Free The Ghost Shift by John Gapper Page A

said that Chen had changed. When he’d come to Guangzhou from a military post elsewhere, he’d been happy with Guangdong’s informal, business-friendly ways. The Party shouldn’t stand in the way of enterprise, he’d said. But over time his tone had changed. He made speeches, held rallies. He’d started to invoke Mao’s name alongside Deng’s, complaining that old virtues were being lost, that corruption had led the Party astray. Peasant wisdom, he now said, was needed to restore discipline.
    In Zhongnanhai, the Party compound near Tiananmen Square from where the government operated, it gave them heartburn. There was talk of him burnishing his image for the Party Congress in November, vying for a seat on the Politburo Standing Committee. But the people loved him. He’d pledged to help migrants by letting their children into schools and improving their living conditions. His rallies were full of them, cheering his speeches and singing the old Party songs that he said expressed the pure spirit of the country’s past.
    As the dancers left, they were replaced by a choir of women in red tunics and officials in military uniform. Chen walked on as the orchestra tuned up, and he waved to the crowd.
    The band played the tune to “March of the Volunteers,” the Party’s anthem, but the choir sang the words to the 1978 version—the one venerating Mao that had been dropped long ago.
    Raise high Mao Zedong’s banner, march on!
    Raise high Mao Zedong’s banner, march on!
    March on! March on!
    Luli sat up. “What the fuck?” She put a hand to her mouth and laughed. “My dad would love this.” She held up her phone and took a video.
    As the anthem ended, the crowd roared, and the choir wentstraight into “Spring Story,” a patriotic song praising Deng. Chen beamed, waving a red flag in time to the music. They sang three more—“Spring Comes Early in the Commune,” “A New Look Has Come to Our Mountain Village,” and “The East Is Red”—and Chen stepped to a microphone as they filed off.
    “Wasn’t that refreshing?” he began. “To hear songs that tell of honest labor and building the country for the people? Not of fighting for profit or officials putting themselves before the Party? It reminds me of happier days.”
    People at the front of the crowd cheered.
    “This guy even sounds like my dad,” Luli said. “He’s always moaning about how life was simpler. They could go on a long march together.”
    “Guangdong is thriving,” said Chen. “It has become the engine of China. We’ve gathered at this festival to celebrate it. This is the Year of the Dragon, the year of good fortune and prosperity. There is nothing we cannot do. We are hardworking, ambitious, and lucky. We have an appetite for success—a big appetite!”
    Chen grinned and held up a moon cake to the crowd before taking a bite out of it. There were more cheers, and Chen clapped along, laughing. Then he motioned to the crowd for quiet.
    “There is much to admire in our society, but some things worry me. I see wealth, entitlement, and fraud—things that are concealed from the people. There are officials who let you down, who use their privileges for their own advantage instead of helping others. We’ve all suffered.”
    Luli scoffed. “You don’t look like you’ve suffered too badly.”
    “Shush.” Mei waved at her friend, wanting to hear what Chen would say. She knew that his words would be quoted back to them on Monday, with approving comments. Perhaps they would be the basis of a new campaign. The Party constantly announced campaigns to make things better, although one seemed to pass into the other without much effect.
    “We’ve dealt with the little ones—officials who take a bribe to house a family or to get them a job. They deserved the people’s justice. But it’s time for us to go higher, to hunt for tigers and not justflies. The village boss who tries to hold back progress, the senior Party official whose job is to