South of Zhèngzhōu, Nánjiēcūn is China’s very last Maoist collective (gōngshè) . There are no Buddhist temples or mist-wreathed mountain panoramas, but a trip to Nánjiē is nonetheless one back in time: a journey to the puritanical and revolutionary China of the 1950s, when Chairman Mao was becoming a supreme being, money was yesterday’s scene and the menace of karaoke had yet to be prophesied by even the most paranoid party faithful.
The first inkling you have arrived in an entirely different world comes from the roads: perfectly clean, willow tree–lined streets run in straight lines with a kind of austere socialist beauty, past noodle factories, schools and rows of identikit blocks of workers’ flats emblazoned with vermillion communist slogans. There are hardly any cars and no advertising billboards, but beatific portraits of Chairman Mao gaze down on all.
From the main entrance, head along the main drag, Yingsong Dadao (颍松大道), to East is Red Square (东方红广场, Dōngfānghóng Guǎngchǎng), where guards maintain a 24-hour vigil at the foot of a statue of Chairman Mao, and portraits of Marx, Engels, Stalin and Lenin (the original ‘Gang of Four’) rise up on all four sides. The square is deluged in shrill propaganda broadcast from speakers in true 1950s style, kicking off at 6.15am daily. A short stroll to the left brings you to Cháoyáng Gate Square (朝阳门广场, Cháoyángmén Guǎngchǎng) and the rebuilt, traditional architecture of Cháoyáng Gate (朝阳门, Cháoyáng Mén).
Once you look closer, however, you’ll realise that all is not well. Stroll to the edges of the town and you’ll see dilapidated buildings with broken windows, and walk into a public toilet and you may find the taps locked. But Nánjiēcūn is a welcome portrait of an ideologically guided collective, whose cleanliness, order and quietness contrast with the chaos and messiness of modern-day China.
