Exiled Cartoonist

In the 1930s a tall, slim man with a slight limp and a pleasant, unassuming manner wandered through the often dangerous streets of Shanghai, China, armed only with a pencil and sketchpad. He peered intently though round eyeglasses that gave him a kind of owlish appearance, and when he smiled his front teeth displayed a substantial gap.

The wanderer was a common sight in Shanghai, invariably dressed in a natty suit, carefully knotted tie, and a fedora slightly turned up at the brim. He spoke good English, the common language of Shanghai’s substantial foreign community, but with a distinctly Russian accent.

The man, a White Russian émigré named Georgy Avksentiyevich Sapozhnikov, worked for the North-China Daily News, the most prestigious newspaper of the period and the mouthpiece of British interests in the Far East. A political cartoonist of great talent and perceptiveness, Sapozhnikov daily created sketches that were avidly devoured by subscribers. In fact, he was so popular that when he went on extended holidays the newspaper refused to hire a temporary replacement.

To his thousands of devoted fans, Sapozhnikov was known simply as “Sapajou.” And from 1923 to 1941 he was the most famous political cartoonist in Asia.

after vladivostok fell to the Bolsheviks on October 25, 1922, Russia’s long Civil War was essentially over, and the last remaining tsarist loyalists – generally dubbed White Russians – were forced to flee their homeland. The prospect of permanent exile was traumatic enough, but when the Soviet government stripped the émigrés of their citizenship, their cup of bitterness filled to overflowing.

Now both stateless and homeless, White Russians scattered across the face of the globe. The choice of one’s place of exile depended in large part on finances and one’s social status before the war. Those would could afford to do so fled to Europe, where they could resume the lifestyle they had enjoyed in the past. Impoverished aristocrats, middle class businessmen, and former tsarist military gravitated to Shanghai, China.

Shanghai was attractive because it was an open city that did not require a national passport for entry. Yet when White Russians arrived, they were not welcomed, but shunned as undesirables. Russian men became bodyguards, porters, doormen and teachers – any occupation to make ends meet. Russian women, especially the prettier ones, became hostesses, singers, or worked as dancers in the many nightclubs and cabarets that dotted the city.

Sapajou was born in 1893 in Chardzhou (present day Turkmenabat). He was of mixed ethnic heritage; his father was Russian and his mother Turkmeni. We know little about his parents, save that his father was a military officer who had been stationed in Turkmenistan as part of a military campaign.

Though much of his life is unknown, some facts stand out in high relief. Young Georgy (or “Googa” as he was known to friends and family) enjoyed a life of privilege and opportunity typical of the Russian upper classes of that period. He was educated in languages, and learned English as part of his studies. His father had an interest in art, and saw to it that Georgy received the finest teachers available.

In fact, Sapozhnikov had the great good fortune to study painting under the famous Russian painter Ilya Repin. Though Repin’s realism had little in common with Sapajou’s later cartooning, something of the master’s insights into the human condition can be seen in his student’s drawings.

There are competing versions of how Sapozhnikov became interested in art. Some maintain he only took up drawing seriously after being discharged from the Russian army. His granddaughter Larissa Taboryski maintains he simply began doodling and found he had a talent for it.

When Sapozhnikov was a teenager, he attended the Alexandrovskoye Military School in Moscow. After graduation he studied architecture at St. Petersburg University. When the First World War broke out in 1914, the 21-year-old Sapozhnikov became a lieutenant in the Imperial Russian Army. He was soon wounded in battle, however, and taken prisoner by the Germans.

Gangrene set in, so German doctors were forced to amputate all the toes of Sapozhnikov’s left foot, to prevent the infection from spreading up his leg. The loss of his toes resulted in a permanent limp, but there were worse alternatives. “He was always grateful to the Germans for saving his leg,” Taboryski said.

The Germans released Sapozhnikov and he was demobilized from the army. He enrolled in the Moscow Academy of Arts, where his talent for drawing was further developed. After the Bolsheviks took power in November 1917, Russia plunged into Civil War. Sapozhnikov’s war experiences made him something of a pacifist, but his sympathies were definitely with the White, anti-communist cause.

Sapozhnikov made his way to Harbin, China, where he became an aide-de-camp to General Dmitry Leonidovich Horvath. General Manager of the China Eastern Railway and sometime Russian Consul, Horvath had operated rather autonomously even before the Russian Revolution. His imperious ways soon earned him the title of “Little Tsar of Harbin” – indeed, from July to November 1918 he was the self-declared leader of Russia.

Horvath formed an anti-Bolshevik Provisional War Cabinet, whose members included Admiral Alexander Kolchak. But eventually the White cause was defeated and in 1920 Horvath fled to Peking (Beijing). Sapozhnikov and several other staff members followed him into exile.

For a time, Horvath and his entourage lived in the Austrian embassy, acting as if the Revolution had never occurred. Lavish dinners and beach parties on the Bohai Gulf made the exiles forget the loss of their homeland. It was during this period that Sapozhnikov became engaged to Horvath’s daughter Doushka. But the young lady broke it off and married Cecil Lewis, later a co-founder of the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC).

Sapozhnikov’s broken heart was mended by 16-year-old Maria Mikhailovna “Mimi” Koboloff, daughter of fellow Horvath staffer Lieutenant Colonel Koboloff. Once the young couple was married, they travelled to Shanghai to begin their new life together. Shanghai had been untouched by the World War and was booming.

Buoyed by the endless optimism of youth, Sapozhnikov and his bride were untroubled by the difficulties many Russian exiles were experiencing in the Chinese port city. They were readily accepted by the White Russian community in Shanghai, thanks in part to Sapozhnikov’s impeccable credentials as Hovarth’s former aide. He was charming and affable, and his fluent English helped him make friends outside the Russian community.

It was Sapozhnikov’s fellow officers who persuaded him to become a professional artist. When he was in Harbin, he had spent his spare time making sketches of Chinese life, vignettes that displayed both artistry and wit. He started work with the North-China Daily News around 1923, and was accepted by his British colleagues as an equal — no small feat in 1920s Shanghai.

In the 1920s, Shanghai was divided into three zones: the International Settlement, the French Concession, and Greater Shanghai. The International Settlement was an 8.77-square-mile section in the heart of the city, a preserve run by a 14-member Shanghai Municipal Council. Though technically still Chinese territory, the Settlement was run for foreign business interests via their elected representatives on the Council.

Shanghai’s strategic position close to the mighty Yangtze River made it the commercial hub of China, an emporium handling the wealth that came to the coast from the country’s vast interior. The Bund, which ran along the Whangpoo River, was Shanghai’s showcase and a bold architectural statement of its economic power. The Customs House, Shanghai and Hong Kong Bank, and Sir Victor Sassoon’s Cathay Hotel all lined the Bund, each in its way a bold expression of British might.

There was plenty of hardship as well. Thousands of mill workers lived in abject poverty, and beggars swarmed in the streets. Yet Shanghai was also modern, allowing middle and upper class Chinese freedoms of thought and expression they had never before known. The openness of the city meant it was a refuge not only for White Russians, but also for European Jews attempting to escape Hitler’s approaching holocaust.

Sapozhnikov, who had by now become Sapajou, loved Shanghai and chronicled its life and times with sincere affection. By the same token, he was never sentimental, nor was he cynical. During the 1920s and 1930s, China was in chaos, and Sapajou recorded his city’s triumphs and travails accurately, but always with a touch of humor.

He worked hard at his craft. China’s ever-changing kaleidoscope of wars, revolutions, crime and disease gave him plenty of topics to sketch and comment about, but he also kept one eye on international events and the slow but inexorable approach of World War II. Things changed rapidly in China; in one humorous series of cartoon panels, Sapajou himself is constantly called to the editor’s desk and asked to draw updates of the current news (see opposite page).

He seemed to be well liked by his Daily News British colleagues. Reporter Ralph Shaw fondly recalled Sapajou as “the star of the office,” turning out two cartoons a day for the North-China Daily News, and at least one cartoon a week for the North China Herald. It is estimated that Sapajou created some 15,000 cartoons for the two papers, and that does not include the watercolor art and greeting cards he did on the side.

North-China Daily News editor R.T. Peyton-Griffin provided a glimpse of the artist at work: “…Sapajou sits, looking far away into the distance and meditates. Suddenly he makes a stabbing motion in the air with his pen. An idea has been speared for treatment. Hence a cartoon.”

Many of Sapajou’s cartoons reflected the attitudes of his British employers and their view of the world. Sapajou was certainly anti-communist, and his cartoons occasionally revealed his hatred of the Bolsheviks. Sometimes they could be humorous, as when Russian dictator Josef Stalin was depicted as a sphinx, a sphinx that wore a blindfold and had drooping mustaches.

Thanks to Sapajou’s prolific cartooning, the family lived better than the average White Russian exile in Shanghai. Two children were born: Vladimir “Volodya” George (1923) and Elena “Helen” (1926). Both attended the College Municipal Francais in the French Concession. Yet for all his success, Sapajou always seemed to be skating on thin ice financially. He and the family moved frequently, and he never managed to buy a home of his own.

Sapajou received many offers from overseas newspapers, but turned them all down. He was well aware of Shanghai’s negative side — its high crime rate, noise, and poverty, yet he loved the great city, warts and all. “We would change nothing,” he declared in a cartoon caption. “We like Shanghai as she is.”

Shanghai was his first love and chief inspiration. As a result, his cartoons leave a vivid record of typhoons, wars, banditry, refugees, and local politics. Sapajou also shared impressions of what life was like in Shanghai in the period between the world wars — colorful, crowded, teeming with life even as it dealt with war and death. He had the unique ability to capture the essence of a great city with a few pen strokes.

Sapajou had many British and American friends, but remained proud of his Russian heritage and culture. His links with the Russian community were strong, and he was a director and shareholder of the Shanghai Russian publishing house and newspaper Slovo.

In 1931, japan began a series of aggressive actions in China that would ultimately merge with World War II. That same year, fighting broke out between Chinese and Japanese forces in Honkew, a district of Shanghai. Sapajou had a ringside seat for what turned out to be a dress rehearsal for a much bloodier war.

Sapajou’s editorial cartoons are generally pro-Chinese, yet in many works he doesn’t take sides, but expresses a horror of all war. In one cartoon, he shows “war,” as personified by the Roman god Mars, ravishing a helpless Chinese city while a lean and hungry wolf labeled “cholera” walks close behind. In another work, a “lunatic” from an insane asylum invites both Japanese and Chinese soldiers inside.

The fighting in 1931 was bloody but relatively localized. In 1937, however, the Sino-Japanese war began in earnest. Shanghai was a major target, and for three months the two sides battled for possession of the city. The International Settlement and French Concession remained neutral, but definitely not exempt from the horrors of war.

The Japanese dared not invade the International Settlement for fear of offending Great Britain and the United States. Eventually the fighting moved inland, making the Settlement a “lonely island” in a Japanese-occupied sea. Trade dried up, and Shanghai ceased to be the lively, decadent place it had once been. Prescient foreigners chose to leave, sensing greater troubles ahead. Others stayed on.

Sapajou was wise enough to realize it was time to go. His cartoons had frequently shown the Japanese in an unflattering light, and the neutrality of the International Settlement was no guarantee to safety. Anyone who was pro-Chinese, or showed the Japanese in a less than complimentary way, was seeking trouble.

One day the Russian-born cartoonist received an unsigned drawing in the mail. It showed Sapajou in prison with a ball and chain attached to his leg. More ominously, the iron ball had Japan’s rising sun emblem on it. It was an unmistakable threat. His family feared for his life, with good reason. American journalist Hallett Abend had been roughed up by some Japanese thugs, and there had been an assassination attempt on American editor J.B. Powell.

Sapajou landed a job in America working for the Hearst Newspaper Corporation. Transit visas were arranged, and the family was preparing to leave when time ran out. On December 8, 1941, the Japanese occupied the International Settlement. Sapajou and his family were trapped and stranded.

The North China Daily News was suspended as an “enemy” newspaper, leaving Sapajou unemployed. In 1943, all “enemy” civilian nationals — mainly Americans, British, and Dutch — were interned. Because they were “stateless” persons, the White Russians remained at liberty. Nonetheless, his prospects were bleak, and Sapajou became desperate for work.

Sapajou began drawing cartoons for a pro-Nazi journal run by a German named Mehnert. At first, the drawings were innocent enough, but by mid-1942 Sapajou was criticizing the Allies. Before long he had crossed the line, his cartoons extolling the virtues of the Nazi and Japanese “New Order.”

Why this transformation? The answer can never be known with certainty, but the fear of unemployment and starvation must have played a part. It must have seemed wise to pander to the prejudices of one’s employer. Sapajou also remained steadfastly anti-Bolshevik, so when Stalin joined the Allies it may have become much easier to criticize the British and Americans.

 

When the war ended in 1945, Sapajou’s pro-fascist cartoons were sure to come back and haunt him. The North China Daily News revived after the war, but had no use for someone now thought of as a “Nazi sympathizer.” Over the next few years, Sapajou and his family lived in poverty, barely kept alive through the charity of friends.

In 1949, with the Communists poised to take over all of China, the Sapozhnikovs were evacuated along with other White Russians to Tubabao, near Samar in the Philippines. It was a staging area for further immigration to Australia, Canada and the US. Sapazhou became ill, yet retained his optimism and ready sense of humor.

He kept his spirits up by sketching amusing vignettes of camp life. There were a lot of tropical diseases in camp, but that wasn’t to be his undoing. Sapajou was a heavy smoker, averaging three packs a day, and the habit finally caught up with him. He was diagnosed with lung cancer just about the time he had reestablished contact with the Hearst Corporation. Sapajou was planning to go to America to start a new cartooning and art career, yet he died in Manila on October 11, 1949. His family initially immigrated to Australia, then went to the US.

 

Georgy sapozhnikov influenced a generation of Chinese artists who honored, and continue to honor, his memory. Hua Junwu, a famous cartoonist, admitted he was influenced by Sapajou to such an extent that he copied his signature style. Zang Leping’s “San Mao” (one hair) series, which appeared in 1935 and is still well known in China today, was also strongly influenced by the Russian master.

Sapajou’s art is appealing because it not only recorded events, but did it with optimism and humanity. As his granddaughter Larissa Taboryski explained, “What was unique about Sapajou is that, during the many storms that rained down on him during his life, he kept a positive and sane attitude and used humor to expose the truth…”

In December 1941, just before the dark night of Japanese occupation was about to descend on the International Settlement, Sapajou summed up his philosophy in one of the last cartoons he would draw for the North-China Daily News: “It is wise to suppose the worst, but a ray of hope should never be extinguished.” RL

Illustrations for this article were taken from Nenad Djordjevic’s
comprehensive collection, Sapajou. bit.ly/sapajou