Taiwan Today

The author of this article, Ti Chiang-hua, is a former international champion player and a former coach of Communist China s "national" table tennis team. In both 1963 and 1965 she ranked as the worlds sixth seeded player. Her outstanding performance won her a leading role in Communist China's "ping pong diplomacy" of the 1960s. But during the "Great Cultural Revolution," because of her "bad class background, " she was an object of persecution and was thus made forcefully aware of the real nature of the Chinese Communists Ti, who is now a resident of the United States, returned to the Republic of China last October on a planned visit of about two months at the invitation of Free China Relief Association. She wrote this article specifically for the Free China Review.

On the eve of "Double Ten" (the Republic of China's national day), when I received my passport from the Republic of China and neared the moment I would set foot on the soil of my free motherland, I became so excited that I did not have another good night's sleep for three days.

Now, in my 42 years of life, I have experienced three absolutely different "doctrines" — more than thirty years of mainland Chinese Communism, six years of American free enterprise, and the current two months of (ROC founding father, Dr. Sun Yat-sen's) Three Principles of the People in the Republic of China on Taiwan. The different life-styles have made deep impressions, which, while I was on the Chinese mainland, I dared not speak of and, in the United States, I did not desire to discuss. But now, here, in my own free mother country, I want to speak openly and honestly to my compatriots concerning the Chinese Communist savagery on the mainland during the past thirty-plus years. —Ti Chiang-hua

I was born in Wuhsi, Kiangsu Province, in 1943; my father was a dealer in hardware-a "small capitalist" as the Chinese Communists termed it. I am the fourth of my parents' five children.

I began to play table tennis at the age of 13, and at 14 won the Wuhsi City girl's table tennis championship. I was then promoted to the Kiangsu Provincial table tennis team and sent to Nanking for a half-year of advanced training.

Then, during the 25th world table tennis tournament in 1959, when jung Kuo-tuan triumphed in six contests and won the world championship, the entire mainland was immediately taken with a "ping pong craze." In order to assure even greater achievements in the 26th world cup matches—held for the first time in Peking in 1961—top table tennis players from all over the country were assembled for training in Peking; I was one of these requisitioned athletes.

It was just the third day in my final year of junior high when I received instructions to report. From that point on, I have never had another day of formal schooling. My life thereafter was totally committed to either training or competition.

To prepare the selected athletes for later achievement in "ping pong diplomacy," the Chinese Communists imposed extremely rigorous training; but the pay and living conditions for the athletes was relatively excellent com­pared to the lot of the common people.

The Chinese Communists Central Sports Committee (CSC) imposed strict requirements. All players had to abide by the so-called "Five No's"—no romances, no marriages, no family living, no smoking, and no drinking. The athletes all resided in a CSC dormitory.

The daily menu for the table tennis players, as directly stipulated by "premier of the state council" Chou En­-lai, included all the most nutritious foods. Each day, each athlete's meals came to about 2.8 to 3.8 RMB. At that time, an ordinary urban family spent not more than 1 RMB each day for meals for all its members; in the countryside, the amount might be reduced to 0.1 RMB.

The CSC showers were open all day long. The athletes were instructed to take at least four showers every day in order to relax strained muscles. Each week, the medical supervisor would make regular health examinations of all athletes.

Before a team went abroad for international competition, the Chinese Communists would specially provide Western foods-on the one hand, so the athletes could become accustomed to Western dishes, and, on the other, to "cram" the athletes with Western table manners and facility in using knife and fork for Western dishes. Nevertheless, Communist Chinese athletes often made fools of themselves in these respects on many occasions abroad.

I remember one such occasion, when our table tennis team attended a competition in Yugoslavia. At a dinner party, chicken drumsticks were served. A drumstick can be held in the hand. But one player, not realizing that this was acceptable, so heavily cut at it with a knife that the plate was propelled into the air and then neatly caught by another player on the opposite side of the table. It was like a magic performance, but a very embarrassing exhibition.

In general, we were told, each of us table tennis players was "supported by the work of 25 members of the broad masses of workers and peasants." The players were cherished by the Chinese Communists as "pearls in the palm." Among the common people, a saying became popular: "In the sky, it is the pilots of the air force; on the ground, the table tennis players;" they were noting that these two categories were provided living conditions highly superior to most others'. Also, because the table tennis players had so many opportunities to meet high ranking Chinese Communist cadres, they were referred to as "people having access to the skies."

Since we were so young and had already been so excellently treated in the political and material aspects of our daily lives, we nearly "loved the Chinese Communists to the death." We were determined to practice hard, to gain outstanding results in order to "repay the Chinese Communist Party." Sometimes, when defeated in competition, a player might feel so shamed as to contemplate suicide.

As the years passed, I participated in competitions in a total of 24 countries. In 1962, I won the women's singles championship in the world youth games in Finland. In 1964, when I was 21, I won the mainland women's championship.

The main purpose of the so-called "ping pong diplomacy" pursued by Chou En-lai was to gain political objectives by manipulating sports activities. We were given to understand that on formal diplomatic occasions, it was not convenient for diplomats, in their formal dress, to talk freely, and that correct information might not be offered in formal diplomatic circumstances.

But athletes are opponents only in the competition arena; they become friends outside the arena. They could thus gain much valuable information for the Chinese Communists. Slogans raised by Chou En-lai at that time included: "In the arena they are opponents, but outside the arena they are friends; the 'silver ball' will carry our friendship with it. Friendship first, competition second." This proposition indeed misled many international figures, in both political and sports circles.

But when the Great Cultural Revolu­tion broke out in 1966, many of the table tennis players who had made great contributions to "ping pong diplomacy" and had been so warmly treated by the Chi­nese Communists now became focuses of miserable tragedies; they were relentlessly persecuted. The situation recalls the old (Chinese) saying, "Once the birds are gone, the bow can be cast aside; once the hares are bagged, the hounds can be killed for food."

Jung Kuo-tuan was the first celebrity-athlete in the Chinese Communists' "ping pong diplomacy." He and the other two of that period, Fu Chi-fang and Chiang Yung-ning, on returning to the Chinese mainland in the 50s from Hongkong, were praised by the Chinese Communists as the san ta pa (three dominators) of table tennis. Fu was chief coach, and Chiang was also a coach.

But the three outlived their usefulness. Fu Chi-fang was the first to be "reformed." The Chinese Commu­nists accused Fu of belonging to the Youth League of the Three Principles of the People (the principles of Dr. Sun Yat-sen), and asked him to "confess in full." Fu refused to cooperate, and the Communists decided to conduct a mass accusation (struggle) meeting against him on April 16, 1966 at 8:30 a.m. At 6 a.m. that morning, Fu Chi-fang committed suicide.

The next target was Chiang Yung-ning, accused for having been a reporter for the Hsing Tao Jih Pao, a Hongkong newspaper-actually they charged him now with being a "spy" (Hsing Tao Jih Pao was labeled a "reactionary espionage" newspaper by the Chinese Communists). Chiang Yung-ning, unwilling to undergo the severe personal humiliation, also committed suicide—exactly one month after Fu—on May 16, 1966.

Now Jung Kuo-tuan, the last of the three athletes who had returned to Communist China from Hongkong, of course, was desolated and very heavy in heart. Few people dared now to befriend him, and his mental burdens grew ever heavier. Soon, rumors abounded that Jung Kuo-tuan would also be "reformed," and reaching his ears, added to the now-constant expression of strain on his face.

On June 16, Jung was observed turning round and round in the table tennis room; he was observed looking at ropes; and he was observed going out alone. At ten that evening, his wife, Huang Hsiu-chen, a one-hundred-meter sprinter, hesitantly approached the team members, looking for her husband. She did not dare to say too much, but just asked in a round-about way if there happened to be a meeting that night, and whether anyone had seen Jung Kuo-tuan.

The "rightist" faction then in authority was obviously shocked, and responded that they were not detaining Jung. Huang said that it was O.K. if he was detained, she only wanted to know so she wouldn't need to look for him further. Besides, she said, she had a baby girl less than one year old at home.

The heads of the faction repeated that they were not detaining Jung, and said they had not seen him. Hearing these words, Huang suddenly cried out. She then revealed that, for days, Jung Kuo-tuan had not eaten, but only smoked. And, as if mentally deranged, he repeatedly muttered: "The three of us came back from Hongkong; now only I am left. What should I do?"

At that time, there were still some 60 members of the table tennis group. All of them set out that night to search around Lungtan Lake, behind the dormitory. Almost every tree was checked, but without result. The athletes stopped searching only at dusk.

Later that morning, the corpse of Jung Kuo-tuan was found hanging to a tree by a farmer. Jung had left a note in his pocket: "I came back from Hongkong out of patriotism, and I was really dedicated. It's just that I backed the wrong line during the Cultural Revolution. However, my bourgeois background is apparently more impor­tant than my life. I hope Hsiu-chen will take good care of our child."

The three died on the same days of three successive months—all committing suicide by hanging. None of the tongues of the three protruded, even though they died by hanging (did it mean they were determined not to "confess," even in death?). And their faces were all turned to the south (Taiwan is southeast of the China mainland). These reported, coincidental manifestations served as Chinese Communist excuses to continuously criticize and denounce the dead.

Actually, the Chinese Communists have always considered suicide an "act of resistance": "If one is guiltless, what's the need to die?" Therefore, the dead are charged with another crime.

The most pitiful victims were the three wives, who did not dare to come and view their dead husbands for fear of increasing the growing vulnerability of their remaining families. Family tears (a show of sympathy) would associate all with the "crime." The family, indeed, had better not even collect the things left behind by the deceased so as to indicate that they had "made a clean break" with the dead. If the widows did not remarry and change their children's surnames immediately, the survivors would be criticized for "obstinately clinging to counter-revolutionaries," and various other accusations would then surely follow.

I remember during a table tennis team trip to Japan, soon after the plane left Hongkong, when team chief Fu Chi­-fang pointed out the reappearance of land below and said in Shanghai dialect, "Look, Taiwan is below."

All who understood Shanghai dialect looked down curiously; I also stuck my face in the window to get a distant look. But our actions immediately provoked the anger of our trip "leader." He said, with a harsh expression and a harsh tone: "What's the good of looking below? Don't look. Just be alert in case Taiwan shoots our plane down."

At the very beginning of the Cultural Revolution, my specific action during that flight—"sticking to the window to watch Taiwan"—was rigorously attacked as counter-revolutionary.

Later in Japan, on a tour bus, at one point a Chinese-speaking Japanese tour guide gestured toward the sea: "Look, this is the Japanese spot nearest to Taiwan."

Chuang Tse-tung, who had played ping pong with me from childhood, asked thoughtlessly: "So near? Is Japan, then, mid-way between the China mainland and Taiwan? Are there any other routes from the mainland to Taiwan? What routes, then?" The guide responded in a joking way, "Any route can reach Taiwan."

Unexpectedly, a few years later, this joking exchange was taken from the "record" as evidence for Chinese Communist attacks on Chuang Tse-tung, who had twice won the world table tennis championship.

The Chinese Communists, after a detailed investigation of Chuang's family history, said he came from a bour­geois background; that his father was the son-in-law of the one-time "king of Shanghai landlords;" and that Chuang's half-sister lived in Taiwan. Then they accused him of "wanting to collude with the enemy to commit treason."

I felt the accusations against Chuang were very unjust and spoke out for him: "If Chuang did want to commit treason, with so many more opportunities to go abroad than I, why didn't he run away? If what you charge is true, then he would be a great fool to publicly ask the route to Taiwan."

But I later suffered the same fate as Chuang. I was also from a bourgeois family, and my brother was declared a "counter-revolutionary rightist." Also, I would frankly answer back during the Great Cultural Revolution days. It would, actually, have been near impossible for me to avoid the pitiless denunciation.

Before the Cultural Revolution, the whole mainland was in a craze to learn "Mao Tse-tung thought." Mao Tse-tung was supreme—a god; people had to "ask for his instructions in the morning and submit reports to him in the evening." Anyone who made a mistake was supposed, also, to "confess" to him.

If a table tennis player won in international competition, the leader would declare: "It is a victory for the invincible, all-conquering, great Mao Tse-tung thought." Once, disdainful, I responded: "How about if we lose? Does that mean a failure for Mao Tse-tung thought?"

The leader was displeased and reprimanded me immediately, "No, of course not. If you lose, it is because you have not learned to apply Mao Tse-tung thought skillfully." Thus, I produced another "record."

Since I was accused of harboring seri­ous counter-revolutionary thoughts, the unavoidable fate of "transfer to the countryside for reformation through labor" soon befell me.

Once as I was harvesting wheat on a farm, I suffered sunstroke and vomited. I lay down for a while under a tree, only to, unfortunately, be caught by a "commissar comrade," who ordered me to take out Mao's Quotations (the "Little Red Book") from my left chest pocket and read the admonition: "Be resolute; fear no sacrifice and surmount every difficulty to win victory." He declared that once I read those words, I would recover from my malaise without medical help. But, actually, after I read the paragraph, I vomited more seriously. Thus the commissar was even more sure that I needed thorough reformation.

During the Cultural Revolution period, our house in Wuhsi was sealed up. The Red Guards had engaged in enormous destruction, tearing up walls and floors; they finally closed off the whole house, except for the one small room they left for my whole family to live in. The seal was not opened for many years.

The table tennis players finally stopped practicing and, in 1969, I had a tonsillectomy in Peking—and unexpectedly I got married.

It all began when my doctor, seeing I had nothing to do in the long days after the operation and that nobody came to see me, oddly asked me, "Why doesn't your boyfriend come to see you?"

I was 27 that year. But, since members of the table tennis team were not allowed romance, and, also, since I was born of "the right"—one of the "seven categories of black elements"—nobody would want to marry me. I had to tell the doctor that I had no boyfriend.

Concerned about me, he said he would introduce one to me. I listlessly agreed. When he asked what kind of a boyfriend, I answered: "I would prefer a worker, a railroad worker."

I had been influenced, actually, by one of Chiang Ching's (Mao's wife's) eight "model plays" –Hung Teng Chi ("Story of the Red Lamp"). In the play, a railroad worker, Li Yu-he, a representative of the revolutionary faction, wielded a big hammer in his hands—a typical heroic figure.

A few days later, the doctor really found me a railroad worker! But the truth is, unlike those who "fall in love at first sight," I was disappointed with him at first sight. At the time, I even rebuked myself: "It is only just that the Communists should reform my thoughts, because my thoughts have problems indeed. I myself wanted a railroad worker as a boyfriend, but now that he has come, I am neither happy nor satisfied. Doesn't it indicate that there are problems with my thoughts?"

In order to more thoroughly "reform myself," I steeled my heart and, within three months, requested permission to marry. The chaos of the Cultural Revolution resulted in my applica­tion being unexpectedly approved, with the condition that I must "sincerely accept proletarian education."

Because of the huge gap between both our thoughts and habits, our quarrels and lights never stopped after we got married. My mother thought that it was because we were too young and hot­ tempered, and that once we had a baby, the problem would be solved. I always obeyed my mother; therefore, I applied to the CSC for a "birth number." I bore our only son at the end of 1972.

But, the birth of a baby could not solve our problem. One night, when my husband came back from the railroad shop, since he had not bathed for many days, the offensive odor of his body could be smelled from a distance. When he stepped into the house, I told him, "Your foul smell has reached three meters ahead of you. Take a bath, O.K.?"

He responded in anger: "You treat me badly me because I am smelly, because I am dirty, and because I am poor. Where can anyone find another place on earth that provides four baths a day, like your work unit?" Of course, he had no shower to go to.

"You can put on my Military Super­vision Commission 'Overcoat of Liberation' (at the time, the MSC had taken control of the CSC) and shower at the CSC without any problem," I said.

Though he heard, he paid no attention, but lay there on the bed without even taking off his dirty overcoat.

I moved the quilt to the floor to sleep there. But, this action infuriated him, and he stalked out in a great fury. He returned with the supervising navy, army, and air force commissars for the CSC. Pointing at me, he blurted, "Take a look at the actions of your unit's nauseating bourgeois female."

When they proceeded to denounce me, I could not help crying. A quarrel about a bath had developed into a question of "revolution and counter-revolution." I asked them, "Does bathing mean 'revolution?' Don't proletarians bathe?" Of course, the commissars took his side.

After this incident, I insisted on ap­plying for divorce permission. Otherwise, I would surely have commit­ted suicide. Our three-year marriage was endless suffering. Under the Communist system, one social class must always "struggle" against another. Even in families, it is not uncommon for children to politically struggle against their parents, and husband and wife to struggle against each other, tearing the family to pieces. Mao Tse-tung said: "In order to carry out revolution, you should not fear divorce." Many marriages became sacrifices to his words.

After the collapse of the Gang of Four, I was rehabilitated and named coach of the Communist Chinese table tennis team. However, my feelings for the Chinese Communists had now long transformed from "loving them to death" to "hating them to the bone."

I am neither a wooden statue nor a deaf-mute. How could I endure such hypocrisy and false-real power struggles as in the three rises and falls of Teng Hsiao-ping: I had only just raised my right hand to denounce Teng and not yet put it down, then, suddenly, I must raise my left hand to greet him again, confusing myself thoroughly. Who knows—someday I might again stand on the "wrong line" and be ferreted out once more for denunciation.

In 1979, I submitted an application for permission to accept an invitation from the U.S. Table Tennis Association to go to America and coach. For more than 20 years, I had exerted myself to win competitions for the Chinese Communists, but I had saved only 1,400 RMB. Since travel costs were 1,800 RMB, I asked the CSC to loan me 400 RMB. When they refused, that really chilled me.

I managed later to go to Hongkong, and with the help of friends there, to immigrate to the U.S. within its third priority quota (people with certain technical proficiencies).

I left my son behind with my sister in Shanghai. In 1983, having saved enough money in America, I returned to see my old parents and other family members, and brought my son out to live with me in the United States.

When I first arrived in the United States, I really could not adapt myself to that country's tense, busy lifestyle. In order to make enough to send money back to my parents on the mainland, I had to work in a factory in addition to doing the coaching job at the USTTA.

On the mainland, almost everyone has the habit of taking a noontime nap. Therefore, one day in the U.S., when I became sleepy at work, seeing nobody around, I took a secret nap in a corner. Unfortunately, the boss passed by. He gave me the salary due and told me, "Get a good sleep at home."

From then on, I really awakened from my dream. I finally understood that this was a highly competitive society, where everything is gained only by one's real ability.

After that, even when I was free at noon, I dared not nap. I would wash my face with cold water, or drink a cup of coffee to refresh myself. Such strict self-restraint finally induced illness. But after I recovered, I was finally suited to the new lifestyle; although it is both tense and monotonous on one hand, on the other, it also promises that as long as you work, you will survive in that society. Most of all, it is totally free of political fear.

The Chinese Communists had always declared those on Taiwan "wicked," and "reactionary elements," and, in the first years when I came to the United States, I dared not even speak too much with people from Taiwan. In October 1980, when I saw the great "Double Ten" (Republic of China national day) parade in New York, I trembled with fear. I had never known that the Republic of China had such strength. Later on, I recognized that the great majority of overseas Chinese support our free mother country.

I had later opportunities to meet compatriots from Taiwan which greatly affected my views. For instance, in one factory where I worked, the boss, Mrs. Li, was a Taiwanese, and she was really kind to me. Within two years, though I never asked for a raise, she continuously gave me pay raises: Once she gave me a twenty-dollar increase in salary and I thought it a mistake and returned it to her. To my surprise, she told me, "Chiang-hua, next time, if I give you more pay, don't bother to question it. To the contrary, if I give you less, you have every right to protest." From then on, I knew that the Taiwanese were not what the Chinese Communists described.

I also met a Taiwanese nun from New York's Pao En Temple—her Buddhist name is I Tzu (Master), and she came from Taiwan's Fo Kuang Shan. I Tzu used acupuncture to cure my arthritic knees (an occupational problem for many sportsmen). Last year, when she returned to Taiwan, she learned from a doctor of Chinese medicine, specifically for me, how to treat the spur on my back. In New York, she attended the parents' meeting at my son's school on my behalf because my English was poor.

Listening to her descriptions, I began to yearn for Taiwan, and finally have come back to the Republic of China. I told my hosts that there are three things I wanted to see most—the village life of Taiwan, the development of table tennis in Taiwan, and movie star Lin Ching-hsia (I am her fan). My three wishes have all been satisfied.

The reason I especially wanted to see the countryside of Taiwan is because, I believe that only village life can really reveal a people's living standards. And the progress of Taiwan's villages has stunned me.

Every country road is well paved. TV sets, refrigerators, telephones, etc. are common family equipment. Villagers can even directly dial international calls right at home. In Peking, there is only the one telegraph building, and anyone who wants to make an international call must go to that building and ask an operator to put it through.

When I saw pig farmers in Taiwan feed milk to new born piglets, a scene when my son was a baby came back to me. According to Chinese Communist regulations, only babies under one year old and those with serious illnesses are given rations of milk. One time when my baby was older-more than one year-and was uncomfortable and wanted milk, I ran to another, poorer family who had a new-born baby, to borrow a milk ration card in order to get some milk for my child. Seeing the situation here, it occurs to me that piglets in Taiwan are luckier than babies on the China mainland.

I tried hard to find shabby peasant households like those on the mainland, but I could not find any. I talked with many peasants. They told me that 40 years ago, they were also went barefooted and only ate the cheapest (sweet) potatoes. Now, nobody eats (sweet) potatoes at every meal and, in accordance with economic principle, the rarer food is more valued; it has become a more expensive food.

The Chinese Communists have con­trolled the mainland for more than thirty years, but what on earth have they done for the people? Even now, most mainland families have no plumbing, let alone other things.

In my practical viewpoint, if you want to decide which doctrine is better, compare the people's living standards, and the answer will come out. Why don't the Chinese Communists simply admit that the Three Principles of the People are better than Communism? Why don't they try to institute democracy, freedom, and elections according to the Three Principles of the People for just one year, and let the mainland people themselves choose the better lifestyle?

I think the only answer is that the Chinese Communists themselves don't expect that the people would choose them. As the people of the mainland say, "If electric-wire poles had feet, they would run away from the China mainland too."