Peking's Poster Politics

An outbreak of democratic feelings--orchestrated by Teng Hsiao-p'ing

"If the masses feel some anger, we I must let them express it." With I those words, spoken to a visiting Japanese politician, China's diminutive Vice Premier Teng Hsiao-p'ing put an official stamp of approval on the extraordinary eruption of political expression that had gripped Peking for the past two weeks. In an atmosphere reminiscent of London's lively Hyde Park Speakers' Corner, the voices of young orators demanding "true freedom, true democracy and true human rights" echoed through the early winter dusk. Thousands filed past "democracy wall" at the intersection of Chang An Avenue and Hsi Tan Street to inspect wall posters castigating some members of the ruling Politburo, policies decreed by the sainted Great Helmsman, the late Mao, and by implication, China's Chairman and Premier, Hua Kuo-feng.

At week's end Chinese authorities appeared to be putting the lid on this unprecedented outburst of free expression, which was seemingly confined to the country's capital. One poster went up saying that informal exchanges between foreigners and the masses should be ended for the sake of national unity. Gradually, the crowds at "democracy wall" grew smaller and less demonstrative. Yet even if there were no more public challenges to Maoist orthodoxy, foreign observers were left with two distinct impressions. One was that Peking's outbreak of poster politics had been tacitly authorized by the leadership of the Communist Party. The other was that the pragmatic policies of Teng, now the dominant leader of the world's most populous nation, enjoyed wide support among the Chinese masses.

The poster campaign was the most dramatic expression of popular feeling in Peking since the death of Mao in 1976. In the largest single incident, 6,000 demonstrators, marching 30 abreast, paraded through the streets chanting slogans seldom heard in the People's Republic since the Communist takeover in 1949: "Long live democracy! We will never turn back!" Their destination was T'ien An Men Square, site of what had up to now been the most extraordinary political happening in China's recent past. In April 1976, throngs had congregated there to protest the removal of wreaths left at Martyrs' Monument in honor of the late Premier Monument in honor of the late Premier Chou Enlai, who had rehabilitated Teng from the disgrace he suffered during the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution of 1966-69. The gathering soon ignited into violence, and hundreds of demonstrators were beaten and jailed. In the wake of the event, Mao had personally purged Teng, whom he blamed for the pro-Chou demonstration. Soon thereafter, Hua claims, the aging Chairman endorsed him as his successor.

The crowds that marched last week did not turn violent, but their enthusiasm made clear their intent. As one young speaker exhorted: "There has never been a better chance to say what we think than now." Through the rallies, through the posters, through talks with Western journalists and diplomats, the demonstrators showed their support for Teng's Four Modernizations, a program designed to upgrade Chinese agriculture, science and technology, industry and defense, in part through increased trade and cultural contacts with the West. Teng's modernization program, in fact, was the focus of a secret meeting last week of the Politburo of the Communist Party.

In pointed speeches and wall posters, scrawled on everything from notebook paper to huge screeds, protesters called for the purging of Politburo members known to oppose Teng's modernization effort. BLAST HIM OUT, THIS INSECT, read one poster attacking Wang Tung-hsing, head of the secret police and once commander of Mao's personal bodyguards. DON'T TRUST HIM, read another poster concerning Wu Teh, whom Teng had ousted as mayor of Peking only a few weeks ago. Other posters urged the rehabilitation of such victims of Maoist rigidity as former Head of State Liu Shao-ch'i and ex-Defense Minister P'eng Te-huai.

In unprecedented encounters between ordinary Chinese citizens and Western reporters (see box) the demonstrators presented a set of bolder demands, which they hoped the journalists would relay to their leaders. Among other things, the demonstrators wanted a fit memorial to be established for Chou. They demanded a "fair and open trial" for Mao's widow Chiang Ch'ing and her comrades in the notorious Gang of Four, who are blamed for the excesses of the Cultural Revolution. They wanted a guarantee that "democracy wall" would be enshrined as a forum for unrestricted political debate.

Many of these petitions were made directly to visiting Political Columnist Robert Novak, who next day was grant ed an interview with Teng. Leaving no doubt that he is firmly in command of China's destiny, the 74-year-old Vice Premier spoke freely and with assurance on a broad range of topics. Commending the zeal of the protesters, he nevertheless warned against carrying the criticisms of Mao too far. "Every Chinese knows that without Chairman Mao there would have been no new China," he said. "In the process of achieving the Four Modernizations, we must be good at comprehensively and accurately grasping and applying Mao Tse-tung thought." He renounced any intention of seeking Hua's position as Premier, asserting that he could have had the job by now, but had turned it down. He also dropped a tantalizing hint for U.S. policymakers: Taiwan could retain its non-Communist social and economic .system if it was reunified with the mainland. That statement was warmly hailed by American diplomats. Said a spokesman for the U.S. liaison office in Peking: "It is a positive step toward normalizing relations between the two countries."

In his interview with Novak and in talks with two touring Japanese politicians, Teng demolished a number of Sinologists' preconceptions about the poster campaign. When the campaign began, it was widely believed that Teng was planning to replace Hua as Premier. Yet in a talk with Yoshikatsu Takeiri, head of Japan's Clean Government Party, the Vice Premier renounced any designs on that prestigious job. "I am too old and I wish to live longer," he explained. "A younger man is better for the job." (Hua is 57.) Similarly, al though few experts believe that the protesters would have denounced either Mao or Hua without Teng's permission, he chided the author of a wall poster that described Mao as being "70% good and 30% bad." Said Teng: "Mao was better than that. I myself am only 60% good and 40% bad."

When the campaign was at its height, Chairman Hua was silent, unseen by Westerners. With the jaunty confidence of a man in charge, Teng emphasized that there would not be an internecine party struggle and that there would be no firings from the Politburo, despite the posters calling for purges. "The party Central Committee headed by Comrade Hua Kuo-feng," he told a Japanese visitor, "is united and fully confident of carrying through the Four Modernizations."

The posters and demonstrations left LACK STAR little doubt that Teng had a popular base of support should he choose to restructure China's leadership by seizing the premiership. When a British journalist asked a group of Peking citizens whom they would vote for as Premier if there were free elections, they quickly shouted back the answer: "Teng Hsiao-p'ing! Teng Hsiao-p'ing!" Teng himself dismissed the calls for his elevation in an oblique, Olympian answer that was worthy of Mao himself: "This is a normal thing and shows the stable situation in our country. To write big-character posters is allowed by our country's constitution.* We have no right to deny this or to criticize the masses for making use of democracy. It is wonderful to see the ability to distinguish right from wrong and the conscientious care for the destiny of the country shown by the overwhelming majority of the masses of the Chinese people."

At week's end, Western experts were still trying to explain the sudden burst of free expression in a society notorious for its rigidity and repression. If the poster campaign was not calculated to push forward Teng's ambitions, what then was its purpose? One answer from Sinologists was that this calculated political performance was inspired by Teng to show both the Chinese and the Western world that the outpourings of grief over Chou's death were revolutionary acts. After some of the wall posters called for an ex post facto justification of the T'ien An Men rally, Teng announced that the 1976 demonstration had indeed been sanctified by the Central Committee. Teng was quoted as saying: "It may be called a unanimous decision, expressing the desires of the whole party, the whole army and all the Chinese people."

From an endorsement of T'ien An Men, it was a small ideological step to allowing public criticism of Mao. Radical supporters of the Chairman had been responsible for condemning the mourning of Chou--who was, of course, Teng's protector and guide. The Central Committee's hallowing of that 1976 ceremony was a subtle way for Teng to humiliate his old enemies.

Why did Teng say that there would be no Politburo dismissals, despite the posters calling for the purge of Wang and Wu? One explanation is that the posters were intended merely as a warning to hard-line supporters of the radical view who are still in the Politburo. Another is that Teng simply did not have the clout to make a clean sweep of his adversaries. Yet another is that the Vice Premier realized that a purge of the radicals would undercut elements of Hua's support--thereby leading to a potentially damaging split at the top level that could endanger his precious modernization program.

At week's end Teng and Hua made a public show of unity by jointly appearing at a meeting of the athletes who will represent China in the upcoming Asian Games in Bangkok. New wall posters appeared warning that if "bad eggs" who attacked the legacy of Mao kept it up, someone would "smash your dog heads." Still, from some of Teng's cryptic phrases, China experts speculated that the murky struggles within the party leadership would be carried forward to a meeting of the 201-member Central Committee later this month. That event--unless Teng and his colleagues decided that a little touch of democracy was enough for the moment --could well inspire another campaign of wall posters as guides to popular thinking.

Guides they clearly are, for China is still years away from being able to enjoy the freedoms that are taken for granted in much of the West. Last week the London-based Amnesty International issued a 176-page report on human rights in China, charging that political prisoners are routinely starved, put in chains and held in solitary confinement. Trials are, said Amnesty, a mere formality--"in fact, meetings to announce the sentence." On this issue, at least, there may be hope for comrades of the Middle Kingdom. Peking's People's Daily has just completed a series of articles arguing that if the Four Modernizations are to be achieved, China needs new commercial, criminal and civil codes. The official news agency has reported that quasi-independent "procuratorates," vaguely similar to U.S. grand juries, have been re-established throughout China. These bodies were abolished during the Cultural Revolution--the heyday of Mao's effort to create a society in which the only law was his word.

* The current wall poster campaign has roots that date back to the Manchu dynasty (1644-1911). when imperial proclamations were pinned to city and palace gates. In the pre-World War II Kuomintang Republic, Communists used posters to inflame the local population against "the landlords who eat our flesh" and "the traitors who sell China to Japan." Poster polemics reached a new level of sophistication during the Cultural Revolution, when fanatical Red Guardsmen used them to attack "capitalist readers" like Teng Hsiao-p'ing.

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