Young Mao Zedong Statue

Listen first. Water moves on both sides of you. The Xiang River runs past this long, narrow island, and the wind off the current carries the smell of wet stone and river mud. Underfoot the paving is broad and flat. Ahead, above the trees, a face made of granite rises from the far tip of the island. It is a young face, with hair pushed back as if by a strong wind.

You are on Orange Isle, called Juzizhou in Chinese. It is a sliver of land in the middle of the river that cuts through Changsha, the capital of Hunan Province. For centuries the island was known for its citrus groves, which gave it its name. Today it is mostly a park. Paths, lawns and gardens run along its length, and at the southern end sits the reason most people come here.

The monument is a giant bust of Mao Zedong. But this is not the stern, older leader from banknotes and official portraits. It shows him as a young man, still in his early thirties. That choice is the key to the whole place. Changsha is where Mao spent his formative years, long before he became the founding leader of the People's Republic of China.

The sculpture was completed in 2009. It is built from many blocks of granite, fitted together like a vast stone puzzle. The figure stands about thirty-two metres tall. It is also long and deep — it stretches back more than eighty metres, so the head and shoulders seem to grow out of the earth like a ridge of rock. Walk around it and you will see how the hair flows backwards along the whole length of the form.

Now for the first detail most visitors miss. That height of thirty-two metres is not random. It is widely reported to match Mao's age in 1925. That year, at thirty-two, he wrote a poem about this very spot. It is usually known simply as Changsha. So the statue is not only a portrait of a man. It is also a reference to a single poem, and to a moment of youth.

In that poem, the young Mao describes standing alone at the head of Orange Isle in the cold of late autumn. He watches the Xiang River flow north. He looks at the hills turning red and the boats racing on the water. Then he asks a large question — who, in this wide world, will decide its fate? The poem is still taught across China, and many Chinese visitors know its lines by heart.

So when you stand here, you are standing roughly where that poem begins. Look north along the river and you will see the same direction of flow the poem describes. The Xiang is one of the very few major rivers in China that runs north, toward the Yangtze and the great Dongting Lake. Locals often point this out with some pride. It is a small geographic fact that gives the poem much of its feeling.

Why Changsha? Mao was born in 1893 in Shaoshan, a village in the Hunan countryside, some distance from here. As a young man he came to the city to study. He trained at the Hunan First Normal School, a college for teachers. In these streets he read widely, wrote essays, organised students and argued politics with friends. Many of those friends later became important figures in Chinese history.

It helps to know that Hunan has a strong regional identity. Hunan food is famous for its heat, and the people are often described as direct and stubborn. Changsha was long a centre of learning and radical debate. Across the river to the west you can see Yuelu Mountain. At its foot stands Yuelu Academy, one of China's oldest centres of classical learning. Scholars debated there for many centuries before Mao arrived.

The second surprise is the expression on the face. Look closely, and you may notice that the statue does not smile, and it does not frown either. The gaze is calm and slightly distant, aimed out over the water. The sculptors chose a thoughtful look rather than a heroic pose. There are no raised arms, no outstretched hand. It is the face of someone still thinking, still uncertain about what comes next.

Watch the other visitors for a moment. You will see families posing for photographs, students in groups, older couples who walk slowly and stop to look up. For some Chinese visitors this is a place of real respect. For others it is a pleasant day out on the river. Many people bring children and tell them about the poem. The mood is usually relaxed, but it is polite to keep that respect in mind.

The island itself rewards a slow walk. Between the bridge and the statue there are long avenues of trees, open lawns and quiet corners by the riverbank. On a clear day the city skyline rises on the eastern bank, all glass and steel. On the western side, the green slopes of Yuelu Mountain look much softer. The island sits between the old landscape and the new city, which suits a monument about youth and change.

As evening comes, the light changes the stone. In the afternoon the granite looks pale and almost grey. Near sunset it warms to a soft gold, and the shadows deepen in the carved folds of the hair. River boats pass slowly. The noise of the city fades to a low hum across the water, and the wind becomes the loudest sound on the island.

Before you leave, turn once more toward the river. Look at the water moving north, as it did when a young student from the countryside stood here and wrote about it. Then look back at the stone face above the trees. As you walk back along the island, notice how the statue disappears and reappears between the branches — and how, from almost every angle, it still faces the water.