BOWS and Arrows

[Cataphrak]

November 10th, 1958
Fuzhou, Republic of Zhejiang

Fuzhou had been a city of importance once.

Folk used to swell with pride when they said that they had been born in Fuzhou. For centuries, it was a centre of art and culture. It was known spoken of as a city which provided more scholars to the imperial court than metropolises ten times its size. When the Europeans arrived, the people of the city had greeted them eagerly, as those thirsty for knowledge greet the coming of new mysteries to be solved, new customs to be learned, new texts to be read.

But these foreigners had brought with them not knowledge, but guns, and opium, and the thunderous word of their all-conquering warrior god, the one too terrible to be named and too cruel to brook any deviation. Ruin followed in their wake. The countryside filled with cults and fanatics. The city rotted from the inside as opium was rammed down its throat to satisfy the greed of far-off lands. The foreigners came in waves, each one more arrogant and violent and vicious than the last. First the British, then the Germans, then the Americans.

When the armies of the resurgent Republic marched through the city thirty years ago. There was little hope left to the people of Fuzhou. Decades of abuse and bloodshed had beat it out of them. But for a brief few years, there was peace, and more than that, even a fragile sort of prosperity. The Republic preached a gospel, but it was not that of an all-conquering, fiery god. It was that of a new China, strong and free. And it had tried to keep the promises it preached with new roads, new factories, and new railways. For a few years, hope flickered again.

Then the Japanese came. The last wave of foreigners, the ones who made all the others pale in comparison. For years, they threw down all that was built, defaced all that was good, and violated all that was sacred, as if the very idea of a China that had not been planned by Tokyo and built by zaibatsu offended them. The "Three Alls", they called it: "Burn all, loot all, kill all", and although they failed in the end, it was not for lack of trying.

The Japanese had barely left by the time the flu came, perhaps cruellest of all, for even the Japanese could be reasoned with, if one was willing to sell one's soul. Between the two, what few embers of hope were stamped out entirely. Fuzhou was a less a city and more a gigantic tomb. Nobody felt pride at the mention of its name, nobody even acknowledged its existence. A new government came, this time based in Hangzhou. It called itself a new Republic, heir to the one that had disintegrated at the end of the War against the Japanese, but nobody was fooled. The new Republic's focus was in Zhejiang, to the north. It was even in the name. If Hangzhou even considered Fuzhou, it was as nothing more than a faded sepulchre. A burnt-out shell where glory had once resided.

But that morning, the city awoke to the roar of five hundred engines and the shouted greetings of ten thousand voices.

They came in a massive convoy of trucks, newly-built under the dust of their long journey. They thundered down the main road in their dozens, an unending stream of vehicles in a city which had for so long only associated the sound of engines with the coming of death and terror. From homes and factories and side alleys, the people of Fuzhou came out to watch the procession, lining the boulevard as they had once done in bygone days, watching as truck after truck passed by, their beds filled with barrels and crates and waving, smiling young men and women.

Many simply stared back in silent disbelief. Who were these people? These ambassadors from a world where hope and promise and faith in a bright tomorrow still existed? So cheery in their attitude, so exuberant in their movement? Surely, they had come to the wrong place.

But some of them understood. Those who had lived in the city all their lives, who had survived the years of war and plague and famine. They remembered what the years before that had been, when the streets had still been full of life and laughter, when the battered, half-repaired buildings had been bright and new. When the burnt-out shell of the city's spirit had stood whole and had glowed with promise.

They remembered, and they watched the trucks pass by, each emblazoned not with the emblem of President Xia's Zhejiang, but with white sun of the Republic, the Old Republic. The Republic of Sun Yixian and Jiang Jieshi.

They remembered, and some of them dared to let hope flare up inside of them once again.

[Cataphrak]

January 29th, 1959
Fuzhou, Republic of Zhejiang

The word spread quickly through the city:

"If you are hungry, look for the white sun. You will get a bowl of congee and a tin of dried fish, no questions asked."
"If you are homeless, look for the white sun. They will give you blankets and a dry place to sleep."
"If you need money, look for the white sun. They will loan you money without interest."
"If you need paying work, look for the white sun. They will send you to a co-operative, to grow rice or stamp pans, and you will get a part of the profit."

And there were even more outlandish stories too; stories that in the countryside, men wearing the emblem of the white sun were buying up land from landlords and selling it at a loss to the peasants, that they were sponsoring schools and sports teams, drilling wells and installing telephone lines. It seemed that the Benevolent Order of the White Sun had endless resources, and were willing to spend it all for the sake of the people of Zhejiang.

When the volunteers, the men and women who wore the white sun, were asked about it, their answers were even more perplexing. They saw nothing strange about what they were doing. To them, it was only natural that people should help one another, that they should work together and build better lives, that they should consider not just the betterment of an individual, or a family, but of the whole human species. That was simply how things were, in the place they called "The Republic" - not the Republic of Zhejiang, but the one to the south, the one across the border, the one which flew the flag and wore the uniforms and made the promises of the Republic of Sun Yixian.

Not everyone believed them, of course. China was still a suspicious place full of suspicious people. After so much trauma and hardship, who wouldn't be? There was some ulterior motive behind the smiling face of the white sun, some declared, to almost anyone who would listen. "Do not take what they offer you. They will charge a price for it one day, and it may not be one you can afford to pay."

But others, many others, saw the food kitchens and the schools, the new roads and shelters, the wells and telephone lines and the co-operative where there were no landlords and no bosses but everyone made enough to eat.

And they began to believe.

[Cataphrak]

February 10th, 1959
Ningbo, Republic of Zhejiang

"With the pipes broken, we'll have to get water from the river again, like in my grandfather's day," one of the neighbourhood elders complained. "Only now, the water's diseased from all the factories upstream."

"Not that the government cares, of course," growled another. "As far as they know, the pipes are already fixed, never mind that the bastard municipal administrator embezzled the money so he could build his what? Third house now?"

The other neighbourhood elders nodded as they offered a chorus of angry, guttural noises. Song Hongxue nodded with them, her expression pensive as all of their faces turned to her. The men and women in the room represented probably more than a quarter of a million people all-told, but their positions were unofficial, and they had nowhere near the amount of resources that she could bring to bear as a senior administrator for the Benevolent Order of the White Sun.

"So?" One of them asked. "Will you fix the pipes for us?"

Song Hongxue frowned, an expression which she had gotten used to repeating on a regular and frequent basis. "We could, but if we did, you would be dependent on us to keep the water coming. I don't think you would like that any more than I do."

They didn't. As much good as the BOWS had done over the past few months, nobody in the Republic of Zhejiang liked the idea of having to exist at the sufferance of the powerful. They had been abused too many times by would-be benefactors to be comfortable with that idea.

"So what do we do?" came the reply, from half a dozen mouths.

"We can't solve this problem ourselves," said Yue, the youngest of the elders, and perhaps the most idealistic. "The municipal officials are all corrupt, and the prefectural ones don't give a damn about us. The only people they'll listen to are the fat-cat bankers in Hangzhou!"

Another round of nods, another chorus of angry noises.

Song Hongxue tapped the side of her face with one finger. "What about direct action?"

Yue's eyes narrowed. "You mean take up arms and fight? Like our fathers did against the Japanese?" A note of fear crept into the room. They all remembered what that had meant: hunger, terror, the constant threat of reprisal. However bad their current situation was, that had been a hundred times worse.

"No! Not that! Such measures are for far more desperate times than this!" Song Hongxue assured them. "I mean protests! The prefectural officials don't know about your problems, so let's tell them! You are all good at organising, you wouldn't be here if you weren't. So gather up all the people willing to follow, and we'll stand in front of the prefectural office and make a nuisance until they listen to us!"

The neighbourhood elders were far from convinced. "Do you think they will listen?"

"Not if it's only those of you here," Song Hongxue replied. "But they stay in power because the people in your neighbourhoods elect them, and they know that if they ignore too many of you, they won't stay in power much longer."

"But even then!" one of the elders protested, "You're asking thousands of people to miss a day of work, to travel. We can organise them, but who will feed them? Who will ferry them?"

"Don't worry about that," Song Hongxue answered as she tried to hide the smile creeping across her face. "That, we can help you with."

----

The outcome had never really been in doubt. The day before the demonstration was due to begin, Song Hongxue had gone to the prefectural officials personally. By the time she had left, they were already half convinced. All the actual demonstration really did was make a great deal of noise at BOWS expense.

Of course, that wasn't really true, not that anyone save Song Hongxue and her fellow BOWS administrators knew.

When the demonstrators returned home to find their corrupt municipal authorities replaced and work crews already replacing the water mains. They found themselves believing, not just in the Benevolent Order of the White Sun and the Republic which had sent them, but in the idea that enough people shouting loudly enough could shift the gears of government. After years of being ignored and victimised by corrupt officials, they began to believe that they could defend their rights, if only they organised.

It was a lesson that was being repeated in half a hundred municipalities all across Zhejiang and Fujian, a lesson engineered by the administrators of the Benevolent Order of the White Sun.

And when those same administrators proposed to deliver further instruction, to train those willing to become activists and organise them into long-term groups, tens of thousands took them up on their offer...

[Cataphrak]

FELLOW CITIZENS!

THE MILITARIST FASCISTS HAVE SHOWN THEIR TRUE COLOURS!

For years now, they have tried to keep us silent as we were forced to drink from dirty rivers, as our wages went down, as we lived in darkness and filth and poverty to scrape together a minimum wage. For years, they told us that sacrifice was necessary to fight the Republic's enemies.

But who are the Republic's enemies?

They have refused to feed the people, to give us clean water or electricity. Instead, they claim all the benefits for themselves. They demand higher and higher taxes to feed their war machine, and the generals and admirals and their capitalist friends get richer and richer.

They hold the people hostage. They impoverish the country. They render the elected government so powerless that we must rely on foreign charities to provide the services which every human being must have to live!

AND THIS IS NOT ENOUGH FOR THEM!

Now, in the name of "National Security", they hinder those who have done what they refused to do. Is it National Security when soldiers are ordered to prevent our children from having clean water and electricity? Is it National Security when those who build us schools and clinics are arrested at gunpoint? The military claims to fight the enemies of the people, yet the only fighting they have done are against those who would give the people a better life.

No, the evidence is unmistakeable and it is clear!

THE MILITARY IS THE ENEMY OF THE PEOPLE!

In the name of Victory, they have conspired to keep us poor, dirty, and starving. In the name of the Republic, they trample our rights. In the name of National Security, they refuse to allow anyone to help us.

SO WE MUST HELP OURSELVES!

We must fight for our livelihoods! Fight for our rights! Fight for our future and the future of our children! We must show the government that we stand against the forces of rampant militarism! We must show the Army that we are greater than they, in numbers and spirit!

JOIN THE FIGHT FOR THE FUTURE! JOIN THE DIRECT ACTION BRIGADES!