Silence in the Hall

For two days last week hundreds of buses and cars jammed Tienanmen (Gate of Heavenly Peace) Square as they brought thousands of participants to what was clearly an important conference at Peking's multi-pillared Great Hall of the People. Each day, as the meetings continued, curious foreigners and Peking citizens gathered outside, kept well away from the hall by soldiers and security police. China's carefully controlled press, which usually banners national meetings of such size, gave no clue to what was going on. A Foreign Ministry spokesman was equally unhelpful: "I'm afraid we cannot tell you anything." After the conference broke up, the curtain of silence remained firmly in place.

To China watchers, the carefully maintained silence was frustrating proof once again of China's ability to hold its secrets. For several weeks, rumors that China was soon to hold its tenth Communist Party Congress circulated throughout the country. It is possible that last week's mystery meeting was a preparatory gathering for the congress. Whatever its purpose, China was in the midst of an ideological and political struggle over key domestic problems, involving the state structure, the setting of domestic priorities and the succession to Mao Tse-tung, 80.

The controversy flared first in the Manchurian province of Liaoning, ostensibly inspired by a farm worker-student's complaint that he was not allowed sufficient time to prepare for a college entrance exam. An article backing the student appeared in the Liaoning Daily, followed quickly by a long piece in the leading party monthly Red Flag. On the surface the controversy involved a long-simmering dispute over the quality of higher education, which since the Cultural Revolution has suffered severely under a policy that stresses political "correctness" rather than academic ability for aspiring college students. Now requirements are being tightened, annoying ideological purists. In reality, the quarrel reflected the continuing struggle for power between radicals, who revere ideology above all, and pragmatists like Premier Chou Enlai, who place considerably more weight on industrial and agricultural progress.

The depth of the dispute was underscored by a broadside in the authoritative People's Daily, which attacked--of all people--Confucius (551-479 B.C.). In the typically veiled fashion in which the Chinese Communists carry on their internal disputes, the sage was assailed for allegedly defending the slave-owning classes against reformers seeking to change the system. Confucius, the article noted, was the descendant of slave-owning aristocrats; his patron was the famed Duke of Chou.

The descriptions of Confucian policies chimed unmistakably with the post-Cultural Revolution policies of the Chinese leadership, specifically those of highborn Chou Enlai. These pointed references convinced many China watchers that Chou, 75, was on shaky footing. Others, however, were convinced that it was too early to decipher just what was happening. Few denied that perplexing difficulties were in the making for Chou's aging leadership.

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