Chapter VIII
Behind the Red Curtain
Immediately after the Communists gained control of China and occupied it from North to South, Russian technicians and advisors poured into the country. Everyone was asking: “What are the Russians doing in China?”
From a few foreigners and Chinese, who had made an early escape from behind the Red Curtain, and from letters later smuggled out of the country, came the revealing truth. Some of the informants had lived under the Communist yoke for as long as eight and nine months, and among these was a United Press correspondent, Chang Kuo Sin.
“The Russians,” he said “began at once to fit China into the political-military bloc of Soviet dominated States which, by the end of 1949, extended from the Danube River to the Pacific Ocean. Their organization was beyond anything China had ever seen, and it certainly proved that they had been planning it for a long time. I was frankly shocked by the influence they seemed to have on the Chinese, from the very beginning.
“The ‘Big Noses,’ as the Chinese called the Russians,” he continued, “took over as fast as they could. They tried to make a good impression on the Chinese by moving right in with them. They ate Chinese food and fumbled with chopsticks, and even wore Chinese Communist uniforms made for them in Russia. They had already learned to speak Chinese and to write a certain number of characters before they arrived. Also, they had been taught some of the old Chinese customs, such as raising the rice bowl as a gesture of friendly greeting.
“The Russians brought in about seventy railroad engineers to supervise the rebuilding of the railroads and bridges damaged by the war. They were especially interested in everything military and sent movie units around to make films of Chinese strategic areas. A friend of mine, who saw them taking pictures, told me that Chinese officers, who had been trained in Russia, were showing them all of the defenses of the country.”
The original plan, in 1950, was to attack Formosa before the typhoon season began in June. The Russians knew then what the world knows now from the 1951 release of Dean Acheson’s diplomatic report of December 23, 1949, that we had written off Formosa as of no importance to our Pacific defenses. Acheson tried, in vain, to involve Lieutenant General Wedemeyer in this act of treachery. Acheson testified, June 1, 1951, that the State Department prepared the report after Wedemeyer, then Assistant Chief of Staff, suggested to the State Department that it use the Voice of America to “minimize” any damage that might result from the fall of Formosa. But we know from the complete Wedemeyer Report that the General advocated unequivocal defense of Formosa as being of definite strategic importance in our chain of defenses in the Pacific. MacArthur and Wedemeyer both had warned that the fall of Formosa would leave Japan, Okinawa and the Philippines outflanked. The following is an account of how the enemy planned to take Formosa with an offensive beginning June, 1950.
Chang Kuo Sin reported: “We are given to understand that the island will be taken by the biggest land, sea and air force that has yet been launched against any place within the Russian orbit. They will muster hundreds of fighting planes and thirty warships, plus thousands of troops for this invasion. The warships, of course, include many that went over to the Communists from the Nationalist forces.”
The Chinese correspondent was not the only one who watched with alarm the preparations for the invasion of Formosa. From every side came evidence of the size and strength of the forces assembling for the attack. The British, after recognition of the Communist Government, and in order to protect their investments, were forced into the distasteful position of giving them, by court order, ninety airplanes. Worth twenty million dollars, these planes belonged to the airline companies owned by the picturesque American flyer Claire L. Chennault, whose famous “Flying Tiger” raids on the Japanese added brilliant pages to American military history. This high-handed transfer of American-made planes, probably the best in the world outside those in use by the U. S. Air Force, to the Communists by the British was cause for alarm in official circles. The planes will undoubtedly wind up under the direct control of the Kremlin, whether or not they are used for the initial air assault on Formosa.
The ground forces were nominally to be under the command of the Mayor of Shanghai, who was said to have marshalled a picked force of one hundred and eighty thousand troops for the invasion. Their training in beach landings and personal combat was supervised by the Russians, and many of their special weapons are said to have been of Soviet make. The Mayor, a pawn of the Russians, was content to leave the military strategy entirely in the hands of his more than helpful allies.
Russian engineers were busy at every port from which the invasion might be launched. After forcing those already on the job to resign, they hired shipbuilders and began work on the dockyards, repairing the damage caused by Nationalist bombings. They assembled ships of different sizes and made them ready for invasion day. So we see that the Russians were well occupied in Shanghai.
The fact that American troops were withdrawn by the State Department from occupation in South Korea a few months earlier, left that country a more logical target of opportunity to begin their aggressive action. This explains why the Formosa attack was not made as originally scheduled in 1950.
In Canton the Russians were busy moving complete factories to Siberia, just as they had done earlier in Manchuria. This, they said, was to save them from Nationalist bombs. The real reason was that they needed them to build up Siberia industrially. Most of the Southern factories produced cement, cotton cloth or chemicals, vitally needed to support the large Siberian populace. It mattered little to the Russians that China needed these same commodities for herself. When workers complained that they could not live without their jobs, the Communist bosses said: “Well, then, come along with your plant and bring your family.” When the workers, usually encumbered with large families, would ask hopefully about transportation, they would always receive the same reply: “Can’t you walk? We did on the ‘Long March.’ You can, too.”
The Chinese are always desperately in need of doctors, and the Communists, right after taking over the country, allowed the physicians to go about their business unmolested, provided they did not discuss politics. So great was the demand for medical services that outrageous fees were charged. The Communists permitted this situation to continue, as it kept the doctors happy. With a flood raging in China and plague beginning to show itself, doctors were a priceless commodity. Even Russian doctors and scientists were brought in and added to the Ministry of Health in China.
Although the flood of 1950 was the worst one in years, it did not stop the Russians from sending food out of the country and into Siberia. The Chinese granaries were empty, and everyone was hungry. In Shanghai alone there were reported at least a hundred and twenty thousand foodless and homeless refugees, and no agency was able to do anything for them. It became dangerous for the average citizen, poor though he might be, to go out in the streets at night. Every morning a number of dead bodies were found piled up against the walls of buildings.
Mao Tse-tung, his slogans still promising “Abundance for All,” ordered a part of the army to work on the cooperative farms and offered handsome rewards for boosting food production. In Peking the worried Chinese Communists admitted that there were some nine million people dead or dying in those areas, but that they were unable to halt the shipments out of the country. Starving beggars in filthy rags, a not unusual sight in China during the famine and flood seasons, died by the score on the streets of Nanking and Shanghai, where they had come with the faint hope of finding work. These were the stronger ones; the weaker were never able to leave their villages, or else they fell along the way.
“Food is the one vital concern here,” said a letter from Peking. “Any kind of food. Even if you have money there is very little to buy, and everybody is poor down to the bone. We are thoroughly sick of the whole situation, but what can we do? Our friends are sent to jail if they complain about anything, sometimes even if they voice an opinion about the Communists that is not flattering.
“The beautiful lawns and gardens in the public parks and surrounding the homes of wealthy families have been plowed up and planted with vegetables. When this is not done within a reasonable length of time, soldiers enter, armed with guns, and ask politely: ‘You would like to have your gardens Produce for the People, would you not?’ In any case, the owner is lucky if he is permitted to keep a small share of what he is able to raise. After the gardens are taken over, it is a matter of the Camel in the Arab’s tent. Next, the valuables in the house are removed, to be sent out of the country in return for dollars and pounds. Then the troops or Party officers quarter themselves comfortably in the house, and if there is the slightest difficulty, the owners are forced out.”
Another letter said, “It is considered very bad taste, if not dangerous, to appear well off, and when I go to market I wear my oldest clothes to avoid being conspicuous. Only the Communist Hierarchy go about dressed in furs and finery, and they never go out except in shiny limousines.”
Adding to the difficulty of obtaining food and other necessities, Communists, for propaganda reasons, had put the pedicabs and rickshaws off some of the streets in the larger cities. The price of gasoline went up so high that no one could use his car, even if he still had one. Thus transportation became another severe problem. Only a few crowded, rickety busses still operated, and these were almost impossible to board. They were so packed that people clung tightly to each other at the doors, somewhat reminiscent of rush-hour in the New York subway. Those not able to get on the vehicles dog-trotted along behind. The busses never ran on any schedule, and the driver, if given a large enough bribe, would even change the route at a moment’s notice.
From a Chinese refugee now living in San Francisco, I learned that Peking families, as well as others in the Northern area, were sending their children out of the country on the pretext of aiding their fathers in business. “We try to make the Communists feel that we are cooperating with them wholeheartedly. Then, when we are sure that we have their confidence and that it is safe, we ask them if we may send our son or daughter to Hong Kong for business reasons or, better still, on work for the Party. If they are lucky enough to get away, they may have to stay in Hong Kong three or four months before they can book passage on a ship. When we hear, via the grapevine, that they are safe on board, we do not care what becomes of us.”
A tragic letter from a former military attaché in Washington during the war told of the fall of Shanghai and the stampede of hundreds of people trying to get away from the Communists. “The conquerors closed the gates of the city during most of the day and night to prevent crowds from trying to reach the railway stations or river banks and wharves. Steamships anchored in mid-stream to protect themselves from the mobs that tried to board them. Had everyone been successful in the attempt, the ships would have capsized. It was necessary to go out in small sampans and junks. Ropes with knots tied at intervals, to which people could cling, were thrown over the sides of the ships. I saw one father fasten a rope to his three children, and then the family tried to scale the ship’s side. Suddenly, when they were all about half-way up, the child at the top slipped or let go, pushing the other children with him as he fell. The parents screamed wildly and jumped into the churning, muddy water after them. Their cries were heart rending.”
In talking to Americans and Chinese who have returned to the United States, I caught many interesting and authoritative glimpses of life behind the Red Curtain. For instance, as with Stalin in Moscow, no one in China seemed to know where in Peking Chairman Mao lived. Some said he had taken over the Wagon Lits Hotel, others that he had a place in the country. Some said he appeared on the streets rarely, although he was seen at official gatherings now and then. At one such affair, Mao displayed a batch of letters, supposed to have been received from non-Communists, telling how pleased they were at the way the Communists had taken over and how courteous they had been. The tone of all these letters was flattering and to the effect that the non-Communists were impressed with their new masters. What Mao did not know, or did not mention, of course, was that the letters had been written and signed under duress and that, later, the writers had pleaded with friends going out of the country to tell those to whom the letters were addressed that nothing could be further from the truth.
The Communists strictly censored all mail coming into China, especially from the United States. Many letters were confiscated when they contained names and information about people the Reds wished to add to their files, and almost always when there was money in them.
Mao and Chou En-lai were said to be on very good terms with a number of Russian advisors. All called each other by their first names. The Chinese also were copying Russian ways with surprising alacrity. I learned that one of the most popular of the adopted Moscow customs was wife-swapping, or free love. In the New Democracy marriage was performed and terminated merely by mutual consent, Russian style. There was no exchange of vows when mating was done for the Cause, no priest or magistrate to pronounce the pair man and wife or to separate them later. Mrs. Chou En-lai told me very frankly in 1946 that she had never been legally married to her well-known husband. “The New Democracy did away with all that,” she said. “We did away with ceremonies. They are foolish and we don’t need them. Such things are for you Imperialists!”
Such laxity in marital affairs has long been the accepted custom in Russia, and indeed the Russian official often finds himself going even further, sometimes involuntarily. A Soviet army officer arriving at the Shanghai Airport not long ago looked around for his wife. She was nowhere in sight. A good looking blonde walked up to him and asked, “Are you Colonel Kovicov?” “I am,” he replied, a little taken aback. He had never seen her before and felt a faint chill when she said, “I am your wife now, on Party orders.” He knew then that he was under suspicion.
Another high official in Russia returned home from an arduous day in the Politburo and found that his “wife” had been replaced by a new and not so pretty one. “Who are you?” he asked rather sadly, and she replied, “You know who I am. I am the wife assigned to go with you to China.” It developed that this woman spoke Chinese fluently, a talent not possessed by the deposed mate. One may also infer that she was more adept at spying.
Furs, silks, cosmetics and some jewelry were said to have been brought into China at times by the Russians as rewards for faithful service, and many a smart Party woman already had a neat nest egg laid away in clothes and other commodities, such as the Communist “unmentionable” one, money.
Americans who admire China and the Chinese will be disheartened by a letter written by a retired colonel in the United States Army and an old China hand. “The campaign of hatred stirred up against the United States is impossible to realize unless you are right here on the spot,” he wrote. “We are constantly branded as the worst enemies China ever had. All the people who spent their lives here working for China and the Chinese are called spies or tools of Imperialism. At first they were polite and assured us that we could do business as usual. Later we felt that we were being eased out, and finally we were kicked out. We are all suspected of being agents of the American Government and can never go out on the street without being jostled, jeered at and spat upon. Many of us in Shanghai have been beaten, jailed and fined huge sums before being released. Two men I know have been taken out of their houses at night and beaten up. I don’t know how much longer we will be able to stay here, but you can expect us as soon as we can get away. I have plenty to tell when I do get home! It is difficult to leave, as everyone has to have a Chinese vouch for his good behavior before he can go. This Chinese friend actually becomes a hostage, and any criticism of the Communist Government on the part of the American may endanger his life.”
A correspondent in Shanghai was one of the Americans who was sure that it would be possible to “do business” with the Communists. He wrote a letter to the effect that “things really are not going to be as bad as people are inclined to believe. They have assured me that my office will not be molested and that they are very anxious to do business with the foreigners.” A few days after the Reds took Shanghai, they locked him up in that same office and confiscated his business. He was allowed to return to the States, but, like everyone else, had to leave his Chinese hostage behind him. When his American ship stopped at Hong Kong, he talked to the press. A few days later, when his ship was in mid-ocean, he received a radio message saying in effect: “Make no statements about China. Authorities holding me responsible.”
American missionaries fared no better than the businessmen. Many churches were sealed officially as they were considered “private organizations” which, under Communism, cannot exist. Christian pastors of all faiths were made to register with the police and were questioned for hours as to their attitudes toward the Russians and the Chinese Communists. They were told plainly that although the Communists “guaranteed” them freedom of religious belief—that is, a man could believe anything he wished if he did not talk about it—they intended to eliminate all freedom of religious action—that is, no gathering together for the purpose of worship would be tolerated. And this was in late 1948 and early 1949!
So much for the Americans. How did the British fare after recognizing the Communist Government? Once feared and respected throughout the Orient and now huddled together on their little island of Hong Kong, they were forced to eat humble pie from the hands of the Communists sitting on the front steps of their one-time imperial domain. At stake was their one billion, two hundred million dollar investment, the key to what was left of their Empire in the Far East.
A correspondent from Hong Kong wrote, “The city is packed with refugees, Chinese, British and Americans. It is terribly expensive. As much as three thousand Hong Kong dollars down payment is required before you can rent a room, and everything else is sky high. It is dreadfully hot, there are few parks or out-of-door places to sit, and almost nowhere to eat. The Communists are everywhere. They have closed most of the bookstores except those run by the Communists, and these carry nothing, of course, except books and magazines about Communism. Even the British bookstores are forced to carry Party literature. It was impossible to get a doctor when my wife was sick, as the Communists will not issue licenses to practice to any but British doctors, and they are so busy with the care of both Chinese and foreigners that they are worn out. With such overcrowding, many are sick, as you can imagine. I wish I could send my family home, but it is impossible. It takes many weeks or months to get reservations. We are just trapped!”
Thus the Lion’s mighty roar, that once thundered throughout the world, was reduced to a whimpering sniffle. Everywhere the British, especially in the foreign office in London, were embarrassed at the turn of events. Dr. Cheng Tien-shi, the Chinese Nationalist Government’s ambassador to Great Britain, was called in and told that England had recognized the Chinese Communist Government and that his office must be vacated. With Confucian calm the elderly Chinese gentleman faced the youthful Minister of State, Hector McNeil. The latter fingered his tie, cleared his throat and, shifting his feet uneasily, read the announcement in a strained voice. Sitting down with McNeil, Cheng recalled the days when it was fashionable to praise Chiang Kai-shek for his magnificent stand against the Japanese. He quoted Mark Anthony’s speech over the dead body of Caesar:
“But yesterday the word of Caesar might
Have stood against the world. Now lies he there,
And none so poor to do him reverence.”
Several times McNeil referred deferentially to Cheng, who is one of the greatest living Chinese philosophers, as “Mr. Ambassador.” At length, the gentle old man asked politely, “How can you still call me ‘Mr. Ambassador?’” McNeil replied, “Once an Ambassador, always an Ambassador.” The Chinese scholar hesitated a moment and then said, “In my country, we have a similar saying, ‘Once a friend, always a friend.’ Homage to force and violence is a dangerous thing. If you worship Caesar, you will die by Caesar. Why must you bury us while we are still very much alive? One day you will need us again.”