China: Signs of Internal Strife

WORKMEN had all but finished festooning the reviewing stand atop the mammoth vermilion-pillared Gate of Heavenly Peace overlooking Peking's Tienanmen Square. The spectators' stand had been built and bamboo scaffolding prepared for the traditional giant portraits of Mao Tse-tung and Lenin. Squadrons of military and civilian marchers were rehearsing for the biggest event on the Chinese political calendar, the National Day parade, scheduled for Oct. 1.

Suddenly, all the activity stopped. Peking's Foreign Ministry last week told resident diplomats--but not the Chinese people--that the parade and customary evening fireworks had been canceled. The ministry offered only the flimsiest of excuses: that the parade had been called off "for reasons of economy" and that the National Day would be observed instead with small celebrations in "people's parks." In fact, the cancellation was the first public sign of an apparent convulsion in the Chinese leadership, which only recently has emerged from two decades of angry isolation from the rest of the world.

Out of Sight. The facts coming out of China were all the more intriguing for their sparseness. Almost the entire Politburo disappeared from public view from Sept. 12 to Sept. 16. A visiting Japanese delegation noticed an unusual amount of activity around the Communist Party headquarters in Peking, where lights were burning late into the night and many black sedans were parked outside. At the same time, the top military leaders dropped out of sight; as of last week, only one had reappeared. Air traffic over the mainland came to a near halt, and Communist Chinese air force interceptors did not even rise, as usual, to shadow Nationalist fighter patrols over the Taiwan Strait. Military units were put on some sort of alert, and there were reports of furloughs being canceled, although soldiers on leave appeared as usual in Peking.

For several days, the Chinese had everyone wondering just what was going on in the Forbidden City. The parade had evidently been canceled because the leadership was unwilling or unable to present itself for inspection, but beyond that no single explanation seemed to answer all the questions raised by Peking's mysterious behavior.

Was Mao dead? He is believed to have an advanced case of Parkinson's disease, and was last seen in public on Aug. 7. But Mao's death had been falsely reported so many times in the past that China watchers were understandably leary of once again speculating about his health. Besides, the Peking Foreign Ministry publicly insisted that the Chairman is "alive and well," and Mao's wife, Chiang Ching, had been seen smiling and apparently unperturbed at a banquet a week after the crisis began.

Was Richard Nixon planning to fly directly to Peking after meeting Japan's Emperor Hirohito in Anchorage (see cover story, page 34)1 Nixon announced that he intended "no change" in his travel plans, and pointedly scheduled a meeting with Soviet Foreign Minister Andrei Gromyko for midweek.

Lin's Fate. A measure of the puzzlement in the diplomatic community was provided by a Soviet diplomat in the U.S. Asked by a reporter about the goings on in China, he countered anxiously: "If you hear anything, you'll let me know, won't you?"

Obviously, something important had occurred in China, probably around Sept. 10. Speculation ranged from the possibility of another border confrontation with the Soviets, dismissed by most observers, to the more likely possibility of disagreement over an impending meeting of the National Peoples' Congress. Nothing could be held wholly impossible. But most China-watching experts focused their attention on the fate of Mao's heir-designate, Defense Minister and Vice Chairman Lin Piao, 65.

Lin is known to suffer from chronic tuberculosis and has not been seen since June. His death or incapacity might be more disruptive than the death of Mao himself. If Mao were to die, his successor, at least, would be preordained. But if the chosen successor himself were to die, there would inevitably be a scramble over who should move into his place.

Besides the fact that Lin is not physically robust, his political health may also be failing. He was closely identified with the excesses of the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution of 1966-69, and since then has been associated with the camp of the "ultraleftists"--die-hards of the Red Guard school. The ultraleftists have been gradually ousted from provincial councils over the past two years by the coalition of the army and government moderates ruling China, and that purge reached a new intensity over the past few weeks.

Curiosity about Lin's status has been mounting since Sept. 11 when the New China News Agency announced, with great fanfare, that it was going to distribute a series of color pictures on the career of Mao. The announcement contained unusual emphasis on the ties between Mao and Lin Piao, eulogizing the Vice Chairman as "the brilliant example for the whole party, the whole army, and the people all over the country." After such a buildup, it was strange indeed that the release of the pictures was delayed for almost ten days.

Premier Chou Enlai, 73, leader of the moderate forces, is believed to have a powerful ally in Army Chief of Staff Huang Yung-sheng, 66, who has closely cooperated with Chou in restoring order during the post-Cultural Revolution "reconstruction." Huang may now aspire to Lin's job of Defense Minister.

Chou Enlai's position last week seemed by all accounts to be secure, if not enhanced. While most of his colleagues remained out of sight, he was highly visible. On Thursday, he greeted Penn Nouth, the Premier of Prince Norodom Sihanouk's Cambodian regime in exile, at Peking airport, and also received a Japanese economic delegation.

Sudden Spasm. If indeed Chou were to emerge stronger than before, China might become even more flexible in its policy toward the U.S., though Peking's basic position on such questions as Taiwan would remain unchanged. Should he lose, however, both Nixon's visit and the warming detente with the U.S. might well be jeopardized, and China could well return to a harshly militant and insular foreign policy. Obviously, the question of who was winning in Peking, still unanswered at week's end, was of global consequence.

All that was certain was that the crisis in China must have arisen urgently and unexpectedly. Peking had been working with skill and vigor for more than a year to demonstrate to the world that the People's Republic of China can be a reliable partner for trade and diplomatic dealings. Last week's spasm--coming just as the United Nations prepared to accept China as a reasonable, responsible and stable member of the international community--could be an embarrassment and an international political liability for the Chinese leadership. It was therefore a measure of the internal crisis that the Peking government permitted it to go on so long without explanation.

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