Why do very few people, in this country at least, seem not to know nor even to have heard of the May Fourth Movement (1919) in China? Coverage of China is ubiquitous in Western media; China’s geopolitical manoeuvres, fluctuating economic growth, and unique political ideology are a source of profound intrigue and criticism amongst social commentators. The events and legacy of the May Fourth Movement, marked in almost every Chinese textbook as ‘the beginning of Chinese modernity’, is vital for obtaining a more holistic understanding of the anatomy of contemporary China.
Photographs from May Fourth, 1919, depict several thousand students, men, and women gathered in front of Tiananmen (The Gate of Heavenly Peace), the tremendous entryway to the Forbidden City. The Forbidden City housed China’s imperial rulers for more than 2,000 years until the 1911 Revolution toppled the Qing dynasty and brought forth the establishment of the Republic of China.
The demonstrators gathered in outrage over reports about the negotiations underway at the Paris Peace Conference over the terms ending World War I. China had contributed thousands of workers to the Allied effort during the war. However, territories in the Shandong Peninsula, formerly German holdings located in modern-day eastern China, were purportedly going to be transferred to Japanese control. Protestors were in uproar over not only the perceived bullying and betrayal on the part of foreign powers, but also over the corruption of their own military leaders who had failed to protect the homeland. As a result, some protestors turned to violence and burned down a prominent pro-Japanese politician’s home. Ultimately, their central diplomatic goal failed to be achieved: the Treaty of Versailles went into effect in January 1920 and Japan was awarded the territories in Shandong.
The 1911 Revolution had abolished the antiquated system of imperial rule, but China’s democratic weakness was a symptom of, according to protestors, the country’s inability to adapt to ‘modernity’ successfully. Chen Dixiu, a leading figure of the movement and a co-founder of the CCP, confirmed this sentiment when he declared that, “in order to advocate [for] Mr. Democracy, we are obliged to oppose Confucianism, the codes of rituals, chastity of women, traditional ethics, and old-fashioned politics; in order to advocate [for] Mr. Science, we have to oppose traditional arts and traditional religion.”
The principles espoused by Chen Dixiu were shared by a vast swathe of the population; new periodicals, study societies and political organisations sprang up. The ‘New Literary Renaissance’ was born. Experimental writings, critical political commentaries and iconoclastic essays excoriating traditional values began to be produced: their intellectual legacy remains prevalent to this day. For the first time, study societies discussed and promoted theories from abroad, such as the liberalism of John Dewey and a variety of forms of anarchism and socialism. The written Chinese language had still been in its arcane ‘classical’ form prior to 1919, but a “dead language cannot produce a living creature,” and so a democratising process was enacted in order to promote a more accessible and vernacular version.
Concurrently, this newly fostered intellectual atmosphere was allowing for one faction of the progressivist ‘New Culture’ movement to flourish: the Chinese Communist Party (CCP). Chinese communism, with its anti-colonial and anti-imperialist streak, combined with a renewed sense of Chinese nationalism, and thereby provided an ideological alternative to ‘western style’ democracy that could underpin the nation’s conceptualisation of the future. The cultural renaissance that followed May Fourth served as a fertile breeding ground for what would later become known as ‘socialism with Chinese characteristics’; its cultural foundations gave rise to a burgeoning nationalism, but also a new cohort of Chinese radicals.
Furthermore, the revolutionary zeal inherent in the ‘spirit’ of May Fourth was invoked, embodied and reclaimed by Chinese students, activists and reformers throughout the 20th century. The prominent cultural critic Dai Jinhua has noted that May Fourth, “shaped the basic model for modern mass movements and for civic disobedience in the public sphere.” The model begins with students gathering in Tiananmen Square, they are joined by Beijing citizens, the movement reaches other cities, workers become involved, and thus a revolutionary scope is reached. Yet, when this model is faced with the response of the Chinese state, a core tension is revealed: students must be an embodiment of enlightened patriotism but remain in the classroom and not shout too loudly.
The Wusi ‘spirit’ has been appropriated and embodied by oppositional factions of Chinese political life on multiple occasions. For example, on May 4th 1989, a commemoration of the 70th anniversary of Wusi was held by the CCP inside The Great Hall of People in Tiananmen Square. Political competitors held a rival rally on the plaza, yet both camps claimed the Wusi ‘spirit’. One month later, the People’s Liberation Army massacred approximately several hundreds, if not thousands, of demonstrators in the same spot. In China, this event is referred to as “Liusi Yundong” or the “June Fourth Movement”, echoing May Fourth. During the 1989 Democracy Movement, many student demonstrators saw themselves as the heirs of the Wusi spirit.
Western modernisation theory has for decades narrated the events of May Fourth as the beginning of an ascending liberalism in China. It is necessary to break out of this paradigm and see that the legacy and memory of May Fourth has functioned as a vehicle through which students, or protestors more generally, have voiced discontent at authorities within China’s revolutionary, enterprising and brutal 20th century political landscape.
By Molly Harcourt