by Kathy Keyi Jia-Jones 贾科一
(The Chinese version of the article was published in Life newspaper, China, on Nov. 3, 2019; there are changes in this English version.)
This year we are celebrating my parents’ 60th anniversary. I am grateful for God’s blessings. According to the statistics compiled by the U.S. Census Bureau, only 5% of married couples reach their 50th anniversary; how many couples ever reach their 60th anniversary would be even rarer. Sixty years ago, by mysterious fate, my father Jia Ying-fu and mother Zhang Hai-yun were brought together in the Great Northern Wildness – Bei Da Huang.
In China’s Heilongjiang Province, there is a region called “Bei Da Huang”–the Great Northern Wilderness, or China’s version of Siberia. Despite the rich black soil, the severe cold weather was not inviting 60 years ago. It could reach 40 degrees Celsius below zero in winter and two-thirds of the year the land was frozen. There had been attempts to conquer the wildland in the past but to no avail.
In 1947, the Chinese government took an important step. Realizing this region’s great potential for growing food and its important political and military position, the government decided to cultivate the land and to strengthen this side of the Russian-Chinese border. Drawn from across the country, hundreds of thousands of young people were sent to the wildland, many of them from “politically incorrect” families. Among them were my mother and father.
As my parents are celebrating their 60th anniversary, the region is celebrating the 72nd anniversary of its reclamation this year. This article is written for the love of my parents and ancestors, as well as for Bei Da Huang, where I was born and raised.
In the 50s, a “politically incorrect” family background was viewed as akin to a genetic disease; a person could be deemed to be “incorrect” from birth. In the years that followed, my parents’ family backgrounds would affect not only them but also us, the next generation.
My mother was born in Yan An. Her father Zhang Hong-en was killed by the extreme left wing of the Chinese communist party when she was about two years old. Her uncle Zhang Xiu-Shen, a high-rank official, adopted her and raised her as his daughter; we knew him as a grandfather. My mother attended a boarding school for the elite and went to university. However, in 1954 late Chairman Mao Ze-Dong accused my grandfather and the governing body of the North East Region of being an anti-communist circle. My mom’s life changed. After she graduated from Shen Yang Agricultural University she was sent to Bei Da Huang. Later in the 80s, thanks to the historical Open-up and Reform policy, my maternal grandfather Zhang Xiu-shen was reinstated and became Deputy Minister of the National Agricultural Committee.
At that time, my father’s case was not better than my Mom’s. His father Jia Guo-qing was a wealthy and powerful man as the head of Xu Chang in Central China. When the Liberation Army came, he escaped and the family properties were distributed to the poor. My grandmother Liu Xi-rong was left to look after three children, living in a shared house with another family. To survive, my father joined the army in the spring of 1949 at the age of twelve, when the Liberation Army needed people to end the civil war. Despite more than a decade of military life and his outstanding performance, due to his family background and the fact that his father was still at large, his army career ended in 1958 and he was transferred to Beidahuang. My paternal grandfather Jia Guo-qing was arrested later in the 60s during the Cultural Revolution and died in prison so I never had a chance to meet him.
Back in Beidahuang, when my mother came in September 1958, my father had been working there since April as the head of a team of former army officers. Mother was an instant celebrity. On the day she arrived, she was wearing a red silk scarf, a white dress, and a pair of stylish leather shoes. All the eyes followed her wherever she went. Mother was naive, proud, and unprepared for the real world. But she would soon learn. That evening, a Party official came to give her the first lesson. “Some new graduates are out of touch, too bourgeois, not good. They need to change”, he said seriously. That night, she stayed in a tent that was open at the top. She curled up to keep herself warm watching the stars that seemed to be frozen in the sky.
As my mother was a scientist specializing in soybean breeding, her first job was to monitor soybean growth. Looking at the soybean plants scattered here and there in no particular order she couldn’t understand how the seeds had been planted. She asked a young man working nearby what kind of machines they used to plant the seeds. He said, “Oh, the best one in the world–Hole-Punch machine, the most advanced technology”! “Never heard of it”, said mom. The man laughed, “There is no machine here, so in the springtime, we just used a stick to dig a hole in the ground, put in a few seeds, and kick some soil to cover the seeds”. Mother was speechless.
At the end of the year, it was customary to give a performance report in a meeting. A person would reflect on his/her year, including the strong points but concentrating on the weak ones. You had to be very critical of yourself in order to pass the group assessment. When it was mom’s turn, she summarized her half-year of work. Everyone agreed that mother worked hard; all liked her report except one girl who lived in the same dorm as my mom. She criticized mother for being too bourgeois. For example, mother had to dust off her bed a few times before going to bed, she paid too much attention to her clothes, and so on. Mother shot back: “This has nothing to do with my work!” Everyone was shocked. “Looks like she has to reflect on her attitude and bourgeois lifestyle,” they pointed out. Mother refused, and her performance report didn’t pass. “She needs more political education,” they decided.
The educator, just as luck would have it, was my father.
My father had been one of her suitors, and the most determined and bravest one. They fell deeply in love during these “educational;” sessions. He became her defender.
Love transformed their lives. They got married, and mother became pregnant. As food was rationed, each meal father would give half of his bun to mother.
The birth of the first child is a highlight for all parents. For my parents, I was even more special as I was the first child born to the newly established Science and Research Institute. They named me Keyi meaning the first child of the Science and Research Institute.
Mother recalled in her memoir: “At that time, about fifty families lived in this place. We shared one well. There was no school, no hospital, no electricity, and no brick houses… After Keyi was born…we shared a house with another family…The room was divided into two parts: on the south side lived another family that just moved here with a one-year-old child. We lived on the north side—the colder side. Between the two families hung a curtain that served as a divider. The room was so cold in the winter that the walls were covered with frost, and a bucket of water would turn into a big chunk of ice the next morning. Yet, this was our first home; we had many sweet memories.”
A few years ago, I asked my dad: “When did electricity become available?” He replied: “When you were born–you brought light to us.”
My grandma came to look after me so my mother could continue her research work. For the next 2o years, she raised me and my brother. She was the pillar of the family during hard times. Despite the political turmoil outside during the Cultural Revolution, inside the home was a safe and warm haven thanks to grandma. Grandma will always be remembered with gratitude.
During their sixty years of marriage, my parents stood by each other for better and for worse. Together, they survived some of the most difficult times in Chinese history, such as the three years of famine in the 1950s and the Great Cultural revolution. Hardships only strengthened their love and bond. Overcoming all political barriers, they became very successful in their own careers.
Today, Bei Da Huang has put on a new face thanks to the contributions of many dedicated people such as my parents. The region has adopted the world’s most advanced technology—for real—and become China’s largest grain and soybean producer.
I left Bei Da Huang after living and working there for 18 years to attend university, having taught myself English. I left China thirty years ago for Canada. The longer I live here, the more I feel that you can never put behind something that has formed you.
Happy 60th anniversary, Mom and Dad! Thank you! Many healthy and loving years to come!