THE POTOMAC CONFERENCE, October 5 - 6, 1992
SINO-TIBETAN RELATIONS: PROSPECTS FOR THE FUTURE
October 5, Afternoon Session II.
CULTURAL, ETHNIC & CHANGING PERCEPTIONS
Tibetan Culture and Modernization
The Chinese Tradition of "Great Unification" and
the Tibetan Issue
The Ethics of Religion
Robert A. F. Thurman, Moderator
+ + + + + + +
ROBERT A. F. THURMAN
Now we'll move along to one of the writers who has been entertaining us
and delighting us and informing us for a long time, a hero of Tibetan
culture and letters - Mr. Jamyang Norbu, who was the director of TIPA,
the Tibetan Institute of Performing Arts, in Dharamsala, which was his
Holiness the Dalai Lama's institution that restored and preserved and has
been keeping alive the traditions of Tibetan folk dance, theater and
opera. And also a co-founder of the Tibetan Youth Congress. And wrote a
book called - he's written many things, many books - I've particularly
enjoyed his essays that were collected in _Illusion and Reality_. And
he's written another book called _Performing Traditions of Tibet_, so he
works in the cultural area. And he's presently working on a book on
"Lhamo," the Tibetan opera. So, everyone is fairly familiar with you, I
thought they should be. Jamyang Norbu.
JAMYANG NORBU
CULTURAL AND LITERARY CONJECTURES ON DIRECTIONS IN CHINA
All conjecture on the future of China by even the most far seeing of
experts involves, of necessity, tremendous simplifications. It would
appear that the human intellect is simply not equipped to deal with the
unimaginable complexities of a nation that is not only the world's
largest in terms of population, but also the oldest, in terms of a
continuous history. The fact that it is the world's last major
totalitarian power, compounds the intellectual disorientation of those
trying to understand that country - and the direction in which it is
headed.
Having only an understanding of China based in the main on random
reading (in translation) of Chinese histories, novels and stories, it
would perhaps be best if I were to observe the injunction that
Wittgenstein laid down near the end of _Tractacus_ that: "of those things
he cannot speak man must remain silent." But this would probably not go
down too well with the organizers of the conference. So, for someone
with such crippling limitations, I feel it would put the least strain on
my own credibility and also the credulity of the listener, if I were to
restrict my discourse to a less exacting and unquantifiable area of
Chinese studies where if nothing else, empathy may prove more discerning
than expertise.
This untidy, elusive area, not too often featuring in discussions on the
future of China is the emotional, or to put it more scientifically, the
psychological one. To understand this, specially as it relates to people
on a collective level, as in a nation, I feel that it is imperative to
understand the cultural values of that society. And this I feel is most
accessible, even for the not-so-expert, through the national literature.
In an essay of his, the scholar Isaiah Berlin observed that one of the
most reliable criteria for grasping the intellectual and moral, vitality
of a nation was the quality of its literature.[Note 1] This yardstick is
particularly applicable to China since it is a nation with the oldest
continuous literary tradition in the world. I am, probably influenced in
the choice of this criteria by the fact that I am a writer of sorts, but
I am convinced that an appreciation of contemporary Chinese literature,
even in translation, and even by someone so ignorant of the subject as
myself, will permit us a glimpse of the inner health of the nation.
Furthermore, a comparison with the evolution of literature in the Soviet
Union since the revolution should provide some clues as to the divergence
in the paths of these two nations in the last decade, and also reveal
directions for the future.
Seven years before the Chinese Communist Party took power, Mao Zedong
had decided on the fate of writers in China with his "Talks at the Yanan
Forum On Literature and Arts"[2], in 1942. With the outbreak of the war
with Japan in 1937, many leftist intellectuals and patriotic students
left their universities and homes to join the Communists at their
headquarters at Yanan. Among these were nationally famous writers like
Zhou Yang, Ding Ling and Xiao Jun, the young Manchurian writer who was a
protegee of Lu Xun. But soon these writers were discovering that all was
not as Communist propaganda had represented at Yanan and that many cadres
were insensitive, corrupt and enjoyed a range of special privileges
denied to the ranks. Gradually the intellectuals began to question these
anomalies, especially in the pages of the Yanan paper, Liberation Daily,
edited by Ding Ling, who stimulated such debate with criticism of her own
the lack of sexual equality in Yanan. Of these critics probably the most
acerbic was Wang Shiwei, a translator and writer of fiction, who in a
two-part essay, _Wild Lily_, denounced the selfishness of some leaders,
the suppression of free speech, and the alienation of young people from
the party.[3] Initially these critics had been encouraged by Mao's own
"Rectification Campaign" where he singled out for condemnation:
bureaucratism, dogmatism, sectarianism, and a failure to cherish the
masses.
The Yanan intellectuals accepted this campaign at its face value and
failed to see it as a political ploy to destroy "the right opportunist"
tendency led by the CCP's main Stalinist, Wang Ming, and strengthen Mao's
own position as party leader.[4] The writers in their own campaign of
criticism received much support especially from the young people in
Yanan. The Party leadership, surprised by the strength of the criticism,
decided to clamp down hard on the writers. The Party fired its opening
guns with Mao's famous "Talks On Arts and Letters",[5] the main thesis of
which was the need to subordinate art and literature to political
requirements. These talks were the main turning point in CCP cultural
policy. All the writers were criticized, struggled and underwent thought
reform. Most, including Ding Ling disavowed their earlier views, and
many gave up writing altogether. Only Wang Shiwei stuck to his guns. He
was tried as a 'Trotskyist' spy, and eventually executed in 1947.
In Russia on the other hand, the magnificent flowering of Russian
literature and poetry in the 1890s so far from being arrested by the
Bolshevik revolution, continued to derive vitality and inspiration from a
vision of a new world. Despite the conservative tastes of the Bolshevik
leadership, anything that could be represented as a "slap in the face" to
bourgeois taste was approved and encouraged: and this opened the way to a
great outpouring of excited manifestos and audacious, controversial,
often highly gifted experiments in all the arts and in criticism, which
in due course was to make a powerful impact on the West.[6] The names of
the most original among the poets whose works survived the revolution,
Alexander Blok, Andrey Bely, Vyaclieslav lvanov, Valery Bryusov, and in
the next generation Mayakovsky, Osip Mandel'shtam, Anna Akhmatova,
Pasternak; of the painters Benois, Roerich, Chagall, Kandinsky, Soutine,
Bakst, Goncharova, Malevich, Tatlin, Lissitsky; of the movie makers
Pudovkin, Meyerhold, Vakhtangov, Tairov, Eisenstein; of the novelists
Aleksey Tolstoy, Babel, Pil'nyak, and many others became widely known
throughout the civilized world.
Under Stalin this genuine movement of revolutionary creativity was
crushed by the dead weight of state-controlled orthodoxy. Mayakovsky
committed suicide, others were shot or imprisoned.[7] But eventually
Stalin called an end to this terror, and with the advent of World War II
and the German invasion, poets and writers, even those not approved of by
the Party, and whose works had been unpublished or banned, began to
receive public accolade; and their works were widely read, learnt by
heart, quoted by soldiers, officers and even political commissars. Even
after the war and till the end of their lives, poets like Pasternak and
Anna Akhmatova remained heroic figures in the eyes of the Russian people,
and vast audiences packed halls to hear them read their works. In the
bleakness of the Russian political landscape all throughout these years
it cannot be doubted that it was the power and resolution of such poets,
writers and artists, and in later years of writers like Solzhenitsyn,
Mikhail Bulgakov, Leonid Borodin, Yury Dombrovsky, Anatoli Rybakov,
Andrei Bitov and others, that preserved the essential humanity and hope
of the people, and as such was influential in the eventual reshaping of
the Soviet Union to what it is now.
After the establishment of the People's Republic of China all the
leading figures of modern Chinese literature fell into almost total
silence and sterility.[8] Lao She, Mao Dun and others producing only a
few trite occasional pieces, or works of communist propaganda, some of
which like Ding Ling's _The Sun Rises Over the Sanggan River_, receiving
the Stalin prize for literature. In the wake of this success, she became
a powerful literary functionary, even taking part in the
anti-intellectual campaigns of the early 1950s, and having a hand in more
purges of intellectuals than party norms required.[9] Of course there
has been some marginal writing of value from dissidents as the Li-Yi-Zhe
manifesto, and the short-stories of Chen Jo-hsi of the Cultural
Revolution,[10] written after the writer was allowed to leave China. She
wrote nothing while she lived in the PRC for seven years.
After the fall of the "gang of four" manifestos and magazines published
unofficially but openly called for a variety of political and social
reforms. Short stories exposing the horrors of the recent past, and
poems in praise of freedom and democracy featured in these publications,
though most could not avoid the cliched stridency and melodrama of
official propaganda writing. The exception was the work in _Today_,
edited by Bei Dao[11] and Mang Ke, though the magazine was proscribed in
1980. The category of writing about the horrors of the cultural
revolution known as "wound literature" (shang-hen wenxue) has continued
as it does not altogether contradict the official line. But even though
this does seem to be an improvement on the past I feel that, in literary
terms, it is a deception. It is not only a literature of self-pity, but
essentially serves as a prop to official dogma, which seeks to blame all
of China's past problems on the Cultural Revolution. For the writer such
a literary form, consciously or unconsciously, limits examination of the
past to what is convenient in terms of saving face, getting along with
authority, or assuaging some misguided sense of patriotism.
One question that does not seem to be asked is exactly who were the main
victims of the Cultural Revolution, and whether they themselves had not
in some way been involved in, or been responsible for, the sufferings and
deaths of millions of people before the Cultural Revolution -- or had at
least been party to condoning it? Milan Kundera provides a partial
answer to this question: "When I was a boy, I used to idealize the people
who returned from political imprisonment. Then I discovered that most of
the victims were former oppressors. The dialectics of the executioner and
his victim are very complicated. To be a victim is often the best
training for an executioner."
A book that came out last year, _Wild Swans: Three Daughters of China_,
though written in English, provides a case in point. Written by Jung
Chang, a Chinese woman now living in Britain, it describes the horrors of
the Cultural Revolution in which her parents were caught up as victims,
especially her father, an important Communist official who was hounded
into insanity and eventual death. Though the description of this period
is presented with conviction and accuracy, the earlier period of her
father's role in the guerrilla war against the Kuomintang is straight out
of a Revolutionary opera like _Shachiapang_, replete with wicked
landlords and _e'ba_ (ferocious despots). Of course a girl's
idealization of her father is understandable, but some of her statements
do not square with facts. She talks of the peasant's ferocious desire
for vengeance against landlords and the efforts by Communist cadres like
her father to restrain the people from killing all landlords; and how
because of her father's intercession the Party ordered that land reforms
be conducted without undue violence. The truth is, of course, somewhat
different. Lazlo Landany, the late editor of China News Analysis and the
leading China-watcher of his day, quite clearly points out that the Party
insisted on the land reform being a 'violent struggle'. He continues:
"The procedure was the same everywhere. The first step was to arouse the
masses against the landlords. It might have been thought that the
peasants, if given a free hand, would seize the land, but this did not
happen. The peasants obviously became suspicious when they saw that huge
numbers of Party cadres and even soldiers had been sent to stir up anger
against the landlords. In Guangdong province alone, 62,000 Party
officials and soldiers were sent to the villages to mobilize the
peasants. This was done on the instructions of the Party Central
Committee's South China Bureau. The peasants had to be disciplined into
discontent and revolt against the landowners.
"A report presented to the Military-Political Committee of Central-South
described the difficulty of 'arousing the masses.' Many peasants were
reluctant to act; in some places they sympathized with the persecuted
landowners."[12] The Land Reform campaigns were not only extremely bloody
and "an extremely violent struggle which reached every corner of the
country" but "a lesson in terror" as well. Liu Binyan, the well-known
dissident and former reporter of _The People's Daily_, provides a first
hand account of the land reform in his autobiography, _A Higher Kind of
Truth_, which confirms Ladany's researched report.
Nowhere too in all the recent and past literature that has come out of
China has there been any sense of national shame or sense of
responsibility for the crimes committed by the Chinese on neighboring
people like the Tibetans and others. "We did not know..." is the common
answer to this, "...the Communists kept us ignorant". But the Chinese in
Taiwan, and all over the free world knew what was happening in Tibet.
Why the silence? The only Chinese in the free world to write about Tibet
was Han Suyin, and her book is far more demeaning of the Tibetan people
than official Communist propaganda.[13] According to Han Suyin, Tibetans
were so incredibly backward that Tibetan farmers used "wooden plows, not
iron tipped, for iron was not only expensive but 'malefic'. I noticed
that the plows were now iron-tipped, and instead of pushing them (as was
done before when the yaks pushed the plow forward with their lowered
heads, surely a most inefficient way of making a furrow not more than
four inches deep) the yaks were now _pulling_ the plow. This was already
innovation."
Furthermore, when there was a modicum of freedom in the PRC for
magazines and newspapers to publish original observations, what did
Chinese writers come out with? I quote from a translation of Jigme
Ngapo's article that appeared in the _Center Daily News_ in October
1987.[14] "I have read the story by Ma Jian, "Show the Coating on Your
Tongue or All Void," originally published by _People's Literature_,
reproduced in a Hong Kong magazine. It is disgusting. The author uses
rumors about Tibet and mixes them with elements of his imagination,
producing a nauseating picture. The story is not the first of its kind
to attack the Tibetan people." Now the editor of this magazine was
dismissed for publishing this story as well as for an editorial of his
own. But according to Ngapo this did not reflect a new sensitivity on
the part of the authorities to give justice to the Tibetan people, but
was based on its anti-bourgeois campaign which was at its peak around the
time[February 1987]. In this article, Jigme Ngapo also comments on
attitudes of Chinese students, even those in universities in the United
States, towards Tibetans and their aspirations. "They want independence?
Give them a good lesson!"
I read Ma Jian's story translated somewhat differently as "Stick Out
Your Furry Tongue, or Fuck-all,"[15] and was not impressed. His
ignorance of Tibetan religion and customs, of which he writes so
blithely, makes Lobsang Rampa's novels seem erudite and profound by
comparison. Though Ma seem to regard himself as modern and artistic, his
attitude regarding Tibet is no different from that of all Chinese --
condescending and exploitative. What is most striking about Ma Jian's
writing is its self-conscious artiness. As if he had gone about
highlighting every line of his story with different colored marker-pens,
signifying "surrealism" or "magical realism," or whatever.
Another writer with similar _avant-garde_ pretensions is the officially
approved Tibetan author Zhaxi Dawa[Tashi Dawa] who claims he does not
write in Tibetan as his message is too sophisticated for non-Chinese
reading Tibetans. I have been told by Tibetans from Lhasa that he not
only cannot read or write Tibetan, but cannot speak it as well. In
_Tibet: Soul Tied to a Leather Buckle_[16], his ostentatiously
magical-realist novella is essentially a vehicle for the recapitulation
of age-old Chinese racist calumnies about Tibet: about people barely more
civilized than beasts, clinging superstitiously to a dark and savage
religion. It is no wonder that this essentially trite, posturing and
derivative piece of writing should [have] become a great hit with the
Chinese some years ago.
No work by any author from China -- or for that matter a Chinese writer
anywhere on the globe -- has in any way dealt intelligently or
sensitively with Tibet -- with its people, religion, history and customs.
On the whole they have been uniformly and offensively racist, often with
an ill-concealed vein of hostility towards even the mildest Tibetan
aspirations for some freedom.
In 1863 when Russia was choking the life out of Poland, the liberal
socialist writer Alexander Herzen cried "I am ashamed to be Russian".[17]
Tolstoy, in a story, _What for?_[1906], gives a sympathetic presentation
of Poles involved in the insurrection of 1830-1[18], though it must be
pointed out that the ultra-nationalist Dostoyevsky, and also Pushkin
could hardly said to have been sympathetic to Polish aspirations.
Even a wretched Russian _zek_ [prisoner] in a concentration camp in the
nineteen fifties admitted to shame at Stalin's oppression of other
peoples. Such were the feelings of Alexander Solzhenitsyn when the tenth
anniversary of the "liberation" of the Baltic States was celebrated at
his prison camp: "I found the Estonians and Lithuanians particularly
congenial. Although I was no better off than they were, they made me
feel ashamed, as though I were the one who had put them inside.
Unspoiled, hard-working, true to their word, unassuming -- what had they
done to be ground in the same mill as ourselves? They had harmed no one,
lived a quiet, orderly life, and a more moral life than ours -- and now
they were to blame because we were hungry, because they lived cheek by
jowl with us and stood in our path to the sea."[19]
We also know that Andrei Sakharov and other Russians suffered official
reprisals when they openly protested the Russian invasion of
Czechoslovakia in 1968.[20]
On September 18, 1990, Alexander Solzhenitsyn, in the _Komsomolskaya
Pravda_ and the _Literaturnaya Gazeta_ made a plea to the Russian people
and leaders to give up the empire, to let the Baltic Republics, Armenia,
Georgia, Moldavia, and the Central Asian Republics that so desired, to
secede. He was convinced that clinging to the empire prevented the
regeneration of Russia itself and the upliftment of her people. "We have
no need for the empire, for it destroys us," Solzhenitsyn said.[21]
A Chinese to whom I pointed this out, retorted that Solzhenitsyn had
spoken less out of conviction than convenience, for by 1990 it was quite
obvious that the Soviet Union was going to break up one way or the other.
But a reading of Solzhenitsyn's earlier works easily dispels any doubts
as to the sincerity of this large-hearted man. His massive and
monumental work of the Soviet concentration camp system, _The Gulag
Archipelago_, was begun in 1958 and finished in the mid-sixties though
only published in 1973. In the book he talks of meetings in the camps
with Ukrainian nationalists prisoners many of whom had sided with Nazi
Germany against Russia. He has this to say of their dreams:
"Why are we so exasperated by Ukrainian nationalism.... why does their
desire to secede annoy us so much? Can't we part with the Odessa
beaches? Or the fruit of Circassia? For me this is a painful subject.
Russia and the Ukraine are united in my blood, my heart, my thoughts.
But from friendly contact with Ukrainians in the camps over a long period
I have learned how sore they feel. Our generation cannot avoid paying
for the mistakes of generations before it.
"Nothing is easier than stamping your foot and shouting: 'That's mine!'
It is immeasurably harder to proclaim: 'You may live as you please'...We
must prove our greatness as a nation not by the vastness of our
territory, not by the number of peoples under our tutelage, but by the
grandeur of our actions. And by the depth of our tilth in the lands that
remain when those who do not wish to live with us are gone."
It is my conviction that Solzhenitsyn's observations about the Soviet
empire and the solutions he advocates are equally applicable to the
Chinese empire. In China, more than anywhere else, the nexus of Imperial
triumph on the one hand and repression and cultural regression on the
other has been a long and enduring one. In fact Qin Shihuang, founder of
the first Chinese empire, has also the distinction of being the architect
of the first totalitarian system of government in the history of
humankind.
On the other hand, China's feudal age, the Spring and Autumn Period
(Chun Qiu) 770-476 BC, and the Period of the Warring States (Zhan Guo)
475-221 BC, when China was split into many disparate states, small
duchies and kingdoms, was the most glorious age in the history of Chinese
thought. It was a period when ethical and philosophical systems like
Confucianism, Taoism and others arose which have exercised a lasting
influence on the culture of the Far East, similar to the influence of
classical Greece on European civilization.
The Song dynasty is unique in Chinese history not only for its conscious
renunciation of imperialism, but also for the consistent humanity and
efficiency of its rule. Song rule was based on general acquiescence and
constitutional rule to an extent never achieved in Chinese history. It
never made any attempt to extend its borders beyond the Great Wall, and
was never threatened by internal rebellions of any importance. In the
opinions of many, Chinese civilization reached its apogee in these years,
and in later centuries never recovered the level to which the Song had
attained.
In modern cultural development, especially literature, China can look
back to the 1920s and 30s, certainly not a period of imperial
advancement, rather the reverse, but nevertheless an era whose creative
dynamism has not been equaled since. In 1924, the eminent German
sinologist Richard Wilhelm observed: "Chinese intellectual life today is
at the forefront of our epoch. Its leading lights in the arts and
sciences are working together in the most thorough manner on the
universal problems of our age in the technical, scientific, philosophic
and artistic spheres."[22]
All this has been noted and discussed before by sinologues like Simon
Leys who in an article asked the question: "What if, unhappily, there is
some necessary link in China between political ineptitude and cultural
flowering? The former always seems to be the atrocious price of the
latter, and conversely the re-establishment of imperial order usually
goes with a dramatic intellectual impoverishment."[23] Bertrand Russell
who visited China in the early 1920s though accepting this intimate
relationship between cultural and political (and economic) questions in
China was in no doubt as to which was crucial, even for the development
of the other two: "For my part, I think the cultural questions are the
most important, both for China and for mankind; if these could be solved,
I would accept with more or less equanimity any political or economic
system which ministered to that end."[24]
The maintenance of empires and colonies by force, is not only culturally
and spiritually demoralizing to the tyrant, but potentially a source of
considerable political upheaval within the oppressor nation itself.
According to a study of vice-regal government in Szechwan under the Zhao
brothers, Zhao Erfeng and Zhao Erhhsun, the province overextended itself
by imposition of direct Chinese rule into Eastern Tibet, and the invasion
of Tibet proper in 1909, which among other factors like rises in the
province caused the rebellion of September 1911 in Szechwan. This in
turn caused the Wuchang uprising, bringing about the downfall of the
Manchu Empire and the formation of the Republic. Of course, the fall of
the dynasty had other and more underlying causes, but the Szechwan
revolution, caused in part by Chinese overextension in Tibet, was in the
words of the author of this study "the fuse of the double ten revolution
and part of its explosive force."[25]
Empires when maintained by force and intimidation, without even partial
consent of the subject peoples, which wasn't always the case in such
empires as the Roman or the British, can, I am convinced, only lead to
the brutalization and degeneration of the ruling nation itself. Whatever
apparatus of repression one designs to control one's colonies: the secret
police, thought control, a thuggish army, all this can also be easily
turned against one's own people. Political violence is a two-edged
sword. In Britain the democratic rights of the people have considerably
eroded over the past years by the obsession of the conservative
government to deal with the question of Northern Ireland in a harsh
manner. The long-standing reputation of the British legal system and the
reputation of its police force have been extensively damaged over the
past couple of decades by its overreaction to the threat of the IRA. So
too in India with the violence in the Punjab and Kashmir. Now, if
problems of this magnitude effect mature democracies when dealing with
separatist movements, how can democracy begin to take root in China when
even the fledgling Chinese democracy movements--in-exile do not want to
give up the empire. And of course, the Chinese empire can only be
maintained by all the implements of repression and control, for without
that I am certain that Tibetans, Uighurs and others would not hesitate to
revolt violently for independence.
I think those Chinese who desire democracy and peace for their country,
should take their lead from General Charles de Gaulle's reversal of
policy towards French colonies in North Africa, in the late fifties.
Emotionally, de Gaulle was committed towards the greatness of France, but
he was a realist enough to see that not only was its military efforts to
keep its colonies, becoming an economic drain on France, but also that
the brutality involved in holding a colony like Algeria was demoralizing
an army that he loved, and promoting a very dangerous fascistic movement
that threatened French democracy.[26] Against tremendous opposition he
decisively divested France of Algeria and other colonies, although that
decision brought about ruin, suffering, and dislocation to many thousands
of French _colons_ who had settled for generations in Algeria. De
Gaulle's decision also brought about considerable danger to his own life,
and a virtual civil war in France itself; but history has shown that the
General was right.
It is now vital for intelligent and right-thinking Chinese to put aside
misplaced ideas of face and patriotism, and seriously consider the
liability of Empire not only for the cultural and spiritual regeneration
of the Chinese people but for democracy to take root in the nation as
well. It is not enough for the Chinese to reluctantly acquiesce to
Tibetan demands for independence. They must actively participate in the
dismemberment of the last Chinese empire and the unshackling of subject
nations, before their own individual freedoms can truly be realized.
[enthusiastic applause giving way to a standing ovation]
Notes:
1. Isaiah Berlin, 1979, "The Hedgehog and the Fox". In
_Russian Thinkers_. London: Penguin Books.
2. Mao Zedong, 1985, Selected Works Vol.III,
Peking: People's Publishing House.
3. Gregor Benton, 1982, "Writers and the Party: The
Ordeal of Wang Shiwei, Yanan 1942." In _Wild Lilies
Poisonous Weeds_, edited by Gregor Benton. London:
Pluto Press.
4. Merle Goldman, 1967, _Literary Dissent in Communist
China_, Cambridge, Mass.
5. Mao's talk was presented as his original doctrine
but, according to Merle Goldman, much of it could
have been translated from the speeches of the Soviet
literary czar, Andrei Zhdanov.
6. Isaiah Berlin, 1982, "Meetings with Russian
Writers." In _Personal Impressions_. Oxford: Oxford
University Press.
7. For the best account of the life of the
intelligentsia during this period, see Nadezhda
Mandelstam's memoirs _Hope Against Hope_ and _Hope
Abandoned_. London: Collins Harvill.
8. For a quick sampling of the writing in the PRC
during this period, accompanied by an unbelievably
naive and sympathetic appreciation by the author,
see Kai-Yu Hsu, 1976, _The Chinese Literary Scene_.
London: Penguin Books.
9. Jonathan Mirsky, October 26, 1989, "Stories From the
Ice Age", _The New York Review of Books_.
10. Chen Jo-hsi, 1979, _The Execution of Mayor Yin and
Other Stories from the Great Proletarian Cultural
Revolution_. Bloomington: Indiana University
Press.
11. Bei Dao, 1989, _Waves_. Translated by Bonnie
MacDougall and Susette Cooke. London: Sceptre.
12. Laszlo Ladany, _The Communist Party of China and
Marxism 1921-1985. A Self Portrait_, 1988, Hoover
Institution Press, California.
13. Han Suyin, 1979, _Lhasa, The Open City_. London:
Triad Panther Books.
14. Translated and reprinted in _Lungta_, No 6, Geneva.
15. 1988, Geremie Barme & John Minford, _Seed of Fire,
Chinese Voices of Conscience_. New York: Hill and
Wang.
16. Ibid.
17. Aleksandr I. Solzhenitsyn, 1979, _The Gulag
Archipelago_. Translated by Harry Willetts. New
York: Perennial Library.
18. Ronald Hingley, 1967, _Russian Writers and Society,
1825-1904_. New York: World Universal Library,
McGraw Hill.
19. Ibid.
20. George Bailey, 1989, _The Making of Andrei
Sakharov_. London: Allen Lane the Penguin Press.
21. Alexander Solzhenitsyn, 1991, _Rebuilding Russia_.
Translated by Alexis Klimoff. London: Harvill.
22. Richard Wilhelm, 1924, _Aus Zeit und Leben: Abschied
van China_. Peking: Pekinger Abende.
23. Simon Leys, 1979, _Broken Images_. New York: St.
Martin's Press.
24. Bertrand Russell, 1922, _The Problem of China_.
London.
25. S.A.M. Adshead, 1984, _Province and Politics in Late
Imperial China. Vice-regal Government in Szechwan,
1898-1911_. Scandinavian Institute of Asian Studies
Monograph Series. London and Malmo: Curzon Press.
26. Philip M. Williams and Martin Harrison, 1973,
_Politics and Society in de Gaulle's Republic_. New
York: Doubleday Anchor.
|
