Not so long ago, in the middle years of the twentieth century, China was a
bland enigma to most of the world. Quiet by day and unlighted during the
hours of darkness, there were almost no cars or trucks on the roads, and
those few that there were all kept their lights off, to save money and fuel.
The whole country seemed to travel by bicycle or on foot, in silence; even at
major road junctions it was rare to hear a single bell tinkling. Human voices
seemed to be systematically muted, unless there was some mass political rally
against the country’s enemies, or some tightly orchestrated chanting of patriotic songs. Otherwise, the night streets were as dark as the vehicles, and as
quiet. Silently and slowly the few cars that there were glided lightless amidst
the bicycles and the pedestrians, their dark shapes alerting the passers-by to
the presence of senior Communist officials within. Clothes, too, were somber, as befitted the times, in shades of dark blue, khaki, and black. One could
have sworn that the nation’s citizens had lost their voice.
Even into the 1970s the silence lay heavy on the land, despite the shake-ups
caused by China’s entry into the United Nations, the sudden and unexplained death of Mao’s chosen successor to the Communist party leadership,
and the secredy prepared 1972 visit of an American president— Richard
Nixon— to the aging Communist leader Mao Zedong. By 1976 Mao had
sickened and died, and slowly the lights and the noise returned. New Communist rulers emerged from the ranks of the survivors, most prominent
among them being Mao’s tenacious and adroit lieutenant Deng Xiaoping,
freed at last after three protracted periods of internal exile to exercise his own
chosen brand of leadership. Cutting through the new opportunities permitted by foreign trade, travel, language instruction, and cultural exchange, Deng
publicized his own vision of China’s future, subsumed by the pithy phrase
that “to get rich is glorious.”