Ultimatum & Anarchy

By any diplomatic measure, the ultimatum Peking issued to London early last week was an unacceptable affront to sovereignty and protocol. It was both peremptory and insulting, addressing itself to "the British government's utterly hideous and ferocious features of fascist imperialism." Britain's man in Peking, Charge d'Affaires Donald Hopson, 52, a cool, much-decorated World War II commando offi cer, simply refused to send it to London. Peking, of course, broadcast the texts anyway. It demanded the release of 53 imprisoned Hong Kong Communists within 48 hours and the re opening of three outlawed Red tabloids in the troubled crown colony--or else the Chinese would take unspecified action.

Hong Kong braced for the worst--more riots, further cuts in supplies of food and water. But the Maoists struck first at Hopson's chancellery in Peking. On the dot of the ultimatum's expiration, even though all but 18 of the 19 prisoners had been routinely released, hundreds of Red Guards pushed past acquiescent Red Army and police guards. They crowded into the British diplomatic compound, shouting Mao-think slogans in English and French and throwing Molotov cocktails. Inside were 23 British diplomats, women and children. The mob set the chancellery afire, forcing the British to come out; nine of them, including Hopson, were beaten and kicked before being turned loose.

Truculent Skipper. The senseless mockery of diplomatic relations brought British Prime Minister Harold Wilson and Foreign Secretary George Brown hurrying back to London from vacations. They immediately ordered all Chinese diplomats, journalists and trade representatives in London restricted to a small area in the city's center. The 2,500 Chinese nationals now in Britain were refused exit from the country without specific permission. The Chinese diplomatic radio transmitter was ordered closed down, pending the re-establishment of communications with the British in Peking--and assurance of their safety.

In normal times, Peking's flagrant behavior would have been cause for an instant break in diplomatic ties. But these days nothing is normal in China --vulgar displays of xenophobia are balanced against the value of having a man on the spot, a diplomatic observer who can help keep track of the anarchy raging inside the Communist giant. Thus the Russians have put up with having the wives and children of their Peking diplomats forced to crawl under portraits of Mao. Italy last week was enduring the truculence of the skipper of a Chinese freighter in Genoa bent on converting the Genovese to Mao. Last week alone, the Chinese accused nations as diverse as Burma, Kenya and Ceylon of participating in an unholy Soviet-American alliance against Peking.

Granary Torn in Two. As a result, the Maoists have few friends left abroad.

But it hardly matters: they have fewer and fewer at home too. The hub city of Wuhan is still in open rebellion, with army units probably aiding the anti-Maoists, the region's navy and air force units loyal to Peking. In Kwangtung province, adjoining Hong Kong, a key transshipment point for Viet Nam, thousands of troops of the 47th Chinese Army surround the capital city of Canton, while elements of three other armies have moved in, presumably to wrest parts of the province back from anti-Mao rebels who control it. Szechwan, China's chief granary, is torn in two and in a state of virtual civil war: anti-Maoists hold Chungking, and Maoists the city of Chengtu, 150 miles to the north.

Whether by Peking's design or impotence, the Communists in Hong Kong also continued to make trouble. Some 40 Chinese pushed across the border at Lowu and menaced the British customs house; Gurkha troops finally drove them back to Maoland with tear gas. And a leading anti-Communist radio commentator, Lam Bun, died of burns after Maoists disguised as street repairmen flagged his car down, doused him with gasoline and set him afire.

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