This is a journal of a professor in the Cultural revolution, interpreting the revolution through his eyes .

1. 我的日记

2. 05/28/1966
Picture of the posters hanging around our school, encouraging
students to take down the intellectuals and the four olds.
Picture of students beating us
teachers. (I cannot dare to wonder
what would’ve happened to the rest of
the teachers…)

3. It was terrifying. Students dragging teachers and beating them up, their own teachers, who were respected
for their knowledge, are now getting punished for their knowledge. I was hiding in the small cupboard in
my office, trying to make my small body as smallest it can get. I think my heart have never been thumping
this fast since the Little Red Books. Remembering back, it was around January 1964, the great publish of
the Little Red Books. These times, I too, loved and trusted Chairman Mao. And when the Little Red Books
were published, I couldn’t hide my joy. I slept with it in my tiny house, I read it whenever I could, and I
kept it with me everywhere, literally everywhere. But now? How can I love Mao in this situation? How can
I trust him when he can’t even provide us people safety? HOW?
The doors slammed open, and I could feel those bloodthirsty eyes on me. With a jeering laugher, they
pulled me out. I was dragged out to the courtyard where all the other teachers were. In the courtyard, it was
a catastrophe. My fellow teachers lay around like corpses, bleeding. Group of students stood beside them,
still kicking and laughing at their own teacher. Is this my fate? Is this how my life ends? To be beaten up by
my own students? I was soon brought down on my knees, and with the first blow on the head, I passed out.
I opened my eyes, founding myself lying on the courtyard, with dried out blood streaking down my
forehead. It was late evening, and most of the teachers were lying still on the ground. As soon as I
scrambled up, my whole body ached; every joint seemed to be out of its place, every muscle screaming out.
I picked up my glasses that were sitting on the ground a couple feet away from me, which probably would
have flied away at the hit. But as soon as I heard those students’ laughter, I had to run. Run for my life. As
soon as I got home, I locked myself in, making sure no one can come in. After I have looked at my injury, I
sat there reading the late newspaper. And found out that Mao have persuaded those innocent students to
attack the communist party and us.
Mao had begun his attack.

4. 07/31/1966
(below) Me and others going
through the ‘trials’
(left) Huge amount of people
cheering at Mao’s speech, in front
of Tian An Men Square.

5. Everything has worsened. Nothing seems to be working out. Only a few weeks have passed since Mao encouraged those
traitors to continue on destroying our country’s culture, continue on beating up innocent people. I saw those humongous
amounts of people gathered in front of Tian An Men Square to literally ‘worship’ Mao. And with his speech as the motive,
the intensity of the persecution grew.
The last couple weeks, I have been hiding out in different places, taking advantage of my small body. But on the day before
yesterday, I was caught while searching for food on the street, and was immediately taken away to the square, where a trial
was already going on. By trial, I mean accused innocent people getting punished in front of the crowd. I was waiting at the
side for the current trial to finish, where a woman with half of her hair shaved was kneeling, with a sign hung around her
neck saying that she’s filthy, and that she slept with her neighbor, showing her back to her husband. But based on my
knowledge, she’s a kind, righteous woman who would never do such thing.
I was startled by the sudden grasp on my shoulder. Her trial has finished, and it was my turn. Half walking, half dragged, I
stood nervously on the platform. All those people were staring at me, both jeering and cursing me, of how stupid I looked
and how evil I am to not obey Mao. Looking around, I spotted my students in the crowd. Including the ones who beat me
up a couple of weeks ago at school, and those who took no one’s side in this revolution. It was then when one of the red
guards pushed my back so it is hunched, and hung a sign around my neck. Instantly I could feel the wire slicing through my
skin inch by inch. Then the guards pushed me aside and left me on the corner of the platform.
As I stood there, the trials proceeded. Endless people walked on and off the platform, each of them going through some type
of a persecution. I did not mind about the pain, but the humiliation, I can never forget. Occasionally when I lift up my head
to look around (the pain doubled), those eyes of my students knocked me over. No matter what trial was going on, they were
only focusing on me, looking at me with no sympathy and no mockery. Until now, I still do not know what instinct they had
on that day, but during my trial, I was humiliated.
After sunset, by the time most of the crowd has returned home, I was set free. I could feel the blood dried out on the back of
my neck. I slowly walked home, thinking of all the harassments the innocent people had to go through. I do not know how I
will even survive through this disaster…
This country is a madhouse, a slaughterhouse.

6. 09/20/1976
Picture of the funeral of Mao. He was put in a glass case.
Picture of the
trial of Gang of
Four

7. Mao’s dead. The great Chairman Mao is gone.
Whenever I look outside the window, under the rain of colorful leaves, there always
are wailing and weeping people, showing a perfect example of contrast. Some of the
Mao-worshippers are in delirium, their empty eyes only reflecting the gray bitterness.
They are the ones who persecuted, humiliated, and hated me. They are the ones who
destroyed our country’s valuable cultures and cultural assets. They are the ones who
killed more than a million Chinese people. They are.
The rumor says that the Gang of Four was arrested, guilty of their anti-revolutionary
plan. Well, they did deserve it though. Although they were quite powerful a few of
years ago, they were denounced by the million people. People just could never give up
power, can they?
It’s all done and over with. And now we all know it was all futile and pointless. Along
with Mao, the Great Proletarian Revolution has come to its end.