, and for these they tried to prepare themselves, within the limits of their knowledge and capabilities. In 1946, contrary to all Chinese Communist teachings, several American soldiers were questioned extensively by the Communist leaders on matters of capitalist etiquette and protocol. The Americans, amused at their roles of male Emily Posts, accepted the challenge in the finest American tradition. With grave faces and dressed in their best, they gave cocktail parties, movie suppers, and even formal sit-down dinners for the education of the distinguished members of the Central Committee of the Communist Party. Table manners and light conversation were stressed. The pupils were most appreciative of these examples of Western culture and refinement and strove in every way to learn their lessons and to act accordingly.
Hugely enjoying this fascinating taste of the foreign, they put together a so-called Jazz Band and held Saturday night dances that were entirely Western in every respect, even to a crude rendition of “The Saint Louis Blues.” Eager to have everything done in proper Western style, the Red leaders provided their teachers with a list of Central Committee Communist Party Members, arranged according to rank, and insisted that the best State Department protocol be observed and practiced rigidly. They were shrewd enough to realize, even then, that in conquering new countries, they would have to have more than one front man. At that time, Chou En-lai was their only polished negotiator. He alone was able to meet foreigners on an equal footing and was therefore obliged to be their Minister of Foreign Affairs.
The Communists in Yenan, as in all countries in the beginning of their transition to slavery, adopted the term “New Democracy” and made a great display of its outward form by allowing the non-Communist peasants to “vote.” The outcome, of course, was previously agreed upon. The balloting was merely a matter of form and a means of convincing the people that they still were privileged to make their own choice. The literate cast their vote by burning a hole in the ballot with a lighted stick of punk, or incense, at the point where the name of their candidate appeared. The illiterate dropped a pea into a bowl or pitcher, placed in front of a picture of their candidate. After the voting was over and the successful candidate announced, a huge rally was held and the voter was constrained to forget his choice, if unsuccessful, in a frenzy of dancing, shouting and singing. After a few hours of this, the tired voter would wend his way slowly homeward to his mud cave, or if he were a country man, to his ancestral mud hut, often many miles away.
The roads that lead into the Walled City of Yenan are two-thousand-year-old trails used by the descendants, both man and beast, of those earliest travellers. Both inside and out of the city, little has changed. The men driving the camel caravans pad softly through the dust, their animals heavily laden with burdens of fur and other wares to be marketed in the city. They still practice the age-old custom of putting a mask on the lead animal’s head, to drive away the evil spirits. Water carriers, after dragging great buckets of the muddy liquid from the river, chant their endless “water! water!” as they go from cave to cave in the time-honored manner. Food vendors, squatting in the dusty lanes cooking bits of lamb and pork, roots and herbs over tiny charcoal braziers, cry out shrilly to the passers-by, eating occasionally from the pot with their grimy fingers. Half-naked babies crawl nearby, whimpering to their mothers, who pacify them by giving them sweetened tree bark on which to chew. Donkeys, heavily laden, and round Mongolian ponies jostle dog carts and belabored oxen. Everywhere, cotton clad coolies, bowed beneath huge bales of firewood, coal and charcoal, shuffle along the dusty streets. For, alas, although the rickshaw and pedicab or bicycle rickshaw has been banned as an occupation beneath the dignity of man, the older use of man as a beast of burden has to be accepted. For the very poor, there is nothing else to take his place.
This, then, was Yenan in 1946. Now that the Communists have won China and moved from the mud caves to the glamorous palaces of Peking, it will be interesting to watch their actions.