The bomb, the split, the UN, Vietnam--every day we are reminded that one quarter of the world's population lives in a nation that is not recognized by ours, eats with chopsticks, and does not use an alphabet.

The blockade of news from inside China has been remarkably effective, shy of one hundred per cent. Confused liberals have no facts on which to base discussions with Marxists or rabid ant-communists. Our universities are staffed by China experts who have not set foot in New China.

From 1955-1960 I had the good fortune to live in China as a high school student. The school I attended in Peking was connected with the Teacher's College, and was regarded as a model school. Entrance was by nation-wide exam, very much like our college boards, except that this exam was used by each city and school as the sole criterion for selection.

Each class sections had about fifty students. We stood in the cafeteria because it had no chairs and the auditorium had only camp stools. The soccer field was ringed with a belt of basketball courts; there were more ping-pong tables than bathrooms. We had no central heat, of course, and since there was always competition between classes to save coal, we frequently went the whole winter without our little stoves; the ink would out by late afternoon.

The students came from all walks of Chinese life. All wore the same blue cotton clothes and ate the same food in the cafeteria. Most students walked to school or took the bus, though many had bicycles. There was no tuition and book fees ran somewhat under five dollars per year for the nationally standardized textbooks.

William W. Hodes '66 moved with his family to Peking, China, in 1955. He returned to the U.S. in 1960.

We spent a lot of time in school. Summer vacations were only fifty-one days long and when a national holiday fell on a Tuesday, we had the Monday off, but had to make it up the next Sunday. The school week was six days long, and classes began every day just before eight. Students who lived near the school were expected to attend the study period which began after breakfast was over in the cafeteria--about seven o'clock.

Old and New

Throughout Chinese society there is a curious combination of feudal values carried over from the past, and new values suddenly necessitated by the revolution. The schools exhibited this mixture in a number of ways.

The approach to literature and writing, for example, was extremely, rigid, clearly showing the influence of both feudal classicism and modern dogmatism. The analysis of literature followed an unchanging pattern from theme to precis, to style, and the writing assignments allowed almost no originality.

The word for dogma in Chinese translates literally to "eight-legged." This comes from the eight-part essays of feudal times which candidates for office had to write. Each of the eight sections of the essay had to conform to an unflexible pattern, each completely prescribed in both form and style. I was reminded of this etymology every time a paper was due, roughly once a week.

The classroom atmosphere in China was much more formal than is usually case here another reminder of the feudal past. The combination of traditional deference to age and the necessity for strict discipline in the early stages of socialist development were clearly visible in the teacher-student relationship.

The class would rise as the teacher entered. During class there was no cross-discussion between students, and they rose to ask or answer a question. Most classes began with formal graded recitations.

After class, students were encouraged to seek help from teachers (though mutual tutoring in small study groups was preferred), but many eyebrows were raised if they used the common rather than the formal terms of address.

The boy-girl relationship also exhibited the Chinese combination of ancient feudal values and the prudishness of a young revolution. Classes were not made co-ed until 1958, and even then it was a rare sight indeed to see a boy and girl even talking to one another after class. Dating was completely unknown in China, and later on in life men usually married the first woman they got to know.

Furthermore Chinese students did not smoke or drink, as these were grounds for immediate expulsion without warning.

Politics in School

The school was definitely the center of all activities. Not only academic life, but also social and political affairs are largely held within the school grounds. Students rarely visited each other's homes because there was little to set one home apart from another. Much more common was a group outing to a nearby park or to the movies (20 cents for the most expensive seats). Sports played a very important role, and the school grounds were alive with activity from soccer to ping-pong until night fall. No nightlife existed, and even if it had, nobody would have been able to take time away from the heavy homework load.

All of these activities, including studies, took second place to politics. Young Pioneer meetings, discussions on politics and the Marxist classics, reports on current affairs by the Party secretary of the school, group readings of People's Daily (Renmin Ribao) editorials--these were frequent activities, and attendance was enforced by social pressure.

When a political movement became a nation-wide campaign, such as the "Let a Hundred Flowers Bloom" campaign, or the "Anti-Rightist" movement, or the steel drive, even classes would go by the boards; the schools joined factories and offices and farms in round the clock activity.

The "Hundred Flowers" campaign took its name from a speech by Chairman Mao in which he called for public criticism of all aspects of the revolution: "...let a hundred flowers bloom, let a thousand ideas compete."

During this movement, students wrote criticism of the school administration and pasted them up on the walls around the school grounds. After a few days, every inch of open space in the school was covered over more than once, and people began to climb on ladders to paste up criticisms. The soccer field was draped with clothslines to supported the flood of messages. When the public address system announced the location of especially good suggestions, the students and teachers crowded around from all over the school. The administration officials spent hours going from poster to poster, taking notes.

During the steel campaign, we dug up the basketball courts to make small furnaces, and students worked alongside teachers in shifts, day and night. I remember pulling a cart-load of scrap iron from a railway siding to the school (probably about ten miles), catching a few hours of sleep on a desk, and then taking my turn at the furnaces. The slogan then was "in the furnace we temper steel, outside we temper people."

Regular Work Program

In calmer times, students were still required to take part in manual labor, though not at such a frantic pace. One of the six school days every week was spent in a local factory, doing some unskilled task. My class was set to work polishing shutter pieces for a local camera assembly plant.

When digging of the Peking-Tientsin canal reached a point a few blocks away from our school we spent our work days with pick and shovel and bamboo carrying-poles. Later, we went to plant trees as part of a barricade against the fierce winds of North China, helped the people in a nearby village clear their fields of corn stalks, and finally spent a week in a commune, helping farmers dig a reservoir that would double as a fish-breeding pond.

This account may have painted a grim picture for Harvard students: the long hours, the hard work, and the strait-laced morals. What is missing is the exuberance of a whole society making itself anew, the almost frantic enthusiasm with which the Chinese go about their tasks. This must be lived to be appreciated; to my fellow students in Peking the hardships were the joys of creation