Peking Opera

From time to time, the secrecy that shrouds Red China is parted by events, and between the curtains the world suddenly gets a glimpse of what Peking's potentates are about. Last week was one of those times.

The scenario seemed to have been conjured up by an author of Chinese opera. First came the clanging overture: China's third atomic explosion in 18 months. Next came the dramatic appearance of the star: Chairman Mao Tse-tung turned up in public view for the first time since last November. Finally, there was the tragic-heroic ending: Peking claimed that five American "gangster" jets had shot down a Chinese "training" aircraft well inside the Chinese border, and vowed that "the debt in blood must be cleared." All very melodramatic, but, as with the best of Chinese opera, it was all just a bit hard to believe.

The bomb was not H. Seismographs monitoring the Chinese test site in Sinkiang province indicated a wallop of only 130 kilotons. The Atomic Energy Commission found traces of lithium 6, a thermonuclear material right enough, but the major element in the explosion was enriched uranium--the same as in Peking's two earlier tests. China's first H-bomb will probably be a triple-stage fission-fusion-fission monster of the same "dirty" quality as the giant Khrushchevian 40-megaton bombs that were exploded prior to the 1963 test ban. Those bombs are too big to be delivered by missile warheads.

Puffed Mao. Mao's reappearance also had some spurious elements to it. Out of sight for six months, and reportedly ailing from either a stroke or a severe heart attack, the Chinese ruler suddenly turned up in blurred, front-page newspaper photos chatting amiably with visiting Albanian Premier Mehmet Shehu. Despite his hearty grin, Mao seemed unnaturally bloated.

There was plenty of Maoist presence in the continuing purge of "pragmatic" intellectuals and administrators that began two weeks ago with the downfall of Poet-Scientist Kuo Mojo (TIME, May 13). Latest victim of the "rectification campaign" aimed at restoring rigid Mao-think is Teng To, a sometime litterateur and secretary of the Peking municipal party organization. Also missing from public view and mention: Peking Mayor Peng Chen, 67, an upper-echelon Politburo member who was long regarded as a contender for Mao's chair when he dies. Peng's top adversary is Defense Minister Lin Piao, 57, who reappeared from a long absence along with Mao last week, and whose army newspaper, Chiehfang Chun Pao, has been leading the criticism of the pragmatists. Lin is a clear contender for the throne.

Talking Tough. To China-watchers, it all signaled a momentary victory for the hard-line Maoists over the adherents of a more subtle, less warlike foreign policy. That view was partially corroborated by the Chinese claim of a border dogfight in which one Red Chinese jet was shot down. Peking charged that the plane was engaged in a routine training flight inside Red China when five American "pirates" jumped it with air-to-air missiles and sent it crashing into Yunnan province. U.S. jets were indeed operating in the border area at the time, and claimed a kill themselves--but well over North Vietnamese territory.

Whatever the arguments, it was clear that China was once again talking tough. "This is an extremely grave incident," said the Peking report of the dogfight, "a deliberate, systematic act of war provocation by the Johnson Administration."

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