Black and White Cat

I never knew Gladys Yang and Yang Xianyi. I had their old sofa but that doesn’t really count, does it? They died ten years apart, almost to the day: November 18, 1999 and November 23, 2009.

Yang Xianyi died a month after I left China. Gladys died the year I arrived. Back then I was working for the Foreign Languages Press where, years earlier, they had translated so many of the books and stories from China that I had read as a student. When Gladys died, a colleague gave me an article about her clipped from the Beijing Evening News. I found it again in a dusty folder the night before I left Beijing. You find a lot of things you’d forgotten you had when you’re throwing out a decade of accumulated junk before you move.

“Keep it,” I thought. “You might want to translate it one day.” A month later, with the passing of her husband, now seemed a good enough time for that. But, as is often the case, other things got in the way so it’s been a bit delayed.

There have been a number of obituaries of Yang Xianyi (John Gittings’ one in the Guardian seems as good as any) and there were a number of obituaries of Gladys Yang when she died ten years ago. In the Chinese press, there are some things which cannot be printed, no matter how strongly they are felt. The most obvious is the Yangs’ angry and outspoken opposition to the coup d’etat and massacre of 1989. As a new, younger generation grows up in China with little knowledge of those events, it’s worth remembering that the Yangs’ position was the majority opinion at that time, no matter how much Deng Xiaoping’s successors might want us to believe otherwise.

It’s also worth heading over to Philip Cunningham’s account of dinner, drinks and political discussion with the Yangs during the student movement in May 1989. There’s a rather nice picture there of Gladys and Xianyi playfully insulting each other as they sat on the two burgundy armchairs that were once part of a set with my old sofa.

I’ve scanned the Beijing Evening News obituary of Gladys, written by Ji Hong, and posted it on Page Two if you want to read the original text in Chinese. If you do, you’ll notice on the right there is a poem written by Shao Yanxiang for Gladys and Xianyi’s golden wedding anniversary. As I’ve said before, translating poetry is way beyond my limited ability, so I’m not even going to try. Perhaps someone else, with more talent than me, would like to do it.

Midnight on November 17 was truly a moment when an old day gave way to the new. The renowned translator Madame Gladys Yang departed the world that she loved; and departed the countless readers who loved her. Within a few short hours this sad news spread rapidly around the world and, one after another, people phoned her husband Yang Xianyi to express their deep grief.

Twelve days earlier, on November 5, Huang Miaozi and his wife Yu Feng, Shao Yanxiang and his wife Xie Wenxiu, Li Huixiong and I arranged to go to the Friendship Hotel to visit Mr. Yang Xianyi. Gladys Yang’s illness had worsened that day and her fever had reached 39C. Mr. Yang, calm and considerate as ever, had prepared good wine and food, but we knew how troubled and heavy his heart must be. Usually, Gladys Yang would sit on one side and listen with a smile to friends chatting about anything and everything. Sometimes the atmosphere of the conversation would become especially dynamic because of her humorous interjections. Maybe it was because she was a translator that she could always choose the most appropriate and lively words to express her opinion. Once, when everyone was discussing the Great Leap Forward, Gladys Yang said, “the leaders at that time wanted me to double my production too.” [a pun: 翻一翻, do some translation; and 翻一番, increase twofold.] This clever wordplay caused a wave of laughter. But now Gladys was lying in hospital! Mr. Yang dug out a portrait of Gladys that Yu Feng had painted ten years earlier and placed it by the chair. His inability to express in words what he felt about Gladys infected everyone there. To lighten the atmosphere a little, Yu Feng said she couldn’t believe she had once painted such a vivid and lifelike image of Gladys. She said, and not without a little pride, “Look. Look at that hair. Hmm, it’s painted well! It’s painted well!” At the top of the painting, Yu Feng had written the title: “Golden hair has turned to white, but a golden heart can never change.” Everyone said these words were truly apt.

Together, Gladys Yang and Yang Xianyi translated A Dream of Red Mansions, The Scholars, Selected Works of Lu Xun and other famous works of Chinese literature which have become established translation classics, attracting global acclaim for China’s translation work. Gladys Yang also translated many works by modern writers into English. With her great sense of responsibility and outstanding linguistic ability, she expanded the influence of Chinese literature in the world. On this point alone one can say without any exaggeration that she played an irreplaceable role. Like Mr. Yang Xianyi, she selflessly and untiringly labored to be a good intellectual performing her rightful duty for the people and the country. For her, when it came to work, there was never any question of bargaining over money — she devoted her whole life to China; what price could one put on that? But she herself was certainly priceless.

During the Cultural Revolution, Gladys Yang was labeled a “British spy” and imprisoned for four long years. Her beloved son was driven mad and later sadly died an unnatural death. These disasters inflicted heavy wounds on her heart. However, when someone had affront to ask her, “If you really love China, why haven’t you renounced your British citizenship?” Gladys Yang replied angrily, “The fact that I love China does not mean I don’t love Britain. What kind of party member are you? You’ve no internationalism whatsoever!”

This word “internationalism” occupied an extremely important place in her mind, and others might find it hard to understand. At the beginning of October this year I saw Bai Xia (Pat) at Cambridge University’s Faculty of Oriental Studies. This Scottish lady was once an expert at the China Literature Press at the Waiwenju. In 1974, Bai Xia was a young girl of around 20. She was fretting over what she would end up doing for a job when she had the good fortune to meet Gladys Yang who had returned to Britain to visit her family. Gladys Yang had not long been released from prison and the Cultural Revolution was still not over. Surprisingly, however, Gladys Yang advised Bai Xia to come and work in China. She said China was still very poor but there was hope and the Cultural Revolution could not be sustained for long. She did not say a word about the persecution she had personally suffered from the Cultural Revolution “She did not utter a word of complaint,” maintaining full confidence in China’s prospects. She had foresight and the only way I can understand what the word “patriotism” (loving the country) means for her is that “country” can mean both China and Britain; it is synonymous with “the people” and synonymous with “internationalism.” Bai Xia said she was inspired by Gladys Yang’s moral strength and spirit of internationalism.

On January 19 this year, on Gladys Yang’s 80th birthday, all her colleagues at China Literature Press signed a letter to her written with deep affection: “Dear and respected Madame Gladys Yang, China is your second homeland. You have spent three quarters of your life in this ancient land, from a beautiful young girl of 20 to an elderly white-haired lady of 80. Many long years have been poured into the great number of works you have translated and your illustrious fame will remain stored in the memory of the Chinese people.” “You are a living, female Norman Bethune, working at the front line of culture.” Those who attended the birthday celebration still remember clearly Gladys Yang’s response. With a faint voice she simply said, “How can I be that good?” Everyone replied with enthusiastic applause.

During the Cultural Revolution Yu Feng was also put in prison. One day she discovered that Gladys Yang was locked up in the same place. No one told Yu Feng she was so close, nor did she see her with her own eyes. Sitting in front of the painting of Gladys Yang, Yu Feng recalled, “At that time, and in that particular environment, only Gladys Yang still insisted on saying ‘thank you.’ When I heard these two words, I knew: that’s definitely Gladys. And it was.”

Gladys Yang has peacefully departed. Now it is our turn to say our final words to this internationalist warrior: “Thank you!”

May she rest in peace.

November 18, 1999

Half of it seems to have ended up on my window. How close is that building that wasn’t there a few months ago? This close:

There isn’t much light in my living room anymore. Good job I’m moving, really.

There’s nothing new about the use of hypodermic needles to threaten and rob people. It happens all over the world. What is unusual is for an entire city like Urumqi to be gripped by fear, with hundreds of people claiming to have been stabbed, and rumors swirling about separatists deliberately spreading AIDS.

But this is not the first time panic over needle attacks has filled a city in China. In January 2002, shopping areas in Tianjin were deserted and people on the streets were in a state of constant vigilance. Everyone knew some version, or versions, of the rumor: that people with AIDS from Henan were taking revenge, either for being infected or for being abandoned by society. Then the rumors spread to Beijing. None of them were true.

Four people were arrested and convicted in Tianjin; three in Beijing. In Tianjin, two of the attackers had used syringes during a robbery. The others were completely unconnected and none of them had AIDS. In one of the Beijing cases, the man didn’t even use a syringe - he was just pricking people with an awl. It was never clear how this really started. All of the people convicted had heard the rumors and copied them.

The panic in Tianjin and Beijing in 2002 was remarkably similar to the situation now in Urumqi. While some people really had been threatened or pricked by needles, it seemed that many of those who flocked to the hospitals had not pricked by anyone. Their “attacks” were just a product of mass hysteria.

The difference between these cities is that Tianjin and Beijing were not already on a knife edge when the rumors began. Unlike Urumqi, no one was beaten to death and there were no protests demanding the resignation of city leaders.

Below, I’ve translated a Southern Weekly report from late January, 2002. It’s worth reading now because we are unlikely to see open reporting like this in Urumqi and because it highlights just how unreliable such rumors are. In one of the claims the paper investigated, people were able to give detailed descriptions about the pursuit and capture of a non-existent attacker. The “victim” did exist, but she had simply misinterpreted a previously unnoticed scratch on her hand.

The original Chinese, via Sina.com, is here. (See also: Snopes on various versions of this rumor around the world.)

Rumors that people are using AIDS-carrying syringes to prick city residents have created anxiety throughout Tianjin. Police in Tianjin have caught four suspects. Tianjin TV broadcast an expert’s explanation: the HIV virus dies a minute and a half after leaving the human body due to congealing of the blood and unless the HIV carrier draws the blood at the scene and immediately injects a large quantity into another person, it is extremely difficult to transmit the HIV virus with a needle.

Why were the rumors so ubiquitous? Because there was no authoritative mainstream voice. It is worth considering how to make use of emergency mechanisms when public security crises occur.

Tianjin’s “anxiety”

For the last two to three weeks, the streets of Tianjin have been unusually deserted and residents’ eyes are on the alert as they have never been before.

The pedestrian shopping streets of Binjiang Road and Heping Road have given the city’s busiest commercial district the name “Tianjin’s Wangfujing.” But the sprinkling of pedestrians make it seem that the name does not match reality. One person from Shandong who came to Tianjin on a business trip says, “If you just looked at the people walking in the streets, you wouldn’t believe this was a big city. It’s pretty much like the small county town back at home.”

The source of the widespread malaise in this huge city of nine million people is a rumor: that a group of people with AIDS from Henan have come to Tianjian and are taking revenge on society by randomly stabbing people with syringes loaded with HIV-infected blood in public places like shopping centers, supermarkets and on the street.

According to a local reporter, people say the rumor began on Christmas Eve when it’s said that a man was pricked in Binjiang Shopping Center. After New Year’s Day [Jan. 1], stories about needle-pricking spread further and further and the number of people pricked became greater and greater until the whole city was filled with anxiety.

Faced with the difficulty in judging whether the rumor was true or false, people chose to take an attitude of “better safe than sorry” and did their best to keep outside activities to a minimum. (Continued)

I originally planned to post this months ago, but other things got in the way and I forgot all about it.

It was just after 11 o’clock one night in April and there was nothing happening at work so I popped out to the shop. I was just starting to cross the road near the Millennium Monument when a policeman leaned out of his car and waved me back. For a moment I assumed this was because the traffic light was red, but then I looked behind him at the source of a deep, heavy roaring sound. Four huge things that appeared to be tanks were rumbling down Fuxing Road heading east towards Tiananmen Square!

Each of them was almost completely covered with a big blue wooden box carrying the name 河北重汽集团 (something like Hebei Heavy Vehicle Group), and at the bottom of each box was a fringe of gold tassles. But the tank treads were still clearly visible behind this disguise.

Much more interesting than my planned trip to the shop, so I jumped into a taxi to follow them.

“Where to?”
“Tiananmen Square.” It seemed like a better thing to say than “follow those tanks!”
“What do you want to see in Tiananmen Square at this time of night?”
“I haven’t got the slightest idea, to be honest, and I’m probably not even going there.” And then I told him what I’d just seen. He laughed.

“They’re not tanks. It’s something to do with fixing the road.”

This didn’t seem like a very likely story to me, but I couldn’t think of any better explanation. As we chatted about the big weird things ahead of us, it became clear that he was just as fascinated and bemused as I was. The tank-things had now disappeared from view because we’d got caught by traffic lights and I decided it was time to go back to work.

He dropped me off at Xidan, but almost immediately I heard that big rumbling sound again. Somehow we’d managed to get in front of them without overtaking. At the head of the convoy was the police car, then the “things,” followed by a truck painted with military camouflage, various emergency vehicles and more police cars.

When I got home, I checked the internet and discovered that other people were also wondering what the hell these tanks in boxes were for. Apparently they were making the same journey at the same time every night.

I went out again on the following night, with a camera this time and just as I stepped outside I heard the noise. Damn, I’d missed them. So, taxi time again. We were luckier with the traffic than the night before and I saw them turn south onto the 2nd Ring Road. Once again I got off at Xidan and, as I’d now guessed, the mysterious tank-things doubled back and rejoined Chang’an Avenue behind me. The result of this night’s outing was the abysmal video above. Apologies for the crappy picture - my camera simply can’t handle this sort of thing at night, but that’s no excuse for my failure to use it properly.

So, what were they and what were they doing? It turned out they were testing the strength of the roads and the subways below. Each night all the underpasses were closed off and fitted with seismic equipment to measure the vibrations. And all of this was in preparation for reinforcement work so that when the real tanks eventually roll down this route for the 60th anniversary parade on October 1, they don’t all fall down a great big hole.

Here are couple of pictures a reporter took of the mock tanks when they stopped over a subway. The report was quickly deleted, but there are plenty of copies around (eg. this one).

Now, of course the real things are out on the roads of Beijing. I passed a huge convoy of tanks, trucks loaded with missiles and other trucks carrying barrels (what would they be for?) at about three o’clock this morning as I was bringing one my cats back home from the vet.