Tinkering with Delicate Relationships

THROUGHOUT the 1960s, peace among Russia, China and the U.S. was maintained by a kind of equilibrium of hostility. Moscow and Peking were at sword's point from the early days of the decade; Moscow and Washington came close to conflict over Berlin and Cuba, though they pulled back on both occasions; Washington and Peking were on frigid terms for most of the decade and were not even talking to each other during its last two years. In the dawning days of the 1970s, however, the three powers are at the threshold of a series of bilateral talks that could alter the delicate relationships among them. They could also, by inadvertence or otherwise, upset that strained but saving equilibrium.

The U.S. and the Soviet Union have been discussing strategic-arms limitation for months and are now preparing a new round of talks. Since late October, Moscow and Peking have been talking, without success, about easing tensions along their common 4,500-mile frontier. Last week the Chinese closed the circle of negotiations among the three by agreeing to resume their long-suspended meetings with the U.S. in Warsaw.

Broken Chain. The U.S. and China held 134 ambassador-level talks, first in Geneva and later in Warsaw, between 1955 and 1968. Two years ago, in the throes of Mao Tse-tung's Cultural Revolution, Peking broke the chain of meetings. No further direct contacts between the two powers took place until U.S. Ambassador to Poland Walter Stoessel, a veteran Foreign Service officer, chatted with a Chinese diplomat at a Warsaw reception six weeks ago. Later, he talked for an hour with Charge d'Affaires Lei Yang at the Chinese embassy.

A full month after that meeting, the

Chinese telephoned last week to say that Lei Yang wanted to return the call. The following day he arrived at the U.S. embassy in a Chinese Hung Chi (Red Flag) limousine whose taillights are shaped like Chinese lanterns. As they sipped tea, the diplomats agreed to reopen the formal talks next week at the Chinese embassy. Thereafter, the talks will alternate between the U.S. and Chinese embassies.

Peking's flirtation with Washington, however mild, was carefully timed. The Sino-Soviet negotiations over reducing border tensions were supposed to resume in Peking last week, but apparently have been delayed because the two sides are so far apart. Moscow has agreed to discuss minor border adjustments, but the Chinese insist on a broader approach: a mutual troop withdrawal from the disputed areas and a Soviet admission that the present frontiers are based on "unequal treaties" dating back to czarist times. The Chinese were also miffed because the Soviet negotiator, First Deputy Foreign Minister Vasily Kuznetsov, returned to the talks a week later than he had promised. When he arrived in Peking two weeks ago, the Chinese administered an unmistakable snub by sending a second-echelon official to greet him at the airport.

Paranoid Fear. Western observers believe that China's policymakers agreed to a resumption of the Warsaw talks for two reasons: 1) Premier Chou Enlai, whose pragmatic approach to foreign affairs appears to carry the most weight in Peking these days, is convinced that China must begin to emerge from the isolation of the Cultural Revolution, and 2) the Chinese are genuinely fearful that a breakdown of the border negotiations could lead to war with the Soviet Union, and are hoping that talks with the U.S. will compel Moscow to become more conciliatory.

For their part, the Soviets are deeply disturbed by the prospect of the renewed Sino-American talks. As Harrison Salisbury notes in his recent book, War Between Russia and China, the Soviets have "an almost paranoid fear that the United States might turn up in China's corner." It might be added that the Chinese are haunted by a similar nightmare about the Russians making a deal with the U.S.

Despite the temptation to profit from the mutual Sino-Soviet distrust, the U.S. was scrupulously avoiding even the suggestion that it might be fishing in troubled waters. As it was, the Chinese and Russians seemed to be roiling the waters quite enough on their own. The on-and-off propaganda war between Moscow and Peking was on again, in full force. Peking condemned the "Soviet revisionist renegade clique." In the Soviet Union's angriest attack on China since the border talks began, Tass accused the Chinese of "fanning chauvinist sentiments and military psychosis."

Caught in the crossfire was a seemingly unlikely target: Konstantin Stanislavsky, the great Russian actor-teacher. Oddly enough, Stanislavsky has come to symbolize the differences between the two Red goliaths. His realistic "Method" training taught actors to reveal the truth of life; the Chinese dismiss this approach as an expression of bourgeois individualism. When a Chinese paper attacked Stanislavsky as a "paper tiger," Moscow's Literaturnaya Gazeta shot back that the Chinese theater had been rendered "lifeless and paralyzed" by the Cultural Revolution. It has come to that.

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