The Real Treasures in Life

Political divisions can strain close bonds, as exemplified by two mother-daughter relationships.

Photo by J W on Unsplash

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What matters more in your life—family or politics? I recently came across the stories of two Chinese American women, each profoundly shaped by mothers who prioritized ideology over familial ties. Though it’s easy to pass judgment on these mothers, we should recognize that life is intricate, and personal choices are frequently molded by the broader social and political contexts they inhabit.

The Unwanted Girl

Han Xiu was born in Manhattan in 1946. Her parents, Willie Hanen and Chinese actress Zhao Yunru, met in China when Hanen was working as the military attache at the U.S. consulate in China during WWII. According to Han, Hanen “was in charge of the Hump, the lifeline to China over the Himalayas. The Himalayan lifeline is the route, literally a lifeline, that transported war supplies from the Burmese border to China and helped the Chinese government and the Chinese people resist Japan.”

For reasons that remain unclear, Zhao distanced herself from her newborn daughter. During Hanen's diplomatic assignment, Zhao enlisted an American couple to bring her 18-month-old daughter, Han, back to China to be with her mother. As a result, Han was raised by her maternal grandmother. Just months after Han's return to China, the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) seized control of the country in 1949.

This shift in power profoundly impacted Han's life. Over the next two decades, the party's antagonism toward the United States made her a frequent target for school bullies, as her biracial appearance and American father set her apart from her peers. One incident Han remembered vividly was during an anti-America parade in Tiananmen Square,

“Some people stacked the portrait of President Eisenhower and some American flags together into a circle. Suddenly, my teacher saw me. He looked at the circle and told me to stand there. Very soon, the flags and the portrait were set on fire. Ashes flew up. President Eisenhower was the American president that I remember best, every little detail of his face, because I witnessed his portrait burning up in the air and falling to earth as ashes. That circle was also interesting. It kind of looked like the Target logo. All I knew back then was that I was nothing more than a target. I was eight years old, and in second grade.”

In the early 1950s, the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) initiated a campaign to recruit educated overseas Chinese back to their homeland. Their promises of prestige, career advancement, and a chance to help build a new China resonated deeply with many overseas intellectuals and artists, including Zhao, leading to a notable wave of returnees.

However, upon returning, they faced a harsh reality: their international experiences were viewed as a liability. The Party suspected that Western ideas had corrupted their thinking. Before serving the country, they had to undergo rigorous "thought reform," which included relentless self-criticism and studying Marxist, Leninist, and Maoist doctrines.

To further prove their loyalty, returnees were pressured to report any suspicious behavior or remarks from others, even their families. This strategy aimed to dismantle trust among individuals, forcing reliance on the Party and fostering unwavering allegiance to its ideology and authority.

Red Guards marched with Chairman’s portrait.

Even the youth were not spared from the Party's ideological grip. Han faced a daunting choice: to denounce her American father as an enemy of China in a written essay, which would grant her admission to the top school in the country. Despite her young age, she bravely refused, fully aware of her father's contributions to China's war effort during World War II.

The repercussions of her defiance were harsh. Han was expelled and sent to a rural village in central China to learn farming. Later, she was assigned to do hard labor in Xinjiang, a region is known for its harsh environment in western China.

Despite these struggles, Han's resilience sustained her for nearly 12 years. After Mao's death in 1976, his successor, Deng Xiaoping, recognized Han's biracial background as an asset, allowing her to return to Beijing.

On the eve of her departure, an official from Han's work unit showed her a staggering 18 inches of letters and reports her mother, Zhao, had sent, condemning Han for being the descendant of an American imperialist and accusing her of disloyalty to the Party. The serious yet unfounded accusations in that pile were alarming; any one of them could have led to her execution. These were carbon copies circulated widely over the years. Fortunately, the leader of Han's work unit kept silent about them, remarking that he had "never encountered a mother willing to risk her child's safety."

What could drive a mother like Zhao to betray her daughter so coldly? Likely a mix of fear, self-preservation, and surrender to the Party's indoctrination. Han observed, “Many don’t grasp the extent of the Chinese Communist regime or the lengths a tyrannical government will go for control.” Such indoctrination was potent enough to turn maternal love into betrayal.

Han eventually returned to the United States. Her deep knowledge about the CCP enabled her to become a valuable asset to the U.S. State Department. After she retired, Han shared her incredible life story in a book, titled “The Unwanted.” I highly recommend reading it.

“Family is more important than politics.”

Li Nanyang was born into a privileged family, with her father, Li Rui, serving as personal secretary to Chairman Mao. However, this connection did not protect him from the consequences of dissent. Criticizing Mao’s Great Leap Forward—a campaign that caused a famine resulting in 30 to 40 million deaths—led to Li Rui’s imprisonment in a labor camp for two decades, including eight years in solitary confinement.

Compounding his suffering was the fact that his wife, Fan Yuanzheng, labeled him an 'enemy' of the party. Their once passionate love story, marked by tender courtship letters that would make modern youth blush, transformed dramatically as they both became party members. The party’s oppressive control over thoughts and actions, its unyielding demand for self-criticism, and the harsh persecution of dissenters drove an irreparable wedge between them.

While supporting the party's main goals, Li Rui demonstrated independent thinking and sought to influence senior leaders like Mao through discreet conversations and letters. In contrast, Fan fell victim to the Party's indoctrination; she was part of a growing faction that infallible, leading to the belief that all his policies were beyond reproach. This created a perilous environment where anyone who dared express even the slightest doubt about Mao or his decisions was labeled a class enemy, deserving of punishment, even if they were intimately connected to you.

Fan’s twisted belief led her to spy on her husband’s phone calls with colleagues and to write lengthy documents disclosing what Li did and said at home. When some party officials were debating whether to give Li a lighter sentence, Fan’s report convinced them otherwise. After Li was imprisoned, Fan divorced him. She even directed their three children to write a letter to Li, denouncing him and severing all ties. Her betrayal wounded Li deeply.

Fan's animosity also extended to their daughter, Nanyang, who not only resembled her father but shared his independent thinking. As she grew older, Nanyang defied her mother's views and chose to visit Li in prison, igniting Fan's fury. Fan often cursed Nanyang and even resorted to physical violence.

Li kept detailed diaries over the decades to document the party's inner power struggles and policy disputes. He was aware that the party could either destroy them or use these diaries selectively to aid in power struggles at the highest level. When Nanyang emigrated to the United States, Li seized the chance to protect his diaries, asking her to smuggle them abroad.

Nanyang has penned several articles inspired by her father's diaries, which further strained her relationship with her mother, Fan. Fan harshly accused Nanyang of being a pawn in America’s anti-China agenda and never found it in her heart to forgive her daughter. In her will, Fan expressed little love for Nanyang, ultimately using her final words to condemn her instead.

After Li's death, Nanyang donated his diaries to the Hoover Institution at Stanford University. As Li predicted, the CCP is threatened by their content and has filed an ongoing lawsuit through Li's second wife to reclaim the diaries for China.

Delving into her father's letters and diaries led Nanyang to forgive her mother, understanding that Fan's misguided beliefs and actions stemmed from the brutal indoctrination of the party. This indoctrination stripped individuals of their humanity, instilling the notion that loyalty to the party must always overshadow all other human relations.

Now a mother herself, Nanyang shared that despite her support for Trump and her daughter's allegiance to Biden, their relationship remains strong. She believes that "family is more important than politics," a sentiment that has guided her through her family's political differences. She vows never to repeat her mother Fan’s mistake.

Han Xiu and Nanyang's stories, along with their shared tumultuous relationships with their mothers, highlight the personal toll of totalitarian ideology. Their experiences should serve as a powerful reminder for us today to avoid letting political differences divide us from the essential treasures in life: love and family.