The Woman who Loved Women - Xinran (Taken from The Good Women of China, P. 91 – 105, Vintage, 2003)

My colleagues had a saying: ‘Journalists get more and more timid over time.’  As I gained experience of how broadcasting worked and tried to push the boundaries of my programme, I began to understand what they meant by this.  At any moment it was possible for a journalist to make a mistake that would endanger their career if not their freedom.  They lived within a carefully circumscribed set of rules which, if broken, entailed serious consequences.  The first time I presented a radio programme, my supervisor looked so anxious I thought he was about to faint.  It was only later, when I became a department head myself, that I discovered how, under Chinese radio and broadcasting regulations, if a broadcast was for more than thirty seconds, the person in charge of that shift would have his or her name circulated throughout the country  - a disciplinary action that could seriously affect future promotion.  Even the smallest mistakes could mean a reduction in that month's bonus {which was a lot more than the salary); big mistakes often led to demotion, if not dismissal.

   Two or three times a week the journalists at the broadcasting station had to attend a political study class.   The sessions covered Deng Xiaoping's views on the policy of Reform and Opening Up and Jiang Zemin's theory of politics serving the economy.  The principles and political significance of the news were drummed and over again, and no session was complete without some condemnation of colleagues for various transgressions: not announcing leaders' names in the right hierarchical order on a programme, failing to grasp the essentials of Party propaganda in a commentary, lack of respect for ones elders, non-disclosure of a love affair to the Party, behaving with ‘impropriety’; all these and other such faults were criticised.  During these sessions, I felt as if China was still in the grip of the Cultural Revolution: politics still ruling every aspect of daily life, with certain groups of people subjected to censure and judgement so that others felt they were achieving something.

   I found it difficult to retain all this political information in my head, but made sure that I frequently reminded myself of the most important precept: ‘The party leads in everything.’  The time came when my understanding of this principle was put to the test.

   The success of my programme had brought me considerable acclaim.  People were calling me the first female presenter to ‘lift the veil’ of Chinese women, the first women’s issues journalist to delve into the true reality of their lives.  The radio station had promoted me and I had received a considerable amount of  financial sponsorship.  I had also, finally, been able to make a ‘hotline’ programme to take listeners calls on air.

   All live broadcasting studios consisted of two rooms, one containing the presenter’s broadcasting console, music and notes, the other a control room.  Calls to my hotline came via the broadcast controller, who operated the time delay mechanism.  This gave her about ten seconds to decide if a call was unsuitable to be broadcast and to cut it off without listeners realising.

   One evening I was on the point of winding down my programme with some gentle music which I usually did for about ten minutes at the end – when I took one last call:

‘Xinran, hello, I'm calling from Ma'anshan.  Thank you for your programme.  It gives me a lot to thing about, and helps me and many other women.  Today I’d like to ask you what you think of homosexuality.  Why do so many people discriminate against homosexual people?  Why has China made homosexuality illegal? Why don't people understand that homosexuals have the same rights and choices in life as anyone else?...’

   As the caller continued with her stream of questions, I broke into a cold sweat.  Homosexuality was a forbidden subject under media regulations; I wondered desperately why the controller had not cut the call off at once.  There was no way that I could avoid answering this question thousands of people were waiting for my answer and I couldn't let them know that it was considered a forbidden subject.  Nor could I say that time was running out: there were ten minutes of the programme left.  I turned some music up while I desperately went through everything I had ever read about homosexuality and tried to think of a way that I could deal with the subject diplomatically.  The woman had just asked a penetrating question, which must have lingered in listeners' minds:

'Homosexuality has its own history, from ancient Rome in the West and the Tang and Song dynasties in China, until today.  There are philosophical arguments that state that whatever exists does so for a reason, so why is homosexuality considered unreasonable in China?'

   At that moment I saw through the glass partition the controller answer the internal telephone.  She blanched and immediately cut the caller off mid sentence, regardless of the strict rule against doing this. Seconds later, the duty director burst into the control room, and said to me through the intercom, 'Be careful, Xinran!'  I let the music play on for more than a minute before I turned to the microphone. 

'Good evening, friends by the radio, you’re listening to Words on the Night Breeze.  My name is Xinran, and I’m discussing live the world of women with you.  From ten to twelve every night, you can tune in to women's stories, listen to

their hearts and learn about their lives.'  I did my best to fill airtime while l ordered my thoughts.

   ‘Just now, we took a call from a listener who knows a great deal about society and history, and understands the experiences of a group of women with an unconventional lifestyle.  To the best of my knowledge, homosexuality is, as the caller said, not just the product of one modern society: there are records of it in Western and Eastern history.  It is said that, during the wars of conquest in ancient Rome, the rulers even encouraged their soldiers to engage in homosexuality.  Then, however, it was perhaps more a question of the utility of homosexuality, rather than their approval of it.  Homosexual relations helped the soldiers cope with the war and the longing for their families.  In a cruel twist, the emotional attachments formed between the soldiers gave them additional impetus to avenge dead or wounded lovers.   In China, homosexuality was not confined to the Tang and Song; there are records of it as early as the North Wei dynasty.  These records all stem from the imperial court.  But homosexuality has never dominated society – perhaps because mankind has a natural need for the love between a man and a woman, and a need to procreate.  As the wise men and sages of classical China said, "Everything competes for its place, and Fate chooses.” 

   We all agree that everybody has the right to choose their lifestyle, and a right to their sexual needs.  However, humanity is constantly in a state transition.  All countries, regions and ethnic groups are journeying towards the future of mankind as best they can in search of the perfect system.  None of us can yet reach a final conclusion about the rights and wrongs of this journey and, until we have reached perfection, we need guidance.  We also need tolerance and understanding.

   I don't think heredity alone makes homosexuality, nor do I believe that the family environment can be solely responsible. Curiosity is even less credible as a single reason for homosexuality.  I believe its sources are many and varied.  We all have different experiences of life, and we make similar but different choices.  Recognising difference means that we should not expect others to agree with our opinions on homosexuality, for such expectations can lead to prejudice of another kind. 

To our homosexual friends who have experienced prejudice, I would like to say “Sorry” on behalf of the careless people you have encountered.  We all need understanding in this world.’

   I turned the volume of the music up, switched off the microphone and took a deep breath.  Suddenly, I realised that the control room on the other side of the glass partition was crowded with the most senior staff in the station.  The station head and the director of programming rushed into the studio, grasped my hands and shook them vigorously.

‘Thank you, thank you, Xinran!  You replied very, very well!’  The station head’s palms were wet were perspiration.

‘You saved our skins!’ the director of programming stuttered, his hands trembling.  ‘Enough talk, let's go and eat!  We can put it on the office account,’ said Old Wu, the head of administration. I was overwhelmed by the attention.

    Later I found out what had happened.  The broadcast controller told me that she had been worrying about her son's university entrance exams, so had not paid attention to the call until the duty director telephoned her in panic.  Old Wu had been listening to the programme at home as he did every day.  Realising that the programme had entered a minefield, he immediately called the director of programming, who hurriedly called the station head: to be aware of the situation and fail to report it would have made for an even more grievous error.  They all hurried to the studio, listening to my programme on the way.  By the time they arrived in the control room, the crisis had resolved itself.

    The first time I even heard of homosexuality was at university.  Because I had a good complexion, the female students nicknamed me ‘Egg’ or 'Snowball', and often stroked my cheeks and arms admiringly. Observing this, a male instructor teased, ‘Watch out for a homosexual assault!'

    I knew the word 'assault' in terms of physical aggression, but I had no idea what the instructor was talking about.  He explained, ‘Homosexuality is a woman loving a woman or a man loving a man.  It’s against the law.’

‘What?  Is it against the law for mothers to love their daughters or fathers to love their sons?' I countered.  The instructor shook his head. 

‘Those are blood relationships, not sexual love.  Oh, it's no use talking to  you.  I might as well be playing music to a buffalo".  Forget it, forget it.'

    Later, I heard about homosexuality at a reunion of some of my mother’s former colleagues.  Apparently, my mother had once worked with two women who had shared a single room.  When conditions improved, and the work unit allocated them a room each, they had turned the offer down.   They behaved like sisters so nobody gave the matter much thought at the time.  Their contemporaries were busy with courtship, marriage and children, then with grandchildren.  Ground into a state of mental and physical exhaustion by the demands of their families, in their old age they remembered the two women and envied their life of ease and relaxation together.  All the gossip and speculation that no one had bothered with in their youth emerged, and the group of former colleagues concluded the two women were homosexual.

   Listening to the elderly women drawing their conclusions, I thought of how care free those two women were: they probably had no feelings of bitterness against men, and certainly no all consuming worries about their children.  Perhaps homosexuality was not wicked after all, I thought, perhaps it was just another path in life.  I did not understand why it was against the law, but there seemed to be no one I could ask about this subject.

   Once, I was brave enough to ask the head of a gynaecology department.  She looked at me in astonishment.  ‘What made you think of asking about this?’

‘Why, is it bad to ask?  I just want to find out what makes these women different from other women.’

‘Apart from differences in mindset and sexual behaviour, they are no different from ordinary women,’ the gynaecologist said, brushing lightly over the subject.  I pressed her. 

‘If a  woman’s mindset and sexual behaviour are different than that of a woman in general, does she still count as a normal woman?’  The gynaecologist either did not know how to elaborate or was not prepared to do so.

   The third time I encountered the issue of homosexuality was when I was sent to cover a city-wide public order campaign  for the radio station.  When the organiser of the operation saw me, he exclaimed, ‘How could the radio station have sent a woman?  It must be a mistake!  Oh well, since you’re here you may as well stay.  But I’m afraid you’ll have to do a follow-up report, not an on-the-spot one.’  His colleagues roared with laughter, but I was none the wiser.  Once the operation began, the reason for their mirth became clear: they were carrying out surprise inspections of male public toilets – which stank to high heaven - and arresting men who were engaged  in homosexual behaviour.

   I had my doubts about the campaign: weren't there enough thieves and other criminals to apprehend?  And surely there wouldn’t be that many men having sex in the toilets at the same time?  Unbelievably, more than a hundred men were arrested that night.  When the operation was almost over, I asked one of the public order personnel dazedly, 'Are there people responsible for maintaining order in women's toilets too?'

‘How are we supposed to check on women?  You're joking, right?’ he replied, shaking his head in wonder at my naivety.

    The caller who asked about homosexuality on my hotline programme was the first person to give me a true understanding of the issue.

   About a week after she had called, I returned home on an adrenalin high from presenting my programme.   At about two in morning, when I was finally beginning to feel sleepy, the telephone suddenly rang.

‘Xinran, do you remember me?' a woman's voice said.  'You must: I asked you such a difficult question on the radio the other day.’

   Angry and irritated, I wondered how the woman had got my home telephone number.  Surely common sense should have stopped whoever it was at the station from giving out my private number.  It was too late to do anything about it now.   I fumed silently as the woman said, 'Hey, I know what you're thinking.  Don't blame your duty editor for giving me your number.  I said I was a relative from Beijing and that my bag had been stolen as I got off the train -with my telephone book in it.  I needed you to come and collect me. Not bad, eh?'

‘Not bad, not bad,' I repeated coldly. 'Is there something I can for you?  I remember you, you're from Ma'anshan, right?'

‘Yes, I knew you wouldn't forget me. Are you tired?'

I was exhausted 'Um a bit.  What do you  want?’

She seemed to have got the hint.  'All right, you're tired. I won't say anything now.  I’ll ring you again tomorrow after your programme.’  With that, she hung up.

   By the following night, I had almost  forgotten about the call, but after I had been home for less than an hour, the telephone rang.

‘Xinran, I’m a bit earlier today, right?  Please don’t worry.  I won’t say much.  I only wanted to tell you that I’m very grateful to you for apologising to homosexuals  for the prejudice they have encountered.  Okay, that’s all for now, good night!’

   Again, she hung up before I could say anything.  I consoled myself: she meant well and seemed considerate enough.

   The woman rang me at the same time every night for three weeks.  She told me what she thought of my programme that evening, suggested books and music that I might find useful for it, or simply gave me common sense advice on life in general.  She only spoke for a couple of minutes each time, and never gave me a chance to talk.  She did not tell me her name.

   One day, as I was leaving the radio station at about one in the morning, I found a neighbour waiting for me at the gate.  This was very strange.  He told me my nanny had asked him to come as she was scared out of her wits.  A strange woman had been calling the house telling her to ‘Leave Xinran!’  I felt uneasy.

   At exactly the same time that night, as it had for the last three weeks, the telephone rang.  Before the caller could say anything, I blurted out, ‘Was it you who phoned earlier?’

‘Yes, I spoke to your nanny and told her she ought to leave you,’ she said , quite calm and self-possessed.

‘Why did   you  do that?’ I asked angrily.

‘Why not?  She shouldn’t have you all to herself – you should belong to more women.’

‘Listen,’ I replied, ‘I’m happy to exchange ideas or talk about life in general with you.  But if you interfere with my life, then I can have nothing more to do with you.  I don’t interfere with other people’s lives, other people can’t interfere with mine.’

   She was silent for a moment, then said in a pleading tone, ‘I’ll do as you say, but you can’t abandon our love.'  The idea that this woman might be in love with me made me feel very anxious.  I didn’t answer the telephone for several days and I thought to myself that, like obsessed fans of pop stars, her infatuation would probably come to an end; there was no need to worry.

   One afternoon, the station head summoned me to his office and said, 'A female presenter from Radio Ma'anshan named Taohong has attempted suicide.  Her father sent me her suicide note.  It says that she loves you very deeply, but that you have rejected her.'

   I was speechless.  This woman named Taohong had to be my mystery caller.  I had no idea that she too, was a radio presenter – and I had not thought that ignoring her calls would lead to this.  The station head suggested that I lie low for a bit.  Apparently, the first thing Taohong had said when she regained consciousness was, 'I must see Xinran!'

    A few days later, while I was in a meeting with the planning department, a presenter came in to tell me that I had a visitor.  When he escorted me to the reception room, I found a young woman dressed in stylish men's clothes.  Her hair was close-cropped, so from behind it would have been impossible to tell that she was a woman.  Before the presenter who had fetched me could introduce us, she came up and clutched my arms with both hands, saying emotionally, 'Don't say anything, let me take it all in.  I knew immediately that you were my Xinran!'

‘Your Xinran?' the presenter asked.

‘Yes, my:Xinran!  I'm Taohong, your Taohong!'

My colleague slipped away.  He knew of Taohong's story, so I guessed he had gone to fetch help.

   Taohong's eyes were fixed on me as she continued speaking, ‘You’re even lovelier than I imagined, so feminine, so soft. I'm meeting you at last!  Come, come, sit down. Let me take a good look at you.  It’s been more than half a year...I didn't come once in all that time.  I wanted to get to know and understand you through your programme, and through the image of you in my heart.  What you say is true, women are the creative force in the universe.  They give the world beauty, feeling and sensitivity.  They are pure and clean. Women are the best of all creatures...'

   My colleague had returned with three or four other presenters, and they all sat down not far from us, chatting as they kept an eye on me.

‘Look what I’ve brought you.  These books are full of drawings of women.  See how beautiful their bodies are.  Look at this picture, that expression, see how alluring that mouth is.  I brought them especially for you;  you can keep them and look at them in your own time.  I’ve also brought you this…to bring you sexual pleasure.  And this too.  When I rub your body with it, you’ll as if  you are approaching paradise!’

   My colleagues were sneaking glances at the objects that Taohong was laying out in front of me.  I felt sick with embarrassment.  I had always maintained that sex without emotion was bestial; I had not even known that contraptions existed to arouse sexual sensations in this mechanical way.  Taohong was still in full flow:

‘With the help of modern tools, we can achieve things our ancestors wished for but couldn’t have.  Unlike them, we can take our feelings as far as we want to…’

   I tried to distract her by pointing to a pile of papers she was holding, which looked like publicity material of some sort.  ‘Taohong, what’s this?  You haven’t said anything about this.’

‘Oh, I knew you would ask about these.  These are the guiding principles of the Chinese Homosexual Association.  Have you heard of it?  We planned a conference a year and a half ago.  The hotels, the agenda and everything were ready, but the government cracked down on it.  It didn’t really matter though.  We had already achieved almost everything we wanted to: during several dinners before the conference, we had defined our principles, passed resolutions and discussed our physical needs, and how to get more out of sex…’

   I remembered the conference Taohong was talking about.  I had almost gone to Beijing to report on it.  The day before I was due to set off, someone in the Nanjing Public Security Bureau called to tell me that they were sending staff to assist the Beijing police in putting a stop to the conference.  They were going to search and close down a big hotel, and arrest several key members of the Homosexual Association.  I immediately called several psychologists and doctors whom I knew had been invited to the conference to warn them not to go; I was afraid that things would end in blood shed.

   Fortunately, as Taohong now told me, the break up of the conference did not lead to violence.  In order to prevent the

situation from turning  nasty, the police had deliberately leaked information about the operation, so the Homosexual Association had aborted the conference.  Both sides had accomplished the greater part of their aims: the government had the situation under control, and the association had still managed to meet while planning the conference.  The Chinese were getting more sophisticated in their political manoeuvring.

   A wave of nausea washed over me when I read the eye-catching title of one of the leaflets Taohong was clutching: 'Oral Sex Techniques, Part Four: Use of the Upper Jaw'.  I found such bald discussions on sex very difficult to accept.  Taohong noticed the look of revulsion on my face, and said in a patient tone, 'Don't feel you have to look now.  Try it later and you'll discover the pleasures of sex.’

My colleagues sniggered quietly.

   ‘Let’s go for a walk,’ I said, desperate to escape my colleagues’ tittering.

‘Really?  Of course, we should have gone for a stroll in the streets earlier.  We’ll make a good couple.’

    We left the broadcasting station and Taohong asked where we going.  I told her not to ask - she'd know when we arrived.  She grew even more animated, saying that this was just the kind of adventure and mystery; she adored me all the more for it.  I took her to Cock-Crow Temple, an old Nanjing temple whose bells could be heard from a great distance. When I felt troubled or in low spirits, I sometimes came to sit in the temple's Pagoda of the Healing Buddha. Listening to the bells as I gazed at blue sky and white clouds lifted my gloom and gave me new resolve, confidence and contentment, I thought Taohong's spirit might be touched to by the sound of the bells.  At the temple gate, Taohong paused and asked anxiously,

'If I walk through it, will it purify me?  Will it remove certain qualities?’

‘Anything it removes is bound to be meaningless. Emotion and meaning can’t be swept away by purification.  That's what l think,' I said.

   The instant Taohong stepped through the gate, the temple bells sounded.  She mused,

‘My heart was touched for a moment.  Why?'  I did not know how to reply to her question.

   Standing in the Pagoda of the Healing Buddha, neither of us spoke for a long time.  When the bells sounded again I asked Taohong two questions: When had she started to love women?  And who had been her first lover?  Taohong's story flooded out:

   Taobong's father had been very ashamed of not having a son.  After giving birth to her, her mother had developed cancer of the womb and could not have any more children; she later died of the cancer.  Her father was distraught that his family line had be ‘cut off', but there was nothing he could do.  Therefore regarded Taohong as a son and had brought her up as a boy in every respect, from her clothes and her hairstyle to the games she played.  Taohong had never gone to public toilets, because she couldn’t decide whether to go to the men's or the women's toilet.  She was proud of her masculine behaviour and had no love for women at all at the time.

   The year Taohong turned fourteen, however, the events of one summer night changed her and her view of men and women completely.  It was the summer before she was to enter senior school.  She had been told that senior school was the most terrible time: the course of her life would be determined by it, achievement there would lead to future success.  She was determined to enjoy the summer to the full before buckling down to study hard for three years, and she spent many evenings out with her friends.

   That particular night, it was about eleven o’ clock by the time she set off for home.  She didn’t have far to go, and it wasn’t an isolated route.  Just a few paces from home, a gang four men leaped out of the shadows and grabbed her.

   They took her, blindfolded and gagged, to what seemed to be a tool shed on a building site.  Her blindfold was removed, but she remained gagged.  There were three more men in the room, making the gang seven altogether.  They told Taohong that they wanted to see what she really was a man or a woman, and began removing her clothes.  They were momentarily struck dumb by the sight of her young woman's body but then their faces flushed red, and all seven of them threw themselves on her.  Taohong lost consciousness.

   When she came round, she found herself lying naked and bloody workbench.  The men lay snoring on the ground; some of them still had their trousers around their ankles.  Taohong sat in a blind panic for some  time before she finally shifted herself awkwardly off the bench.  Trembling and swaying, she slowly gathered her clothes from the floor.  As she was moving about, she trod on one of the men's hands; his cry of pain woke the other men.  They watched, paralysed by guilt, as Taohong picked her clothing up  and put it on, piece by piece.  Taohong did not say a word in the thirty minutes it took her to dress with difficulty.

   From then on, she hated all men, even her father.  To her, they were all filthy, lustful, bestial and brutal. She had only had two periods at the time.

   She continued dressing as a boy, for no reason that she could explain, and never told anyone what had happened.  The gang rape had made it quite clear to Taohong that she was a woman.  She started to wonder what women were like.  She did not believe that she had feminine beauty, but she wanted to see it.  Her first attempt to do so was with the prettiest girl in class in the first year of senior school.  She told her classmate that she was afraid to be alone while her father was away on business, and asked if she would stay the night with her.

   Before they went to bed, Taohong told her classmate that she slept naked.  The girl was a little uneasy about doing the same, but Taohong said she would give her a massage, so she agreed to undress.  Taohong was astonished by the soft smoothness and of the girl's body, especially her breasts and hips.  The slightest contact with it sent the blood rushing to Taohong's head, and thrills all over her.  Just as Taohong was rubbing the girl until she gasped for breath, Taohong's father came in.

   With unexpected calm, Taohong pulled a quilt over their naked bodies and asked, 'Why are you back, didn't you say you were of on business?'  Her father backed out without a word, stupefied.

   Later, when I interviewed Taohong's father on the telephone, he told me that, from that day on, he knew Taohong had grown up, and moreover, had become part of a special group.  He could not bring himself to ask Taohong why she was homosexual, but often put the question to her dead mother when he swept her tomb during the Festival of Pure Brightness every year.

   From then on, Taohong often brought girls home ‘for a massage'.  She thought women were exquisite beings, but there was no love in her feelings for them.

   She fell in love for the first time during the preparations for the homosexual conference she had told me about.  Taohong was allocated a hotel room with a woman fourteen years her senior.  The woman was graceful, quiet and very friendly.  She asked Taohong why she was attending the conference, and learned that Taohong liked women.  She told Taohong that sexual love was the precious of all.  When the conference was aborted, she took Taohong to another hotel with her for a course of 'sexual traing’.  Taohong experienced sexual stimulation and pleasure that she had never known before.  This woman also gave Taohong about sexual health and how to use sex tools.  She told her a lot about the history of homosexuality, in China and outside it.

   Taohong said she fell in love with this woman because she was the first person to share ideas and knowledge with her, to protect her and give her physical pleasure.  But the woman told Taohong that she did not and could not love her; she could not forget, let alone replace, her former lover, a female university lecturer, who had died many years before in a car accident.  Taohong was very moved; she said she had known that love was more pure and holy than sex since she had been a child.

   After Taohong had answered my two questions, we left the Cock-Crow Temple.  As we walked Taohong told me she had been in search of a woman with whom she might be able to share the same kind of relationship as with her first lover. She read widely, and had passed the exam to be a presenter in Radio Ma’anshan eight months ago.  She presented a hotline programme on film and television.  She told me that one of her listeners had written to her to suggest that she listened to Words on the Night Breeze.  She had tuned in every day for six months, and had pinned her hopes on me as someone who could be her new lover.

   I told Taohong a saying that I often repeated on air, 'If you can’t make someone happy, don't give them hope,' and said frankly, ‘Taohong, thank you.  I am very happy to have met you, but I do not belong to you, and I cannot be your lover.  Believe me, someone is waiting for you out there.  Carry on reading and expanding your horizons, and you will find her.  Don't make her wait for you.'

   Taohong was subdued. 'Well, can I consider you my second ex-lover?' she asked slowly.

‘No you can't,' I said, 'because there was no love between us.  Love must be mutual; loving or being loved in isolation is not sufficient.’

‘How should I think of you then?' Taohong was beginning to come round to my point of view.

‘Think of me as an older sister,' I said. 'The ties of kinship are the strongest.'

Taohong said she would think about it, and we parted.

   When a few days later, I received a call from a listener who preferred to remain anonymous, I could tell immediately that it was Taohong. 'Sister Xinran,' she said. 'I wish that everyone had you sincerity, your goodness and your knowledge.  Will you accept me as a younger sister?'