The Second Comeback for Comrade Teng

In the cutthroat world of Communist politics, there are no second chances--with one exception. Last week Peking's official Hsinhua News Agency announced that the Central Committee of the Communist Party had voted to restore Teng Hsiao-p'ing, 73, to his former posts as Vice Premier, Vice Chairman of the party and Chief of Staff of the Army. At the same time, said the communique, the "Gang of Four" headed by Mao Tse-tung's widow, Chiang Ch'ing, had "once and for all" been expelled from the party and dismissed "from all posts inside and outside the party."

It was a stunning triumph for Teng, a protege of the late Chou Enlai's, who was ousted from leadership positions by Mao in 1966, and again in 1976, when Chiang Ch'ing led the pack that hounded him into ignominy. Teng's return was also a dramatic demonstration of China's erratic course in the past decade--from pragmatism to radical zeal and back again. In modern Communist history, no other politician had ever risen to such heights of power and descended to such depths of disgrace--twice in a lifetime--and survived to rule again.

False Alarms. Teng's comeback--long expected but oft delayed--unfolded in the mysterious, equivocal style that is typical of high-level politics in China. The first signal that his official rehabilitation was forthcoming came early last week when a wall poster suddenly burst into view in the northern sector of Peking. Brushed on a 40-ft. strip of yellow paper, the bold black characters exhorted Chinese to warmly welcome and firmly support Teng's re-appointment to his former posts. During the night, however, the poster vanished, all traces of its message scraped off the wall. Some China watchers surmised that the poster had been an attempt by some of Teng's overzealous supporters to hasten his return to power. After all, they argued, posters that had appeared in Peking and Canton last spring announcing Teng's appointment as Premier had proved to be false alarms. The day after the disappearance of the first poster, however, several similar ones were sighted. Foreign residents heard the sound of cymbals and drums reverberating through the capital, suggesting that demonstrations were being rehearsed in preparation for celebrations of Teng's comeback.

At week's end more than one million celebrators swarmed through the steamy streets to Peking's T'ien An Men Square, where only 15 months ago demonstrators had inveighed against Teng's counterrevolutionary treachery. Rejoicing at Teng's comeback, they waved thousands of flags, pounded cymbals, beat drums, blew on trumpets and set off rockets and fireworks. In Shanghai, a city that last April had featured posters saying HANG THE CULPRIT TENG, 500,000 people turned out to celebrate his escape from the gallows. At the same time, Peking television showed film clips of China's new ruling troika. At Chairman Hua Kuo-feng's right hand sat Teng; at Hua's left was Defense Minister Yeh Chien-ying, 78.

As the Hsinhua communique disclosed, the 160-member Central Committee met secretly in Peking from July 16 to July 21. Its purpose: to consider the rehabilitation of Teng and the final debasement of Chiang Ch'ing and her gang. While the committee was casting its vote, visitors to an exhibition in Peking commemorating Chou En-lai noted that there were 24 photographs of Teng standing beside the man he had hoped to succeed as Premier.

The post-Mao regime of Chairman Hua Kuo-feng had virtually rehabilitated Teng in all but name. Vilification of Teng had gradually turned into praise. Most compelling was the propaganda switch on his three famous 1975 treatises dealing with how to develop the Chinese economy, science and technology (see SCIENCE). During last year's anti-Teng campaign, these articles were labeled the "three poisonous weeds." According to a 6,000-word editorial in the People's Daily earlier this month, the weeds were actually "fragrant flowers." There has been a continuing purge from government positions of radicals associated with Chiang Ch'ing, who have been replaced by veteran bureaucrats linked with Teng. The new party chief of Anhwei province, for example, is Wan Li, the ex-Railway Minister who came under attack in 1967 when he was denounced as one of Teng's bridge partners. Teng himself was excoriated for indulging in this bourgeois pastime and commandeering a railroad car to take his card-playing cronies with him when he had to travel.

Lip Service. Even more striking is Chairman Hua's espousal of Teng policies that twice incurred the wrath of Mao, the Great Helmsman. For the past year Mao's heir has attempted to put into effect some of the pragmatic economic and educational reforms that Teng consistently advocated. Hua apparently now hopes to exploit Teng's administrative skills and his program for the modernization of China, while avoiding the appearance of assailing the memory of the revered Mao. This may require a Chinese conjuring trick, considering Teng's reputation as a bureaucrat who gave little more than lip service to some of the Chairman's most cherished ideals.

Although he was a veteran of Mao's Long March who remained personally close to the Chairman until the early 1960s, Teng disagreed with Mao's 1958 Great Leap Forward, which marked a disastrous setback for China, particularly in agriculture. In the Leap's aftermath, Teng, who was then general secretary of the Party, introduced a gradualist agricultural reform program designed to undo the damage. In a 1962 speech that was to haunt him later, Teng declared that ideology came second to results: "For the purpose of increasing agricultural production, any by-hook-or-by-crook method can be applied. It doesn't matter whether a cat is black or white so long as it catches mice."

When Mao imposed ideological purity by force during the 1966-69 Cultural Revolution, the diminutive (5 ft.) Teng was stripped of all his posts, driven by the Red Guards through the streets wearing a dunce cap, and dispatched to seven years in disgrace. In 1973 Teng made his first surprising reappearance, at a banquet in Peking. He soon became Vice Premier and the closest collaborator and heir presumptive of Premier Chou Enlai. When Chou's health had begun to fail, Teng headed a delegation to the United Nations in 1974--a hint that he might take over the Premier's role as China's main negotiator with foreign leaders.

Radical Programs. Teng's second downfall two years later was the result of his dogged opposition to Mao's radical programs. These included turning over the universities to workers, peasants and soldiers and transferring scientific research from the laboratories tp the communes. Defending the Academy of Science from Mao's populist incursions, Teng declared in 1975 that "it is not an academy of cabbage; it is not an academy of beans; it is an academy that deals with science." Teng asserted that even the bourgeois scientist can make a contribution. In his earthy way, he argued that "it is better to allow him to work than to have him sitting in a privy, producing nothing."

Teng also proposed that industry throughout China be under central supervision--a policy that Hua has now adopted. The radical view espoused by Chiang Ch'ing and backed by Mao called for local economic independence. Teng also argued for higher wages and other incentives "for certain workers" and a rise in living standards. "If there are not enough vegetables and meat," he asked, "how can industry function properly?" Striking at the heart of Maoist doctrine, he declared that "it is wrong to practice egalitarianism, denying existing differences and refusing remuneration according to the work done."

In April 1976, shortly after his emergence as Mao's prospective heir, Hua joined Chiang Ch'ing and her group of radicals in attacking Teng's "counterrevolutionary line." Since he became Chairman last October, however, Hua has gradually and tacitly conceded that the heretic was right. One Teng tactic that Hua has adopted has been a tough line on law and order, in an attempt to put down the widespread strikes and other civil disorders that have plagued his regime. The troubles are largely the result of anger and cynicism among workers who have been subjected to wild extremes of government policy for two decades.

Resurrecting Teng as a political power may prove more troublesome for Hua than rehabilitating his policies. One reason is that the new Chairman's claim to legitimacy rests on Mao's supposed deathbed benediction of his leadership. Thus the restored presence of Teng, who was twice ousted by Mao, may suggest to party workers that Hua is vulnerable. The Chairman, in fact, is a relatively youthful (56) political newcomer without a power base in the party or the armed forces to bolster his position. Moreover, Teng has become something of a national hero because of his feisty, down-to-earth opposition to the boring, bewildering political zealotry espoused by the widely hated Chiang Ch'ing.

Still fiercely ambitious, Teng may not be easily contained in a subservient role. Hua cannot even count on gratitude and unquestioning loyalty from Teng, since even the great Mao could not command that. Some analysts have speculated that he may conspire with the powerful Defense Minister to push Hua aside in a gerontocratic coup. The majority opinion is that, as one China watcher put it, "time is obviously on Hua's side. As long as he holds on to the party chairmanship, he can probably afford to have Teng around."

Abrasive Style. Teng's reappearance at Hua's right hand last week suggests that he may join in the talks with Cyrus Vance when the U.S. Secretary of State visits Peking next month. If he does, Vance may be in for a difficult time. Teng has never attempted to temper his abrasive style when negotiating with foreign leaders. After his first encounter with Teng, former Secretary of State Henry Kissinger called him "that nasty little man," adding later that he was "extremely intelligent." Vance clashed with Teng during a 1975 visit to Peking for unofficial foreign policy discussions. In a curious display of mock humility, Teng described himself as a "country bumpkin"--a mere "clod of earth"--but then ridiculed Vance's concern over nuclear proliferation. Teng also insisted that "on a number of important issues"--including Taiwan--"there can be no common language" between the U.S. and China. Two years have passed since he made that gloomy assertion, but there is no reason to suppose that Teng--whose views have proved relentlessly consistent--will have changed his mind.

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