Bow before the Mao

Every morning at daybreak the Chinese guard of honor raises the flag of China at Tian’anmen Square before a sizable crowd of Chinese citizens and expatriates. I was standing quietly on the chalky tiles of the Square witnessing the spectacle this morning at 5:02am.

Jane, Andrea, Alysha, Lauren, Traci, Jason and I scaled the south gate at our university (the only gate open at 4am is the west gate, but we weren’t walking that far). Jason chose the spikey portion of the gate to climb, so he had a real time trying to maneuver over the top. Picture me teetering atop of an eight-foot gate trying desperately not to lose face while I’m laughing and wincing in awkwardness. Everyone made it across safely, and we grabbed a taxi heading for Tian’anmen Square.

The crowd was in full force at 4:40am when we arrived in pitch-blackness. Seconds before sunrise the Chinese national anthem piped up over the loudspeaker. Two guards stood beneath the flagpole facing the Forbidden City, away from the throngs of onlookers gathered at the center of the Square. The flag appeared and was thrust outward to show the nation’s colors in the still morning air. Over the next two minutes, the flag was slowly raised in sync with the anthem and with the backdrop of the giant Mao Tse Tung (Mao Zedong, in English) portrait on the Forbidden City. And then… it was over. No claps, no cheers, just a mass herd of humans storming out of Tian’anmen Square.

It was 5:04am, and we had three solid hours to kill before the Mao Mausoleum opened for viewing. We headed off in hopes of finding an Egg McMuffin and some orange juice. With the help of some very welcoming Chinese citizens and my sketch of the “golden arches” with the Chinese word for “yellow” and an arrow, we finally found a McD’s and our beloved Egg McMuffins.

By 7:30am, Jason and I had lost the group but were ready to pay a visit to the Mao. It baffles me that a population of people like the Chinese have placed a man, a corpse really, on such a pedestal to be idolized in masses day in and day out. In a self-proclaimed Atheist state, the Great Helmsman is literally worshiped as a God. We were stoked to just witness the madness surrounding the scene.

I checked my bag for eight yuan and booked it across the street to get in line. We passed two security checkpoints and countless guards with megaphones instructing the queue on our conduct. One of them directed his attention to me, “Excuse me, madam. Please, your drink,” as he motioned to the garbage. Throw my water away, got it. Another told Andrea that she was, “very beautiful.”

We filed through the line and weaved around the building until a small kiosk appeared selling fresh flowers to visitors. All of the sudden, I understood. I was in the 30-year long grieving line for Chairman Mao, China’s greatest savior. The family in front of us purchased an armload of yellow carnations. They laid them down with great respect next to the hoards of other gifts inside the great hall before a giant statue of Mao Zedong sitting tall on a marble throne.

We never stopped our motion coming through the building. The line moved swiftly, but not one person missed a thing or spoke a single utterance. Silently we turned behind a wall and into a maroon colored room with armed guards (ARMED GUARDS, FINALLY!) behind a glass wall. The line snaked on both sides around the glass room that encased Mao’s remains. Within the room was an elaborate display of flowers and ribbons and lots of other beautiful things that I paid no attention to because I was so encapsulated by the Mao that lay before me.

I couldn’t take my eyes of the idol. I was in the room all of 30 seconds, but it felt like an eternity that disappeared in an instant. I want to go back. I want to stand there and look and think and speculate on the obvious… Who? Where? When? What? Why? And how?! Mao’s will stated that he should be cremated. He supported legislation that all political figures get the same treatment. In 1976, his successors chose the opposite route and embalmed his body, preserving it for the entire world to view. They learned the technique from the Vietnamese and the preservation of Ho Chi Menh, who learned it from the Russians and that of Vladimir Lenin. North Korea’s Kim Il-sung is also honored in the same fashion.

And then in a flash, it was over. Jason and I were out of the south gate of the Mao Mausoleum and on our way to pick up my bag. It was 8:08am, and we were headed home to sleep the afternoon away. We boarded the subway (which I now ride for free thanks to my big yellow BOCOG volunteer accreditation), and called it a day. While all of China was waking up, we were hitting the hay with a vengeance. Three thirty in the morning was just too much to handle.

Tonight... Chinese karaoke :)

XOXO