Liars and Tyrants and People Who Turn Blue (17 page)

—Marina Sulzberger, in a letter about China, October 1973

The long table in the United Nations Intelligence Agency conference room could seat exactly, thirty people, but only three of the chairs were occupied. Sir John Dudley, P. J. Martel, and Kevin Gilbert crowded together at one end.

“You've just returned from China?” Martel said to Kevin.

“Yes, sir.”

“Gilbert was there to co-ordinate information,” Sir John explained. “I've had forty additional agents in China for the past three weeks. And we've finally got something.”

“About Li Xijuan?”

“About Li Xijuan, about the shipments of defective weapons, about the Chinese. For some time now it's been clear to me we had to look inside China for the key to what's been happening. There's a labyrinthine quality, an avoidance of the direct about all this—those aren't exclusively Chinese traits, of course, but they do suggest the Oriental mind at work. The hard part is trying to understand what we do see.” Sir John smiled. “The Oriental processes of ratiocination are not the same as ours.”

Martel grunted agreement. “The word
logic
doesn't mean the same thing in the two hemispheres.”

“Whenever Westerners talk about the East,” Sir John said, “we invariably yield to the need to simplify what strikes us as being unnecessarily complex. And if you'll bear with me, Ambassador, that's exactly what I'm going to do now.”

“Go on.”

“There's something basic in the Chinese character that's at the root of everything that's been happening,” Sir John said. “China has certain fundamental characteristics that always manage to survive transient political thought. One such—a distrust of partnerships. For over two thousand years the Chinese have looked upon alliances as serving only one purpose—the exploitation of the weaker partner. Never once in its long history has China enjoyed a friendship with another nation. Such a friendship as that between Britain and the United States—to the Chinese mind, it's unthinkable, naïve, hypocritical.

“China's entire history is one of flagrant ethnocentrism, which shows up most noticeably in a strong sense of cultural superiority. The Chinese have never looked upon contact with other countries as a meeting between equals. Their long tradition of dynastic hierarchy has taught the Chinese to think of relationships as existing only between superiors and inferiors. And in relationships between China and other countries, it was China, of course, who was the superior. China has always seen it as natural and right to impose its superior will on the nations surrounding it—by force, if necessary.

“The coming of Communism didn't change any of that. That short-lived alliance with the Soviets—it was bound to collapse, it just wasn't in keeping with the Chinese national character. The Communist experiment in molding the mass mind in no way detracted from that sense of national superiority and the historical need to impose China's will upon others. Peking loved to hurl the charge of imperialism at the rest of the world—your country was the favorite target, Gilbert. But it was the pot calling the kettle black. The Chinese urge to empire was still there, every bit as strong as it was during the Han dynasty.

“A united China has always been an expansionist China,” Sir John mused, “and Communism gave a surface unity to a country that had lacked even that for years. Remember the state China was in when Mao came to power—the people were poverty-stricken, mostly illiterate, backward. China was in no condition to compete with the rich industrial nations of the West. But the politically weak countries on China's periphery—ah, they were a different matter altogether. So economic necessity as well as the deeply ingrained desire for Chinese sovereignty drove the People's Republic of China to launch a series of little wars, with the disastrous results we all know.

“What we in the West find so hard to understand is that the Chinese feel they have a moral right to take over these countries. Since the beginning of the Republic back in 1912 the Chinese man on the street has had it drummed into him that his country is entitled to all the territory ever included in the vast Manchu Empire. They consider Korea to
belong
to them because their ancestors had once conquered it.”

Martel snorted. “International law recognizes no such claim for recovery. A sanction for stealing whole countries? Nonsense.”

“To the Chinese it makes perfect sense,” said Sir John. “They lay claim to all lands ever invaded by Chinese armies in the past. Thailand, Laos, Vietnam, Cambodia, most of Burma—all former vassals of the Empire. It came clear in the sixties where they were heading. If they could push on south to the Indonesian island countries, they'd control a vast section of the world's shipping industry. They have other claims as well—some of them based on ethnological links or other matters that placed little countries like Bhutan and Sikkim within the Chinese ‘sphere of influence.' And Nepal—putting China in India's back yard. If the Chinese ever feel strong enough to challenge Soviet Russia, they'll undoubtedly start by claiming Mongolia and Western Turkestan on the same grounds.” Sir John paused. “And that, we have found out, has become a viable possibility in the past few years.”

Martel didn't look particularly impressed. “War between China and Russia—I'm sorry, Sir John, but that's not exactly a new bogeyman. One of Li Xijuan's strongest arguments in favor of establishing an international militia was that it could police borders separating unfriendly nations. She used her own country and the Soviet Union as an example, I remember.”

“Exactly!” Sir John said triumphantly. “That's the key. I'm going to let Gilbert tell you the rest.”

“It's been a very confusing experience for me,” Kevin Gilbert said. “Our agents in China gave me so many conflicting reports that it was a while before I understood they were
all
accurate. Feudalism in one part of the country and agrarian communism in another. Fascism hiding behind the slogans of Marx and Mao existing side by side with a free speech movement sponsored by writers and artists. The enormous complexity of this country is something that just can't be taken in all at once. Sir John spoke of a ‘surface' unity Communism imposed on China—that's exactly what it was. And just beneath that surface was the bitterest kind of factionalism. Different political sects and sub-sects and sub-sub-sects warring against each other, literally warring, people sometimes dying in the tens of thousands. Mao couldn't control it. At times he'd side with one faction or another, but mostly he just ignored them all—hoping they'd kill each other off, no doubt.”

“Then it's true?” Martel asked. “I've heard those stories, of course, but one never knows what to believe of the news coming out of China.”

“Yes, that was the trouble. Communist newspapers never reported ‘negative' news, and it's only recently that the Chinese have been willing to talk about what was going on. Then in 1976 Mao died—that started the change. All these conflicting factions began to come out into the open. The country's intellectuals came back from the pig farms or wherever they'd been sent for punishment, and certain daring souls began voicing the opinion that maybe democracy wasn't so bad after all. Then came the eighties and Mao himself was discredited, inevitably.

“The Chinese are a strange people—they turn on each other at the drop of a hat. They present a more-or-less unified front to the rest of the world, but they treat each other abominably. For instance, you can find the traditional scorn for peasants in even the most educated of the people. The peasants are invariably greeted with curses and blows—just for being peasants. And if a peasant should ever rise to a position of some political authority, he turns right around and exploits his fellow peasants the same way he himself had earlier been exploited. Building a little empire for himself, you see. The enforced equality of Communism simply didn't take. That's why the reaction against Mao, when it came, was so very strong. But even while they were flirting with the idea of democracy, the Chinese were still thinking in terms of superior-inferior relationships, still xenophobic. Mao was discredited, but the power structure he left behind still functioned—in a way. It too had splintered, into a hundred different factions—”

“A hundred?” said Martel, incredulous.

“Conservative estimate,” Kevin said. “It's hard to be accurate because the factions themselves are still in a constant state of flux. Some have died, some united with others, some split into sub-factions. But on one point there was no disagreement. The Chinese encroachment of neighboring lands continued. What Sir John called China's urge to empire wasn't weakened by the political infighting. The Chinese disagreed about
how
, not about
what
.

“One of the Communist sub-sects gradually grew more powerful than its rivals, retaining control of the Army and therefore of the country. It was this faction that appointed Li Xijuan Ambassador to the UN. And it was this faction that got tired of piddling around in Cambodia and Thailand and decided to go after bigger game. Mongolia, in fact. Sir, do you remember when Li Xijuan was recalled to China?”

“Yes, I do,” Martel said. “It came at an awkward time—she was right in the middle of the organizational work her Militia Committee was doing.”

“And that's why she was recalled—the Militia. She was instructed to sabotage the project.”

Martel grunted.

“Her party didn't want UN Militiamen standing between them and Mongolia. One of our agents located a man who'd been a member of the inner circle that made that decision. The man is now
persona non grata
and spends his days repairing farm tractors, but he can still talk. He said he was convinced Li Xijuan was opposed to an invasion of Mongolia, but she never came right out and said so. Instead, what she did was convince her superiors that a UN Militia could be
used
by the Chinese, that if the Russians could be enticed into attacking first the Militia would do their fighting for them. Finally the party agreed and sent her back to New York to finish her work.”

“I don't quite follow,” Martel said. “How would providing defective weapons to isolated groups of insurgents provoke the Russians into attacking China?”

“It wouldn't. Li Xijuan had no such instructions from home—she was acting strictly on her own. Our discredited informant was right. Li Xijuan thought an invasion of Mongolia would be a mistake—
at this time
. The country is still too divided, still too far behind technologically, still not strong enough to take on the Russian giant. Li Xijuan's problem was to find a way of convincing the party leaders that the time was not yet ripe for further expansion.”

“So arming the insurgents—”

“Was nothing more than a goddamned object lesson. Li Xijuan didn't give a hoot about stage-managing controlled rebellions. What she wanted was the
inquiry
—a public, televised demonstration of authority so strong that even the most invasion-hungry of her compatriots would think twice about proceeding. Sir John spotted it—he said it was the publicity she was after. Her idea for using the Militia to fight the Russians—that was just a stall. She must have seen this invasion plan coming for a long time—that's probably why she worked so hard to get the Militia established. A true world army was inevitable. Li Xijuan just hurried it along a little, seeing it as a political reality that would have to be dealt with and one which could possibly be turned to her own advantage.”

“And Aguirrez and Schlimmermann?”

“Convenient villains. Li Xijuan must have felt she was running out of time and needed some help to provoke an inquiry. Aguirrez was malleable, and Schlimmermann—well, Li Xijuan knew Schlimmermann felt his ‘superiority' had remained hidden too long. His resentment had been building up for years—he wouldn't be able to resist the temptation to power. That unearned sense of importance was just about due to bust loose.”

“Schlimmermann's a throwback,” Sir John interposed, “the kind of German who's an embarrassment to his countrymen. They still think about Hitler, you know. They think about him a lot. Even people who hadn't been born yet when the Nazi ulcer was festering. They know what they're capable of, and it scares them. A Schlimmermann is what they want
not
to happen.”

“I just had a horrible thought,” said Martel. “We know Li Xijuan approached other ambassadors before she hooked these two fish. I'm not sure I want to think about her first choice—the one she wanted
before
Schlimmermann.”

Kevin Gilbert said, “Maybe we'd be better off if she'd gotten her first choice. I'd guess she'd go for someone more manageable than Schlimmermann. Aguirrez turned out to be a good choice—he was very active. Schlimmermann almost queered the deal for her. He killed the wrong people. Li Xijuan probably felt like strangling him when he refused to follow her scenario. But in the end it turned out all right—she got the publicity she wanted. She must have been delighted when she learned we had a human lie detector on our side. Her countrymen could watch her lie to the commission and then watch the commission catch her in her lies. All helping to create an overall impression that the UN could no longer be taken lightly. That's why she supplied the insurgents with faulty weapons—she didn't want to run the risk that they might succeed even temporarily. That would defeat her purpose of demonstrating the UN's strength. And what's the reason for it all? What it all boils down to is that over five thousand people have died just to keep one political party in China from making a tactical error.”

All three men were silent for a moment. Then: “Good God,” Martel rumbled, “the deviousness of that woman's mind!”

Sir John smiled sadly. “A bit overwhelming, what?”