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The Great Leap Famine, the Cultural Revolution and Post Mao Rural Reform: The Lessons of Rural Development in Contemporary China

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Introduction

China scholars in the West are fascinated with ‘The Great Leap Forward famine’ but mostly not because of the famine itself. Like many other poor countries in the world, there is nothing special about famines in China. Reading the chronology of any Chinese county gazettes, one is abhorred to see the frequency and severity of cyclical famines. A look at any county record would produce a few famines in modern history. An incomplete record showed more than a dozen famines in Jimo County gazettes.[1] Also in Shandong, Zichun District Gazettes had recorded 34 famines, and several of which resulted in cannibalism in the early days.[2]

As a rule, famines are usually triggered off by natural disasters. Human activities, such as hoarding grain for profit and lack of organized relief effort on the part of the government, usually exacerbated the already bad situation. However, under normal circumstances, people could hardly blame anyone for the occurrence of famines. What made the Great Leap Forward famine different from others is the government’s policies and behaviors in triggering the famine and the way it carried out famine relief. In other words, people can blame the government for what had happened. The major debate in the China field regarding the Great Leap Forward famine is, of course, how much the Chinese Communist government, particularly Mao, should be blamed for the catastrophe. There have been at least three different verdicts about the causes of the famine. The first verdict, given by Maoist Government following the Great Leap Forward, downplayed the impact of human errors and attributed the famine largely to the three years of natural disasters and the Russian betrayal.[3] At the time, the authorities divided the blame in mathematical terms as qifen tianzai, sanfen renhuo (seventy percent natural disaster, and thirty percent of human error). This verdict basically exonerated the government from a major blame for the Great Leap Famine. There had been no talk about the responsibilities for the famine in any official documents, until the Deng Xiaoping era. This is also the most common response farmers gave concerning the direct causes of the Great Leap Forward famine in rural Shandong and Henan, where the worse famine conditions occured.[4]

The revisionist verdict sponsored by the Deng Xiaoping Government since 1978, twenty years after the incident, recognized the impact of natural disasters, but also downplayed impact of the natural disasters. The Dengist government reversed the mathematical division of blames into sanfen tianzai, qifen renhuo, (thirty percent natural disasters and seventy percent of human errors), and it also, for the first time, began to publish the estimated figures of people who died during that famine, (which ranged from 20 million to 40 millions). It thus placed the major blames on the Maoist government for triggering as well as handling the famine. In evaluating the second verdict, one has to weigh the factor of political expediency, which started the revision of the previous verdict. The serious power struggle going on at the top of the Chinese political hierarchy and the tremendous stakes involved colored the verdict, and it was by no means any more objective than the first verdict.

The third verdict given by some Chinese and Western scholars is that natural disaster did not play any significant role, and the famine was caused by human errors. It argues that natural disasters were common and frequent in northern China, but they seldom automatically translated into famines, let alone famines of the scale and extent of the Great Leap Forward. Many Chinese scholars ‘suffered’ under the Communist rule in China and their resentment against the Communist policies is understandable. However, Chinese intellectuals are also known for their tendency to despise farmers, despite Mao’s deliberate effort to ‘educate and transform’ them during the Cultural Revolution. As a group, Chinese intellectuals, in contrast to the farmers, may have suffered the least during the Great Leap Forward famine. The government, despite the grain shortages, was able to extract enough grain from the rural areas (in fact many rural areas suffered because the government extracted too much grain from them in the first phases) and made sure that the urban population was adequately provided. Rural residents, as grain producers, on the other hand, did not enjoy priority in the government’s centralized grain planning. Consequently, farmers in disaster-stricken regions suffered much more severe grain shortages during the so-called Great Leap Forward famine. Therefore it may sound ironic when Li Zhisui, Mao’s physician, professes that the purpose of his writing of his memoirs was to educate Chinese people about their sufferings under Maoist regime.[5] If the Chinese people, particularly farmers and workers who made up 95 percent of the Chinese population, suffered under the Maoist government, they should be the first to know. Why do people need to be educated about their own life experiences? If Chinese farmers and workers had suffered under the Maoist regime the way the current Chinese Government and Chinese and foreign scholars asserted, why has Mao become more and more popular among the Chinese farmers and workers?[6] It is possible to attribute Mao’s popularity while alive to government propaganda and manipulation. But Chinese official as well as the not-so-official efforts to tarnish Mao’s image after his death should have more than offset that.[7] We cannot simply condemn the Chinese farmers and workers as not knowing what was best for themselves or accuse them all of being victims of amnesia, as many Chinese elite are suggesting.[8]

This paper attempts to briefly examine not only the blames the developing and modernizing Maoist state had to bear for the Great Leap Forward famine in light of the three different verdicts, but also the connections between the Great Leap Forward and the Cultural Revolution, as well as the post Mao rural reform. More importantly, I want to look at the lessons of rural development in contemporary China from rural residents’ perspective.

Great Leap Forward and the Ensuing Famine

Critics of Mao blamed the Maoist state for the famine following the Great Leap Forward largely because Mao supported establishing the gigantic people’s communes and the big public dining halls. These factors, without question, contributed to the severity of the famine when crises struck. However, many farmers also say that these factors alone could not have resulted in famine the way it did, and not all communes had suffered famine either.[9] The commune was a big unit, bigger than anything the Communists had previously organized. And the procession from mutual aid groups to the lower level agricultural cooperatives, to the higher level of agricultural cooperatives and finally to the people’s commune was so fast it left farmers no time to catch their breath. However, the majority of mutual aid groups and agricultural cooperatives had been doing well, and production and yields had been increasing in the early and mid 1950s. 1958, the year when the people’s communes were being set up, actually witnessed bumper harvests throughout most of China.[10] Of course, in many places, the bumper crops were not properly harvested, and for various reasons, some crops were left in the fields to rot. In some places, too many farmers were dispatched to engage in steel making or irrigation projects. In other places, irresponsible local officials ordered farmers to plow the fall crops under in order to plant winter wheat to meet their superior’s quota.[11] But there was no evidence to suggest that the communes were too big a unit to cultivate or properly harvest the crops. The blame should go to the wrong decision making of the local officials.

Before the Great Leap Forward famine, the 1950s were a decade of unprecedented triumphs for the Chinese people and the Communist state. The successes of the land reform, the military confrontation with the U.S. led UN forces in Korea, the socialist transformation of industry and commerce, and the organization of mutual aid groups, lower level and high level agricultural cooperatives resulting in significant increase of grain yield, created a climate of triumphalism. Conventional wisdom regarding what was possible and impossible has become irrelevant under the new circumstances. The importance of social organization has been proven and witnessed by farmers. Never before had Chinese farmers seen so many dramatic changes in their lives, with new organizations, new farm implements, new fertilizers, and new ways of life. As a rule, people relax their guard against possible dangers amid of successes. Many farmers, particularly poor farmers, began to feel that the Communist Party was representing their best interests and their policies could not be wrong, When things were going well, they were willing to follow the Communist policies, even blindly.[12]

Major village leaders who were mostly Communist Party members, and who owed their power and authority to the party, were willing to push the party’s policies if it did not hurt them directly. They also learned from their experiences that they could not successfully resist their superior’s initiatives. More importantly, many commune and county government officials acquired much more control over local resources during the agricultural communization movement. The Jimo Commune and County Government, for example, took away from production brigades materials and grains valued at 5.71 million yuan during 1958 and 1959 without compensation, which seriously hurt farmers’ incentive.[13] Some commune and county officials did not know much about conditions of rural life, but they wanted their orders obeyed by the people under their jurisdiction.[14] This did not cause much trouble in itself when there was enough food to eat in the public dining halls.

Some scholars accused the public dining halls of being the major culprit of the famine. The public dining halls as an emerging institution in the countryside had attracted many criticism because of their numerous shortcomings and problems. Among other aspects, the foods cooked were not up to everybody’s tastes, and it could be wasteful compared with individual household cooking. However, all these were not insurmountable problems. What the critics did not usually recognize was that the public dining halls had enjoyed farmers’ support in the beginning. They liberated many people, particularly women, from the traditional burden of cooking, processing the grain and washing dishes. As the scale of cooking increased, it actually saved fuel.[15] At the time, factories, schools, and government offices all had public dining halls, where employees could get their ready-cooked meals at the price of cost. Most farmers regarded this as an advantage workers and other government employees enjoyed over them. They wanted the same benefit.[16] The establishment of public dining halls was supposed to extend the same benefit to farmers. Du Shixun, deputy party secretary of Liu Jiazhuang Commune, Jimo County, was one of few local officials opposed to public dining halls for its wastefulness. In his candid letter to Mao Zedong, he said that with the establishment of public dining halls nobody wanted to cook at home any more, but the economy at the time could not support such an wasteful life style.[17] There was no evidence to suggest that the public dining halls actually caused the famine by itself, or that the public dining halls were unpopular among farmers. In fact, many farmers recalled the beginning of public dining halls with fond memories. Some farmers said that they never had eaten so well in their life, and never before could they eat as much as they wanted. The food was much better than at home, with meat and tofu dishes and fried cakes.[18] As a result, they consumed much more grain than they usually would. As one farmer in South Village commented, they never had consumed so much grain in such a short time in their lives.[19]

With the bumper harvests of 1958 and the establishment of people’s commune, many people, local officials and ordinary people, felt that the grain shortage had become something of the past. They relaxed their guards, and began to handle grain very carelessly. They did not harvest the crops as carefully as they should, and threw away the leftovers in the public dining halls very carelessly. The unrealistic assumption was that if they run out of grain, they could always get more from the commune or the government.[20] The sad reality was that Chinese society at the time could by no means afford this kind of wasteful life style.

When there was plenty food to eat, most problems and shortcomings of the people’s communes and the public dining halls were concealed. But as soon as grain shortage was felt, all other problems and shortcomings began to turn their heads. As rationing of food had to be imposed in the public dining halls, some village officials began to eat more than their fair shares, and some of them began to steal grains to make sure that their family had enough to eat.[21] This hurt the public morale, and ordinary villagers began to find ways to get more food for themselves. As Du Shixun, deputy party secretary of Liu Jiazhuang commune asserted, in the struggle for more grain, farmers would defeat village leaders as well as government attempts to extract more grain from the countryside. If the government wanted to take the grain after the crops were harvested, farmers took them before crops were harvested. If the government wanted to take the grain in the fields, farmers would preempt it before crops were ripe.[22] That was why there was the widespread practice of eating grain crops during the Great Leap Famine in the countryside.

By eating grain crops, farmers eventually damaged the prospects for good harvests and hurt themselves in the end. The practice of eating green crops became widespread mostly because people were hungry. As Du Shuxun, the deputy party secretary of Liu Jiazhuang commune told village leaders, they should understand villagers who ate green crops, reminding them that people who were not hungry would not eat them.[23] It was one thing to understand farmers, but another thing to evaluate the impact of eating green crops. As the practice became wide spread, some places lost all their crops to this practice, which meant that honest farmers who did not participate or participated less, in eating green crops, would lose, and that everybody was forced to face even worse food shortages in the end. The widespread practice of eating green crops only made the grain shortage much worse.[24]

The loss of crops to natural disaster and to chiqing (eating green crops), depleted farmers’ hope for a recovery for the next season, which led to a serious population exodus in Jimo County. This, in turn, started a vicious cycle. As grain shortages worsened, many young and able farmers began to flee the countryside, searching for opportunities outside their hometown. More than 80,000 able farmers left Jimo County in 1960 alone. Some villages in Jimo lost more than two thirds of their labor force.[25] Because of labor shortage, and low morale, 1,355 million mu of land in Jimo laid waste, causing an estimated grain loss of 50 millions kilos and a serious grain shortage for 673,300 people in Jimo county in 1960.[26]

Severe whether conditions in 1959, 1960 and 1961 only made things worse. Jimo County, one of the worst hit places in the whole country, suffered spring draft and summer floods for three consecutive years. On June 30, 1958, a ten-hour rainstorm with a precipitation of 249 mm caused 22 rivers to overflow and wrecked 69 dams and reservoirs. On June 15, 1959, intense rain damaged 75,900 mu crops, wrecked 4,629 houses and killed 8 persons. In summer of 1959, there was a locust breakout in five communes that ruined 18,584 mu crops.[27] On May 27, 1959, a hailstorm ruined 31,000 mu crops of five communes in west of Jimo County, causing an estimated grain loss of 1.35 million kilos. On July 27, 1960, a hurricane attacked the whole county, ruining 777,000 mu of crops. On August 17, 1961 a rain storm with a precipitation of 230 mm in three hours flooded 280,000 mu crops.[28] On top of that, there were also other minor natural disasters.[29] These natural disasters, compounded by other problems, caused severe grain shortages in Jimo County. Most rural women stopped having periods, and many old folks suffered from swollen legs. As a result, Jimo population had for the first time since 1953 negative growth, with minus 14,300 in 1960, and minus 18,843 in 1961.[30] There were no doubt, Jimo people, like people in other places, suffered tremendous grain shortages. Many, mostly old people, died of diseases caused by malnutrition and hunger. Among them were my paternal and maternal grandfathers who were both 60 years old in 1960. Young people could steal green crops in the fields, and they were allowed to eat more because they had to work. Old folks like my grandfathers did not work in the fields at the time, and could not eat green crops as conveniently as the younger people. When food shortages took place, people ate tree leaves, vegetable roots and other wild vegetables. The central government delivered many varieties of wild plants from Yunnan and Guangxi provinces: one was shaped like a small dog with golden hairs, which Jimo people called jinmao gou (golden-haired dogs); another was shaped like pig livers with a dark red color which Jimo people called yezhu gan (wild hog liver). Each family got a big quantity of them free of charge, but they were very hard to swallow and digest. Old folks like my grandfathers had a hard time eating them. Poor nutrition weakened their health and they became very susceptible to diseases, and were the first to die.

There was no doubt the Great Leap Forward turned out to be a failure despite the fact that the country made great stride in many other ways. The national industrial bases were greatly expanded, and the foundations of important rural infrastructure were laid during the Great Leap Forward. The most important four reservoirs in use in Jimo County today were all built during the Great Leap Forward.[31] But the government and the people’s commune suffered tremendous setbacks. Under pressure, Mao accepted some responsibility for the failure, and made a self-criticism at the 7000 person meeting in Beijing from January 11 to February 7 in 1962.[32] The Great Leap Forward ended without an official ending. But because the natural disaster did occur, it was not very easy to convincingly pin down the real culprit for the famine. For all we know, Mao might never have been convinced that the Great Leap Forward was wrong in design. He might still think that if only the weather had been favorable and local officials had been less arbitrary than they had been, it would have succeeded.

The Great Leap Forward ended up in a unprecedented grain shortage under the Communist rule in China. But it was not the only thing that was unprecedented. There were no grain riots, no peasant rebellion, no grain hoarding for profits, no selling of children and wives, which would have been normal occurrence with a famine like that in Jimo and in China in general. It was so unlike China that even today many younger people still asked their parents why they did not storm the government granaries which were not even guarded by any military forces.[33] Is not this something worthy studying too? Mao did not talk about anding tuanjie (security and order) at the time, as the current Chinese leaders do today, but his government was able to maintain order and security in the face of such unprecedented national disaster. Why?

There is no question that Mao bore tremendous responsibility for the Great Leap Forward famine. If he had not pushed for the Great Leap Forward and the establishment of peoples’ communes in such a hasty manner, the Chinese people would have been in a better position to deal with the natural disasters. Without the wastefulness of the public dining halls, the impact of the natural disasters would have been much less. On the other hand, without the organized relief efforts of the Maoist state, the impact of the natural disasters of 1959, 1960 and 1961 would have been much greater in Jimo for all we know. That was why many farmers say ‘without the Government’s relief efforts, more people would have died.[34] In 1960, six southeast provinces donated 215,000 kilos of grain, 650,000 kilos of dried vegetables and large quantities of winter clothes to Jimo County.[35] In the same year, Qingdao municipal government provided Jimo County with 110,000 suites of clothes, 12,790 quilts, 10,052 meters of cloth, 8,010 kilos of cotton, 54,677 pairs of shoes and hats, 125,000 kilos grain, and over half of the households in Jimo County benefited.[36] In November of 1960, a Shanghai municipal delegate brought to Jimo 60,000 kilos of grain, 650,000 kilos dried sweet potatoes and other relief materials.[37] In 1961, Shandong provincial government donated 15,000 tons of grain to Jimo and provided 200 grams of grain per villagers each day before the next harvest.[38] Mao’s mistakes and Mao’s merits were paradoxically entwined to such an extent that any effort to separate the two would be simply impossible. For that reason, few Chinese workers and farmers ever blamed Mao for what happened during the Great Leap Forward. It is not that Chinese farmers and workers are too dumb to know any better, as many Chinese elites suggest. It is their wisdom to see both Mao’s mistakes and his merits at the same time.[39]

The Cultural Revolution

Mao accepted some responsibility for the Great Leap Forward famine, and gave the driver’s seat to his colleagues Liu Shaoqi and Deng Xiaoping for the management of the national economy. But he was not convinced that the Great Leap Forward failed because of his misguided leadership. He felt the need to vindicate himself. Liu and Deng started to dismantle the framework of the people’s commune by encouraging the free market, private plots, fiscal responsibilities and individual household farming, which were collectively called sanzi yibao by the farmers. These policies were quickly carried out by the Communist government hierarchies. By end of 1961, 520 production brigades in Jimo, over half of the total, adopted the household farming system, and 310,000 mu of land was divided to farmers.[40] By September 1962, 362,760 mu land, amount to 19.8 percent of the total was divided to individual households. This new policy provided farmers with more incentives, and was apparently more beneficial to those families with more labor force. But it was also resisted by others, particularly by those who did not have enough farm hands and implements to farm effectively on their own. Yang Shushan, the party secretary of Xi Shanpo Production Brigade, Lingshan Commune challenged the new policies. He asked whose interests did the new policy represent? Shandong Provincial government used his resistance as an example and reversed the household farming practice in October 1962.[41]

Because of the ambiguity regarding the causes of the Great Leap Forward famine, and because the quick erosion of the collective system after the Great Leap Forward famine, Mao was waiting and searching for an opportunity to strengthen and improve the chance for the collective agriculture. One of his first attempts was the socialist education movement in 1964. But the project was rejected by Liu Shaoqi and his wife Wang Guangmei, who sent a large number of work teams composed of outside government officials to the villages and targeted a vast number of village leaders for minor offenses, Mao characterized this as ‘xingzuo shiyou (rightist movement with left appearance) in his big character poster ‘bombard the Headquarters’ written on August 5, 1966.[42] By this time, Mao already realized the harm and limitation of sending outside work teams to the villages. He saw the need to empower ordinary people to be masters of their own lives as a check and balance against official wrongdoings, which was a negative lesson from the Great Leap Forward experiences. Seen from this perspective, it is not difficult to see why Mao allowed the mass movement to operate outside the leadership of Chinese Communist Party for the first time in the Communist Party’s history at the beginning of the Cultural Revolution. The post-Mao Chinese government condemned this as tikai dangwei nao geming. (kick the Party Committee aside and make revolution without it).

The Cultural Revolution swept Chinese rural areas after the local Chinese Communist Carty organizations were paralyzed by the challenges of mass organizations and associations in December of 1966. The methods of the Cultural Revolution, in Mao’s own words, were ‘rang qunzhong ziji jiaoyu ziji, ziji jiefang ziji (allow the masses to educate and empower themselves) in the revolution. This new policy led to the establishment of mass organizations and associations throughout China, including the countryside. Different mass organizations mushroomed in villages, communes and counties, and began to assert themselves almost overnight. The organized rural masses challenged village, commune and county officials face to face, through big character posters, at public debates and mass meetings. Never before in Chinese history, were farmers able to stand up to government officials and criticize them. In front of the organized rural masses, many village leaders and commune and county government officials were completely dwarfed. They were forced to confess and apologize for their wrongdoings during and after the Great Leap Forward years. Major village leaders lost all their power in the beginning of the Cultural Revolution.[43] The commune leaders who did not lose their power immediately, were forced to reform themselves by working, eating and living with farmers in the villages. They were not allowed to order farmers around without knowing the local conditions first, which had been common practice during the Great Leap Forward period.[44] The unprecedented democratic practices during the Cultural Revolution created a real democratic culture in the Chinese countryside.[45] The side effects of the Cultural Revolution in the form of unnecessary violence against some intellectuals, and the destruction of some cultural relics and others, though were regrettable and could have been avoided, should not be used to condemn its democratic main thrust. It is understandable that Chinese elites, both intellectual and political, who suffered serious drawbacks during the Cultural Revolution, condemned the Cultural Revolution. But it is inconceivable that Western scholars, who profess democratic traditions and beliefs, almost unanimously sided with the Chinese elite in condemning the Cultural Revolution in complete disregard of its democratic tendencies. In the 1930s, one American scholar wrote that any American, whether he was a congressman, a senator or president, would have supported the Chinese Communists if he knew what was going on in China’s countryside. If American scholars knew how the Chinese officials treated farmers, they would have understood the violent eruption of the Cultural Revolution. In this sense, Western scholars’ understanding and knowledge of the Chinese Cultural Revolution has been biased, and not well balanced.

As the Cultural Revolution empowered ordinary farmers, villagers began to have much more control in the management of the affairs of the production teams and production brigades. During the Cultural Revolution years, the production team leaders, usually a committee of five members, unlike during the Great Leap Forward years, were democratically elected by the villagers. Production plans and budgets, and distribution plans were all discussed and approved by the members. [46] Economic activities of the production team became more transparent. Consequently, collective farming fared much better during the Cultural Revolution years than during the Great Leap Forward years. The crop yields more than doubled in Jimo.[47] In Fushan County, crop yield increased from 230 jin per mu in 1965 to 490 jin per mu in 1976.[48] In Haiyang County wheat yield increased from 138 jin per mu in 1965, to 284 jin per mu in 1976.[49] In Pingdu County, crop yield increased from 205 jin per mu in 1965 to 506 jin per mu in 1976.[50] In Laoshan County, unit yield increased from 383 jin per mu in 1965, to 868 jin per mu in 1976.[51] In Qixia County, crop yields increased from 422 jin per mu to 810 jin per mu in 1976.[52] Because of the development of rural industrial enterprises during the Cultural Revolution years, farmers’ per capita net income also increased significantly. In Fushan County, for example, farmers’ per capita net income increased from 85 yuan in 1965, to 235 yuan in 1976.[53] In Jimo County, farmers’ per capita net cash income increased from 36 yuan in 1965 to 79 yuan in 1975.[54] On top of that, farmers during the Cultural Revolution years enjoyed free education and free rudimentary health care, which they never enjoyed before or after.[55]

The most important development of the Cultural Revolution, of course, was the democratic practices in the countryside. Production team leaders were elected, and village leaders as well as commune and county government officials were under popular supervision of the common people. Production team leaders had to work with villagers everyday. Village leaders had to work with farmers at least 300 days a year. Commune officials had to work at least 250 days a year with farmers. In some places, even county officials had to work around 200 days with farmers each year.[56] During the Cultural Revolution, like everybody else in China, farmers also enjoyed the democratic rights to write big character posters to criticize village and commune leaders. More importantly, Provincial, County and Commune government officials were no longer composed of the Communist Party elite. Respected farmers and workers who were recognized by the people as model workers and farmers became important components of the different levels of government structures. In Jimo County, Li Aichang, an expert farmer from Aoshan Production Brigades who led his villagers in to prosperity became deputy director of the Jimo County Revolution committee. Zhang Ziyu, a farmer from Moshi production brigade, and Lan Shengyu, a farmer from Yaotou Production brigade, both of whom had proved themselves in leading their villages to prosperity, became deputy directors of Chengguan Commune Revolution Committee. When these farmers, who still kept intimate contact with rural life, conducted the business of government, it was democracy of a very high level. These democratic practices that distinguished the Cultural Revolution and the Great Leap Forward made the difference of success and failure between the two time periods. Because of these democratic practices, there was very little corruption, very few crimes, no unemployment, no homelessness, no drugs, no prostitution, no traffic of women and children, no polarization of the poor and rich and little official abuse of power in the vast Chinese countryside during the Cultural Revolution years.[57] With this in mind, is it difficult to understand why Mao has become more and more popular among farmers and workers in today’s China amid rampant official corruption, widespread trafficking of women and children, crime, drugs and prostitution? As farmers in Shandong and Henan say, Mao was more than vindicated by what is going on in China after he died.[58]


Post Mao Revision of the Great Leap Forward Famine and Rural Reform

As I pointed out elsewhere, Mao’s biggest mistake in his life was his failure to institutionalize the democratic practices developed during the Cultural Revolution years.[59] He had ten years to do it, but he did not. Of course this is not a completely fair criticism of Mao in light of China’s long culture of officialdom. But if he did, Deng Xiaoping would not have undone Mao’s life work so easily. For one thing, Chinese farmers would not have allowed the division of land in the first place, if there had been a national referendum at the time. Deng Xiaoping came to power in 1978 by schemes considered highly unethical and dishonest by Chinese farmers and workers. Of course, politics is not a game of ethics and honesty, even though we always advocate honesty as the best policy. Deng Xiaoping lost power twice during the Cultural Revolution, and his image was fatally tarnished by Mao’s criticism of his policies and his character, In order to consolidate his power after his second return, it was a political necessity to vindicate himself. The method he used was simple and straightforward: the revision of the Great Leap Forward verdict. By placing the blame of the Great Leap Forward famine squarely on Mao and his followers, he was able to achieve multiple political goals. First, he made untenable the position of his opponents, Hua Guofeng and others within the Communist Party who tried to exclude him from political power by ‘upholding every word and policy made by Mao’ this significantly weakened their hold on power. Second, after placing the responsibility of the Great Leap Forward famine on Mao and his followers, he was also able to present himself as a savior of the Chinese people from the Great Leap Forward famine, caused by the Mao’s idealistic tendencies. It was, after all, Liu Shaoqi and Deng Xiaoping who introduced the pragmatic solution of individual household farming to the Chinese countryside when the Great Leap Forward failed. This political maneuver proved to be very effective in mobilizing intellectual support among Chinese elites who suffered during the Cultural Revolution, and eventually helped him gain political supremacy in China. Once in power, Deng Xiaoping, like Mao, also felt the need to vindicate himself, which was to return the Chinese countryside to individual household farming.

To be fair, the individual household farming as an emergency measure in the context of grain shortage was necessary and had the support of more farmers and local officials, even though it was not the direction of modern agriculture in the Chinese context. But the social environment in the early 1980s was completely changed from that of 1960. With the democratic practices of the Cultural Revolution years, Chinese farmers and local officials had slowly developed a political and economic system that worked well for them and most people were happy with it.[60] The collectively owned and managed farm machines and irrigation system made the steady increase of agriculture production possible and reduced labor intensity for the farmers at the same time. The collectively owned and managed industrial enterprises, which effectively channeled the surplus rural labor to productive employment, began to significantly improve farmers’ income in general and in Shandong Province in particular, as mentioned above. Village primary schools, joint middle schools and the commune high school system provided rural children with adequate education free of charge. Village medical clinics and commune and county hospital networks began to provide farmers with rudimentary free medical care. Counties and communes and production brigades also built up a network for propagating new information and technology throughout the countryside. Farmers’ lives had significantly improved. With modern organization, education and technology, the potential for further improvement was tremendous. Consequently, few farmers wanted to change.[61]

But Deng Xiaoping wanted to change despite farmers feeling otherwise. When Mao started his agricultural cooperative movement, he at least had mobilized the support from village, district and county level leaders.[62] But Deng Xiaoping dismantled collective farming without mobilizing grassroots support. His support was the suspicious case of 18 households in Xiaogang Village, Fengyang County, Anhui province, who allegedly secretly divided the collective land among themselves.[63]

Accompanying the dismantling of collective farming, the government also doubled the grain price for government procurement to give farmers more incentive to grow more grain in early 1980s. For a couple of years, the government was able to boast about the increase of grain yields, which they alleged was the result of its policy of individual household farming. However, since 1985, the grain yields in China had stagnated, and the cost of grain production had been constantly going up because of increased modern inputs, with more chemical fertilizers, pesticides, irrigation and new varieties of seeds. Consequently farmers’ net incomes have been declining since then. Even the Central Government admitted this.[64] Farmers could no longer support themselves in farming. They have to leave their home to find temporary employment in the urban areas. In the last twenty years, hundreds of millions of Chinese farmers were working in the urban areas as cheap labor under discriminatory conditions. They usually work 12 to 14 hours or more on construction sites with very low pay and in hazardous conditions. Unlike during the collective time, their labor did not help improve the infrastructures of their home community, and their meager salaries were barely enough to cover increased prices of chemical fertilizers, pesticides, electricity, seeds, and government taxes and levies. The price of grain remained about the same over the last twenty years: both wheat and corn were only about forty cents a jin in the summer of 2000. But the prices of the chemical fertilizers, pesticides and electricity have already increased from five to ten times. The government taxes and levies have been increased from 20 jin of grain per mu during the collective era to 200 jin per mu or more in most regions in China today.[65]

The central government has been blaming the township government for increasing the burdens of farmers for the last twenty years, which directed farmers’ anger to the village and township governments. But this is very irresponsible, as well as dangerous on the part of central government, as one township government leader pointed out in an interview with the author, because it was not true.[66] It is true that the central government only took about five percent of farmers’ income, but the central government does not cover the various costs of the township government. In order for the township and village government to carry out the central government policies and initiatives, they have to place extra levies on the farmers, sometimes ten times more than the central government’s tax.[67]

The central government demanded the township government enforce its family planning schemes. Major township government officials who failed to enforce it strictly would be dismissed. But the central government did not provide enforcement instruments and funds. In order to enforce this very difficult policy, township governments had to hire many people. During the collective era, collecting tax grain was never a problem. Today, the government has to hire extra people to collect the tax grain from farmers who resist the tax in many different ways. Because of all this, the government payroll has increased tremendously in the last twenty years. During the collective era, a typical commune government had a payroll of no more than thirty people. Today, a typical township government has more than l50 people.

Today, the township government has to pay all the teachers in the rural school system. During the collective era, the village school teachers were all paid with work points by production brigades. Since the collectives were dissolved, township governments have to pay rural teachers’ salaries like other government employees. To help cover the cost of education, school children have to pay a relatively high tuition for their education. Parents who were used to free education during the collective era very much resent paying tuition for their children. Some parents cannot afford their children’s tuition and as a result more and more rural children became illiterate.

With the dissolution of collective framework, the collective medical care system disappeared with it, because the barefoot doctors were paid by the collective with work points. Today, the medical expenses can easily break the back of most farmers. Many farmers cannot afford to seek medical treatment for ordinary diseases. The World Journal, a New York based Chinese newspaper reported with a funny tone that a farmer from Henan Province who was tortured by pain from his infected testicles cut them off with knife at home and almost killed himself. These kinds of tragic incidents are anything but funny. The farmer simply could not afford the medical treatment for such problems. Another farmer, the same paper reported, tied an explosive to his body and threatened a doctor at a state-owned hospital that he would destroy the hospital if he did not get treatment. In the end, he was arrested by the smart armed police officials. When farmers have to use such extreme measures to get medical treatment, we know what is wrong with the system.

The Chinese government has been publishing impressive economic growth figures for the last twenty years. But however impressive the growth figure may be, an economy that laid off more than 30 million workers from the state-owned enterprises is in serious trouble. When many of those unemployed workers, who are struggling to make ends meet, denounced the government and professed that they would not hesitate to join a struggle to overthrow the government, the government is in serious trouble.[68] When most rural township governments are seriously in debt; when many farmers are broke, in debt and cannot afford to pay tuition for their children and basic medical care; when many farmers are demonstrating, protesting against local government; and when many more radical farmers are organizing underground groups whose goal is to overthrow the government, we know the government is in serious trouble. In the last few years, when the Chinese government has been strengthening its armed police and upgrading them with advanced imported anti-riot equipment, we know who is the enemy of the Chinese state. When the state regards millions of workers and farmers as its most dangerous enemy, there should be no question about the nature of the Chinese government.

Conclusion: Lessons of Rural Development in China

What does the Great Leap Forward represent in Chinese politics? Did the Chinese government and Chinese people learn important lessons from the Great Leap Forward? The Great Leap Forward and the commune system it established were no doubt an important experiment in contemporary Chinese history to solve the problems Chinese agriculture faces in its course of development, despite the fact it failed in the end. We cannot expect every experiment of human endeavor to succeed, and we can not use the failure of the Great Leap Forward to condemn the Chinese Agricultural Collective movement. Mao and his government learned the lessons from the Great Leap Forward and made necessary adjustments and improved on the commune system. More importantly, Mao realized that in order to make collective farming work, which was based on the idea of economic equality, ordinary farmers needed to be empowered to act like their own masters. Seen from this perspective, it is not hard to understand why Mao was willing to allow young students, and farmers and workers, to educate and empower themselves during the Cultural Revolution years at the expense of the local party officials, who had fought with him during the revolutionary years.

The critics of the collective farming system in China often use the tragic failure of the Great Leap Forward to condemn the idea of collective farming in China. They did not pay attention to the fact that the Great Leap Forward only represents a short learning curve of the collective farming years, and many of the experiments that failed during the Great Leap Forward flourished during the Cultural Revolution years. As I demonstrated to a small extent in this paper and elsewhere, the empowered farmers began to take control of their own lives during the Cultural Revolution years and made huge stride in life.

What was tragic in Chinese political life was that Deng Xiaoping, who was a leading party official during the Great Leap Forward years, was completely discredited at the beginning of the Cultural Revolution years, and thus did not have the opportunity to see what the empowered farmers could do with collective farming in China. He also learned the lessons of the Great Leap Forward. But he was apparently a simple learner, a learner who was willing to wade the river by feeling the stones. Unlike Mao who saw the mistakes of the Great Leap Forward in a more analytic manner, Deng Xiaoping, who did not understand the dialectical way of seeing things, wanted to retreat to square one after he saw the failure of the Great Leap Forward. The tragic thing about Chinese politics was that Mao did not institutionalize his democratic innovations during the Cultural Revolution, and thus made it possible for Deng to dismantle everything Mao stood for. If Mao made some institutional protection for his democracy, Deng might not have succeeded so thoroughly in dismantling collective farming in China, and Chinese rural areas would not be in such disarray today.

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[1] Jimo Xianzhi Compiling Committee, Jimo Xianzhi, (Jimo Gazattes) (Beijing: Xinhua Publishing House, 1991) 15 -29.

[2] Zichuan District Records Compiling Committee, Zichuan Qu Zhi (Zichuan District Gazettes) ( Jinan: Qilu Publishing House, 1990) 145-147.

[3] On July 16, 1960, the Soviet Government unilaterally broke up 600 contracts with China, and notified the Chinese Government that it would withdrew all its 1,390 experts, and stop sending the agreed upon 900 new experts. The Russian experts left with all their blueprints, plans and materials. The Soviet Government also stopped delivering urgently needed equipment and parts to China. As result, the construction and operation of over 250 large industrial enterprises had to be suspended, which exacerbated China’s economic difficulties. See New China News Agency, Zhonghua remin gongheguo dashi ji, (Chronology of Important Events of People’s Republic of China) (Beijing: Xinhua Publishing House, 1982) 522.

[4][4] Interviews with farmers in Shandong Province.

[5] Li Zhisui, The Private Life of Chairman Mao, (New York: Random House, 1995) Chinese Version.

[6] Jacob Heibrunn ‘Mao More Than Ever,’ New Republic, 21 April 1997 P20 and Orville Schell, ‘Once Again, Long Live Chairman Mao,” Atlantic, December, 1992. P32. I have interviewed numerous workers and farmers in Shandong, Henan, and I never met one farmers or workers who said that Mao was bad. I also talked one scholar in Anhui who happened to grow up in rural areas and had been doing research in rural China for the last ten years. He told me that in his research in the Anhui, he never met one farmer that said Mao was bad nor a farmer who said Deng was good.

[7] The official efforts to tarnish Mao’s image can be seen from CCP Central Committee’s Resolution on Many Historical Events, adopted at Third Session of Eleventh Central Committee in 1978, and the unofficial one by the numerous memoirs by the former victims of the Cultural Revolution.

[8] Many Chinese elite condemn Chinese farmers as dogs. The communist gave them some land during the land reform, and they became grateful to the Communist forever.

[9] Interviews with farmers in Shandong and Henan.

[10] Interview with farmers in Shandong and Henan.

[11] Interviews with farmers in Shandong and Henan.

[12] Interview with farmers in Shandong and Henan.

[13] Jimo County Gazettes, 43.

[14] Interview with farmers in Shandong and Henan.

[15] Interview with farmers in Jimo and Shandong.

[16] Interview with farmers in Shandong and Henan.

[17] Jimo xianzhi compiling committee, Jimo Xianzhi (Jimo Gazettes)

[18] Interview with farmers in Shandong and Henan.

[19] Interview with farmers in Henan.

[20] Interview with farmers in Shandong and Henan.

[21] Jimo County Gazettes, manuscripts.

[22] Du Shuxun,’Letter to Chairman Mao,’ manuscripts of Jimo County Gazettes.

[23] Jimo Xianzhi Compiling Committee, Jimo Xianzhi (Jimo Gazettes) 862.

[24] Interview with farmers in Shandong and Henan.

[25] Interview with farmers, and Jimo County Gazettes, (manuscripts)

[26] Jimo County Gazettes, 43.

[27] Ibid. 41

[28] Ibid, 42-43.

[29] Ibid, 132-141.

[30] Ibid, 148-149.

[31] Interview with farmers in Jimo.

[32] New China News Agency, Zhonghua remin gongheguo dashi ji, (Chronology of Important Events of People’s Republic of China) (Beijing: Xinhua Publishing House, 1982)16.

[33] Interview with farmers in Jimo.

[34] Interview with farmers in Shandong and Henan.

[35] Jim County Gazettes, 43.

[36] Ibid.

[37] Ibid.

[38] Jimo County Gazettes, 43.

[39] Interview with farmers in Shandong and Henan.

[40] Ibid, 44.

[41] Jimo County Gazettes, 45.

[42] Mao’s big character poster was first pasted on his office door, and later was published by all the official and unofficial papers. It was considered by many people as a starting point of the Cultural Revolution. See New China News Agency, Zhonghua remin gongheguo dashi ji, (Chronology of Important Events of People’s Republic of China) (Beijing: Xinhua Publishing House, 1982)18.

[43] Interview with farmers in Jimo.

[44] Interview with farmers in Shandong and Henan.

[45] Interview with farmers in Jimo.

[46] Interview with farmers in Shandong and Henan.

[47] Jimo County Gazettes, 240-49, see also Dongping Han, ‘The Hukou System and China’s Rural Development,’ The Journal of Developing Areas, Vol. 33 No.3 , Spring 1999, 355-378.

[48] Fushan County Gazettes, 109-110.

[49] Haiyang County Gazettes, 167.

[50] Pingdu Gazettes, 217-218.

[51] Laoshan County Gazettes, 163-164.

[52] Qinxia County Gazettes, 166.

[53] Fushan County Gazettes, 132.

[54] Jimo County Gazettes,

[55] Interview with farmers in Shandong and Henan.

[56] Huanghua County Gazettes, 353.

[57] Interview with farmers in Shandong and Henan.

[58] Interview with farmers in Shandong and Henan.

[59] Dongping Han, The Unknown Cultural Revolution, (New York: Garland Publishing, 2000)

[60] Interview with farmers in Shandong and Henan.

[61] Interview with farmers in Shandong and Henan.

[62] The Communist Party held several national grassroots party organizations – meetings in Beijing and elsewhere. See New China News Agency, Zhonghua remin gongheguo dashi ji, (Chronology of Important Events of People’s Republic of China) (Beijing: Xinhua Publishing House, 1982)12, 201, 206.

[63] Some scholars from Anhui Province hinted that the incident could be a fraud.

[64] World Journal, ‘Dang zhu tancheng nongmin fudan guozhong: zaocheng shouru huanman, chengxiang jinyibu lada’(The Government admitted that farmers are overburdened, rural income stagnated and gap between rural and urban income increased tremendously) January 6, 2001.

[65] Interview with farmers from Shandong, Henan, Anhui and Hebei.

[66] Interview with rural officials in Shandong and Henan.

[67] Interview with farmers in Shandong and Henan.

[68] Yan Dongyuan, Survey of unemployed workers in the Northeast China


The Economic Ideas of Mao Zedong: Agricultural Transformation

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The People’s Republic of China which was established in 1949 under the leadership of Mao Zedong, is today a rapidly developing nation of a billion people; on present trends it is poised to emerge as the largest economy in the world in about two decades (by the year 2015), overtaking both Japan and the USA. The counter-revolution in the USSR and its rapid economic and social collapse since 1990 under the regime of “market reforms”, lends a special interest to the sharply contrasting scenario in the world’s largest remaining socialist state. The question inevitably arises: what were the characteristics of that growth strategy which permitted rapid development during the three decades 1949- 79; and what is the relation of that strategy to the apparently very different policies the Chinese planners themselves call “socialist market economy”, which seems to be compatible with continuing rapid development -so far -in China?

This article will not go into a description of the trends after the policy changes of 1979, some acquaintance with which on the part of the reader, is taken for granted. It argues rather that a strong and broad basis for China’s rapid growth on all indicators -not only economic but also social welfare indicators, currently termed “human development” -was laid in the quarter century before 1979, as part of the Maoist strategy from the early fifties of raising the rate of capital formation sharply, and of pursuing a policy of balanced growth on the basis of the use of a range of techniques of varying capital intensity. The essential institutional prerequisite for following this strategy was comprehensive land reforms followed by the formation of co- operatives and later the communes. The main thrust of the argument of this article will be that despite all the hyperboles and encomiums, as well as the criticisms and the anathematisation of egalitarianism, the real and rational content of Mao Zedong’s contribution to the economic and social development of new China continues to be insufficiently appreciated by economists; in particular it is argued that there was an important element of innovation in the Maoist strategy of reaping the full advantages of surplus labour in rural areas, on a scale hitherto never attempted, and that this was a major component of the sharp rise in the rate of capital formation in the economy as a whole without any undue restriction of the rate of rise of mass consumption

Actual Economic Surplus and Its Contribution to Investment

In a backward economy which is launching on a modern industrial growth path, the initial problem is not that the existing economic surplus is too small, but that the specific forms in which the economic surplus is produced and appropriated, are not forms which are conducive to a high rate of investment. The main forms of surplus are land rent, usury interest and commercial profit, and only a small part is capitalist profit. In short, the economy and its agrarian sector in particular is dominated by landlords, moneylenders and traders, while the capitalists are few. The former groups may invest their surpluses “productively” from their individual point of view since they get a return by rackrenting petty tenants, squeezing debtors through high interest and so on, but their surpluses are not invested productively from the social point of view for such “investment” does not of itself add to productive capacity and to output. These types of return represent income transfers from one large group of people who lack property, to another small group of people who monopolise property in the form of land or money capital, and who are not greatly interested in improving productivity. (The landlords generally consume their surplus or use it in rent yielding or non-agricultural investment, traders by definition are not interested in increasing production, and usurers are interested in transferring peasant assets which are collateral to loans, to themselves.) The problem then is, how to transform these socially unproductive forms of surplus into socially productive forms, leading to a rise in asset formation and hence in incomes. Both in China and India, countries with a long established agrarian production, the economic surplus actually produced around 1950 in the agrarian sector could not have been less than between a quarter to a third of the net domestic product contributed by that sector, while the unproductive part was about two-thirds of the total surplus.

Historically, the answer to the problem of transforming the forms of surplus, has taken two distinct paths in the sphere of agrarian relations. The first path has been the revolutionary and, hence, socially broad-based, democratic one of abolishing the categories of rent and interest by seizing the landed property of rentiers without compensation, namely confiscating it, followed by a free and egalitarian distribution to the peasants, and writing off all outstanding loans. Given their improved status, the peasants then evolve capitalist production “from below”. The second path has been the conservative, socially elitist and narrowly based one of preserving landed property substantially, perhaps taking over a small part after paying compensation to the landlords, and distributing the land thus acquired through the market, by selling to those who can afford to pay. This method automatically limits the redistribution to a minority with money, and excludes the majority of the poorer peasants who need land most. Here, capitalism of the landed elite is promoted at the expense of a broad based peasant capitalism.

In Asia, the conservative path is exemplified by the Meiji land reform in Japan during 1869 to 1873, which abolished the feudal right to rent-cum-tax of the nobility (daimyo and the samurai) only by paying them compensation, namely, the capitalised value of their rents as cash and bonds; and then taxed the farmers heavily to finance the compensation. In Japan, the democratic path is exemplified by the land reform implemented by the US occupation regime in conjunction with the Japanese authorities in 1945, under which all land with lords in excess of 1 cho(2.45 acres) was acquired and distributed at a nominal payment to the tenants, while non-resident landlords were not allowed to keep even 1 chobut had to surrender all their land.1 The insistence of the US occupation regime in Japan at that time on the most comprehensive land reform ever in the post-war period, arose from the perception that the twin pillars of Japanese militarism rested on the zaibatsu, and the prevalence of petty tenancy as opposed to owner occupation. The revolutionary path, on the other hand, was exemplified by the confiscation and free . distribution of land in Soviet Russia after 1917, and by the land reform in China after 1949. In the latter two cases the egalitarian and free distribution of land to peasant households was thought of as the successful completion of an essentially capitalist task of doing away with feudal property, and as a transitional phase to the eventual establishment of production cooperatives or collectives, in which individual ownership of the material means of production would be replaced by cooperative and collective ownership of enlarging greatly the size of the unit taking decisions and undertaking production and investment.

An interesting study by Lippit highlights the contribution made by land reform in China directly to resources for financing industrial development.2 For the year 1952, the total of incomes obtained by the propertied classes in rural areas by way of land rent, usury interest and profit, is estimated to amount to 16.9 per cent of the value added (net income) in agriculture, to which is added the tax contributed by the owner-operators which was another 2.1 per cent of the net income, giving a total of 19 per cent of value added in agriculture as the estimate of surplus, or 9.39 billion yuan at 1952 prices. (This is almost certainly a substantial underestimate given that illegal taxes and traders’ commissions which are also a part of surplus, were not taken into account possibly owing to the absence of the relevant data.) Of this total which became available to the peasants with the radical land reform entailing the removal of the rent, interest and taxation burden, a little more than half or 4.9 billion yuan was mopped up by the new government via the new revised rates of tax and through controlled terms of trade; while the remainder or 4.5 billion yuan was retained by the peasants and raised their average income.

Thus the peasants benefited, and at the same time the new state had access to resources released by the reform: this transfer from the agrarian sector to the state, expressed as a percentage of total gross and net domestic investment in the economy in 1952, amounted to 34.7 per cent and 44.8 per cent respectively, according to Lippit, which is certainly very substantial. This reveals the direct contribution of the land reform to development finance. However, by its very nature it was a one-shot stimulus to the economy; maintaining the new higher rate of investment, and raising it further over time, would not come about automatically but had to be planned for. The increased income of peasants after the reform could, in principle, have been saved and invested; but given the abysmally low standard of living of the majority of peasants under the old system it is very likely that it would be wholly consumed, for on a per family basis it worked out only to about 55 yuan in 1952. Egalitarian land reform, while removing the incubus of a parasitic landlord and taxation system, did not thus, of itself promise a rapid rise in productive investment, therefore in the resulting output growth rate and, hence, in the ability of agriculture to provide the monetised food and raw materials needed by growing industry. In effect, poverty was now being equitably shared.

It is well known that despite its much larger geographical area than India, the cultivable area has always been less in China, and cultivation practices perforce considerably more intensive. With its longer history of agricultural surplus based society than India, the availability of cultivable land per household was only three-fifths of the Indian level in 1950, though more intensive practices by way of larger application of labour days and of manures per unit area allowed the Chinese farmers to produce higher yields and also higher output per head of population. Raising productivity further when yields are already high is a far more difficult proposition than when they are low to begin with: for there is little technical “slack” left to be taken up. Any raising of yields and of labour productivity needed large investments in extending irrigated area and reclaiming land. Each farming household individually lacked enough surplus funds for investing in fixed capital, particularly the irrigation systems and infrastructure which were a precondition for higher production; nor did individual households have much tax paying capacity, while the collection of small taxes from millions of households posed a formidable problem in terms of cost and feasibility for the government, if the old structures of exploitative intermediation were not to be revived. An enlargement of the scale of producing units, say, by forming every 100 households into a cooperative on the other hand would by itself cut the problem of tax collection to 1 per cent allow the fiscal potential of this sector to be tapped.

According to the socialist perspective, land reform in itself was a bourgeois measure taking society no further than had the French Revolution nearly two centuries earlier; land reform constituted a necessary condition for further institutional change towards cooperation. The urgency of pooling peasant efforts for the purpose of investment was all the greater given the fact that the level of environmental degradation and deforestation in China was far higher as compared to, say, in India at that time, and had been aggravated by nearly forty years of commercial exploitation, civil war and external invasion before 1950. Countering the massive problems of large-scale deforestation, soil erosion and land degradation could not be realistically done on an individual basis but required the pooled effort of many hundreds of households on local projects. The abysmally low standards of public sanitation and health care, the prevalence of epidemic diseases from snail infested canals and mosquito infested water, called for a massive collective investment effort towards cleaning up the environment and initiating a health care system to provide service to those who needed it regardless of their purchasing power.

Potential Economic Surplus Arising from Under-Employment, and Its Mobilisation

So far we have discussed the problem of mobilising the actual economic surplus produced as part of the existing level of output in the economy, for the purpose of investment. There was another source of economic surplus which could be tapped for the purpose of capital formation, however, and this was what we term the potential surplus inherent in the existence of unemployment and unemployment of labour, particularly rural labour. This is usually referred to as “surplus labour” in literature; this term has produced much confusion, with the neo-classical economists linking the existence of surplus labour to inefficiency in production and zero “marginal productivity” of labour. It should be made clear at the outset that when we refer to underemployment giving rise to a potential labour surplus which can be used for capital formation, this has nothing in common with the neo-classical concept of surplus labour. A simple numerical example will illustrate the concept of potential economic surplus arising from underemployment. In rural India as well as in rural China various estimates placed this surplus at between a quarter to one-third of the total labour-force.

Let us consider a stylised example of a small village in the post-reform period, comprising 30 farming households which are identical with respect to the size of family (5 members), the number of workers per family (2 workers), the area cultivated (0.5 ha each), the equipment possessed, and the labour days worked per annum (150 per worker and hence 300 per family) to produce the only crop -rice (two quintals per family). We assume that the most intensive known cultivation practices are being used to produce this output. For the time being we abstract from the seasonality of production and assume that labour time requirements are spread evenly over the year. The total number of workers in the village are 60 and they put in a total of 9,000 work days in the year to produce a total gross output of 600 quintals of rice (which corresponds to say, 500 quintals net output after deducting one-sixth by way of seed, animal feed and spoilage).This amount of work is essential for producing this amount of output, that is, there is no inefficiency in the system and reducing the total labour days would also reduce total output. (Neo- classical economists, on the other hand, think of a situation where the total labour days input can be reduced without reducing output, that is, there being a difference between the actual labour input and the necessary labour input, this difference being “surplus labour”. Such a situation we are assuming does not exist by saying that there is no inefficiency.)

We assume that this 500 quintals net output distributed over the village population of 250 (giving 2 qtl per head) yields enough calories for working health, but it does not provide an adequate desired income for the village population even while the workers are, by definition, underemployed since each worker can get work only for 150 days in a year of 365 days. Clearly, worker would like to work more and even for a higher income, if possible. How much more? We do not know; in the absence of this knowledge we can provisionally adopt a work norm, say of 5 days a week or 250 days a year {allowing additionally for an annual two-week holiday), which given the opportunity each farm worker might be prepared to put in. The total required labour input of 9,000 days can thus be potentially performed by only 36 workers {9,000 divided by 250) instead of the 60 workers engaged, thus releasing 24 workers {60 minus 36) from rice production, for various other kinds of capital formation projects like irrigation which are needed to raise incomes in the long run. Since food output would be maintained at the earlier level, with 36 workers remaining in rice production working harder at 250 days to maintain the total labour input of 9,000 days, each of the 24 workers released could continue to be fed at the earlier average rate of 2 quintals rice per annum while they, too, worked at the rate of 250 days on capital formation projects. Thus, as far as the maintenance cost of labour is concerned, the capital formation would be costless. In this system, the potential labour surplus in terms of days is 100 {250 minus 150) per worker, or 66.7 per cent of the days actually worked. In terms of workers too, the potential labour surplus is 24 {60 minus 36) or 66.7 per cent of the total work force.

However, in practice, it is almost impossible to actually release workers for projects as long as the individual holdings are retained; pooling of production becomes a necessary precondition for converting the potential surplus into an actual one. This is because labour surplus exists in units of labour days while workers are indivisible and the withdrawal of workers necessarily has to be in discrete units of persons; one cannot withdraw half a worker from a farm. Suppose that the 30 farms in the earlier example continue to operate separately, then releasing 24 “surplus” workers means taking away not four-fifths of a worker from each of the 30 farms, which is impossible, but taking away one worker each from 24 farms. This at once means that there will be a farm specific labour shortage; the required labour input per farm of 300 days on these 24 farms can no longer be put in by the remaining single worker without over-working and violating the work norm; labour would have to be hired, obviously from the other 6 farms from which no one has been withdrawn, but no matter how underemployed the workers on the other 6 farms might be they would not work free for another farmer and wages would have to be paid. For the workers remaining behind to work harder, as well as maintain the withdrawn worker out of farm net output, and additionally payout wages, would not be a rational outcome. Additionally, there is the question of who owns the new assets created; if the state owns it, the state cannot ask people to work in creating the assets without paying wages; if it tries to finance the wages by taxing the producers in rice-culture, they will not continue to work harder than before.

In short, the normal operation of the labour market cannot deal with this problem and “costless” capital formation becomes impossible. Essentially, what is required for costless capital formation is a system of “deferred wages”, that is, everybody agreeing to work harder without an immediate rise in income, for by its very nature an asset creating project has a certain gestation period and cannot yield immediate income. Everyone has to agree to work harder now for a higher income in the future. But, how to operate such a system within the atomistic private property where it is not clear to whom the new assets will belong? As long as there is no system for ensuring that there are incentives for people to work harder without immediate payment, they will not work harder and the potential labour surplus will remain just that, with no practical use for new capital formation. All these issues were discussed threadbare by economists in the course of the sixties and seventies in India, and the consensus which emerged was that despite the majority of empirical estimates showing a labour surplus of one-fifth to one-third of the existing labour force in different regions, mobilising this surplus for costless capital formation was virtually impossible as long as everything else was unchanged. Only the completely landless labour would freely move to project work.

In China, however, “everything else” did not remain the same: the atomistic small scale units of production, the individual small farms, in which the surplus labour time was unproductively embedded, were done away with and the production pooled in larger units. It is precisely in permitting the pooling of surplus labour time and, hence, in enabling the effective mobilisation of the potential labour surplus in the form of discrete units of workers for capital formation, that the strength of the cooperatives and the communes lay. The pooling of production in the advanced cooperatives {comprising around 200 to 300 households) and later the much larger communes {about 3,500 households) did away with the practical problems of the withdrawal of workers for project work in discrete units, for as soon as production was pooled a smaller number of people working more days per year could not only put in the same total labour time in crop production as before, but indeed raised output further if the initial underemployment was severe, releasing others for projects of material and human capital formation.

At the same time, the egalitarian distribution system ensured that the withdrawn workers had access to the same basic standard of life as others {even though the project work they were doing actually yielded nothing to begin with), by giving them the same right to draw grain and necessities rations as the workers in crop and sideline production actually producing these necessities; and by allotting them work points for project work, against which they could claim a share in the remaining collective income. A policy directive ensured that up to 70 per cent of the grain output was to be distributed equally regardless of work points earned. In such a system the local availability of grain itself was crucial and a logical corollary was that all regions should grow grain.

In fact, even though the well known theory of socialist distribution was ‘rom each according to his ability, to each according to his work”, in practice the Maoist egalitarian strategy involved a deviation or went beyond this principle; what was being actually implemented was ‘rom each according to his ability, to each according to his basic need’s. This was by no means a utopian or unrealistic strategy; on the contrary, it was the only practical system which could have permitted the large-scale mobilisation of surplus labour which took place, and which served to raise the rate of capital formation to levels which have not been accurately estimated by economists to date. “Linking remuneration directly to work on the basis of household functioning would have meant that project workers would have got nothing and indeed could not have been any thing short of a disastrous policy at this stage, for what would have been induced into project work at all, except under similar systems of wage and other oullays by the state financed by inflationary credit and deficit financing, as were being operated in mixed economies like India at the time. Incidentally, all existing estimates of capital formation in China during 1955 to 1978 are underestimates because they ignore the non-monetised investment of labour which we are discussing; even those few estimates which try to take into account project labour, undervalue it because agricultural productivity is inadequately estimated.

A reading of the writings of Mao Zedong during the crucial period of the transition to the advanced cooperatives reveals the awareness of the labour mobilising potential of the cooperatives.

In 1954, commenting on a piece written by another author, Mao said, “under present conditions of production there is already a surplus of roughly one-third of labour power. What required three people in the past can be done by two after ccoperative transformation, an indication of the superiority of socialism. Where can an outlet be found for this surplus labour power of one-third or more? For the most part, still in the country-side. …The masses have unlimited creative power. They can organize themselves to take on all spheres and branches of work where they can give full play to their energy, tackle production more intensively and extensively, and initiate more and more undertaking for their own well being.”3

In the event, the masses were not entirely left to decide on the undertakings to be locally initiated, but rather local adaptations and variations were to take place within a broad overall policy of promoting undertakings in the following groups : physical capital formation via land reclamation, hill terracing, afforestation and irrigation; infrastructure (roads, bridges and buildings); energy; rural sidelines and industries; and human capital formation (public sanitation, clinics and schools). The possibilities were certainly nearly limitless at this time given the existing abysmally low levels of material, educational and health development in the countryside. On land reclamation and afforestation Mao Zedong stressed the need for “state organised land reclamation by settlers the plan being to bring 400 to 500 m. mu of wasteland under cultivation in the course of three five year plans”. He went on to say:

“I think the barren mountains in the north in particular should be afforested, and they undoubtedly can be. Do you comrades from the north have courage enough for this? Many places in the south need afforestation too. It will be fine if in a number of years we can see various places in the south and north clothed with greenery.”4

Mao Zedong confidently expected, even within the advanced cooperatives and before collectivisation, that the annual labour days employed per worker would rise substantially and that female participation rates would also rise as more rural undertakings were established, existing labour surplus thereby mobilised and increasing supply elicited:

“Before the cooperative transformation of agriculture, surplus labour-power was a problem in many parts of the country. Since then many cooperatives have felt the pinch of a labour shortage and need to mobilise the masses of the women, who did not work in the fields before, to take their place on the labour front…. For many places the labour shortage becomes evident as production grows in scale, the number of undertakings increases, the efforts to remake nature become more extensive and intensive, and the work is done more thoroughly.”5

Further, he goes on to say:

“Things in this country also show us that an outlet can be found in the villages for rural labour power. As management improves and the scope of production expands, every able-bodied man and womarl can put in more work-days in the year. Instead of over one hundred workdays for a man and a few score for a woman as described in this article the former can put in well over two hundred workdays and the latter well over one hundred or more.”6

In fact, according to P. Schran’s data from official sources, the annual number of days employed per person in rural China rose from 119 to 189 during 1950 to 1959, with most of the increase seen after 1955 during the shift to the advanced cooperatives.7 (see Table below) The importance of the virtually costless capital formation entailed in mobilising surplus labour, can hardly be exaggerated.

Peasant Labour Day Inputs In Chinese Agriculture

Year

(days)

Average

Days (billions of days)

Total Annual

1950

119.0

26.489

1951

119.0

26.835

1952

119.0

27.168

1953

119.0

27.537

1954

119.3

28.155

1955

121.0

29.439

1956

149.0

38.084

1957

159.5

41.518

1958

174.6

47.474

1959

189.0

58.420

Note: The sharp increases from the large-scale mobilisations for rural water conservancy in the winter of 1955.56 and 1957- 58 are reflected above. The estimates cited for 1959 appear somewhat improbable as demobilisation was seen throughout the year. Source: Peter Schran, The Development of Chinese Agriculture 1950-1959, p.75.

More than anything else it served to raise sharply the rate of investment in the economy; the official estimates almost certainly understate the real extent of rise since the unmonetised part of investment, which we have been discussing, has not been included. In rural areas, capital formation could be measured, and was often expressed, not in value terms but in terms of physical indicators like the volume of earth shined in reclamation and terracing work, the number of irrigation reservoirs constructed, the miles of canals dredged, etc. Further, the rate of investment was raised sharply without imposing cuts in consumption on particular segments of the population, owing to the egalitarian distribution system. The rate of rise in real consumption of both peasants and workers during 1958-59 to 1978-79 was certainly slow, as might be expected since the trade- off in this early stage of industrialisation was between a higher rate of investment at the expense of a lower rate of consumption rise, in order to secure a higher rate of future consumption than would be the case with the alternative scenario of a higher rate of consumption now. But the egalitarian strategy essentially distributed the burden equitably.

The timing of the shift to the large-scale communes was not a happy one; it coincided with a run of very poor harvests complicated by floods in some parts of the country and attacks of pests in others. There was a very substantial downward deviation of output from the trend during 1959 to 1963, and this has complicated the evaluation of the shift ever since. There is a severe problem of causal identification here: it is arguable that even without the institutional change to communes, output would have fallen anyway, for agricultural output is subject to cyclical patterns of movement; India saw a severe downturn a few years later, in 1964-65, with no institutional change. Many scholars who are disposed to criticise the idea of large-scale collective production have, however, tended to place the main burden of the output decline on the shift to the communes; this in our view is not a tenable position. What is probably true is first, that the decline which would have taken place anyway, was exacerbated by the initial severe management problems entailed in the shift; and second, too much grain was procured during 1959-61 by the government which was unrealistic in expecting too immediate an impact on productivity of the shift to large-scale production. Given that output had actually fallen rather than increased, this led to a severe decline of rural availability of food grains, and an avoidable rise in crude death rate in rural areas.8

The egalitarian distribution system, paradoxically, must have served to mask the real impact of the food availability decline of 1959-61 since, unlike the case in a class society, this decline was no longer concentrated on particular narrow segments of the population, and therefore did not take the dramatic form of able-bodied poor people of working age showing extreme emaciation and death by disease and starvation. It was spread out much more evenly over the population of a given affected area than would have been the case even fifteen years earlier, and probably the decline in nutrition would have affected vulnerable groups like the very old, the very young, and parturient women the most. We do not believe that there was a sinister conspiracy of silence regarding the “famine”; rather, there was a genuine problem of appreciating the magnitude of the impact of availability decline in an egalitarian society. Along with a rise in the overall crude death rate, which emerged statistically much later as the numbers were put together, there also appears to have been a dramatic decline in the birth rate during 1958-60. This is perhaps not difficult to understand, for labour power was being mobilised almost on a war-for-production footing, and women were being extensively drawn into the work force at this time. In this initial period of the “Great Leap”, household activities like cooking and child minding were also briefly socialised with the establishment of communal kitchens and creches to free women for labour, and mobility increased greatly as women moved to project work. With such a reversal of the old patterns of life and work amounting virtually to social dislocation, it would not be surprising if the decision to have children was postponed, reflected in a fall in the birth rate. The decline was sharp enough for the rate of natural increase to become negative in the year 1960. From 1962 the birth rate again jumped to unprecedentedly high levels as though the postponed decisions were now being taken, resulting in a marked “bunching” of births.

Some scholars have used a very dubious method of arriving at grossly unrealistic and inflated “famine deaths” during this period (1959-61) by taking account not only of the higher crude death rate (which is a legitimate measure) but also counting the “missing millions” as a result of the lower birth rate, as part of the toll. There is a great deal of difference between people who are already there, dying prematurely due to a sharp decline in nutritional status, and people not being born at all. The former can enter the statistics of “famine deaths” according to any sensible definition of famine, but people who are not born at all are obviously in no position to die whether prematurely or otherwise. The exaggerated figures of 30 million or more “famine deaths” in China are arrived at after including the missing millions because they were not born and, indeed, were not conceived at all. On this logic we would have to talk about large scale “famine deaths” in Western Europe during two World Wars owing to the fall in the birth rate. Instead of consistent application these academically dubious concepts are reserved, apparently, for exclusive application to the developing economies. More responsible estimates place excess mortality in China between 10 to 13 million during the 1959-61 period if the increased crude death rate during these years is compared to the level of 1958. The excess toll of this order is bad and is a permanent blot on the otherwise impressive record of welfare gains in the Maoist era. The highest level of the crude death rate in China’s famine in 1960 which was 25.43 per 1,0009 was incidentally, lower than the “normal” average crude death rate during 1955-60 in eighteen developing countries; while the “normal” Indian crude death rate was very close at 24.6 per 1,000 during the same period, 1955-60. Needless to say, no one talks of “famine” in these developing countries or even in India -a good example of academic inconsistency.

After weathering the crisis of the 1959-61 period the commune system settled down, management problems were gradually overcome and the full benefits of large scale operation combined with continuing mobilisation of labour for material and human capital formation, were realised up to 1978. The crude death rate resumed its steep decline with the public sanitation campaigns and the provision of an elementary but effective rural health care system, which dramatically lowered infant and child mortality levels, while illiteracy declined more steeply than in any other developing country. Raw ski has shown that the agricultural productive base was transformed, with the use of modern industrial inputs (fertilisers, fuels, cement) and fixed capital use (irrigation and drainage equipment, tractors, power tillers and other farm machinery) growing at over 20 per cent per annum during the fifteen to twenty year period before 1978. The winter works programmes provided employment for 2 to 2.5 months in the year during the seventies to workers numbering 50 million in the early seventies, rising to 100 million during the three years preceding 1979; this accounted for 30 per cent of the labour force. The winter works covered terracing, land reclamation, earthworks, irrigation works and the energy sector. By the late seventies, the average annual employment per worker in rural areas increased up to 250 days, compared to around 190 days in 1959.10 This was a very creditable achievement given the fact that the work force was larger not only owing to growth but also to a large rise in the female participation rate.

After the policy regime shift in 1979, the employment generation and collective capital maintenance and new capital formation programmes received a severe setback as decollectivisation proceeded; the re-emergence of a serious unemployment problem in rural areas has been one consequence of the reversal of the Maoist development strategy.

Ultimately the rate of development of a society, not only economic growth as conventionally defined but also improvement in human welfare, depends on the rate at which it can invest in material as well as human capital formation. This essay has shown that the fundamental innovation of the Maoist development strategy, of which egalitarianism was an essential component, lay in converting an apparent liability into an asset: by directly transforming under-employed surplus labour into capital at minimal extra cost, a firm basis was laid for agricultural productive transformation which fed into industrial growth, as well as for the gains in human development indicators.



1. T. Nakamura, The Post War Japanese Economy: Its Development and Structure, Tokyo: University of Tokyo Press, 1981.

2. V. Lippit, Land Reform and Economic Development in China: A Study of Institutional Change and Development Finance Whiteplains: IASP, 1974.

3. Mao Zedong, Selected Works, Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1978, p. 269.

4. Ibid, pp. 197-219.

5. Ibid, p. 268.

6. Ibid, p. 270.

7. Peter Schran, The Development of Chinese Agriculture 1950-1959, Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1969.

8. Carl Riskin, China’s Political Economy: The Search for Development since 1949, New York, Oxford University Press, 1987.

9.Ibid.

10. T.C. Rawski, “Agricultural Employment and Technology”, in R. Barker, R. Sinha and B. Rose (Eds.), The Chinese Agricultural Economy (Colorado: Westview Press, 1982).

Mao, rural development, and two-line struggle

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© Monthly Review (February 1994, vol. 45, issue 9). Used by China Study Group with permission from Monthly Review.

Note from original

This article was written as a foreword to the Chinese edition of Shenfan, which is the title of the second volume of the history of Long Bow Village, Shanxi Province, China. The first volume, Fanshen, told the story of the land reform that transformed the community between 1945 and 1948. Shenfan takes up the story with the organization of mutual aid leading first to lower and then to higher stage cooperation between 1948 and 1971, the year I first returned to China after a U. S. government mandated absence of seventeen years.

In 1993 a group of Shanxi people with support from Long Bow Village translated the whole of Shenfan. The book in Chinese may, with or without this foreword, appear in print soon.

—William Hinton

Literally “Shenfan” means “deep plowing, “ nothing more, but I have used the word to symbolize the great and deep reconstruction Of Chinese rural society carried out by the builders of village cooperatives and communes during the collectivization drive of the 1950s and 1960s.

It is fashionable today to dismiss this movement as an aberration, a left excess, an historical mistake. China’s present day agrarian theoreticians have even put forth the view that agriculture, by its very nature, is not amenable to group effort, to collective organization. They say that the time lapse between planting and harvest, the seasonal postponement of reward for hard work on the land, is too long to maintain incentive on any basis other than individual responsibility, that cooperators cannot visualize a link between their personal effort and any ultimate reward that is to be shared with others several months in the future. Lack of well- defined incentive leads to indifferent work, poor crop care, low yields and low rewards. Cooperation thus inevitably results in “eating out of one big pot”—a euphemism for sharing poverty. This theory has by now attained the status of “conventional wisdom” and today whenever anyone talks of “cooperative agriculture” the response is “one big pot.”

Nowadays it is also fashionable to talk as if bureaucratic power holders had imposed agricultural cooperation on the whole Chinese peasantry by command, if not by force, and that the development of the cooperative movement through its various forms and stages, from mutual aid through lower stage cooperatives to higher stage collectives that combined finally into communes, was an arbitrary progression dreamed up by dogmatists and inflicted on peasants to satisfy some theory rather than in a response to any real life need or desire.

A reading of Shenfan should, I think, thoroughly upend both the above pillars of conventional wisdom.

Shenfan, recounting the experience of Long Bow village in building a community-wide collective makes clear that individual incentive, far from being ignored, was an integral part of the whole process. The cooperative system was solidly based on realistic material incentives, applied the socialist principle of distribution according to work performed as the norm across the nation, and brought hundreds of millions to levels of prosperity never before achieved.

A sizeable minority of badly managed collectives without yields large enough to reward skill or diligence, sank to bare subsistence levels, but this was not reason enough to condemn the whole system as egalitarian nor was the poverty of these collectives sufficient reason to dissolve them. These teams and brigades could have been reorganized along the lines pioneered by Chen Yongkuei at Dazhai, Xiyang county, Shanxi. What Chen Yongkuei did was to mobilize the rank and file of every village to seek out those men and women of ability who had socialist vision and dedication, who put the public first, self second, and who, because they took service to the people seriously, could unite and organize whole communities for the collective rebuilding of nature and the collective construction and operation of sideline enterprises and industries. Chen brought such people into leadership and they in turn transformed, first their home villages, and then whole counties.

Long Bow Village, far from Dazhai, but influenced by it, is a case in point. In the early seventies under indifferent leadership, the villagers harvested so little grain that they had to travel to Honan in the spring and bring back dried sweet potatoes in order to survive. But through trial and error the local community finally brought to the fore a village leading group with vision and dedication. Once this group, with Party Secretary Wang Jinhong at its core, took charge, it quickly mobilized the great reservoir of talent and resources that the village possessed and transformed Long Bow from an “old, big, difficult place” into an advanced community both agriculturally and industrially. With a dozen prosperous industries and the highest level of farm mechanization in Shanxi, Long Bow became a much admired model.

I think the lessons of the rural cooperative movement in China over thirty years thoroughly refute the notion that rural producers cooperatives are ultra-left, utopian, and lead in the long run to sharing poverty—“eating out of one big pot.” In the late seventies comprehensive studies carried out by the Central Committee’s Research Group on Agrarian Policy concluded that 30 percent of the collective villages were doing well, 40 percent faced serious problems but remained viable, while another 30 percent were doing very poorly and could not easily regroup. If these figures are true, and they match with limited observations made by me in a few localities that I knew best, then some 240 million peasants were truly prospering under collective arrangements, while another 320 million were at least holding their own. Such large numbers coping successfully hardly give support to a theory that agricultural production, by its very nature, is not suited to collective forms of ownership and management. If a further 240 million were faring badly it seems obvious that the cause was not a built-in mismatch between cooperation and agriculture but poor leadership, poor training, and poor policy implementation—pushing for higher levels prematurely, jumping stages, commandism, overcentralization, and other bureaucratic excesses. A careful reading of Shenfan should bear this out.

A careful reading of Shenfan should also help refute that second proposition, so favored by conventional wisdom, that the advance of cooperation through stages, from mutual aid to lower stage co-op to higher stage co-op and on to communes, was an arbitrary formula imposed on the peasants by revolutionary dogmatists, without any real basis in peasant life or experience which might convince the peasants of its need or correctness.

Starting with mutual aid, what real life showed was that each organizational form, as it developed, generated internal contradictions—social contradictions, class contradictions—some of them severe, that could best be resolved by moving to a higher stage, by adopting a more complete and more universal collective form. Either that or abandon organized production altogether. If the latter road were chosen then, with the development of a privatized economy, similar contradictions would arise in time in even more severe, antagonistic and insoluble forms. Isn’t that, indeed, what we are witnessing today?

The collective road, as envisioned and proposed by Mao, comprised a complete ladder, a set of consecutive steps or stages, moving from the means of production held as individual private property to means of production held as property of the whole people, moving from individual producers at risk from all directions—at the mercy of the weather, a fluctuating market, personal illness, and old age—to individuals as full members of a public economic and social network nationwide in scope with productive forces fully liberated and personal security fully guaranteed by the strength of the whole sodality.

Mao’s vision was dialectical, projecting a society in constant development, communities at different levels all moving forward toward higher levels of multifaceted cooperative production at speeds determined by their own potential and their own internal dynamism.

What I want to emphasize here, however, is not the great future potential of community cooperation, which so far no one has reached (and which cannot ever materialize under the responsibility system), but the interplay of internal economic and social forces that propel collective forms of production from one level to another, not as a result of decrees rooted in subjective idealism, but as a result of contradictions generated and opportunities opened up by their very success.

Mutual aid, the first simple stage of cooperation illustrates the point well. In a community where there are not enough draft animals, carts, liquid manure tanks, plows, and animal powered grain drills to go around, where some families share only one leg of an animal, own a plow but no cart, or a cart and no plow, mutual aid is very advantageous and relatively easy to organize, at least at first. The basic principles are that aid groups should be voluntary, promote equal exchange of labor or value, and operate democratically. In addition, to make adherence to these principles easier, the groups should not be too big. The principles are easily stated and easily understood but they are hard to carry out in practice, particularly over the long haul.

Once families start working together difficult decisions come thick and fast. It rains, softening the land and making it easy to hoe. Whose land do we tackle first? Drought sears the crops. Whose corn do we water first? Your mule hauls my cart. At what ration do we swap them? In order to even things up I owe you some grain. But my grain is a little mouldy. How much should I discount it? All these decisions require many meetings that in turn require lots of time. We can avoid them by breaking up, or by bypassing most of them, by pooling our land, animals, and big equipment, farming cooperatively, and sharing the results.

If we decide to pool our land we solve many of the above problems but a whole new set arises in their place. Ordinarily, even though we are all relatively poor working peasants, the amount of land, livestock, and equipment held by each is not the same. If I own more and contribute more to the pool I may want credit for the capital assets I put in. When it comes time to share the income I may want some grain distributed according to capital shares contributed, not just according to the labor I have expended on the crop.

All this is fairly easy to adjust to if the members can agree on a distribution ratio between capital shares and labor shares, which often start out evenly matched at fifty/fifty. But over time the relations of production (who contributes how much) within the group are bound to change. If the team is well led and works hard the gross income will rise and surpluses can accrue in an accumulation fund from which new investments are made. This accumulation and these investments are due primarily to the living labor contributed by the strong young people growing up in the group. After a while they may come to resent so much grain and money being paid out to capital shareholders whose current contribution in the form of labor expended has grown less and less. To be fair the group must reduce the percentage paid out as a return on capital shares and increase that paid out as wages. In the end, due to the predominance of living labor and the new wealth created by it the members may want to abolish capital shares altogether, thus creating a higher stage co-op out of a lower stage co-op. This is not the result of anyone’s arbitrary decision but a reflection of the actual situation, of the changing balance between labor and capital in the village. When the new capital created by living labor surpasses and finally overwhelms the old capital with which the group started out, then rewarding old shareholders with disproportionate payments amounts to exploitation, a transfer of wealth from those who create it by hard labor to those who own the original shares and may, currently, not labor at all.

Mao’s collective “ladder” projected open ended progress from small, to medium, to large accounting units that would, by finally merging with the lowest units of the state, give peasants the same backing and security as that enjoyed by industrial workers in state-owned factories—not the traditional clay rice bowl so easily fractured by unfavorable weather and uncontrolled pests but the iron rice bowl held in place by the strength of the whole national economy. The reforms of the 1980s dismantled the rural cooperative movement before any communities achieved the across the board prosperity necessary to establish commune-wide accounting, a major step up that ladder but still a far cry from property of the whole people. Indeed by that time not many places had achieved the conditions necessary for keeping accounts at the brigade level, not to mention anything higher.

Nevertheless, had the cooperative movement continued, with the development of production over time questions of merger would have arrived on the agenda just as naturally as questions of co-op formation, land-pooling, abolishing land shares, and pooling livestock had already arrived. Chen Yongkuei believed that once the brigades in the local commune all reached a workday value of one yuan and a half—the level of pay that Dazhai was holding at in order not be too far ahead—they could all move to commune accounting. “Once we have commune accounting,” Chen said,

we can reorganize our whole plan of production. We can plant trees where they should be planted and grow crops where crops do the best. We can concentrate on the larger fields and make full use of machines. Then everything will fall into its rightful place…. Our brigade alone cannot take care of all the new land that can be built. Neither can the commune as a separate entity take care of it. We may have to join forces with other brigades, make a transition to commune ownership, and take care of everything together. If anyone says this is wrong and that we should split up again, let him explain how we are to solve this problem. We are not afraid to pool prosperity. We have too much. We have to share it. It’s not the same as sharing poverty!
Chen was describing a real economic development, successful land building creating pressure for changes in organizational form, pressure for taking the next step up the ownership ladder outlined by Mao as the socialist road. Climbing this ladder was not utopian, it was not voluntarist, it was not dogma—it was a realizable future for the peasantry of China so long as they adhered to and did not abandon the socialist road.

And what would the peasantry have to gain by successively enlarging the scope of collective action as they created the conditions for sustaining larger units? Scale, productive power, capital accumulation, mechanization, diversification, specialization, the remaking of nature, and the remolding of society, especially in respect to social well being, maternal and child health care, medical services, support for the sick, the infirm and the aged, and education at every level for people of all ages. In the long run it would mean the reduction and final elimination of the three differences, the difference between peasant and worker, between town and country, and between mental and manual labor. In the short run it would mean the full mobilization of all the human and physical resources of every community for all-round local development.

Much has been made of Mao’s phrase, “Take grain as the key link.” It has been ridiculed as one-sided and blamed for all manner of excesses such as cutting down fruit trees and clearing forests to plant grain. But that phrase is only part of a full sentence which reads “Take grain as the key link, develop animal husbandry, silviculture (forestry, fruit growing), fisheries, and sideline occupations in order to realize the full potential of each rural community.”

Far from being one sided, Mao’s vision was well rounded, comprehensive, and far seeing. It pointed the direction for China’s vast rural population. Those village collectives that, having refused to dissolve, followed it in full, have prospered. Of the village collectives that dissolved, actually the vast majority, only those in certain favored regions—the lower Yangtze Valley, the Pearl River Delta, the North coast of Shandong, the North China Plain around Tianjin and Beijing, the Northeast China plain near Shenyuang, Changchun, and Harbin, and a few scattered areas around fast-growing cities like Changzhi, Baotou, and Nanchang have been able to diversify, primarily into a wide variety of industrial activities linked to the urban centers of the regions where they reside. The rest of the communities, again constituting the overwhelming majority, in spite of major price increases for grain and agricultural products generally, and in spite of vastly increased inputs of fertilizer, pesticides, and improved seeds, have stagnated. They are held in check by lack of capital (which communities as such, with production privatized, no longer accumulate), by the extreme fragmentation of all arable land (making mechanization virtually impossible), by remote locations and poor communications, and by unfavorable price relations between necessary agricultural inputs and the food and fibre they produce to sell. Most of all, they are held in check by the anarchy that flows from “go it alone” ideology, not “public first, self second” that brings out the best in human nature, but “some must get rich first” that brings out the worst.

If these communities don’t again “get organized,” if they don’t, in various ways, relearn how to work together, their problems can only get worse, polarization can only accelerate, and economic stagnation can only deepen. Noodle strip farming is a dead end road.

Shenfan does, I think, clear up some other obscurantism currently distorting the nature, the validity, and the history (the rise and fall) of the cooperative movement in the Chinese countryside. But on the great political questions covered in the book, on the nature of the policy differences between Mao Tse-tung and Liu Shaochi, on the nature of the revolution that followed the Chinese people’s victory in the War of Liberation, Shenfan does less well. The book asks some of the right questions but gives too few clear cut answers.

“There is no question, even today, about the sharp divergence between these two points of view (Mao Tse-tung’s and Liu Shaochi’s).” I wrote on page 163,

They reflected two different approaches to China’s problems and called for the implementation of very different polices. The question that is now raised does not concern the divergence, but whether or not it had a class nature. Were these the views of two antagonistic classes, or were they an honest difference of opinion about the best path toward socialism? “What is not so clear at this point,” I went on to write “is that Liu Shaochi’s thesis, the call for the consolidation of the New Democratic system, was in fact a call for building capitalism.” It was not so clear to me when these words were written, but today, some fourteen years after the reform era began, it has become clear enough. I now think Mao was right, not only about the urgent need for peasants to get organized and form land pooling cooperatives to forestall polarization, as I explained on page 165 of Shenfan, but about the nature of the opposition to this, the first sharp manifestation of the two line struggle that was to dominate the politics of China from the moment of Liberation. The dispute over collectivization, Mao concluded as he pondered the need for a cultural revolution, reflected class struggle between the working class and the bourgeoisie, the former bent on taking the socialist road, the latter the capitalist road.

But unlike the class struggle as it developed in most countries of the world where a significant working class existed, in China after 1949 the decisive battles were fought inside the Communist Party—inside the Party because its victory was so complete and its prestige and power were so great that it became the primary arena for all significant political action. At the same time the party contained within itself factions that reflected the multifaceted society out of which it was formed. Such sundry groups coexisted in one party because that party had brought together, during the bourgeois-democratic stage of the revolution—the struggle against feudalism and imperialism—the best representatives of all progressive classes, including the national bourgeoisie. With the stunning victory of 1949 this New Democratic coalition., built up out of truly diverse class elements only transiently united by decades of shared political and military battles, split over future goals. As long as Mao lived he kept socialist transformation at the center of the agenda and defended it against all attacks, mobilizing the people through mass movements to transform society and in that process to educate themselves, educate the party, enlarge the consciousness of both leaders and led, and find new ways forward toward further transformation.

At every step of the way, however, Mao’s line met opposition and resistance, primarily from a more “orthodox” group at the center that considered the party to be above external supervision and capable of self-rectification without immersing itself in great mass movements of the people. This group, disregarding the masses as creators of history, relied on planner; instead, stressed technology and expertise, hierarchy and one-man management. It one-sidedly pushed material incentive as the key to progress and neglected groundwork for the building of socialism.

After a series of clashes culminating in sharp disagreements over the conduct and results of the Socialist Education Movement Mao concluded that a small group of capitalist roaders inside the higher echelons of the party had become an insurmountable stumbling block to the development of the socialist revolution. When patient persuasion, ordinary education, party rectification as practiced hitherto all proved ineffective in resolving the problem Mao launched the cultural revolution—a mass movement of the people outside the party aimed at rectifying the Party from below.

Mao’s conclusion that the antagonistic contradiction blocking socialist construction lay inside the Party was astonishing and unprecedented. The method he proposed for resolving it—a massive mobilization of the people—was even more so. It was bold, uncharted, fraught with difficulty and uncertain of success. Few people, even among Mao’s strongest supporters, really understood it. Certainly I did not understand it very well, nor did, for instance, the more politically advanced peasants, the leaders of the Communist Party in Long Bow. They told me later,

we didn’t really have any idea what the capitalist road was. Mao talked about it, explained it, expounded on it, but we didn’t have any clear idea of it, what it might mean in practice to our lives. It is only now, since the reform, since the responsibility system, since we have had to contract everything out for private profit that we have had some experience of the capitalist road and can form an opinion of it.

I had been, with much less excuse, plagued by a similar ignorance. Growing up in America, I at least had had long years of experience with capitalism in one of its more venal modes, and I had few illusions about it, but it was not until the reform had dismantled one sector after another of China’s socialist economic base, a transformation I had never imagined possible, that I began to understand what Mao meant by “capitalist road” and “capitalist roader” in China. Thus the unfolding practice of reform since 1979 educated me and I began to see that it did not embody any quest for the best road to national development. It was not a matter of learning by trial and error, testing this and rejecting that, as measures for liberating and expanding the productive forces of the country. Nor was it a matter of “feeling out the stepping stones in order to cross the river” (an apolitical concept which never said what river was being crossed) as its authors were so fond of declaiming. It was, on the contrary, the conscious implementation of a well thought out plan to dismantle step-by-step every facet of the socialist superstructure and remove stone by stone the very building blocks of the socialist economic base.

The reform has, from the start, been a remarkably deft, well orchestrated and protracted campaign to do what all its covering rhetoric insists is not being done. Each stage begins by selecting some small, hard to defend weak link in the socialist policy or institution under attack and moves on to engulf and do away with the whole fabric that holds that link in place. The longer it goes on the clearer it becomes that what we are witnessing is no “feeling out” at all, but the inexorable unfolding of a grand design to tie China irretrievably into the capitalist system. And by what method? By transforming China into one vast free market hinterland, thus raising the question of who will be conqueror and who the conquered? For even a great dragon, it seems, cannot hope to match pearls with the Dragon God of the Sea and come out a winner.1

Given the insight gained from the actual practice of reform, I would, if I could rewrite Shenfan today, make a very different and more critical evaluation of the post liberation opposition call for consolidation of the New Democratic system. The same goes for the more recent idea that feudal vestiges might be a more important road block to the building of socialism than “Party people in authority taking the capitalist road.” And I would make a more positive evaluation of Mao’s struggle at Lushan and the outcome of the clash there between the chairman and his critics. Mao grasped what too many people, including myself, failed to grasp, a clear picture of where the vociferous criticism was coming from, of the class bias it expressed, and he stood firm in support of the main content and thrust of the Great Leap. I would also, in summing up, make a more positive appraisal of the cultural revolution, a more positive appraisal of Mao’s life work, and especially of his last years, for those are the years when he made his greatest creative contribution, saw farthest and delved most deeply into the dialectics of human and societal development.

The great socialist revolutions of our century have all ended, at least temporarily, in disarray, including the one led by Mao. But even though Mao’s “Great Strategic Plan,” the cultural revolution, failed to save the vision he had for China, his analysis revealed the heart of the problem confronting the proletarian revolutionaries of the past and serves as a vital lesson for those of the future, whose emergence is as certain as the rising of the sun. Mao had the insight and the courage to expose the ongoing, antagonistic class struggle at the very core of the Communist Party in the course of socialist construction. And he insisted that the revolution could only be saved by mobilizing the mass of the people, the real creators of history, to take on and to rectify the party. Mao insisted that

the party itself is only an instrument involved in, but not dominating, the dialectical process of continuous revolution….The party does not stand outside the revolutionary process with foreknowledge of its laws. “For people to know the laws they must go through a process. The vanguard is no exception.” Only through practice can knowledge develop; only by immersing itself among the masses can the Party lead the revolution.2
I wish Shenfan had brought out these ideas clearly and forcefully. If it had it would be a more useful book for those who must change the world in the next generation. There is no point, however, in rewriting it now. There is a chance to make all this clear in a third volume of the Long Bow trilogy, which will be called not Li Chun as previously suggested, but Fen Shan, (Divide the Mountain). It will tell the story of the break up of collective agriculture and the adoption of the family responsibility system in one small village leading to the crucial choice now facing all peasants in China, the choice between rural stagnation rooted in hand tilled, private noodle strips or growth based on scale production—a new form of organization that unifies land, machine tillage, crop and livestock technology, input supply and output sales under community ownership and management.

NOTES

1 Mao used this metaphor to oppose guerrilla forces slugging it out in frontal battle with the heavily armed minions of Chiang Kai-shek. In this case the dragon is China and the Dragon God of the Sea is the multinational military industrial complex that rules the world market from the top of the heap.

2 From Mao Tse-tung, A Critique of Soviet Economics, Introduction by James Peck, (Monthly Review Press: New York, 1977) p. 20.

On Measuring “Famine” Deaths: Different Criteria for Socialism and Capitalism?

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Many developing countries which have a high proportion of poor in their population, are typically characterised by a high death rate as well as a high birth rate, with the birth rate exceeding the death rate. The rate of natural increase is given by the difference between the birth rate and the death rate. The actual increase of population is obtained by subtracting from this the net out-migration from the country, if any. In the course of development as health services reach a larger segment of the population, education levels improve and per head real incomes rise, it is expected that not only will the death rate come down but so will the birth rate. The aim is to obtain an even faster decline in the birth rate than in the death rate, if the rate of natural increase is to come down from initial high levels. China however although starting from a worse situation had lowered both the death rate and the birth rate much faster.

In a class-divided society, average figures do not give a true picture of how bad the situation is for the most deprived, who owing to endemic lack of adequate nourishment are also more vulnerable to sickness or morbidity. We know that endemic poverty, under-nutrition and lack of access to affordable medical services get reflected in a much higher death rate than the average, for the poor segment of the population. By the same logic, a given decline in the average death rate over time in the overall population, while in itself desirable, may well be very unequally distributed, with a very large decline in the already lower- than- average death rate among the top income groups in urban areas as their access to health services improves further, and a very small or non-existent decline in death rate say among the poorest in rural areas with initial high levels of deaths. A decline in the average death rate may be quite compatible even with a rise in the death rate for some segments of the population.

The difference between endemic high death rate among the (mainly rural ) poor , and what is identified by most academics as ” famine deaths”, seems to be the fact that the first involves the poor dying at a rate higher than the average for the population, but slowly, unobtrusively and over a longer period of time owing to being chronically under-nourished and therefore being subject to higher morbidity; this higher than average death rate being considered nothing ‘out of the way’ given the existing distribution of incomes.

The second, which is considered not normal or usual and is termed “famine deaths”, involves a sudden rise in nutrition-deprivation and hence sudden rise in morbidity and death rate, usually among segments of the very same group which is poor as a ‘normal’ state of affairs. In short, a sudden upward deviation from the prevalent death rate is thought of as “famine death”. The cause of a sudden and unpredicted rise may be various – a sudden decline in output, or a sudden rise in the price of the basic food staple. The second cause is not necessarily predicated on the first; a sudden rise in food price may take place , not because output is less than usual, but because government follows policies of suddenly increased expenditures, which rapidly expand incomes in the hands of one segment of the population and hence their demand for food, while leaving untouched the purchasing power of another segment of the population, as happened during the 1943 Bengal famine when deficit-financed defence -related expenditures were suddenly raised.

While China has performed much better than India, it is widely believed that China had a more severe famine than India ever had, during the “Great Leap” period in which millions died; the figure of 27 to 30 million famine deaths is frequently quoted. The main source of this figure in India is Amartya Sen’s writings and speeches which are more widely known and reported than are the basic sources, the work of Western scholars, which he uses. The argument made by him is that the absence of press freedom in China explains the fact that the world did not have any inkling that such a massive famine had taken place at the time. Similarly, Peter Nolan and others have argued that a massive famine took place during the collectivisation drive in the Soviet Union in the thirties.

In general, the thrust of the argument is that collectivisation produces famine and the absence of a ‘free’ press as in capitalist countries, prevents anyone outside these countries knowing about it until much later- when Western liberal scholars painstakingly uncover the facts through their research. Since collective ownership and production is the very essence of socialist production relations, this appears to constitute a damning indictment of socialism. The picture is complicated by the fact that in China itself, some of those, earlier termed the ‘capitalist roaders , who were always opposed to egalitarian principles of distribution and wanted to dismantle the rural communes (which were indeed dismantled from 1980 onwards), seized upon the alleged massive “famine ” as one argument for an ex post justification for doing so, regardless of the fact that they themselves despite their active involvement in political life were apparently quite ignorant at that time that such a massive famine with 27 to 30 million deaths, had taken place in their own country.

It would be instructive to look at how exactly this estimate of massive “famine deaths ” has been arrived at by the ever busy Western liberal scholars, which estimates have then been assiduously spread by them and by others to discredit socialism and praise the bourgeois press (thereby, incidentally, ensuring a very good press for themselves).

In China in 1959-61 there was indeed a large shortfall in agricultural output, as much as 15 percent from normal in 1959 and 25 percent from normal in the next two years and this decline did in fact coincide with the “Great Leap” when the transition from advanced co-operatives to the peoples’ communes took place. At that time a number of reasons including drought in parts of the country, floods in others and attacks of pests were put forward for the output fall. No-one, including the foreign diplomatic corps stationed there, or the ideological critics of collectivisation within the Party, at that time suggested there was massive famine. In India too the sixties were difficult years and output shortfall owing to drought in 1964-5 was severe, although less so than in China and was combined with rapid inflation which eroded real wages and raised poverty levels to nearly 60 percent according to the available World Bank estimates.

To associate China’s economic difficulties with communes formation would be rather like associating Indonesia’s 1997-8 economic crisis and collapse with the widespread forest fires which took place at that time. In short empirical coincidence is not a causal explanation. The same commune system ensured a massive rise in employment, in food security and health security for the rural population in the next two decades. It was not communes which created economic difficulties; rather, it can be argued that without the newly-formed commune’s egalitarian distribution, the exogenous output decline might have had a far more severe impact in and made recovery much slower than it was in fact.

When we look at the estimates of death rate and birth rate for China made by US scholars during the years 1959 to 1961, we find that the death rate rose sharply in a single year, 1960, by as much as 10.8 per thousand compared to 1959. But because China in the single preceding decade of building socialism, had reduced its death rate at a much faster rate (from 29 to 12 comparing 1949 and 1958) than India had, this sharp rise to 25. 4 in 1960 in China still meant that this “famine” death rate was virtually the same as the prevalent death rate in India which was 24.6 per thousand in 1960, only 0.8 lower. This latter rate being considered quite “normal” for India, has not attracted the slightest criticism. Further, in both the preceding and the suceeding year India’s crude death rate was 8 to 10 per thousand higher than in China. Of course, each economy has to be judged in relation to its own internal performance; and no doubt the rise in the death rate during the worst years of output shortfall is a bad blot for China on its otherwise very impressive record of rapid decline and good food security. But is it correct to say that “famine deaths” totalled as much as 30 million; and is it correct to imply that absence of press freedom meant that China’s then leaders, despite knowing about such massive deaths, were so cynical and depraved that they could mislead the world successfully?

In a recent article, published in a Bengali-language journal, Badruddin Umar has provided a powerful explicit critique of the widely accepted argument put forward by Sen on large famine deaths (and hence also a critique of others like Nolan). Umar argues that it is inconceivable that such a large number of “famine deaths” should have been wilfully suppressed by a state in China which had demonstrated its commitment to peoples’ welfare by undertaking measures to reach basic food security and health services to the poor, and which had achieved a much faster reduction in infant mortality and the death rate in the very first decade of independence than had India. We propose here to try to provide an explanation which includes a more realistic estimate of mortality, and also of why no-one including the Westerners in China, even noticed that mortality was higher during these years.

Most people will accept that in order to qualify to “die” in a famine, and become a famine-death victim, it is necessary to be born in the first place. But about 18million of the estimated 30 million “dead’ in China’s famine, were not born at all ! Most of those non-experts, journalists and others who accept and propagate the ‘massive famine deaths’ in China argument put forward by the academic sophists, do not themselves realise that people who were never born at all, and indeed never conceived at all, are being included to arrive at the 27 to 30 million estimate of “famine deaths” in China. The measurement techniques are designed to mislead, to talk about the “death” of people who were never born. How is this absurd procedure possible? It has come about because not only the rise in the death rate, but also the accompanying sharp fall in the birth rate is being taken into account when estimating “famine deaths”. The birth rate in China declined and fell to a low of 18 per thousand in 1961 compared to 29.2 in 1958. (After 1961 it rose faster than it had fallen, to reach a peak of 46 by 1964).

The rise in the death rate during 1959-61 compared to the bench-mark year 1958 implies that there was indeed a total excess mortality of 10.5 million persons over the three-year period 1959-61 in China, excess in the sense that if the death rate had remained the same, then the population would have been larger by that many more people. This is the correct estimate of excess deaths, but this order of “famine deaths” is not quite spectacular enough for the liberal scholars. Therefore, the decline in the birth rate which was very steep during these three years, is taken into account and the children who would have been born if the decline in birth rate had not taken place, are added on by them to the estimate, to arrive at a three times higher estimate which is then called the “missing millions” and identified with “famine deaths”. The fact that at least 18 million of the alleged famine victims were never conceived or born, is a minor point for those who want to talk tendentiously about massive “famine deaths” totalling 30 million in China and thereby discredit collectivisation.

That periods of food shortage do lead to decline in fertility is a fairly well established proposition. Periods of mass mobilisation of males, for military service for example, also get reflected in a decline in the birth rate. There was no military conscription at this date in peacetime China, but there was massive mobilisation of both male and female workers for a stupendous construction effort during this period of early commune formation. The established peasant family living and work patterns were radically re-organised with the formation of the communes:

* large bands of and men and women set out in teams and brigades for constructing water management systems, cleaning up the environment and eradicating disease-carrying organisms, afforesting hills, terracing and bunding and so on.

* They spent weeks on the work-sites, and there were communal kitchens and creches to look after children in these years. It is not surprising if this disruption of normal family life in the interests of construction, also contributed greatly to the observed decline in the birth rate as birth decisions were postponed.

* With stabilisation of the new system, dismantling of communal kitchens and reversion to family life the birth rate again surged to unprecedented heights, peaking at 37.9 in 1964.

As regards the genuine excess mortality during China’s difficult years, while shortage and difficulties were very real and visible, famine was near invisible to all including the Westerners at that time in China, because China by then was an egalitarian society, not a class society. The undoubtedly severe food shortage was not concentrated in a sharp drop in consumption by the members of a particular deprived class like poor peasants who then died in the sight of all , while others had more than enough to eat, as typically happens with famine in class societies. Food shortage while it was severe, was spread out over the rural consuming population much more evenly and therefore must have led mostly to higher rates, but not immediately or obviously visible higher rates of mortality in the particularly vulnerable segments in an otherwise equal society – parturient mothers, infants and the very old. It is a mistake to think that all real trends are visible to the individuals at the time.

Thus even though we ourselves in this country have lived through the period when the infant mortality has fallen greatly, it is a matter we are convinced of not from our direct experience of it, but after the numbers have been counted and presented to us. China’s leaders were not guilty of wilful suppression of knowledge of the higher mortality; the knowledge itself was built up much later than the events, and the correct estimate as we have seen is just over one-third of the wrong and sensationalised estimates which are still being circulated.

On a visit to China in the eighties, at the time the inflated “famine deaths” were being talked about in the West, this author mentioned these estimates and asked some very senior Chinese economists about their own experience of this period. They were extremely surprised and said that while there were cases of more deficiency diseases than usual they were not aware of widespread famine deaths.

It should be noted that those sophists who designed the above mentioned unique measure of “famine deaths” are very reluctant to apply it to non-socialist countries and have never done so. Their method if impartially and honestly applied would produce more than one episode of large “famine deaths” – on their own definition – in the West European countries, which saw not only a rise in civilian mortality but also a decline in the birth rate during the time of wartime shortages. Even the accurate definition in terms of rise in the death rate, is never applied by them to talk about famine in countries which are not socialist.

Thus in Russia comparing 1994 with 1990 from the data given by an US academic, we find that the death rate rose from 48.8 to 84.1 per thousand able-bodied persons, as that country plunged into “shock therapy” to usher in a capitalist paradise, and succeeded in halving its national income. No one can say that the press is under censorship in Russia today or that the estimates are not known. But not one of those eminent economists who have deafened us with their estimates of “famine deaths ” during Soviet or Chinese collectivisation, have bothered to apply the same method to current Russian or East European data, nor will they ever do so; for their interest lies not in objectivity, but in a sophisticated vilification of socialism.

(Courtesy: People’s Democracy, September 26, 1999)

http://66.51.111.239/indowindow/akhbar/article.php?article=74&category=8&issue=9

The Production of Death in ‘Chinese Proportions’: Utsa Patnaik on the Great Leap Forward Famine

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Utsa Patnaik: “On Famine and Measuring ‘Famine Deaths.’” Thinking Social Science in India: Essays in Honour of Alice Thorner. Ed. Sujata Patel, Jasodhara Bagchi, and Krishna Raj. New Delhi: Sage, 2002.

This is a long, dense and rigorous critique of the ways in which the death toll of the Great Leap Forward famine has been produced or ‘socially constructed.’ More specifically it is a sustained engagement with the so-called pioneering work of Banister, Coale and Amartya Sen on the issue. From the inclusion of the “unborn” among the famine victims to the unreliability of both the Chinese data (poor censuses, incomplete statistical yearbooks of the 1980s) and moreover the dodgy, backward-projected estimates of the Western demographers in terms of projected and linear birth and death ‘trends’, this is also a classic study of how academics and intellectuals produce the truth.

Prof. Patnaik is a political economist and economic historian at Jawaharlal Nehru University in New Delhi, India. Her work on rural development, the politics of hunger, and Indian and global economic history is highly regarded at home and internationally. We post her article here also in the hopes that those with an interest in China will use it to revisit their understanding of this and other famines, and to explore her work more generally. (This essay is posted here with her permission.)

ARTICLE IS HERE

China Left Review #3 (Summer 2010): Reevaluating Rural China in the Collective Period

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Issue #3 of China Study Group’s bi-lingual web-journal China Left Review is focused on new essays, by Chinese and overseas writers, revisiting several English-language books about rural China during the collective/ “people’s commune” era (ca. 1958-1982). The issue also includes an article on China’s ongoing land-tenure debate, and one on Sino-Korean relations. With the exception of the latter article, every text is presented in both Chinese and English versions – a first for this journal which we hope to continue. (If you’d like to help out with translating, revising or writing for future issues, please contact chinastudygroup@gmail.com.) Also note the new design of the CLR website, including the painting “Iron Bones Giving Birth to Spring” (铁骨生春).

2010年夏季
Summer 2010

回望集体时代的中国农村—反思海外中国研究著作

Reevaluating Rural China in the Collective Period: Reflections on Selected Works Published Overseas

我们以这一期纪念今年过世的寒春。

We dedicate this issue to Joan Hinton, who passed away this year.

书评 / Book Reviews

时势评论 / Current Affairs

Great Leap into Famine? –Ó Gráda’s review of Dikötter book

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Excerpts from Cormac Ó Gráda’s review of new book by Dikötter, Mao’s Great Famine: The History of China’s Most Devastating Catastrophe, 1958-1962. Full review published in Population and Development Review 37(1) : 191–210 (March 2011), as “Great Leap into Famine: A Review Essay.” Ó Gráda is a leading scholar of famine, authoring Famine: A Short History (Princeton University Press 2009) and Black ’47 and Beyond: the Great Irish Famine in History, Economy and Memory (Princeton University Press 1999).

Frank Dikötter’s Mao’s Great Famine {henceforth “MGF”} is the longest and most detailed study of the Great Leap Forward (GLF) famine to appear in English to date.{…} The tone throughout is one of abhorrence and outrage, and sometimes MGF reads more like a catalogue of anecdotes about atrocities than a sustained analytic argument. In style and approach it recalls Jung Chang and Jon Halliday’s controversial Mao: The Unknown Story (2005); indeed, Chang leads the ”praise” for MGF on the back cover. MGF may become the best-known account of the GLF famine for a while. But should it? It is not a comprehensive account of the famine; it is dismissive of academic work on the topic; it is weak on context and unreliable with data; and it fails to note that many of the horrors it describes were recurrent features of Chinese history during the previous century or so. More attention to economic history and geography and to the comparative history of famines would have made for a much more useful book. In what follows I focus on the economic context of the famine, review features of the famine treated by Dikötter but worth further study, and conclude by discussing the role in these events of Mao and the party elite.

Poor China
Famines are a hallmark of economic backwardness. It bears remembering that China on the eve of the Great Leap Forward was one of the poorest places on earth.{…} For at least a century before 1949, major famines were probably frequent enough to warrant Walter Mallory’s depiction of China in 1926 as the “land of famine.” The Taiping Rebellion is routinely reported as costing 20 million lives, mostly from famine and disease. Neither R. H. Tawney’s (1932) report that the famine of 1849 “is said to have destroyed 13,750,000 persons” nor contemporary claims that the Great North China Famine of 1876–79 took a further 9.5 million to 13 million lives should be taken literally, but such estimates accurately underline the apocalyptic nature of those famines. Famine mortality probably declined thereafter. Yet Yang (2010) claims that China’s most severe famine before the GLF famine occurred in 1928–30, killing 10 million people. Between 1920 and 1936, he added, “famine due to crop failures took the lives of 18.36 million people.” Again, these numbers seem too high. Still, Tawney witnessed the devastation that followed in the wake of the famines of the late 1920s, and famine in Anhui province in 1929 inspired Nobel laureate Pearl Buck’s The Good Earth. Nor did it end there. Famine in the Yellow River region in 1935 resulted in significant female infanticide in 1935–36, while the Henan famine of 1942 produced its own catalogue of atrocities. Again and again, what Dikötter dubs ”traditional coping mechanisms” (p. 179) had failed to prevent famine.{…}

China’s extreme backwardness on the eve of the Great Leap matters because it greatly increased its vulnerability to disequilibria, man-made or other. Had Chinese GDP per head been, say, twice as high as it was, the devastation wreaked by the Leap would presumably have been much less. Nor, on the other hand, does MGF take sufficient account of how conditions improved between 1949 and 1958. If the standard estimate of grain output of 200 million metric tons in 1958 is taken at face value (p. 132), then there was enough food to provide an average daily intake of about 2,170 kcals (Ashton et al. 1984: 622; compare Meng et al. 2010). If, however, the output data are contaminated by Leap-style ”winds of exaggeration” and refer to unhusked grain, then the picture is much less rosy and the margin for error by central planners much narrower. Nonetheless, the achievements of the pre-Leap years prompted a false optimism that much faster growth was feasible—catching up or overtaking Britain “in fifteen years” (pp. 14, 15, 73).

What did the victims die of?
Throughout history most famine victims have succumbed to disease, not to literal starvation. Weakened immune systems and social disruption allowed diseases present in normal times to play havoc during famines. Pre-1949 China was no exception: economic backwardness made infectious diseases such as cholera, typhus, and malaria endemic and most famine deaths were from such diseases and from dysentery. So what did the victims of the Great Leap famine die of? Most accounts imply death by starvation rather than by disease; Thaxton links most deaths in the village of Da Fo in 1960 to ”edema,” and this is corroborated by the most detailed study of the causes of death to date, Yixin Chen’s analysis of public health gazetteers from Anhui province (Thaxton 2008: 209, 253; Chen 2010). Although Chen argues convincingly that the faulty data in the gazetteers underestimate the death toll from diseases such as dysentery and malaria, he nevertheless concedes the primary role of edema and literal starvation. Dikötter (p. 286) concurs and wonders why disease did not carry off more ”before terminal starvation set in.” The primacy of starvation as the cause of famine deaths is rather striking and poses a conundrum for demographers studying famine. Before the 1950s only war-induced famines in economies with effective public health regimes, such as the western Netherlands in 1944–45 or Leningrad in 1941–43, followed such a pattern. Does this imply that the Maoist public health campaigns of the early and mid-1950s influenced the causes of deaths during the Great Leap famine, if not the death toll itself? Could it be that the authorities’ attempts to control migration limited, even if unintentionally, the spread of infectious diseases? Chen (2010) gives due credit to achievements registered before the Leap; by then three major killers—smallpox, plague, and cholera—had been virtually eliminated and large-scale immunization campaigns carried out. Reluctant to allow public health improvements a role, Dikötter surmises, albeit without supporting evidence, that the Chinese peasantry succumbed to starvation quickly, “reducing the window of opportunity during which germs could prey on a lowered immunity” (p. 286).

The demographic impact
MGF is full of numbers but there are few tables and no graphs. Quantification is not its strong point. So we read that “between 1 and 3 million people took their lives” by suicide during the GLF (p. 304); that in Xinyang in Henan province “67,000” people were clubbed to death by militias (pp. 117, 294); that in some unspecified location “forty-five women were sold to a mere six villages in less than half a year” (p. 261); that “at least 2.5 million…were beaten or tortured to death” during the Leap (p. 298); and that delays to shipping in the main ports during some unspecified period cost “£300,000” (p. 156). An estimate of 0.7 million deaths from starvation and disease in labor-correction camps between 1958 and 1962 is obtained by applying an arbitrary ”rough death rate” of two-fifths to a guess at the camp population at its peak (p. 289). The main basis for the claim that “up to two-fifths of the housing stock turned into rubble” (p. xii) seems to be a report describing conditions in Hunan province from Liu Shaoqi to Mao on 11 May 1959, after Liu had spent a month in the region of his birth (p. 169).2 On page after page of MGF, numbers on topics ranging from rats killed in Shanghai to illegal immigration to Hong Kong are produced with no discussion of their reliability or provenance: all that seems to matter is that they are ”big.”

The cost of famines in lives lost is often controversial, because famines are nearly always blamed on somebody, and excess mortality is reckoned to be a measure of guilt. It is hardly surprising, then, that MGF’s brief account (pp. 324–334) of the famine’s death toll arrives at a figure far beyond the range between 18 million and 32.5 million proposed hitherto by specialist demographers (e.g., Yao 1999; Peng 1987; Ashton et al. 1984; Cao 2005). Rather than engage with the competing assumptions behind these numbers, Dikötter selects Cao Shuji’s estimate of 32.5 million and then adds 50 percent to it on the basis of discrepancies between archival reports and gazetteer data, thereby generating a minimum total of 45 million excess deaths. Much hinges on what ”normal” mortality rates are assumed, since the archives do not distinguish between normal and crisis mortality. The crude death rate in China in the wake of the revolution was probably about 25 per thousand. It is highly unlikely that the Communists could have reduced it within less than a decade to the implausibly low 10 per thousand adopted here (p. 331). Had they done so, they would have “saved” over 30 million lives in the interim! One can hardly have it both ways.{…}

Three parts nature?
The role of the weather in 1959–61 remains contested. Is Dikötter right to dismiss it? Contemporary Chinese sources highlighted ad nauseam the difficulties caused by drought and flooding, while denying the existence of famine conditions. Western journalists and historians echoed this view. Time magazine repeatedly reported adverse weather, 5 and an eminent Harvard Sinologist declared as late as 1969 that conditions such as those experienced in 1959–61 “would have meant many millions of deaths in the areas most severely affected” but for the effectiveness of public policy and the transport network (Perkins 1969: 303). MacFarquhar’s pioneering account of the famine also highlighted adverse weather as a factor (MacFarquhar 1983: 322). Dikötter acknowledges the challenges posed by the weather but blames
harvest shortfalls instead on the environmental destruction caused by the GLF, which magnified damage caused by adverse weather shocks. Perhaps, but here anecdotes are an inadequate substitute for more rigorous meteorological analysis. Research on the impact of the weather hitherto has relied on indirect measures such as the proportion of the grain crop damaged by the weather or reported grain production. Using this approach Y. Y. Kueh found that droughts and flooding accounted for the bulk of the shortfalls in 1960 and 1961, although he also insisted that “even without natural disasters, the agricultural depression was inevitable” (Kueh 1984: 80–81; 1995: 224). Researchers have only begun to use some abundantly available direct measures that are not subject to misreporting.6 In the absence of systematic analysis of these data, all one can say is that data from several Chinese weather stations show signs of exceptionally adverse weather shocks in 1959–61, though hardly enough to account for the regional variation in harvest shortfalls.7 Dikötter’s sense that the weather did not matter much may well be correct, but his failure to nail the issue is a lacuna.

Human agency
Malthus and his followers underestimated the role of human factors in exacerbating and mitigating famine in the past, even in very backward economies. As John Post pointed out in his classic account of famine in northwestern Europe in the 1740s, even very poor economies could escape “famine conditions and crisis mortality [by] import[ing] grain supplies, adequate welfare programs, and… effective… public administration” (Post 1984: 17). This message is also an important implication of Amartya Sen’s entitlements approach to famine analysis (Sen 1981). Malthusian interpretations of famine in China begin with Malthus himself, and most analyses of pre-1949 Chinese famines continue to be strictly Malthusian.{…} Dikötter’s stance is the polar opposite. He repeatedly cites variants of Liu Shaoqi’s quip (picked up by Liu from peasants in his native Hunan) that the GLF famine was three parts natural and  seven parts man-made (pp. 121, 178, 335), but only to reject Liu’s ”three-tenths Malthusian” interpretation in favor of one that rests entirely on human agency.

As the examples of Ireland and Ukraine attest, the temptation to interpret famines as genocides is strong. Dikötter, perhaps rightly sensing that this approach can distort reality, does not go quite so far as Chang and Halliday’s claim that Mao ”knowingly” allowed millions to starve. Indeed, one plausible reading of MGF’s narrative chapters is that it took a long time for the leadership in Beijing to grasp the scale of the catastrophe at its height. Utopian euphoria and a revolutionary impatience to catch up quickly had prompted the Great Leap. They also neutered Defense Minister Peng Dehuai’s interventions at the Lushan ”think-in” in July 1959. Peng’s protests, in any case, were less about the famine per se than the follies of the Leap in its first phase. Dikötter’s depiction of the follies is excellent and corroborates the more theoretical
case previously advanced by economists and economic historians such as Yao (1999), Li and Yang (2005), Bernstein (2006), and Wheatcroft (2010).

How much did Beijing know when the famine was at its height? Despite MGF’s relentless anti-Mao stance, it accepts that nobody at the top realized beforehand how murderous the economic war against the peasantry would be. Mao’s private physician, repeatedly invoked by Dikötter as a reliable witness (p. 346), “doubted that [Mao] really knew” what was happening (Li 1994), and we are told that Mao was “visibly shaken” when presented with graphic reports of famine from Xinyang in Henan province in late October 1960 (p. 116). Reliable information was at a premium; even the “fabled sinologists” in the British Embassy had no clue about what was going on (p. 345). Blaming the tragedy on the usual counterrevolutionary suspects, Mao nonetheless had “abusive cadres” removed. The news from Xinyang set in train moves that
would mark ”the beginning of the end of mass starvation” (p. 118). In that same month Mao, under pressure from critics of the Leap, ordered the redeployment of a million workers from industry to agriculture in Gansu province, citing the truism that “no one can do without grain” (MacFarquhar 1983: 323). Various concessions to the peasantry followed, and in January 1961 Mao told the 9th Central Committee Plenum that “socialist construction…should take half a century” (Barnouin and Changgen 2007: 188). {…}

China lacked an all-seeing, all-knowing Soviet-style secret police during the Leap. Too much reliance was placed on poorly monitored regional agents and thuggish local cadres. Why else would it take a visit to his home village in Hunan for Liu Shaoqi to discover the dimensions of the disaster? What he saw converted him overnight from supporter to “blistering” critic of the GLF (pp. 119–121). Central-planner-in-chief Li Fuchun’s reaction to the reports from Xinyang was that misguided policies (which he had championed)
had cost lives (pp. 116–117, 122). In a speech in Hunan to party planners in mid-1961, he summarized what have become textbook criticisms of central planning: ”too high, too big, too equal, too dispersed, too chaotic, too fast, too inclined to transfer resources” (p. 122). But thanks to a form of “closed” governance of their own creation, Mao and the party leadership seem to have discovered “destruction on a scale few could have imagined” rather late in the day (p. 123).

None of this absolves Mao from responsibility for the policies that caused the greatest famine ever. But reckless miscalculation and culpable ignorance are not quite the same as deliberately or knowingly starving millions (Jin 2009: 152). Few of the countless deaths in 1959–61 were sanctioned or ordained from the center in the sense that deaths in the Soviet Gulag or the Nazi gas chambers were.8

MGF’s reliance on fresh archival sources and interviews and its extensive bibliography of Chinese-language items are impressive, but its bite-size chapters (thirty-seven in all) and breathless prose style—replete with expressions like ”plummeted,” ”rocketed,” ”beaten to a pulp,” ”beaten black and blue,” ”frenzy,” “ceaseless,” ”frenzied witch-hunt”—are often more reminiscent of the tabloid press than the standard academic monograph. If Yang Jisheng is destined to be China’s Alexander Solzhenitzyn, Frank Dikötter now replaces Jasper Becker as its Anne Appelbaum. The success of MGF should not deter other historians from writing calmer and more nuanced books that worry more about getting the numbers right and pay due attention to geography and history.

Maoism vs. Communism: A Debate

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A lively new polemic is unfolding on de interwebz. This debate is a struggle between those who are for and those who are against the real movement that abolishes existing conditions, a struggle between two types of kittehs: de pro-rev kittehs and de leftist recuperator kittehs.

Red Litterbox, 19 October 2012

Below are some excerpts from an ongoing debate about the nature of Maoism and Mao-era Chinese “socialism” in relation to the communist movement and the concept of “communization,” in response to Loren Goldner’s new article “Notes Toward a Critique of Maoism.” Main texts:

(1) Loren Goldner, “Notes Towards a Critique of Maoism,” Insurgent Notes #7, October 15, 2012

(2) NPC, “The Historical Failures of Maoism,” Red Spark, October 17

(3) Husunzi, comment on Libcom, October 19, reposted on Red Spark as “Some Detailed Measurements on the Redness of the Earth

Excerpts:

(1) Goldner:

The following was written at the request of a west coast comrade after he attended the August 2012 “Everything for Everyone” conference in Seattle, at which many members of the “soft Maoist” Kasama current were present. It is a bare-bones history of Maoism which does not bring to bear a full “left communist” viewpoint, leaving out for the example the sharp debates on possible alliances with the “nationalist bourgeoisie” in the colonial and semi-colonial world at the first three congresses of the Communist International. It was written primarily to provide a critical-historical background on Maoism for a young generation of militants who might be just discovering it.

Maoism was part of a broader movement in the twentieth century of what might be called “bourgeois revolutions with red flags,” as in Vietnam or North Korea.

To understand this, it is important to see that Maoism was one important result of the defeat of the world revolutionary wave in 30 countries (including China itself) which occurred in the years after World War I. The major defeat was in Germany (1918–1921), followed by the defeat of the Russian Revolution (1921 and thereafter), culminating in Stalinism.

Maoism is a variant of Stalinism.

(2) NPC:

… Most of what Goldner points out here is, however, more or less historically correct (though he is very selective in which facts to present).  The vast majority of what the CCP did in China after taking power was precisely industrialization/militarization justified in the language of Stalinism (though Goldner’s critique of agricultural collectivization seems to be entirely misinformed). [1]  Mao, though briefly the face of two (failed) movements which included processes of rapid communization (The Great Leap and the Cultural Revolution), was far more often simply a helmsman for the new bourgeois government.  This duality cannot be ignored—from either position.  The supposed “counterrevolution” which succeeded Mao actually took place under his own authority (when the red army was called in to crush authentic communist uprisings in the Cultural Revolution), though it may have contradicted his own earlier call for those uprisings….

Though I am not a Maoist, I am a partisan of the authentic communization processes that took place in China, particularly the Shanghai Commune and other communist experiments in cities such as Wuhan—but also with sympathy for the experiments in communal agriculture that happened in the interim between world wars and during the first stages of the Great Leap (though I have no sympathy for the accompanying countryside industrial production that plunged the nation into famine), all experiments which bore similarities to the agricultural communization that took place across Spain in the summer of 1936.

(3) Husunzi:

… For now I’ll just direct people to my 2010 article “A Commune in Sichuan?” – a review of the book “Red Earth” where I reflected on some of these questions in relation to more recent scholarship (and my own interviews with peasants who lived through the Mao era), and came up with some different answers than those in either Goldner’s piece or NPC’s response. It’s way too long, so you might want to skip down to the conclusion, “What Could Have Been Done Differently…?”

Also see this Libcom thread where I argue that Mao-era China was not “capitalist” but something we might call “developmental proto-capitalism” (or simply “socialism”) since the law of value was operating only indirectly via the “law of development” driven by military competition with properly capitalist states such as the US (In “A Commune in Sichuan” I refine this and talk about other factors…)

Here are some notes I wrote after reading Goldner’s article and NPC’s response:

(1) not really “capitalist” (see above)

(2) Peasantry – not necessarily “non-revolutionary,” examples: many pre-capitalist peasant rebellions in Europe and China, including communistic tendencies as in the German Peasants War, the Diggers, and also in capitalist contexts – 1917 Russia and Ukraine, 1936 Spain, the Zapatistas – in all cases some peasants took active role in collectivizing land, forming federations of co-ops, etc., not simply fighting for bourgeois measures.

(3) Great Leap Forward – more complicated (see “Commune in Sichuan”)

(4) The “Cultural Revolution” didn’t really “wreck” the economy – and that is why it was not a rev! The strikes and unrest of 1966 to 1967 did lead to a slowing of economic growth – which is why Mao et al suppressed it and called for “promoting production (while) grasping revolution,” and rejecting the workers’ concerns as “economistic.”

(5) Agricultural productivity DID increase (especially per unit land, but also per labor-hour – especially when “modern scientific inputs” finally became available in the 1970s) – see figures from my article. And if there had been no increase in productivity, how could it be considered “bourgeois rev” – an unsuccessful bourgeois rev?

(6) ‘There was no “counter-revolution,” still less a transformation of the previously existing social relations of production.’ I agree there was no “counter-revolution,” but I would say there was a transformation – namely a privatization of bureaucratic power, the commoditization of labor-power (in the Mao era workers and peasants were more not really free to choose their own jobs), marketization of social relations (in the Mao era money couldn’t buy much – you got necessities such as housing in kind or with ration tickets from your “work unit”; or if you were a peasant you produced things for yourself – after 1958 through the mediation of the “commune” or “production team”). But it is true that most of the new capitalists that emerged from this transformation were the relatives and cronies of the same Mao-era bureaucrats…

In response to NPC’s critique of Goldner:

I don’t think any “communization” occurred during the Mao era. During the GLF and in the “people’s commune” system in general I think it’s more helpful to say that some “communistic” elements emerged but were warped by their subordination to a system whose primary function was surplus-value extraction. In the CR the situation was different: whereas the communistic elements of the GLF/people’s commune system I think mainly came from the actual desire for something like communism shared by both some peasants and some party leaders (wrongly believed to go hand in hand with a rapid increase in “development of the forces of production” and increased extraction of surplus-value), in the CR the most communistic tendencies were mainly not intended by the central maoist leaders – it was more a matter of proletarians (and to some extent peasants) taking advantage of the opportunity to push their own “economistic” demands that threatened the system (mainly through strikes), and inspired a small amount of “ultra-left” theory that pointed toward something like communization. LG seems confused here to say the CR “wrecked the economy” – this seems to repeat the narrative shared by Dengists and liberals. One thing Yiching emphasizes is how the central maoist leaders used the need to restore economic growth as an excuse to put workers back to work and supress street fighting, etc. – the slogan (from the original 16 points) was “promote production (while) embracing revolution.” I suspect LG is able to make this mistake b/c of his own productivism (and what Théorie Commuiste calls “programmatism”) – he thinks of communist rev as involving a continuation of economic growth under workers control, rather than the destruction of the economy as such.

But here I also disagree with NPC, in that I think the closest the CR got to communization was these two rudimentary elements: (1) strikes and disruption of the economy (especially the shanghai general strike in december 1966), and (2) the mere ideas being proposed by groups like shengwulian, but not acted upon (they didn’t get a chance to act on them, and it may have already been too late anyway). Yiching basically argues that the “shanghai commune” was already a compromise between the striking workers and the maoist leaders who wanted to restore order. Yes it was later also suppressed and reorganized into a “3-in-1 revolutionary committee” where the party and military had more control over it, but the “commune” itself was already the first step toward recuperation.

Later there were things like weapons seizures in Wuhan, but my understanding is that this was mainly about factional struggles among the various rebel groups that had “seized power” (with military backing – so it was really just the spectacle of power). They wanted weapons so they could more effectively kill the other faction leaders and hold onto the illusion of power themselves, not so they could transform the system. In other words, most of this was about political rev (coup d’etat) not social rev.

I recently talked to a former CR rebel in Chongqing and he re-emphasized this to me, since already at that time he was beginning to critique the other rebels (including his own faction) for not recognizing the diff between political and social rev, but he said no one agreed with him. Much later he learned about the ultra-left currents and basically agreed with them (although he became a liberal – as did most of the ultra-leftists).

(3.1) NPC’s response:

… We do, however, appear to disagree on what is meant by communization (not a surprise, as the term [.pdf] has become something of a catch-all recently).  I probably fall more on the side of a Tiqqunist reading of communization, which allows for its use in situations that are short of the outright final communist revolution, though I have little sympathy for the alternativism that is often read in(to) Tiqqun

(3.2) My rejoinder:

I’m following the sense of communization developed by Dauvé et al – basically another name for communist revolution (the replacement of all forms of property, classes, the state, etc., with the “free association of producers” with common access to the means for production and their products) – but with a clear recognition that there can be no separation between the means and ends of this transformation, no “transitional society” as conventional Marxists conceive “socialism,” since historically and logically such transitional systems – involving the concentration of alienated power supposed to defend the revolution – develop into new systems of oppression (which do not whither away on their own), and as islands struggling to stay afloat in a sea of capitalism, themselves degenerate (or “develop”) into part of the capitalist system. So “communization” refers to the communist revolution conceived as an immediate process of transformation from capitalism to communism – “immediate” meaning not that the process will be completed in a day, but that there will be nothing in between the destruction of capitalist relations and the creation of communist relations. In that sense, communization has never occurred, but we could talk about whether it was beginning to occur.

And that’s what I meant by saying that in the CR there were those two communist tendencies: (1) general strikes and unrest, and (2) theoretical production like that of shengwulian. My point is just that the “shanghai commune” was not really comparable to the paris commune, say – it was more of a compromise and didn’t seem to have that much radical potential. And I think most of what the rebels did consisted of factional struggles for power, with little potential of promoting social revolution. As for the GLF and the people’s commune system, I think those included communistic elements, but at best in the sense that a kibbutz or hippie commune contain communistic elements (but actually less so, since the Chinese “communes” were so clearly subservient to a system of state extraction of surplus value…) – again not comparable to the paris commune or the spanish situation in 1936. And yes I think Spain was undergoing the beginning of communization. On the other hand, I do think you’re right to say the Spanish agricultural collectives are comparable to the Chinese agricultural collectives – I think organizationally speaking they were much more similar than anyone I’m aware of has acknowledged (certainly not anarchists). But I think a big difference was the role the Chinese collectives played in value extraction and “development.” (Not to say the Spanish collectives might have been forced to play such a role if things had continued further…)

I agree that Maoism is not a form of Stalinism, but something different albeit heavily influenced by Stalinism. The real Stalinists were Liu, Deng, et al. – Stalinist productivism points more clearly toward marketization, once the state achieves a certain “level of development.” I believe Mao and his followers actually saw their main goal as communism, but they conflated that with the incompatible goals of state-building and rapid industrialization, etc., and the latter trumped the former – as you note in your response…

(3.3) NPC:

Yes, I certainly agree that the direct attacks on party power (aside from petty factional confrontations), the mass strikes (attacks directly on “the economy” and “production” as such) are where the situation is closest to communization–I would say that it was a communization process which was aborted, but the issue here is that whenever communization is aborted it appears after the fact to have always been aborted before it even began, since communization is a reflexive category which is both the actual process of building communism as well as the reference to a communist ends.  The process of communization begins immediately but it takes time to complete, so what happens when that process is cut short? When that communist ends has been cut off, the circuit is more or less broken and rather than communist motion towards communism, you instead find simply a dead momentum moving in no particular direction.  That doesn’t make those moments less moments of communization though.  If they had occurred in exactly the same fashion, for example, but some third element came into play afterwards–maybe the Shengwulian document gaining some new radical appeal or something, which actually pushed the situation into the full-fledged real communist revolution–then these moments would, in fact, be authentic moments of communization in sequence with a larger movement, with absolutely no change in their historic content, only in what succeeded them–they have the correct characteristics, but their context was, like I said, aborted.This is where I’m adding a lot of Badiou and Zizek to the theory–particularly the notion of fidelity.  Because if you posit that a communist revolution could actually happen at some time in the future, and that communist history (in Badiou’s very broad sense of it) will then have been punctuated by these earlier “events” of communization–from the large ones, like the Paris Commune, to the small ones that occurred throughout China at different scales (you’re right that the Shanghai Commune and Paris Commune are not at all comparable)–you then have a situation in which these moments are recuperated into that process of communism, separated by abrupt discontinuity, but nonetheless communist.  The future revolution is the seal of revolution’s historic failures and the guarantee of the communism at the heart of authentic moments of revolt against myriad pre-communist forms of living.

I think the communist duty is to have fidelity to these moments of communization, even aborted ones.  We have to understand the failures, absolutely and in detail.  But we should not judge communism by its failures alone (as does the There Is No Alternative to Capitalism mantra of the dark ’90s)–we have to judge the communist content of something not simply by what happened but also by what could have happened–if communist revolution had happened, would these things have been elements of it or impediments to it?  That’s the criterion on which I am judging whether or not something was authentic communization.  Most of what happened in China wasn’t, in content or hypothetical context.

On a more detailed note, I do question how much land (during the commune period), in the most basic sense, was still having surplus value extracted from it.  Clearly agriculture was still dominated by the value-form–but land itself was no longer priced, traded or usuried upon by the state.  This is a difficult thing to speculate about, I guess, since land and agricultural production on land capable of it are basically synonymous for most of chinese history–and in fact “productive” land itself was frequently just another name for the components recycled from human wastage (the upkeep of soil-power which complements the necessary upkeep of labor-power performed by child-rearing, food, etc.).  But think of the temple where they raised the pigs in Endicott’s acount–that land was not bought, no one asked the state’s permission in using it, it became the physical space on which a socialist/state-capitailst (whatever you want to call it) form of value extraction occured, but, unlike in capitalism (or most other forms of socialism) the land itself was (briefly) not owned by state, collective, pig farmer or capitalist. Nor was it owned by the pigs…

(3.4) Husunzi:

The nature of land tenure under the “people’s commune” is an interesting and complicated question – I’ll have to think about it (maybe other readers can help out here). My knee-jerk reaction is to say that, under the most common system of collectivization (vs. the various forms of household contracting), land was de facto owned by “the pigs” – i.e. the party-state, since the local officials (leaders of team, brigade, and commune) were basically subservient to higher levels of party-state authority – even when their peasant constituency exercised some democratic control over them (there was a continual tension between the formality of peasant democratic control over local officials and their ultimate need to obey their bureaucratic superiors).

However, your comment seems to imply that land produces surplus-value. You write “I do question how much land… was still having surplus value extracted from it.” I know you’re familiar with the basic marxian premise that the only source of surplus-value is living human labor, so what are you referring to here?

Following the marxian framework, I discuss in “Commune in Sichuan” some of the discourse about how the mao-era “socialist” state extracted surplus-value from peasants (including both the state’s own discourse – it made no secret of this – as well as academic literature), adding my own elaboration of this theory. In short, the main mechanism was the “price scissors,” where the state (following preobrazhensky’s theory and stalin’s practice) set the prices of agricultural prices low and industrial products high, and required peasants to sell a certain amount of ag products to the state (and hand over a certain amount in taxes), so that there was a systematic transfer of value from peasants to the state, which used this value as capital for industrialization. The other two main mechanisms were “accumulation by dispossession” (mainly land grabs for building roads, canals, mines, etc.) and corvee (forcing peasants to build the roads, canals, etc.), usually with no more compensation than food rations. The role of the latter two in extraction are a little unclear because some of these “capital construction projects” were for collective and public goods that technically belonged to the peasants and benefited them to some extent. However, part of this benefit was about increasing agricultural production, which increased state extraction, while also increasing peasant income and living standards to some extent (although Endicott’s book, for example, shows that the “value of the peasant work day” didn’t increase at this time despite increased productivity, simply because the state didn’t increase the grain procurement price until like 1978). In any case, much of this collective and public property was later privatized and auctioned off to the highest bidder, or otherwise used for the private gain of local elite, so it ultimately became another means for expropriation and transfer of value from the peasants….