Journey to Village X

Christian missionaries still function in Communist-held parts of China; some have worked for six or eight years within Red territory. Their lot is not easy, and becomes more difficult as the Communist grip tightens. A glimpse of southern Hopeh province came last week in a letter from a Roman Catholic missionary whose name cannot be used. Father C. wrote:

In retrospect I see again my Superior calling me and saying: "Go with the mule cart to the village of X, where the missionary is ill." Before daybreak we start, a Chinese priest and a sick pupil from the school of the sisters. . . .

Soon our mule is in a sweat. We must spare him, so my Chinese priest companion and myself get down to walk in the mud, which reaches to our ankles and pulls off our shoes.

Whose Destination? We arrive at a village. There is a fair, and the Reds are holding a propaganda meeting. Actors play on the stage; each scene is against the Central government. . . . Two young men jump up and point their revolvers at our chests. After one hour of inquisition we are free to go. But before we have gone far we are ordered back. . . . We try to explain that the road is very bad and we will not reach our destination. "Not your, but our, destination is important," says a hard-looking young man who is sitting on a bed, almost naked and smoking a cigarette. Finally the young man snarls at us: "You can go. But do not forget that we are the masters here. Only those may travel whom we permit. Whom we do not permit, do not travel."

I cross Sand River in a small boat. The current is very strong, the water yellow and dirty. . . . Here we missionaries can live only in hiding. Here are many churches, but only a few which are not Red schools, assembly halls, headquarters, or depots for grain confiscated from the people. At 2 o'clock in the afternoon we arrive at the den of the Reds. The sick Father, a Chinese secular priest, is lying on his bed, pale and exhausted. The village Christians tell me that the Father is spiritually rather than physically sick.

On the morning of the third day two soldiers come into my room, announcing that they are going to take over the church and make it a hospital, and that the school will be used by the soldiers. . . .

Whose Victory? The working people are not content. "They are worse than the Japs," says one old peasant indignantly. . . . "At home I cannot give orders to my sons any more. They give orders, they loaf and hold meetings. They are arrogant, and menace everyone with guns. The Japs never touched filial piety."

The Chinese priest got better, but he could not leave because the Reds always came for furniture, instruments, bicycles, everything. After two weeks almost nothing was left. We said Mass in a remote building, but even here they followed, joking and disturbing us. ...

When the Japanese surrendered, the Reds claimed the surrender was to them. The people ask: "And who will crush the Reds, who will beat them, Father? Tell us, for the love of God."

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.