Mao: The Unknown Story

Mao let Liu stew for months, and then on 24 December 1953 he suddenly announced to the Politburo that he was going away on holiday, and was appointing Liu to stand in for him, which meant that Liu was still No. 2. The psychological effect of being thus pulled back from the precipice was considerable, and Liu caved in to Mao’s demands that he recant his old views to his top colleagues, which he did, groveling for three days and nights non-stop. Mao had what he wanted: a hyper-intimidated Liu.

MAO HAD BEEN threatening to replace Liu with another man called Gao Gang, the head of Manchuria. Gao was a hard-liner and supported Mao’s Superpower Program 100 percent. He had been the most vocal critic of Liu’s views in the top circle. Mao showed that he liked Gao and disliked Liu, and hinted to Gao that he was considering giving him Liu’s job. Gao talked to other top people about what Mao had said, and played the key role in attacking Liu. Many in the inner circle assumed that Gao was about to take Liu’s place.

Then, out of the blue, Mao reinstated Liu — and purged Gao, who was charged with “plotting to split the Party in order to usurp the power of the Party and the state.” This was the first top-level purge since the regime had come to power, and it spread an atmosphere of disquiet and dread. When the Dalai Lama arrived in Peking just after Gao was condemned, his entourage immediately alerted him to the purge as an ill omen. It was the first topic the Dalai Lama himself wanted to discuss with us when we interviewed him forty-five years later.

The real reason for the purge involved Soviet Russia. As boss of Manchuria, Gao had had a lot to do with the Russians, and he had shot his mouth off to them, even telling Stalin’s liaison Kovalev about disagreements in the Politburo, where he claimed that Liu headed a “pro-American faction.” Mao got to know about this when he was in Moscow in 1949, when Stalin gave him a report by Kovalev, partly based on talks with Gao. Gao told other Russians that Liu was too soft on the bourgeoisie. He complained about Chou, too, telling the Russians that he had had a “serious clash” with Chou over the Korean War in the Politburo.

That Gao was a talker had been noticed by a British couple in Yenan a decade before. Gao, they wrote, was “perhaps the most indiscreet of all the Communists whom we interviewed.” They must have been quite struck, as Gao was then a complete unknown.

For Mao, to have underlings talking about the inner workings of his regime to any outsider was an absolute taboo. By purging Gao he wanted to send a message: you can never be too tight-lipped, even — and especially — with the Russians. As the Superpower Program depended overwhelmingly on the Soviet Union, there was going to be a lot of contact with Russians. Mao feared that fraternization might lead to a loosening of his grip, and conceivably threaten his power. On this score, Mao never took the slightest chance. His vigilance in anticipating potential threats was the main reason he died in his bed. Mao could not ban all contacts with Russians, so he moved to put an invisible barrier between his men and “the brothers.” Gao provided a perfect vehicle for warning his underlings: Don’t get too fraternal with the Russians!

Soon, Mao used the Gao case explicitly to order his top echelon to disclose any relationships with any Russians, what he termed “illicit contacts with foreign countries”:

Do we have such people in China, who give information to foreigners behind the back of the Centre [i.e., me]? I think there are — Gao Gang for one … I hope those comrades will disgorge totally … Everything should go through the Centre [me again]. As for information, don’t pass it … Those who have passed information, own up and you won’t be pursued. If you don’t, we’ll check, and we will find out. You will be in trouble.

Mao did not define what counted as information, so the rule of thumb was simply not to talk to foreigners about anything.

Mao designated Chou En-lai chief “prosecutor” against Gao, while he absented himself. At the meeting in February 1954 when Chou delivered his onslaught on Gao (who was present), tea mugs were, unusually, filled beforehand, to prevent servants eavesdropping. But as the leaders were unable to proceed without more hot water, a tea boy was allowed in. He was stunned to see the usually suave Chou transformed, contorted into a picture of ferocity, a side that the outside world never got to see. Chou, the old assassin, had taken the precaution of getting two trusted subordinates to bring along pistols, something normally absolutely unthinkable at top-level meetings.