CHAPTER XVI

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Conclusion:
A Multipolar Balance?

FOR ABOUT half a century after the Napoleonic Wars, the international politics of Europe were governed by the principle of multipolarity, or to put it a little differently rested on a multipolar (or multilateral) balance of power. The alliance designed to contain Napoleonic France soon disintegrated as France appeared to accept its defeat and to pose no further threat to the security of Europe. For a time after that, no two major powers were at war, and no two were closely allied; relative international stability paralleled this situation and probably derived from it to a considerable extent. The first serious threat to stability and multipolarity arose when one major power, Prussia (later the German Empire), in effect challenged the system by attacking and crushing another, France (in 1870-71). The French determination to get revenge then became the main, although not the only, force that led to the displacement of multipolarity by two rival coalitions centering respectively on France and Germany (although the most aggressive members of these coalitions were Russia and Austria). This situation was highly unstable; a quarrel between any two members of the rival coalitions had a tendency to bring on a general confrontation, and the outcome was the First World War, from which Europe has never fully recovered. Germany, the leading member of the defeated coalition, refused to accept the verdict of 1918 and under Hitler’s leadership transformed itself into a militarized colossus both stronger and more aggressive than any of the other European powers; the latter, even though faced with a common danger, were unable to coordinate their policies and defenses effectively. The outcome was the Second World War.

The moral of all this seems to be that given the nonexistence of any supranational authority with effective powers of enforcement, multipolarity, like any other international arrangement, can remain viable as long as, and only as long as, it remains acceptable at least to those powers whose nonacceptance would be sufficient to disrupt it.

It is plausible that the European experience, and the lessons derivable from it, have some relevance to the contemporary Far East, even though in that case the powers involved have a good deal less in common with each other in the ideological and political spheres than the European powers did, at any rate prior to the First World War. On the other hand, it is possible that this difference is cancelled out by a greater interest today in the avoidance of a major war in view of the presumed consequences of a large-scale resort to nuclear weapons.

China since the Cultural Revolution

For about a century prior to 1949, China was the sick man of East Asia. Its weakness was the most important single cause of and incitement to whatever expansion on the part of other powers occurred during that period, the most important cases being tsarist Russia in 1900 and imperial Japan in 1894-95, 1904-05, and 1931-45. The situation since 1949 has been sufficiently complex so that it is impossible to say categorically whether a strong and united China is more likely to be conducive to international stability in Asia than a weak China was, but the probable answer is yes. Certainly, true multipolarity in the Far East is impossible unless China, whatever its political orientation, plays an active and constructive international role. The chances of its doing so are bound to be influenced by a number of basic factors, the most obvious, and probably the most important, of which is its domestic political development.

The Red Guard movement, and in reality the Cultural Revolution as a whole, was terminated in late 1968 by military suppression, on Mao Tse-tung’s personal although reluctant order. This left the Army even more effectively in control of the provinces than it had been since it was ordered by Mao to intervene in the Cultural Revolution (in January 1967). This new political prominence of the Army made the civilian Communist Party leaders uncomfortable, however, and as soon as it had performed the indispensable giant-killer’s role that it alone could perform, by suppressing the Red Guards, plans were made for cutting back first its prestige and then its power.

This was a difficult task for a number of reasons, including the fact that the senior member of the military leadership, Defense Minister Lin Piao, had been proclaimed Mao’s principal deputy and heir. Other factors tending to make him a formidable figure were his militantly Maoist ideological tendencies and his powerful ambition. Against him there was, in addition to the natural tendency for the suppression of the Red Guards to be followed by a reduction of the political role of the armed forces, the fact that his ambition and (paradoxically) his political incompetence precipitated a powerful coalition in opposition to him of which Premier Chou En-lai was the moving spirit, and to which Mao himself gave his support at some point. Lin’s ambition and radicalism were compounded by his primitive adherence to the dual adversary strategy, which was then going out of vogue (in fact although not in theory) in favor of the “tilt” toward the United States; he took the Soviet threat lightly and opposed the “tilt” in the other direction. Seeing his influence decline, he tried to insist that a National People’s Congress be convened in the autumn of 1971 to formalize his position as Mao’s heir in the state system, as the Ninth Party Congress (April 1969) had already done for his status in the party hierarchy. When this ploy failed, he apparently attempted some sort of coup against Chou En-lai, his principal adversary, but failed and was killed on September 11 or 12, 1971. Even in death he was a fairly formidable political figure, and accordingly a huge “disinformation” campaign, including the charge that he had been killed in an airplane crash in the Mongolian People’s Republic while trying to escape to the Soviet Union, was mounted against his memory by the victors. His supporters were purged or demoted.

The turn to the right represented by the suppression of the Red Guards, the effective termination of the Cultural Revolution, the purge of Lin Piao, and the rehabilitation of many party leaders disgraced during the Cultural Revolution (Vice Premier Teng Hsiao-p’ing, in particular) has angered many of the militant Maoists, including former Red Guards, and made them more determined than ever to preserve the influence of Mao Tse-tung’s “thought” and the legacy of the Great Leap Forward and the Cultural Revolution. They apparently fear that they may find themselves in trouble after his death (he was born in 1893), and they evidently reason that they had better do everything they can to enhance their influence and protect themselves while he is still alive.

The main actual political trend, however, is something quite different. While maintaining a fairly low personal political profile for purposes of self-protection, Chou En-lai, with the substantial although not necessarily complete support of Mao and a coalition of moderate civil and military colleagues, has been presiding over a program aimed essentially at stabilizing the political system-through the rebuilding in somewhat different form of the political institutions thrown into turmoil during the Cultural Revolution, and the avoidance of further such “mass campaigns”—and developing the economy over the long haul rather than by “leaps.” It appears to be Chou who has engineered the rehabilitations already mentioned. To enhance acceptance of his leadership and program by the elite and the population, he has skillfully cultivated the sense of a Soviet threat, but not to the point of inducing panic or despair; he has insisted, for example, that the main thrust of Soviet “expansion” is toward the West, not against China. He has been trying since at least as long ago as the summer of 1973 to convene a new National People’s Congress to help legitimate his policies, but as of September 1974 he had been unable to do so.

At first, and particularly until the fall of Lin Piao, Chou faced a serious problem on the right, in the shape of the power influence of the commanders of the Military Regions on the provincial politics of the country. He has been able to win some over to his side, and in fact he has long had close personal ties with certain sections of the military leadership. Others, more difficult in one way or another, have been gradually separated from their sources of influence and encouraged to give up their political roles in order to concentrate on their military functions. The biggest single step in this direction since the fall of Lin Piao was taken in December 1973, when Peking was able to move the most powerful of the Military Region commanders to new commands, where they have been denied the political positions and influence that they had enjoyed before. The time may have appeared favorable because the Soviet Union was still considerably preoccupied with the crisis in the Middle East, and in any case December is not the ideal month in which to launch a military campaign in Inner Asia.

Since then Chou’s most serious known political problems have originated on the left, from the direction of the radical Maoists. They launched a campaign of propaganda and political agitation against his policies in August 1973. They probably took their cue from the fact that Mao had given his public endorsement to the Red Guard movement just seven years before, and that he had said at about that time that China ought to undergo a “great upheaval” every seven or eight years. Chou has let them have their say to a considerable extent, because he does not want to gain a reputation for suppressing criticism, because it would be difficult to silence them in any case, and because they have some claim on Mao’s support. He has launched propaganda campaigns and slogans of his own, some of which have a militant sound but the more important of which—these have been especially prominent since the beginning of 1974—stress the importance of order, discipline, and moderation.

Chou’s main domestic problem may no longer be the regional military or even the radical Maoists, but rather his own age (he was born in 1898), health, and declining energies. He has maintained a ferocious working schedule and carried enormous responsibilities for many years, and in the spring of 1974 there was convincing evidence that his health had begun to fail and that he had had to curtail his schedule. This situation, combined with the continuing propaganda emanating from the radicals, has deceived some foreign observers into thinking that he had lost Mao’s support or for some other reason was politically finished. This is almost certainly not the case. As already indicated, he has not been running a one-man show but has been leading a coalition, some prominent members of which to be sure are only a little younger than he if at all. Some of them have begun to represent him at public functions, and perhaps in other ways as well; this is particularly true of Teng Hsiao-p’ing, whose spectacular re-emergence culminated in his re-election to the party Politburo by January 1974 and his attendance at the special United Nations session on raw materials problems in April of that year. The real test of the viability and stability of Chou’s team (or “collective leadership”) and policies will probably begin after his incapacitation or death or Mao’s, whichever comes sooner.

Something has already been said (mainly in Chapter VIII) about China’s post-Cultural Revolution foreign policy, which in effect is Chou En-lai’s; this discussion will therefore be brief.

In foreign relations and diplomacy, the keynote is normalization, with the purpose of eliminating the damage done by the Cultural Revolution and enhancing China’s international contacts and prestige. Ambassadors have been sent back to nearly all countries where Peking maintained them before the Cultural Revolution, about forty new diplomatic recognitions have been acquired (usually at Taiwan’s expense), and entry into the United Nations has been achieved.

To a large extent for domestic political reasons—on account of the continuing influence of the radical Maoists, in other words-Chinese foreign propaganda still stresses opposition to both “superpowers” and friendship for the “small and medium states” of the world, and Peking still gives some actual support to leftist revolutionary movements in carefully selected areas (northern Burma, for example). But all this is much less important in reality than the “tilt” toward the United States, which is intended as a counterweight to the Soviet Union, an approach to progress on the Taiwan question, and a means of expanding trade; the effort to deter the Soviet Union through conventional and nuclear military modernization and to compete vigorously with it in virtually every region and situation; and the attempt to achieve and maintain a relationship with Japan just friendly enough so that Tokyo does not rearm massively or move too close to the Soviet Union. This is an active policy, but it hardly deserves the continual Soviet charges of “militarism” and “expansionism.”

The Outlook for China

More than most countries, China in the past has surprised those who have tried to predict its future. It will probably do so again, in this case as well as others. But the attempt is still worth making, as an aid to intelligent discussion.

The dominant force in contemporary Chinese politics is not ideology (i. e., Communism, and the “thought” of Mao Tse-tung in particular) but nationalism. Virtually all politically conscious Chinese are convinced, and have been convinced for many years, that national disunity breeds weakness, which invites foreign intervention, something that they do not want in the slightest. To them it follows, obviously, that China must be strong, and therefore that it must be united. Communism and the “thought” of Mao Tse-tung have achieved their rather impressive level of acceptance and success in Chinese political life largely because they, more than any available alternative, seemed to provide the best ideological and organizational basis for strength and unity; they have, in short, achieved a high level of legitimacy. It is almost certainly significant that none of the powerful leaders of China’s border regions, when threatened and sometimes overthrown by Red Guards and other militants during the Cultural Revolution, is known to have contemplated invoking Soviet support, even though it would probably have been feasible to do so.

On the other hand, Chinese nationalism is not to be equated with Communism in its present or any future form. There is also a substantial component of what, for the sake of brevity, can be called tradition. Whenever its programs were not working well for any reason, Communism in China has had to make significant concessions to tradition, more at the local than at the national level. Although there is not likely to be a reversion to a purely traditional (i. e., pre-Communist) political system, either through evolution or through revolution, it does appear probable that further concession to tradition will have to be made, and will be made. An important reason for believing this is that the “thought” of Mao Tse-tung is likely to begin to lose its vigor after the death of the thinker, even though at present it has many young adherents, as the regime has to grapple more and more earnestly with the increasing pressure of population on the economy, especially the food supply. Problems like this will not be solved through further “great upheavals” of the Maoist variety; accordingly, there will probably not be any more of them, or if there are the result may be disaster. The only likely occasion of another “upheaval” would arise if Chou En-lai were to die before Mao, and if the radicals were then able to overthrow or bypass Chou’s moderate team and persuade the Chairman to order an “upheaval.”

Another, very different, form of disaster would be defeat in a major war, presumably at the hands of the Soviet Union. But there is at least a good chance that China will avoid a disaster of either variety. If so, and especially if Chou survives Mao, there also appears to be a good chance of avoiding a bruising succession struggle in favor of a reasonably orderly transition to a younger “collective leadership” to replace the one currently ruling. This may include some Maoist radicals, but more as window dressing than anything else. Its genuinely important constituents are likely to be the leading representatives of the principal functional constituencies or power systems: the party apparatus, the state system (especially the government administration and the security forces), and the armed forces. Because of China’s antimilitary political tradition, and the Chinese Communist preference for subordinating the Army to the Party, there is unlikely to be a full-fledged military takeover except perhaps in the face of some imminent disaster. It is entirely possible that the pressure of population growth and rising consumer demand on a limited national product will lead the regime to tighten its security controls over the people. The re-emergence of bureaucratic institutions that has been going on since the end of the Cultural Revolution is likely to continue, in spite of protests from the radicals.

In the economic sphere, there is likely to be slow and difficult progress, rather than a spectacular breakthrough or a spectacular failure, in the three critical fields of agricultural development, population control, and industrialization. Progress could probably be accelerated if the regime were to improve the educational system through reducing its currently excessive ideological and political content. The ideological preference for “self-reliance” will probably continue to hold down, although of course not to prevent, China’s participation in the international economy, and in particular its willingness to seek or accept long-term development credits or joint ventures with foreign capital.

In the military sphere, China will probably continue to improve its conventional capabilities, which are already impressive from a defensive standpoint, and will probably be able to launch damaging blows against Soviet Asia if the occasion should arise. The same goes for China’s nuclear weapons force, which is already able to inflict serious damage on targets well within the Soviet Union and is probably already partially invulnerable (through hardening, dispersal, and warning measures) to a possible Soviet first strike. Within several years China will presumably develop an ICBM; development in this field to date appears to have been held back not only by technical difficulties and the emphasis on shorter-range missiles adequate for hitting Soviet targets but by a desire not to alarm the United States. By now, however, development of a Chinese ICBM would probably not be enough by itself to disrupt the Sino-American detente. Given the technical problems, the cost, and the possibly disturbing effect on its foreign relations, China is likely to be rather slow in developing a significant conventional strategic “reach” (an ocean-going navy, amphibious and airborne forces, etc.).

Nationalism is likely to be the dominant force in China’s foreign policy as well as in its domestic politics. This means that China will continue to be conscious of its national dignity and sensitive to real or imagined slights. It does not necessarily mean that China will be aggressive or expansionist, even when its national and military power is considerably greater than it is at present. Then, as now and in the past, there will be significant constraints in the form of military risks, practical difficulties (terrain, etc.), economic costs, and political consequences. Although domestic politics will continue to affect foreign policy, as is true in every country, specifically Maoist pressures on foreign policy (such as demands for support of “people’s wars” abroad) are likely to diminish, for reasons already indicated. China is likely to expand its already significant participation in the formal aspects of international relations (the United Nations, international conferences and agreements, etc.). This assumed trend toward greater pragmatism and flexibility will probably facilitate, and may also be intensified by, a search for a formula under which two currently indigestible morsels, Taiwan and Hong Kong, can be assimilated into the Chinese body politic. One of Chou En-lai’s internal arguments in favor of the détente with the United States is that it will promote the “liberation” of Taiwan; since “liberation” has not come perceptibly closer since 1971, he has felt compelled to resort (through statements by his supporters) to the argument that it is not desirable to press the United States for more rapid disengagement from its commitments to Taiwan because a sudden American withdrawal might panic the Republic of China and drive it into Moscow’s arms. In the long run, it seems likely that the mainland and Taiwan will work out some formula under which they can reunite, formally at least.

To a considerable extent, the future of China’s foreign policy, and to some extent even the future of its domestic politics, depend on the future of its relationship with the United States and the Soviet Union. These subjects are important enough to deserve separate examination.

The Future of Sino-American Relations

The common interests that led to the Sino-American détente have already been discussed (mainly in Chapter IX). Stated as simply as possible, they amount to a shared desire to resolve, or at least cool, existing Sino-American conflicts of interest in Asia in order to be better able to cope with the more serious problems presented by the Soviet Union. Obviously this is an unstable basis for a constructive Sino-American relationship in the long run.

A search for other bases for such a relationship uncovers something, but not so much as might be desirable. On the American side, there is a rather synthetic euphoria about China and Sino-American relations in some official and public circles anxious for better relations and closer contacts with China for one reason or another. Secretary Kissinger has said that the Sino-American détente is independent of changes of administration in the United States and in that sense “irreversible”; in reality, it should be obvious to any one that even if he happens to have made a correct prediction in this respect he has no power to bind future administrations. Out of concern for Chinese sensitivities, and perhaps at Peking’s specific request, the United States government has discouraged public, and especially official, discussion of Chinese politics and foreign policy unless it is certain to be conducted in flattering terms. Contacts between American officials and private China specialists have also been discouraged, although not entirely prohibited; this policy is sometimes referred to as the China Blight. The American side has allowed Peking to manipulate private contacts for its own political and propaganda purposes; the Chinese side entirely controls the flow of travelers, etc., in both directions, partly for domestic political reasons. In this way American policy helps to perpetuate, by consciously refraining from challenging it through a serious effort at normal contact, the immature and unself-critical view of themselves and the world held by most Chinese.

On the Chinese side, there is virtually no euphoria about the United States, even though a generation of intense anti-American propaganda has had less effect on public thinking than might have been supposed. The mainstream of current Chinese foreign policy making, as led and symbolized by Chou En-lai, regards the United States as useful, and in fact indispensable, but hardly as an object of affection. The radical Maoists evidently still object to the United States on the ground that it is “imperialist” and a superpower, and, in spite of the fact that the Chairman himself has seemed to put his seal of approval on the Sino-American detente by receiving President Nixon and Secretary Kissinger, they have still been sniping at the detente and at Chou’s alleged failure to extract more advantage from it. The height of the radicals’ propaganda campaign against Chou, in the early months of 1974, saw something of a chill in Sino-American diplomatic and cultural contacts, including an absence from their posts for several weeks of the heads of the two liaison offices, David Bruce and Huang Chen. Chou En-lai’s illness obviously raises the possibility of trouble for his policies, including his commitment to détente with the United States.

On the other hand, this is merely a possibility, not a certainty, and not necessarily even a probability. Reasons have already been given for doubting that Maoist radicalism is the wave of the future in either Chinese politics or Chinese foreign policy.

Now that the Soviet Union rather than the United States has become China’s main adversary in Asia, there is not likely to be serious Sino-American friction, for some time at any rate, over such former trouble spots as Japan, Korea, Indochina, South Asia, or even Taiwan. If any such friction does arise, it is likely to be managed through political and diplomatic, rather than military, means, at least as long as each side continues to be preoccupied with its Soviet problem.

Even though Chinese Communism is a much less serious problem in American public thinking than it once was, President Nixon still appeared to be sufficiently in need of right-wing support in his struggle against impeachment so that he was unwilling to transfer diplomatic recognition from Taipei to Peking as many other governments have done. The same consideration probably explains the fact that the Republic of China has recently been allowed to open two new consulates in the United States, and that the American ambassadorship in Taipei has been kept continuously filled whereas some other important diplomatic and State Department positions have been left vacant. President Nixon in effect made it clear, on the other hand, that he regarded the People’s Republic of China as much more important to American interests than the Republic of China. Secretary Kissinger has never visited Taiwan, whereas he has visited the mainland six times (1971-73). It is possible that a future American administration might transfer diplomatic recognition by raising the liaison office in Peking to the level of an embassy and reducing the embassy in Taipei to the level of a liaison office. The success of such a ploy would depend on acceptance by both Chinas, and there is no sign at present that acceptance would be forthcoming. On the other hand, the United States is already unique in being able, obviously on account of its importance to both Chinas, to have a liaison office in Peking while maintaining an embassy in Taipei, and conditions might arise in the future in which a reversal of status would be feasible.

Sino-American trade has already expanded enormously (although not to the level of American trade with Taiwan), from nothing before 1971 to almost $1 billion (both ways) in 1973 and an anticipated figure of well over $1 billion for 1974. The trade is heavily (about ten to one) in the United States’ favor, since American exports (mainly food, fibre, and some high technology items) are in much more demand in China than Chinese exports are in the United States. It is likely that there will be further trade expansion, the main constraint being China’s limited foreign exchange reserves, a large part of which are derived from exporting food and water to Hong Kong. Negotiations are under way to settle Chinese claims for assets blocked by the United States and American claims for property confiscated by China; if these claims are settled, the result should be a further stimulus to trade expansion. Still another stimulus would be the granting of most-favored-nation status to China by the United States, which has not yet been done (as of fall 1974). Peking is already accepting short-term trading credits, which it prefers to call deferred payment arrangements, from American and other sources; developmental credits and other forms of aid are not now in prospect but are an obvious possibility—although perhaps nothing more—in the future. Joint enterprises and other forms of foreign (including American) investment in China appear to be a very unlikely possibility, given Chinese sensitivities to any semblance of foreign exploitation.

The most important aspect of Sino-American relations, although it is an aspect that is the subject of very little public official discussion on either side, relates to the Sino-Soviet confrontation. No one expects the United States to give China any kind of formal military guarantee against possible Soviet attack. Peking has not asked for one, because it is too proud, because it expects that the answer would be negative, and probably because it considers that even if a guarantee were given it would not necessarily be reliable (any more than the Soviet guarantee seemed reliable to Peking by the late 1950s) and might even trigger a Soviet attack. The most that can reasonably be expected under present conditions is that the Sino-American relationship should be, or at least should appear in Moscow to be, sufficiently close so that there is a significant element of uncertainty as to what the American response would be in the event of a Soviet attack on China. This uncertainty appears actually to have been created in Moscow, at least until recently. On the other hand, the Soviet leadership has recovered to a considerable extent from the initial shock created by the dramatic developments of 1971-72 in Sino-American relations, which have tended to become somewhat routinized since 1972 and to develop the strains inevitable in a working international relationship. It is likely, therefore, that Moscow takes the Sino-American relationship a little less seriously as a constraint on any possible Soviet decision to attack China. Partly for this reason, the Soviet attitude toward China appears to be more dangerous than at any time since 1970 or 1971.

Since 1969 the United States government has said very little, in public at any rate, to discourage a Soviet attack on China. On the contrary, American official hands have been largely kept off this issue, again so far as the public record shows. There was no reference to the Sino-Soviet confrontation in the Shanghai Communiqué, and Kissinger has never taken a Soviet specialist with him to China (presumably because to do so might anger and alarm Moscow). This comparative silence is obviously maintained in the interest of the notion of American “equidistance” as between Moscow and Peking, the Soviet-American detente, and of course the avoidance of a military clash with the Soviet Union.

If in fact Sino-Soviet tension has recently increased, the question can reasonably be asked whether the United States should do more. A major Sino-Soviet war would probably result in a defeat for China and a serious disruption of the international stability and multilateral balance in the Far East that it is one of the main aims of United States foreign policy to foster. At the minimum, it would seem advisable for the United States government to say publicly, and therefore authoritatively, that it is no longer committed to the idea of the “irreversibility” of the Soviet-American detente and that a Soviet attack on China would lead to immediate American re-examination of the entire relationship. It could be left to Moscow to wonder what the outcome of that reexamination might be. It would also be worth while for the United States government to consider seriously what it would do if the following scenario, or “hypothetical horrible,” materialized, wholly or in large part: at a time of political crisis in the United States, Mao Tse-tung dies and a political crisis ensues in China, the Soviet Union attacks China, North Vietnam attacks South Vietnam, and the Arabs attack Israel. It is not an inconceivable situation.

Sino-Soviet tension short of war, such as exists at present, is a very different matter from an actual war, from the standpoint of American interests among other things. As already indicated, this level of tension has resulted in significant advantages for the United States, which probably could have been exploited more effectively than has been the case. Any marked change in the current Sino-Soviet relationship in either direction, whether toward conflict or toward accommodation, would tend to be bad for American interests, at least under present conditions. What are the main factors bearing on the likelihood that such a change will occur?

Sino-Soviet Relations: Conflict or Accommodation?

The early months of 1974 witnessed what appeared to be a potentially serious worsening of Sino-Soviet relations. To a considerable extent it seemed to flow, like the simultaneous difficulties in Sino-American relations, from the upsurge of protest by Chinese radicals against Chou En-lai’s domestic and foreign policies. The radicals’ devotion to the dual adversary strategy, or in other words the assumed obligation to struggle simultaneously against, or at least express defiance of, both American “imperialism” and Soviet “revisionism” (or “social-imperialism”), evidently lingered on. It was not clear to what extent certain gestures along these lines were forced on Chou En-lai over his objections, private or explicit, or were taken by him in order to appease his critics and avoid the necessity for still more vigorous gestures; there were probably elements of both things in the situation. To the extent that he took action against the Soviet Union on his own initiative, he may have intended to show the United States that the anti-American gestures did not portend a Sino-Soviet reconciliation. If so, the message was none too clearly conveyed or understood.

On the whole, it seems probable that Chou En-lai was in reasonably effective charge and was managing this apparent reversion to the dual adversary strategy in a way compatible with his established policy of claiming, not very convincingly, to maintain an even-handed opposition to the two “superpowers” while in reality “tilting” toward the United States. The sharp and successful Chinese military action against South Vietnamese forces in the Paracel Islands (in the South China Sea) on January 20 was obviously directed at a client of the United States. The simultaneous expulsion of three Soviet diplomats and two of their wives from China for undiplomatic activity (to be precise, stealing public mailboxes and examining their contents) completed the picture of an almost balletic exercise in the application of the dual adversary strategy. On the other hand, as already indicated, the conflict in the Paracels also had strong anti-Soviet overtones on account of the presence in the area shortly beforehand of Soviet naval vessels and the existence of a North (as well as South) Vietnamese claim to the islands. Here, evidently, was Chou En-lai’s “tilt” in operation, at least in a negative sense.

A probably more serious episode occurred about two months later, while both David Bruce and Huang Chen were absent from their respective posts in Peking and Washington. On March 14, a Soviet helicopter strayed across the Central Asian sector of the Sino-Soviet border into Sinkiang and either had to land on account of mechanical difficulties or landed and was unable to take off again. On the following day Moscow privately requested the return of the three-man crew; the helicopter itself was of less interest since it was presumably not operational and since the Chinese already had many of the same type. The incident and the request presented Peking with a difficult problem. Simply to comply would expose Chou-En-lai to domestic charges of being “soft” on “social-imperialism”; not to comply would risk further tension with the already dangerously aroused military leadership of China’s most formidable adversary. The problem was complicated by the existence of a reasonable possibility that the crew had been reconnoitering, from the air or even on the ground, Chinese missile sites on which work had been suspended for the winter; the area in question is about two thousand miles from Moscow, roughly the range of an IRBM. In this difficult situation Peking kept silent for the time being, and on March 20 the Soviet side made a public statement of its version of the incident, which was to the effect that the helicopter had been on a medical evacuation mission and had not intended to violate the border. Peking then published (on March 23) a strongly worded refutation of the Soviet version and presented its own, which was to the effect that the helicopter had been engaged in espionage and that there had been other recent Soviet overflights in the same area. It is worth noting that Peking timed this statement, which was obviously likely to go down very badly in Moscow, for the day after David Bruce’s return to Peking, a development that strengthened Peking’s hand and sense of security by showing that its relationship with the United States was still viable; it was also the day before the start of a visit to Moscow by Secretary Kissinger, and therefore a time that seemed appropriate to the Chinese for reminding the United States and the world that the Soviet Union was not to be trusted. On May 3, the Soviet side made another statement on the helicopter incident and warned in rather strong language of “inevitable consequences” if the crew were not returned. In reality this statement may have been less threatening than it appeared; for one thing, it was issued close to the time of the May Day celebrations in Moscow and therefore at a time when the Soviet military leadership may have needed some sort of compensation for the fact that it had not been allowed to stage a military parade on that occasion since 1968. (The 1969 parade had been cancelled almost at the last minute, probably because the party leadership thought that its military colleagues were already seeking too much publicity through exploiting the clashes with the Chinese on the Ussuri River in March.) In any case, however, Peking was still in a predicament. At the time of writing (September 1974) it was not clear whether it would make no response at all, try and perhaps punish the helicopter crew for espionage, or—more probably—try to work out some intermediate course of action that would be intended to prevent the wrath of either the Chinese radicals or the Soviet military from assuming dangerous proportions.

Apart from particular incidents such as this one, the Soviet game appeared basically to create and maintain a military presence (including about 50 ground divisions) near the Sino-Soviet border that would deter Peking, “militarist” and “expansionist” though Soviet propaganda alleged it to be, from taking military action either against Soviet Asia or elsewhere in Asia (by way of exploiting the American disengagement). These forces would also be in a position to put pressure on the border, or even advance deeper into China, if Moscow decided that such action would serve a useful purpose, such as tipping the balance in favor of “healthy forces” (the Soviet term for pro-Soviet foreign Communists) involved in a succession struggle following Mao Tse-tung’s death. In the meantime, even though the Soviet leadership is genuinely concerned over and angered by Peking’s anti-Soviet stance and general behavior, the Chinese can be and are being manipulated as a convenient demon and adversary figure in Soviet domestic and foreign propaganda (in the contexts of the Warsaw Pact and the international Communist movement, for example). Moscow is happy to be able to demonstrate to Peking from time to time that in the last analysis the Soviet Union is more important to the United States than China is, and that therefore the American connection is of only limited utility to Peking for anti-Soviet purposes; examples of such demonstrations are the series of Soviet-American summits and the fact that the Middle Eastern crisis of late 1973 (in which Moscow was obviously involved to one degree or another) predictably compelled Secretary Kissinger to postpone a scheduled visit to Peking. In addition, as already indicated (in Chapter VIII) the Soviet Union is conducting intensive political activity in various parts of the world in opposition to or in competition with China.

The Chinese game is essentially to deter Soviet attack through conventional and nuclear military modernization combined with the creation of a network of international political relationships, with the United States in particular, that tend to set a high political price on any possible Soviet military action against China. In a more positive way, Peking is of course carrying on vigorous political and diplomatic activity in many parts of the world with the purpose of enhancing its own influence and reducing Moscow’s, and where appropriate of demonstrating its own alleged ideological superiority. In addition to that, Peking vigorously exploits the charge of Soviet “revisionism” and of Soviet threats to China and other countries as well for purposes of domestic political mobilization and foreign propaganda.

Obviously wars, even major wars, have broken out over issues and policies far less serious than those that now exacerbate the relationship between China and the Soviet Union. There is unquestionably a possibility of a Sino-Soviet war. Since China’s marked strategic inferiority makes it virtually “unthinkable” for Peking to launch such a war, the initiative would almost certainly be essentially with the Soviet side. Opinions in Moscow are apparently divided, among both the civilian and the military leaders, as to whether it would be advantageous on balance to attack China; to date the opponents and the negative arguments have obviously prevailed.

The basic argument in favor of such an attack goes to the effect that the Peking leadership is mortally hostile to the Soviet Union and is becoming an increasingly serious military threat to it, especially in the nuclear missile field, that this problem outweighs the consequences of taking military action to cope with it, and that it is desirable to act soon before the problem grows even more serious. Successful military action might not only blunt the Chinese threat but teach Peking a valuable lesson, influence its future leadership and policies in a pro-Soviet direction, and make China an example that would demonstrate to the rest of the world the folly and dangers of an anti-Soviet posture.

The negative argument goes roughly along these lines. China hay a formidable defensive capability and at least some ability to retaliate against the Soviet Union with both nuclear and conventional forces; Moscow could not be certain of knocking out enough of Peking’s nuclear weapons with a first strike to avoid an “unacceptable” Chinese second strike. In the course of such an exchange, the Soviet Union’s military posture with respect to the United States would be significantly, perhaps seriously, impaired, an important consideration regardless of whether the United States supported China to the extent of attacking the Soviet Union. The political consequences of a Soviet attack might be equally serious over the long run. Far from being coerced or persuaded, even by Soviet military pressures short of an actual attack, into adopting a pro-Soviet line, the Chinese leadership and people would probably become more bitterly anti-Soviet than ever. A Soviet attack would have a negative effect, in all likelihood a strongly negative one, on Moscow’s political standing virtually everywhere in the world, including the international Communist movement and the United States (even if the American stress on detente with the Soviet Union prevented any strong action by the United States against the Soviet Union on behalf of China). There could be no certainty in Moscow that military action, however drastic, could achieve anything resembling a “final solution” of the Chinese problem. China could probably recover and resume the contest, as some other defeated nations have done in the past (although to be sure not after a large-scale nuclear attack, such as might accompany a major Soviet military operation against China). The prospect of a protracted adversary relationship with China, and one exacerbated by Soviet military action, can hardly appear very attractive in Moscow. From this perspective, therefore, it would be wiser to manage the Chinese problem by various combinations of political and military measures short of actual war and hope for better days after the passing of Mao Tse-tung.

To most outsiders at any rate, the arguments against the wisdom of a Soviet attack on China appear far more persuasive than the arguments in favor. It is of course normal for some one to see no sufficient reason for two third parties to fight each other, and yet fights constantly occur at various levels of violence. Therefore, to repeat, a major Sino-Soviet war must be considered a realistic possibility. This is particularly so since the Soviet leadership appears to feel increasingly apprehensive about Peking’s growing nuclear capability and to have recovered from whatever deterrent effect was produced initially by China’s improved relationship with the United States. A reasonable estimate and forecast would be that a major Soviet attack on China will not occur, especially if the United States takes measures along the lines suggested in the previous section, but the possibility of such an attack cannot be ruled out.

Assuming that there is no Soviet attack on China, the outlook is for a continuation of the existing tense adversary situation for a while longer, at least as long as Mao Tse-tung is alive. One reason for thinking so is his fixation on his ideological campaign against Soviet “revisionism.” Another is the fact that for historical reasons the leadership of the Chinese party and armed forces is about to pass predominantly into the hands of North Chinese, to whom on account of obvious geopolitical considerations the Soviet Union (rather than the United States or Japan) tends to appear as the major foreign threat, although probably not one against which it would be advisable to take the initiative. On the Soviet side, it is likely that some leading figures, including Brezhnev, have become so hostile to the Chinese as to be unlikely to make any major accommodation with them, at least during Mao Tse-tung’s lifetime. The outlook therefore is for continued confrontation and rivalry for the time being.

On the other hand, although there are advantages to both sides in this state of confrontation there are also important risks and disadvantages, including the common need to conciliate the United States. Conversely, there would be advantages to reaching an accommodation. Barring a sharp worsening of Sino-Soviet relations, as a result of a Soviet attack on China for example, there is therefore an obvious possibility that confrontation will be replaced sooner or later by accommodation. Just as the Brezhnev leadership tried to reach an accommodation with Peking shortly after the overthrow of the obsessively anti-Chinese Khrushchev, it might try the same thing again after the death of the obsessively anti-Soviet Mao. If not, there is still the possibility that the passage of time, if it does not bring further exacerbation, will not only remove antagonistic leaders on both sides but soften attitudes to the point where an accommodation becomes feasible. This would require that each side outgrow a great deal of its current view of the other, as well as its felt need to exploit the other as a demon figure for domestic and external consumption. All this appears a reasonable possibility for the 1980s.

If a Sino-Soviet accommodation should occur, it might very well include (not necessarily simultaneously) some sort of agreement on the disputed border, a mutual pull-back or thinning out of troops, other forms of arms control, a cessation of ideological and political polemics, cooperation or at least mutual toleration rather than active rivalry in third areas, and a resumption of Soviet aid (economic, technical, and perhaps even military) to China. Of these the idea of cooperation in third areas seems the least likely. If an accommodation should take place along some such lines as these, it would presumably emerge in the context of a trend toward moderation and flexibility in the domestic politics and foreign policies of both parties. It would probably not involve a restoration of the Sino-Soviet alliance, which now exists on paper only and will expire in 1980 unless renewed or extended, to anything like the reasonably full vigor that it enjoyed in the early 1950s. For these reasons, a Sino-Soviet accommodation would not necessarily be a bad thing for the United States or Japan, unless it went to the point of an entente aimed at one or both of them.

Three and a Half Powers

The previous sections of this chapter, which revolve around China, point to the conclusion that China will be a significant power in Asia, whether in the rest of the world or not, and that Peking will be in a reasonably good position to play an active role in the international politics of the region. Actually, the argument is a circular one; China was made the focus of the preceding sections because of a belief that it has such a potential and that a demonstration of this fact—or probability—was desirable. A more difficult question is whether China’s role will be constructive—that is, conducive to international stability—as well as active. On the whole, the best answer appears to be a cautious affirmative. There is a reasonable likelihood of a trend toward moderation in Chinese politics and foreign policy, as already suggested, and there are important military and political disincentives to a bellicose or expansionist Chinese role in Asia. This applies mainly to overt, formal, military activity outside China’s borders, but informal or covert activity (such as support for “people’s wars”) also appears to be on a long-term downward curve. China, in short, appears likely to be a great power (not a “superpower”) in Asia and to recognize the responsibilities that go with that status, at least to a reasonable degree. Indeed, as already suggested it may be essential to international stability and the effective operation of a multipolar balance in Asia, in the long run, that China play such a role.

Japan is now, and is likely to remain, essentially what may be called a semi-power, or upper-level middle power. It obviously has great economic strength and influence, although the oil crisis of late 1973 demonstrated dramatically how vulnerable it is in this respect. But it has virtually no foreign policy as yet, very little political influence, and no military capability beyond a modest defensive one. This situation could of course change as a result of a Japanese decision to rearm on a large scale, and in particular to acquire nuclear weapons (which would probably have to be based entirely at sea). Under present conditions, such a decision would be a political impossibility for any Japanese government. Some drastic change in Japan’s internal or external environment would be required for it to become a possibility; one scenario that suggests itself in this connection is a major Sino-Soviet war. As long as it does not rearm, or acquire significant international political influence in some other way, Japan is likely to maintain something resembling its present relationship with the United States, which is basically friendly in spite of the “shocks” that it has experienced and which of course includes a military alliance. It is possible that a left-wing Japanese government might repudiate the alliance and try to adopt a posture of “equidistance” from the three major powers.

The United States will presumably remain a “superpower,” and as President Nixon indicated a Pacific power in the sense that it will maintain significant air and naval forces on islands to the east of the Philippines. Its political and economic interests in the Far East, including continental Asia, will probably also continue to be significant, although not necessarily at a level as high as in the past. The American military presence on the continent of Asia and the offshore islands, including Japan and Okinawa, will probably continue to decline and eventually approach zero. American ground forces are not likely to fight in Asia again in the “foreseeable” future, and even air and naval action in support of friendly governments is likely to be conducted, if at all, much more reluctantly and circumspectly than has sometimes been the case in the past, notably in Indochina.

The Soviet Union will presumably remain a “superpower” and a true Far Eastern power (the latter to a greater extent than the United States, because of geography). Whether it will become a true Pacific power, in direct rivalry with the United States, remains to be seen. The outcome will obviously depend to a large extent on the future of Soviet foreign policy and military growth in general, and of the Soviet Union’s relations with the three other powers. On the whole, the outlook appears to be for a cautious but significant expansion of Soviet activity and influence in the Far East and the Pacific, barring the special situation of a major Sino-Soviet war.

It is practically certain that significant roles in Far Eastern international politics will be played, at various lower levels of power and influence, by other powers beside these four. Obvious candidates for such roles are Australia, India, Thailand, the Democratic Republic of Vietnam (especially if it succeeds in gaining permanent control over substantial additional areas of Indochina), and Indonesia. The combined effect of the policies and actions of these states, and the other regional states, on the international politics of East Asia is likely to be significant, and on balance constructive. It should be possible for them, singly or in combination, to avoid “domination” by the three major powers or Japan even if domination is attempted.

The combined effect of the policies and actions of the four principal powers (including Japan) and the less powerful states ought to be conducive, over time, to the operation of multipolarity and international stability. The rules of this game may be complex and will probably take considerable time to work out. But the outlook appears reasonably encouraging, always barring a Sino-Soviet war and making allowance for the special case of Indochina. Apart from these two problems, the main ones that might be seriously disruptive of international stability in Asia would be Japanese or Indian rearmament on a large scale, with nuclear as well as conventional weapons. It is entirely possible that disruptive international forces such as these, if they materialize at all, may turn out to be a less formidable problem for the countries of the region than their own domestic difficulties, which may become acute in some cases.

Whatever the exact shape of the future may turn out to be, Asia will unquestionably remain one of the most important, complex, and interesting regions of the world. Its international politics, as well as the other principal aspects of its life, will continue to deserve thoughtful attention, from Americans as well as others.