Just across the Taiwan Straits lies that huge prison. Behind its invisible bars are shut 600 million Chinese people. No other prison in the world is as harsh to its inmates. The people's plight under the Peiping regime is unprecedented and I believe will never be surpassed in tragedy. If the tears and blood shed by the oppressed masses could be collected, they would be enough to fill the Yang-tze and Yellow Rivers.
I regained my freedom four months ago but have yet to get a night of sound sleep. Happiness over my own good luck may have been a reason at first, but not now. I cannot sleep because my past experience on the mainland haunts me like a nightmare. Whenever I close my eyes, the picture of blood and tears flashes to my mind. My newly won freedom serves only to emphasize the misery of those who still must bear Communist tyranny. Among those unfortunate people are my old mother, my wife, my young sister and others I love so dearly. Can I forget them? No, not until I see them free again, as I am.
I have told my fellow countrymen of Taiwan that they should not feel offended when I say they are enjoying too much freedom. In my opinion, they are abusing their freedom. Not content with a life of plenty, they often seek diversion in making irresponsible criticisms against the government. Do they know what they are doing? They are unwittingly helping the Communists undermine the very freedom they now take for granted. On the mainland, even the basic freedoms from hunger and cold are denied the people.
Little Known Incidents
I am not good at writing, nor a good story teller. But I will do my best to tell the true conditions on the mainland to my countrymen in Taiwan and the people of other free countries. You may already have learned some of the things which I am about to relate. Nonetheless, I am sure you will be shocked by my sad account of many incidents that are unknown even to some people on the mainland itself. I only hope that my firsthand report will persuade free people, especially those in the western countries, to guard their freedom with more determination and help the enslaved Chinese people regain their precious liberty.
I was born in Hsinsui, Shantung, 29 years ago. My original family name is Chao. I was adopted by the Shao family in my childhood. My new father was a tiller of his own soil - in Communist terminology, a member of the "middle-class peasantry". My foster parents brought me up as if I were their own son. Their kindness to me is so deep-rooted in my heart that even years of Communist indoctrination failed to eradicate my gratitude.
My foster father started work as a salesman in a silk store. Despite low pay, he saved enough to buy a dozen or so mowse (approximately one-sixth of an acre) of farmland and a modest house. Having no children of their own, my foster parents first adopted me and then a daughter. The family income was never large, but it was enough to keep the hearth warm and the family pot boiling. The four of us lived in contentment.
It was in 1946 that our happy small world was shattered by tragedy. Father, who was then 50 years old and the sole bread winner of the family, was paralyzed by a stroke. Sister and I were too young to be of much help. So the family burden fell solely on mother. It was decided that I should quit school after only four years of education and go to Manchuria to learn a trade. After a tearful farewell with my folks, I took a boat for my destination. Finally, I arrived at the steel town of Anshan in Liaoning and became an apprentice to a blacksmith.
It was a hard time for the people of Manchuria. Their brief rejoicing over the surrender of the Japanese was replaced by the horror at the atrocities committed by the Russian occupation forces. The Chinese Communist troops took over everything under the protective wing of their Russian masters. In the general depression, my employer had to close shop and told me to shift for myself. Since my home town in Shantung was already occupied by the Communists, I could not return there.
War Prisoner at 16
It was a difficult situation for a homeless youngster. I depended on charity for some time. But it was a precarious living. Finally, my former employer advised me to join the government troops to keep body and soul together. I had had been in uniform for only a couple of months when Anshan fell into Communist hands. That was early 1948. I had became a war prisoner at the age of 16.
I stayed in the Communist concentration camp for nearly a year to receive the education of "class awakening". During this period the Communists thoroughly investigated the background of every prisoner. Mine was a judged "pure". At the end of the brainwashing detention, I became a Communist soldier. My first assignment was that of a messenger in the 171st Division, 39th Corps, Fourth Field Army. Not long afterwards, the company commissar made me a "propagandist" because he regarded me as an eloquent boy.
Although I was a good "propagandist", I could not entirely get over what the Russian Communists had done to Manchuria during their brief occupation. I still believe they plundered much more than the usual estimate of US$20 billion worth of industrial equipment. Take the giant steel mill at Anshan, for example. When the last Russian soldier left the town, all that remained of that mighty industrial complex were dilapidated and empty buildings, doors and windows were missing. The mass plunder left the mill's 200,000 workers and their dependents without means of support for many months.
What the Russians did not care to take away they turned over to the Chinese Communists. Huge piles of Japanese weapons and ammunition, for which the greedy Soviets found little use, were taken over by the poorly armed troops of Lin Piao. It was this "grant" from their Russian masters that enabled the Chinese Communists to seize control of the mainland later on.
But it was the indiscriminate raping by Russian soldiers that made every Chinese seethe with hatred. In Changchuen, all the students and teachers of a girls' middle school were molested. A grade school for girls in Nunchiang suffered the same fate. Even old women were violated at bayonet point. The bestial behavior of the Russian soldiers was so feared that Chinese and Japanese women shaved their heads and dressed as men before venturing into the streets. A large number of Chinese women, who treasured their chastity as their second life, committed suicide after they were assaulted by Russian troops.
This barbarism of the Russians was not terminated when the Chinese Communists took power. I saw one example with my own eyes. I was recuperating in the air force hospital in Changchuen in 1953. One day a Russian adviser sitting in the corridor on the second floor saw a nice-looking nurse pass downstairs. Yelling obscenities in Russian, he rushed toward the frightened nurse. The girl owed her safety to intervention of hospital authorities. After that incident, the Chinese had to post armed guards to protect nurses on duty.
Hatred of America
Among Chinese Communist troops, the United States had always been made an object of hatred and ridicule. With the outbreak of the Korean War in 1950, the anti-America drive was stepped up. All military personnel were required to participate in the "great learning" of hate-America. We were told that the war in Korea was started by South Korean aggression under the direction of "American imperialists". Lest our martial ardor should be dampened by the fear of American atomic bombs, the commissars did their best to picture the United States as a "paper tiger". The destructive power of atomic bombs had been highly exaggerated, they said. As proof, they produced "eye witnesses" from among Chinese returnees from Japan. These "witnesses" told us that the atomic bomb dropped on Nagasaki merely shattered some windows and killed a few people.
The "great learning" was followed by an "anti-America and aid-Korea" signature drive, at the end of which everybody became a "volunteer" to fight the United Nations forces in Korea. I was among the first "volunteer" troops to go to the Korean front. The advance column included the 38th, 39th and 40th Corps, all crack units of the Fourth Field Army. Before departure the commissars ordered everyone to leave his diary, letters and banknotes behind in order to avoid exposure of Chinese identity.
It was evening when we reached the long railway bridge spanning the Yalu River. In the twilight we could see another bridge to our right had been destroyed by bombing. We could hear the distant rumbling of a United Nations bombardment on the other side of the river. Columns of fire and smoke rose as the American bombs hit their targets. I began to suspect the war news filed by the New China News Agency's correspondents in Korea was pure invention.
The sight produced a sobering effect on the "volunteers". Bubbling enthusiasm was gone. There was a sudden silence among the rank and file broken only by the chattering of teeth in the extreme cold. The commissars tried to cheer things up by ordering us to sing the song of the "Chinese People's Volunteer Army" as we marched across the bridge. The singing did not boost our sagging spirits, nor did the crushing weight on our shoulders and the gnawing hunger pains in our stomachs.
The "Chinese people's volunteer army" became so many stealthy rats the moment it crossed the Yalu. We laid low in foxholes or between furrows in wheat fields in daytime and marched only by night. The Americans had complete control of the air. Along the way to the front we could see bombed-out supply depots, burned vehicles and deserted villages. The desolation fully demonstrated the superiority of the American airpower.
Robbery for Survival
We were rats in another sense. We stole and robbed the Korean people of their food. It happened this way. At the outset of our long march in to North Korea, each of us carried 30 catties of corn powder. It should have been enough to feed us for quite a while. But most of us secretly dumped part of it along the roadside to lighten our burden during the forced night marches. A few days later our food began running low. Supplies from Manchuria often ended in ashes because of American bombings. Under the circumstances, we had to rob the Korean people, although we were supposed to be their protectors.
Hunger and cold were not our only enemies. The worst came from the air. American pilots did not stop working even at night. They strafed and bombed whenever they spotted us. The seriously wounded were as good as dead. We had the strangest medical corps in the world. Each company had only one first aid kit. The medical supplies for a regiment were contained in three small trunks. Doctors were extremely rare, and the few corpsmen did not even know how to tie a bandage. Unless you were a member of the Communist Party, the medics would not bother treating you, however serious might be your wound.
All this happened before we reached the front. As we neared the fighting line, the situation became even worse. What we feared most was the napalm. It exploded into a big lake of fire on hitting the ground. You became a walking torch if a single drop of the burning oil reached your uniform. Foxholes were no protection because the fires burned best in depressions. Before we had a chance to fire our first shots, many of our men had died in aerial attacks or because of privation. If the American "paper tiger" could inflict so much damage before we joined the battle, how much more could they do when we came face to face with them? I wondered.
Falsehood Punctured
I made a shocking discovery not long after I reached Korea. Until then I had believed the Communist assertion that the war was started by South Korea. One day a first lieutenant of a North Korean artillery unit told me it was the North Koreans who marched across the 38th Parallel first. I thought he was joking. But a check with Korean civilians confirmed his story. Furthermore, I learned for the first time that the Americans were not our only enemy. We were here to fight the United Nations. Deeply imbued as I was with Communist indoctrination, I could not help doubting all that I had been taught to believe.
This was an important turning point in my life. So far, my mind had been completely filled with Communist teachings. The first revelations shattered my faith. Outwardly, however, I remained a faithful Communist soldier. The Communists had rated me a proletarian warrior of great promise. I could not persuade myself to forego the chance to give a good account of myself in this mortal struggle with capitalism. The thought gave me courage. During my more than two years of service on the Korean front I received two merit awards. My battalion commander praised me as "highly politically conscious" and would not let me go when I was picked for combat duty. As a result, I remained in the logistics unit which was comparatively safe. Otherwise, I probably would have been killed in action.
Russian Participation
The "Chinese people's volunteer army" consisted mainly of foot soldiers equipped with Japanese and Russian weapons. I learned later on that all the ack-ack guns were manned by Russian crews. I also saw Russian artillery units and Russian crews serving the warplanes. But they remained far in the rear. Russian advisers were found only in corps headquarters and higher levels. They dressed in Chinese uniforms. But that could not fool anyone. Their protruding noses betrayed their identity scores of feet away.
It was entirely the Chinese Communist fighting force that was slaughtered at the front. By the time we entered Korea, the North Korean troops had ceased to exist as an organized army. Their airplanes, tanks and guns had been destroyed. The brunt of the United Nations' withering fire fell on the Chinese. I was aware of this and had a keen interest in finding out how many Chinese soldiers were engaged in the unequal contest. Not long before I was called back to the Chinese mainland, I learned what I wanted to know in the Li Kung Pao. This newspaper disclosed that more than 40 army corps of over 30,000 men each had been thrown into the war. I knew that many of these corps had been replenished time and again to fill decimated ranks. Therefore, the total number of Chinese Communists fighting in Korea could not have been less than 1,600,000.
I was not in a position to give an accurate appraisal of Communist casualties. But I had a fairly clear picture of the magnitude of the loss. The 39th Corps entered the Korean War with over 30,000 men. By the time I left Korea, it had no more than 4,000 soldiers. And it had received 10,000 replacements on three different occasions. This means the 39th Corps alone lost 60,000 men in battle. Additionally, the corps lost both its original commander and deputy commander.
When the fierceness of the war tapered off in 1953, the Chinese Communist troops were completely exhausted. Morale was at lowest ebb. Strangely, the United Nations forces did not press northward. They could have overrun the whole Korean peninsula with ease and even have crossed the Yalu River, if they had a mind to. Instead the United Nations Command was conducting truce talks with the collapsing enemy and patiently bargaining with him over the table. To be honest, I still do not understand the line of thinking of the policymakers in Washington those days.
Some Eye-openers
In 1952, the Chinese Communists launched the "three anti" drive (i.e. anti-corruption, anti-waste, and anti-bureaucracy). The drive eventually spread to non-combatant troops in Korea. Since I had been a trusted soldier, my battalion commander gave me the unpleasant task of interrogating the suspected "tigers", a label for the guilty ones. I remember questioning a truck driver from Szechuan who was charged with stealing gasoline to sell. He appeared to be an honest sort of fellow. I spent two days trying to find out if he was guilty, but could not get a confession. Finally, convinced of his innocence, I reported to my commander.
Pulling me aside, the battalion commander said, "Don't be foolish, boy. You know the party authority wants us to deliver three 'tigers' out of each company. If we cannot fulfill our quota, we are done for. Don't miss your chance of proving your loyalty to the party. Tie the bastard to a tree and give him a sound beating and he will confess. It is my advice as well as an order."
There was nothing I could do but carry out the order. Deep down in my heart I knew the driver was innocent, although he finally "confessed" to stealing gasoline. I hated myself for being a Communist tool. But the urge of self-preservation was too strong and it left me no other choice.
Fortunately, an unexpected event occurred a few months later. It not only rescued me from my hateful assignment but also provided the means by which I regained my freedom last September. Toward the end of 1952, the Communists were seeking promising talent for their air force. Both the commander and deputy commander of my battalion recommended me. Shortly afterward I became a cadet at a preparatory aviation school in Changchuen.
Tragedy at Home
A little later, my mother paid me a visit. It was our first reunion in seven years. We held each other and sobbed happily. However, I was surprised to find her still crying long after the first moment of excitement. When we were alone, she told me the story.
Despite the fact that father was bedridden and that he had never been rich, the Communists jailed him and used torture to try to force him to tell where he had hidden his money. Of course, he had no money and told them so. But the Communists would not believe it. He died broken-hearted.
"If he had squandered his earnings when he was young, he would have been a 'proletarian' enjoying the fruits of the revolution," mother said with bitterness.
What kind of world was this? I was ready to blow up, then thought better of it. I had to think of my career and even my own safety. Besides, my anger served no useful purpose. Swallowing hard, I told mother to be patient. I promised her that someday I might be able to bring her happiness. She was somewhat mollified when she left.
In 1954, when I was a cadet at the flying school at Chinan, my mother came to see me again. Her first words were: "My boy, the 'unified buying and selling' has been enforced back home. Your sister and I are finding it hard to make a living."
I understood what she meant. The "Unified buying and selling" was part of the agricultural cooperative project. Under this scheme, the government bought up the harvests from the peasants at cut-rate prices and resold them to the people under a coupon system and at much inflated prices.
Outright Exploitation
It was outright exploitation of the proletarian class! I had seen many injustices under Communism before. But I had thought they were due to individual "deviations" of party members. Now I knew the exploitation was a government policy deliberately carried out by a regime which was supposed to protect the interests of the poor. The sudden realization left me furious. However, reason again triumphed, and I said nothing. All I could do was assure my mother that I would be able to support the family soon.
In 1956, my last year at flying school, the Communists launched their "purging counter-revolutionary" movement. One day Wu Yuan-jen, our commandant, issued an urgent order calling for an immediate assembly of the entire cadet regiment and school staff. The air was extremely tense as he faced the assembled columns.
Without explanation, Wu ordered the chief political officer, our regiment commander, and other senior officers to march to the rostrum one by one. As they walked past him, he carefully searched them and kept diaries, letters, bits of paper and everything on which anything was written. Then the senior officers were told to do the same with the cadres, who in turn repeated the performance with the cadets. When it was all over, many faces were grim.
This was followed by individual interviews and public confessions. This resulted in the discovery of a great number of "counter-revolutionaries" and suspected dissidents. The "counter-revolutionaries" were imprisoned in isolated cells under close watch. To prevent suicide, such articles as belts, matches, nail clippers, and even handkerchiefs were taken away. Even so, suicides occurred. I personally witnessed such a tragic death. The victim was a captain in my regiment. Somehow he succeeded in eluding the watchful eyes of the guards and climbed to the top of a high chimney. There he loudly cursed the Communists and then jumped. He died instantly, his body a bloody pulp on the concrete pavement.
I did not get away scot-free during the big purge. The school authorities found out that I once had been with the government troops in Manchuria. Although it was a petty offense, I was forced to undergo many humiliating self-confession sessions. No matter how severely I criticized myself, there was always someone scolding me in abusive language. On a number of occasions accusing fingers were pointed at me by fellow cadets whom I had regarded as good friends. When my ordeal was finally over, I was a changed person at heart. I'd had enough of Communism. I decided then and there that I would escape to the Free World at the first available opportunity.
New Stratagem
I had made my decision. But I could not afford to show the slightest sign of dissatisfaction with the party. On the contrary, I should pretend to be a radical among the Communists. I must have played my game of deception quite convincingly, for the school authorities advised me to join the party upon graduation. Sticking to my stratagem, I declined. I would not do so until I had made some worthy contribution to Communism, I explained.
After graduation I was assigned to the Fifth Air Division as a MIG-15 pilot. Here I continued my little game with much success. I even got a promotion ahead of schedule. All might have been well but for a momentary lapse in 1958. Mao Tze-tung had just ordered the "let a hundred flowers bloom and a hundred schools of thought contend" movement. I had a hunch that it was a trap and kept my mouth shut. But the commissars kept saying that constructive criticism was good for the party. "Voice your opinions freely and you are doing the party a service" was the slogan. As the days went by, more and more people spoke up. Even some of the Communist cadres attacked their own party violently.
Like a fool, I finally walked right into the trap. I put up a poster in front of division headquarters to let my little flower bloom. My criticism was so mild that I thought it would go unnoticed in the torrents of virulent denunciations. I raised two points. First, the senior officers were becoming too soft in their living habits. Second, the living conditions of the people were too bad. I figured this little observation of mine could offend nobody, for what I said was so obvious. Besides, I did not say anything about the party hierarchy and its rotten system.
Reform Through Labor
I was wrong. Following the "blooming and contending" was the "anti-rightists" campaign. All those who had taken Mao at his word were picked out and sent to concentration camps to be "reformed through labor". The Communists did not forgot even my flea bite, which they described as "vicious attacks on the party and socialism." I was ordered to repent my "sin" before the officers and soldiers. Some Communist cadres came up to spit in my face, others tore my uniform into shreds. I accepted all the insults as best I could. Finally, they decided I had received enough punishment but they no longer trusted me. I was soon kicked out of active service and reassigned to the Shanghai Civil Aviation Bureau as a civilian pilot with reserve status.
According to the Communist regulations, a pilot must be 27 years old to be eligible for marriage. When I reached the required age, I applied to the party authorities for permission. I already had a fiancee, picked by my foster parents back home. The application was turned down because the girl was the daughter of a former village chief. I asked my mother to look for another mate for me. She had no trouble, because every girl in the rural area wanted to get away from the back-breaking drudgery of the farm. This girl, who later became my wife, happened to be a card-carrying Communist. So my new application for marriage was quickly approved.
In October, 1958, I asked for a 10-day wedding leave. This was the peak moment of the "great leap forward". After I reached home, I had to secure a leave for her. It was a four-mile walk from my home to the commune office where our marriage had to be registered. My fiancee and I waited in the office for a whole day. Nobody came out to take care of our personal affair, because the cadres had all left for the blast furnaces. It was the same story on our second trip. On the third day, we had better luck. After registration, we got a coupon for 12 feet of cotton cloth for our wedding, a privilege reserved for air force officers.
We were married on the fourth day. With great difficulty, I also succeeded in getting a few hours' leave for my mother and sister. They were the only witnesses to my wedding, other than the Communist cadre who performed the ceremony. The word "ceremony" is misleading to the free people. It consisted of a trite lecture by the cadre, who stressed the importance of political accord in marital happiness. Our wedding "feast" was the usual communal fare of sweet potatoes, and coarse grains which my mother brought home from the communal mess hall. Fortunately, I'd had the foresight to bring two cans of meat from Shanghai. It was a delicacy which my folks had not seen for years.
Neighbors came over to offer their congratulations after our meal. In a few minutes they had gone back to work. My sister went back to the furnaces to "fight under lamplight" and mother to a meeting. Our wedding night was spent on mother's kang (a brick elevation serving as a bed in northern China. I t is hollow underneath so a fire can be built in winter months). We were awakened by her footsteps when she returned at midnight to get her cotton jacket. She left again after a few minutes, for she had to fulfill her norm. I returned to Chinan at the end of our two-day "honeymoon" while my wife stayed behind until I made arrangements to take her to Chinan.
On my home trip I was too absorbed by the thought of my marriage to pay much attention to the scene of the "great leap" along the way. I was more or less light-hearted on my way back to Shanghai and was apalled by what I saw. The countryside was alive with people of all ages engaged in the great steel movement designed to "surpass England in 15 years". They worked in gangs with armed soldiers watching. All wearing rags, they trembled under the heavy work load. The weather was cold and they had empty stomachs. The able-bodied chanted in unison as they walked with sacks of coal on their shoulders. Children and old women crushed lumps of coal into small bits. The scene recalled to my mind the building of the Great Wall, the story of which I had read when a child. I shuddered involuntarily.
Work Without Rest
The ant-like activity went on 24 hours a day. The sky was foggy with the black smoke belching from the countless crude furnaces dotting the field. In the night, the countryside was lit by torches and the fires in the furnaces. Makeshift tents and straw mats lining the roadside made the scenery like a bazaar. Not everyone could snatch a catnap, however. In some cases people worked for a week without being allowed to close their eyes. Many died from sheer exhaustion.
The steel movement resulted in the disappearance of iron utensils from every village. Pots, kettles, locks, pails, and everything usable were taken from the people to feed the furnaces. Clay and wood became the materials for kitchen utensils.
The Communists boasted that many mil lion tons of steel were produced by the people in that year of "great leap". But the product was totally useless. No machinery could be manufactured out of the lousy stuff. The "steel" was not good even for farm implements. As a result, the product of the crude furnaces was piled on the roadside to rust. Since farmers had been drafted to attend the furnaces, the paddies were gradually taken over by weeds. The shaky agriculture was dealt a blow from which it has never recovered. In short, the "great leap" brought the Communists economic dislocation and the hatred of the people, nothing more.
Mao Tze-tung once promised that a "new society" would be born after three years of hard work. A "new society" did emerge, only it was one nobody would care to live in. Take the communal mess halls, for example. These were converted from big houses confiscated from former landlords. All partitions were torn down and meals served buffet style. At the sound of gong or bugle, the people poured in, each carrying his bowl and chopsticks. At first, there was ground corn fashioned like cones and some vegetables. As the famine worsened, the menu was reduced to sweet potatoes. These were made into dried chips to be hastily boiled before serving. One was permitted to eat his share in the mess hall but was forbidden to take anything out.
In my village an old lady put two potato chips in her pocket, intending to feed her orphaned grandson when he cried for something to eat. She was stopped by the Communist guards posted at the door of the mess hall. She tried to explain, but the guards would not let her go until she put the potato chips in her mouth. As soon as she had walked a little way, she took out the chips and put them back in her pocket. I heard this story from my mother during my wedding leave. I could not remember anything like it in the old society.
Slow Starvation
As my new assignment was to spray insecticide in the rural areas, I had plenty of chance to see the unbelievable plight of the people. Hunger was written on everyone's face. Night blindness and beri-beri were the most common ailments plaguing the hungry masses. Countless lives were lost in the slow starvation all over the country. Some bolder people inevitably left the villages for the big cities in the hope of getting some kind of job which would enable them to eat a square meal. But they were disappointed, for conditions in the cities were not much better.
It is true that there are a few well-stocked shops in such big cities as Shanghai and Peiping. But they are to be seen, not touched. Unless you are a visiting dignitary from a foreign country or a ranking party official, you cannot buy anything in these show stores. The commodities are priced far beyond reach of the common people. A pound of biscuits, for instance, is sold for JMP$4.50 (about US$1.60 at the official exchange rate—which, however, is unattainable).
The jobless peasants swarming into the cities are called "vagabond criminals." The Communist police rounded them up and kept them in makeshift prisons pending transportation to their home villages. They are denied both food and water. Their cries for food are piercing. But there are too many of these vagabonds to be imprisoned. Those who elude police steal and rob wherever they can find something to eat. Any caught are beaten mercilessly by police. I once tried to intervene with the police on behalf of a vagabond who stole two sacks of flour from our kitchen. The police officer waved me aside. "Comrade, you don't understand," he said, "these people are truly criminals. It is the harvest season in the countryside. Why didn't he stay at home and do his work? I tell you, he is just a lazybones, a parasite of the new society. He deserves a sound beating."
Death From Overeating
Ironically, there were cases of death due to overeating. A starving person often does not know he has had enough. That was exactly what happened with some of the vagabonds after a successful food raid. In Hsuchow an old woman left 30 corn cakes—five days' ration for the family—in her home when she went to a neighbor's. When she returned half an hour later, the cakes were gone. Lying under the table was a pain-stricken man with a half-eaten cake still clutched tightly in his hand. He died a few minutes later.
We pilots were much better off as far as food was concerned. There were nutritious dishes on our dining table. However, we were not far above the people in the supply of consumer goods. I was permitted to buy only one piece of toilet soup during my six months in Chinan. Even that was a privilege for pilots only. I gave the soap to my wife, who worked in a public nursery hundreds of miles away. She wrote me that she used the soap only in secret. "If my fellow workers saw it, they would cut it up in no time," she explained.
Manmade Famines
The Free World has heard much about the "natural disasters" on the mainland. The Chinese Communists repeatedly blame these for recurrent famines and material shortages. But they do not explain why the "natural disasters" occur year and after year and all over the mainland. The fact is that they cannot give a satisfactory explanation, because the famines are their own doing. As long as the Communist regime remains in power, the famines are here to stay.
The earliest cause of the mainland famines can be traced to the introduction of agricultural cooperatives in the early 1950s. In order to feed its vast military establishment, to meet the large export commitments to Soviet Russia in return for war materials and machinery, and to ship grain to underdeveloped nations in its economic offensive, the regime forced the peasants to turn over all they produced to the government. With no provision for rainy days, the economy is bound to collapse at the first impact of shortage.
A shattering blow to agriculture came when the "great leap forward" mobilized the peasantry in the frantic effort to produce steel from backyard furnaces. Since the farms were left untended, agricultural production nosedived. The Communist planners did not realize their mistake until too late.
Then the Communists tried to boost farm yield by means of deep-seeding and close-planting. It was a serious blunder committed against the better judgment of the farmers themselves. Sowing the seeds beyond a certain depth is tantamount to burying a person alive. Because of the deep layers of earth above, the seedlings could not work their way out. Many shriveled before they reached the surface.
The adverse effects of close planting are numerous. The seedlings require reasonable space for ventilation. Otherwise, death-dealing heat cannot get away and fresh air cannot get in. When the Communists discovered their error, they ordered the farmers to fan air into the densely planted crops to provide artificial ventilation. Close planting also renders the job of removing weeds and preventing pestilence extremely difficult. The crops also suffered due to lack of sufficient fertilizers, because use of soil nutrients in a given space is limited. Finally, insect-eating sparrows had by then been wiped out in a nationwide campaign.
Incentive Destroyed
Of all the Communist blunders, the most serious is the deprivation of the people's incentive to work. With the introduction of the commune system in 1959, the last private holdings were taken away from the peasants. The people had become a machine working entirely for the state. "To each according to his need and from each according to his ability" is at best a high-sounding slogan. Under the Chinese Communist regime, the people are taxed beyond their physical limitations while they can get only a fraction of their needs. Under the circumstances, sabotage in the form of perfunctory performance and negligence in caring for cattle was inevitable.
Instead of doing something to correct the situation, the Communists resorted to juggling of production figures. In my native village I once saw a "model farm" marked by a wooden board. On the board were written these words: "300,000 catties of rice per mow." Doubting the boast, I asked my cousin for confirmation. "Sheer bragging," he replied contemptuously. "As far as I know, the yield was not above 200 cat ties per mow."
As I said earlier, I had already decided to flee Communism before I was graduated from the aviation school. What I saw and experienced later only served to strengthen that decision. However, I had not summoned enough courage to carry out my resolution. My new assignment as a civilian pilot gave me more time to plan escape. Then an incident occurred which ruled out any farther procrastination.
It was a few days before the 1961 lunar new year. My request for a home leave to see my wife in Shantung had just been turned down. Finding myself alone in the pilots' quarters one day, I picked up a brush and wrote down four characters on the heating flue. They were li chih tung fei (literally determined to fly east). I did that partly because I was angered by the refusal of leave, partly because I hoped these characters would remind me from time to time of my decision to get away.
The appearance of "reactionary slogans" was not uncommon on the mainland. I knew the fate awaiting those who wrote them once they were found out. So when my writing was discovered two days later, I knew what to do. I went to the security officer and casually admitted that I wrote the characters. Remembering Mao Tze-tung's favorite slogan, "East wind prevails over west wind," I said I must learn flying east (Communism) instead of west (capitalism).
Still Suspicious
AN-2 light transport plane which the author and his co-pilot flew to freedom is unloaded from flying boxcar upon Taipei arrival (File photo)
The security officer was not satisfied with my explanation. He insisted that I was thinking of defecting to Taiwan. Then I pretended to take his remark as an insult and demanded an apology. My ruse worked. I could see he was somewhat mollified. Pressing my advantage, I proceeded to explain the reasons why I could not become a defector, as well as the mechanical capabilities of the AN-2 I was flying.
"Even if the Aviation Bureau ordered me to fly my plane over the sea with fully-loaded tanks, I would disobey the order. You are not a pilot, and you don't know how dangerous such a mission would be," I said.
Unable to find fault with my defense and in consideration of my voluntary admission about the writing, the security officer only ordered me grounded for three months. Although the punishment was a light one, I could not accept it. To do so would be an indirect admission of guilt. So I appealed the case to higher authorities. Finally, the order to ground me was rescinded.
New Assignment
Last spring, my squadron of light transports was sent to Shantung to spray insecticide. Ostensibly, the DDT mission was to fight rampant pests. But actually it served to collect more grain from the communes. For each hour of flying time, the people were required to pay 6,000 catties of grain. Therefore, we harvested lots of hatred instead of earning gratitude. This hatred was reflected in an incident that happened to one of the pilots in our squadron. While swooping over a wheat field one day, he brought his plane to a very low attitude, so low that it almost touched the wheat stalks. Suddenly a shower of stones hit his craft. Fortunately, none of the missiles got into the propeller. The Communists conducted an investigation but failed to find the culprit.
Early in September, our squadron moved to Chiaochow on the coast. Everytime I took off I could see the sea birds skimming the waves of the Yellow Sea to the east. Gliding freely over the foamy billows, they seemed to beckon me to join them. An irrestible urge for freedom suddenly seized me. I wanted to get away, and at once. But I still had many hesitations. I planned a home leave to say goodbye to my mother and my wife. I wanted to tell them that I was not deserting them but going away temporarily to work for their deliverance. I also weighed my chance of success. Taiwan was out of the question because the range of the AN-2 was too short. Even South Korea was too far without filling the gas tanks to capacity. Then I had to consider the reliability of Kao Yu-chung, my young copilot, who had worked with me for only a month.
Even as I was figuring a way out, events took an unexpected turn. A telegram came from the Shanghai Civil Aviation Bureau ordering me to suspend flying because the AN-2, by then 15 years old, needed overhaul. Maybe a new plane would be given me, and then my chances of escaping safely would be much better. So I figured. But it was not to be. Two days later I received two more telegrams, one reiterating the earlier order and the other telling me to report to the bureau headquarters immediately for new assignment.
The urgency of the messages led me to suspect imminent disaster awaited me in Shanghai. With my whole record in their hands, the Communists might have decided to get rid of me. It was more than possible. My past experience told me it was probable. My plan must be carried out now or never. I decided not to consult Kao beforehand. Under Communism such a step would be suicidal. If I acted against his will, the freedom he was sure to enjoy after we reached safety would be more than enough to compensate for my decision, I thought.
Weather Perfect
Early in the afternoon of September 15, I told the ground crew to fuel the plane to capacity. I explained that I wanted to make a thorough test of the plane so I might file a detailed report on its condition for reference of maintenance personnel. At 2 p.m. Kao and I boarded the light transport. My hands trembled slightly as I started the engine. Fortunately Kao did not notice it.
The weather was ideal for flight that September 15 afternoon. The sky was cloudless, and there was no wind. An auspicious beginning! The only physical danger was the presence of several MIG fighters practicing strafing runs in the hills near the Chiaochow airfield. As I headed my craft toward the Shantung Peninsula, they did not take notice. Thinking that I was really giving the plane a test, Kao said nothing either. Soon we were over the Yellow Sea.
"Turn back. It is against the regulations to fly over the sea," Kao said. These were his first words since we started.
I pretended I did not hear him and at the same time drastically lowered altitude until the AN-2 was almost touching the waves. Turning to a southeasterly direction, I opened the engine full throttle. My co-pilot began fidgeting. I though it was the time to tell him the truth.
"Kao Yu-chung, is there anything you feel sorry about?" I asked.
Caught unaware, he did not follow me. Then I repeated my question. He remained silent. I figured if he should object to my decision there would be a fight between us. One of us would be subdued and thrown out. More likely both of us would sink to the bottom of the sea while we struggled, because the AN-2 was only 50 feet or so above the water.
"Do you think you are the only one who wants freedom?" Kao said suddenly.
"That's good. Now we are real brothers on the same boat," I said, patting his back. There was a swelling of warm feeling inside me toward Kao, whom I had dared not trust until that moment.
Control Tower Calls
The control tower at Chiaochow began telling us to turn back. Kao and I smiled at each other and continued our southeasterly course. Having been over the sea for two hours, I figured it would be too late for any pursuing plane to catch us. So I climbed again and cut the throttle to conserve fuel. Kao kept reminding me to keep the course slightly southward so that we would not land in North Korea.
Another two hours had passed. It was getting dark. Still there was no land in sight. And the fuel was running low. What if we had missed South Korea? The thought sent a shiver of chill through me.
It was 6:50 p.m. when we spotted a faint light to the north-northeast. The fuel was almost gone. Heading for the light. I let the plane glide down. I tried to contact the ground. There was no response. I held a hasty consultation with Kao. We decided to land, trusting our luck. In fact we had no other choice.
A few moments before the plane touched down, I saw to my horror it was not a landing strip as we had thought. Before I could alert Kao, the AN-2 hit the ground with a violent jolt. Both of us were thrown back. We could not move for several minutes. Fortunately, Kao suffered only facial bruises while I was not hurt a bit. As soon as we got over the shock, I helped Kao out. Some villagers were already coming up as we stepped out of the damaged craft. It was a miracle the plane did not catch fire when it hit the rocky ground. The propeller was completely smashed.
Few Words of Korean
I could still speak a few words of Korean I had picked up in North Korea. The first thing I wanted to know was whether we had landed in South Korea. The villagers told me it was an islet east of Cheju Island. I heaved a sigh of relief. We were then escorted away by the Korean police.
During our stay in Korea, we visited many places and were warmly received wherever we went. The Seoul City Government even gave us honorary citizenship. I accepted the honor with some qualm, because it came from the very people against whom I had fought several years before. Now they were overwhelming me with friendliness. What a difference between totalitarianism and freedom!
In early October Kao and I stepped onto the free soil of Taiwan, the land (had been dreaming about for many years. I could not find words to describe my feelings when our compatriots showered us with so much kindness and such an enthusiastic welcome. I wanted to cry, because what I saw in Taiwan reminded me of the indescribable sufferings of my mother, wife, and the hundreds of millions of our countrymen on the mainland. My successful escape to freedom is not an end in itself. It only marks the beginning of a new life for me, a life dedicated to the deliverance of Communist-enslaved people. The Communists on the mainland must and can be crushed if we have the determination and the faith. Do not believe their propaganda that they are in effective control of the people. It is a shameless lie. With the exception of Mao Tze-tung and Co., every Chinese on the mainland is a potential Shao Hsi-yen. They would rise up en masse at the first signal of a counter-offensive from Taiwan. We must all take heart and march forward until victory is ours.
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Editor's Note: Readers will remember Shao Hsi-yen as one of two Chinese Communist pilots who flew their AN-2 plane to South Korea last September 15. They were introduced in "They Flew to Freedom" in the November issue of Free China Review. Kao Yu-chung, the other half of the team, will tell his own story in an early issue.