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Student Activism in the 1930s
Autobiography B. Walker
My background, what there is of it, can best be explained by the words academic and religious. I was born at St. John's University, Shanghai and lived there until I was eighteen years old. Shanghai itself is an ugly, over-populated, metropolitan center. It has all the characteristics of a large modern city plus the characteristics of the most typical oriental village. The extremes of wealth and poverty exist side by side, and one tends to grow impervious to both. The university, where father and mother teach, is attended in the most part by the wealthiest young men in the country. Graduates of St. John's step into important government and big business positions. Nevertheless the atmosphere of the campus is essentially religious and academic in the true "ivory tower" sense of the word. My religious training has been vigorous and extensive. The Episcopal church is, in many ways, a hard task master, and although we submitted to it weakly, seeds of rebellion were planted in us early. It was long a game between my older brother, my sister and myself to see which one of us could invent the most valid excuse for not going to church. For nine years I attended the Shanghai American School--a school which is said to be the largest American School outside of the United States and Canada. Its scholastic standing rates with many of the best private schools in this country, a fact which is the pride and joy of the administration. There are about twelve or fourteen nationalities in the student body, although the majority of it is American. My two most intimate friend school were White Russian Jews, and in spite of the fact that the progressive movement was a closed book to me at that time, I found they had a wealth of experience to offer me. The problem of the relationship between Chinese and foreigners in Shanghai is an interesting one. It has been a well-established custom that Chinese children be refused admittance in the American School. Only those Chinese who are American citizens are allowed, and when I left there were perhaps four or six there. My father, as a member of the board of trustees of the school, has been one of the bitterest opponents of any move toward letting down the race barriers. Although my family entertains Chinese students and faculty members in our home, they have been very strict about not letting us, as children, have any sort of contact with the students at the university. This fact has always bothered me, but it never entered by head to raise any serious objections. When I questioned my father on the subject, his one reply was, "Well you wouldn't wart to marry a Chinese, would you?" I had to admit that that I wasn't particularly eager to, and never was able to get any further in the discussion. My school was relatively uneventful in terms of shaping my character for the progressive movement. I had no difficulty mastering the usual academic problems, and was generally considered a good student. I received more than my share of rewards and scholarships when it came time for me to graduate. I will never forget that feeling I had when I graduated. The knowledge I had acquired in school seemed to be merely a disorganized mass of unrelated facts, and the educational process itself was, I insisted pretty futile. The war waged between the Cantonese 19th Route Army and the Japanese in the winter of 1932 was never more than a thrilling experience to me. We really had a wonderful time, gathering bits of shrapnel that were continually bursting in our yard, playing with the British tommies who were building a sand-bag fortification just outside the house, and spending hours at night at some strategic point, watching the Chapei section being consumed by fire. Window panes in the house were occasionally broken by the vibration of bombs dropping nearby, but my personal relationship to these devastating events was something which never occurred to me. I remember well how well the campaigns carried on by the national government against the Communists were widely acclaimed on the campus as a constructive move. For after all, what were the Communists but thieving bandits, bent on destroying private property? I naturally accepted all this with the rest of the community. The summer after I graduated from high school I spent tutoring two Chinese girls. They were very backward in their knowledge of the English language, and it was my job to rush them through some examinations that were coming up in the fall. Because they managed to scrape past those exams, I began to entertain serious thoughts about taking up teaching as a permanent career, or at least until events were ripe for the good married life. The following winter I was enrolled as the first girl student at St. Johns University. My parents, feeling that I was still too young to make the long trek to the United States alone, decided that another winter at home would be a good thing. The courses I took at the University included a great deal Contemporary oriental history and foreign relations, and were subjects for which I have subsequently been grateful. I only wish that I had had an intelligent approach to the problems that arose at the time. The early part of the summer of 1936 I spent preparing ten stupid Chinese boys for college entrance examinations in English. It was fun teaching them, but oh how difficult to get them to understand the meaning of such stories as Rip Van Winkle and Murders in the Rue Morgue. To this day I don't think half of them know what an ourang-outang is. My trip to this country during that summer was an interesting one. I travelled on German ships all the way. I know that I was thoroughly disgusted to learn that war had broken out in Spain, because all plans for disembarking in Barcelona had to be given up. I spent three and a half weeks in Germany that summer and got my fill of nazi propaganda. I may add that I was not an anti-fascist when I landed in New York in September. Looking back on it all now, I am simply amazed at my total ignorance of what has come to be so vital to me today. One may well be skeptical of my integrity when one realizes that my whole psychological background has been changed within the space of two short years. How did this come about? I suppose I must be perfectly frank on this matter. When I entered Swarthmore College, I was one lonely and homesick girl. Everything I loved and considered worthwhile was a million miles away, and I felt completely outside of the rapid stream of American life. My interest in the ASU was due in large part to a desire to escape from this unhappiness. I felt that the people in the ASU were different in that their interests were not mainly those of the collegiate college student. I thought I was different from the average college student, and in order to retain my individuality, I was anxious to join some minority group which seemed to me to making itself conspicuous. Unworthy though this may sound, it is the truth, and I was perfectly conscious of what I was doing when I threw my lot in with the members of the then embryonic organization. Then came the fascinating series of Marxian seminars with Professor Winspear. We met on Wednesday afternoons, and there was an exciting atmosphere of secrecy about each meeting. It was only as I got more involved in the actual analysis of Marxian theory that I realized how terribly important the class struggle was and how equally important my relationship to it could be. The following summer I spent in a gloriously secluded spot in the Adirondacks with my fiance and his family. My existence there seemed a far cry from the problems I had been discussing at college. And yet I was never quite satisfied with the caliber of the conservations we used to have. By the end of the summer I was unconsciously aware that I would have to make a decision between the progressive movement and the life I had planned for myself before I left Shanghai. But I did not realize how soon that decision would have to be made nor which way my decision would go. This past year I have spent almost all my extra time in the ASU, learning a great deal in the proceed. When word came that I would have to choose between a well-ordered, secure married life in Shanghai and the uncertainties of the work I should like to do here, I unconsciously shuddered at the former prospect. I hated being forced into the position, but having been, there was only one answer. I could only be happy working in the movement. Home | Historical Essay | Documents | Credits |
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