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Mao and the Cultural Revolution in China
Commentaries on Mao’s Last Revolution and a
Reply by the Authors
One of the most important and tragic events in the latter half of the twentieth
century—an event that both inºuenced and was inºuenced by the Cold
War—was the Greater Proletarian Cultural Revolution in China, inspired by
Mao Zedong. The Cultural Revolution, starting in 1966 and continuing un-
til Mao’s death in 1976, reached its height from October 1966 through the
ªrst few months of 1969, at the very time that a Sino-Soviet military confron-
tation was brewing. The Cultural Revolution was aimed at destroying much
of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP), an entity that Mao had periodically
scaled back through ruthless purges, and was also targeted against anyone sus-
pected of being an “intellectual.” In 1967 the so-called Cultural Revolution
Authority (headed by Mao, Jiang Qing, and Lin Biao) set up a Revolutionary
Committee in Shanghai, which launched a chaotic wave of terror across
China. High-ranking ofªcials were subjected to public denunciations, ritual
humiliation, and severe physical abuse, and the same practices were replicated
at all levels of Chinese society, with a good deal of local initiative. An im-
mense number of people were tortured and killed.
Despite the closed nature of Chinese society, horriªc accounts of cruelty
and violence made their way out of China, and ofªcial broadcasts of public
denunciations were widely available. Hence, the broad contours of the may-
hem and bloodshed that engulfed China during those years have long been
known. What has not been known until recently, however, is the precise na-
ture of Mao’s objectives, the balance between supervision from above and ini-
tiative from below, the interaction between central and local authorities, and
the radicalizing impact of events in localities on the highest leaders, especially
Mao. The proliferation of memoirs by those who lived through the Cultural
Revolution (whether as victims, perpetrators, or observers) and the ofªcial
publication of formerly secret CCP and government documents have enabled
scholars in both China and the West to ªll in at least some of the many gaps
in the historical record.
Journal of Cold War Studies
Vol. 10, No. 2, Spring 2008, pp. 97–130
© 2008 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College and the Massachusetts Institute
of Technology
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—Mark Kramer
1. Roderick MacFarquhar, The Origins of the Cultural Revolution, Vol. 1: Contradictions among the Peo-
ple, 1956–1957 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1974); Roderick MacFarquhar, The Origins of
the Cultural Revolution, Vol. 2: The Great Leap Forward, 1958–1960 (New York: Columbia University
Press, 1983); and Roderick MacFarquhar, The Origins of the Cultural Revolution, Vol. 3: The Coming of
the Cataclysm, 1961–1966 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1997).
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Mao and the Cultural Revolution in China
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enemies or allies knew anyone well. The story of the book is vivid because its
Beijing men and their wives are so crisply depicted, but nothing essential in it
suggests why the rest of China was so markedly similar. The authors admit in
passing (p. 54) that “the process by which Mao translated high-level political
intrigue into mass mobilization remains one of the many obscure issues of the
Cultural Revolution.” Maybe so, but this issue is important. Without it, the
topic is just Mao’s last skullduggeries.
The clearest example of a central action that made China’s political pot
boil over was Lin Biao’s order to the People’s Liberation Army (PLA): “Don’t
strike back if hit; don’t talk back if abused” (p. 62), which was joined with
similar orders to the police. These injunctions allowed resentment to fester in
public, spurring many big-character posters. Yet the book says little about the
reasons for such widespread anger at local Communist Party bosses. The form
of analysis that has never been better pursued than in this book tells more
about the CR’s timing than about its causes. Admittedly, fuel without a spark
makes no ªre.
Red Guards and news traveling from Beijing brought the CR gospel to
other places, but why was it so avidly received? Enthusiasts, especially from
secondary schools, mimicked the violence and then used it zealously. More
sociological analysis is required to explain why the Red Guards inspired so
many Chinese, scattered so widely, to behave so unusually. The “up to the
mountains, down to the villages” campaign of 1968 is treated as just an exten-
sion of smaller xiafang campaigns in the early 1960s, without sufªcient atten-
tion to the social backgrounds of youths who were “sent down” at these times
or their reactions to the experience (p. 252).
The book’s lengthy bibliography mentions articles that probe into these
issues, as well as books by authors such as Anita Chan, Stanley Rosen, and
Jonathan Unger—but not their joint seminal article on the social origins of
student Red Guards in Canton2 nor books by researchers such as Marc
Blecher and Gordon White about functional units (not to mention
psychologizers such as Richard Solomon or Robert Lifton). The CR is a capa-
cious problem. Despite material in the book from non-Beijing locations that
national leaders visited, this study evinces a strong concentration on a few
leaders in the capital, almost as if China were a small country.
Where local units such as schools or factories are discussed in the book,
they are mostly in Beijing. The authors write on p. 157 that “Mao’s ideal gov-
ernment was a small one.” They usually seem to follow the Chinese habit of
seeing provincial power as unimportant (which it is not). Ambiguities none-
2. Anita Chan, Stanley Rosen, and Jonathan Unger, “Students and Class Warfare: The Social Roots of
the Red Guard Conºict in Canton,” China Quarterly, No. 83 (Autumn 1980), pp. 397–446.
100
Mao and the Cultural Revolution in China
theless arise, for example in the case of Tao Zhu, whose demise Mao viewed
with insouciance: “By bringing Tao to the center,” the authors write, “Mao
separated a dynamic leader with high-level connections in the capital from his
power base” (p. 190), especially in Guangdong. An exception to the book’s
Beijing-centrism is its coverage of early 1968, when politics became conspicu-
ously turbulent in China’s large military regions.
Mao’s Last Revolution depends on judgments about actors’ motives that
are hard to document fully, even though MacFarquhar and Schoenhals do a
much better job in this regard than anyone else has. Was Mao’s aim, in recall-
ing Deng Xiaoping, in 1973 really “to restrain Zhou Enlai” (p. 358)? Perhaps,
but the book gives more evidence that Zhou, who by then was suffering from
serious bouts of angina and cancer, was totally faithful to Mao.
Another question of motive has been debated by various scholars: How
ambitious was Lin Biao? The assessment in Mao’s Last Revolution is somewhat
different from that in a previous analysis by MacFarquhar, as the current book
sensibly concedes (p. 335, n. 53). When a prince is as Machiavellian as Mao
was, the courtiers become equally scheming.
Was Zhou an exception to this rule? Lin’s demise gave more leeway to
Zhou, who is depicted here as having been devoid of any moral principles that
Mao’s least intimation did not trump. Zhou apparently acted to preserve gov-
ernmental order (not justice) only when Mao also wanted it. Zhou could be
as unsympathetic as his boss toward old comrades, unless Mao also wanted
them saved. The discussion on p. 103 is among many passages showing that
Mao “had no scruples about the taking of human life.” The level of detail that
MacFarquhar and Schoenhals have unearthed about tense personal relations
among the dozen or so most powerful leaders of the CR era is unprecedented.
Textual and photographic evidence in the book highlights the extent to which
Mao and his henchmen arranged the physical torture of their previous com-
rades, only some of whom succeeded in committing suicide. Schoenhals’s
pathbreaking research on the Central Case Examination Group, chaired by
Zhou, is reinforced by new information in this book to revise Zhou’s general
image from mainly moderate to mainly lapdog.
Torture regularly elicited false confessions. Whole movements, such as
the “May 16 Conspiracy,” were conjured from such fantasies. Mao’s Last Revo-
lution offers the best analysis anywhere of the political degradation wrought
by the CR.
Sex, and resentment stirred by sex, ªgure surprisingly often in this ac-
count. Wang Dongxing (Mao’s bodyguard and bouncer and the closest equiv-
alent to an imperial eunuch that a people’s republic could muster) chose a
harem of attractive and politically reliable young women for the Chairman’s
service. Lin Biao’s wife, Ye Qun, is repeatedly described as having been “a
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woman of easy virtue” in Yan’an days, and her resentment of this reputation
apparently fueled her important role in the early ouster of Mao’s chief of staff,
Luo Ruiqing, thus letting Mao more freely use the PLA to crush those within
the Communist Party whom he deemed disloyal. Many wives (Lin’s, Liu’s,
Deng’s, and of course Mao’s) ªgure more notably in this account of the CR
than in any other.
Speeches and notiªcations, often edited by Mao, were always important
even when vague. The dominant power of words, especially directives “emit-
ted from the Center” (Zhongfa), is an analytic premise here. To say that this
premise can be documented is a truism; documents are words. The same
premise underlies most discourse within China about political causation, but
it perhaps excessively downplays factors that are less subject to control by in-
tellectuals, such as unintended material situations (e.g., China’s size, or any
other factor not subject to change as quick as thought). Mao’s Last Revolution
is nicely dedicated to “all Chinese whose works and words have enlightened
us, and to future generations of Chinese historians.” There is nothing
deªnitive in this ªeld, and the authors are sensible to admit that. But this
book is as close to deªnitive as we will have for a long time.
The book will be translated and disseminated in China (no doubt on a
restricted basis at ªrst). It will be readily appreciated there, and among schol-
ars of China everywhere.
Chinese like to read about clever stratagems, and here Mao is much like
Cao Cao. But there is also a Chinese saying, “Lao budu Sanguo” (“Elders
shouldn’t read the Three Kingdoms”) because interest in traps and deceit may
well subvert respect and kindness for elders. Mao at the last was puerile. His
compatriots should read this book and see his impulse to betrayal.
✣ ✣ ✣
Roderick MacFarquhar and Michael Schoenhals, Mao’s Last Revolution. Cambridge, MA:
The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2006. xiii ⫹ 693 pp. $35.00.
If the Cultural Revolution were a video game, it might seem so detached from
reality that even fantasy addicts would be hard-pressed to take it seriously.
Unfortunately, the joystick that Mao Zedong manipulated was the lever
of power in the Chinese Communist Party (CCP), and the results of the
Cultural Revolution, his all-too-real fantasy game, were chaos, destruction,
violent death, and cruelty on a scale fathomable only in the context of Chi-
nese history. This epic chronicle of the Cultural Revolution by Roderick
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Mao and the Cultural Revolution in China
3. Lee Feigon, Mao: A Reinterpretation (Chicago: Ivan R. Dee, 2002); and Philip Short, Mao: A Life
(New York: Henry Holt, 2000).
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4. Li Zhisui, The Private Life of Chairman Mao: The Memoirs of Mao’s Personal Physician, trans. by Tai
Hung-Chao (New York: Random House, 1994).
104
Mao and the Cultural Revolution in China
ter. (The treatment in Mao’s Last Revolution of the Lin Biao affair is rather
sketchy, inconclusive, and less satisfactory than the masterful analysis of nu-
merous other episodes.) After the Lin Biao affair, Mao recalled Deng
Xiaoping in 1973 to avoid “a backlash among PLA generals” (p. 358) and re-
strain Zhou Enlai. But did Zhou really pose a threat to Mao? That hardly
seems credible unless Mao completely misread the man whom Li Zhisui re-
ferred to accurately as “Mao’s slave.”
Zhou’s reputation, at least in most Western historiography, is still as over-
valued as Enron stock before its collapse. MacFarquhar and Schoenhals cast
Zhou in his accustomed role of Mr. Moderate, who struggled to hold the
party, the state apparatus, and the military together amid mounting chaos,
and who did what he could to blunt the worst of Mao’s excesses. But the re-
cord shows that Zhou’s actual accomplishments amounted to very little.
Moreover, during the latter half of the Cultural Revolution, he was busy man-
aging the opening to the United States while dying of cancer. Instead of
understanding Zhou as a lone voice of sanity in the lunatic asylum of China
during the Cultural Revolution, we should, in the language of addiction, view
him as an enabler or facilitator who made it possible for Mao to act out his
murderous fantasies in the certainty that Zhou could be counted on to keep
things from falling totally apart. Even so, Mao distrusted Zhou and sought to
hold him in check. When a man cannot trust his dog, the depth of his para-
noia is self-evident. Zhou had been slavishly loyal to Mao, following every
twist and turn in the Chairman’s labyrinth, a one-man act holding China to-
gether. Rather than being like a boy with his ªnger in the dike, he was more
like a hundred-armed Buddha.
The Cultural Revolution undoubtedly went deeply against the grain of
an urbane and cultured Communist aristocrat like Zhou, yet throughout
this time he showed himself to be a supreme opportunist, perhaps the most
pathetic of the coterie of sycophants who clung to Mao like remoras on a
shark. Among the handful of top leaders, Zhou alone, the indispensable man
with a reputation and authority second only to Mao’s, might conceivably have
been able to dissuade Mao from his folly or at least might have been able to
mobilize the party old guard and the marshals to strangle the Cultural Revo-
lution in its cradle. MacFarquhar and Schoenhals only lightly touch on this
possibility.
The coup d’état that saw the arrest of the Gang of Four on 6 October
1976, nine months after Zhou’s death and four weeks after Mao’s, might have
been attempted ten years earlier had Zhou been a man of sterner stuff. In that
case, Mao and Jiang Qing might have suffered the fate of the Guangxu Em-
peror at the hands of the Empress Dowager Ci Xi following the aborted 1898
reforms and become prisoners of the palace or even of the dread Qincheng
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Prison. Certainly, China would have been better off if a real military coup had
been carried out in 1966 by the old marshals. Such a venture would have had
to proceed without the support of Lin Biao, a consummate toady doubly
twisted by illness and ambition. Instead, Zhou viciously attacked men who
had been his closest associates including Ye Jianying, Chen Yi, and Zhu De.
One wonders what Mao really thought of this man on whom he depended so
heavily, a man who serviced the state with the suppleness and lubricity of the
women who serviced Mao’s bed. If Zhou was not Mao’s slave, he was in effect
his court eunuch.
In the end, of course, it was Deng Xiaoping who turned out to be Mao’s
posthumous nemesis, much as the Cultural Revolution radicals had indeed
predicted. The Great Helmsman, who knew only how to steer onto the rocks,
spared Deng the fate of Liu Shaoqi, who died an excruciating death unat-
tended in Kaifeng. Mao needed Deng to hold things together while Zhou lay
dying. Like Ishmael, the narrator of Moby Dick, Deng, too, was the survivor
of a wreck. Unlike Ishmael, who merely lived to tell the tale, Deng rewrote the
script of Chinese history just enough to liberate the Chinese people from the
tyranny of Mao’s utopian Leninism but not enough to allow them to choose
freely their path to the future. Unhappily, the authors’ verdict that the Cul-
tural Revolution was “truly the last stand of Chinese conservatism,” a ªnal ef-
fort “to perpetuate a distinctly Chinese essence in the modern world,” seems
premature at best, although we may all be fairly certain that there will never
be another Mao.
MacFarquhar and Schoenhals argue that the Cultural Revolution was a
watershed in the history of the PRC, but was it also an aberration? I think
not. The Cultural Revolution was the distilled essence of the politics of the
Maoist era. Moreover, it lasted a full decade, more than one-third of the pe-
riod of Mao’s rule. None of its features were new. Vicious intra-party purges
of both high- and low-ranking cadres accompanied by intense psychological
pressure and torture were part of the standard operating procedure of Mao
and the CCP from at least the late 1920s. The same was true of the mobiliza-
tion of the masses or, perhaps more accurately, the unleashing of the dregs
of Chinese society in an atmosphere that not merely permitted but rewarded
violence, cruelty, and attacks on culture that exceeded any of the crimes of the
Taliban in Afghanistan.
One wonders whether a more dysfunctional political system than that of
China under the Great Helmsman has ever existed. The CCP Politburo
and the Politburo Standing Committee increasingly came to resemble an in-
stitution for aged criminals or the criminally insane. The authors’ struggle to
delineate the logic of Mao’s contradictory behavior—for example, his simulta-
neous support of rival factions—founders on the supposition that rationality
106
Mao and the Cultural Revolution in China
underlay his actions. Why did Mao’s colleagues, not just the timorous Zhou
Enlai, succumb so easily to his will? MacFarquhar and Schoenhals refer to
“the fear and pusillanimity that gripped Mao’s colleagues, transªxed like rab-
bits in front of a cobra” (p. 458). But this misses the point. These men and
women were not merely pusillanimous. They were also complicitous in his
crimes. These were not rabbits, but sharks in a feeding frenzy, feeding on their
wounded and bleeding comrades. One looks in vain for a hero in this story.
Among the top leaders, only Peng Zhen, a member of the Politburo Standing
Committee and mayor of Beijing, who was an early victim of the Cultural
Revolution, acted honorably and sought to protect his subordinates. These
were not Greek heroes, good men and women with a single tragic ºaw; they
are empowered gangsters, villains one and all, who mouth revolutionary slo-
gans and feign devotion to the ideals of socialism. Meanwhile, in the lower
depths, the Red Guards and other lumpen elements engaged in what was a
politicized and at least partly condoned form of gang warfare not unlike that
between the Bloods and the Crips on the streets of Los Angeles with the stakes
not dissimilar as well; namely, turf, prestige, and the power of life and death.
Contemporary Chinese who accuse Japan of historical amnesia and of
failing to confront the historical sins of their grandfathers should look in the
mirror and ponder the horrors that their own parents and grandparents
inºicted on each other in the name of their blind loyalty to the Great Teacher
and Great Helmsman. The terrible truth is that no foreign invader has
inºicted greater damage on the Chinese people and Chinese culture than the
Chinese have inºicted on themselves over the past 150 years. It is not some-
thing to take pride in. China would beneªt from the appointment of a Special
Historian Prosecutor who would not merely chronicle but also judge the lead-
ers responsible for the Cultural Revolution. Of course, this is really a task for a
future democratic China as a whole.
One hopes that someday Mao’s corpse, or whatever it is that lies on dis-
play in his mausoleum, will be removed from its position on the central axis
of power in Beijing and reinterred in his native village of Shaoshan, where
grandparents may frighten children into obedience with stories of his mon-
strosity. Then this ugly architectural monument to the megalomania, cruelty,
vanity, addiction to violence, and destructiveness of an arbitrary and capri-
cious leader whom too many Chinese and others mistook for a philosopher
king might be transformed into a museum commemorating the countless vic-
tims of his unhappy reign.
✣ ✣ ✣
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Roderick MacFarquhar and Michael Schoenhals, Mao’s Last Revolution. Cambridge, MA:
The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2006. xiii ⫹ 693 pages. $35.00.
108
Mao and the Cultural Revolution in China
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Mao had intended the Ninth Party Congress to be “the watershed, between
old and new, bad and good, pollution and purity, revisionism and revolu-
tion,” it did not work out that way. The Congress proved to be “a transitional
rather than a terminating event in histories of the Cultural Revolution”
(p. 285).
The second part of the book (chs. 18–25) covers events from the end of
the Ninth Party Congress to the ofªcial end of the CR. The focus of narration
is more on high politics than events in society. Mao became even more para-
noid during this period, and in August 1970, at the Second Plenum of the
Ninth Party Congress, he turned against Lin Biao and his followers over the
issue of who should succeed Liu Shaoqi as the President of the PRC. Lin, his
wife, and his son soon died in a mysterious plane crash while ºeeing to the
Soviet Union (p. 335). At this point, Mao apparently regarded his own wife,
Jiang Qing, and her Shanghai henchmen as his true ideological heirs. But he
knew that his radical supporters were not experienced in running the country.
In the wake of the Lin Biao incident, Mao chose to rehabilitate Deng
Xiaoping and other “capitalist roaders” whom he had previously discarded
during the CR (p. 339). In foreign policy, Mao also reversed his longstanding
anti-American orientation and achieved a rapprochement with the United
States in 1972.5
Mao was tormented between maintaining his image as a world revolu-
tionary leader and forming a tacit alliance with the United States, the “No. 1
imperialist power,” to offset the perceived threat from the Soviet Union. On
the one hand, Mao supported Zhou Enlai’s effort to improve relations with
the United States. On the other, he was ready to drop Zhou and make him a
scapegoat. This explains why Mao instigated the torture of Zhou at a Novem-
ber 1973 meeting of the CCP Politburo and in the 1974 “Criticize Lin, Criti-
cize Confucius” campaign (in which Confucius served as a proxy for Zhou).
Mao’s succession plan failed after his death. The radical leaders were too
arrogant to tolerate the old guard, and Deng Xiaoping was unwilling to com-
promise and form an alliance with the Gang of Four. In April 1976, barely
ªve months before the end of his life, Mao removed Deng once again and al-
lowed the Gang of Four to launch a series of political campaigns against other
leaders. Mao designated an ill-qualiªed new successor, Hua Guofeng. Less
than a month after Mao’s death, Hua, with the support of some members of
the old guard, arrested Mao’s wife and her radical colleagues. Hua himself was
able to rule China for only about two years until Deng Xiaoping emerged as
the paramount leader. In this phase of the CR, the aging Mao diluted military
5. On this shift, see Yafeng Xia, “China’s Elite Politics and Sino-American Rapprochement, January
1969–February 1972,” Journal of Cold War Studies, Vol. 8, No. 4 (Fall 2006), pp. 3–28.
110
Mao and the Cultural Revolution in China
involvement in politics, got rid of Lin Biao, purged some military leaders, and
reinstalled some old guards in power. As MacFarquhar and Schoenhals note,
this phase marked “an ending [of the Cultural Revolution] so painfully drawn
out, so tortuously slow, that it would last more than twice as long as the event
it supposedly brought to a close” (p. 281).
Writing in 1986, Lucian Pye highlighted three key questions about the
Cultural Revolution.6 The ªrst of these was the causes and origins. Spe-
ciªcally, why did Mao decide to tear down what he had done so much to cre-
ate, and why did Chinese society as a whole react in such extreme ways to the
initiatives of a small group of leaders? The second question is how individuals
experienced the CR. The third is the impact of the CR on the major institu-
tions of Chinese society.
In discussing the causes and origins of the CR, scholars in China have ad-
vanced more than a dozen explanations, but no consensus has been reached.
MacFarquhar and Schoenhals offer two lines of interpretation. They claim,
ªrst, that Mao was motivated by revolutionary ideals and was disappointed
with the Soviet experiment, which he believed had created a privileged bu-
reaucratic class that abandoned revolutionary ideals. He therefore set out to
“smash the old culture,” “weed out capitalist roaders in the Party,” and create
a “new socialist man.” This explanation, however, is no longer convincing in
light of revelations over the past ten to ªfteen years about Mao’s extravagant
lifestyle: multiple villas, private trains, and a string of mistresses.
The second line of interpretation put forth by MacFarquhar and Schoen-
hals is that a power struggle was under way between Mao and Liu Shaoqi. But
this argument, too, is unconvincing. If a real struggle had existed, Mao could
simply have called a meeting to remove and arrest Liu Shaoqi, as he did with
the ultra-loyal Lin Biao.
A more plausible explanation for the origins of the CR pertains to Mao’s
concern about his earlier disastrous policies. Over the decades, the highest
CCP ofªcials such as Chen Duxiu and Wang Ming were held accountable for
serious mistakes, and their careers ended tragically. Mao knew that his Great
Leap Forward had inºicted catastrophic damage on the country. He thus re-
treated from the political frontline, leaving the main work to Liu Shaoqi,
Zhou Enlai and Deng Xiaoping. By the early 1960s, Mao sensed that his pres-
tige in the CCP was declining and that he was no longer revered by many of
his colleagues, including Liu Shaoqi and Peng Zhen. Thus, Mao worried that
he would be denounced by his colleagues after his death, much as Josif Stalin
was attacked posthumously in 1956 by Nikita Khrushchev. Mao therefore set
6. Lucian W. Pye, “Reassessing the Cultural Revolution,” China Quarterly, No. 108 (December 1986),
pp. 597–612.
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out to take drastic measures that would preempt any such action by his col-
leagues. He never wholeheartedly trusted Lin Biao and used Lin and the army
solely to defeat his civilian colleagues. Once that goal had been achieved, Mao
turned against Lin and sought to have Jiang Qing and her radical colleagues
installed along with his nephew Mao Yuanxin as his successors—an arrange-
ment that he believed would be the only guarantee of his legacy. Fortunately
for China, this plan was stillborn.
MacFarquhar and Schoenhals have done a ªrst-rate job of assessing the
damage the CR did to all types of institutions: schools, universities, the CCP,
government ministries and bureaus, factories, and agricultural communes. In
reassessing the effects of the CR on individuals, the authors do a relatively
good job of incorporating a large collection of personal stories, interviews,
and memoirs of victims that have been published in the last 40 years. Disillu-
sioned Red Guards and people with “bad class” backgrounds made their sto-
ries known in the West as far back as the early 1970s.7 Over the last 25 years, a
plethora of memoirs from those who were involved in the CR have been pub-
lished in mainland China, Hong Kong, and Taiwan. Many of these memoirs
are not cited in Mao’s Last Revolution. To be sure, memoirs almost always are
self-serving and in some cases contain factual errors and personal biases.
Scholars must exercise caution, comparing and double-checking sources. But
the memoirs, if used circumspectly, can be an invaluable source.8 The recent
outpouring of memoirs can be grouped into the following categories:
(1) ofªcials who managed to stay in power and published their memoirs
with speciªc chapters on the CR, including Marshal Nie Rongzhen;
Marshal Xu Xiangqian9 (not cited in Mao’s Last Revolution); senior diplo-
mats such as Wu Xiuquan10 (not cited) and Geng Biao11 (not cited); the
senior economic ofªcial Xu Muqiao12 (not cited); and provincial leaders
7. For example, Ken Ling, Revenge of Heaven: From Schoolboy to “Little General” in Mao’s Army (New
York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1972).
8. On the memoirs of the CR, see Chung Yen-Lin, “A Study on the Memoirs of the Cultural Revolu-
tion: The Characteristics and Historical Value,” Dongya yanjiu [East Asian Studies], Vol. 37, No. 1
(January 2006), pp. 134–159.
9. Xu Xiangqian, Lishi de huigu [Reviewing History] (Beijing: Jiefangjun Chubanshe, 1987).
10. Wu Xiuquan was deputy head of the CCP International Liaison Department on the eve of the
CR. See Wu Xiuquan, Wu Xiuquan jiangjun zishu [General Wu Xiuquan’s Personal Account]
(Shenyang: Liaoning Renmin Chubanshe, 1998).
11. Geng Biao was Chinese ambassador to Burma on the eve of the CR. See Geng Biao, Geng Biao
huiyilu: 1949–1992 [Memoirs of Geng Biao, 1949–1992] (Nanjing: Jiangsu Renmin Chubanshe,
1998).
12. Xu Muqiao was deputy director of the State Economy Commission. See Xu Muqiao, Xu Muqiao
huiyilu [Memoirs of Xu Muqiao] (Tianjin: Tianjin Renmin Chubanshe, 1996).
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Mao and the Cultural Revolution in China
such as Jiang Weiqing13 (not cited), Zeng Sheng14 (not cited), and Yang
Yichen15 (not cited);
(2) Mao’s radical followers, such as Chen Boda (his son Chen Xiaonong
edited works on the father), Wang Li, Xu Jingxian, Nie Yuanzi, and
other beneªciaries of the CR such as Wang Dongxing, Wu De16 (not
cited), and Zhang Hanzhi (with books about her husband, Qiao Guan-
hua, who was vice foreign minister and then foreign minister during the
CR);
(3) prime victims, such as General Wan Yi17 (not cited), Liu Ying18 (not
cited), Xu Zhucheng19 (not cited), Qian Jiaju20 (not cited), and Ji Xian-
lin21 (not cited); as well as relatives of important leaders or victims such
as Zeng Zhi22 (not cited), Kang Keqing23 (not cited), Zhu Zhongli24 (not
cited), Deng Rong (Deng Xiaoping’s daughter), Luo Diandian (Luo
Ruiqing’s daughter), and Zhou Bingde25 (not cited);
13. Jiang Weiqing was ªrst party secretary of the Jiangsu provincial CCP committee. See Jiang
Weiqing, Qishinian zhengcheng: Jiang Weiqing huiyilu [Seventy-year Journey: Memoirs of Jiang
Weiqing] (Nanjing: Jiangsu Renmin Chubanshe, 1996).
14. Zeng Sheng was vice governor of Guangdong province. See Zeng Sheng, Zeng Sheng huiyilu
[Memoirs of Zeng Sheng] (Beijing: Jiefangjun Chubanshe, 1991).
15. Yang Yichen was vice governor of Helongjiang province. See Yang Yichen, Yang Yichen huiyilu
[Memoirs of Yang Yichen] (Beijing: Zhongyang Wenxian Chubanshe, 1996).
16. Wu De was a leader of Beijing from 1966 to 1976. See Zhu Yuanshi, Wu De koushu, shinian fengyu
jishi—Wo zai Beijing gongzuo de yixie jingli [Oral Account of Wu De, A Record of Ten Years of Wind
and Rain—My Work Experience in Beijing ] (Beijing: Dangdai Zhongguo Chubanshe, 2004).
17. Wan Yi was deputy director of the State Science and Technology Commission for National De-
fense in the 1950s and was purged after the Lushan Conference in 1959. See Wan Yi, Wan Yi huiyilu
[Memoirs of Wan Yi] (Beijing: Zhonggong Dangshi Chubanshe, 1998).
18. Zhang Wentian was a top CCP leader in the 1930s and deputy foreign minister in the 1950s. He
was purged together with Marshal Peng Dehuai at the Lushan Conference in 1959. Liu Ying was
Zhang Wentian’s wife. See Liu Ying, Wo he Zhang Wentian mingyunyugong de licheng [Sharing the
Same Fate—The Life Journey of Zhang Wentian and I] (Beijing: Zhonggong Dangshi Chubanshe,
1997).
19. Xu Zhucheng was the creator of Wenhui bao [Wenhui Daily]. see Xu Zhucheng, Xu Zhucheng
huiyilu [Memoirs of Xu Zhucheng ] (Taibei: Shangwu Chubanshe, 1999).
20. Qian Jiaju was a noted economist. see Qian Jiaju, Cong zhuiqiu dao huanmie: Yige Zhongguo
jingjixuejia de zizhuan [From Pursuing to Disillusion: An Autobiography of a Chinese Economist]
(Taibei: Shidai Wenhua, 1993).
21. Ji Xianlin is a noted Beijing University professor. See Ji Xilin, Niupeng zayi [A Random Reºection
on Life at the Cowshed] (Beijing: Zhonggong Zhongyang Dangxiao Chubanshe, 1998).
22. Zeng Zhi was Tao Zhu’s wife. See, Zeng Zhi, Yige geming de xingcunzhe: Zeng Zhi huiyilu [A Survi-
vor of Revolution: Memoirs of Zheng Zhi] (Guangzhou: Guangdong Renmin Chubanshe, 1999).
23. Kang Keqing was Marshal Zhu De’s wife. See Kang Keqing, Kang Keqing huiyilu [Memoirs of
Kang Keqing] (Beijing: Jiefangjun Chubanshe, 1993).
24. Zhu Zhongli was Wang Jiaxiang’s wife. See Zhu Zhongli, Mao Zedong, Wang Jiaxiang zai wode
shenghuozhong [Mao Zedong and Wang Jiaxiang in My Life](Beijing: Zhonggong Zhongyang
Dangxiao Chubanshe, 1995).Wang Jiaxiang was the ªrst head of the CCP International Liaison De-
partment from 1951 to 1966.
25. Zhou Bingde is Zhou Enlai’s niece. See Zhou Bingde, Wo de bofu Zhou Enlai [My Uncle Zhou
Enlai] (Shenyang: Liaoning Renmin Chubanshe, 2001).
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(4) those who worked for the leaders, including doctors such as Li Zhisui;
bodyguards such as Zhang Yaoci26 (noted cited) and Gao Zhenpu27 (not
cited); secretaries such as Lin Ke28 (not cited), Tong Xiaopeng29 (not
cited), Yang Yinlu (Jiang Qing’s secretary), Zhang Yunsheng (Lin Biao’s
secretary), and Zhang Tingdong (Ye Jianying’s secretary); interpreters
such as Ji Chaozhu30 (not cited); and photographers such as Du
Xiuxian31 (not cited).
26. Zhang Yaoci was Mao Zedong’s bodyguard. See Zhang Yaoci, Zhang Yaoci huiyi Mao Zedong
[Zhang Yaoci Remembers Mao Zedong] (Xianggang: Sanlian Shudian, 1999).
27. Gao Zhengpu was Zhou Enlai’s bodyguard. See Gao Zhengpu, Zhou Enlai weishi huiyilu [Mem-
oirs of Zhou Enlai’s Bodyguard] (Shanghai: Shanghai Renmin Chubanshe, 2000).
28. Lin Ke was Mao’s secretary, Xu Tao was Mao’s physician, and Wu Xujun was Mao’s head nurse.
They published a book on Mao to try to rebut Li Zhisui’s The Private Life of Chairman Mao. See Lin
Ke, Xu Tao, and Wu Xujun, Lishi de zhenshi—Mao Zedong shenbian gongzuo renyuan de zhengyan [Let
Historical Truth Be Told—Eyewitness Account of Mao’s Staff ] (Hong Kong: Liwen Chubanshe,
1995).
29. Tong Xiaopeng was Zhou Enlai’s secretary. See Tong Xiaopeng, Tong Xiaopeng huiyilu [Memoirs of
Tong Xiaopeng] (Beijing: Zhongyang Wenxian Chubanshe, 1996).
30. Ji Chaozhu was an interpreter for Mao and Zhou. See Ji Chaozhu, Cong “Yang wawa” dao
waijiaoguan: Ji Chaozhu koushushi [From Foreign “Doll” to a Diplomat: Ji Chaozhu Oral History]
(Beijing: Beijing Daxue Chubanshe, 2000).
31. Du Xiuxian was a photographer for the highest leaders. See Gu Baozi (articles) and Du Xiuxian
(photos), Hongjingtou: Zhongnanhai sheyingshi yanzhong de guoshi fengyun [Red Camera Lens: State
Affairs in the Eyes of Zhongnanhai Photographers] (Shenyang: Liaoning Renmin Chubanshe, 1998).
32. Gao Hua, Hongtaiyang shi zenyang shengqi de—Yan’an zhengfeng yundong de lailongqumai [How
114
Mao and the Cultural Revolution in China
Wuhan Incident of 20 July 1967 that provides a much clearer and more con-
vincing narrative and analysis of the incident than what we ªnd in Mao’s Last
Revolution (pp. 199–220).33
The authors’ claim that “the PRC was voted into the China seat on the
United Nations Security Council with U.S. support” on 25 October 1971 is
misleading (p. 347). The reality is more complex. It is true that the Nixon ad-
ministration had shifted its position toward China’s membership at the UN
from unconditional exclusion of the PRC to advocating dual membership for
both Taipei and Beijing starting in the fall of 1970. When Henry Kissinger
was in Beijing for a second visit in October 1971, the United Nations (UN)
General Assembly took up the matter. On 22 October the General Assembly
placed an Albanian resolution supporting PRC membership on the agenda
ahead of U.S. resolutions for dual representation. On 25 October, the Gen-
eral Assembly voted by an overwhelming majority to let Beijing have China’s
seat at the UN and expel Taiwan.
Also, the main reason that Mao launched his campaign to castigate Zhou
Enlai at an enlarged Politburo meeting in November 1973 was not the Tai-
wan issue as MacFarquhar and Schoenhals claim (p. 361). Instead, Mao
suspected that Zhou, during his latest talks with Kissinger, had discussed
Sino-American military cooperation and accepted U.S. nuclear protection in
the event of a Soviet nuclear attack. Zhou was thus accused of “rightist
capitulationism.” On p. 380, the authors allege that “in June [1974] a team of
doctors had informed the Politburo that Mao had not much more than two
years to live.” This statement cannot be supported by available Chinese
sources. No one during the CR would have dared to say that Chairman Mao
had only two years to live. Apparently, the authors misinterpreted the source
they cited, which says that “in June 1974, the second medical team was set up
for Mao Zedong. . . . This medical team would exist for more than two years
until Mao’s death.” On p. 381, the authors note that “Deng [was] made a
CCP vice chairman, [Central Military Affairs Commission] vice chairman,
and PLA chief of staff, the ªrst civilian to be given the last post.” The descrip-
tion of Deng as a civilian is not fully accurate. He was one of the highest-
ranking political commissars in the Chinese Communist army from 1937 to
1952 and was also a leading member of the Central Military Affairs Commis-
sion of the CCP from 1952 to 1966. He was a politician with strong military
credentials.
Finally, in a subsequent edition of the book, the authors should correct
Did the Red Sun Rise? A History of Yan’an Rectiªcation Campaign] (Hong Kong: The Chinese Uni-
versity of Hong Kong, 2000), pp. 136–153, 588–593.
33. See Shaoguang Wang, “The Wuhan Incident Revisited,” Chinese Historical Review, Vol. 13, No. 2
(Fall 2006), pp. 241–270.
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some typographical errors and minor inaccuracies. The general who replaced
Chen Zaidao as the commander of the Wuhan Military Region was Zeng
Siyu, not Zeng Ziyu (pp. 213, 691). When Deng Xiaoping and his family
were in exile in Nanchang, Jiangxi province, they lived in a large two-story
building on the grounds of an old infantry school, not “a small apartment”
(p. 358). Luo Ruiqing’s military rank was a senior general (“Dajiang” in
Chinese, equivalent to a ªve-star general), not a marshal (“Yuanshuai” in Chi-
nese) (p. 471). The author of the article “The Background to the ‘Seizure of
Power’ in the Foreign Ministry” is Jin Ge, not Jin Xi (p. 628).
These caveats aside, the book will be of immense value for anyone inter-
ested in recent Chinese history.
✣ ✣ ✣
Roderick MacFarquhar and Michael Schoenhals, Mao’s Last Revolution. Cambridge, MA:
The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2006. xiii ⫹ 693 pp. $35.00.
Forty years after the outbreak of China’s Cultural Revolution, we now have an
authoritative history of this momentous upheaval, a volume that is certain to
remain the standard work on the subject for years to come. The authors come
to this project with unparalleled qualiªcations. Roderick MacFarquhar has
already published three volumes on The Origins of the Cultural Revolution (in
1974, 1983, and 1997), each one more detailed and compelling than the last.
Michael Schoenhals has been collecting Cultural Revolution material for de-
cades and brings to the project a remarkable command of rare sources and a
rare ability to read the hidden messages and human impact of Cultural Revo-
lution rhetoric. MacFarquhar and Schoenhals also represent a particularly
complementary pair for this project, the former focusing on elite politics, the
latter providing insight into how the Cultural Revolution affected ordinary
Chinese.
Most of the existing Anglophone scholarship on the Cultural Revolution
was written several decades ago, often relying on materials produced by Red
Guards and the radicals who dominated the propaganda apparatus until Mao
Zedong’s demise in 1976. This volume is able to combine original materials
from the Cultural Revolution decade with insider accounts from survivors
and victims of the movement who reemerged to tell their stories during and
after the Deng Xiaoping era. The 47-page bibliography at the back of Mao’s
Last Revolution reºects the extent of this new documentation—and also the
considerable effort by the authors and their home institutions (Harvard Uni-
116
Mao and the Cultural Revolution in China
versity and Lund University) to assemble it. One ªnds, for example, repeated
annotations in the form “Handwritten text. Available at the Fairbank Center
Library” or “Schoenhals collection.”
The new material and insights are presented here as a chronological nar-
rative of “Mao’s Last Revolution” beginning in 1965, essentially where
MacFarquhar ended his three volumes on The Origins. The strength of the ac-
count lies in the detailed yet judicious explication of the elite politics of the
era. Step by step we are led through Mao’s orchestration of the early stages of
the movement—working through his wife Jiang Qing and such henchmen as
Kang Sheng. The 1965 purge of the army chief of staff Luo Ruiqing, orches-
trated by Defense Minister Lin Biao and his wife, is presented as “the last
chance for [the Politburo Standing Committee] to act together to restrain the
Chairman before themselves being divided and denounced during the Cul-
tural Revolution” (p. 26). The next few years saw “confusion on campuses”
(ch. 3) sown by party leaders acting through family members and personal
connections; the explicit condoning of Red Guard violence by the minister of
public security, Xie Fuzhi; the dramatic shredding of the central government
so that by 1968 some 70 to 90 percent of the original cadres in central minis-
tries had been sent for reeducation at 7th of May Cadre Schools; the real
threat of civil war in a standoff between rival military factions in Wuhan;
the disbanding of the Red Guards; and the “cleansing of class ranks” carried
out in 1968 by the new revolutionary committees that were ultimately re-
sponsible for the greatest number of deaths in the provinces. This initial and
most chaotic phase of the Cultural Revolution came to an end with the Ninth
Party Congress in 1969, which installed a new group of Communist Party
leaders.
Many would end a history of the Cultural Revolution at this point,
conªning their deªnition of the movement to the era of mass participation by
Red Guards and open factional ªghting on campuses and in some factories
and administrative units in large cities. But the focus in Mao’s Last Revolution
on elite politics makes the continuation of the narrative until Mao’s death in
1976 fully justiªed. The obscure dynamics of the fall of Lin Biao in 1971 are
a case in point. The initial division between Mao and Lin was manifested in a
debate over whether to restore the position of head of state, previously held by
the ousted President Liu Shaoqi. Mao expressed his opposition to the idea,
and MacFarquhar and Schoenhals interpret Lin’s support for it as a case of
“‘working toward the Chairman,’ the attempt by uncertain subordinates to
ºatter their leader by going beyond what the latter may have really wanted”
(p. 327).34 This was a pattern of politics in Mao’s court, and the book contains
34. This concept is modeled after Ian Kershaw’s notion of “working toward the Führer” in the Third
117
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several other convincing examples. Mao, for his part, was anxious to use the
affair to limit the power of the People’s Liberation Army, another sign of his
consistent desire to maintain ªrm control of the military. This concern lay be-
hind the return of Deng Xiaoping and the progressive rehabilitation of old
cadres in the 1970s. In the end, the authors conclude, the failure of Mao’s
utopianism is what led to the dramatic reforms in China over the last thirty
years. As they put it, “no Cultural Revolution, no economic reform” (p. 3).
One of the hallmarks of all of MacFarquhar’s scholarship has been the
deft interweaving of domestic and international inºuences on Chinese (and
especially Mao’s) decision-making. The international dimension in this case
relates mostly to the Soviet Union. The abrupt removal of the Soviet Com-
munist Party leader, Nikita Khrushchev, in October 1964 represented a dan-
gerous precedent for Mao, especially after an allegedly drunk Soviet defense
minister told the Chinese Marshal He Long, “We’ve already got rid of
Khrushchev; you ought to follow our example and get rid of Mao Zedong”
(p. 9). That the opening to Richard Nixon and the United States was predi-
cated on Chinese fears of the Soviet threat has long been evident, but MacFar-
quhar and Schoenhals provide new details about the ªghting along the Ussuri
River and show that concern in Beijing was great enough to prompt an evacu-
ation of party leaders from the capital.
The book contains more than just the high politics among party leaders.
The authors estimate the extent of violence against people and property and
assess the effect of the Cultural Revolution on the economy. Mao’s Last Revo-
lution also offers telling selections from Red Guard diaries in the authors’ pos-
session. The basic narrative, however, is driven by a Mao-centered elite poli-
tics. Having just co-edited a volume on the Cultural Revolution,35 I would
note that when one looks at the local level, from the bottom up as it were, the
Cultural Revolution presents a somewhat different face. Because of the divi-
sions within the central leadership and the deliberate obscurity of Mao’s
supervision of the struggle, other actors—Red Guards, local cadres, and ordi-
nary citizens—were often forced to think and act on their own. One of the
greatest challenges in scholarship on the Cultural Revolution lies in explain-
ing the unique combination of extraordinary attempts by Mao and his radical
allies to manipulate and control the behavior, thought, lifestyles, and aspira-
tions of Chinese citizens on the one hand, and the remarkable empowerment
that many young people felt as they were freed from the ordinary institutional
constraints on day-to-day behavior. This empowerment, of course, was brief
Reich—the attempts by senior Nazi ofªcials to anticipate and carry out (with great zeal) what Adolf
Hitler would want. See Ian Kershaw, Hitler, 1936–1945: Nemesis (New York: W. W. Norton, 2001).
35. Joseph W. Esherick, Paul Pickowicz, and Andrew Walder, eds., The Chinese Cultural Revolution as
History (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2006).
118
Mao and the Cultural Revolution in China
✣ ✣ ✣
Roderick MacFarquhar and Michael Schoenhals, Mao’s Last Revolution. Cambridge, MA:
The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2006. xiii ⫹ 693 pp. $35.00.
In our great motherland, a new era is emerging in which the workers, peasants
and soldiers are grasping Marxism-Leninism, Mao Tse-tung’s thought. Once
Mao Tse-tung’s thought is grasped by the broad masses, it becomes an inex-
haustible source of strength and a spiritual atom bomb of inªnite power.
Quotations from Mao Tse-tung (Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1967), p iii.
It is not possible totally to disentangle Mao’s motives, but the evidence suggests
that Mao’s ultimate dread—the image of extinction that stalk[ed] him—[was]
the death of the revolution. He had to devise some new recipe for reinvigorating
it. He had experienced the morning-after epiphany common to all revolutionar-
ies: in victory, the revolution dies. Shades of the prison house begin to close
upon the post-revolutionary state; after the initial transformative spasm, exhaus-
tion replaces exhilaration, routine replaces voluntarism, responsibility clogs ide-
alism. Many revolutionary victors are happy to settle for power and stability.
Mao was not.
Roderick MacFarquhar, The Origins of the Cultural Revolution, Vol. 3, The Coming of
the Cataclysm, 1961–1966 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), p. 469.
119
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120
Mao and the Cultural Revolution in China
with intimacy, and his new role gave him agency—providing two forms of
manipulative power at once. He depicted himself as the moving ªgure in Chi-
nese history, the seeker after truth, the arbiter of right and wrong—a ªgure
earning the adulation of the young through his direct appeals to strike the
establishment wherever it might be.
The lesson of Mao’s Last Revolution is how people can be made complicit
in the afºictions they suffer. Such complicity was not limited to those directly
involved. The wishful thinking of a good many Western liberals, radicals, in-
tellectuals, students, journalists, scholars, and ªlmmakers, in their passionate
yearnings for social improvement by transformational betterment and in their
desire to blend modernity with moral ambition, were roped into the enter-
prise. As a phenomenon, the Cultural Revolution, despite its apparent
uniqueness, reveals the mostly hidden human moral propensity to try to start
the world all over. That alone should induce us to continue studying the
Cultural Revolution and not allow it to be obscured by the achievements of
Chinese economic growth. As the events of Tiananmen Square in 1989
would suggest, future paroxysms are entirely possible.
Mao’s effort to cleanse people’s minds of capitalist and wrong socialist
thoughts helps to explain why the Cultural Revolution began at a moment of
relative political and social calm, a period between spasms, when the Com-
munist regime had consolidated itself after so many twists and turns in the
party line and was shifting to the business of economic construction and
growth. This “pragmatic” turn tended to sideline Mao as the main political
actor. But, as MacFarquhar and Schoenhals demonstrate, Mao’s aim in
launching the Cultural Revolution was not merely to restore himself to su-
preme power. External as well as internal factors were involved. What had
been happening inside the Soviet Union over the previous decade, notably
Nikita Khrushchev’s “exposure” of Josif Stalin’s crimes and the subsequent de-
Stalinization campaign (as well as the polemical exchanges with China), was
anathema to Mao. He found these disturbing tendencies mirrored in the poli-
cies pursued by Liu Shaoqi and Deng Xiaoping and their followers, who had
come to dominate the affairs of party and state. Lin Biao, the designated suc-
cessor to Mao, became more and more politically dangerous as order disinte-
grated, leaving the army (under Lin’s command) as the main bulwark against
foreign threats and internal conºicts. The greater Mao’s dependence on
the army, the more urgent the need to subordinate Lin. But the Cultural Rev-
olution during its initial stages increasingly spun out of control—so much so
that even the old guard Yan’anites drew back, except perhaps for Zhou Enlai.
Trying to decipher what “deep meanings” to attach to Mao’s words is
always hazardous, given his theoretical ªckleness and volatile shifts and turns
121
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122
Mao and the Cultural Revolution in China
II
My own answer would be that the Cultural Revolution lends itself to the
application of interpretive theory. Whether called discourse analysis, narrative
theory, or symbolic interaction, the idea is basically the same. Such modes of
analysis do not, of course, displace or replace others. What they can do is shed
greater light on some of the fascinating questions that turn up on almost every
page of Mao’s Last Revolution. Some of these questions are introduced almost
casually. How could Mao, “who loved upheaval (luan)” but “appreciated the
services of a well-oiled and obedient bureaucracy,” have assumed that his
headlong restructuring of the bureaucracy (doing away with ministries and re-
placing them by an entirely improvised “three-in-one formula” consisting of
so-called leading and revolutionary cadres and “representatives of revolution-
ary masses”) could ever work? How could he have ever believed that the
elected revolutionary committees he favored to supervise ministries, let alone
the Cultural Revolution itself, would be anything but utterly chaotic? Was it
the sinister instrumentalism hidden in the innocence of the formulation that
so appealed to his exercise of personal power? The authors make nice work of
Mao’s control over revolutionary symbolism, alluding to the romantic aspects
of his appeals to the younger generation. They note, more or less in passing,
that the so-called Shanghai Commune established itself on the anniversary of
the Paris Commune, 27 March 1871. They describe how the old guard was,
despite its misgivings, maneuvered into supporting Mao, who in turn became
increasingly suspicious of the military as it was called on to restore local order
(pp. 182–183). Other examples abound.
Taking a step back from the narrative itself, we can discern two “dialecti-
cal” themes. One, a dialectic of political position and power, focuses on how
Mao always retained the initiative. The second, embedded within the ªrst, is
the usurpation of power by the Gang of Four (Five really if one includes Kang
Sheng, who died before their overthrow). As for the substance of the Cultural
Revolution, it is a ballet between those opposed to the Gang of Four and
those favoring it, marked by poisonous betrayals of friend against friend and
of colleague against colleague, and of course of revolutionaries against fellow
revolutionaries. All sides engaged in pretense accompanied by an increasing
crescendo of celebratory acts of public humiliation, not to speak of the wan-
ton destruction of property, of art, and of history itself. Other “dialectical” en-
counters include the successful counterplot after Mao’s death. We witness
how the Gang of Four were outºanked by the old guard of senior party cadres
and arrested by the PLA, an account that reads like an adventure story.
One interesting side comment conªrmed something I had wondered
about after interviewing a clerk in a factory in Shanghai in 1986—the accep-
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tance and apparent lack of desire for revenge and reprisal in the aftermath of
the Cultural Revolution. During the Cultural Revolution the clerk was a rela-
tively young man who had recently married and whose wife had just had a
baby. His best friend, who shared his desk in the ofªce, denounced him. After
the clerk was sent off to a pig farm, divorced by his wife, and deprived of any
contact with his child, the “friend” took over his apartment. When I inter-
viewed the clerk in 1986, he had been restored to his old job and was sitting
once again across from this “friend” every working day. I asked how he could
stand it. His explanation was that the Cultural Revolution was like a natural
disaster. One accepted it. One survived. That was enough. The only thing
that seemed to bother him is that his erstwhile friend had expropriated his
favorite sweater and continued to wear it to work every day.
III
Although the authors include little if any theory in the book, they do point
out how texts, their interpretation, and their realization in action played into
the contest between Mao’s own “theory” and the instrumentalism of “empiri-
cism.” In a fascinating vignette, MacFarquhar and Schoenhals describe the
struggle over which faction would ultimately control the production of vol-
ume ªve of Mao’s Selected Works, which was published posthumously. What
comes through in the narrative is the tension between what to believe, how to
believe it, and facts on the ground—facts that in the end were decisive. As the
authors note, the Cultural Revolution cost China well over a year’s worth of
national income. But not until Mao was already near death did he reluctantly
acknowledge that something drastic had to be done to restore the economy.
At the ªnal CCP Politburo meeting Mao attended, he switched to the other
side, charging the Gang of Four, the “anti-empiricists,” with actually being
“empiricists.” He cast doubt on the “authenticity” of their revolutionary cre-
dentials and speciªcally singled out Jiang Qing as an example. In so doing, he
set the stage for their demise.
This is a big book but difªcult to put down. One fascinating episode un-
folds after another. Despite the cynical use of “Maoism” in battles over power,
the book makes clear that a great many of those involved took ideological
matters very seriously. I have three copies of the Little Red Book, and one of
them, an English edition bought in Oxford, appears never to have been read.
The two others were bought in China. One appeared early, well before the
downfall of Liu Shaoqi, Lin Biao, and the Gang of Four. This copy is full of
earnest underlining. The second, published after the demise of all three, is a
patchwork of scratched out and restored names, words, and faces.
124
Mao and the Cultural Revolution in China
125
Response to the Commentaries
Forum
First, we must express our warm appreciation to the editor of the Journal of
Cold War Studies for arranging to have not just one but a bevy of distin-
guished and knowledgeable scholars review our book, and for inviting us to
respond. And of course our thanks go, too, to the scholars themselves for tak-
ing the time from their own work to write the kind of review that makes
authors think hard about what they wrote. Needless to say, when such knowl-
edgeable reviewers pay tribute, it is particularly welcome. However, we come
not to cite praise of our book, but to disinter its meaning where we have been
insufªciently clear.
Lynn White asks why Liu Shaoqi and Deng Xiaoping were so slow to un-
derstand what was happening, and he then goes on to quote our contention
that Mao Zedong had no strategy for the mass movement as if that were our
explanation. What we evidently did not convey sufªciently was our vision of a
two-stage Maoist plan. In the ªrst stage, employing various stratagems, Mao
plotted successively to remove senior colleagues in Beijing from power. Only
by eviscerating the central party apparatus could the mass movement be un-
leashed, and only Mao had the cunning and prestige to carry this through.
White later implies that our concentration on Mao’s court led us to ne-
glect sociological explanations of why the struggles for political power became
so violent all over China. However, we did attempt to deal with this obviously
important issue, even if not as extensively as he might have wanted us to. On
pp. 129–131, we argued that the youth of China had been brought up in a
culture of class-struggle violence, notably the “four clean-ups” campaign in
1965, and that once the party’s leading strings were cut these young people
were effectively empowered to make revolution their own way and indeed cre-
ated a state of nature. Their actions stemmed not so much from their anger at
local Communist party bosses as from Mao’s injunctions to them to bombard
the headquarters. Having been provided with this example of purging the
party headquarters in Beijing, they took as their natural targets the local party
ofªcials.
In the case of “cleansing the class ranks,” which accounted for more
deaths even than Red Guard violence, we follow the argument of Andrew
Walder that the leaders of the new revolutionary committees were inexperi-
36. This response was drafted by Roderick MacFarquhar and reºects the views of both authors.
126
Response to the Commentaries
enced and insecure and thought that the best guarantee of continued political
ofªce was to show the maximum zeal by executing their opponents (p. 256).
Underlying all the violence, we feel, is the concept we learned from Ian
Kershaw’s Hitler of working toward the leader (p. 48). Red Guards and new
leaders all wanted to do Mao’s bidding and were prepared to go to any lengths
to do so.
We certainly did not mean to suggest that provincial power was unim-
portant. In the chapters on Shanghai’s January storm, on seizing power, and
on the Wuhan incident, which also dealt with other incidents elsewhere, as
well as the chapter on cleansing the class ranks, we covered events in the prov-
inces with as much detail as we could unearth.
On the recall of Deng: The idea that Mao wanted Deng to counter Zhou
is a theory we have heard from knowledgeable Chinese foreign service ofªcers,
as we indicated (p. 366). However, as we also indicated, we are more inclined
to believe that the reason he was recalled was to allay the concerns of the Peo-
ple’s Liberation Army (PLA) that the country might be left in charge of a
whippersnapper like Wang Hongwen.
Steven Levine has understandably harsh words for Chairman Mao and
the Communist system over which Mao presided, and we agree with much of
this. Levine seems disappointed that we did not write in similarly excoriating
terms. Our belief was that we should on the whole let the record speak for it-
self because in that way we would be more likely to carry conviction with Chi-
nese readers—a Chinese translation will be published, though obviously not
in mainland China itself—than if we showered the Chairman or his party col-
leagues with highly negative adjectives. Our book was designed as a political
history rather than a polemic.
Levine’s Mao is concerned not with revisionism or with the rise of the
“new class,” as we suggest, but with maximizing his own power and manipu-
lating everyone like a puppet master. We heartily agree with the suggestion
that Mao manipulated his comrades and factions, particularly in the ªrst year,
as Yafeng Xia notes in his comments. But if Mao had simply been concerned
with maximizing power, he could have called a halt and declared a victory in
February 1967. By then, he had vanquished those of his old colleagues who
conceivably could have been thought of as threats.
Levine may be right to complain that our treatment of the Lin Biao affair
is not as satisfactory as our “masterful” analysis elsewhere. Despite Chinese
memoirs and histories and two penetrating Western analyses of the affair, we
do not believe that enough of the facts have emerged to enable us, or indeed
anyone in China to make a ªnal judgment—as Yafeng Xia comments, the
plane crash that ended this episode is still “mysterious”—but we like to think
we got as close as is currently possible!
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We feel that Levine does not quite do us justice with respect to our treat-
ment of Zhou Enlai, whom he states we conventionally characterize as “Mr.
Moderate.” Lynn White got it right, suggesting that we revised “Zhou’s gen-
eral image from mainly moderate to mainly lapdog.” Levine adds that we only
“lightly touch on” the possibility that Zhou might have been able to mobilize
the old guard against the Cultural Revolution (CR). He presumably refers to
our speculation (on pp. 194, 415–416) about what might have happened if
Zhou had backed the February countercurrent or rallied his colleagues.
Again, as with our treatment of Mao, we believe that our approach is more
likely to persuade Chinese readers of Zhou’s great failure. This is particularly
the case if one is uneasily conscious, as we were, that it is only too easy to ac-
cuse leaders of cowardice from afar, not knowing how one would personally
have behaved under those circumstances. It is better always to praise those
who did take the risks and show courage. Sadly, during the CR, few at the top
actually did show any courage.
Yafeng Xia ªnds unconvincing our argument that the CR was caused by
Mao’s desire to establish a more revolutionary China. Xia argues that Mao’s
extravagant lifestyle indicated that he had no real interest in creating a new so-
cialist man, but we believe that Xia is excessively idealistic about political lead-
ers anywhere. How many leaders genuinely practice, in their private lives,
what they proclaim in public? Mahatma Gandhi perhaps, but few others. On
one occasion during World War II a British civil servant looked askance at
Winston Churchill’s luxurious eating and drinking, but the disapproving
ofªcial was apparently told that if you have a Rolls Royce for a leader you have
to treat him appropriately. If Mao ever reºected on his imperial lifestyle, as
opposed to taking it for granted, we suspect that he would have thought it
justiªed because ultimately he alone bore responsibility for the revolutionary
transformation of China.
Xia also rejects the suggestion that the CR was caused by a power struggle
between Mao and Liu. But we never made that argument. Rather, we agree
with Xia that Mao was worried that his senior colleagues might unite against
him. Indeed, we made that very point in our introduction (pp. 9–10). How-
ever, we do not agree that Mao could simply have arrested Liu or Lin Biao.
Mao was perennially conscious of the verdict of future historians and wanted
precisely to avert any possibility that he could be compared to Josif Stalin as a
leader who arrested colleagues and sent them off to prison or worse.
Xia’s voluminous listing of Chinese sources exhibits his great knowledge
of this ªeld, and it will be a valuable aid to future researchers on this topic.
With respect to some of the sources he mentions, we chose not to cite them
because we did not believe they added much (e.g., Marshal Xu Xiangqian);
but in other cases we either did not come across the sources or did not obtain
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Response to the Commentaries
37. Wang Shaoguang, Failure of Charisma: The Cultural Revolution in Wuhan (New York: Oxford
University Press, 1995).
38. Li Zhisui, The Private Life of Chairman Mao: The Memoirs of Mao’s Personal Physician, trans. by Tai
Hung-Chao (New York: Random House, 1994), pp. 380–385.
39. David E. Apter and Tony Saich, Revolutionary Discourse in Mao’s Republic (Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press, 1994).
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