RedStarOverChina
13th November 2009, 23:20
70 years ago, Canadian communist physician Dr. Norman Bethune died in China, giving his life to China's anti-imperialist struggle.
His memories are still alive in China today:
http://www.thestar.com/news/world/china/article/722787--schiller-comrade-norman-bethune-still-a-force-in-china
BEIJING—Canada's Dr. Norman Bethune was a force of nature in his late 40s when he landed in China, then at war with Japan in 1938.
Dr. Zhang Yesheng, 88, was just 17 then. But, more than 70 years later, his memory hasn't dimmed: he can still recall, with the precision of a many-pixelled camera, the exciting scene of Bethune's arrival in his village and military headquarters. Bethune brought 16 donkeys with him that day, he says, packed with food, medicine, surgical tools, a camp bed – virtually everything he needed.
He'd come to help the Chinese in their fight against Japan.
"Many people came out to greet him and his stuff literally took up the whole block," Zhang recalls. "I remember thinking, `Dr. Bethune must be moving his entire family here.'
"You know, other foreigners used to come to our place just to have a look. They'd arrive on horseback, stay a few days, then leave. But it was clear he wanted to stay for a long time."
Bethune, of course, never left.
Seventy years ago, on Nov. 12, 1939, he died of blood poisoning from an infection contracted after cutting himself during surgery.
But his memory here lives on.
Chinese schoolchildren trek regularly to a museum that honours his memory.
A coveted Bethune Medal is awarded annually to physicians making outstanding contributions to Chinese health.
And, in the past five decades, the Bethune Medical Division of Jilin University has graduated more than 30,000 professionals into the Chinese health-care system.
"As a travelling Canadian in China, you can see peoples' eyes sparkle – you can feel the effect – when you say you're Canadian, because of Norman Bethune," says Toronto physician Dr. Nelly Ng, who'll participate in a commemorative ceremony for Bethune at Beijing's Great Hall of the People Nov. 12.
Still revered by the Chinese, Bethune might be our biggest international star ever. And yet, by comparison, his reputation in Canada seems restrained.
Dr. Zhang, Bethune's former assistant in charge of medical supplies and later his student, thinks that restraint might be because of Bethune's devotion to Communism.
"Canadians sort of react when they hear that Dr. Bethune was a Communist," he says with a smile. "Of course, we don't refer to him as a proletarian revolutionary anymore," he adds. "We call him a reformist."
But above all, Zhang stresses, "he was a humanitarian."
Bethune was that and more. To hear Dr. Zhang tell it, he was a driven, demanding, passionate and uncommonly kind man, a complex personality who inspired both loyalty and awe.
When Chinese Gen. Nie Rongzhen delivered Bethune's eulogy at a ceremony in January 1940, the general wept, says Zhang, who was there.
"We were all grieving. Of course, it's common that people die in war. But that day was especially sad."
Mao Zedong himself penned a moving essay on Bethune, which sealed his immortality. The two had met at least once and talked excitedly through the night.
Mao's essay saluted Bethune's selflessness and it was taught to generations of Chinese students who, as adults, can still recite parts from memory today. It was later used in propaganda during the tumultuous years of the Cultural Revolution to inspire party loyalty.
But Bethune wasn't without flaws: Canadian biographers have long probed and poked at his personality, pointing out a proclivity for drink and alleged womanizing.
Zhang notes he could also have a temper.
"The first time was at Yan'an (Mao's military headquarters) when there was a discussion about whether or not his medical team should go to the front."
Bethune, a veteran of the Spanish Civil War, was utterly fearless.
"He said the topic wasn't up for discussion. They had to go. He was so angry he picked up a stool and threw it out of the room."
"Another time was at Wutai Mountain, when he was about to perform cranial surgery. He was desperate to save the patient's life. But, when the equipment he sent for finally arrived, the tools weren't the ones he'd requested. He was furious. He picked up all the tools and just hurled them to the ground."
Nor did Bethune suffer cowards gladly.
There was a patient in hospital who didn't want to return to the front after he'd healed. Bethune examined his leg and was sure everything was fine, Zhang recalls. But the patient insisted he still couldn't move it.
Suddenly Bethune shoved the man roughly and the patient had to take several quick, deft steps backwards to maintain his balance – without the slightest difficulty.
"The patient had completely faked it," says Zhang.
Bethune summoned the officer in charge and instructed him to "deal with it."
"He really admired the Chinese soldiers who battled the Japanese at the front. But he showed no mercy towards cowards," Zhang says.
He did, however, show kindness. Repeatedly, Zhang emphasizes.
Bethune's Chinese name, Bai Qiu En, means "The Light that Pursues Kindness."
On his rounds, finding a patient shuddering with cold, Bethune gave him his own quilt; soup made expressly for him he personally fed to patients; and while he might not have given patients the shirt off his back, Zhang does recall that, in the interests of hygiene, he once gave his own set of clean underwear to a post-surgical patient.
In hot summer months in rare moments of leisure, Zhang recalls, they'd all bathe in a nearby stream to cool off.
"At meals, he ate what we ate. He lived as we lived. He went through thick and thin with us. If it we ate millet, he ate millet; if it was potatoes, he ate potatoes. He lived the same life as we common people lived.
"He wasn't like other people, those who just came and left."
And he was a brilliant innovator and accomplished teacher.
Appalled by the rudimentary hospital he first saw at Mao's Yan'an headquarters, laid out in a series of caves, Bethune later designed and organized a complete model hospital.
But beyond science and innovation, it was Bethune's common humanity, his willingness to do all he could for his patients that left the most lasting impression, says Zhang, something he feels is sorely lacking in China's mainly pay-as-you-go medical system today.
"What we need today," says Zhang, "is more of Dr. Bethune's spirit."
His memories are still alive in China today:
http://www.thestar.com/news/world/china/article/722787--schiller-comrade-norman-bethune-still-a-force-in-china
BEIJING—Canada's Dr. Norman Bethune was a force of nature in his late 40s when he landed in China, then at war with Japan in 1938.
Dr. Zhang Yesheng, 88, was just 17 then. But, more than 70 years later, his memory hasn't dimmed: he can still recall, with the precision of a many-pixelled camera, the exciting scene of Bethune's arrival in his village and military headquarters. Bethune brought 16 donkeys with him that day, he says, packed with food, medicine, surgical tools, a camp bed – virtually everything he needed.
He'd come to help the Chinese in their fight against Japan.
"Many people came out to greet him and his stuff literally took up the whole block," Zhang recalls. "I remember thinking, `Dr. Bethune must be moving his entire family here.'
"You know, other foreigners used to come to our place just to have a look. They'd arrive on horseback, stay a few days, then leave. But it was clear he wanted to stay for a long time."
Bethune, of course, never left.
Seventy years ago, on Nov. 12, 1939, he died of blood poisoning from an infection contracted after cutting himself during surgery.
But his memory here lives on.
Chinese schoolchildren trek regularly to a museum that honours his memory.
A coveted Bethune Medal is awarded annually to physicians making outstanding contributions to Chinese health.
And, in the past five decades, the Bethune Medical Division of Jilin University has graduated more than 30,000 professionals into the Chinese health-care system.
"As a travelling Canadian in China, you can see peoples' eyes sparkle – you can feel the effect – when you say you're Canadian, because of Norman Bethune," says Toronto physician Dr. Nelly Ng, who'll participate in a commemorative ceremony for Bethune at Beijing's Great Hall of the People Nov. 12.
Still revered by the Chinese, Bethune might be our biggest international star ever. And yet, by comparison, his reputation in Canada seems restrained.
Dr. Zhang, Bethune's former assistant in charge of medical supplies and later his student, thinks that restraint might be because of Bethune's devotion to Communism.
"Canadians sort of react when they hear that Dr. Bethune was a Communist," he says with a smile. "Of course, we don't refer to him as a proletarian revolutionary anymore," he adds. "We call him a reformist."
But above all, Zhang stresses, "he was a humanitarian."
Bethune was that and more. To hear Dr. Zhang tell it, he was a driven, demanding, passionate and uncommonly kind man, a complex personality who inspired both loyalty and awe.
When Chinese Gen. Nie Rongzhen delivered Bethune's eulogy at a ceremony in January 1940, the general wept, says Zhang, who was there.
"We were all grieving. Of course, it's common that people die in war. But that day was especially sad."
Mao Zedong himself penned a moving essay on Bethune, which sealed his immortality. The two had met at least once and talked excitedly through the night.
Mao's essay saluted Bethune's selflessness and it was taught to generations of Chinese students who, as adults, can still recite parts from memory today. It was later used in propaganda during the tumultuous years of the Cultural Revolution to inspire party loyalty.
But Bethune wasn't without flaws: Canadian biographers have long probed and poked at his personality, pointing out a proclivity for drink and alleged womanizing.
Zhang notes he could also have a temper.
"The first time was at Yan'an (Mao's military headquarters) when there was a discussion about whether or not his medical team should go to the front."
Bethune, a veteran of the Spanish Civil War, was utterly fearless.
"He said the topic wasn't up for discussion. They had to go. He was so angry he picked up a stool and threw it out of the room."
"Another time was at Wutai Mountain, when he was about to perform cranial surgery. He was desperate to save the patient's life. But, when the equipment he sent for finally arrived, the tools weren't the ones he'd requested. He was furious. He picked up all the tools and just hurled them to the ground."
Nor did Bethune suffer cowards gladly.
There was a patient in hospital who didn't want to return to the front after he'd healed. Bethune examined his leg and was sure everything was fine, Zhang recalls. But the patient insisted he still couldn't move it.
Suddenly Bethune shoved the man roughly and the patient had to take several quick, deft steps backwards to maintain his balance – without the slightest difficulty.
"The patient had completely faked it," says Zhang.
Bethune summoned the officer in charge and instructed him to "deal with it."
"He really admired the Chinese soldiers who battled the Japanese at the front. But he showed no mercy towards cowards," Zhang says.
He did, however, show kindness. Repeatedly, Zhang emphasizes.
Bethune's Chinese name, Bai Qiu En, means "The Light that Pursues Kindness."
On his rounds, finding a patient shuddering with cold, Bethune gave him his own quilt; soup made expressly for him he personally fed to patients; and while he might not have given patients the shirt off his back, Zhang does recall that, in the interests of hygiene, he once gave his own set of clean underwear to a post-surgical patient.
In hot summer months in rare moments of leisure, Zhang recalls, they'd all bathe in a nearby stream to cool off.
"At meals, he ate what we ate. He lived as we lived. He went through thick and thin with us. If it we ate millet, he ate millet; if it was potatoes, he ate potatoes. He lived the same life as we common people lived.
"He wasn't like other people, those who just came and left."
And he was a brilliant innovator and accomplished teacher.
Appalled by the rudimentary hospital he first saw at Mao's Yan'an headquarters, laid out in a series of caves, Bethune later designed and organized a complete model hospital.
But beyond science and innovation, it was Bethune's common humanity, his willingness to do all he could for his patients that left the most lasting impression, says Zhang, something he feels is sorely lacking in China's mainly pay-as-you-go medical system today.
"What we need today," says Zhang, "is more of Dr. Bethune's spirit."