by Emily Hahn
So broke out the Manchurian incident on September 18, 1931, with the comparatively puerile attack of a handful of Chinese soldiers upon the Japanese railway at a point not far from Mukden station. Once started, however, no power of diplomacy, at home or abroad, could extinguish the fire. This military action in Manchuria was approved by all the Japanese in Manchuria, and later by public opinion at home. A section of the Foreign Office looked askance at the incident at first, but so determined was the action of the military, that in less than two months the whole of Manchuria from Tsitsihar in the north to Dairen and Port Arthur in the south had actually fallen under its domination. Nothing short of military intervention by the United States or the League of Nations could have prevented it. But neither America nor the League made any such intervention, so it went on burning till it burned itself out, and till Manchuria was declared independent of China on March 1, 1932.
In brief, China’s northern rulers had been grudging Japan the very modest portion of Manchuria which she had earned at so much sacrifice in money and blood, and they lost the whole of it, and what is more, with it, their “face,” too. Yes, Manchuria has been lost to the rulers who exploited it for their selfish purposes, but not to the millions of Chinese inhabitants, for they will be the safer, the happier, and the more free for the change.
It is interesting to observe the Manchuria of today, in the light of this last statement . . . .
The Japanese were in control of Mukden in September and there was every likelihood of their spreading their influence further. It was the first definite move made by another nation to break up the newly “unified” China, and in the face of this threat China’s civil wars faded in importance. Even those shortsighted members of the Canton group who had been in close touch with Japan joined in the howl that rose on every side, demanding quick action against the perpetrators of this outrage. They did not, however, give up working for their own interests.
Chiang was not ready to fight Japan, and he made his reluctance evident by handing the problem over to the League of Nations and requesting them to settle it. The young people of China shouted for quick revenge, and in Shanghai a mob of students commandeered a train and rode to Nanking, where they joined with other fire-eaters in a march on the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, beat up two officials, and made nuisances of themselves in other quarters. (The students of China have always been particularly free and noisy in regard to politics; it is more or less traditional that they demand a hearing in national affairs when a crisis occurs. Modern classroom discipline has done a good deal to moderate their behavior in recent years, but there is still a phenomenal number of “strikes” and protests in Chinese universities, compared with similar disturbances in Western institutes of learning.) It had not been long since the Generalissimo warned these youngsters not to meddle in politics, particularly in Communist politics, and the lesson was presumably rankling. They welcomed this chance to assert themselves again, and for an irreproachable cause; what right-minded person would not fight for his country? Cheering, they smashed the offices of the Central Daily News, tore down the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and might have settled down permanently in what was left of Nanking if the Government had not taken action with military troops and had them removed to the places from whence they came.
In the meantime there was much discussion between Nanking and Canton as to the best way to resolve their differences and get together. Canton demanded Chiang’s resignation; the Generalissimo promptly resigned and went home to Chekiang. The Canton government thereupon, according to the bargain, dissolved. Chiang Hseuh-liang resigned also, and T.V. Soong attempted to do so but was retained.
In the new government, Hu Han-min and Wang Chiang-wei with Chiang were supposed to be on the Central Executive Committee, but none of them would take up their posts. Sun Fo was President of the Executive Yuan, Lin Sen President of the Government, Eugene Chen Foreign Minister. Meanwhile Japan was sending troops throughout Manchuria and taking possession everywhere. The new government immediately got into trouble, and showed no signs of getting out.
In January 1932 the three members of the C.E.C., Wang Ching-wei, Hu-min and Chiang Kai-shek, at last decided to play ball and go to Nanking. There they managed to outtalk Eugene Chen, who wanted to break definitely with Japan, and Chen resigned, saying bitterly that Chiang still had all the real power and it was no use to oppose him. Sun Fo followed him in resigning. The new government had not lasted very long.
Chiang was then appointed chairman of the National Military Council, with his old friends Feng Yu-hsiang, Yen Hsi-shan and Chang Hsueh-liang as other members; Wang Ching-wei was named President of the Executive Yuan, and T.V. Soong was Minister of Finance. The entire group removed itself from Nanking, to get away from Japanese gunboats, and went to Loyang.
Mrs Soong was not to see the Japanese trouble at its height. Before the Shanghai incident took place she died of the same disease that had killed her husband — cancer. The loss of a less strong personality might have led the family to a dissolution of their unity; her children had chosen their ways by this time, and were each set upon his own path. Mrs Soong, however, had welded them together so strongly that they were never to feel totally free of the family ties. They could not even bring themselves to give up their mother’s home in Seymour Road. Eling had the idea of presenting it to the Methodists to be remodeled as a church, but her brothers and sisters could not agree to this. For the time being they left it as it was, with Mrs Soong’s companion still in residence and all the servants continuing to work in the house as if their mistress had been still alive.
When the Japanese attacked Shanghai, Eling and Chingling were both there. Madame Kung was living in the Route de Seiyes house, and Madame Sun still lived in her house in Rue Molière.
It was during this war that Madame Kung began to take an active part in public affairs. Her children were growing up, and now she had more freedom than she had experienced since her marriage. It was the beginning of a third phase for her, the first two being the ordinary development of a Chinese woman; a purely “social” existence before her marriage and the life of a busy mother afterward. Most women stop developing and remain in the second phase, but Eling was a Soong, and, as eldest, the head of the family, an important role in China. The emergency situation created by the undeclared war called for quick action in Shanghai for the troops who held out so gallantly, the famous Nineteenth Route Army from Canton and Chiang’s Eighty-seventh and Eighty-eighth Divisions. There was little preparation for the vast number of wounded soldiers who were pouring into the city. One night at twelve o’clock the chairman of the Red Cross telephoned Madame Kung, who had been interesting herself in this matter, and asked her to do something about it.
Madame Kung was angry, because she had been told before this moment that there was plenty of hospital space. When she is angry she becomes very active, and fur began to fly. There was no time for a “drive” or a bazaar or any of the usual methods of raising money, so for quick relief she raised the sum of $80,000 from the large private fortunes of herself and three friends. This money was sufficient for a small hospital, the Pei Teh, which was fitted out with four hundred beds and an efficient, modern staff.
Within a week this hospital was filled. In the meantime, however, Madame Kung had started a general drive among her friends to raise a larger sum, and soon a private hospital of one thousand beds was established in the Continental Emporium. Both these hospitals were run on unusually modern lines, and were rated tops by the Shanghai Municipal Council for efficiency and cleanliness — an innovation in Chinese army service at that time. This group of women also instituted the custom of making clothes and preparing food for the soldiers at the front. It was the very beginning of the new attitude in China toward the army. Chiang Kai-shek had started the reform by teaching his Whampoa cadets to befriend the people they encountered instead of victimizing them; until he taught them manners, soldiers in China were hated and feared regardless of the army to which they
belonged, whether they were fighting against or for the province in which they were stationed. Bandits or soldiers, it did not matter to the country people; men in uniform were a scourge. The year 1932, however, marked the end of five years under the new regime, and China was beginning to wake up to the change. The resistance of the Nineteenth Route Army to the Japanese had earned the admiration of the entire world, and the Chinese became aware that there were other heroes in their country than those of antiquity.
Among the richer Chinese there was still of course a tendency to look down on the soldier. The ancient social system that lists people according to their vocations placed the soldier very near the bottom, along with barbers and actors, and the bankers and merchants of Shanghai were inclined to rest upon that assumption, and to think of the men fighting and dying outside the Settlement as part of a machine that had been created for their convenience. The Soong sisters put an end to this conception. Their reactions were characteristic. Madame Chiang, indignantly patriotic, insisted that they be admired; Madame Sun’s preoccupation with the greatest good for the greatest number made her demand recognition for these men if only as courageous unfortunates; Madame Kung’s mind immediately turned to practical measures. Between them, they mobilized the wives and daughters of China’s leading men, and with the help of these women they made the entire country soldier conscious in a manner it had never been before.
Early in 1932 Dr Kung was sent to America in his new capacity of Special Industrial Commissioner. Madame Kung, whose health was not good, accompanied him; she could not resist taking David with her, though the doctor had ordered a complete rest from all responsibility. David was not much of a responsibility anyway; his manners were very good, and he was a quiet boy. He was then fifteen years old.
It was Eling’s first visit to the West since her marriage. At the beginning of the American part of the trip it seemed as if her life had not undergone much of a change. No matter where the Kungs went it was the same routine, a round of official parties, particularly in Washington and New York. When she had done her duty for a certain period of time, however, she felt free to visit her old school at Macon. She had written her friends there:
“I long to tread once more the familiar grounds and to see the faces of those I have loved. I shall make a desperate effort to come back.”
“I have seen Madame Kung,” writes Eunice Thomson, “shed very real tears of feminine vexation and have myself fetched her the spirits of ammonia to calm her nerves. [That was when she came to America in 1932 and the tears were over some extravagant newspaper statements which she considered unbecoming.] . . . She was afraid that even at the last minute she might find it too much to face the possible notoriety. But we promised her that no trumpets would be sounded and were able, with the co-operation of friends who could understand her need for a little peace and privacy, to keep that promise. Her classmates were notified and came from far and wide to join her at Wesleyan. For two whole days she saw none except familiar faces and was able to lay down for a few hours her country’s burdens. Those were probably the last carefree hours she has had from that day to this.”
They were not quite the last carefree hours. It was decided that Eling should go on for a tour of Europe with David while Dr Kung completed his work in America. T.V. wanted her to visit Italy; David was anxious to see England; she herself looked forward to Paris. They went to Italy first, and Mussolini, who had been advised by T.V. of her arrival, arranged to have her welcomed at Venice in a truly royal manner, by a launch completely covered with flowers.
“It was lovely,” she said, “but I was nervous at having such a fuss made over me. I’d been studying books about Italy all the way over in the ship; T.V. brought them down when he saw me off. I was full of statistics and politics, and the flowers were a pleasant surprise. And the rooms at our hotel, and the official buildings! I’ve never seen so much red and gold in my life.”
For three weeks thereafter Madame Kung led a more or less “official” life, dined and wined by the Governor of Rome and various Roman princesses. After that, however, she broke away and with David traveled quietly at her own pace through Europe, using no more letters of introduction. They visited France and England, and saw all the places they should see.
Nine months after leaving China they returned, to a reconstructed Nanking.
CHAPTER XVIII
The New Life Movement
It had been a troublesome and confused year for Chiang and the Government. The Communists began making trouble again, drawing near Hankow, and the Generalissimo decided to go after them seriously, though the younger and more hotheaded Chinese protested that he should concentrate on Japan. Chiang maintained that China was not yet ready to resist, especially since the country was always being torn and weakened by these interior struggles, and he continued to campaign against the Reds until they withdrew to the Northwest.
In December the Government came back to Nanking, to meet a storm of protest against Chiang’s non-resistance to Japan. Though the Generalissimo at a meeting of the Central Executive Committee described his warfare against the Reds in detail, some of the leaders, including T.V. Soong, were not satisfied. They ignored the subject of the Reds and suggested a campaign to take Manchuria back from the Japanese.
Chiang insisted that China was not yet ready for such action. He had his way, though many people protested his policy and there was an immense demonstration by the ever-present students, in which the Nanking scenes of the year before came near to being repeated. In spite of the newly inaugurated censorship there was much journalistic grumbling, and the universities were hotbeds of discontent, not only because of the students but also owing to patriotic professors who went so far as to accuse Chiang of pro-Japanese sentiments. The actively militant professor was as yet unknown to China; these mentors saw themselves as scholars directing the troops from some safely distant mountaintop. Chiang, as a soldier by training and nature, could not appreciate this point of view. To him the Japanese menace was a practical problem, and the answer to it was not immediate resistance, but steady preparation.
In 1933 the Japanese went after Jehol. It was during this campaign that they initiated the practice of bombing open towns and thus victimizing the civilian population in a manner much more horrible than the ordinary looting and pillaging of conquered cities. The discontented leaders of Canton took early opportunity to demand action from Nanking, and they did not hesitate to allege that Chiang’s hesitation in making war on Japan was due to a secret agreement with the island empire.
Jehol was lost to China on March third, when the Japanese occupied the capital, Chengteh. Feeling rose even higher, and the Cantonese felt themselves justified in having attacked Nanking, especially as the Generalissimo was too much distracted to attend to them in his usual direct way. They shouted louder and louder, and threatened to set up another government on the old grounds that the Nanking body was unconstitutional. Chiang, however, continued with his policy of remaining on friendly terms with the Japanese as long as possible while he prepared for ultimate resistance, even when Feng Yu-hsiang started to make a noise about Japan. The Christian General organized an “Anti-Japanese Army,” and tried for a while to combine with Canton against Nanking, but the scheme was defeated for the time being. The Tangku truce was signed May thirty-first, 1933, and according to this agreement a demilitarized zone was created near the Great Wall, from which both sides removed their soldiers.
The signing of this truce, with its implications that China was again being bullied, crystallized the Fukien Rebellion, which was engineered by some of the dissatisfied leaders in Canton. In Foochow, on November twentieth, a new government was announced, with Tsai Ting-kai, hero of Shanghai in 1932, as chairman of the Military Affairs Commission and Eugene Chen as Minister of Foreign Affairs. Notable for their absence from the setup were Hu Han-min, Chen Chi-tang, Madame Sun (who publicly disclaimed any interest in the scheme) and Wang Ching-wei, though this last named seized the opportunity to point
out that the rebellion was all Chiang’s fault for being a dictator.
Though there was, as usual, an outcry demanding that the Generalissimo resign, he took a short cut to the inevitable conclusion by sending out the troops with the Nanking air force against Foochow. In a short time the rebellion was crushed.
It was at this time that William Henry Donald came into the lives of the Soongs. His was not a first appearance, for he had been a friend of Charles Soong in the early days when the present Mesdames Kung, Sun and Chiang were small children, years before the Revolution was more than one young doctor’s hope. Donald is an Australian who came to China thirty-seven years ago as a newspaperman and who, through close relationship with all the high officials during that period, developed a strong affection for the country, an affection that mingles the watchful censoriousness of a schoolmaster with the proprietary pride of an old family doctor. He had begun to feel anxious and protective about China before his connection with the Soongs, and had already done his bit by becoming adviser to the Young Marshal.
“Adviser” is a word Donald dislikes and refuses to use. In truth it has come to mean so many things that in China it is almost meaningless. In regard to his position with Chang Hsueh-liang, however, no other word will do. He took charge of the young man in a big way, insisting that he be broken of the various dope habits he had contracted, and taking him to Shanghai to be disintoxicated. All through this long and painful process Donald stayed by Chang, laughing at him, cracking jokes, keeping the patient keyed up to the necessary pitch of willpower, until the worst was over. Donald has what is probably the only non-irritating bedside manner in the world. He has vigorous health, vigorous principles and vigorous plans. He does not drink, smoke or tell lies. Perhaps it is his particular brand of honesty, a simple yes-or-no attitude toward truth as he sees it, that accounts for his unusual position in Chinese official circles. It is not the ordinary thing to be trusted in China; events, whispers, intrigues and crises have jockeyed most advisers out of position sooner or later. Donald pays no attention to these things, secure in his ignorance of the Chinese language and serenely indifferent to petty quarrels outside of his province; he avoids the temptation to be subtle. It is the ambition of most advisers to outdo Machiavelli; Donald has no personal ambition whatever, even that one. He would abandon his quasi-dictatorship in a moment if he should consider that principle called for such a step.
