How Zhou Enlai debased himself for political survival

Among the architects of Chinese communism, Zhou Enlai’s role in the 1949 revolution and the establishment of the new totalitarian regime was arguably second only to that of Mao Zedong.

Zhou influenced each stage of the Chinese Revolution: from the bloody battles for survival waged against the Kuomintang (Nationalist) government in the late 1920s and the mid-1930s to the Second Sino-Japanese War (1937-45), and throughout the Maoist era (1949-76), during which he served as China’s Premier.

But despite his long and illustrious political career, Zhou’s true character has remained shrouded in a thick mist of official propaganda. His public image, even in the West, is that of a selfless, gracious intellectual whose unmatched administrative skills were indispensable to building Chinese socialism under harsh conditions. This portrayal, of course, aligns closely with what the Communist Party of China (CPC) wants the Chinese people to believe — even today.

In some ways, Zhou’s legacy has fared better than Mao’s in the decades since their deaths. After all, the enormity of Mao’s crimes against the Chinese people has made it impossible for the CPC to portray him as an infallible leader. The most generous assessment of Mao, offered by his successor Deng Xiaoping in the early 1980s, was that Mao’s actions were “70% good and 30% bad”.

By contrast, the CPC has had no difficulty portraying Zhou as a political giant untainted by the Maoist regime’s treachery, brutality and insanity.

While China’s rulers have strong incentives to preserve Zhou’s image as one of modern history’s most virtuous public servants, Chen Jian apparently had a different objective: to uncover the real Zhou. After years of painstaking research, Chen, a history professor at NYU Shanghai, has succeeded in filling many gaps in our understanding of China’s longest-serving Premier, who miraculously survived Mao’s relentless purges and political witch hunts.

To be sure, Chen faced a daunting task. Most of the records that could shed light on Zhou’s role in the major decisions that shaped the Maoist era — from the Anti-Rightist Movement and the Great Leap Forward to the launch of the Cultural Revolution, the Lin Biao Incident, and the Sino-American rapprochement — remain off-limits. Some of the most sensitive documents — including Zhou’s “self-criticisms” from the Mao-orchestrated campaign against him, launched while Zhou was dying of cancer — were turned over to his widow and most likely destroyed.

Although their initial encounter was tense — largely because Mao suspected Zhou of conspiring with other Communist leaders who resented Mao’s arrogance and ambition — the two became allies during the legendary Long March, when the Chinese Red Army evaded Chiang’s Nationalist forces. At a key meeting in December 1934, Zhou threw his support behind Mao, who had been sidelined after losing an earlier power struggle in Jiangxi. Zhou’s machinations enabled Mao to rejoin the party’s leadership ranks.

The critical role Zhou played in Mao’s rise to power earned him no gratitude. Instead, over the next four decades, Mao rarely missed an opportunity to remind Zhou of his subordinate status, treating him as a loyal but guilt-ridden underling. His preferred method for keeping rivals in check was to compel them to perform “self-criticisms”, publicly confessing their “mistakes and crimes” against the party. To consolidate power, Mao launched the so-called Rectification Campaign, the first in a series of political purges aimed at intimidating fellow revolutionary leaders and eliminating those he perceived as potential threats.

Zhou’s high profile made him an ideal target for Mao’s witch hunt. In a humiliating display of self-abasement, Zhou was forced to speak before the Politburo for five days, denouncing himself for “crimes and mistakes” dating back to his time in Jiangxi. Needless to say, records of Zhou’s “confessions” were kept by the party and Mao, presumably as leverage to be used against him if necessary.

In addition to his unquestioning compliance with Mao’s wishes, Zhou possessed another valuable survival skill: an uncanny ability to read the tyrant’s moods and intentions. This talent enabled him to offer advice and promote policies that aligned with Mao’s primary objectives while steering him away from potential disasters. Although he could never openly contradict the Chairman, Zhou knew he could make himself truly indispensable by helping Mao achieve certain goals without needlessly jeopardising the regime’s existence — his ultimate security guarantee.

But Zhou underestimated Mao’s paranoia and capacity for gratuitous cruelty. When Zhou was diagnosed with early-stage bladder cancer in May 1972, Mao explicitly prohibited surgery and ordered that neither Zhou nor his wife be informed of the diagnosis. This interference led to extended delays in Zhou’s surgery, likely contributing to the rapid deterioration in his health and eventual death less than four years later.

Mao’s sadistic campaign against Zhou did not let up even as the latter’s health deteriorated. In 1973, Mao fabricated what became known as the “Zhou-Kissinger scandal.” On a visit to Beijing, US National Security Adviser Henry Kissinger offered China favourable terms to advance strategic cooperation. Probably envious of the credit his Premier was receiving for the Sino-American rapprochement, Mao accused Zhou of being “too soft.”

By the end of his life, Zhou was physically and psychologically broken. In one of his final letters to Mao, written in June 1975, Zhou again denounced himself in a desperate show of loyalty.

Through his reconstruction of Zhou’s tragic life, Chen reveals the dehumanising nature of politics under a totalitarian dictatorship. A man of extraordinary talent, Zhou would have been an outstanding leader had he served a different regime. But within a system ruled by a violent megalomaniac dictator, Zhou had to engage in an endless series of self-debasing public rituals, sacrificing every shred of personal dignity for the sake of political survival. Given Zhou’s docile response to Mao’s cruelty in his final years, it is difficult not to conclude that the late Premier thought it was worth the cost.

Copyright: Project

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