Excursions in Mao's China

The President's trip gave American correspondents their first opportunity in more than two decades for a personal look at China. When not covering Richard Nixon's activities, TIME'S Hugh Sidey inspected a secondary school and Jerrold Schecter visited a Peking department store and a division of the People's Liberation Army. Their reports:

Secondary School No. 26

Behind a 30-ft. gray statue of Mao sits Peking No. 26 secondary school, a five-year institution with 3,080 students and the driving spirit of Mao. At the door of the gray building, weatherworn and flaking, are the smiling hosts who have arranged the tour meticulously. The visitors trudge down the cold, dark halls (heat in the rooms only, electric light nowhere) and the first thing, as usual, is tea.

Mao up on the wall. His sayings all over. Wang Chong-chi, 42, a former soldier and vice chairman of the school's revolutionary committee, presides with a broad smile and constant reference to Mao. His ways are the school's ways, his thoughts the students' thoughts. Wang beckons and walks off down the cold halls.

No Noise. The students who have been pouring tea, age 12 or 13, step back against the wall. One smiles. A few wear the red arm bands that designate them as Red Guards. Proud of his operation, Wang keeps hurrying his guests on to see more. First comes a chemistry class. Mao looks down from the wall again. The students sit like robots listening to the teacher talk about analyzing the content of calcium. They recite like soldiers, turning to their books and back again on command, as if executing close-order drill. Nobody slouches, no eyes stray from the teacher to the guests; there is no unnecessary noise. It is like a machine, but the harshness of the moment is softened by the kids' faces. They are kind, eager, respectful, cheerful, warm. There is the scent of life about the place, even though Old Soldier Wang is doing his best to regiment the free spirit.

It is the same in the physics class where they are learning about internal combustion engines. Art class is a little softer. Younger children: they watch their teacher draw a branch and pine needles with an ink brush, and then they bend over their desks, their small hands brushing away.

English class is the place where the full impact of Mao hits an observer. "We love Chairman Mao," is chalked on the board, and below this are the lines: "Our great leader . . . the red sun ... in our hearts . . . love . . . best . . . work for . . . think of . . .be loyal to." On the desks are the English books opened to Lesson I for the eighth grade. "A long, long life to Chairman Mao. Chairman Mao, you are the red sun in our hearts. We are sun flowers. Sun flowers always face the red sun. We think of you day and night. We wish you a long life."

"Who will recite in English?" asks the teacher. All the hands shoot up. Like bursts of machine gun fire they go through the bilingual drills. Wang glows. The teacher leans over and picks up a color picture of Mao and puts it on the board. "Who do you see?" she asks. In unison, the class shouts back in English, "Our beloved leader Chairman Mao." Is this really an English class? One of the guests puts the question to the interpreter. There is some discussion; then she answers simply, "Yes."

There is a sadness about the scene, mellowed by the fact that youngsters are involved, also by a vague sense that maybe Westerners don't really understand, that this may be a necessary step along the way. Who really knows? But walking down those dark halls, with the high voices echoing behind, one feels an inner shudder.

The school has its own miniature transistor factory. In small, whitewashed rooms, the kids hunch over the tiny things, putting them together in silence, with determination. A visitor asks a 15-year-old girl what she wants to be when she graduates. "I wish to be a successor to the revolutionary spirit of the proletariat," she says. She carries an open copy of Mao's little red book. Yes, yes, says the questioner, but how does she want to do that? "I want to do what is beneficial to the people," the girl responds.

He knows that, replies the insistent visitor, but specifically just what does she want to do? "I want to do what the party wants me to do," the girl replies, or at least that is what the translator says. One of the visitors speaks up. "If we had asked that question in America, she would have said she wanted to grow up and get married." The answer is translated and it has an odd effect. Instantly the somber expressions of the girls vanish; they laugh among themselves.

Beat Japan. Soldier Wang continues to smile. Is he going to get into the market with his transistors and compete with Japan, someone asks. Wang straightens. "We are determined we will not only catch up with but surpass Japan because of the wise leadership of Chairman Mao and the system of socialism."

There are students learning acupuncture and hair cutting. Barbers had been looked down upon in the past, explains the guide, but not now. Young boys are not only taught to cut hair but to do it proudly. In one room a girl helps repair shoes; she is a particular example, according to Wang. Shoe repairing was a shameful trade in the old days, and girls "did not like the smell of the shoes. But they have come to realize that what smelled bad was the bourgeois thinking. What has the best smell is the thinking of Chairman Mao." The girl, about 14 or 15, keeps her head bent over the old shoe, pounding on the sole.

Out in the cold air again, the group of Americans grows silent, passes around the hulking figure of Chairman Mao and files onto the buses. Will it all stick in those young minds, particularly if some of them later do go out into the real world? There is no answer. There is doubt, but then there is also the fresh memory of a high school purring like a calculator of some 3,000 parts. Mao has things going all his way at No. 26.

The East Wind Bazaar

A department store covering nearly a full block in eastern Peking, the East Wind Bazaar tells much about the daily life of Peking: its food habits, style trends, folk heroes, drinking habits and sex roles.

As always, Mao is everywhere. His works are on sale in five languages. An entire counter is devoted to posters of the Chairman in various poses, ranging from his youthful days in Yenan to swimming the Yangtze. There is Mao in a rice field, Mao in military dress, Mao surrounded by soldiers and sailors.

Instead of pop heroes like the Beatles, the Chinese teen-agers turn to the stars of the revolutionized Peking opera --although there are also portraits of Marx, Lenin, Engels and Stalin for the less artistic. The theme music from The Red Women's Detachment, the ballet that Nixon saw with Chou, blares over a loudspeaker as young people, many with white surgical masks over their faces to prevent the spread of germs, walk leisurely and politely through the store. The sales help is remarkably courteous; the Chinese never push and shove.

Like Lifebuoy. The soap counter offers at least ten different brands, including Shanghai "Zaozao" soap in a red box that looks suspiciously like the old American brand, Lifebuoy.

Chinese cameras look exactly like the Rolleiflex ($85) from the Shanghai camera factory or the Japanese Canonet ($54.50). The Pearl River Reflex camera, built like a Rolleicord, costs 110 yuan, or about $50--almost two months' pay for the average worker whose wages per month are figured at 56 yuan ($25.45).

The Chinese emphasis on agriculture and light industry is clearly evident in the field of consumer goods. There is plenty of variety and color although the styling is basic, without frills. There are children's dresses, corduroys, a range of tunics and boiler suits. There are red and green and pink hoods and capes for youngsters.

In the Chinese bazaar, the housewares section is vastly superior to those in Russian stores but way below those in America. Like coffeepots in the U.S., the Chinese have many styles of hot-water thermos bottles. They keep water warm all day, thus saving on fuel. Unlike Russian stores the Chinese have a full range of knives, forks, spoons and even butter knives. They range in price from 12-c- to 21-c-.

Shoes made of black corduroy are cheap and sell for $1.20 or $1.98. There are also more expensive shoes made of leather. The liquor counter features a wide variety of wines, the most expensive $2.90 a bottle.

Penny Pills. The most popular section after the posters, cards and comic books--filled with picture stories of revolutionary heroes--is the radio counter. There young men, boys and girls line up to inspect radios that range from a simple medium-wave set for $8.65 called "The East Is Red," to a three-band, eight-transistor Panda brand set for $72.50.

The drug counter offers a variety of acupuncture needles, from $1.95 to $5.80 for a 12 1/2-in. model. One bestseller is the Chinese equivalent of aspirin, called Analgin. There are no birth control pills, but the pharmacist offers a book of ten spermicide tablets. The most popular contraceptive is prophylactics, which come in three sizes. They cost one Chinese cent each. The Chinese also have tranquilizers, which are called by the anglicized popular name, "Milton." The label calls them a pain remover; the pills cost a penny each and can be obtained without prescription. They are not a big seller, the druggist says. Also available is a variety of stomach preparations and digestives.

The food counters are loaded with smoked, canned and fresh goods. Food canning is a highly developed-Chinese art; and apples, peaches, cherries and walnuts sparkle in brightly colored cans. The ducks are piled high. Chicken, smoked and pressed, sells at 70-c- for 1.1 Ibs. There are sausages, kidneys and spareribs for sale. The cookie counter bulges with goodies as does the fresh fruit display of apples, tangerines, pear apples, pineapples and oranges--all in the middle of winter.

The toy counter is the most disappointing part of the store. There are only simple plastic toys and wooden guns with bayonets for 65-c-. A four-engine jetliner, which looks very much like a Pan Am 707 and has an insigne on the box similar to the Pan Am seal, costs $4.70.

Chinese priorities are clearly agriculture and consumer items; heavy industry will still be a long time in coming to the forefront. In the meantime the Chinese Communists are not equating consumer deprivation with revolution. As consumers the Chinese have eclectic tastes, especially in food and clothing, which is growing in abundance and variety, although still not in distinctive styling. As revolutionaries, the Chinese may be purists, but as consumers they enjoy variety.

The 196th Division

Riding for more than two hours and 60 miles east of Peking along the flat plain that moves in an endless wave of villages and fields, past small ponies pulling fertilizer carts, we come to Yuang village, headquarters of the 196th Division of the People's Liberation Army. Formed in 1937 from partisan contingents, the 196th fought against the Japanese and Chiang Kai-shek's Kuomintang, then in Korea against U.S. forces.

A 30-ft.-high statue of Chairman Mao dominates the entrance to the base where we are waved in by a P.L. A. traffic policeman snapping green and red flags in his hands. Near by the troops line up; they practice firing their AK-47 automatic rifles and butt each other with rubber-tipped bayonets shouting "Heighten vigilance to our motherland!"

We are greeted by the vice commander of the division, Keng Yu-chi, 42, who lectures forcefully on the work of the division among the masses and its role in productive labor.

Tough Line. We hear about the three disciplines (obey orders in all your actions; do not take a single needle or piece of thread from the masses; turn in everything captured), and the eight points for attention (speak politely; pay fairly for what you buy; return everything you borrow; pay for anything you damage; do not hit or swear at people; do not damage crops; do not take liberties with women; do not ill-treat captives). Keng makes no direct mention of the U.S. or of the social imperialists (the Russians), but his line is tough. "The danger of world war still exists, and the people should be prepared. The nature of imperialism and all its lackeys will not change." All this is washed down with tea, tangerines, apples and candy.

The tour begins. First stop is the base club, where the vice commander explains the history of the division, which has killed 38,000 men including "Japanese, Kuomintang traitors and American imperialists."

Outside, the soldiers, all in baggy, bright khaki pants and tunics with red collar tabs, practice the arts of war. There are no ranks in the Chinese army, or at least none are worn on uniforms. All dress the same, from division commanders to privates. The officers of each company live with their men and "even our division commander must spend time each year in the company as an ordinary soldier. Every soldier knows immediately who is the superior, including the division and regimental commanders."

Only Basics. An instructor leads the recruits in bayonet practice with padded protective clothing. Teams of six men on each side lunge back and forth at each other shouting, red-faced and sweating. Another group practices taking apart and setting up an 82-mm. mortar. Another instructor conducts a discussion with a small group on how to destroy an M-47 American tank, using a scale model and shouting his lesson in clear, hard tones.

All the P.L.A. soldiers are volunteers serving two years. They receive only about $3 to $4 a month in spending money. The division, in accordance with the words of Chairman Mao, produces its own food. We watch P.L.A. men working to process soy beans into soy sauce, bean paste, vinegar and bean curd. The division also grows its own rice and raises 900-odd pigs. Everything fits into its objective of achieving self-reliance and, as Vice Commander Keng puts it, "lightening the burden of the locality." There is a very basic quality about the whole operation. The necessities of life with no refinements--rice, meat and soy sauce.

We tour the division's own small pharmaceuticals factory, which produces medicine for stomach ailments, aspirin and a digestive candy made from crab apples and honey. In some rooms, women close glass vials with a blow torch as soldiers fill the vials with yellow medicine. The operation is simple and clean. Most of the operations are done by hand.

Lunch is served to the visiting press. Asked about the threat of nuclear war, our host, Vice Commander Keng, hedges and says only, "Our leaders said that we Chinese people would not like to engage in battle with the American people. Rest assured we will not attack first." We find that Keng served in Korea. What does he think of the fighting ability of American soldiers? "Speaking frankly," he replies, "although the American soldiers' firepower is something, their fighting power does not match their firepower."

Then amid platters of duck, sweet and sour carp, braised pork, dumplings, cabbage and mushrooms, beer and port wine, the mood softens. Toasts are offered with fiery 140-proof mao-tai, and the conversation turns to the philosophy of war and military strategy. How has Chinese nuclear strategy changed in the last three years? Keng does not reply. The nonresponse may confirm that there has been a fierce debate and struggle between those in the military who would push to produce a modern technical army with nuclear weapons and those who would follow the wisdom of Chairman Mao and retain a people's army.

After lunch, Keng's men perform an amateur hour, including a skit in which the troops find eggs, a gift from the local peasants. They are not allowed to accept gifts, but finally reach a compromise and exchange a copy of the quotations of Chairman Mao and a letter of thanks for the eggs.

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