In this post, an admiring peasant of the great leader reflects on the grand memorial of Chairman Mao.
Today, we remembered a great man. Mao Zedong, a man who gave so much to the great land of China, had died. We learned nine days ago of our great leader’s demise from heart failure. Since then, nothing has quite been the same. I traveled to Beijing to participate in the grand memorial in Tien An Men Square. I found a pair of trousers without any holes and wore a black arm band I had been given by a friend. As I made my way over to the square, I passed foreign diplomats coming to pay their respects. Dressed in their finest, I suddenly felt powerless in this great wide world. I made my way to the square where I stood behind groups of people from all over the world. Women from Africa, South American men, emotionless North Koreans. I felt as if Mao’s death had rocked the world in a thousand directions, causing all of these foreigners to be in China at this very moment. I found the end of the line leading to the great hall, where I would be allowed to pay my respects to the great leader, chairman Mao. With my head down, I felt the tears of other Chinese around me. The mood was perpetually solemn.
The line to the great hall moved slowly. But no one complained. This would be our last chance to thank our leader. I climbed the steps past the massive concrete columns; I passed a funeral book and paused. What could I, a simple peasant, say to the great leader? Unable to think of anything worthwhile, I paused to write, “Thank you, Chairman Mao.” Before I could write anything else, the endless crowd of people behind me jostled me forward. Around me, I noted the numerous mourning wreaths, I was soon sure that Chairman Mao meant many things to all of China. I stood on a red carpet, headed toward the coffin of the great leader. I began to shake as I walked closer to the coffin. But soon enough, it was I that stood, looking into the face of Chairman Mao. Covered in red and yellow flowers, he looked peaceful. An enormous portrait of him rested above the coffin. Below it, a banner said something about how all of China mourns this loss. At this point I was trying too hard to fight back tears to fully know.
Beside the coffin stood various government officials, I silently walked away, too ashamed to look these men in the eyes. I could feel their pain, burning a hole in my back. These men who had known Mao as so much more than I ever would. Their pure shock was unbearable, as they aimlessly shook hands with the people who remained so devoted to Mao all of these years.
I left the great hall in tears. I no longer cared of what others thought of me. I would rather show my devotion to this man than care about others. I decided that the people who cried were actually stronger, and more committed to the leader. I felt as if an era had ended; I had lost a parental figure. I asked a man beside me also in tears where the great leader would be after today. He replied that Chairman Mao had earned the honor of being embalmed and put in a special mausoleum. I thanked the distraught man and went on my way. Making my way through the crowd of people, I felt more connected with other Chinese people than ever before. This bond, this similarity of loving Chairman Mao, has kept us together all of these years. Before I leave Beijing tonight to return to my family, I hope to look at the city that Beijing has become, and thank the great leader for making China what it is today.
Xun Rui
荀瑞
