From Havana to Beijing, many governments adopted the Marxist philosophy during the twentieth century, implementing communist foundations that were in theory supposed to create a utopia without class division, inequalities or greed. In the end, most of these systems collapsed and socialism disappeared almost as quickly as it rose to prominence. Though it seems that China is on its way to fully abandoning the ideology, if you look around the country today, under all of the booming skyscrapers and shopping plazas, you’ll still find the occasional communist remnant hidden away, lost in history and forgotten in time. One of these sites is called Nanjiecun (南街村) in rural Henan Province and it’s China’s last remaining collective farm.

Collective farming in the PRC

During the Great Leap Forward period, Chairman Mao implemented an agrarian collectivization campaign, calling it the People’s Commune (人民公社). Villages, sometimes up to 20,000 households, were organized into work units and assigned jobs appointed by the party cadre. With individual privacy viewed as counterrevolutionary, workers slept in communal dormitories, shared the same bathrooms and showers, ate from the same kitchen and used the same household appliances. But during the 1960s, with many of the crops exported to urban centers as well as poor management and unfavorable weather conditions, millions of Chinese working in the communes faced a massive famine and starved to death. By the 1980s, just about every collective farm in the nation was abandoned… except for one.

Nanjiecun today

Last summer I visited Nanjiecun. After the two hour ride from Zhengzhou I arrived in the quiet bus terminal of Linying (临颖)—a town that belongs in America’s Wild West, with sweltering heat, dusty streets, rickety buildings and even bushel resembling tumble weed. From there, I boarded the three-wheel taxi and traveled 20 minutes to Chaoyang Gate—the wall separating the Liying of modern China from Nanjiecun of Communist China. On the Linying side, drink shops blasting Chinese techno stand beside grungy dumpling restaurants, while e-bikes dart by in all directions. It was chaotic, energetic and exceptionally exhausting. On the Nanjiecun side, paved streets perfectly aligned in a grid crossed the town while white uniformed apartment complexes rose in the horizon. It was tame, ordered and more than a bit eerie.

I walked around the town for hours, passing countless portraits idolizing Mao Zedong and red banners promoting communal work ethic. There’s also a school, a large factory with towering red and white smoke stacks, a hotel and bored locals meandering the deserted streets. Eventually, I made it to the collective farm, but was quite disappointed because it was only a vast field with zero crops. In fact, only one plot of land had a rusty tractor riding around kicking up dust in its path. Apart from that and a few men laying grain out on the street to dry in the sun, the farm was completely drained of life.

Upon leaving Nanjiecun, I passed through East Red Square. There, a large statue of Chairman Mao with his right hand raised to the sky faces the town while a few people were placing bouquets of flowers at his feet. Also circling Mao are pictures of other “great” comrades like Karl Marx, Friedrich Engels, Joseph Stalin and Vladimir Lenin. After seeing nearly the entire village, I returned to Chaoyang Gate and crossed back into the 21st century, greeted again by piercing scooter horns, loud shouts into cell phones and taxi drivers harassing me for my business. I was back in modern China.

The parody of Nanjiecun

Based on my trip to Nanjiecun (and given the failures of collectivization in the past), it definitely appears that China is not benefiting from this one deserted collective farm. In fact, it’s said that Nanjiecun costs the government 1 billion RMB per year just to stay afloat, while the Agricultural Bank of China—which just so happens to be the only bank in town—finances the entire operation. So why does the PRC, a regime that has clearly made great strides in transitioning away from a command economy, hold on to Nanjiecun? No one except maybe those in the politburo know for sure, but there are a few likely reasons.

Perhaps the local government in this particularly impoverished region of the country believes they can make some money off tourism, turning Nanjiecun into a famous communist landmark like Mao’s hometown of Shaoshan. After all, it brought me there and received my business, and there’s even a new tourist center in town where you can pay for guided tours. Or maybe it could be a subtle attempt to save face? China still considers itself a communist country, so to completely eliminate all socialist institutions would indicate defeat and thus cause Beijing to lose face. This may also explain why the government still loses billions by keeping underperforming state-run enterprises around. But realistically speaking, it’s probably both—making money the capitalist way all while keeping a socialist image. In essence it perfectly describes China today.

Final thought

In conclusion, no matter what your views regarding Marxism are, Nanjiecun is worth a visit. Out of my travels to just about every former and current communist nation in Eurasia, Nanjiecun proves to be one of the most interesting Marxist relics I’ve encountered, mainly because it was the only place where you can take a peek at both communism and capitalism at the exact same time. All one has to do is stand under Chaoyang Gate, swivel your head and note the vast differences between both sides. The discrepancies are truly fascinating and serve as a living example of two entirely different political, economic and social ideologies that dominated twentieth century international affairs.

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Keywords: China Nanjiecun China last collective farm communism in modern China China Nanjie villiage