Mao's mausoleum: Myth replaces man

What are we looking at?

But if you go carrying pictures of Chairman Mao
You ain't gonna make it with anyone, anyhow
--"Revolution," The Beatles

In Beijing, as told, I beheld a very strange sight. Specifically, I saw what was purported to be the body of Chairman Mao lying in state.

Mao Zedong --Chairman Mao --had a long and consequential life. Mao was born the son of a peasant farmer in Hunan province and rose out of obscurity to become one of the most renowned historical figures of the modern era (for better or worse). In 1976, at the age of 89, Mao passed. That was 37 years ago.

But what was it that I saw, really?

The simple physics of the matter raise questions about how much of the display was actually human. After all, an embalmed body is a substantially reduced human corpus.

Embalming involves removing the viscera of the subject, performing certain cosmetic procedures (placing plastic "eye caps" under the eyelids to hold shape, sewing the mouth shut, and so on), and pumping formaldehyde or arsenic into the arteries and tissue. But after nearly four decades of undertaker magic, how much of what I saw in that glass case in Tiananmen was actually human?

Sculpture outside Mao's Mausoleum

Mao's legacy adds another dimension to the question. Who was he? Was he Mao Zedong, the communist revolutionary and social engineer, the scourge of both the Kuomintang and the Imperial Japanese Army? Was he China's great visionary that led her from an agrarian backwater to the dominant world power that she is today? Or was he a brutal dictator that inflicted famine and disease on his people with the disastrous "Great Leap Forward?"

A limo driver in Shanghai told me that in his youth in the first decades following Mao Zedong's death, Chinese were required to refer to him as "Leader Mao." To refer to him as simply "Mao" would raise eyebrows and possibly attract negative attention from authorities.

Forward, China!

Times have changed. In 2009, one of Mao's grandchildren, Kong Dongmei, was reported to have assets of nearly a billion dollars. Sort of flies in the face of Mao's vision of a classless society, doesn't it?

Whatever. The long and short of it is this: Mao, the Idea, has expanded out of all proportion to Mao, the Man.

It seems to me that the object I saw in the glass case was a manifestation of ideas; a metaphor upon which each of us imposes his own interpretation.

Chairman Mao isn't the first (V.I. Lenin, George Washington, King Henry V), nor the last (Osama bin Laden, John Lennon, Pope John Paul II) to undergo this transformation.

Novelty playing cards, for sale in a gift shop in Beihai Park.

It's a simple fact and a common recurrence in the human chronicle:

Myth replaces man.

A Buddhist herald

One day in Shanghai, we entered a Buddhist temple on Jin'an Road in Xintiandi. Not the Temple of the City God. Not the Temple of Peace and Tranquility. Just a small neighborhood temple. I never learned its name.

Inside the dazzle of color, the mind-tickling symbols, the solemnity. The air in the courtyard was heavy with incense. The day was warm.

In the main hall, where the Buddha sat, the monks were performing a ceremony. Four or five elderly Chinese people stood in a row before them, heads lowered. The monks droned a chant.

A bell would ring. The supplicants would kneel on cushioned ottomans, clasp their hands before them and bow to the Buddha.

The ceremony ended. The monks stood and removed their red sashes. The elderly people relaxed and wandered into the courtyard.

One old gentleman approached us. He was very short and very dignified. He wore cuffed trousers and a blue jacket, impervious to the heat of the day. "Where do you come from?" he asked. He spoke English very well.

"The United States," I told him. "A place called Oregon. And you?"

"I am from Beijing," he said, proudly. He indicated the other elderly people. "This is my family. We have come here from all over China to celebrate the 100th anniversary of my mother's birth."

Honoring the ancestors, I thought. Very cool.

His next question came out of the blue. "What religion are you?"

I didn't answer. Not that I wouldn't. It's just that I couldn't. So I shrugged.

His inquiry took a new path. "What is it that brought you to this temple on this day?" His tone hinted at destiny.

I realized then that he was trying to reach me, trying to find a way to reveal the mysteries of Buddhism. And that made me like him. But I couldn't find an answer to offer him. So I asked, "Can I take your picture?"

He seemed to take it in stride. He smiled. He waved over his wife and I handed her my camera. We posed with him and she took our picture.

Here it is.

There is a Buddhist Temple here in Inner Southeast, too. Down on Madison and 25th. The Dharma Rain Zen Center. One of these days, I'm going to check it out. When I do, I'll be sure to remember my friend from Beijing.

China retrospective

Standing guard at the Ming Tombs

One of the oddities of traveling over the international date line (west-to-east) is that you gain a day. So, even though I left Shanghai at 1pm on Wednesday and spent 22 and a half hours traveling, I arrived in Portland at 4:30pm, also on Wednesday.

Dragon boat off the Bund

It was a long journey. At the end of it, I was met by my smiling African girl, who'd prepared a wonderful homecoming meal.

May Day celebration on the Huangpu River

The anxiety and stress of getting from one side of the globe to the other is leaking out of me now, being replaced by the wonder and amazement of all I've seen in the past 2 weeks.

Dim sum lunch in Shanghai

A funny thing about travel: In the moment, when you're scrambling through airport security, when you're cooped up in coach at the back of a passenger jet for 12 hours, when you're doing the zombie shuffle through US Customs, travel seems like a big hassle and not a lot of fun.

Full appreciation of what you've experienced only comes with the perspective afforded by time. The wealth of images, smells, sounds, and sensations must settle into your being, changing you, changing the way you view the world. That, my friends, is the most sublime reward that travel offers.

Guardians in the temple of the City God

Back home in the Rose City. Thinking about China.

Beggar outside Shanghai Museum

Ancient painted tea cup

Fruit vendor

Ravenous coi

Delicate Chinese girl with porcelain skin

Chinese girl

Dig that pink hat!

Touching the dragon turtle instills longevity

Blind flute player in Beijing

Girl in Tiananmen Square

Setting sail on Beihai Lake

"The Naked Emperor" --painting in an art gallery

One thousand Buddhas (plus two)

Great Wall

Our Beijing guide, Sunflower

What a trip!

On the Great Wall

Snaking like a dragon along the mountain tops at Mutianyu

The Great Wall of China is the longest man-made structure in the world. Its total length, including spurs, outposts, and connecting trenches runs over 13,000 miles. It's a work of many centuries. Archaeologists estimate that the first construction began in the 7th century BC and continued off and on through the 1500s. Various Chinese Emperors, most recently those of the Ming Dynasty, used the Wall to defend China from Manchurian and Mongol invaders.

Ultimately, though, the Great Wall of China joins Sweden's Vasa warship and Ronald Reagan's Strategic Defense Initiative as a military flop. According to lore, over a million lives were spent in its construction; the cost in resources and effort is incalculable.

A clear day above Beijing's smog

The Wall runs along the highlands of China's ancient northern border. It includes some 25,000 watch towers, which during the Ming Dynasty were manned by 25 to 30 soldiers who kept a watchful eye on the passes to the north. When enemy raiders were spotted, a cannon shot signaled troop reserves behind the wall who rushed to the defenses to meet the threat.

The concept seems sound enough. And, in fact, the Wall did function as designed to help repel Manchu invasions in the early 1600s. But both before and after this period of relative success were a long string of failures. The Wall proved ineffective at preventing a highly-mobile invading force from going around it as the Mongols demonstrated in the 13th century. And, of course, no defenses can stand against internal betrayal as the Li Zicheng rebels proved when, in 1642, they seized Beijing  and left the Ming Dynasty defenders isolated on the Wall with no base of supply.

On the Wall

On a day when the American Consulate had the air pollution index at 240 ("unhealthy"), we took a drive to the north of Beijing to see the Great Wall at Mutianyu. This was the same site that President Clinton visited back in the 90s. A photo of him hung on the wall at the foot of the tram-line that took us up to the top of the ridge.

Some shallow, some deep. Some high, some low.

When we got to the top, the Wall stretched out like a stone highway to our left and right. Sunflower, our guide, led us to the west. The walkway, set between brick and mortar parapets, was uneven with plenty of opportunity for stumbles. Rough, uneven stone stairs of varying heights and depths led up and down the steeper inclines and I won't lie to you: I was sucking air as I labored up the particularly-steep ascent that punctuated our western progress. (Nimble-footed Calee beat me to the top with scarce effort.)

Drag my ass up that?

As I climbed, I searched my mind for a mantra to distract me. For some strange reason, I settled on the hopscotch chant that Penny Marshall and Cindy Williams did in the opening of the Laverne & Shirley teevee show.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 Schlemiel! Schlimazel! Hasenpfeffer Incorporated

Don't ask me why. I don't know why. But it worked. I got to the top.

A bit tuckered

We'd arrived at the Wall early, to avoid the worst of the crowds, and it paid off. As we made our way back down, the walkway was considerably more crowded. The variety of languages and nationalities we encountered was itself a marvel. Italians, Mexicans, Poles, Cameroons, Canadians, French, Germans and, of course, Chinese. More besides.

From the western terminus of the tourist-accessible Wall we went back east and found the place where you can ride summer toboggans back down to the village. That was a lot of fun. The rush of wind as I made my descent was perfect antidote for the hot, sweaty climb up.

Summer toboggan

We got back to the car and headed back toward Beijing. We stopped along the way to visit the Ming Tombs, were Ming Dynasty emperors constructed their extravagant final resting places. Marble figures marked the pathway that led to the tombs. Their rounded shapes conveyed serenity and acceptance. A Buddhist thing, I suppose.

And so I close with a few photos of those stone figures that guard the road to deceased Chinese Emperors. Tomorrow, God willing, I fly back to the United States. I can't wait to see my wife. And a special thanks to my dear brother and sister-in-law for the hospitality and generosity.

Bye-bye, China.

Stone Guardians at the Ming Tombs

Sunflower called this a Chinese unicorn.

Kneeling elephant

Camel

Lion

Warrior

A very strange sight in Tiananmen Square and photos from the Forbidden City

Mausoleum in Tiananmen Square

Massive Tiananmen Square is the beating heart of Beijing. The huge plaza, capable of containing a million people, is bordered on the north by the Forbidden City, where Chinese emperors of the Ming and Qing dynasties ruled China for 500 years. On the eastern side of the plaza is the National Museum and on the west is the Great Hall of the People. In the middle sits the Mausoleum of one of the 20th Century's most influential persons, Mao Zedong --that is, Chairman Mao.

Chinese honor guard. It's all business with these guys.

I'd heard that the good Chairman yet lies in state, 37 years after his death, and that was confirmed by Sunflower, our tour guide. Whatever it may say about the morbid demons that drive my curiosity, I found the opportunity impossible to resist. So I overcame Brother Calee's indifference and we queued up to join eager Chinese citizens in the long but fast moving line.

What the hell was that?

Cameras and cell phones are forbidden in the mausoleum, so we handed ours over to Sunflower, who remained outside. I toyed with the idea of bringing my little digital in with me to try and squeeze off a shot on the sly, but you know, the stone-faced soldiers that stood at the entrance convinced me that it was not such a good idea.

We joined a human river that flowed steadily into a vast, dim hall. A red curtain obscured the southern wall. The high ceiling was lost in shadow.

Two streams of humanity flowed across the marbled floor, never pausing, past a glass case. Within it was a strange sight. A figure lay horizontally on a platform, as if in sleep. A bright red flag, adorned with yellow hammer-and-sickle covered the figure from mid-chest down. A yellow glow seemed to emanate from within the head. The experience had a dream-like quality that makes my recollection uncertain, but I do remember catching a whiff of recognition in the shape of the head, the soft flesh under the chin, the round face, crowned by the high forehead and the crescent of dark hair. Yes, that's what I remember from the photographs. My God! Is it real?

Modern Chinese artist's interpretation

The whole thing was over before I could fully grasp it. The human river flowed inexorably and soon enough we found ourselves back out in the sunlight. Sunflower met us at the exit and we went from there to tour the Forbidden City.

But it was a strange sight. A very strange sight, indeed.

Chairman Mao. I'll be damned. That was Chairman Mao.

That guy in the portrait looks familiar...

Photos from the Forbidden City

Back to Shanghai tomorrow!