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Fabio Lanza reviews Sentimental Republic: Chinese Intellectuals and the Maoist Past

Hang Tu. Sentimental Republic: Chinese Intellectuals and the Maoist Past. Harvard East Asian Monograph Series. Harvard University Press, 2025. 326 pp. Hardcover $52.95

In Sentimental Republic, Hang Tu reframes the complex intellectual and political landscape of the post-Mao decades, shifting emphasis away from what he describes as “ideological” positions and focusing instead on the role of emotions. He asks, “How does emotion—as a constellation of affective intensities, moral sentiments, and political judgments—factor in the post-Mao political debates about China’s revolutionary past?” (3) Tu argues that, “By analyzing how rival memory projects stirred up melancholy, guilt, anger, and resentment, the polemics surrounding the country’s past cannot be properly understood without reading for the emotional trajectories of the post-Mao intelligentsia.” (8)

The book attempts to answer why “emotion” is a good entry into this material. Each of the five chapters is devoted to a set of intellectual/literary figures of the post-Mao era as well as a corresponding set of emotional attachments and sentimental approaches to the Maoist past. Tu moves from Li Zehou and Liu Zaifu’s differing conceptions of enlightened emotions, one based on pleasure the other on guilt (Chapter 1), to the elevation of the scholar Chen Yinke into a liberal martyr and a symbol of scholarship against politics (Chapter 2). Leftist melancholia is the topic of chapter 3, examined through the connection between Taiwanese writer Chen Yingzhen and Shanghai novelist Wang Anyi. Chapters 4 and 5 are devoted to the “right” of the political spectrum and focus on conservative thinker Liu Xiaofeng and the neo-nationalists of the China Can Say No phenomenon.

Tu starts by postulating that previous scholarship has viewed the intellectual and political articulations of the post-1978 era as produced solely by “rational deliberation” or logically embraced political ideologies. That, in turn, has produced an artificial separation between the rational and the emotional, and reduced the debates of the 1980s and 1990s to “stark polarities: liberty versus equality, modern versus anti-modern, and forgetting versus remembering.” (13)  Against this backdrop of hyper-rationality, Tu proposes instead to analyze those various -isms not solely as the product of rational deliberation, “but also as sensorial, affective, and emotive utterances deeply informed by personal desires, shared feelings, and moral sentiments,” (15) in particular the feelings connected to the legacy and the memory of the Maoist revolutionary past.

This emotional-rational dichotomy is largely a straw man. Few scholars frame political positions as simply the result of “rational deliberation” or the appeal of political ideology simply in terms of logical choice. Even less is this true for the post-Mao period, where the emotional legacy of the past has loomed very large and of course has contributed to the political choices actors make. So why does Tu need this false dichotomy? Postulating a fake dichotomy between reason and emotion, ideology and feelings, Tu successfully removes politics – as collective practice, shared experience, and communal ideation – from the post 1978 debates. He thus successfully depoliticizes not only the post-Mao era but the Maoist revolution itself. If mass politics is the site of irrational passion, depoliticizing allows historical actors to be rationally emotional without being political. And in that, Tu’s re-proposition of the emotion-rational dichotomy reprises its long and fraught history in Cold War orientalism, when it was deployed to separate the logical, democratic, appropriately thoughtful West and the irrational, emotional, and unruly East.

As Tu states, throughout the book, “Mao’s revolution” serves as “a generic term to designate a constellation of sociopolitical events, values, and memories” (4). Maoism is described as a quasi-religion, as brainwashing, as trauma, and Tu also repeatedly mentions something called the “Maoist sublime,” without ever explaining what that might have been.  This is a way to erase the complex historical experience of the Chinese revolution and to empty that experience of any political significance. This is most evident in the first chapter on Li Zehou and Liu Zaifu, who famously and explicitly bid “farewell to revolution.” Tu uncritically espouses Li’s concept of “the double bind of enlightenment and national salvation” (30) and accepts the completely ahistorical view that connects May Fourth iconoclasts to the children of Mao’s Cultural Revolution, who “both sought a ‘cultural-intellectualistic approach’ to political ills, fueled by ‘obsession with youth’ and “destruction of the past.” (47-48). The decades-long Chinese revolution is flattened by erasing any historical difference (1919 becomes 1966) and by reducing politics to irrational youthful emotions and destructive feelings.

Tu actively embraces Li’s politics of depoliticization, even when he cites the Chinese New Left’s criticism of Li and Liu’s thesis “as a thinly disguised neoliberal schema to ‘depoliticize’ radical thinking and legitimatize ‘end-of-history’ liberal triumphalism.” (47) Interestingly for a book about the debates of the post-Mao era, the New Left is left to haunt the books as a specter, appearing here and there, usually as a critical voice, only to be dismissed and banished to oblivion. Indeed, any direct engagement with the Chinese New Left would require taking the politics of the Maoist revolution seriously as politics, and not only as memory, trauma, or emotional attachments.

Does Hang Tu consciously adopt the politics of depoliticization and Sentimental Republic? I cannot say. But with the excuse of recovering an emotional dimension to post-Mao China that nobody actually has ever denied, Tu effectively flattens historical complexities into a story about the passions of a few individuals. To be clear, there is nothing wrong in an approach that centers affects and emotions, and there are excellent histories of emotions; here however, this approach serves mainly to produce a simplified and depoliticized depiction and to reduce profound political and intellectual differences to emotive responses. It’s all about the vibes.

In addition to the flaws in the main argument and analysis, I also want to highlight a glaring omission: Tu does analyze the work of one female writer, Wang Anyi, but he does so only through her relationship with Chen Yingzhen. That relationship developed after their participation in the 1983 Iowa writing program. Curiously, nowhere in the book does Tu mention that Wang went to Iowa with her mother, Ru Zhijuan, an important writer and editor in the 1950s, 60s, and 70s; nor does he mention that Wang and Ru wrote a memoir together about that trip. In a book ostensibly about the political memory of the Mao period, this critically relevant source is never mentioned. Instead, Wang Anyi’s approach to the revolutionary past is refracted through her relationship with the (male) Taiwanese leftist, Chen Yingzhen.[1] To be sure, this was a crucially influential relationship, but Wang and Ru’s own words, which are available, are absent. The silence about Wang and Ru is quite significant, especially in what is already a male-centered book.[2]

This review was originally commissioned by Twentieth-Century China, but it was rejected (in a slightly different version) as too harsh and straining “the bounds of collegiality.”

Notes

[1] Carlos Rojas, “Mothers and Daughters: Orphanage as Method,” Chinese Literature Today, Volume 6 (2017) https://doi.org/10.1080/21514399.2017.1375283

[2] Tu’s evident neglect of gender issues is on display again, for example, on p. 3, where he labels the speech of the famously emotional Chai Ling on the eve of the June Fourth massacre as “hysterical.”

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P. Kerim Friedman, Yes, “Taiwan Can Help,” but not if it continues to ignore Palestinian voices

On July 6th, according to a report by Jordyn Haime in the South China Morning Post, Taiwan’s official representative to Israel, Abby Ya-Ping Lee, pledged to support a medical center in a settlement community in the occupied West Bank. After the report became public, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs (MOFA) told United Daily News that the matter was still under discussion and that funds had not yet been promised. That is fortunate, because if they had, it would be a gross violation of international law as well as international norms.

It would not be the first time that Taiwan and Israel found themselves standing together in defiance of these norms. During the Cold War, Taiwan was paired with the apartheid states of Israel and South Africa as a trio of “pariah states.” South Africa and Taiwan have since shed their authoritarian pasts, emerging as liberal democracies. They have also each undertaken a process of transitional justice in order to reckon with these histories. But while South Africa has extended that reckoning to the international arena, accusing Israel of apartheid and leading the charge against Israel’s genocide at the International Court of Justice (ICJ), Taiwan has limited its own version of transitional justice to domestic politics.

As a result, Taiwan’s Cold War legacy still haunts its international relations, leaving it unable or unwilling to speak out against the genocide in Gaza, even as it offers support to Ukraine against Russia. As an American Jew who is also a Taiwanese citizen, I have repeatedly tried to speak out against this silence. I would like for my fellow Taiwanese to be confident enough in their place on the world stage, in the vibrancy of their culture, and in their democracy that they could find the voice to support the Palestinian cause. Instead, I find Taiwan seemingly willing to break international law in order to provide direct support to the occupation.

Why this disconnect between Taiwan’s stated values and its behavior in the Middle East? Some possible answers suggest themselves. One is that Taiwanese see Israelis as kindred spirits. They see in Israel’s ability to stand up to its Arab neighbors a model for their own struggle against China. There is also a pragmatic angle: like Israel, Taiwan is dependent on US military support and weapons sales to protect their border. They dream of a Taiwanese “Iron Dome,” even though it would be unlikely to work against China.

But there is another reason as well. Anthropologists talk about a process called “schismogenesis,” by which groups seek to differentiate themselves from rivals by taking up contrary cultural practices and political alignments. Think of the Yooks and the Zooks in Dr. Seuss’s The Butter Battle Book: one eats their toast with the butter on the top, the other with it on the bottom. I think something like this has hurt support for Palestinians in Taiwan. If the Chinese are for it, the logic goes, then Taiwan must be against it. While it is true that China has been a vocal supporter of a ceasefire, and has helped broker an agreement between Hamas and Fatah, the reality is far more complicated, given China’s long-term, close relationship with Israel. Chinese tech firms are involved in the surveillance of the occupied Palestinian territories, deploying technologies that were first tested in East Turkistan, as part of policies that were, in turn, inspired by Israel. 

Unfortunately, such complexity gets lost in Taiwanese discussions of the matter. One can laugh with netizens who scoff at China’s support for Palestinian sovereignty, asking why they don’t support a “two-state solution” for Taiwan and China? But such a framing has the effect of erasing Palestinian voices from the discussion. The idea, put forward by one opinion writer, that China and Hamas have formed an evil and mutually beneficial alliance is not far outside mainstream discourses in Taiwan. A MOFA official went so far as to suggest that Haime’s story was deliberately timed to undermine Taiwanese sovereignty because it was published on the eve of a pro-Taiwan statement by the Israeli parliament. 

This obvious effort at deflection should give Taiwanese pause. It is reminiscent of how the  anti-imperial left in the US downplays Taiwanese voices when talking about cross-strait relations, reducing everything to a power play between the US and China. “Policide” refers to efforts intended to destroy or deny the existence of a political entity. It is what China is trying to do in Tibet, East Turkestan, and Taiwan, and it is what Israelis are trying to do in Palestine. Just as wearing a keffiyeh or a watermelon pin is an actionable offense on US college campuses or at work, so too is waving a Taiwanese flag at the Olympics or anywhere in China. Both countries are victims of efforts to suppress overt symbols of their sovereignty. Similarly, when pundits and politicians flatten geopolitics to a great game between world powers, they aid and abet this process of policide. Taiwanese should think twice before participating in such erasure.

True, one should be careful not to exaggerate the similarities. Taiwan is a highly functioning, democratic state with a thriving economy and de facto political relations with most of the world’s nations, while Palestine is under direct military occupation, divided between two geographic entities (Gaza and the West Bank), each with different ruling bodies, and even during times of relative peace can hardly be said to function as a truly independent state. Despite that, China has actually been much more successful in restricting expressions of Taiwanese statehood than Israel and America have been able to do with regard to Palestine. 146 out of 193 nations recognize Palestine, while only 13 UN states (and Vatican City) recognize Taiwan. 

The success of such policide in the international arena is concerning because it is laying the groundwork for something much more violent, just as the policide of Palestine makes possible the continued genocide in Gaza. The related term, “politicide,” refers to the genocidal destruction of the people associated with a political entity. Politicide does not always follow policide, but policide can certainly make politicide easier. The Palestinian exception to free speech enables the genocide, just as denying Taiwan a seat in the UN makes it that much easier for China were it to decide to take the country by force.

Taiwan’s exclusion from the World Health Organization (WHO), a form of policide enforced by China, became a major issue during the COVID crisis. In response, Taiwan used its excess capacity in producing personal protective equipment (PPE), as well as its effective pandemic response experience, to promote itself as a “force for good in the international community.” They even coined the slogan “Taiwan can help.” Viewed in this light, MOFA spokesman Hsiao Kuang-wei’s蕭光偉 claim that donations to settler hospitals are simply part of Taiwan’s ongoing strategy of providing humanitarian medical aid is almost understandable. That is, until you realize the context. In 2024 the UN International Court of Justice (ICJ) issued an advisory “not to render aid or assistance to illegal settlement activities, including not to provide Israel with any assistance to be used specifically in connection with settlements in the occupied territories.” Although Taiwan is not a member of the UN, it does generally seek to respect international legal norms, and it seems clear that financial assistance to the Nanasi Medical Centre at Sha’ar Binyamin would be in violation of those norms.

The “Taiwan can help” slogan was designed to fight against Chinese policide of Taiwan which, among other things, excludes Taiwan from a seat at the World Health Organization. So it is ironic, to say the least, that this very same policy would help serve Israel’s politicide of Palestinians in the West Bank. How can Taiwan hope to be seen as a “force for good” when it undertakes such actions against the backdrop of the ongoing genocide in Gaza? Taiwan needs to stop acting as willing participants in Israel’s policide of Palestine. Silencing Palestinian voices will only hurt its own battle to be heard over Beijing.

P. Kerim Friedman (傅可恩) is a professor in the Department of Ethnic Relations and Cultures at National Dong Hwa University(NDHU) in Taiwan.

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Critical China Scholars, Understanding China and Resisting Sinophobia in 2025: An Introductory Syllabus

As China’s influence grows on the world stage, the specter of China looms ever larger in the political machinations of the US and its allies, while the promise of China as an humane alternative continues to bloom in the political imaginaries of leftists around the world. Understanding China is crucial if we are to respond effectively to global crises in ways that foster equity and justice, rather than deepening divisions, exacerbating suffering, and bolstering oppressive regimes—including those in the US and in the PRC. Equally urgent is our need to understand the significance of China as specter and as promise—the ways in which distorted representations of China as specter are being used to bolster US nationalism on the one hand, while, on the other hand, equally distorted representations of China as benevolent socialist regime are being used to gloss over myriad injustices in the country and beyond.

This syllabus follows the principles embraced by the Critical China Scholars to foster an understanding of China that resists Sinophobia and the nationalist agendas it feeds, while fostering solidarity with the many people in China and among the Chinese diaspora who are working for a more just and equitable world.

A critical perspective requires that we keep a sharp eye on the influence history and historical narratives are exerting on our current moment. Of course, present-day social inequities and ecological crises have been profoundly shaped by past events. At the same time, old political narratives are being resuscitated to frame new realities—and so we see a “new McCarthyism” and other phenomena reminiscent of the Cold War. Recognizing such historical parallels can be enlightening. However, some of the parallels being drawn are facile or downright misleading: Xi Jinping is not Mao Zedong; nor is Trump a “cultural revolutionary” in the style of the “Great Helmsman.”

In the West, China is often treated as a monolithic entity—hence the ease with which it is reduced to either a pariah state or a champion of equity and sustainability. In fact, as this syllabus demonstrates, China is complex, dynamic, and full of tensions. Rural China is experiencing capitalist transformation; PRC leaders have adopted varying approaches to global trade, often shaped by formative experiences during the Mao or Reform era; Chinese workers are embracing both active and passive means to resist capitalism, with profound implications for the global economy; innovations in China’s tech sector, along with the state’s ambitious environmental platform, continue to garner a paradoxical array of admiration, fear, and contempt internationally, distorting the nuanced reality; and political dissent has continued to emerge within China, while diasporic communities—most notably, international Chinese students—have increasingly become hotbeds of organized political discussion and action.

We welcome your critical engagement with the resources provided here, and we warmly encourage you to share the syllabus freely with all who may benefit from it.

Full syllabus available here.

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BDS Korea, Manse to Intifada: A Report on March 1, 2025 from Palestine Peace Solidarity in South Korea

Known as the March First Independence Movement, an unprecedented wave of mass protests with people shouting dongrip manse 독립만세 (long live independence) swept across Korea on March 1, 1919. On this day, religious leaders and students stood against Japanese colonial rule and declared Korean independence, sparking uprisings far and wide. The movement lasted for three months, with an estimated 1,900 protests all over the country. Met by violent and brutal repression from Japanese colonial authorities, the movement did not immediately lead to Korean independence, but it served to inspire and give hope to independence fighters and activists beyond the Korean Peninsula. 

Palestine Peace Solidarity in South Korea (PPS), also known as BDS Korea, observed the 106th anniversary of the March First Movement in 2025 by inviting Saleh, a Palestinian refugee currently living in Korea, to speak about Palestinian prisoners. People gathered at SALT, a community space located only a few hundred meters from Seodaemun Prison (today a historical site and museum), where an estimated 3,000 Korean independence fighters had been held, tortured and killed. The goal of the gathering was to connect the Palestinian liberation movement to Korea, showing that history is not simply past, but remains relevant, affecting the material conditions today.

After all, what does it mean to celebrate the March First Movement in the present day, when survivors of Japanese military sexual slavery and forced labor from the Asia Pacific War have still not received a proper apology or compensation from the Japanese government? What does it mean to celebrate the March First Movement when in 2023, then-President Yoon Suk Yeol repeatedly emphasized the need to hold hands with Japan and put the wounds of the past behind us? Without proper reparations for historical injustices, the past cannot be put to rest.

On the occasion of March 1st, 2025, Saleh shared the fact that there are more than ten thousand Palestinians imprisoned in Israeli jails. Thousands are held under administrative detention without charge or trial for terms that can be renewed indefinitely. Prisoners are subjected to physical and psychological torture, including sexual violence, solitary confinement and medical negligence. The longest serving Palestinian prisoner is a man named Nael Al-Baghouthi who was first imprisoned in 1977. He served 34 years before being released and then re-arrested, for a total of 45 years behind bars. Some Palestinians are even given sentences that are thousands of years long. Israel is also notorious for trying minors in military courts.

The occupation uses imprisonment as a way to break people’s spirits and crush the liberation movement. However, Palestinian prisoners not only survive, but find ways to sustain life and hope even from their cells. As Saleh explained, although the occupation “may succeed in shackling bodies, it remains powerless to imprison minds and willpower.” To give an example, Hassan Salama, serving a life sentence for his pro-Palestinian activities, managed to get engaged while in prison. Gufran Zamil, a Palestinian woman inspired by his story, proposed to marry him, though they had never met and may never meet. This has given Hassan renewed strength and inspiration, to know that there is someone waiting for him on the outside, that there is life beyond prison.

In a similar vein, there are prisoners who smuggle out their sperm in order to start a family (even from prison). While imprisoned for two decades, Abdel-Fattah Kamel Shalabi and his wife were able to conceive through such methods using artificial insemination. In 2024 upon his release, Shalabi was able to meet his ten-year-old son for the first time. Israel seeks to deprive Palestinian prisoners of freedom and life, including the ability to get married or have a family. But through these acts of resistance, Palestinian prisoners claim their right to life and demonstrate that their spirits will not be broken. 

Many Palestinians also engage in hunger strikes, as one of the only ways to assert their agency in prison. Khalil Awawdeh was arrested in 2021 initially with a 6-month administrative detention that kept being renewed with no trial or charge. He went on a 127-day hunger strike, until he received confirmation from Israeli authorities that his administrative detention would not be renewed. He was released in 2023. 

It is not difficult to draw parallels between the situation of Palestinians and Korea’s independence movement. Many Korean independence fighters were also labelled terrorists, tortured and killed for their actions. One well-known independence fighter, Nam Ja-hyeon, went on a hunger strike after being tortured by Japanese prison guards for six months. She was eventually released, but died soon after. This March 1st, we remembered these anti-colonial fighters who gave their lives for Korean liberation and independence, and we honored their legacy by standing in solidarity with the Palestinian resistance.

Despite Korea’s painful history of colonization, experiences that still inform today’s political landscape, the South Korean government under Yoon Suk Yeol chose to align itself with perpetrators of colonial and imperialist violence. In fact, the far-right, anti-impeachment, pro-Yoon protesters are often seen holding the South Korean flag alongside the American flag, and increasingly the Israeli flag. Supported by ultra-conservative Christian sects, the Korean political right fully aligns itself with the US, believing that US imperialism keeps them safe from the so-called bogeymen, namely North Korea and China.  

Beyond such symbolic displays, South Korea actively profits from supporting US imperialism. South Korea is one of the many countries that supplies weapons to Israel, and is one of the only countries that actually increased their weapons sales to Israel during the ongoing war against Gaza. Korean conglomerate Hanwha Aerospace, known as the “Lockheed Martin of Asia,” signed partnerships with Israeli defense companies, Elbit Systems and Elta Systems, in 2021. Its market value jumped 69% in 2023 to $7.8 billion. Other South Korean companies have also profited from the Israeli occupation, notably HD Hyundai, whose excavators are being used to destroy Palestinian homes and build Zionist settlements. 

It is shameful that the South Korean government, a nation with its own history of colonization, would align itself with the US and aid and abet the Israeli occupation of Palestine. This is precisely why Korean solidarity with Palestinian liberation is rooted in mutual struggle against imperialism. Though South Korea is in collusion with the US empire as a client state, it is simultaneously a victim of US imperialism. Just as Israel serves as a US proxy in the Middle East, South Korea too serves as a proxy in the Indo-Pacific region. The US military has maintained its presence and influence in South Korea ever since the liberation (and division) of Korea in 1945. This not only led to the Korean War, but the violent suppression of protests and civilian massacres such as the 1948 April 3rd Jeju Massacre were aided and abetted by the US military in Korea. In more recent times, the presence of US military camptowns has also led to sexual violence against women, as well as environmental destruction due to base constructions. 

These are not issues of the past but ongoing ones that impact the here and now. In fact, as recently as March 2025, a bomb was “accidentally” dropped on the South Korean city of Pocheon, during the US-ROK joint military exercises, damaging 163 buildings and injuring over forty people. Though Koreans are supposed to accept US military presence because it allegedly makes us safer, what actually happens is that bombs are dropped on our own land and people. The US missile defense system, THAAD, is another case in point. Despite being useless in defending against missile attacks from North Korea, it was deployed in 2017 while former President Park Geun-hye was undergoing her impeachment trial. Through its advanced radar capabilities, it is able to spy on China, serving US interests. In short, THAAD benefits US security priorities, while the Korean people are the ones who pay the price, especially those subjected to state violence for their sustained resistance against THAAD’s deployment. 

Despite national liberation from Japanese occupation in 1945, Korea remains divided in a precarious state of truce with an ongoing US military presence on the peninsula. Koreans, therefore, know very well that a ceasefire in Palestine is only the beginning. A lasting peace requires the full withdrawal of Israeli troops from Palestine, a permanent lifting of the blockade, and a complete dissolution of Zionism as a political project whether within Israel or beyond. Only a fully free, self-governing, autonomous Palestinian state can bring about true decolonization and liberation. 

This requires the end of US support for Israel. So long as the US has vested security interests in the region, it will continue to find proxies in the Middle East, just as it has with Korea in the Indo-Pacific. In fact, the largest overseas US military base is located in South Korea, near Pyeongtaek. This is precisely why our struggles are interconnected. As long as US interests govern the region, the Korean Peninsula can never freely and autonomously exercise its sovereignty. Korean activists therefore strive to sever links to US imperialism, not only for the sake of Korean self-determination, but also for the liberation of Palestine.

In this vein, BDS Korea’s main goal is to serve as a bridge between Korea and Palestine since its formation in 2003. Members travel to Palestine to organize with activists on the ground. BDS efforts range from pushing South Korea to impose a military embargo on Israel, to boycotting Israeli products, and severing Korean academic and business ties with Israel. Though Korea and Palestine are geographically distant, and our respective national issues may seem unrelated on the surface, not only do we share histories of imperialist violence but our current-day struggles are deeply intertwined. BDS Korea, along with other organizations in Korea and beyond, will continue the struggle from this corner of the world until Palestine is free from the river to the sea. 

BDS Korea is a feminist organization that stands in solidarity with the Palestinian liberation movement. Since its founding in 2003, BDS Korea has aimed to bridge Korea and Palestine, working tirelessly to inform South Korean society of Israel’s colonization, apartheid and military occupation of Palestine.

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Gail Hershatter, Gao Xiaoxian: A Short Remembrance

I first met Gao Xiaoxian in 1992 at a conference at Peking University, but even before that I had heard about her extraordinary work with the Women’s Federation and her deep knowledge of life in the Shaanxi countryside. In our first conversations, we talked about our shared interest in the history and changing social landscape of rural China in the 1950s, and we decided to work collaboratively to investigate the changes that those years had brought to farming women. Beginning in 1996, we made six interviewing trips to various villages in Guanzhong and Shaannan, talking to women about farming, childbirth, marriage, childrearing, social roles, and the profound changes in women’s lives brought about during the collective era.

The rural women we interviewed were some of my best teachers, but the most astonishing aspect of this project was the chance to work with Xiaoxian. Her curiosity, enthusiasm, intelligence, and deep sense of care for the people whose lives she was investigating were extraordinary. For me, she became the model of an ethical engaged scholar-activist, devoted to getting to the root of problems that continue to make women’s lives difficult, but also delighted by the variety and creativity that she found among women in the villages. 

After a day of interviewing, we would take long walks in the evening and discuss what we were learning, and with almost every sentence she spoke I would learn something about a new way of looking at the world. She was a talented teacher. She also helped to make the lives of countless women better with her work on gender and development, her training programs on domestic violence, and the many research projects she organized both during and after her time at the Women’s Federation.

Gao Xiaoxian has left us too soon. But as I think about the many people she taught and influenced and inspired, I can truly say that she lived a life of great significance. I grieve her passing and I honor her presence in the world. May her memory be a blessing to all of us.