‘Reform is not revolution, opening up is not freedom. We are the mouthpiece of the Party, we can’t broadcast whatever we like.’ As he spoke, he gestured as if to slit his throat. Seeing that I wouldn’t give up, he finally suggested that I pre-record a programme on the topic. This would mean that the script and any taped interviews could be carefully vetted in advance at the studio and the final, edited programme sent to the monitoring department before it was broadcast. Because all pre-recorded programmes had to pass through so many stages of editing and examination they were considered absolutely safe. With live broadcasts there were far fewer checks in place. Everything was dependent on the presenter’s technique and ability to steer a discussion away from problematic areas. Directors would often listen to these programmes with pounding hearts, since mistakes could lose them their jobs, or even their freedom.
I was disappointed not to be able to take calls on air. It would take me two if not three times as long to make a pre-recorded programme in this way, but at least I would be able to make one that was relatively free of Party ‘dye’. I set to work recording a series of telephone interviews.
Contrary to my expectations, when it was broadcast the public response was muted. There was even one very hostile letter of criticism, anonymous of course:
Before, radio programmes were nothing but strings of slogans and bureaucratic jargon. A slightly different tone had finally been achieved, with something of a human touch, so why this regression? The topic is worth examining, but the presenter is shirking responsibility with her cold, distant manner. Nobody wants to listen to someone declaiming wisdom from afar. Since this is a topic for discussion, why aren’t people allowed to speak freely? Why doesn’t the presenter have the courage to take calls from the audience?
The distant effect this disgruntled listener had described was the result of the lengthy editing process. The monitors, long used to working in a certain way, had cut out all the parts of the script where I had tried to introduce a more personal tone into my commentary. They were like the cooks in a big hotel: they only made one kind of dish and adjusted all voices to their accustomed ‘flavour’.
Old Chen saw that I was feeling hurt and resentful.
‘Xinran, there is no point in being angry. Put it behind you. When you walk though the gates of this radio station, your courage is impounded. You either become an important person or a coward. No matter what other people say or what you yourself think, none of it is any use: you can only be one of these two things. You had better face the fact.’
‘Well, what are you then?’ I asked.
‘I’m both. To myself I’m very important, to others I’m a coward. But categories are always more complex underneath. You were discussing the relationship between love, tradition and morality. How can we draw a distinction between these three things? Each culture, each sensibility perceives them differently. Women who have been brought up in a very traditional manner blush if they see a man’s chest. In the nightclubs there are young women who flaunt themselves half naked.
‘Isn’t that an exaggeration?’
‘Exaggeration? The real world of women is full of even greater contrasts. It you want to deepen your understanding of women you should try to find a way to get out of this radio station and observe life. Sitting in an office and a studio all day is no good.’
Old Chen had inspired me. He was right. I had to see more of ordinary women’s lives and let my views mature. But, at a time when travel was restricted, even for journalists, it was not easy. I started to make opportunities whenever I could, collecting information about women on business trips, visits to friends and family, and when I went on holiday. I wove this information into my programmes and noted what reactions it elicited from my listeners.
One day, I was hurrying to the radio station from the university where I was a guest professor. The university campus was a hive of activity at lunchtime, and I had to push my bicycle through crowds of students. Suddenly, I heard several young women having a conversation that seemed to be to do with me:
‘She says Chinese women are very traditional. I don’t agree. Chinese women have a history, but they have a future too. How many women now are traditional? What’s traditional anyway? Padded coats that fasten at the side? Wearing your hair in a bun? Embroidered shoes? Covering your face in front of a man?’
‘I think the tradition she is talking about must be a concept, precepts passed down from the ancestors, or something like that. I didn’t listen to the programme yesterday so I’m not sure.’
‘I never listen to women’s programmes, I only listen to the ones with music.’
‘I’ve heard it, I like going to sleep listening to her programme. She plays nice music and her voice is soothing. But I don’t like the way she harps on about women’s gentleness. Surely she can’t mean that men are savage?’
‘I think she does, a bit. She must be the sort of woman who acts like a spoiled princess in her husband’s arms.’
‘Who knows? She could just as well be the kind of woman who makes her old man kneel at her feet so she can vent her anger on him.’
I was dumbstruck. I didn’t know young girls talked like this. As I was in a hurry, I didn’t stop to ask them about their opinions as I usually would, but resolved to spend some time talking to university students. Since I worked at the university occasionally as a guest professor, it was easy for me to set up interviews there without any bureaucratic hassle. It is always among students that revolutions start; these young people were cresting the wave of change in the modern Chinese consciousness.
Someone told me about a young woman who was a celebrated member of the ‘in-crowd’ at the university, well known for her initiative, modern ideas and opinions. Her name had a fine ring to it: Jin Shuai, ‘golden general’. I invited her to meet me in a tea house.
Jin Shuai looked more like a PR executive than a student. Though her features were unremarkable, she commanded attention. She wore a well-cut navy suit that showed her figure to advantage, an elegant shirt and seductively high leather boots. Her long hair hung loose.
We sipped Dragon Well tea from small vermilion glazed cups.
‘So, Xinran, are you as well read as people say?’
Jin Shuai immediately reversed our roles by asking the first question.
Keen to impress her, I listed some of the books on history and economics that I had read.
She was not impressed. ‘What can those dusty old tomes teach you about human needs and desires? They just witter on about empty theories. If you want to read some books that are of use to you, try
Modern Commercial Management
,
The Study of Personal Relations
, or
The Life of an Entrepreneur
. At least these help you make money. Poor you, you’ve got all those important connections, not counting your thousands of listeners, and you still work day and night to earn a paltry salary. You’ve wasted so much time reading all those books that you’ve missed your opportunity.’
I grew defensive. ‘No, everybody makes their own choices in life . . .’
‘Hey, don’t take it badly. Isn’t it your job to answer listeners’ questions? Let me ask you some more. What philosophy do women have? What is happiness for a woman? And what makes a good woman?’ Jin Shuai drained her cup in one gulp.
I decided to hand the reins to Jin Shuai, hoping she would reveal her true thoughts. ‘I want to hear what you think,’ I said.
‘Me? But I’m a science student, I’ve no idea about social science.’ She had turned strangely modest, but I suspected I could use my interview skills to make her continue.
‘But your opinions are not limited to the sciences,’ I suggested.
‘Yes, well, I do have a few opinions.’
‘Not just a few. You are well known for your opinions.’
‘Thank you.’ For the first time, she spoke in the respectful tone I had previously thought all university students employed.
I seized the opportunity to ask her a question. ‘You are clever, young and attractive. Do you consider yourself to be a good woman?’
‘Me?’ She appeared irresolute for a moment, then replied firmly, ‘No.’
My curiosity was piqued. ‘Why?’ I asked.
‘Waitress, two more Dragon Well teas please.’ The confidence with which Jin Shuai placed her order displayed an ease born of wealth. ‘I don’t have the necessary gentleness and conscientiousness. Good Chinese women are conditioned to behave in a soft, meek manner, and they bring this behaviour to bed. As a result, their husbands say that they have no sex appeal, and the women submit to oppression, convinced the fault is their own. They must bear the pain of menstruation and childbirth, and work like men to keep the family when their husbands don’t earn enough. The men pin pictures of beautiful women above the bed to arouse themselves, while their wives blame themselves for their care-worn bodies. Anyway, in men’s eyes, there’s no such thing as a good woman.’
I queried this. Jin Shuai needed no encouragement.
‘When men’s hormones are raging, they swear undying love. This has given rise to reams of poetry through the ages: love as deep as the oceans or what have you. But men who love like that only exist in stories. Real men make the excuse that they haven’t met a woman worthy of such emotion. They are expert at using women’s weaknesses to control them. A few words of love or praise can keep some women happy for a long time, but it’s all an illusion.
‘Look at those old couples who have relied on each other for decades. You’d think the man would be satisfied, wouldn’t you, but give him the chance and he’ll reject the old to marry the new. The reason he’s bound to give is that his wife is no good. In the eyes of men who keep mistresses, there are still fewer good women. Those men simply see women as playthings. They despise their mistresses, or else they would have married them long ago.’
Jin Shuai paused, and grew solemn. ‘Do you know what sort of woman men want?’
‘I’m not an expert,’ I replied truthfully.
Jin Shuai spoke with an air of authority. ‘Men want a woman who is a virtuous wife, a good mother, and can do all the housework like a maid. Outside the home, she should be attractive and cultivated, and be a credit to him. In bed, she must be a nymphomaniac. What is more, Chinese men also need their women to manage their finances and earn a lot of money, so they can mingle with the rich and powerful. Modern Chinese men sigh over the abolition of polygamy. That old man Gu Hongming at the end of the Qing dynasty said that ‘one man is best suited to four women, as a teapot is best suited to four cups’. And modern Chinese men want another cup to fill with money too.
‘So tell me, how many Chinese women can fulfil all these requirements? All women are bad by these standards.’
Two men at the table next to us turned to look at Jin Shuai from time to time. She continued undaunted.
‘Have you heard the saying “Other people’s wives are always better, but your own children are always best”?’
‘Yes,’ I said, relieved that I could finally claim to know something.
She mused, ‘I once read a book about love where it said: “A hungry lion will eat a rabbit if there is nothing better, but once he has trampled the rabbit, he will abandon it to chase a zebra . . .” The tragic thing is that so many women accept men’s judgement of them as “bad women”.’
Feeling that Jin Shuai counted me among these women, I coloured slightly. She did not notice.
‘Xinran, do you know that it is the really bad women who are the lucky ones? I believe the saying “Money makes men bad; badness makes women money.” Don’t think that we’re all poor students here. Many of us young women live in style without a penny from our parents. Some girls couldn’t even afford to eat meat in the canteen when they first came to university, but now they wear cashmere and jewels. They take taxis everywhere and stay in hotels. Don’t get me wrong though, these girls aren’t necessarily selling their bodies.’
Jin Shuai could see that I looked shocked and continued, smiling.
‘Today, rich men are becoming more exacting in their requirements for female company. They want to parade a “personal secretary” or “escort” with learning. With China’s current shortage of talent, where can so many “personal secretaries” be found, apart from in the universities? A woman with no certificates will only be able to attract some small businessman; the better educated you are, the more you have the chance to hook a big entrepreneur. A ‘personal secretary’ works for just one man, an “escort” works for many. There are three levels of companionship. The first level involves accompanying men to restaurants, nightclubs and karaoke bars. The second level takes it further to include accompanying them to other events such as the theatre, cinema and so on; we call this “selling art not self”. Of course, letting those men fumble with your clothes is part of the deal. The third level involves being at a man’s beck and call night and day, also for sex. If you’re this sort of “personal secretary” you don’t sleep in the university dormitory, except in the unlikely event of your boss going home. Even then, the man mostly lets you stay on in the hotel room he has rented, to make it easier for him to find you when he returns. As a “personal secretary” all your meals, clothes, lodging and travel are taken care of. Nobody dares to cross you when you’re so close to the boss. You’re under one man but over a thousand! If you’re clever, you can soon get some real power, and if you’re really sharp, you’ll never have to worry about money.’
She poured herself more tea.
‘Don’t they say “Times make the man”? The “personal secretary” in China is a creation of Deng Xiaoping’s Reform and Opening Up policy. As soon as China opened up, everyone started chasing money; everybody wanted to be a boss. Many dream of wealth, but few succeed. Have you noticed that everyone’s title is “general manager” or “director” on their business cards? Regardless of the size of the business, their companies inevitably have grandiose names.