Riding the Iron Rooster

I told him truthfully that I had never met a really high government official in Washington—that I had never gotten the urge to meet one. It was only in foreign countries that such things seemed important. But the fact was that I had spent all my time talking to people on trains, or farmers, or market traders, or kids playing in parks, or students. They were the people who really mattered; but it was absurd to spend a year going up and down in China and not talk with an official and hear the Party line.

"What would you ask this official if you could?"

The driver said, "About the future."

"What about the future?"

"Will I be all right? Will the reforms continue? Will we have more democracy? What about prices? And"—he started to laugh—"how can I get a new license for my taxi?"

I was met by Comrade Bai, a little fellow in a blue Mao suit. He explained that he was not the official—certainly not the high official, he added anxiously, and he breathed noisily through his clenched teeth. Then he laughed. It was the Chinese laugh of warning.

Comrade Bai led me to a ministerial reception room, and then he went to tell the high official that I had arrived.

Comrade Hu entered with a flourish, gesturing for me to return to my plump armchair. He was about fifty or so, and had Deng Xiaoping's broad, tomcat face and unblinking eyes. It was obvious that he was a Party man in the new mold: he wore a gray Western-style suit and speckled tie in the manner of the rising Mr. Zhao Ziyang. He seemed brisk and even a bit impatient, but he was candid, and his English was fluent.

After our opening pleasantries I asked him about the relations between China and the Soviet Union. He said there was trade between the two countries, but that there were political obstacles— Soviet aid to Vietnam, the Afghanistan business, and troops in Mongolia.

"The Soviets make a big mistake in thinking that their kind of socialism can be exported to other countries," he said. "It doesn't work."

"Can Chinese socialism be exported?" I asked.

"We do not force our ideas on other people," he said.

I then asked him a roundabout question, wondering whether the government was alarmed by the recent disturbances.

"Perhaps you are referring to the events in Peking and elsewhere caused by the students," he said, and he explained, "China is in the first stage of socialism—we are just beginning to develop. In some ways, we are underdeveloped and we are proceeding slowly and carefully. In the countryside the reforms have gone smoothly. But in cities much remains to be done."

"How long will this stage of socialism last?"

"Until we achieve our target," he said. He told me the statistics, the income figures and projections; but in an uncertain world such numbers seemed meaningless to me. It was not just inflation that he seemed to be ignoring but the rising expectations of the Chinese people.

I said, "Does it seem to you that the Chinese people are too impatient for changes to come about?"

"Some are very impatient," he said. "Especially the students. What do these students know about democracy? They are speaking in a very abstract way. They lack concrete ideas."

"Do you think the students don't understand democracy?"

"In each country there is a strict definition of democracy," he said. "You have yours in the United States. We must have ours in China."

"So you think student demonstrations are really dangerous?"

"Some elements could get out of hand," Comrade Hu said. "They could bring disorder. If there is no control there could be chaos—everyone doing as he likes. That could produce another Cultural Revolution."

I did not see the logic in this. Wasn't it the other way around? If the government kept the lid on and the so-called ultraleftists succeeded in suppressing the students, a Cultural Revolution was much more likely. He was using the Cultural Revolution as a frightener. But I got nowhere in trying to pursue this with him.

"You must read more," he said. "You must examine our Four Guiding Principles."

"I have read them," I said. That particular pamphlet, in five languages (including one of China's favorites, Esperanto) was in the waiting room of most railway stations. I had plenty of opportunities to read it. "I meant to ask you about that. Guiding principle number four mentions Marxism-Leninism and Mao's thought."

Comrade Hu's eyes were fixed upon me. The name Mao in China always concentrated people's attention. It was probably the single most powerful syllable in China.

I said, "I was wondering which of Mao's thoughts seemed especially pertinent today."

"One cannot summarize Mao's thought," he said smoothly. "It is too subtle and wide ranging. Mao wrote about everything." But when I pressed him, he said, "His essay 'On Practice' is one which contains the essence of his thought, and that is something we can be guided by these days."