Looking back, it was ironic that Mao had spent his whole life preaching that humans were mortals and that there was no spirit left after death, yet in death, his designated successor elevated him to a godlike status, an immortal like the great emperors of China who presided over dynasties.

On the day of Mao’s memorial service in Beijing, there was pouring rain. “The heavenly God is shedding tears for Chairman Mao,” my teacher said somberly. “It always happened in the past when an emperor died.” We children were too young to share her sentiments. While listening to the live radio broadcast of the memorial service, a classmate of mine farted. We all started giggling. The student eventually was spared expulsion after his mother, a head nurse at a hospital, presented medical records to show he had a digestive disorder.

Following Mao’s death, many scholars secretly predicted that China would follow the path of the Soviet Union, which experienced a political thaw after Stalin’s death. The predictions proved to be true. Hua Guofeng, whom Mao had designated as the country’s new leader, was a relatively unknown figure. The state media fabricated his credentials and lavished praise on him. The country addressed Hua as the “Wise Leader" and was urged to pledge loyalty to him. However, his lack of political experience soon fueled a power struggle, which eventually enabled the moderate factions within the Communist Party and military to triumph over the radical Mao loyalists, including Mao’s wife, Jiang Qing. Thus, China opened its door.

We cautiously looked at the world, realizing that what we had been taught to believe was the greatest socialist country in the world was actually one of the poorest countries in the world. We studied the newly leaked information from our historical archives and learned our saintly leader was actually a brutal dictator who was responsible for the deaths of millions of people in his political campaigns.

Like the antique treasures excavated from the emperor’s tomb in my hometown, Mao’s personality cult crumbled when meeting the fresh air. His omnipresent statues were torn down and the billions of lapel pins that bore his image were melted to make cooking utensils. At the moment, even though the current leadership in China still venerates Mao and some people hang his picture in cabs, or plaster it on the walls of businesses as if he were a patron saint for the whole country, the Mao era has long ended.

Thirty-five years have passed, and it is sickening to see the echoes of Mao’s tyranny still being played out in North Korea. In the TV footage, I found many younger versions of myself among a group of schoolboys in front of a Kim Jong-il statue. Several were covering their faces, trying to force out a tear. They knew that if they didn’t, they or their families could be denounced.

I also saw the likenesses of my parents and my teachers — some were truly saddened at the loss of a demigod, while others resorted to funeral histrionics out of fear.