Journalist Tania Branigan discusses the memory of the Cultural Revolution, what the US can learn from this chaotic era, and how China isn’t being forced to forget — it wants to.
I read this interview with great interest. I purchased "Red Memory" today so that I can delve deeper into this subject which has been the central theme of my life. I was born smack in the middle of the Cultural Revolution, the year Nixon visited China. My family history and our emigration journeys are closely tied to it. My father was persecuted and arrested briefly for "thought crime." What's clear to me is that my parents were disillusioned by the CCP and left China because of what they experienced during the Cultural Revolution. However, what's less clear to me--and may forever remain a mystery--is how Mao's indoctrination shaped my mother's mind and conditioned her behavior, so much so that she's developed a narcissistic personality and has difficulty in embodying empathy. Of course, it could've had something to do with her early childhood and possibly abuse in her family. But I have no way to know as she "can't remember anything." But the influence of Mao (she was one of those young ones who waved the Little Red Books and worshipped him) seems to have a life-long effect on her in terms of authoritarian brainwashing. She is drawn to strongman/authoritarian figures. I suspect this has made her susceptible to worshipping Trump.
Recently I published an essay that compares authoritarianism in China and what's unfolding in the U.S. I invite you to give it a read:
I can honestly say that my knowledge of this era primarily stems from a heartbreaking novel called Pearl Moon, by Katherine Stone. Much as my feeling for England as a nation of history comes from reading Pillars of the Earth, by Ken Follett. Bad habit to be so poorly educated as to fictionalize such important events and enshrine that memory but that’s my path to understanding so far. Narcissistic personality disorder in our mothers is a common trait, but also seeking deeper meaning for a time that contained so little self development for women. We’re so incredibly lucky to have been encouraged to explore our context and not just be victimized by its effects. A toast to the mothers who endured unspeakable things so that we could freely speak upon them. Thank you for sharing and for letting me dig deeper into my assumptions.
Sarina, I very much appreciate your comment, which added complexity and a fresh perspective to the subject matter. Regarding the fictionalization of historical events, I'm equally guilty of learning about WWII mostly from movies, TV series and some documentaries. Regarding mothers, what you wrote got me thinking deeply, especially the part about enduring unspeakable things and laying the ground for us to survive and then freely speak about issues they either have suppressed or lack the vocabulary to speak about. Thinking about what my mother had to endure in her earlier years--things that were not of her own making but forced upon her by her circumstances and the "great wheel of history," I suddenly feel that I can hold her "defects" (which have caused me a lot of emotional injuries) alongside her virtues (sacrifices, etc.) Thank you for inspiring that spark in me!
Reading your conversation felt like opening a window into two histories—China’s Cultural Revolution and America’s present-day democratic crisis—only to see them reflect and refract through one another in striking, sometimes chilling, ways. I deeply appreciate how you both navigate the tension between drawing historical parallels and acknowledging the specificity of context. That balance is so often missing, and yet it’s essential if we’re to learn from the past rather than be haunted by it.
One thread I found especially resonant was the role of unprocessed trauma—how personal and collective memory, when suppressed, becomes not a shield but a fault line. As Tania said, “people don’t like remembering bad things,” and the silence that follows is rarely empty. It echoes with fear, mistrust, and inherited wounds.
You spoke about the weaponization of emotion and the breakdown of trust—how systems of control, whether through Mao’s Cultural Revolution or the dynamics we now see under Trump, prey on fractured social bonds. This brings me to something I carry personally: my own experience as part of the Kriegsenkel, or war grandchildren generation, growing up in West Germany.
In school, our education was soaked in the imperative “Never Again.” We learned early and often about the Holocaust, the world wars, the abyss into which our grandparents’ generation had either willingly or fearfully stepped. And while this was necessary, it came with a heavy cost—shame without a roadmap for healing. Pride in our country was taboo. Patriotism was equated with nationalism. And most crucially, the emotional wounds our families carried—guilt, fear, silence—were never named as trauma. They simply became part of our atmosphere.
Only now, decades later, is Germany beginning to recognize this collective inheritance as trauma in its own right. The field of transgenerational and epigenetic trauma is giving language to what many of us have felt all our lives: the inherited tension, the quiet mistrust, the flinch when someone raises their voice—not always because of what happened to us, but because of what shaped those who raised us.
Your discussion reminded me how central this is—not just for understanding the past, but for resisting the lure of authoritarianism today. In parts of eastern Germany, where GDR legacies were layered on top of already-unprocessed Nazi histories, there was never space for true reckoning. The ideological vacuum left behind after reunification wasn’t met with healing—it was often met with economic struggle, cultural dismissal, and a painful silence. And now, in those very regions, we see far-right sentiment growing strongest.
Tania, your point about the need to respond—not just understand—is powerful. Trauma doesn’t just distort the past; it can distort the choices we make in the present. If we do not give people tools to process the fears and wounds passed down to them, we leave them vulnerable to those who promise clarity through division.
Thank you both for opening this conversation. These historical comparisons aren’t about dramatizing the moment for effect—they’re about honoring memory, acknowledging pain, and making space for new ways of being with one another. And perhaps, they are about asking: What kind of future becomes possible when we dare to remember—together?
I read this interview with great interest. I purchased "Red Memory" today so that I can delve deeper into this subject which has been the central theme of my life. I was born smack in the middle of the Cultural Revolution, the year Nixon visited China. My family history and our emigration journeys are closely tied to it. My father was persecuted and arrested briefly for "thought crime." What's clear to me is that my parents were disillusioned by the CCP and left China because of what they experienced during the Cultural Revolution. However, what's less clear to me--and may forever remain a mystery--is how Mao's indoctrination shaped my mother's mind and conditioned her behavior, so much so that she's developed a narcissistic personality and has difficulty in embodying empathy. Of course, it could've had something to do with her early childhood and possibly abuse in her family. But I have no way to know as she "can't remember anything." But the influence of Mao (she was one of those young ones who waved the Little Red Books and worshipped him) seems to have a life-long effect on her in terms of authoritarian brainwashing. She is drawn to strongman/authoritarian figures. I suspect this has made her susceptible to worshipping Trump.
Recently I published an essay that compares authoritarianism in China and what's unfolding in the U.S. I invite you to give it a read:
https://open.substack.com/pub/lilypond/p/the-authoritarian-deja-vu
Thank you!
I can honestly say that my knowledge of this era primarily stems from a heartbreaking novel called Pearl Moon, by Katherine Stone. Much as my feeling for England as a nation of history comes from reading Pillars of the Earth, by Ken Follett. Bad habit to be so poorly educated as to fictionalize such important events and enshrine that memory but that’s my path to understanding so far. Narcissistic personality disorder in our mothers is a common trait, but also seeking deeper meaning for a time that contained so little self development for women. We’re so incredibly lucky to have been encouraged to explore our context and not just be victimized by its effects. A toast to the mothers who endured unspeakable things so that we could freely speak upon them. Thank you for sharing and for letting me dig deeper into my assumptions.
Sarina, I very much appreciate your comment, which added complexity and a fresh perspective to the subject matter. Regarding the fictionalization of historical events, I'm equally guilty of learning about WWII mostly from movies, TV series and some documentaries. Regarding mothers, what you wrote got me thinking deeply, especially the part about enduring unspeakable things and laying the ground for us to survive and then freely speak about issues they either have suppressed or lack the vocabulary to speak about. Thinking about what my mother had to endure in her earlier years--things that were not of her own making but forced upon her by her circumstances and the "great wheel of history," I suddenly feel that I can hold her "defects" (which have caused me a lot of emotional injuries) alongside her virtues (sacrifices, etc.) Thank you for inspiring that spark in me!
China learned from the errors of the past. That's why Chairman Xi is very careful not to repeat the errors.
@Lingua Sinica Dear Alex and Tania,
Reading your conversation felt like opening a window into two histories—China’s Cultural Revolution and America’s present-day democratic crisis—only to see them reflect and refract through one another in striking, sometimes chilling, ways. I deeply appreciate how you both navigate the tension between drawing historical parallels and acknowledging the specificity of context. That balance is so often missing, and yet it’s essential if we’re to learn from the past rather than be haunted by it.
One thread I found especially resonant was the role of unprocessed trauma—how personal and collective memory, when suppressed, becomes not a shield but a fault line. As Tania said, “people don’t like remembering bad things,” and the silence that follows is rarely empty. It echoes with fear, mistrust, and inherited wounds.
You spoke about the weaponization of emotion and the breakdown of trust—how systems of control, whether through Mao’s Cultural Revolution or the dynamics we now see under Trump, prey on fractured social bonds. This brings me to something I carry personally: my own experience as part of the Kriegsenkel, or war grandchildren generation, growing up in West Germany.
In school, our education was soaked in the imperative “Never Again.” We learned early and often about the Holocaust, the world wars, the abyss into which our grandparents’ generation had either willingly or fearfully stepped. And while this was necessary, it came with a heavy cost—shame without a roadmap for healing. Pride in our country was taboo. Patriotism was equated with nationalism. And most crucially, the emotional wounds our families carried—guilt, fear, silence—were never named as trauma. They simply became part of our atmosphere.
Only now, decades later, is Germany beginning to recognize this collective inheritance as trauma in its own right. The field of transgenerational and epigenetic trauma is giving language to what many of us have felt all our lives: the inherited tension, the quiet mistrust, the flinch when someone raises their voice—not always because of what happened to us, but because of what shaped those who raised us.
Your discussion reminded me how central this is—not just for understanding the past, but for resisting the lure of authoritarianism today. In parts of eastern Germany, where GDR legacies were layered on top of already-unprocessed Nazi histories, there was never space for true reckoning. The ideological vacuum left behind after reunification wasn’t met with healing—it was often met with economic struggle, cultural dismissal, and a painful silence. And now, in those very regions, we see far-right sentiment growing strongest.
Tania, your point about the need to respond—not just understand—is powerful. Trauma doesn’t just distort the past; it can distort the choices we make in the present. If we do not give people tools to process the fears and wounds passed down to them, we leave them vulnerable to those who promise clarity through division.
Thank you both for opening this conversation. These historical comparisons aren’t about dramatizing the moment for effect—they’re about honoring memory, acknowledging pain, and making space for new ways of being with one another. And perhaps, they are about asking: What kind of future becomes possible when we dare to remember—together?
–Jay