A Hundred Flowers is set in 1958, nearly a decade after the Communist Party seized control of the Chinese government. Kai Ying recalls the Party’s claims that it wanted to set the people free from the abuses of the past, including a punishing landlord system that disenfranchised many poor Chinese people. But the novel shows that by 1958, the Party has failed to deliver on many of its promises. Vital supplies like food and fuel are running short. And when the Party encouraged people to offer suggestions, and then arrested those who complained about its policies during the Hundred Flowers Campaign, it showed itself to be just as oppressive as the previous regime. Its demands for absolute loyalty drive wedges in relationships, as Tian’s history with Ai-li shows. Perhaps most importantly, while the Party can and does declare an end to polygamy or bride-selling, it cannot stop individual acts of abuse. Suyin’s trauma in the present shares many similarities with elderly Song’s abusive marriage to Old Hing, even though the Communists have been in power for most of Suyin’s life.
Ironically, although they dislike and oppose the Communist Party (quietly, for the most part), the Lee family embodies the best of its idealism. They generously welcome Song and Suyin into their home and family, even though the women come from lower, working-class backgrounds. Wei and Sheng love China fervently, respecting their country’s long history and deep culture. They do not hoard wealth or live decadent lifestyles. But they long for the freedom to think for themselves and follow their consciences. In this way, the book suggests that not all of the Communist Revolution’s ideals were misplaced, while nevertheless criticizing its brutal, repressive nature.
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The Promises and Failures of Communism Quotes in A Hundred Flowers
It didn’t take long for Kai Ying to realize that they were both prisoners of the past, though each pursued his desires and preoccupations differently. While Wei’s sole interest was in preserving China’s past through its art, Sheng believed that if the Chinese were going to forge a stronger nation with a vibrant future, they would have to move past their history and learn from their mistakes.
Sheng never shied away from […] politics and […] problems. […] Kai Ying had often heard Wei counsel her headstrong husband, “You should always look for the quiet within the storm, and then you’ll find the answers to your questions.” Afterward, she watched Sheng turn away from his father with an almost imperceptible shake of his head. She knew what he was really thinking. No, no, you’ll only find the answers to your questions by walking straight into the storm.
[H]is grandson was alone somewhere in the hospital and there was nothing he could do but wait. Wei wondered if it was some kind of retribution for his years of self-absorption. He had always been too involved in his own work, never taking into consideration how it might affect those around him. Rather than going into business as his father had wished […] he concentrated on his art history studies, preoccupied with teaching and research. He was thirty when he finally married Liang, and […] Sheng came along unexpectedly almost ten years later. Through it all, Wei continued to work long hours […] He told himself that his work was a part of all their legacies, but was it? By the time he paused long enough, Wei had missed so much of Sheng’s childhood that he had little memory of what his son was like as a boy.
The lines were burned into his memory. If China is to become a stronger nation, the Party must open its eyes and see that power comes from free expression. What freedom we do have in a Communist society if artists and intellectuals are tortured for following their hearts? What freedom do we have if art and ideas and politics can’t be appreciated and openly discussed? How can there be strength in suppression?
Wei had written his thoughts with such truth and clarity, as if a light had suddenly flooded a long-darkened room. Now these very same ideas had turned to needles pricking his skin, and the truth he’d written had condemned his son to hard labor. After a lifetime of keeping to himself and remaining closemouthed, what made him write the letter and sign his name? A moment of vanity and conceit, a need to feel important again […]
Cheng paused for a moment and looked her up and down. “Your husband is a lucky man to have a wife so devoted to him. Of course, I too am a family man, and I hate to think of your son so upset. You must be very lonely with your husband gone; perhaps we can find a way to make this situation work, while helping each other at the same time?”
It took a moment for Kai Ying to understand what he was saying […] She felt sick to her stomach and wanted nothing more than to run out of the hot, suffocating room. Instead, [she] steadied herself and ignored his question. She held out a red envelope, which contained a hundred yuan she had saved. She knew it was the way things were done, and hoped it would be enough for this vile man.
When Wei came to the darkened walkway under a bridge, he stopped to watch a lone middle-aged woman practicing some sort of dance. Unlike everyone else, who was dressed in the drab gray or green tunics of the Party, she wore a bright red flowing outfit, lifting her leg high into the air and sharply snapping a red fan open in perfect unison […] Still, Wei was intrigued with her precise movements, her total concentration; the effectiveness of the red fan as it opened and closed in unison [with her legs]. She paused once and glanced in his direction before she began the next set. Wei watched with admiration and wondered what it must feel like to be that agile, to move with such ease and grace through life, unafraid to perform a dance she loved, a remnant of bourgeoise decadence.
Tao thought about it. Little Shan had betrayed him to be one of Lai Hing’s stray dogs, and now he wanted to be friends again. Mao would have sent him away for less, just like he did his ba ba. He looked up and studied Little Shan’s face, trying to understand what had happened during the past few months, how his entire life had been turned upside down ever since he he’d fallen from the kapok tree. Yet, here he was, standing upright. Little Shan hadn’t totally abandoned him, having saved him from being pummeled by Lai Hing and his gang. Best friends are hard to come by, his grandfather had said. His ye ye was hard to come by. There would never be anyone else like his grandfather, and Tao wanted him back, but until then, Little Shan stood bundled up and waiting in front of him.
“Truce,” Tao said.
