"The scholar can be killed, but he cannot be humiliated."
This Confucian thought, extolling the honor that comes with great learning, is repeated again and again in "The Cowshed," Ji Xianlin's remarkable memoir of the Cultural Revolution.
As Ji begins his narrative, he is the chairman of the Department of Eastern Languages at Peking (now Beijing) University, an esteemed and relatable professor of Sanskrit who likes his students and mentors young colleagues.
Yet neither his reputation nor his peasant background nor his active support of the Great Leader's Revolution is enough to save him from the savagery of the Red Guards — some of whom he had worked with or taught.
"The Cowshed" offers no large-scale analysis of the causes of this pivotal moment in Chinese history. Rather, the strength of Ji's narrative is its personal dimension as Ji locks arms with us to accompany him into the hell of re-education.
We hear from him what it is like to be denounced, to be dragged upon a stage before a jeering crowd where he is beaten and kicked. Such "struggle sessions" continue for 18 months at a variety of venues: Everyone wants a piece of him.
He writes, "My role reminded me of the sheep tied on top of cars driving in the countryside of Xinjiang. When a good spot is found by the picnickers, they slaughter the sheep on the spot, cook a lamb pilaf, and return home satiated."
Once a believer in the Cultural Revolution, he comes to recognize it as "an elaborate excuse for workers to persecute intellectuals." The "revolutionaries" are no more than "arrogant thugs" who have no understanding of politics.