“Food is the one vital concern here,” said a letter from Peking. “Any kind of food. Even if you have money there is very little to buy, and everybody is poor down to the bone. We are thoroughly sick of the whole situation, but what can we do? Our friends are sent to jail if they complain about anything, sometimes even if they voice an opinion about the Communists that is not flattering.
“The beautiful lawns and gardens in the public parks and surrounding the homes of wealthy families have been plowed up and planted with vegetables. When this is not done within a reasonable length of time, soldiers enter, armed with guns, and ask politely: ‘You would like to have your gardens Produce for the People, would you not?’ In any case, the owner is lucky if he is permitted to keep a small share of what he is able to raise. After the gardens are taken over, it is a matter of the Camel in the Arab’s tent. Next, the valuables in the house are removed, to be sent out of the country in return for dollars and pounds. Then the troops or Party officers quarter themselves comfortably in the house, and if there is the slightest difficulty, the owners are forced out.”
Another letter said, “It is considered very bad taste, if not dangerous, to appear well off, and when I go to market I wear my oldest clothes to avoid being conspicuous. Only the Communist Hierarchy go about dressed in furs and finery, and they never go out except in shiny limousines.”
Adding to the difficulty of obtaining food and other necessities, Communists, for propaganda reasons, had put the pedicabs and rickshaws off some of the streets in the larger cities. The price of gasoline went up so high that no one could use his car, even if he still had one. Thus transportation became another severe problem. Only a few crowded, rickety busses still operated, and these were almost impossible to board. They were so packed that people clung tightly to each other at the doors, somewhat reminiscent of rush-hour in the New York subway. Those not able to get on the vehicles dog-trotted along behind. The busses never ran on any schedule, and the driver, if given a large enough bribe, would even change the route at a moment’s notice.
From a Chinese refugee now living in San Francisco, I learned that Peking families, as well as others in the Northern area, were sending their children out of the country on the pretext of aiding their fathers in business. “We try to make the Communists feel that we are cooperating with them wholeheartedly. Then, when we are sure that we have their confidence and that it is safe, we ask them if we may send our son or daughter to Hong Kong for business reasons or, better still, on work for the Party. If they are lucky enough to get away, they may have to stay in Hong Kong three or four months before they can book passage on a ship. When we hear, via the grapevine, that they are safe on board, we do not care what becomes of us.”
A tragic letter from a former military attaché in Washington during the war told of the fall of Shanghai and the stampede of hundreds of people trying to get away from the Communists. “The conquerors closed the gates of the city during most of the day and night to prevent crowds from trying to reach the railway stations or river banks and wharves. Steamships anchored in mid-stream to protect themselves from the mobs that tried to board them. Had everyone been successful in the attempt, the ships would have capsized. It was necessary to go out in small sampans and junks. Ropes with knots tied at intervals, to which people could cling, were thrown over the sides of the ships. I saw one father fasten a rope to his three children, and then the family tried to scale the ship’s side. Suddenly, when they were all about half-way up, the child at the top slipped or let go, pushing the other children with him as he fell. The parents screamed wildly and jumped into the churning, muddy water after them. Their cries were heart rending.”
In talking to Americans and Chinese who have returned to the United States, I caught many interesting and authoritative glimpses of life behind the Red Curtain. For instance, as with Stalin in Moscow, no one in China seemed to know where in Peking Chairman Mao lived. Some said he had taken over the Wagon Lits Hotel, others that he had a place in the country. Some said he appeared on the streets rarely, although he was seen at official gatherings now and then. At one such affair, Mao displayed a batch of letters, supposed to have been received from non-Communists, telling how pleased they were at the way the Communists had taken over and how courteous they had been. The tone of all these letters was flattering and to the effect that the non-Communists were impressed with their new masters. What Mao did not know, or did not mention, of course, was that the letters had been written and signed under duress and that, later, the writers had pleaded with friends going out of the country to tell those to whom the letters were addressed that nothing could be further from the truth.
The Communists strictly censored all mail coming into China, especially from the United States. Many letters were confiscated when they contained names and information about people the Reds wished to add to their files, and almost always when there was money in them.
Mao and Chou En-lai were said to be on very good terms with a number of Russian advisors. All called each other by their first names. The Chinese also were copying Russian ways with surprising alacrity. I learned that one of the most popular of the adopted Moscow customs was wife-swapping, or free love. In the New Democracy marriage was performed and terminated merely by mutual consent, Russian style. There was no exchange of vows when mating was done for the Cause, no priest or magistrate to pronounce the pair man and wife or to separate them later. Mrs. Chou En-lai told me very frankly in 1946 that she had never been legally married to her well-known husband. “The New Democracy did away with all that,” she said. “We did away with ceremonies. They are foolish and we don’t need them. Such things are for you Imperialists!”
Such laxity in marital affairs has long been the accepted custom in Russia, and indeed the Russian official often finds himself going even further, sometimes involuntarily. A Soviet army officer arriving at the Shanghai Airport not long ago looked around for his wife. She was nowhere in sight. A good looking blonde walked up to him and asked, “Are you Colonel Kovicov?” “I am,” he replied, a little taken aback. He had never seen her before and felt a faint chill when she said, “I am your wife now, on Party orders.” He knew then that he was under suspicion.