As a young college grad in the late 1980s, I found myself teaching English in Changsha, Hunan, courtesy of the Yale-China Association. The first time I first heard David, an elegant professor who spoke impeccable English, talk in detail about his past was at the YCA Christmas Eve dinner in 1988. I knew that he had spent many years in a Chinese labor camp, but I didn’t know exactly what for. As the American teachers shared stories from our childhoods–– memories prompted by a recent care package from a nostalgic parent containing How the Grinch Stole Christmas, A Charlie Brown’s Christmas and homemade holiday cookies–– David sat quietly before launching into his story:  

“When I was arrested in 1958 during the Anti-Rightist movement, The Hunan Daily devoted two full pages to its attack on me, calling me a bourgeois intellectual, a Nationalist sympathize and a CIA agent.

They also accused me of  ‘spreading religious activity’ ––a serious crime back then. I did 20 years of hard labor, but being in a labor camp actually spared me from what would have been a likely death had I been teaching when the Cultural Revolution broke  out.”

            “What was the ‘criminal’ religious activity you were accused of?” I asked. 

            “I taught my English students Christmas carols.” 

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 A group of American and Chinese English teachers planned to brave the Changsha cold that night in 1988 and sing Christmas carols around the campus of Hunan Medical College and neighboring hutongs. We settled on a few classics, including Hark the Herald Angels Sing, O Come All Ye Faithful, Jingle Bells, and for our encore, We Wish You a Merry Christmas. Some of us were quite embarrassed that we’d forgotten so many of the lyrics. (Since this was 1988, there was no Internet yet to help us.) 

 I asked David if he wanted to join us later for caroling. He beamed. 

Our first stop was Mr. Ying’s house. A former long-time vice principal of Yali (i.e., Yale) Middle School, with a Master’s Degree from Yale University, Mr. Ying was now in his nineties. Like David, he was a devout Christian, and he too, was persecuted for his faith and for his ties to the United States. David had been his student at Yali. Mr. Ying and his family were celebrating when we arrived; he gave us a joyous, toothless smile the entire time we were singing outside his front door. When it came time to sing O Come All Ye Faithful, David stepped up; his eyes glistening, he belted out the first verse and carried us through the next few verses. David remembered all the words. 

 We biked back to campus together. In the silence of the Changsha hutongs, on a wet, cold Christmas Eve, David wanted to sing.  

“Let’s sing Silent Night, that’s my favorite,” he said. Then we sang a few other carols, and when we had no more words, we started humming tunes. After returning to campus, we prepared to sing Christmas carols to our students outside their windows. David thanked me for including him. 

            “It’s been a long time since I sang Christmas carols.” 

            “How long?” 

            “About 30 years.” 

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Later that night, a few of us went to the midnight mass at the nearby Catholic church. The church was packed with elderly believers, reporters likely writing about the resurgence of religion in China, and young people—some apparently serious in their belief; others there just to “see the excitement” (kan renao).  A priest intoned in Latin, enveloped by the incense burning around him. A choir, complete with organ, violin and erhu, sang Silent Night and Hark the Herald Angels Sing in Chinese, while the congregants strained to look on at one of the few Chinese songbooks making their way around the church.  

On our way back to campus after mass, the streets were once again eerily quiet. Then we heard a sonorous voice approaching behind us. It was one of our colleagues, a young Chinese English teacher, singing Silent Night with such passion he must have thought he was alone in the streets of Changsha.  

Listening to him pour his soul into the hymn, I thought of David’s many years of hard labor, and could only hope that our colleague would never have to answer for the “crime” of singing Christmas carols. 

By Andréa Worden 

Written on Christmas Day, 1990 (slightly revised on Christmas Day, 2023)

Photo credit: Andréa Worden