by Jung Chang
The main military figure on the Chinese Red side during this fourth campaign was Chou En-lai, and the fact that the Reds were winning unprecedented victories under his leadership greatly boosted Chou’s status and confidence. Mao knew that Moscow recognized winners, and Chou’s military triumph could well tip Moscow in Chou’s favor — especially as Mao had opposed Moscow’s war strategy in the first place. So in February 1933 Mao moved back to Ruijin from his “convalescence,” and started to be cooperative. Moscow continued to accord him unique care and attention, repeatedly admonishing his colleagues that they “must incorporate Mao in work at all cost … Regarding Mao Tse-tung, you must try your utmost to adopt an attitude of tolerance and conciliation …”
Mao went on taking part in top meetings and chairing those to which his post entitled him. He was kept fully briefed and retained his elite privileges. But he knew that Moscow had reservations about him — not least from the way that his acolytes were denounced in the Red newspapers. He could also read the strength of the wind that was blowing against him in the startling degree of his own isolation. Hardly anyone came to visit him. His followers avoided him. Sometimes, his wife recalled, he did not exchange a word with anyone outside his family for days. Mao was to say decades later that it was as if he had been “soaked in a piss barrel, and been sloshed up and down several times, so I really stank.”
A further indication of the way he had slipped in Moscow’s favor came early in 1934, when he lost his position as “premier”—while retaining the grander one of “president.” The main duty of the premier was to run the administration, which Mao could not be bothered to do; and the Party wanted someone in the post who would actually do the job. An ambitious thirty-four-year-old called Lo Fu, who had been trained in Russia, took his place. Mao was compensated by being made a full member of the Politburo for the first time since 1923, but he did not get into the inner core of the Party, the Secretariat. He was not on the list approved by Moscow. Mao boycotted the Party plenum that implemented these decisions, claiming illness. Another “diplomatic disorder,” Po Ku remarked, but let him be.
Mao was still given a high profile and maximum exposure in CCP and Moscow publications. To the population in the Red area — and to the outside world, including the Nationalists — Mao was still “the Chairman.” But in private, Po Ku compared him to Russia’s figurehead president. “Old Mao is going to be just a Kalinin now,” he told a friend. “Ha, ha!”
On 15 April the Communists issued a “declaration of war on Japan.” This was a pure propaganda stunt, and it was more than five years before the Red Army fired a shot at the Japanese (except in Manchuria, where the Party organization came under the control of Moscow, not Ruijin) — making this one of the longest “phoney wars” in history. In fact, the CCP’s proclamation was more a declaration of war on Chiang Kai-shek than on Japan, as it asserted that “in order to … fight the Japanese imperialists, it is necessary first of all to overthrow the rule of the Nationalists.” In secret intra-CCP communications, there was not a single reference to Japan as the enemy.
†The mutineers belonged to a unit of 17,000 men whose commander had brought them over to the Reds from Ningdu in December 1931. This was the only mutiny in the Communists’ favor since Nanchang in 1927—and for many years to come. These newcomers increased the Red Army’s strength in the Fujian — Jiangxi theater by one-third, to over 50,000 men. Their commander, Ji Zhen-tong, quickly realized what he had let himself and his army in for, and asked “to go to the Soviet Union for studies”—the only pretext he could give to get away. He was soon arrested, and later executed.
The Party was no longer able to operate underground in any city in the White areas, as a result of effective Nationalist policing plus massive defections. In history books this failure is blamed, unfairly, on Li Li-san, the all-purpose scapegoat.
Apart from Japan, the only states that recognized it were El Salvador, the Vatican and the Soviet Union, where the Manchukuo flag flew over consulates at Chita and Vladivostok. This was part of an attempt by Stalin to appease Tokyo, to try to prevent it turning north to attack the Soviet Union.
11. HOW MAO GOT ONTO THE LONG MARCH (1933–34 AGE 39–40)
IN SEPTEMBER 1933, Chiang Kai-shek mobilized half a million troops for yet another “annihilation expedition”—his fifth — against the Ruijin base. In May he had agreed to a truce with the Japanese, acquiescing to their seizure of parts of north China, in addition to Manchuria, and this freed him to concentrate in strength against the Reds.
Over the previous months Chiang had been building solid roads that enabled his troops to mass in the area and bring up supplies. With this logistic preparation, Chiang was now able to close in on the Red area. The armies then pushed into the Red base slowly, pausing every couple of kilometers to construct small forts that stood so close together they could virtually be connected by machine-gun fire. The Reds were tightly encircled by these blockhouses. As their commander, Peng De-huai, described it, Chiang was forcing the Red area “to shrink gradually: the tactics of drying the pond and then getting the fish.”
The Red Army had only one-tenth of Chiang’s strength, and was far less well armed. Chiang’s army, moreover, was now much better trained, thanks to the work of a large group of German military advisers. In particular, the Generalissimo had obtained the services of the man who had played the key role in reconstituting the German army in secret after the First World War, General Hans von Seeckt. So Moscow built up a “German” network of its own to help the Chinese Reds to counter Chiang’s advisers. It dispatched a German-speaking military expert, Manfred Stern (later famous as General Kléber in the Spanish Civil War), to be the chief military adviser, based in Shanghai. And the German Otto Braun was sent to Ruijin in September, as de facto army commander on the spot.
In Ruijin, Braun settled in the barricaded area reserved for Party leaders, in a thatched house in the middle of rice paddies. He was asked to “stay inside my house as much as possible for my safety as a ‘foreign devil,’ and in view of the constant [Nationalist] clamour about ‘Russian agents.’ ” He was given a Chinese name, Li De—“Li the German”—and provided with a “wife,” whose one vital qualification was that “she had to be big,” and “of very strong physique,” the assumption being that foreigners needed strong women to cope with their sexual demands.
According to Mrs. Zhu De (successor to the one executed by the Nationalists), whose information reflected the gossip of the day, “no women comrades wanted to marry a foreigner who could not speak Chinese. So for a while they [the Party] could not find a suitable partner.” Eventually they lit on a good-looking country girl who had been a child bride and had escaped to join the revolution. However, in spite of high-level pressure, she refused. “A few days later, she received an order: ‘Li De is a leading comrade sent to help the Chinese revolution. To be his wife is the need of the revolution. The Organization has decided that you marry him.’ She obeyed, with great reluctance … they did not get on.”
In this, her second arranged marriage, this woman bore Braun a son. The boy had dark skin — closer in color to that of a Chinese than a white person’s, which prompted Mao to crack a joke: “Well, this defeats the theory of the superiority of the Germanic race.”
The man closest to Braun was Po Ku, the Party No. 1, who had worked with him in Shanghai, and could talk to him in Russian. They played cards with the interpreters and went horse-riding together. Chou En-lai, as the No. 2 and the senior military man, also saw Braun a lot. But Braun had little to do with Mao, whom he met only at official functions. On such occasions, Braun wrote, Mao “maintained a solemn reserve.” Mao spoke no Russian, and kept his guard up with Braun, regarding him as a threat.
BY SPRING 1934, Chiang’s expedition had been pressing in on the base for about six months. Neither Moscow’s advisers nor any of the CCP leaders had a solution for countering Chiang’s blockhouse war and overwhelming military superiority. Red leaders in Ruijin knew the base�
��s days were numbered, and began to plan a pull-out. On 25 March, Moscow sent Ruijin a cable which was intercepted by British intelligence, saying that the prospects for the base were dire — even more dire, it said, than the CCP itself seemed to appreciate. As soon as Po Ku received this message, he started trying to get Mao out of the way. On 27 March, Shanghai wired Moscow to say that Ruijin “communicates that Mao has been ill for a long time and [it] requests that he be sent to Moscow.” But Mao was not ill at all. Po Ku and his colleagues did not want him around, in case he made trouble again.
Ruijin’s request to evacuate Mao was rejected. On 9 April Moscow cabled that it was “against visit of Mao” because the journey, which would involve passing through White areas, would be too risky. “He absolutely must be treated in the soviet region [i.e. Red area in China], even if that necessitates large costs. Only in the case of total impossibility of treating him on the spot and of danger of fatal outcome of illness can we agree to him coming to Moscow.”
Mao had no wish to be evicted. “My health is good. I’m not going anywhere,” he rejoined to Po Ku, who controlled communications with Moscow. But Po soon came up with another solution — to leave Mao behind to hold the fort. Keeping the head of state in situ would be a perfect way of proclaiming that the Red state lived on.
No one wanted to be left behind. Many who stayed lost their lives, either in battle, or captured and executed. Mao’s youngest brother Tse-tan was one of them. Another was the friend Mao had brought to the CCP’s 1st Congress, Ho Shu-heng. Yet another was the former Party No. 1, Chu Chiu-pai. And resentment was strong among those who survived. The No. 2 stay-behind, Chen Yi, had a serious shrapnel wound in the hip. He had himself carried on a stretcher to Zhu De, and pleaded, in vain, to be taken along. Two decades later he recalled with anger how the decision was broken to him (incidentally giving a rare insight into how CCP leaders viewed their colleagues’ sophistry): “I was given hot air: ‘You are a senior official, so we ought to carry you along on a stretcher. But because you have been working in Jiangxi for well over ten years [sic], you have influence and prestige … Now that the Centre is going, we can’t face the masses if we don’t leave you behind.’ ” The man spouting this hot air was Chou En-lai.
Mao knew that if he were left behind he would be far removed from the Party’s center and from the army — even if he happened to survive. He did not intend to be got rid of so easily. At this point, having been deprived of military command, Mao was not with any army. But as government chairman he was his own master and could choose what he wanted to do and where he wanted to be. Over the next half a year, he devoted himself to making sure that Po Ku and Co. could not leave him marooned when they left.
So he staked out a position on the escape route. The first place he camped out was the southern front, which at the time was the envisaged exit point. Here the Communists faced the Cantonese warlord who had been doing a lucrative trade with them in tungsten, and who hated Chiang. Unlike other fronts, where the Nationalists were pressing in deeper and deeper, here there was not much fighting. In late April, the Cantonese warlord began talking to the Reds about providing a corridor through which they could move out, and then on. As soon as Mao learned this, he descended on the HQ of the southern front in Huichang, right on the main road out of the Red area.
It was clear to local leaders that Mao had no official business to explain his presence, and moreover that he had time on his hands. He went hill-climbing for leisure, and would drop in on commanders, settling himself comfortably on their beds and chatting on and on. He even did things like correcting training programs for local units, sometimes taking hours to correct one document.
In July, he left as abruptly as he had descended. He had learned that the exit point had been shifted to the west. That month, a unit 8,000-plus strong was dispatched to scout the route. Mao returned to Ruijin. A month later, as soon as the new exit point was confirmed — Yudu, a town 60 km west of Ruijin — Mao turned up at local Party HQ with an entourage of some two dozen, including a secretary, a medic, a cook, a groom, and a squadron of guards. The HQ lay a stone’s throw across the street from a river crossing which was just beyond a Sung-dynasty archway in the city wall, and this was the chosen breakout point. Mao squatted here to make sure he was taken along with the main force when the leadership left.
Before he left Ruijin, Mao decided to hand over to the Party his treasure hoard, the gold, silver and jewelry he had kept hidden in a cave for the past two years. He told his bank-manager brother Tse-min to give it to Po Ku. By concealing his haul until the eleventh hour, Mao had displayed a major lack of commitment to the Party, and to Moscow, and this level of disloyalty might be held against him by the Kremlin. Mao had broken many rules, including all three of the cardinal principles he himself had codified: always obey orders, do not take a needle or thread from the masses (i.e., no unauthorized looting), and, particularly, hand in all captured goods. But “privatizing” loot was uniquely unacceptable, as it showed that he had contemplated splitting from Moscow.
As the Nationalists were coming, it made no sense to leave the haul buried in a cave. Now was the time to cash it in — for a ticket on the evacuation. The Party was desperate for funds for the journey, and had been begging Moscow to send more money. Mao delivered his cache and also promised Po Ku that he would behave. Po agreed to take him along. He may not have had much choice, as Mao had physically planted himself astride the departure point.
At the last minute Xiang Ying, the relatively moderate “vice-president” of the Red state, was designated to head the stay-behinds. Xiang was the only person in the leadership from a working-class background, and he accepted the job without demur, demonstrating a spirit of self-sacrifice rare among his peers. He did, however, express grave concern about Mao going with the leadership. Xiang had had ample experience of Mao’s character in the Red base, where he had arrived in 1931 at the height of Mao’s slaughter of the Jiangxi Communists, and was convinced that Mao would stop at nothing in his pursuit of personal power. Xiang had tried, unsuccessfully, to protect the Jiangxi Reds. Mao loathed him, and had forced torture victims to denounce him. Chou En-lai told the Comintern that “people arrested testified that [Xiang Ying] … belonged to AB.” Aleksandr Panyushkin, later the Russian ambassador to China, said straight out that Mao had tried to get rid of Xiang Ying by labeling him “AB”: “Only the intervention of the Politburo prevented Mao from doing away with Xiang Ying.” At Ningdu in 1932, Xiang had been one of those most insistent on having Mao sacked from his army command. Mao’s intense hatred was to lead to Xiang’s death ten years later.
Xiang argued strongly against taking Mao along. Otto Braun recalled that Xiang “made distinct allusions to the terrorist line of Mao Tse-tung and his persecution of loyal Party cadres in about 1930. He warned against underestimating the seriousness of Mao’s partisan struggle against the Party leadership. His [Mao’s] temporary restraint was due only to tactical considerations. He … would avail himself of the first opportunity to seize exclusive control of Army and Party.” But Po Ku, according to Braun, seemed optimistic: “He said … [he] had talked this over with Mao and was positive that he would not consider provoking a crisis of leadership …”
Mao had indeed begun to behave. Until July, when he was camping at the southern front, he had carped at the leadership’s instructions at every turn, telling officers to disobey orders and issuing his own, countermanding the Party’s. When one of Mao’s acolytes told him that he had been appointed land minister in one place, Mao told him to go to a quite different place and do a different job: “You are not going to be the land minister there. Go to Huichang County to be government chairman there.”
But, come September, everything changed. When Lin Biao, who had been used to Mao running down the leadership, paid him a visit, Lin’s companion noticed that far from “being engaged in factional activities on the sly,” Mao was “very disciplined.”
WHEN THE NEWS reached him in Yudu that he was
definitely going to be taken along, Mao sent for his wife. No children could go, so their two-year-old son, Little Mao, had to be left behind. Mao never saw him again.
Little Mao had been born in November 1932, and was Mao’s second child with Gui-yuan. Their first child, a daughter, had been lost. She had been born in June 1929, in the city of Longyan in Fujian, in a particularly lovely house. When the baby was shown to him, Mao had produced one of his characteristic cracks: “Hey, this girl knows how to pick a good date: she wouldn’t come out till she found a nice place!” Less than a month after she was born, Gui-yuan had to leave the town with Mao, and the baby was left with a local wet nurse. Mao’s path then took the couple away from the city for nearly three years. When Gui-yuan finally returned, she was told the girl had died, but she could not bring herself to believe this, and after the Communists took power two decades later she began to look for her. The quest went on obsessively for decades until near the end of her life in 1984.
