RED
BLIGHT

To

Everyone everywhere who would help to make the “lure” of freedom so irresistible that the false promises of security, made by the Communists, will be seen for what they are—a delusion and a fraud.

RED
BLIGHT

by
MARY LAMAR KNIGHT

LORRIN L. MORRISON
Publisher
Los Angeles

Copyright, 1951
by
Mary Lamar Knight

FIRST PRINTING

IN TWO EDITIONS:

Paper Bound, June, 1951
Cloth Bound, June, 1951
Printed in the United States of America by
Lorrin L. Morrison, Printing and Publishing
1915 So. Western Ave., Los Angeles 18, Calif.
All rights reserved, including the rights of reproduction,
in whole or in part, in any form.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

The opinions expressed in this book represent only one individual’s point of view. They are based upon what I, myself, have seen and heard and are subject, therefore, to human error, preferences and prejudices. I ask only that they be considered in this light, and hope that they may serve to stimulate independent thinking and inquiry.

What I am reporting I have experienced personally or learned from the most reliable sources at my command. If I succeed only in a small measure in conveying my thoughts and opinions, it is, nonetheless, a load off my chest, and I shall sleep more easily for having made a sincere, if limited, contribution toward a better understanding of our present disheartening dilemma.

Mary Lamar Knight

Table of Contents

Introduction

The “lure” of Communism is the same in every country—the promise of security and a richer life for all, with less pain and effort to the individual from the cradle to the grave. We have only to think clearly, however, to realize that such promises are impossible of fulfillment in a Communist State. Never has progress been made in that direction except where there was personal freedom, initiative and enterprise, for these are the qualities that take civilization forward toward Perfection, instead of backward into Chaos. The theories of Marx and Engels have been used and misused by the Soviets. As far as their present laws are concerned, the “Yassa” of Genghis Khan would have served the purpose, had it been as well known in the Twentieth Century as it was in the Thirteenth.

In studying the historical backgrounds of those great movements which, at various times in the past, have churned up the quietude of the earth, I found that they were always propelled or motivated by extreme fanaticism. A distinctive feature of all of them seems to be the desire to change the established order by revolution and intrigue, as well as by military conquest. These movements are opposed not only by the diehards, but by the believers in evolution and slow change; not only by the wealthy and comfortable, but by the practical men of affairs. All of this has been happening since the beginning of history. Believers in the established order of things always are on the defensive. Only open and direct attack stirs them to the offensive. This last is true of the United States, and it is also true of China. It is difficult for the rulers of peace-loving nations to create or inspire prolonged hatred in those who must do their bidding. This fact has been one of Stalin’s major worries with respect to the Chinese Communists. His predecessor, Trotsky, gave them up as impossible. “The Chinese have no capacity for sustained mass indignation,” Trotsky has been quoted as saying. “As Communists they are hopeless.”

Everyone who has lived in China learns to respect and to love the Chinese people. No nation on earth has left a greater endowment in wealth of artistic accomplishment or evolved a more workable philosophy than has China. Even the poorest coolie is acquainted with some of the simple lessons contained in the Classics.

As a correspondent in China for the United Press Associations, I learned to admire the people deeply. When in 1946 I was invited by the United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration to spend six months there as a consultant, without compensation, I was delighted at the opportunity to return. Each time, I increased my knowledge and improved my understanding of the country and made an earnest effort to comprehend the divergent forces underlying modern China and to gauge their effect upon the peace of the world.

The red blight, as everyone knows, is world wide, but I have focused my attention on China because it is the part of the world I know best. I saw the blight spread over this area with sickening rapidity in 1936, and again in 1946.

On both my trips, I travelled slowly from Singapore through most of the major cities to Manchuria, where I remained for a considerable length of time. Manchuria in 1946 had changed radically from Manchuria in 1936. The Russians had supplanted the Japanese, and two wars in the brief span of ten years had left their tragic imprint.

The more I travelled, and the more I read and studied, the more aware I became of the pattern underlying the great upheavals, not only in China but throughout Eurasia. Each eruption had moved in a cycle from tribal communism to communistic imperialism, and then to a dictatorship so despotic that its tyranny lasted in some instances for generations. Invariably, the dictatorship fell into dissolution and decline, followed by desolation and chaos. The despots engineering these movements were all nurtured on the vast steppe-lands, and they never attempted the invasion of their more civilized neighbors until their own strength was such that no opposing army could match them.

Stalin, the latest of these despots, is as barbaric as his predecessors. Certainly, no one could intimate that his methods are even remotely civilized. He has “refined” and “distilled” their characteristic brutality to an exacting degree. It took him fifteen years to turn his own people from the techniques of Lenin to those of his own fiendish thuggery. He has “conquered, bamboozled, outsmarted and trapped” more than nine hundred million people into “political and moral paralysis.”

Are we also going to fall victims to the machinations of this latest of these world shakers? Will we be sucked in through fear or blandishment? Or have we the common sense, the spiritual development and the will to save ourselves? Human nature has changed little during the history of mankind. Our challenge now is to try to develop our spiritual growth so that it will be commensurate with our fantastic material growth.

A strong Nationalism made us great, as it has all nations that have risen to world power. To maintain this power, however, requires the intelligence and wisdom of our Founding Fathers, who, by their use of initiative, ingenuity, enterprise and prayerful determination, made us the Historic United States. Is it possible that recent generations of American men and women have lost these qualities and have failed to achieve complete maturity?

I keep asking myself: Is “civilized” man intelligent enough, in the light of his own past experience, to stop this human tragedy now, and perhaps for a foreseeable future? Or, will he become hopelessly and irrevocably lost in the futile contemplation of an idyllic dream that is ages old, but that never has become a reality, and never will.

Prologue

Oh Man, thou feeble tenant of an hour,

Debased by slavery, debauched by power;

Thy love is lust; thy friendship a cheat;

Hypocrisy thy smile; thy word deceit—

Thy nature ennobled but by name,

The very beasts might bid thee blush for shame.

Lord Byron

Chapter I

Incompetence or Treachery?

“The greatest single mistake made in China, leading to our present debacle, was the withdrawal of United States forces from the Peking, Tientsin, Chingwangtao triangle in 1947.” This was done obviously at the direction of President Truman, General George Marshall and the State Department.

This statement comes from Major General William Arthur Worton, Chief of Staff, Third Amphibious Corps, U. S. Marines in China, 1945-1946, but with twelve years prior experience there. He adds: “Twenty-five thousand men easily could have maintained this important triangle—Peking, Tientsin, Chingwangtao—which would have kept the Chinese Communists from moving South of the Great Wall. They were not strong at that time, and a display of American strength in Nationalist China would have served as a deterrent to them.”

Instead, our withdrawal of U. S. forces from this strategic area was the first show of American weakness that gave the lie to both Nationalist and Communist Chinese, if not to the whole of Eurasia. The Russians constantly had complained that the Americans were occupying sovereign territory of China, but the request for us to do so had been made in 1945 by Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek’s Nationalist Government for the purpose of disarming the Japanese and of stabilizing the country.

General Worton, with five officers and a handful of men first moved into the area in August, 1945, turning the civil government of China over to the Nationalists. A month later, a force of sixty-five thousand U. S. Marines moved in and occupied the area, and from then on to 1947, there was relative peace and quiet.

In view of the testimony of General George C. Marshall before the joint houses of Congress on the hypothetical issue that if we permit Chiang’s forces to attack South China, we will be starting a global war, I would like to quote General Worton on a similar issue.

“The occupation of Peking was not specifically in my orders,” he says, “but I was to occupy whatever strategic territory I deemed necessary. In the triangle previously referred to, was located the important mining area of Kailan at Tang Shan, which supplied the coal output of 150,000 tons per month, and the Nan Yuan, Pei Yuan Airfields. When I determined that the Communists would go into Peking if I did not, I decided to occupy Peking. At eleven o’clock one evening, Chou En-lai’s agent in Tientsin informed me that if I moved on Peking, the lives of every American Marine would be the price. I told him I was going into Peking, just when and where our forces would enter, and that he had better have as strong a force as I intended to have, and that I would also be supported by an air cover. We followed our blueprint, and not one of our men was scratched. We had no opposition whatsoever.”

With the withdrawal of U. S. forces from this area the coal output, supplying power as far south as Shanghai, dropped to 30,000 tons.

In Worton’s opinion, “as small a force as 15,000 troops, officered by men acquainted with China, could have kept the Reds from crossing into the coveted triangle.”

But Marshall was determined to withdraw our forces. “The State Department to this day,” says Worton, “has never asked the opinion, as far I can ascertain, of any qualified military men who spent any length of time in China, on this subject.” He adds, “Manchuria should have been occupied and we should have insisted on a joint occupation force there with our allies. Any study of China and the Far East must be predicated upon a study of our relations with China since 1784. We have consistently held to the Open Door Policy for China and the Far East. We went to war with Japan because Japan had seized the coastal areas and was controlling the communication lines of China. Many men died across the Pacific to regain China for the free world, and yet, in the course of minutes, as time is known, we have lost China. It is a truism of students of the Far East that, ‘As China goes, so goes the Orient’.”

The U. S. should have taken Dairen, Port Arthur and Cheefoo, while we were at it, and should have insisted on occupying the Kalgan Pass, gateway to Mongolia. These rightfully belonged to the Nationalist Government at the conclusion of the Japanese war, according to Worton. Another disastrous move on the part of the U. S. was the recall of Lieutenant General Albert C. Wedemeyer from the China Theater. “Wedemeyer had the complete admiration and respect of the Chinese,” he says. “Although he had been the Generalissimo’s Chief of Staff for nearly three years during the war, at no time had he subordinated himself to Chiang. Wedemeyer was first, last and always an American, and an officer in the service of his country.”

Others claim that China’s and the world’s present situation can be attributed to any number of mistakes on the part of Chiang Kai-shek, General Marshall and the United States Government. Ignoring the tragedy of Yalta for the moment, one vitally important mistake Chiang made was the decision to fly his troops into Manchuria after the war, against the advice of General Wedemeyer. His mistake was an honest one, because he undoubtedly felt that the United States, having gone so far, would see him through to the end. He knew that if China were to occupy her rightful place in the world, control of the industrial potential of Manchuria was a “must.” In spite of the fateful decision at Yalta, about which Chiang was informed several months later by Ambassador Hurley, he still could not believe that Roosevelt, whom he deeply respected and admired, would slap him in the face by giving away Manchuria.

Truman, inheriting Roosevelt’s policy of appeasement toward Russia, sent General Marshall to China in 1946 on the impossible mission of forcing the Generalissimo to accept Communists into his Government. Marshall, who at that time had the admiration and respect of the entire United States, undoubtedly had a freer hand than any diplomat in our history. Had he been unbiased in his judgement, the future of China, Asia, and probably the Eurasian Continent would have been different. He had unlimited resources to give, a neat nest egg of $500,000,000, and the decision to spend some, all, or none of it was his, and his alone.

When Marshall arrived in China, the Nationalist Armies were over-extended, that is, their supply lines were stretched so long and so thin that they could not be protected from constant Communist raids. Chiang’s Armies held the main lines of communication, to be sure, and all the large cities of North China and a few in Manchuria. However, these Armies, although many of them were trained and equipped with American arms, had little ammunition, and they were surrounded on all sides by the Soviet-backed Communist Armies. The Communists retained the initiative, could strike when and where they wished, and thus succeeded in keeping their opponents paralyzed. It was not difficult to see that the future of Chiang’s Armies was dependent solely on aid, especially on munitions, and that no country on earth but the United States could supply their requirements. To shut off this aid meant strangulation and death.

Marshall’s first act was to set up a headquarters in Chungking, where he assembled his American experts on China and started a series of conferences with Communist and Nationalist leaders. From the beginning, the Chinese Communists showed, by their every action, that their only interest was in cutting off North China and Manchuria. They had no intention whatever of joining any kind of coalition government, over which they would not have complete control. After a great deal of discussion, these conferences resulted in superficial agreement on a few points of the controversy.

Prior to his return to Washington, the General decided to make a hasty trip to Yenan, probably out of curiosity. He must have wanted a closer look at these people whose propaganda he appeared to have accepted as fact during the entire war. Whether this was emotional caprice or political expediency only history can tell. We cannot assume that he was ignorant, therefore we must assume that he knew what he was doing.

Certainly the utterances of that period indicated that Marshall subscribed to the idea that we were dealing with “agrarian reformers.”

In his testimony before Congress, Marshall stated flatly that he had known all the time that the Chinese Communists were Marxists “because they told me so,” he said. But while he was negotiating with them he certainly gave the impression to others that he did not think they were the same brand of Communists as were the Russians. This fact, in itself, makes him doubly culpable, in my opinion. It is an intent to deceive, which makes the deception all the more sinister. If he knew all the time that the Chinese Communists were the same brand of Communists as the Russians, and he still threw the weight of every decision he made in China to them, then he could not possibly have given more aid and comfort to the enemy, Stalin, had he been a member of the Communist Party.

On Marshall’s arrival at the Airport of Yenan, he was greeted with pomp and ceremony by every military unit the Communists could muster. Welcomed enthusiastically by stocky Mao Tse-tung, in his coarse homespun peasant’s garb, suave Chou En-lai, in the snappy uniform of a three-star General, and Chu Teh, wearing a Russian soldier’s fur-lined cape, he accompanied his colorful and grateful hosts on an inspection of the troops. The Cadets from the Communist Military Academy, who had hiked in some fifty or sixty miles in order to form the Guard of Honor, were the best dressed and best outfitted of all the troops in the Communist Army. While spartanly clad in coarse but neat dark blue uniforms, they gave every evidence of superb leadership and discipline. Especially trained and selected, these Cadets became the equivalent, in Communist China, of the Soviet NKVD, or uniformed police troops.

In marked contrast, there was a battalion of Ming Bing, or militia, armed with spears for the occasion and lined up for the General’s inspection. These troops were dressed in everything from long robes to dirty white jackets and vests, and decorated with rings, bracelets and earrings. Their long, rusty spears were topped with flowering pompoms of dried grain. In no respect did they differ from their forbears of two thousand years ago.

The rest of the show consisted of masses of people in the drab dress affected by the Communists. The more colorful costumes of the non-Communist Yenanese were conspicuous by their absence.

Marshall must have been impressed!

For quarters, or hotel accommodations, the General had been assigned the best Yenan cave, boasting all the comforts offered by that archaic type of dwelling. His person was safeguarded during the night by two crack soldiers armed with ancient Chinese broadswords.

Making the most of their distinguished visitor’s sojourn among them, Chairman Mao Tse-tung gave a banquet, followed by a Chinese Opera. The dinner was staged in a large bare room with cracking plaster walls. The table consisted of rough hewn boards, contrasting strangely with the lavishness of the food. Dozens of southern style delicacies were imported for the occasion: crisp, roasted Peking duck; succulent sweet and sour pork; thousand-year-old eggs—the whole washed down with copious draughts of sweet local wine. Formal speeches of mutual friendship were followed by cries of “Gambei!” or “Bottoms up!”

After the banquet, the entire party crossed the river to attend the Opera. The Communists had improvised a crude bridge over which their esteemed guest might ride, but it was so wobbly that Marshall preferred to get out and follow his car across.

The Opera was performed in an unheated, barnlike structure. It was so cold that the audience kept on their heavy coats and were provided, in addition, with blankets to wrap around their feet. In spite of the fact that charcoal braziers were placed between the stage and the first row, the temperature in the building was close to freezing, and the breath of the actors as they chanted their lines came out in puffs of smoke. These performers were Spartans indeed, changing their costumes in the draughty, unheated barn, their teeth chattering and their tawny flesh a mass of goose pimples. The costumes, in contrast to those seen on a Peking or a Shanghai stage, were fashioned of rough, drab bits of cast-off apparel, crudely sewn together and patched with whatever pieces of material could be begged, borrowed or stolen.

The show itself, like the Ballet in Moscow, was a superb exhibition of Chinese art, for, when shown to foreigners, it was free from Communist propaganda. The falsetto voices of the actors sing-songed the ancient Chinese poetry, while their bodies swayed to its rhythmic cadence. During the performance, an usher went up and down the aisle tossing hot towels to guests who called shrilly for them. These, wrung out of boiling water, gave the hall a dank, slightly rancid atmosphere, reminiscent of a river in summer. Roasted watermelon seeds were pressed generously upon the honored guest by his Chinese Communist hosts, who were noisily but skillfully cracking them edgewise between their strong front teeth and spitting out the husks.

Not all the visitor’s stay, however, was passed in entertainment. Before leaving Yenan, General Marshall sat behind locked doors with Mao and members of the Politburo. No other American was allowed to be present at this meeting. What was said is not known, but there were rumors in Communist circles that the subject of the conversations had to do with the future of Manchuria, and perhaps all of Asia.

On leaving this capital city of Communist China, Marshall returned to the United States to make his report to President Truman.

When he came back to China, Marshall made his residence in Nanking (the Nationalist capital at that time), but established a Northern Headquarters in Peiping (meaning Northern Peace), in order to work out a truce between Communists and Nationalists. The futility of this endeavor was obvious even to the Chinese GI, who nicknamed the Peiping Headquarters the “Temple of the Thousand Sleeping Colonels,” and to the American GI, who dubbed it “Marshall’s Bird Sanctuary.”

If the soldiers in the lower brackets put their tongues in their cheeks, those in the higher echelons took the mission very seriously. They kept a very sober face, indeed. Shoulder patches were issued and worn by all the members of the Peiping Headquarters and its truce teams. These were called “Ballentine Beer Patches,” due to the three rings in the emblem representing the Nationalists, the Communists and the Americans. No doubt this symbol, to some of the homesick GI’s, was a nostalgic reminder of the good old USA.

Truce teams, made up of one Communist, one Nationalist and one American officer, were sent out into the field, their purpose being to try to bring about agreement between the opposing forces. With the Chinese Communist Army and the Nationalist Army locked in a deadly battle for power, any action on the part of the third member, the United States, would be likely to aid one party only at the expense of the other. With Marshall’s preference for Mao over Chiang Kai-shek, the “truces” forced upon the Nationalist Armies at the most inopportune times, from a military standpoint, acted to the advantage of the Chinese Communist Army. Because of the slowness of their transportation and their lack of modern means of training, the Chinese Communist Armies, as in the days of Genghis Khan, were constantly in need of breathing spells. During these periods they could regroup their forces, move and gather supplies, and train their troops. Such breathing spells, provided in the form of “Cease Fire!” commands to the Nationalist Armies, upon the insistence of Marshall, came almost as a gift from Heaven.

As history has shown, Marshall threw the weight of every decision to the Communists. This, combined with the mistake the Generalissimo made in trying to hold Manchuria without American support, would appear to be at least one of the reasons for the situation in China today. In addition to the fact that Marshall favored the Communists, that he acquiesced in the sellout of Manchuria, if not all of Asia, to the Russians, the final and fatal blow was delivered to the Nationalist Government itself. The expected help in arms, ammunition, money and supplies from the United States was either cut off entirely or reduced to a trickle. Too late did the Nationalist Government recognize its precarious position and force itself to accept the fact that, apparently, we just did not care who won the fight in China, so long as it was not the Generalissimo.

Continued evidence to the above effect appeared from numerous sources. In the summer of 1950, Walter H. Judd, Representative from Minnesota, commented in public:

“Why should the Soviets think that the most important thing for American Communists to do right after the defeat of Japan was to get American assistance to China stopped?” To him, the answer seems to appear obvious, in that without the right kind of outside aid, the Chinese Government could not possibly recover. Only a handful of people appeared to understand that, to a Chinese, the idea of putting his country ahead of family interests, just was not his idea of patriotism. First loyalty, always, in a Chinese family, was to that family.

Marshall asked for patience and generosity for the European countries saying that it had taken the South fifty years to recover from only four years of civil war. But he did not seem to remember that Chiang had been fighting Japan for more than eight years, coupled with a civil war with Communists in his own country for more than twenty years. China, too, needed a little patience and generosity from us, just as much as Italy or Greece or France. And what would England have done without our patience and generosity? By comparison, were not China’s needs embarrassingly small?

One may call the Nationalist Government of China all the names there are, synonymous with corrupt, incompetent, reactionary, undemocratic—but in the light of what is known today about Communism and its stated methods, aims and ambitions, which is the lesser of the two evils—Chinese Nationalism or Soviet Internationalism?

An interesting news item came to light in a press dispatch by International News Service, dated September 19, 1950, as follows: “Marshall’s statement on Far Eastern Policy electrified the jammed committee room (Senate Armed Services Committee) because it had been accepted for years that he had authored the recommendation that peace in China be sought through a coalition government. Before this committee, Marshall repudiated all claims for having had anything to do with it, much less to have authored it by saying that it had been drawn up in the State Department while he was testifying on Capitol Hill in the Pearl Harbor investigation.” According to the same news dispatch: “The author of the Marshall Plan added that the Chinese policy was issued ‘while I was on the ocean going over there’ as President Truman’s personal representative.”

Could Marshall have meant that he had not even been consulted on such an important matter, prior to being sent to implement that policy? Hardly. Former Secretary of State Byrnes, in his memoirs entitled “Speaking Frankly,” spoke thus frankly on this subject:

“As soon as President Truman appointed General Marshall his personal representative in China, I asked the General to study the draft (of policy) so that he could help prepare the final statement for presentation to the President. The Sunday before I left for Moscow, Under Secretary Acheson, General Marshall and members of his staff met in my office. By the end of the morning’s discussion, we had agreed upon the statement of policy. Thereafter the President made no change in that policy except upon the recommendation of General Marshall or with his approval.”

I learned from an intimate source that when Marshall left for China he had in his pocket, documents outlining the policy of enforcing a coalition government on Chiang Kai-shek and also a letter from the President stating flatly:

“I understand that these documents have been shown to you and have received your approval.” What could General Marshall think himself to be, an ostrich with his head in the sand?

Much has happened since 1946, particularly as pertains to the relationship between China and General Marshall. A few excerpts from the September 15th, 1950, issue of the Congressional Record, Volume 96, Number 184, bring the matter further to a head. Senator William E. Jenner from Indiana holds the floor:

“I believe the time has come to expose this whole tragic conspiracy in which we are caught, to hew to the line of truth, and to let the chips fall where they may.... I can assure the Senate there is no pleasure, no pride of authorship, and no sense of personal satisfaction in taking this stand. There is only a growing sense of shame, of outraged decency, and of painful duty as I speak the dictates of my conscience. Even if I have to stand and speak alone, I am both unable and unwilling by my silence to be an accomplice in compounding crimes that have already been committed against my native land. Mr. President, this background is necessary because without it we cannot understand where the appointment of General George C. Marshall as Secretary of Defense fits into the picture. With it, we can help the disillusionment of the American people to run its course by exposing General Marshall as a living symbol of the swindle in which we are caught. The appointment of Marshall at this peculiar juncture in our destiny is a last desperate attempt of this administration to swallow up the treachery of the past in the new treachery they are planning for the future.... Everything he has been a party to during the past ten years has helped to betray his solemn trust and to set the stage for the staggering Soviet victory that is sweeping across the earth....”

Senator Jenner’s full and documented statements cover eighteen pages of the Record but interest here is centered upon those comments bearing on China, which confirm my own first-hand information and knowledge. He goes back to April 26, 1938, when Marshall was appointed a member of the liaison committee created by President Roosevelt for the coordination of policy of common concern to the Departments of State, War and Navy. From then on, Marshall remained one of the top-ranking policy makers in our Government. Truman was aware of the closeness between Marshall and Roosevelt, and of their consultations on matters of vital policy affecting our security and the defending of our interests around the world. Was this, perhaps, a reason for Truman’s wanting Marshall as Secretary of Defense, even as a possible stop-gap in a Democratic political crisis?

“Marshall knew of the deceit and the duplicity that was indulged in by President Roosevelt during the critical years of 1939, 1940 and 1941, by which we were secretly committed to go to war.... He went along with the most criminal and outrageous betrayals of American interests and principles in history that resulted from Teheran, Yalta and Potsdam,” says Jenner. To anyone’s comment: “He was a soldier. He was taking orders,” I feel urged to ask: “Does there not come a time in everyone’s life when he has to decide whether he is first a citizen of integrity? General of the Army Douglas MacArthur made that decision in April, 1951, and made it unflinchingly.

“At Yalta,” Jenner adds, “the President did the age-old thing with regard to Asia and General Marshall knew that at Potsdam, President Truman confirmed the sellout of half the world to the Soviet Union ... this meant that American GI’s were turned into political whipping boys, betrayed by their own Chief of Staff and used for advancing the cause of Communism across the earth.... Marshall lent all of his great prestige and power to the Jessup-Lattimore-Service-Acheson line calling for a cessation of the civil war, paralyzing the Nationalist Government and withholding aid from Chiang, while he knew that the Russians were not only taking over Manchuria and northern China, but were being rearmed with captured Japanese equipment and were preparing for the eventual conquest, not only of China, but of the whole Far East.”

Harold Lamb, historian and authority on Asiatic history, has commented: “Curiously enough, when I began to study the Mongols nearly thirty years ago, I found two studies of the methods of Genghis Khan made by young American Army officers. They were George C. Marshall and Douglas MacArthur.” How differently these two men have interpreted their research, in the light of their subsequent actions!

Let me quote a remark or two from the March, 1951, issue of The American Mercury. I have high regard for the journalistic integrity of Walter Trohan, Washington, D. C., Bureau Manager of The Chicago Tribune, and concur heartily with his comments in an article entitled: “The Tragedy of George Marshall”:

“On March 19, 1950, General Marshall announced that he would not write his memoirs for these remarkable reasons:

“‘To be of any historic importance they have got to be accurate; that is one mustn’t omit, and make it pleasant reading. Now, if you do put it all in, you do irreparable harm. You almost ruin a man, but if you don’t mention that, it is not history’.”

Mr. Trohan states that these are disillusioning words, and imply that “free men must not be told the truth; they indicate that the speaker is in a mental purgatory for hidden sins which he has either observed or committed; and they emphasize the graver tragedy: that an old man who must conceal past errors from his countrymen is still exercising powers of decision.”

Trohan asks, and so do I: “Should free men trust a leader who will not trust them with the truth? By what right does a public servant say to free men: ‘You trusted me with leadership, but I will not give a true accounting because the truth might do irreparable harm’?”

Marshall has ever been quick to blame the people for the ills that may beset them—never the leaders, as warrant a remark he made following the debacle of the Korean war: “The basic error has always been with the American people”—these same American people who cannot be trusted with the truth, lest “irreparable harm” be done.

Other indications as to the stature of the man reveal themselves as isolated vignettes. When Marshall arrived in China and was met by General Albert C. Wedemeyer, even after he had read and suppressed the Wedemeyer Report, he told his junior officer of his intention with regard to forcing Communists on the Generalissimo. Wedemeyer commented in all calmness:

“General, you can’t do it. It is impossible!”

To which Marshall replied in white heat: “I am going to do it, and you are going to help me!”

Marshall’s double-cross of Wedemeyer in appointing the latter Ambassador to China in 1947 is another instance. Secretary of State James Byrnes had told Wedemeyer to go ahead and buy his civilian clothing, which he did, and as Wedemeyer was on the point of severing his last connections from the Army, Marshall learned that the Communists strongly opposed the Wedemeyer appointment and recommended instead, J. Leighton Stuart, President of Yenching University. Without consulting with or informing General Wedemeyer, Marshall immediately appointed Stuart, leaving Wedemeyer to find out through second-hand sources that he was no longer Ambassador-elect to China.

A parallel action of this nature in which Marshall had a direct hand was the midnight dismissal of General MacArthur, who learned of the order when an aide heard it on a radio news broadcast and relayed it to Mrs. MacArthur.

Again, with reference to Marshall’s so-called ignorance of the China policy situation, Jonathan Daniels, in his authorized biography of Truman, quotes Admiral William D. Leahy as saying: “I was present when Marshall was going to China. He said he was going to tell Chiang that he had to get along with the Communists, or get no help from us.”

Before the removal, by Truman, of General of the Army Douglas MacArthur from all of his commands in the Far East—one of the greatest acts of perfidy to go down in American history—few people realized that Marshall was not a West Pointer. This, of course, is in no way to be held against Marshall, but, during World War I, as General Pershing’s aide-de-camp, when Pershing was Chief of Staff, a promotion of Marshall to a Generalship was requested of MacArthur by Pershing.

MacArthur was willing enough, provided his military record merited it. From Walter Trohan’s documented personal files comes information that Marshall’s record lacked sufficient time served with troops. “MacArthur proposed to remedy this,” says Trohan, “by giving him command of the Eighth Regiment at Fort Screven, Ga., one of the finest regiments in the Army.” Marshall was moved up from lieutenant-colonel to colonel, but his way to a general’s stars appeared to be blocked forever when the Inspector General reported that under one year of Marshall’s command the Eighth Regiment had dropped from “one of the best to one of the worst.” It was mandatory, therefore, that MacArthur decline the promotion. Is it any wonder, today, that Truman’s action in removing MacArthur from the military scene should be most pleasing to the Secretary of Defense?

Of course, this is not the whole story, for Pershing was a persevering soldier and had no intention of giving up his determination to see Marshall become a general. In 1936, he bypassed the Army entirely, and went directly to the White House where he succeeded in persuading President Franklin Delano Roosevelt to “appoint” Marshall a general. Later, Marshall had proved himself so “acceptable” to Roosevelt that, over the heads of “twenty senior major generals and fourteen senior brigadier generals, Roosevelt made him Chief of Staff.”

I believe that the “tragedy” implied by Walter Trohan concerning Marshall lies in the current knowledge that Marshall, despite personal bravery, even stoicism, was sadly lacking in vision to match it. Thus, he became a willing tool in the hands of the opposition. He trusted Russia as an ally and, contrary to the Churchill belief, he did not care how much of Europe Stalin took, so long as we sent Russia enough tanks and ammunition to crush the German Army. He was easy prey to the insidious propaganda put out by Hiss, Acheson, Lattimore, Jessup and others who, misguided or otherwise, permitted American lives to be sacrificed to make both Europe and Asia “safe for Communism.”

We know now what was in the Wedemeyer Report. Because it disagreed with Marshall’s ideas he, personally, suppressed it. In contrast to his decision, Wedemeyer had advocated a strong defense against Communism in China, and had gained the Generalissimo’s complete approval for American supervision of all aid, financial, military, psychological—that would have been forthcoming if the report had been approved.

Marshall, as was Pershing, is for an enormous army—for pitting manpower, our most precious commodity, against the enemy, in place of our superb technological and psychological know-how. General MacArthur has shown the absurdity and the tragedy of any such commitment on our part. Should Marshall, with Anna Rosenberg at his side, be allowed to continue with plans to fight the Asiatic hordes thusly, we are, indeed, doomed. May God forbid!

Once again, in retrospect, it appears that American foreign policy had been to support the Generalissimo as long as he fought the Japanese, but to do nothing that might offend the Communists at any time. For the past ten years, or more, our Government seems to have had its bets on Communism in China—if not in all Eurasia—to win. The facts are against any other conclusion, and we must, again, assume that Marshall, the President, and the State Department know what they are doing. And if they know what they are doing, they must be doing it deliberately.

From 1946 through 1948, Marshall ordered destroyed all of the reserves of ammunition earmarked for Chiang Kai-shek. These had been stored in India and could easily have been transferred to China at the end of the war in 1945. Marshall also ordered our military mission to refuse further training and aid to the Nationalist armies.

On leaving China, General Marshall was overheard to remark enthusiastically, “There is a definite liberal group among the Communist Chinese.” This particular group included China’s “Front Man,” Chou En-lai, Communist Foreign Minister since October, 1948, and his assistant, Chiao Kuan-Hua, spokesman for the Communist delegation that was entertained in late 1950 by the United Nations, and which was housed and fed at the Hotel Waldorf-Astoria in New York City.

It is not difficult to see how Marshall contributed to Chiang’s capitulation to the Communists. How can we answer for our refusal to accept the 30,000 Chinese Nationalist troops on Formosa, initially offered by the Generalissimo to the United Nations for combat in Korea or in South China? We accepted units, even token ones, from other members of the U.N., but not from Nationalist China, who is still an official member. Of course, I know the answer is couched in the language of “Peace, peace.” But Stalin will not be provoked into full-scale war until Russia is ready for it, and the danger of letting Chiang attack south China is no more than a blind.

How can we have aided the Russians more, or brought greater tragedy to ourselves than we already have by our own actions?

Chapter II

Yenan Interlude

Prior to October, 1949, the capital of Communist China was the two thousand-year-old city of Yenan. After the capture of Peking, the leaders established grandiose headquarters in that ancient seat of emperors, known as “The Pearl of the Orient.” It was in the quaint old city of Yenan, however, that the important incubation period of these present rulers took place. Here they spent the war years, planned their strategy to take over all of China, and cemented their contacts with Moscow. From the cold, crude caves of this primitive stronghold to the glittering palaces of Peking was a tremendous leap, and doubtless it gave the conquering heroes many jolts. How often they must have longed for that unique little city, remote and quiet, in Shensi Province.

That those early carefree days on the edge of the Gobi Desert did not altogether prepare them for their present responsibilities was evidenced by the fact that after the Communists occupied Peking the municipal government staff there was temporarily retained. The new Communist mayor explained, “We have been living in the hills (Yenan) and know far less about municipal government than you do. Therefore we must learn from you.” Even Mao Tse-tung, whose word is law all over China, has already been quoted as saying, “The task of reconstruction is apt to be far more difficult than the achievement of power.”

Shensi Province boasts one of the best climates in China, dry and healthy, with many bright sunshiny days. However, it is frequently visited by suffocating dust storms from the desert, giving the inhabitants a yellow-powdered coating on the hair, face and clothing. The farm lands which were owned formerly by a few of the comparatively wealthy peasants were, in 1949, divided into little holdings or made into cooperative farms. No all-out effort was made to collectivize[1] the land, as in Russia.

The city of Yenan has a population of about fifty thousand, most of whom live in caves burrowed into the clay cliffs of three converging river valleys. Before the move to Peking, the schools and army headquarters of the city were all underground, and only outside the city were there many buildings of any size.

One of the most important landmarks was the International Hospital, located on the edge of the city in a series of caves. It was called “International” because it was supported in part by contributions from abroad. The United States had made every effort to be helpful. During the war, for the first time in its history, and largely through the humanitarianism of the China Theater Commander, Lieutenant General Wedemeyer, this hospital was one of the best equipped, if not the best equipped, in all of North China. When Mao Tse-tung’s little five-year-old daughter fell ill with pneumonia, penicillin was flown to her directly from General Wedemeyer’s headquarters. Without it she would, almost certainly, have died.

The hospital was Madame Sun Yat-sen’s favorite project There she spent many hours, allowing the patients and nurses to bask in the radiance of her sacred person. This beguilling “Saint Elizabeth,” after impassioned pleading, succeeded in 1945, in getting the United States to expedite shipment of increased amounts of medical supplies to the hospital from Communist sources. A small contingent of U. S. soldiers was stationed in Yenan as a liaison between the Communists and the Nationalists. These cartons and crates were opened, as a matter of routine inspection by Colonel Ivan D. Yeaton, Communist expert and one of the American military observers there. To his great consternation, he found that, instead of the urgently needed medical supplies, the crates and cartons were filled to bursting with Communist propaganda books and leaflets. Going directly to Madame Sun, he said, “Why, Madame, I am disappointed and astonished to find that you have abused the courtesy extended to you by the United States Government. I find that this last shipment, instead of containing medical supplies, is filled with nothing but Communist propaganda!” Madame Sun blushed prettily and replied with false calm: “I am sure that you are not aware of the many kinds of medicine our patients need here.” It goes without saying that her supplies were cut off, then and there.

Although Communists laid great stress on the good the hospital was doing for all Chinese, the conduct and methods of admissions smacked of the General Hospital in Moscow. Patients were classified in three categories: The Hierarchy of the Communist Party and their families took precedence over all; next in line were the Red Army officers and soldiers and their families; last, least and very rarely came the non-Communist Chinese.

Another distinguished landmark located just outside the city was the famous “Prisoner of War School.” Here the captured Japanese soldiers were never referred to as “prisoners,” but always as “students,” and their compound was referred to as “The School.”

Although, during the war, the Chinese Communist Armies made great claims about their successes against the Japanese, their primary purpose was to capture Japanese prisoners of war with the idea of converting them to Communism. Those who showed promise of becoming good subjects promptly were sent to Yenan, given courteous treatment and enrolled in the Communist School under Moscow-trained instructors. Students who showed little aptitude or whose loyalties were questioned were weeded out rapidly and returned to their own troops. This last proved to be a diabolical form of punishment, for a Japanese soldier is taught never to surrender, but to fight to the death. The mere fact that he had allowed himself to be captured and was returned to his own troops in good condition was clear evidence that he was either a coward or untrustworthy. His end was often the guard house or a bullet in the back of his head.

Graduates of the school were dispatched as spies into Manchuria or sent back to Japan, there to scatter the red seeds of Communism. This was referred to as going to the “Front.” When one friend would say to another, “I haven’t seen Yashi for four or five days. Where can he be?” the reply invariably was, “Oh, he’s gone to the Front!” Thus the Prisoner of War School helped to spread the red gospel throughout the Japanese-speaking areas. Its guiding spirit and conductor was Okano, now known as Sanzo Nozako, who aspired to be the Stalin of Japan, and who is said to be working vigorously to bring all the Japanese into the Communist orbit.

The Central Committee of the Chinese Communist Party had appropriated for special meetings one of the few well built halls just outside the Walled City. On its bare walls were life-size, full length portraits of Marx, Engels, Lenin, Stalin, Mao, and Chu Teh, together with a large flag bearing the Hammer and Sickle. This hall also served as Mao Tse-tung’s city residence. Only on the rarest occasions were foreigners ever received here, and at such times the portraits and flag were laboriously removed. Surrounding the hall were the best and most productive of the local farms, which had been confiscated by the Communist Hierarchy for their own use. Here they spent many weekends relaxing and enjoying life.

The office where foreigners were habitually received was in a large cave. It was decorated with life-size portraits of Stalin, Mao, Chu Teh, Churchill, Roosevelt and Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek placed over a grouping of small allied flags. The general atmosphere appeared to be one of friendly cooperation based on mutual aims and interests. When foreign visitors were present, the Chinese National flag was displayed conspicuously over the gates of the compound, as a token of good will, and to create the false impression that both parties were working in harmony. On all other occasions, and in all other places, it was considered extremely bad taste to mention Nationalist China, Great Britain or the United States, especially with references to any part they were taking in winning the war.

Anyone living in Yenan at that time became aware of the complete absence of religious symbols. The ancient temples were occupied by Communist families. Religion, as in other Communist countries, had gone underground or disappeared. Even the tiny symbolic caves, so revered by the Chinese as places of worship, were never used openly. Instead, Americans often caught glimpses of Communist soldiers going through their ritual when they thought themselves unobserved by hostile eyes. Doubtless these little scenes reminded some of the better informed GI’s of similar ones enacted in Moscow, where the old peasant women braved the wrath of the NKVD and the Stalin Youth to worship at the few churches that were allowed to remain open.

The Catholic missionaries, long distrusted by the Communists, had been forced into a life of almost complete religious inactivity. Their Compound, once a busy center, had become the home of the Lu Hsun Art Academy. The old convent had been converted into dormitories for students of both sexes. In the Chapel, Communists had torn down the painting of Jesus, which was the first object seen on entering, and had replaced it with a more than life-size portrait of Stalin. The Holy Vessels and Sacred Images lay in rubble on the floor. Only the organ was left. Here, the music students practiced American jazz and sang “The Internationale.”

Ancient Pagoda built hundreds of years ago, seen from outskirts of Yenan. Caves at right are similar to those used to house the Japanese Prisoners of War.

“Ballentine Beer Patches”

Worn by Marshall’s

workers in Chungking.

The movie actress wife of Mao

Tse-tung appears pleased with the

story she has just told General

Marshall, while the latter seems

to wonder if he got the point.

Left to right: Ambassador Patrick J. Hurley, Chairman Mao Tse-tung, General Chang, (Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek’s propaganda chief), and General Chu Teh, shown after conference in Yenan.

Mao has just proposed a welcoming toast to General Marshall, and politely listens while others do likewise. The banquet was held in Marshall’s honor.

Chinese Nationalist and American flags fly between banner welcoming Marshall, Nationalist General Chang and Communist Chou En-lai. Side banners say “Long Live Peace in the Far East!”

Saturday inspection of Caves in Yenan. Last, on the extreme far end to the right, is the cave in which Marshall was installed.

Crowds greeting Marshall on his arrival in Yenan. At extreme left can be seen the Ming Bing with their long spears. Note American and Chinese Communist flag on jeep.

Left to right: Chairman Mao, Chou En-lai, Marshall, General Chang (Nationalist), and Chu Teh. On the right are picked troops of the Communist Military Academy.

Under Communism man still competes with the lowly donkey. Here several are seen carrying fire wood in Yenan.

A camel caravan arriving at Yenan from the Gobi Desert after passing through the Great Wall. The lead camel wears a mask to frighten away evil spirits. (In photo below)—Oxen laden with bundles and wares to be sold in the Yenan markets.

The Market Place in Yenan, run by non-Communists as in the days of their ancestors.

Child-mother with twins in improvised home-made tandem baby carriage.

Caves of the Communists and Red Army seen in the distance, sheep grazing beneath them. Small house in foreground was used for storage of food.

Protestants suffered equal indignities. From outlying districts came reports of religious oppression and sometimes of atrocities. American missionaries, both by word and letter, told of the destruction not only of churches but of agricultural and hospital activities which had operated for many years to help all Chinese, Communist and Nationalist alike.

The population of Yenan was for the most part non-Communist. The distinction was not difficult to note for the Communists were easily recognized by their dull blue cloth uniforms, their bobbed haired women wearing no make-up, and their complete lack of Chinese silks and gay colors. The non-Communist majority were allowed to continue their usual occupations undisturbed, as long as they minded their own affairs. Nearly all the merchants within the Walled City were non-Communist, and all gathered daily in the big market, as they had done for generations, to display their wares in the open, on boards or on the ground. When the Communists wanted anything, they forced the merchants to cooperate by handing over a desired commodity, and at the Communists’ own price.

Due to the Chinese and Mongolian background of most of the Communist leaders, many of them did not, at first, wish their women to play any political roles or to appear at public banquets with the men. With the growing acceptance of the Russian doctrines, however, all were considered equal, and the women worked and ate beside the men. The female Communists tried to look as unlike the old fashioned Chinese women as possible. Their adopted cause had emancipated them, if emancipation meant compelling them to work as hard as the men. In Russia, after the Revolution, the women, dressed as men, were allowed to load and unload trucks, which the men drove. The rules for the masses, however, did not apply to the wives of the leaders. They were encouraged to mix freely, to wear better clothes, and to indulge in light make-up occasionally. Moreover, it is said that they all ate quantities of sunflower seeds in order to obtain the fine, firm breasts for which many a Soviet woman is famous!

Tipping was not allowed in the Red realm, for it indicated class distinction. As all classes were supposed to be equal under Communism, any breach of this regulation was severely punished. In Yenan, an American GI tried to express his gratitude to a young Communist for helping him make some furniture for his cave by offering him a package of American cigarettes. The Chinese boy frowned and backed away. “No, thank you,” he said, “I cannot accept anything for my services. We are all equal now.” The American shrugged slightly and put the cigarettes on a table. A few minutes later, when his back was turned, the Chinese boy and the cigarettes had disappeared. The following day the American soldier found the Communist youth smoking furiously behind a pile of rubbish. He learned later that the boy had been spied upon by other Communist youths who, out of envy or an excess of Party zeal, had beaten him unmercifully. After generations of accepting the traditional “cumshaw,” or little token of appreciation, it is well nigh impossible to convince a Chinese, Communist or otherwise, that this time-honored custom is wrong.

During the war, all American troops stationed in Yenan lived in caves on the level nearest the ground. This made for greater convenience in getting in and out, in line with the wish of the Chinese Communists to show the foreigner every courtesy. The Americans had one small house built primarily to shelter the electric generator they had brought with them, and here also lived the Commander of the Americans. The generator made it possible for the Americans to have the only electric light in Yenan. In contrast, the natives and families of the Red Armies burned wicks in precious oil or built small fires for occasional light. Their rule was to bed down with the sun and to arise with the dawn.

One other building allocated to the Americans was used as a recreation room, where the GI’s and a highly selected group of Chinese Communists played games and had their meals in common. This group of Communists assigned to fraternize with the Americans was headed by a fellow named Lock Ho, meaning “Old Horse,” whose job was to start arguments and to guide the Americans in their thinking. The GI’s were never allowed to fraternize with any Chinese who was not thoroughly indoctrinated, even at the Saturday night dances. Nurses from the International Hospital, students from Yenan University, girls and women from the Central Committee of the Chinese Communist Party, other students, teachers and members of families of the Communists, all were completely propagandized before being permitted, or ordered, to attend the dances. In other words, the Americans never came in contact with any Chinese who was not fully imbued with the tenets of Communism. Be it said to the credit of the Americans, the Reds, despite their efforts, were never able to work on the GI’s with any degree of success.

On hunting trips, a propaganda expert went along with the Americans, but even this could not spoil the superb sport and the pleasure that came from shooting an occasional wolf, mountain lion or tiger. The pheasant coveys were numerous and the birds huge, making them much sought-after additions to the monotonous diet. A man who was a good shot, even with an old carbine, would bring down five to ten cocks in a day. There were no bird dogs, but when Chu Teh, a fine shot himself, and a tireless hunter, accompanied the group, he had his bodyguard act as a retriever, a service the American “Imperialists” did not have.

The jeeps and trucks of the United States Army were a source of wonder and terror to the natives, who were entirely unfamiliar with any motor transportation. In this connection, pregnant women proved a special headache to the GI’s. When the donkeys or Mongol ponies, on which the pregnant ladies were riding, shied away or stood on their hind legs at the approach of a vehicle, the ladies naturally fell off their mounts screaming and yelling in their high, piercing voices as they rolled into the dust or a ditch, their bundles and belongings flying helter skelter in all directions. Even when the Americans drove slowly or stopped, the havoc wrought was considerable. Many of the pregnant riders were indignant and demanded “cumshaw,” or money, to compensate for damages to their person and pride, but fortunately there were never any serious accidents.

Many things puzzled American soldiers in Yenan. One was how a Chinese herdsman, driving dozens of sheep and pigs, could meet and pass, on a narrow mountain path, another herdsman equally encumbered. Amid ear-splitting squeals, grunts and Chinese swear words, men and animals would pass each other without loss or mishap, each going in his own direction, with his own animals intact! Surely no American could accomplish such a feat.

The GI’s had constant trouble with money. The Communists manipulated the exchange any way they wished, but always in their own favor. Nobody knew exactly how much money he was worth at any one time. Eager to procure all the American dollars and Nationalist currency possible to finance trips to the South for their agents, the Communists put up their special script in small packages to entice the Americans to purchase them for one United States dollar. They were counting heavily on the GI’s never-failing interest in a “souvenir to take home.”

Every foreigner, on entering Yenan, was thoroughly briefed by the Commander of the American Observer Group, who boarded incoming planes. This presented a clear indication of Moscow influence. All entrants were told never to use the word “coolie,” as it signified class consciousness. They were not to mention the words “Reds” or “Commies,” as these terms cast aspersions upon the dignity of their hosts. All, Communists and non-Communists must be referred to as “local people.”

American movies were shown almost nightly out of doors in summer. These were so superior to the Chinese or Russian movies that the enthusiastic natives would pull down the gates of the Compound if any effort was made to keep them out. In the winter, however, the movies were shown indoors, and only guests invited by the Chinese Communists were allowed to attend. Chu Teh was on hand almost nightly and was a particular fan of Betty Hutton’s. He returned eight times to drink in her charms as the heroine of the picture “Texas Guinan.”

The only other movies were those supplied by the Chinese Communists. Crude and boring, they were largely sent from the Kremlin, and were in Russian with no Chinese sub-titles. A leader, in a sing-song voice, gave the general idea of the picture, particularly stressing the propaganda line it illustrated. The audience, not understanding Russian, could hope for only slight amusement.

Even the Hierarchy gave every evidence of preferring American films. The lavish background in the Guinan picture made a particularly deep impression, as it was such a far cry from the way even the most important Chinese and Red Army officers and their families lived. In the upper tiers of mud caves, dug into the soft cliffs, they existed as primitively as had their ancestors thousands of years before them. Little or no furniture cluttered the Reds’ caves, and almost all their utensils were wooden bowls and horn cups. After the Americans and the British came, the local people salvaged the tin cans thrown out by the visitors and had them beaten into plates and dishes, copied faithfully from the originals by the blacksmith. Unused to comfort, their beds were skins thrown on boards or spread on the mud floors—a sharp contrast to the luxury of the sleeping arrangement built for Ambassador Hurley when he was in Yenan. This crude approach to a truly beautiful Chinese bed was seven feet long, with rope slats for a spring, rough unbleached sheets, and a pillow filled with bird seed, or millet. It later became the property of the American Military Commander and was always greatly admired and coveted by the Chinese visitors.

During these years, although life in Yenan was primitive and often carefree, the Hierarchy never lost sight of the responsibilities that lay ahead of them, and for these they tried to prepare themselves, within the limits of their knowledge and capabilities. In 1946, contrary to all Chinese Communist teachings, several American soldiers were questioned extensively by the Communist leaders on matters of capitalist etiquette and protocol. The Americans, amused at their roles of male Emily Posts, accepted the challenge in the finest American tradition. With grave faces and dressed in their best, they gave cocktail parties, movie suppers, and even formal sit-down dinners for the education of the distinguished members of the Central Committee of the Communist Party. Table manners and light conversation were stressed. The pupils were most appreciative of these examples of Western culture and refinement and strove in every way to learn their lessons and to act accordingly.

Hugely enjoying this fascinating taste of the foreign, they put together a so-called Jazz Band and held Saturday night dances that were entirely Western in every respect, even to a crude rendition of “The Saint Louis Blues.” Eager to have everything done in proper Western style, the Red leaders provided their teachers with a list of Central Committee Communist Party Members, arranged according to rank, and insisted that the best State Department protocol be observed and practiced rigidly. They were shrewd enough to realize, even then, that in conquering new countries, they would have to have more than one front man. At that time, Chou En-lai was their only polished negotiator. He alone was able to meet foreigners on an equal footing and was therefore obliged to be their Minister of Foreign Affairs.

The Communists in Yenan, as in all countries in the beginning of their transition to slavery, adopted the term “New Democracy” and made a great display of its outward form by allowing the non-Communist peasants to “vote.” The outcome, of course, was previously agreed upon. The balloting was merely a matter of form and a means of convincing the people that they still were privileged to make their own choice. The literate cast their vote by burning a hole in the ballot with a lighted stick of punk, or incense, at the point where the name of their candidate appeared. The illiterate dropped a pea into a bowl or pitcher, placed in front of a picture of their candidate. After the voting was over and the successful candidate announced, a huge rally was held and the voter was constrained to forget his choice, if unsuccessful, in a frenzy of dancing, shouting and singing. After a few hours of this, the tired voter would wend his way slowly homeward to his mud cave, or if he were a country man, to his ancestral mud hut, often many miles away.

The roads that lead into the Walled City of Yenan are two-thousand-year-old trails used by the descendants, both man and beast, of those earliest travellers. Both inside and out of the city, little has changed. The men driving the camel caravans pad softly through the dust, their animals heavily laden with burdens of fur and other wares to be marketed in the city. They still practice the age-old custom of putting a mask on the lead animal’s head, to drive away the evil spirits. Water carriers, after dragging great buckets of the muddy liquid from the river, chant their endless “water! water!” as they go from cave to cave in the time-honored manner. Food vendors, squatting in the dusty lanes cooking bits of lamb and pork, roots and herbs over tiny charcoal braziers, cry out shrilly to the passers-by, eating occasionally from the pot with their grimy fingers. Half-naked babies crawl nearby, whimpering to their mothers, who pacify them by giving them sweetened tree bark on which to chew. Donkeys, heavily laden, and round Mongolian ponies jostle dog carts and belabored oxen. Everywhere, cotton clad coolies, bowed beneath huge bales of firewood, coal and charcoal, shuffle along the dusty streets. For, alas, although the rickshaw and pedicab or bicycle rickshaw has been banned as an occupation beneath the dignity of man, the older use of man as a beast of burden has to be accepted. For the very poor, there is nothing else to take his place.

This, then, was Yenan in 1946. Now that the Communists have won China and moved from the mud caves to the glamorous palaces of Peking, it will be interesting to watch their actions.

Will they be able to carry out their plan of communizing the entire country? And how long will this take? Will China remain China for the Chinese or, for the first time in nearly five thousand years, will the once free peoples of this basically democratic country be hopelessly enthralled by the yoke of tyranny?

The Chinese have a quality that has distinguished them. This quality is patience. The Communists too have patience, but only up to a point. Beyond that they use force to accomplish their ends.

There are literally hundreds of languages spoken in China—each province speaks a different dialect. Moreover, aside from travel between major cities, there is relatively little transportation and practically no communication between smaller cities in the interior. In view of these facts, is it not possible that the Russians will find their progress slow?

Will the Chinese absorb the Soviets as they did the Huns, the Mongols and the Tartars? Time alone will give us the answers to these questions. Time alone will prove the importance of the incubation period spent in Yenan, and whether or not it was worth the sacrifices made by the Reds. The die is cast. From it we shall learn what the future holds for Asia, for Europe, and perhaps for ourselves as well.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Collectivize means controlled farming, where the peasants are only hired hands.

Chapter III

Communist Personalities

The Central People’s Government of the Chinese Communist Party is the ruling class. It makes the policy, enforces the laws and governs with dictatorial power. Mao Tse-tung, at fifty-six, is Chairman and Supreme Commander—for the time being at least. Directly responsible to him are six Vice-Chairmen among whom is the famous Madame Sun Yet-sen. Under these Vice-Chairmen are fifty-six Supreme and fifteen Administrative Councilors, twenty Ministries and a political Consultative Committee of one hundred and eighty Active Members.

Mao Tse-tung, or Chairman Mao, is a rotund little figure, rather dejected looking, with an undistinguished face, topped by a broad forehead and a luxuriant crop of black hair. Now installed in Peking, he dresses less slovenly than in those earlier days in Yenan when a sloppy appearance was considered a badge of honor.

His name, pronounced “Mout-zz-dung,” is easily mispronounced by foreigners. Once, during the Japanese war, when Mao was in Chungking for a short time, ostensibly to coordinate the Communist forces with the Generalissimo’s war effort, he was consistently called “Mousy-dung,” by Ambassador Hurley. In conferences, and with the best intentions in the world, Hurley would keep saying, “Mr. Mousy-dung,” this or that ..., while the Generalissimo would politely cover his face with his hand to hide his smile and Mao would blush. “Mousy-dung,” in a more common Chinese dialect means “the hole in the water closet.”

Earnest and zealous, Mao, a “China for the Chinese” promoter, and therefore basically at odds with the Russians, speaks in a distinct, sometimes shrill, high-pitched voice. He has a habit of quoting from his wide reading. His oratory is forceful but, like Hitler’s, not polished. Although brilliantly educated in the Chinese Classics and familiar with ancient Greece and Rome through translations of their history and literature, up to the time he left Yenan he had never learned to speak or understand English. Nearly all foreigners relied upon his interpreter when speaking to him. In spite of this, he held one group of reporters spellbound for nearly three hours as he talked to them in the Foreign Office cave, gesticulating nervously and cracking watermelon seeds endlessly between his square white teeth. Sometimes his sober countenance and intense preoccupation would amuse foreigners. Hurley, after long hours of serious discussions, always through an interpreter of course, would, on leaving, bow in sweeping Western style and invariably say in English, “Good night, you sad little apple you,” to his politely bowing host.

Mao’s childhood was one of unusual drudgery. His father was a peasant and a domestic tyrant. Understandably, the boy’s thoughts were turned, at an early age, to revolution against authority and oppression. He chopped off his pigtail in defiance of the Manchus and joined other restless youths who had a hand in the formation of the Chinese Communist Party. A few years later, largely through his help, this party was joined briefly to the revolutionary party of Dr. Sun Yat-sen, which Russia was then aiding.

Years of civil war had taught Mao the technique of guerilla warfare, as well as the qualities necessary for leadership. He likens his guerilla tactics to the behavior of fleas. “We attack by night,” he says, “and wear out strong men.” In 1927 he became President of the first Chinese Peasants Union and has never lost his standing with it. The ignorant peasants are always impressed not only by his rugged and often ruthless qualities, but also by his great learning and his ability to write Chinese poetry in the classic style. In the early days, he won their further applause by moving freely among the people, organizing rickshaw boys into labor unions, and sometimes pulling them about in rickshaws himself, while he talked intimately of the glories of Communism.

Most of the activities of the Communist Party in the early days were carried on in the South, especially around Canton. By 1934, however, the Nationalists had gained such power that the Communists were forced to leave the Southern province of Kiangsi for the Northern caves of Yenan. This, the “Long March,” was a journey of thousands of miles, travelled on foot, partly over almost impassable trails and some of the highest mountains and largest rivers in Asia. In three hundred and sixty-eight days, eighteen major mountain passes were crossed, five of them snow-capped, and twenty-four rivers were forded. At each stop that was made, the marchers ravaged villages, impoverished the well-to-do, and persuaded the poorer peasants to join them. They whipped up such a frenzied crusade that their ranks were swelled by thousands. So strenuous was the journey, however, that at its end only twenty thousand men and women were left, ten thousand having fallen by the way. Those who survived were tough, one may be sure. A much-quoted legend has grown up about Mao, the stalwart leader, which tells how he stumbled along barefooted, refusing a wounded soldier’s offer to share a pony’s back. “No,” said Mao to the soldier, “your wounds are worse than mine. We shall suffer and fight together. That is what makes us comrades.”

Mao’s domestic career, like his political one, has been stormy. His first wife, a child, was forced upon him by his parents, at the age of fourteen. In his opinion, she does not count, and he never mentions her. His second, a school teacher’s daughter, is said to have been shot by a Nationalist General. His third was the heroine of the “Long March,” and Mao had just cause to be proud of her. Tall, frail looking, clever and high spirited, she was sometimes argumentative, behavior unheard of in a Chinese women. A female soldier, she is said to have received many wounds in battle. She also gave birth to a son by Mao during the “Long March,” but when the going became too difficult and unsafe she left the child along the way with old peasants who were unable to join the marchers.

Alas for this brave wife, when Mao met the beauteous movie actress Lang Ping, on arriving in Yenan, she was completely forgotten. He was so enraptured with the newcomer that he sent his wife to Moscow, normally a reward sought after by any Communist. In this case it was only a face-saving gesture, however, and there were rumors that the rejected woman contracted tuberculosis and died. Mao’s new marriage to Lang Ping caused a flutter of excitement and alarm in Yenan, where the Communists knew and admired the courage and fortitude of his third wife and where she was held in esteem. News of this flurry of unrest reached the Comintern in Moscow, where the practice of casually exchanging wives was recognized, if not encouraged. There Mao’s conduct was dismissed lightly, and the Chinese Communists were told that the matter was to be regarded as “personal, not a Party affair.”

During the war, Mao lived happily in a cave in Yenan with wife Number Four. Both dressed simply in blue uniforms padded with cotton in the winter. In spite of this simplicity they enjoyed more privileges than the average Communist. They ate special meals and had extra rations of cigarettes, which Mao liked to chain-smoke. He and his ex-movie starlet went, occasionally, to Saturday night dances given for the Party workers. Here an improvised orchestra struggled with Viennese waltzes, known to be Mao’s favorites, along with scattered bits of boogie-woogie. Mao also liked Chinese translations of Russian songs, but whatever the music, he and his wife swung into action with genuine enthusiasm.

On the whole, Mao’s simple life adds to his popularity. A Mao-myth, similar to the Stalin-myth, is being built up about him, and by similar means. His picture is everywhere. His words are repeated and his name is spoken with reverence. In 1937, Mao wrote a letter to Earl Browder, head of the Communist Party in the United States, in which he said, in part: “We feel that when we achieve victory (in China) this victory will be of considerable help to the struggle of the American people for liberation.” Mao signed his letter, “President of the Chinese Soviet Republic.”

Today, Mao is not only the most influential Communist in China, but probably, next to Stalin, the most powerful Red on earth. With Kremlin approval, he controls, temporarily more than four hundred and sixty million people, which is three times the population of the United States and double that of Russia. A typical student of the methods of Moscow, in spite of his devotion to Confucius and Plato, he has no compunction whatever about condemning thousands to death upon suspicion that their loyalties are slipping. Aware of this quality in him, Japanese and Korean Communist representatives have declared him, “The Symbol of the struggle for emancipation of all the peoples of the Orient.” They claim he has attained his position of power through his sincere and idealistic solicitude for China’s masses and his realism in bringing about reforms. His enemies, however, intimate that his “realism” has not excluded any means to gain his ends, from walking out of attempted peace conferences to assassinations.

The second most important man in Communist China, now that the war with the Chinese Nationalists is over, is Chu Teh, pronounced “Ju Duh,” Commander-in-Chief of the Chinese Communist Armies. He is often called the “Red Heart” of Communist China, as contrasted with Mao’s nickname of the “Red Brain.” Number Two in the Hierarchy is a plump, jolly, genial-appearing fellow. Looking anything but a martinet, he has a broad, disarming smile which shows a wide expanse of pink gum. He loves to trot about chucking little children under the chin. Born with a gold spoon in his mouth, he was a reckless though courageous child who always wanted to be a soldier and kept breaking away from an early existence of luxury and high living. Rich at the outset, he became even richer through “squeeze” in a government financial post. Son of a family of overlords, he rose to power and wealth despite his addiction to opiates while still a youth. His early use of opium can be laid to his parents. They spread the thick, gooey, sweet-smelling stuff on sugar cane and gave it to him to suck at night—a common practice of the time to still an infant’s nocturnal wails.

Chu Teh had a large family of wives, concubines and children. He was past forty when he decided to leave them all and devote his entire future and fortune to the revolutionary ideal that burned fanatically within him. After squandering part of his wealth and donating the rest to the Communist cause, he plundered public funds in order to leave his large household well established in a comfortable residence.

Chu was persuaded that the revolution of Dr. Sun Yat-sen in 1911 had proved to be an utter failure for the masses. In his opinion, it lacked the spark of a vigorous ideological revolution, because it only substituted one bureaucracy for another. He longed to modernize China and to emulate the Marxian heroes of the West. In order to further his ambitions and to carry out his ideals, Chu put a large foot in the mouth of tradition and, having abandoned his family, swashbuckled into Shanghai to meet and mingle with the Nationalist revolutionaries. These he joined temporarily, but he was always regarded by them with a jaundiced eye. They even went so far as to try to kill him one night when a Nationalist officer invited him to dinner. Chu scented danger. Realizing at the same time that his host was naive and impressionable, he flashed one of his face-consuming smiles, followed by a rat-a-tat fire of vitriolic conversation damning Communism. He fondled the feminine entertainers, recited sensuous love sonnets, and generally made himself the life of the party. It worked. His would-be murderous host was completely captivated, and Chu escaped without a scratch! In like fashion, by such guile and beguiling ways, Chu’s predecessors, under Genghis Khan, performed the remarkable feat in the 13th century of subjugating the entire country. The old party tricks are still up to date!

A practical fellow, with more intestinal fortitude than his habits would indicate, Chu picked up his meager belongings a little later on and went to Germany to study the Marxian and the Russian Revolutions with the Communists there. He moved on up the scale to Moscow, matriculated in the Eastern Toilers’ Union, where he studied under the best Communist teachers. When he came back to Shanghai, he regaled his friends with what he had learned in Germany and Russia. “I am determined to make this work in China,” he vowed. To this end, he placed great emphasis on guerilla warfare, the people’s self-defense corps, to suppress activities of traitors, draw out information about the enemy, and guard military secrets. His military tactics are the same as those of the Huns of Attila, the Mongols of Genghis Khan and the Tartars of Tamerlane. Let the enemy be the source of supplies—the enemy being anyone who has anything you want.

As far back as 1927, Earl Browder had been in China helping the Communists plant the seeds for the future control of that country. They had planned on Chiang Kai-shek playing the role of Kerensky in Russia—that of being a temporary leader of the Chinese to be kicked out as soon as he had defeated the warlords in southern and central China. Chiang, however, was more than a match for them and succeeded in blocking their “October Revolution.” He took over, on the death of Sun Yat-sen, and ousted all of the Russian advisors and so-called “master minds,” who had been posing as friends. The Kremlin whimpered and licked its wounds, preparing a relentless revenge.

This was the only serious set-back they encountered until Tito deserted and U. S. aid in 1947 saved Greece, Italy and France. Their hatred of Chiang, therefore, was deeply rooted and they had discredited him and his government in every way prior to their take-over of the country when we, the U. S., failed China in 1946 and 1947.

In 1928, Chu joined forces with Mao, and together they founded the first Chinese Soviet Government and the Red Army in Kiangsi Province. Chu became Commander-in-Chief of the Red Army in China. With Mao, he led the “Long March” to Yenan. Unlike Mao, who will stop at nothing to gain his ends, Chu has a Robin Hood quality that makes him a friend to the poor, with whom he is ever gaining in popularity. When the peasants, for example, complain bitterly that the soldiers are stealing from them (a time-honored custom among Asiatic troops), he forces them to return the stolen goods. Often, as a matter of discipline for other offenses, and as a demonstration to convince the peasants of his “sincerity” as to looting, he gathers the entire village together and gives the populace the satisfaction of seeing the worst looters shot. “No more looting,” he says, shaking a long bony finger. “Hereafter, when we need anything we will ‘confiscate’ it from the rich, our natural enemies, who use cheap and offensive tactics against us.”

In spite of an occasional shooting, Chu is popular with his troops and has been able to recruit from one to two million guerillas, both men and women. One of the latter, a pistol-packing Amazon named K’ang K’eching, revived his temporarily restrained love life. Dressed as a man, this big-boned siren with platter-sized hands and feet, approached him one day and told him she and her companions had captured a machine gun. Would he teach her how to use it? He would, indeed, for he was delighted with this husky bit of pulchritude. He continued to teach her many other guerilla tricks, and from these lessons romance flowered. The next year she became Mrs. Chu Teh, and the newlyweds set up housekeeping in a cave in Yenan.

Sometimes, on weekends, Chu would leave his cave-office and the headaches that beset him there. Sniffing the fresh air as though it held an alien fragrance, and baring his buck teeth in a flash grin, he would ask in Chinese: “What’s cooking?” This was not idle slang with him. When soldiers in the Red Army have been rewarded for some deed, they often use the small change they receive to buy a goose which they roast and share with their comrades. A standing joke among them was that since General Chu could not be rewarded—there being no immediate superior to bestow such favor—he could always smell a goose and thereby get himself invited to a meal. Among the soldiers he was nicknamed “The Cook,” and not alone for his interest in the kitchen. Once, disguised as a cook, he was cornered behind Chiang Kai-shek’s lines. With revolvers poked into his ribs, he yelled: “Don’t shoot! I can cook for you!” The hungry soldiers, touched to their taste buds, hesitated for a closer inspection. When he was recognized and the cry “kill him!” went up, Chu whipped out a concealed pistol, shot the crier, overcame a guard and fled.

Always able to compensate by his keen wits for lack of material, he is one of the most talented products of Moscow’s training. He has taught his troops to use the old steppe dweller method of getting much needed equipment from the enemy. In addition, he has successfully augmented his supplies with material obtained from the Japanese and the Russians. In spite of Chu’s long association with Marx and Moscow, he probably has the interests of China at heart to such an extent that the Moscow yoke could cause him to revolt. Chu can be likened in the Chinese Communist Hierarchy, to Budnenie in the Russian Soviet Army and left in political isolation after his usefulness is over. Not a political figure, but entirely military, Chu will never compete with Mao.

The third most important man in Communist China, who was the Number Two during the war with Japan, is Chou En-lai. His name is pronounced “Joe-n-lie.” Like “Mousy-dung,” the name has given rise to considerable amusement. Chou himself, unlike Mao, never failed to be highly entertained when Ambassador Hurley saluted him with the familiar “Hi, Joe!”

The Party’s most polished envoy, Chou is practically the only one capable of meeting foreign dignitaries with ease. He is wily, clever at negotiation and, like the Property Man of Chinese drama, set the stage for the spectacular performance before a world audience of the talks with General Marshall in 1945. As “Chief Front Man” and one of the directors of foreign propaganda, Chou did such a consummate job that Ambassador J. Leighton Stuart told friends, “He presents his case better than anyone I have ever encountered, clearly, forcefully, urbanely.” Chou was urbane, certainly, for at a large cocktail party he charmed the peace negotiators of all three parties, including Stuart and Marshall. The tired “diplomats” sought respite in small chow and small talk, and for an hour Chou showed himself the polite, intelligent, agreeable mixer that he is. Stuart, a scholar and an intellectual, told me in Nanking: “Whenever I cannot get a point across to Chou, I talk the matter over with some of my students at Yenching University. They discuss it with Chou and a solution is arrived at immediately.”

It is no secret that the young intelligentsia of the Chinese Communist Party were reared and fostered under Stuart’s faithful hand, as President of Yenching University, near Peking. He gave his best and his all to represent the United States, yet he was an old and tired man, and his ideologies and hopes for the Chinese people were wrapped up in a belief that the salvation of their country lay in Socialism. The only group capable of carrying out these ideals was the Chinese Communist Party, which, like its dictator, was ready to prostitute Socialism and replace it with its own brand of dictatorship.

Following the cheerful little get-togethers, the negotiators would return to their arguments, hammer and sickle, and Chou’s charm was abruptly turned off. On one or two occasions, however, this charm caused the Hierarchy embarrassment. For instance, he was recalled to the “Ivory Tower” in Yenan once because Mao felt that he had gone too far in his talks with Marshall; that he had appeared to be making too many concessions, even though he told a comrade he had not the slightest intention of ever living up to any of them. Moreover, he seemed to be getting too friendly with Marshall. Chou spent many unhappy hours in the Chinese Communist dog house in consequence.

After he confessed, with mock solemnity, to the error of his ways and promised “Papa Mao” to be a “good boy,” Chou was sent back to Nanking to continue the negotiations. (Mao had to send him back anyway, because he was the only man in the Chinese Communist Party at the time who could do the job). To prove that he was now “reformed,” Chou let out a series of blasts against the United States Government that were more violent and vitriolic than any that had yet come from Communist Headquarters. Among other things, he accused President Truman of fomenting the civil war and of trying to turn China into an American Colony.

As an individual, Chou En-lai appears to many by far the most personable of all the Chinese Communist leaders. Of medium height, he is well built and well groomed. At press interviews he has a nervous habit of removing and replacing his black-rimmed glasses as he talks. His broad, handsome face is distinguished by thick eyebrows and clear cut features. He speaks English in a well-modulated, yet vibrant and dramatic voice, undoubtedly cultivated while acting in amateur theatricals in college in Tientsin. There he frequently took the feminine lead, because of his facial beauty and willowy figure, and it was there that he first learned to speak English.

I had several conversations with Chou En-lai in Nanking, always speaking through an interpreter. Once, after several hours of laborious questions and answers, I said: “Will you ask the General if he came through Moscow on his return to China from Europe?” At this, Chou threw back his head and laughed heartily. “Heck no,” he said in plain American, “I couldn’t speak any Russian then!” I should have realized that nearly all Chinese pretend they understand no English, hoping they may catch you off guard.

Chou’s grandfather was a high official in the Manchu Dynasty, his father a school teacher, and his mother an unusually well-read woman. Reared as an intellectual, if not moneyed, aristocrat, he early rebelled against the corruption of Chinese politicians. He went to France in 1920, and in Paris two years later founded the Chinese Youth Group, a branch of the Chinese Communist Party. Returning to China, he became a secret organizer of workers in Shanghai and Nanking, successfully engineering two revolts. Because of his ruthlessness he was called “Executioner,” a title that certainly belies his suave appearance.

The Nationalists always considered Chou one of their cleverest foes, and they are said to have offered $80,000 for him once, dead or alive. During the war he never actually soldiered, although he “assumed” the title of “General.” He did help to organize and served for a time with the Chinese Red Army in several minor operations in the capacity of Chief Political Commissar. With a magnificent flair for political education and propaganda, he won his present outstanding position as a member of the Politburo, which rules the Red-blighted areas wherever they may be. He learned much from Michael Borodin, Russian-born Communist, and also from Chiang Kai-shek’s one-time Russian advisor, Gallen, who later, as General Bleucher, commanded the Russian Far Eastern Army.

Chou is not afraid of work. Toiling late at night, he writes articles for the press and prepares lengthy speeches for the radio. He has been able to convert many U. S. State Department officials to the view that in helping Chiang, we were backing the wrong horse and should, instead, have put our money on the Red. From Earl Browder, to whom he wrote in 1937, we learn this: “Comrade, do you still remember the Chinese comrades who worked with you in China ten years ago?”—in 1927!

Chou is a true turncoat and has served, back and forth, both the Nationalists and the Communist Governments. One job he held during the war was liaison officer between the Nationalists and Communists in their so-called drive against the Japanese. This was a smoke screen, for when Chiang ordered Communist troops to fight the Japanese north of the Yangtse River, Chou violently objected. He knew that he and the Communists would either starve or be annihilated by the Japanese. Thereafter, the Communists pulled their anti-Japanese punches, or did not punch at all.

As “Property Man” for the great drama being staged by the Communists, Chou always listens to the prompting voice from the wings, the voice of his wife. Her’s is a strong, clear voice, the one that converted him to Communism, and the one that reminds him constantly of his duties. He met her during one of the lowest ebbs of his erratic life, in jail. Mrs. Chou is one of the hardest working and most enthusiastic and important members of the Party. Not especially pretty, she is attractive in a quiet way. In spite of illness (she is said to have tuberculosis), she remains politically active and influential. Like her husband, she once held a post in Chiang’s Government, as Finance Chairman of his New Life Movement.

More favored by Moscow than either Mao, Chu or Chou, is Li Li San, whose name is pronounced “Lee Lee Sahn.” Long ago, he and Mao quarrelled bitterly, and Li Li San fled to Russia, there to become close to the heart of the Comintern. Fifteen years later, this lean and hungry-looking agitator returned as Moscow’s appointee to the head political role in Manchuria. A rumored cause of the rift with Mao was that Li Li was caught heading an anti-Mao secret society, with Russian connivance. The angle of their Communism differs. Mao, a peasant, supports the farmers, while Li Li San, with his Moscow training, favors the city workers.

Probably few men in history have been reported dying or dead over a long period of their lives more often than has Li Li San. Nicknamed the “Tito of Red China,” when Tito was still dominated by Moscow, his career followed closely that of his namesake. After quarreling with Mao, he vanished and was presumed dead by his friends. Some years later he reappeared, with full Russian support, as a power to be reckoned with in the Far Eastern picture.

While in Moscow, Li Li had married a Russian woman and, in the Far Eastern University had trained Communist agents and sent them back to their homelands as agitators. He maintained a close liaison with the Kremlin. As Russia’s war with Japan was nearing an end, Stalin, ignoring Li Li’s petty dispute with Mao, sent him, with Marshal Malinovsky’s Russian Army of Mongols, into Manchuria six days before the Japanese surrendered. His job was to take over this “Prize of Asia,” rich in everything the Russians or anybody else needed and which no contester for world power could do without.

Another important military personality in the Communist picture is Lin Piao, pronounced “Lin Bow.” A great guerilla fighter and a natural leader of men, he is a tactical genius who served on Chiang Kai-shek’s staff and rose to become President of the Military Academy. A little later he left the Nationalists and threw in his lot with the Red Army. At twenty-eight he was given command of the First Red Army Corps, a unit that is said never to have been defeated. Lin Piao was to the Chinese Communist Army what Zukov was to the Russian Army, Chief of Staff and a military wizard.

Today, Lin, in his forties, has never gotten over his youthful tendency to blush. His agreeable face has slanting eyes that trail off into little mice tail wrinkles. He is a sloppy dresser and is over-casual in appearance. He has a good singing voice and he and Mao, who also fancies himself a singer, often join in duets. After a hearty meal when all are feeling warm and rosy from the choicest wine of the Communist vineyards, Lin likes to tune up his vocal chords and suggest that they sing Mao’s special song, “The Hot Red Pepper.”

This is the story of the Red Pepper who sneers at all the lazy vegetables for living such a spineless existence, especially the fat and contented cabbage. Finally, the Red Pepper, by means of his exceptional personality and cunning ways, incites them all to revolution.

The theory, Mao says, is that pepper is loved by all revolutionaries from Spain and Mexico to Russia. Lin, like many of the Communist leaders, has never been out of China, but because of his excellent articles in military magazines his name is familiar in both Japan and Russia.

The Hierarchy of the Chinese Communist Party has attached to it a liaison officer originally from the Third Internationale, a Syrian-American named Dr. Hatem. His Chinese name is Ma Hia-teh, pronounced “Ma-High-Da,” and he is always referred to by the Chinese as “Dr. Ma.” Fiftyish and fat, he is typically American in appearance, resembling more than anything else a successful businessman. Born in Buffalo, New York, he was educated in North Carolina and in Switzerland where he is said to have received a degree in medicine. He has been with the Communists now for about twelve years. So completely submerged is he in Communist ideologies, he insists he has forgotten his American name.

Proud of having an ardent foreign convert, the Communists still do not trust Dr. Hatem politically, although they use him wherever they need information from Americans. Because of his ingratiating manner, he is a natural to make lonely Americans open up their hearts to an old friend from home. He enjoys strutting about among his Chinese and foreign friends and bragging about his connections. His chief value to the Communists, however, is his ability to evaluate American newscasts. In the summer of 1946, he was seen almost daily at the fashionable Peking Hotel, immaculately groomed and wearing well-tailored clothes. There he spent hours eating and drinking with the foreign diplomats and correspondents.

Married to a Chinese movie actress—they all lean in that direction—he has a son about three or four years old. Mrs. Ma is a graduate of the Lu Hsun Art Academy, formerly the Catholic Church in Yenan, and is accustomed to wearing silk and using cosmetics. She finds it quite a bore to obey the Communist dictates of “cotton clothes and no make-up,” and on several occasions she has been called down for making a “spectacle” of herself. Being a Russian-language student and much younger than her husband, she was constantly in the company of a young Russian doctor who was part of the Soviet liaison group in Yenan.

Dr. Ma is a most enthusiastic Communist worker, who has remarked many times that he would gladly “kill for the Cause.” He has been known to add with emphasis, “And I would just as soon kill Americans as anyone else!” He is said, despite his loose tongue, to stand well with Moscow because he is such a willing tool.

No panorama of Communist personalities can be complete without the name of Madame Sun Yat-sen, famous in Chinese history as the wife of the founder of the Revolution that overthrew the Manchu Dynasty. Madame Sun, sister of the celebrated Madame Chiang Kai-shek, and the slightly less illustrious Madame H. H. Kung, is known widely as “one of the famous Soong Sisters.” The middle one of the three—Eiling, Chingling and Meiling—Chingling is listed on the new governmental roster as Soong Chingling, perhaps to cause less embarrassment to her family. She is in charge of the so-called “independent liberals” in the Party.

Under her maiden name, this clever conniver has had a somewhat stormy career. Claiming that she shuns publicity, she has, nevertheless, managed to stay in the limelight a large part of her life. The daughter of Charlie Soong, a wealthy merchant who had been reared by a missionary and educated in America, she was one of six children and is said to have been her mother’s favorite. Chingling has been called a pretty child and a not-so-pretty child, so that one might infer that her beauty lies rather in her personality than in her face. As a young girl, she was on the “dreamy” side, rather shy but highly emotional. When she is deeply aroused over a person or a cause, she becomes enthusiastic to the point of fanaticism, a quality that has proved alarming and distressing to the other members of her family.

Educated in the United States, she adopted the American name of “Rosamond,” by which her classmates at Wesleyan College, in Macon, Georgia, called her affectionately. Her teachers said that she was “very studious, had high ideals and was extremely interested in moral and philosophical ideas.” No timid flower, she showed a fiery temper when provoked. Very proud of her country and interested in its affairs, she often said that she considered the Revolution of 1911 the “Greatest event of the Twentieth Century.”

“Rosamond’s” English was excellent, and she wrote numerous articles for the college paper, one of which read: “When China moves, she will move the world. The Revolution has established China in Liberty and Equality, those two inalienable rights of the individual....” A copy of this was sent to her father, who was so pleased with his daughter that he forwarded to her one of the new five barred flags of the Republic of China. On receiving it, Chingling shouted with joy, climbed up and pulled down the dragon banner from the wall of her bedroom, and stomped on it crying, “Down with the dragon! Up with the flag of the Republic!”

While still in college, Chingling began a hero worship of Dr. Sun. When she returned to China, she shocked everyone by announcing her determination to marry him—this, although he was married to a woman his own age who had borne him three sons, of whom Dr. Sun Fo undoubtedly is the best known. Subsequently she became his secretary and, with skill and determination, aided by her youth and beauty, she finally overcame all obstacles and, in 1915, became the second Madame Sun Yet-sen. Basking in all the excitement and publicity she so “abhorred,” she wrote to a classmate back at Wesleyan, “Being married to Dr. Sun is just like going to school all over again, only there are no examinations to take!”

The marriage lasted until Dr. Sun’s death, in 1925. They had the usual ups and downs, but she reported to her friends from time to time that “it never lacks excitement.” The Revolution inspired by her husband, Communistic in its original structure, shifted back and forth from reactionary to conservative to reactionary.

On the death of Dr. Sun, the reins of the revolution were put into the hands of Madame Sun’s brother-in-law, Chiang Kai-shek. Never in harmony, politically or emotionally, Chiang and Mme. Sun had had many violent disagreements. Finally, in 1927, two years after her husband’s death, she confirmed her leftist sympathy by going to Moscow. There she remained for three years, studying Communist doctrines in the World Anti-Imperialist League. In self-justification, she claimed that the Nationalist Government had distorted the meaning of her husband’s original ideas, that they had always been similar to those of the Russian Revolution.

Again, in 1930, Mme. Sun, the former Soong Chingling, burst into print in an angry tirade against the Generalissimo. On January 22nd of that year, she sent a cable to the Anti-Imperialist League in Berlin, saying: “Reactionary forces in the Nationalist Government are combining with the Imperialists in brutal repression against the Chinese masses. They have degenerated into Imperialist tools and attempted to provoke war with Russia.”

Feeling ever closer to the Communists and farther, ideologically, from the rest of her family, she chose the anniversary of the eightieth birthday of her predecessor, the first Madame Sun, to take her stand, in 1946, in favor of the Chinese Communists and the Soviets. Her stinging speech was headlined in every Chinese newspaper and many abroad. There could be no doubt now that she was a full-fledged militant Communist, willing to use the powers of her brilliant mind and persuasive personality to the utmost.

Today, nearing sixty, she is third Vice-Chairman of the Communist Party, and her influence is, perhaps, the strongest and most forceful of any women member, so global are her contacts. Soon after her “elevation” to the third Vice-Chairman of the Chinese Communist Party early in 1950, she said: “China will continue to follow the policy of leaning to one side, to the side led by the great Soviet Union under the leadership of the mighty Stalin: the side of peace and construction.”

A current rumor, despite denials, is to the effect that Mme. Sun may be having another change of ideas and ideals and is, therefore, not in the good graces of General Mao who, like his mentors, Stalin and Genghis Khan, hates a turncoat.

In appearance, Madame Sun is not unattractive. She dresses simply, preferring plain silks without the elaborate trimmings so dearly loved by her sisters. She wears her neat, black hair parted in the center and drawn back smoothly from her face to form a large, soft “bun” at the nape of her neck. She speaks in a quiet voice and says exactly what she thinks.

At the Shanghai Opera one evening in 1946, Madame Wei Tao-ming, wife of the then Chinese Ambassador to the United States, was seated just behind her. Madame Sun, who was flanked on either side by well-known Chinese and American Communists, turned around at each intermission to chat with Madame Wei, who had been one of the youngest and most devout revolutionaries. I learned the subject of the conversations that evening when we returned to Madame Wei’s temporary home in the Avenue Lafayette. Livid with rage, Madame Wei said to me:

“Do you know what she kept saying to me, over and over again?”

Naturally I could not have known and said as much. Madame Wei continued:

“She berated me bitterly for not being nicer to the Communists! Me, of all people, who was one of the first and hardest working fighters in her husband’s own revolution! She said, ‘You’re going to regret it one day, if you do not change your attitude. They are in the driver’s seat, and they are going to stay there’!”

I had never seen Madame Wei so beside herself with anger. This was just four years before it was generally acknowledged that the Communists were in full authority, and the period of tenure is a matter of conjecture. Madame Sun, apparently, had seen the handwriting on the wall and had interpreted it correctly.

While there are many other Communist personalities aside from those discussed in the foregoing pages, to mention them all would do no service to this story. Those included are the ones whose names appear most frequently in the press and on the radio. To know them and their ways is to know the spirit and the methods of the unholy movement to which they subscribe.

Chapter IV

Communism’s Forebears

Who are these people who have conquered most of Europe and Asia and openly flaunt their determination to conquer the world? Where did they come from? How have they been able to enslave approximately nine hundred million people? Do they really have the secrets of the A and H bombs? Will they use them to fulfill their diabolical schemes? And when?

The answers to these questions are vital to all people—to every American, man, woman and child. Not even in the days of Genghis Khan was there such a tremendous upheaval over so vast an area of the earth’s surface, as the one we are witnessing, as we pass the half-way mark of the Twentieth Century.

Long before Moses was found in the bullrushes, the people who lived in the Northern steppe lands sucked hardship from their mothers’ breasts and grew into sturdy savages, mortally feared by their neighbors. They were Asiatics, that is, they belonged to the Yellow Race, the best known tribes of which are the Huns, the Mongols and the Tartars. Today, “Mongol” is the common name given to people comprising nearly all of Central Asia. Destiny gave a strange role to these fearless nomads. Blood-thirsty and aggressive, time and again they burst the seams of their homelands and overran most of Europe and Asia. Each time they rose to world conquest, the pattern followed was the same. Guided by the genius of a merciless and brilliant individual, the dominant tribe or clan ran the full gamut from tribal communism, necessary in the early days for self-preservation and mutual benefit, to communistic imperialism. As the tribes grew larger and more powerful, and the value of the spoils increased enormously, several leaders struggled for complete control. This struggle ended in a period of despotic dictatorship, when one man gained supreme power and wielded it ruthlessly. The period of oppression lasted, at various times in the past, anywhere from a few years to a few hundred years, depending upon the foresight and strategy of the rulers. Invariably, the dictatorship disintegrated, and the empires fell into dissolution and decline, followed by desolation and chaos. The method by which each nomad chieftain rose to power was strikingly similar. He would consistently strengthen his armies and trap his victims by guile, trickery, infiltration, and every known deceit.

Succession to the leadership of the clan, tribe or nation was not necessarily hereditary. It could pass from father to son or outside the family, just as in the Soviet Hierarchy today succession passes from Party member to Party member. Then, as now, it was the strongest physically, and the cunningest mentally, who always assumed leadership.

These primitive conquerors had several great advantages over their more civilized neighbors. One was their extraordinary physical stamina. The weeding out of the weak began practically at birth. Children, weaned from mother’s milk, were fed on mare’s milk for a few years and then were left to care for themselves as best they could.

As clans gathered around the open fires, where all the food was cooked in huge pots, the strongest men ate first; the aged and women next; and the children were left to fight over the bones and scraps. Food was abundant in the spring when mutton, game and fish were available. In the early winter the hordes lived largely on millet, and fermented mare’s milk. The latter had a high alcoholic content and was quite “heady” for the younger children. By the end of the winter, the clansmen were reduced to foraging and making raids on the herds of other tribes. The old and weak were left to perish. Only the hardiest survived.

Another great advantage of the militant nomads over their victims was their ability to ride the horse. Everywhere else in the ancient world, this animal was used only to draw the heavy war chariots. The Mongols, fearing nothing, mastered the horse and became expert cavalrymen. The resulting mobility was a tremendous asset in warfare. Without the horse, the Mongols would never have been able to conquer such vast territories. Learning to ride as children of three or four, they were superb horsemen in their early manhood and hunted with consummate skill. When they appeared upon the horizon in a cloud of dust and with a clatter of hooves, it was only a matter of minutes before each dropped down like an eagle upon his prey.

Of even more strategic importance was their conception of the fifth column. Poor always, in comparison with their neighbors, whose lands and goods they coveted, they—like their Russian descendants—developed a technique of boring from within. Ahead of them were sent humble-looking barterers or beggars, who easily bribed and cajoled their way inside the walls of a city. At the critical moment, the unfortunate citizens would find their gates open and hordes of wild tribesmen bursting in upon them with bloodcurdling yells.

Whether at home or in the field, these nomads lived in yurts, or domelike tents, made of felt and mounted on wooden carts, drawn by oxen. They spent most of their days on horseback, hunting, fishing and constantly fighting among themselves and with neighboring clans. Often they remained in the saddle for days, eating little or no food.

Between each major conquest, there were long periods when fighting was confined to the steppe lands. It was only when an outstanding genius appeared that they attempted the invasion of the more civilized countries—Europe, China or the Near East—which, throughout the ages, were constantly on the defensive against them.

One of the first of these tribes that grew to world power was led by Attila the Hun, in the Fifth Century. Slashing and murdering his way through Europe, he terrorized the entire continent and captured the greatest city of antiquity, Rome. Earlier, when Rome fell to the Goths, the citizens though that surely the end of the world had come. It was not until the Huns attacked, however, that they felt the full fury of Asiatic destruction and torture.

Attila was a typical Mongol of his day. Shaggy-headed, dirty and disheveled, his gorilla-like appearance evoked as much terror as if he had been a wild animal. With as little regard for human suffering as for the priceless treasures of Rome, he was lustful only for power, wine and women. He is said to have kept a huge harem, and, like his followers, to have left countless children by captured slaves all over Europe and Asia. Because of his merciless brutality, plundering and rape, he was called by his victims, “The Scourge of God.”

In 451 A. D., Attila was finally defeated, and while celebrating the addition of a new beauty to his harem, he died. He had taken from the world, by force, everything he wanted, because he knew no other way to get it. His vast and powerful empire collapsed like a house of cards and fell into utter ruin.

Approximately seven hundred years later came the most brilliant, the most destructive, and the most incredible of all the forerunners of Communism, Genghis Khan. He conquered not only the major part of Europe and almost all of Northern Asia, but also established powerful dynasties in Persia and China.

Born in 1162 A. D., Genghis Khan, at thirteen, succeeded his father as Chief of the Yakka Mongols. A robust lad, he was tall and broad-shouldered. His eyes set far apart, unlike those of the Mongols, did not slant and were a curious shade of green. He had high cheekbones and a sloping forehead beneath abundant red hair, which he wore in long braids down his back. His was a striking personality. He was as different from the other members of his horde in appearance as he was in mentality.

In his early years, Genghis wore the simple clothing of his tribesmen, consisting of skins sewn together with sinews. Frequently he greased his body to keep out the cold and moisture when it was necessary to sleep in the snow. He ate raw meat, and drank mare’s milk and sometimes blood which he let from the veins of his horses’ legs. Mentally the equal of any Caucasian, he undoubtedly had European blood in his veins. Perhaps that of a Princess, who knows?

Although this despot had an ungovernable temper and a wrath that could terrorize the strongest, he also had the capacity to make firm and lasting friends and loyal followers. He spoke thoughtfully and deliberately and is said to have remarked many times, “Monasteries and Temples breed mildness of character, but it is only the fierce and warlike who dominate mankind.” His eloquence could spellbind the masses.

He was an expert with the bow and arrow. His physical strength made him the leader of the wrestlers. He had been known to pick up an opponent, hold him high above his head, then break his back as though it were a bamboo reed! He enjoyed wrestling matches only when they rivaled the Roman gladiators, when the bones of the weaker adversaries were broken and crushed. He despised weakness of any kind, for he himself was a match for any man, and he had never been bested at any sport. Born of a race unwashed and illiterate, he raised his tribe of unknown barbarians to a position of world renown. Believing firmly that the Mongols were the natural masters of the world, he also was convinced that he had been chosen by Destiny to lead and control them. Thus impelled, this amazing barbarian, starting with only a tribe of wild nomads, finally conquered everything from Armenia to Korea, and from Tibet to the Volga River.

After Genghis Khan had subdued all of China, he settled down and developed into a typical oriental potentate. He lived in splendor on the present site of Peking, a far cry from his earlier primitive tent on the Gobi desert. Just so, in 1949, Mao Tse-tung sprang from the mud caves of Yenan to the palaces of Peking as China’s Number One dictator. Here, in this ancient city, Genghis, as Emperor, surrounded himself with courtiers and officials, as well as with wives, concubines and slaves.

He held high court and worked on affairs of state in a high pavilion of white felt, lined with treasured silk. Here also he entertained his friends and kept a silver table on which sat vessels of fermented mare’s milk and bowls of meat and fruit for their pleasure. Dressed in a lavishly embroidered robe and wearing a long and flaming beard, he sat at state functions on a dais at the far end of the pavilion. With him on a low bench sat Bourtai, his favorite wife. She was the real love of his life, and he claimed only the children born by her as his own. The Empress was small and dainty, with beautiful features and long hair braided with jewels and heavy coins. She was the mother of three sons who were destined to rule at a later period a domain larger than Rome’s. Other wives and concubines grouped themselves at his left, on lower platforms. His nobles sat on benches around the walls of the building, wearing long coats, bound around with enormous bright-colored silken girdles, and large, uptilted felt hats. In the center of the pavilion glowed a great fire made of thorns and dung. There was utter silence when Genghis spoke. His word was absolute law. It is said, “Any who disobeyed his word was like a stone dropped into deep water, or as an arrow among the reeds.”

Genghis Khan was almost as superstitious as he was brilliant. Believing that the character of every animal was in its heart, he hunted lions and tigers with great zest, preferring to capture them alive. He tore them open with his bare hands, pulled out the heart, and ate it while it was still throbbing. Convinced that this gave him the courage of a savage beast, he compelled his men to follow his example.

A military genius, he is known as the greatest guerilla fighter in history, but his real life work was the molding together of his vast hordes into a disciplined, well equipped, highly trained, and completely organized army. He used the forced labor of subjugated people—a significant parallel to the present day methods of Stalin, who, in order to increase the efficiency of his armies, drafted into them German scientists, artisans and technicians, as well as thousands of humbler laborers.

Genghis acquired, ultimately, over four hundred thousand warriors, countless elephant and camel trains loaded with the wealth of Croesus, and multitudes of armed slaves. “Unmatched in human valor,” it is said, “his hordes overcame the terrors of barren wastes, of mountains and seas, the severities of climate and the ravages of famine and pestilence. No dangers could appall them, no prayer for mercy could move them.”

Genghis Khan was the symbol of a new power in history. The ability of one man to alter human civilization began with him and ended with his grandson Kublai Khan, when the Mongol empires began to crack. It did not reappear again until the rise of Stalin to power.

The vast empires that Genghis established, with their accompanying devastation, was not all that he achieved. Had this been so, he would have been merely another Attila destroying with little or no definite purpose. His genius for organization and his clever statesmanship made him the model of kings, although he could not read or write when he drew up the incomparable “Yassa,” or code of conduct. This curious document, not unlike the dictates of Stalin, had three main purposes: to ensure absolute obedience to Genghis Khan; to bind together all the nomad clans for the purpose of making war; and to punish swiftly and mercilessly, anyone who violated the law, civil, military or political. With the “Yassa,” he and his heirs ruled their empires for three generations. The lash of its ruthless authority held it together.

Genghis died in 1227 A. D., leaving the greatest empires and the most destructive armies the world had ever known to that day. Not until the advent of the Tartars, a few centuries later, did another Asiatic tribe rise to world power. Led by fearless Tamerlane, they also laid waste everything in their path, in the savage manner of their predecessors. Once again the pattern was repeated. It is characteristic of the empires built by the steppe nomads that they were not the result of gradual development and expansion, but the product of a rapid growth under the leadership of a single powerful man. These men all seem to have had an evil genius for political intrigue, for exacting fanatical loyalty among their followers, and for devising ways to conquer many times their own numbers.

The aim of each of these Asiatic conquerors was to control the vast area of the world from the Pacific Ocean to Central Europe. They planned the overthrow, by force and violence, if need be, of all other governments and peoples in their path. Czarist Russia, in 1905, achieved the geographical empires of Genghis Khan, actually peopled by descendants of the same racial elements. Had they not been defeated subsequently by the Japanese, the Czars and their successors probably would have controlled all of China. In this new grouping of mankind, however, it was the half-Tartar Russians and not the Mongols, who were the dominant military factor. Today, the ruling power comes from Moscow, and not from the Mongolian East, except for the infusion of Chinese blood that has resulted from seven hundred years of constant conflict with the Celestial Empire.

With the discovery of America and her tremendous natural resources, the lust for world dominion has increased. Today, Stalin has ambitions for global mastery. His first tools of conquest are the Communists in every country. In February, 1947, as the Communist Convention in London, delegates from thirty-two countries met to reaffirm their pledges to support the Communist Party. These Communists are not members of a political party in the American sense; they are sinister and potentially powerful weapons of the Soviet Government.

Everywhere today, the “New Democracy,” or early Communism, has followed the pattern of the rise of each Asiatic despot. It repeated itself in Moscow in the early Twenties at the death of Lenin, when Stalin and Trotsky struggled for power. China, today, is passing from the first stage, the period of self-denial, of sharing the wealth, of submitting to rigid discipline and purification for “The Cause”—the Sackcloth and Ashes stage. The Chinese Communists are beginning to experience the progressive steps of disillusionment, apprehension and abject terror, as was the lot of millions of Russian peasants during the infamous Thirties.

The great and overpowering tragedy of Communism is that at no stage or time has it ever been the shining Utopia that hypnotizes the credulous common man and woman and some of the dreamers in high places in our own government. It would appear that neither Marx nor Engels understood human psychology or analyzed intelligently the lessons of history, for Socialism, in suppressing individual initiative, inevitably leads to I-Don’t-Care-ism. An economy based on share-and-share-alike, without regard to individual effort, failed in Russia because it put a premium on mediocrity and deprived man of the fruits of his own labor. It had to be replaced with “Stakhanovitism,” or piece work, which the American labor unions have fought constantly in their march toward Socialism. The Russians found that the only way to make men exert themselves without the incentive of reward was through fear of punishment. Thus Socialism has to be enforced by police methods to be at all effective. What is this but dictatorship? Socialism, Communism, Stateism—these can no more be separated from each other than can the component parts of homogenized milk.

Communist leaders, motivated by the promise of power, insist that world revolution is inevitable. The Chinese Communists, for many years, repeated an ancient legend. They said: “The Mongols still are waiting in their felt tents, for the issue to be decided. They are gathering around their yurt fires and chanting together: ‘When that which is harder than rock and stronger than the storm winds shall fail, the Empires of the North Court and the Empires of the South Court shall cease to be; when the White Tsar is no more, and the Son of Heaven has vanished, then the campfires of Genghis Khan will be seen again, and his empire shall stretch over all the earth’.” That prophesy is being fulfilled.

Chapter V

Communist Propaganda

Propaganda, thanks to a better understanding of mass psychology, has become in the past few years almost an exact science as well as an art In the hands of the Communists it is a powerful weapon, so subtle that, as in shadow boxing, one cannot judge the exact position of the enemy. With wily cleverness, it has perverted the meanings of cherished words, so that great national masses of people are no longer aware of their rightful connotations.

We, in the United States, for instance, think of Democracy as the dictionary defines it: “Government in which the supreme power is retained by the people.” The Communists have distorted this by adopting the term “New Democracy,” to represent a Communist controlled state, that is, a dictatorship.

Freedom, a beautiful word, has also been distorted. In a Western democracy, it means “liberation from slavery,” that is, the opportunity to work, live and play where, when and how one chooses, in open competition. In a Communist State, none of these things is possible. There can be no freedom where full regimentation is required. The Soviet’s claim of freeing the peasants from onerous landlords and the workers from grasping capitalists is only a blind. Any poor Chinese on the street soon sadly learns that these are being replaced by more oppressive masters, the Soviet Commissars.

Security is another wonderful word, and the Communists have been quick to realize its universal appeal. However, they use it in a purely economic sense, deliberately ignoring any but material values. Their type of security can be promised only at the price of personal freedom. It is already in operation in all penitentiaries, where the life-term convict is fed, clothed, cared for when ill, sheltered, entertained and protected from the harsh conditions of economic competition. He need not worry about any of these things. Yet it is a generally accepted fact that he would gladly and immediately trade all of the benefits he receives from his prison incarceration for the one little matter of Freedom.

The Chinese Commissar, in the footsteps of his Russian counterpart, reads to his military unit the daily propaganda bulletin.

Communist Propaganda Poster captions: Happy Are Those Who Work for the People!

Draw Water Against the Drought! Another propaganda poster.

Non-Communists looking at bulletin reporting expected visit of General Marshall to Yenan. Bulletin is put out by Communist Cultural Committee for Mass Education.