Revolution Is Not a Dinner Party by Ying Chang Compestine

or old inner tubes, Dr. Wong had bought Niu
a bright yellow life ring. At the end of that summer, Niu told me he no longer needed the life ring and I could have it when I was ready to learn. But Mother said a girl didn’t need to learn to swim.
    â€œWhat about the guards? Won’t they shoot you?”
    â€œThat won’t stop me. Swear you won’t tell anyone, not even your parents.” Niu held out his pinkie and curled it into a hook. I hesitated, then hooked mine around his, sealing the promise.
    â€œSee the river here? It’s not that wide.” Niu pointed at a small green part of the map.
    â€œWhere is America?” I asked, hoping to take his mind away from the escape. Picturing him being shot in the water frightened me. “I bet it takes a long time to sail across the Pacific Ocean.”
    â€œYou don’t need to sail. After you get to Hong Kong, you take an airplane.” Niu’s finger traced across the map from Hong Kong to America. My heart filled with joy just thinking about the Golden Gate Bridge. It felt so good to imagine going to America.
    â€œI would love to go there. Then I could sing and dance.” I stood up and made a ballet turn.

    Niu interrupted me. “I only want to get away from here!” With my hands still up in the air, I stopped and studied him. He gazed outside the window into the November rain, as if he could see all the way to Hong Kong.
    â€œI wish I knew magic,” I whispered and put down my hands.
    â€œMagic won’t help.” Niu banged his fist on the table. “The only way out is to escape!”

Drawing a Class Line
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    In less than two months, there were many changes. By the beginning of June, Gao and Yu’s gang stood at the school gates each morning. Everyone entering, including the teachers, had to show their “three-piece treasure,” a Mao jacket, a Mao button, and Mao’s little red book of revolutionary instructions. If anyone forgot, the gang would decide the punishment. When our old math teacher left his button at home, he was ordered to clean the bathrooms for a week. Two boys were ordered to stand at the back of the classroom for a day. I started to wake up at night, worried about forgetting my “three-piece treasure.” Several times I’d get up to make sure the little red book was in the inner pocket of my schoolbag.

    Now we had class only in the morning. In the afternoon, the Young Pioneers took turns leading reading sessions of Chairman Mao’s teachings. Since Father was accused of being a bourgeois sympathizer, I had no chance of ever becoming a Young Pioneer.
    After I told Father that I was the only one in the class without the red scarf around my neck, he looked into my eyes and said, “Remember, my dear, Young Pioneer or not, you are always my special, smart girl.”
    Father’s words didn’t make me feel better. Then one day during math class I saw Yu wipe strings of green snot off her nose with her red scarf. Days later, she picked at the crusty stain. I decided that I didn’t want one anymore. I looked forward to Sundays, when there was no school.
    On a rainy December day, Niu brought home a red slip from school.

    It is necessary for intellectual students to go to the countryside and be re-educated by the working class—the peasants.

    Niu and the rest of the high school students in Wuhan were ordered to be “re-educated.” The radio
said, “The peasants’ hands are dirty from the field, but their love for Chairman Mao and Communism is pure and strong.”
    I wondered why people had to get their hands dirty to show their love. I hated to get mine dirty.
    Would Niu have to work as hard as those who went to the labor camps, like Mrs. Wong? We still hadn’t found out where they had taken Dr. Wong.
    That night, Mother and I helped Niu pack. He tried on his winter jacket. The sleeves were two inches short, and he was barely