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Local sages, steeped in the “moral meteorology” of Confucian philosophy, were quick to
blame the bad weather on some lapse in the conduct of the people, in the loyalty of sons
or the chastity of daughters. Emperor Jiaqing, for his part, blamed the incompetence of the
administrative class beneath him for compromising the goodwill of Heaven toward the state.
In an imperial edict, Jiaqing explicitly deflected responsibility for the 1816 food crisis onto
“provincial officials,” who
had they managed affairs diligently and in a completely public-spirited manner, all cooperat-
ing with each other, there would not have been a situation such as this…. The wheat harvest
has already proved deficient. If the great fields are not sown in good time, there will be no
supply of food for the humble folk.
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Spin doctoring aside, the very existence of such an announcement from the emperor shows a
style of paternalistic noblesse oblige in the Chinese social contract unfamiliar to the recently
restored monarchs of Europe. The obligation to express sympathy for the peasants in times
of crisis held true along the entire chain of command—from the emperor to the local ma-
gistrate level where scholar-bureaucrats frequently published poems that memorialized the
suffering of the people. Anthologies of Qing-era poetry contain entire sections titled “Famine
and Calamities.” Li Yuyang's poetry thus takes its place within an established paternalistic
tradition in Confucian culture.
From Li Yuyang's reference to absent tax collectors, it seems that by late 1816 the pro-
vincial government of Yunnan had taken some measure of the humanitarian disaster and
turned its attention from taxing the people to saving them. It's not difficult to see why. Li
Yuyang's poems from the following year, 1817, turn increasingly from the desperate situation
in his own home to the epochal human tragedy unfolding around him. The streets of Kunming
present a spectacle of suffering and social breakdown to which no right-minded Confucian
official could be immune. Desperate parents have begun bringing their children to market for
sale:
300 copper coins for a bag of grain
300 copper coins for three days of life
Where can the poor people find such money?
They barter their sons and daughters on the streets.
Still they know the price of a son
Is not enough to pay for their hunger.
And yet to watch him die is worse.
Think of our son's body as food, as grain for one meal.
The little ones don't understand, how could they?
But the older boys keep close, weeping.
Stop crying and go with him. Selling is
a blessing, because to buy you he must feed you.
The cold wind blows in their faces,
The parents wipe their tears away.
But back home they cannot sleep
While the birds moan like old men in the night
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