That night, both heaven and earth tore apart. "Run!" shouted the father, and everyone rushed outside. But where could they go? "Everything happened so suddenly, and we were trapped like in a snare."
Fifty years have passed since the Tangshan earthquake in China—one of the largest in history. It lasted for only 23 seconds, but claimed more than 242,000 human lives. Another 144,000 were seriously injured.
The tragedy struck at 3:42 in the morning on July 28, 1976. Almost the entire city lay in ruins when the aftershocks came, followed by dirty rain that lasted for hours. In the rubble, the wounded and shock-stricken stumbled around; many in underwear or rags, others almost naked. From deep fissures and gaping holes, thousands of cries for help echoed. A city of over a million inhabitants was suddenly gone.
Tangshan lies 200 kilometers east of Beijing, almost by the sea. Under Mao, it became an important industrial city producing large quantities of coal and steel. Everyone knew it was situated on a fault line, but previous earthquakes had been small and rare.
Earlier that same month, the government's seismological bureau held a week-long conference in Beijing. The participants concluded that it was more important than ever to combat "revisionism and imperialism." There was a lot of politics back then—and very little science.
Several books have been written about the earthquake, among them Sun Zhuozi’s The 1976 Tangshan Earthquake. The book stands out because he allows numerous survivors to share their personal snapshots of the event.
"I still remember the morning hours of July 28," recalls one of them, "Mrs. Wang." "People were sleeping when something resembling a hurricane roared toward us. A strange blue light flashed across the sky; it was as if heaven and earth were split in two and the ground turned inside out. I woke up startled and grabbed my daughter, who had just turned one year old. Then I woke my husband, but I only managed to catch a glimpse of him before he disappeared from sight. In the next moment, everything went pitch black, and my entire family was buried under the rubble."
In the central areas of the city, only three percent of the buildings remained standing. Experts concluded that the energy released was four hundred times greater than the atomic bomb over Hiroshima.
Many were saved as if by a miracle. A train carrying 1,400 passengers was traveling through the disaster zone when the earthquake struck. The train driver saw the tracks twisting violently, but managed to brake before the train plummeted into the abyss. Everyone on board was saved.
The workers in the large coal mine outside the city understood that something was wrong and began making their way to the surface. Once finally above ground, they saw that the city had ceased to exist.
That morning, rescue workers shouted through megaphones that another major earthquake was coming. People were told that what remained of the city would disappear into a gigantic black hole and be gone forever. Thus, thousands fled in panic to the suburbs and out into the countryside. But nothing happened, and hesitantly, they returned.
The warning signs had been numerous, but people did not fully understand them. The day before, the air grew thick and stiflingly hot, and many struggled to breathe. Wells that had long been nearly dry suddenly filled with water, and birds and animals began behaving strangely. Dogs barked and crows shrieked, while chickens and chicks ran frantically in all directions.
China was in a vulnerable phase when the earthquake occurred. The devastating Cultural Revolution had lasted for ten years, and Chairman Mao was sick and dying.
The tremors were so powerful that they could also be felt in Beijing. In Zhongnanhai, the Chairman's enclosed paradise, roof tiles collapsed from centuries-old roofs, and thick pillars cracked. Even Mao's sickbed began to shake. The Chairman was therefore wheeled to another, safer building. "It happened in great haste and pouring rain," the Chairman's personal physician recounted many years later.
Historically, the Chinese had interpreted unusual events in nature—earthquakes, meteors, floods, and droughts—as signs that the emperor had lost his "Mandate of Heaven." In 1976, Mao had ruled for 27 years. Ten years earlier, the Red Guards had stood in Tiananmen Square shouting: "May Chairman Mao live ten thousand years!" Now it appeared he would reach only 83.
People began whispering among themselves, but only in private or in small groups. Doing otherwise would be too risky. In China, the slightest hint that Mao was not infallible could carry punishment.
Observatories in Japan and other countries registered the earthquake in real time. But the government in Beijing was initially conspicuously silent. Accidents did not happen under socialism. The International Red Cross, Japan, and a long list of Western countries were quick to offer emergency aid. But the government declined. Proud and glorious China would certainly manage on its own!
In Tangshan, the city hall and the party headquarters were reduced to ruins. The rescue effort had to be organized from a dilapidated bus instead.
In the meantime, soldiers and rescue workers rushed to the city. The People's Liberation Army had a long tradition of assisting during civil disasters. By mid-August, tens of thousands were in place, but the work was both dangerous and exhausting. It was like arriving at a bombed-out Hiroshima, though far fewer had perished there—around 140,000.
In early September, while crews were working tirelessly, the news of Chairman Mao's death swept across the country. In Tangshan, the survivors barely had time to mourn. It was a matter of survival. Large tent cities were erected on the plains outside the city, but then autumn arrived with biting winds from the north and east. Thousands were housed in private homes, but not everyone. That winter was cold for many.
Mao's successors placed great emphasis on rebuilding Tangshan as quickly as possible. A regime that had rejected international aid had to prove it was capable. Naturally, the work took many years, but gradually the city got back on its feet, now with safer buildings, wider streets, factories, schools, and modern hospitals.
A memorial park was laid out in the center of the city and planted with flowers and evergreen trees. Then, painstakingly, the names of the victims were carved into the park's large stone tablets. Visitors come here from near and far to honor the dead.
But does Tangshan risk being struck again?
Yes, say the experts, because the geology remains the same as before. The city lies in a seismically active area that also encompasses Beijing. However, it is now far better equipped, and the authorities have installed advanced monitoring systems throughout the region. There is a lot at stake, as today's Tangshan is home to more people than ever—around five million.
"Keep the fighting spirit alive!" reads one of the slogans fifty years after the tragedy.