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For the Chinese Communist Party, this year's "great proletarian cultural revolution" has meant the most serious purge since the disgrace of Defense Minister P'eng Teh-huai and two other Politburo members during the Great Leap Forward. P'eng Chen, effectively the sixth-ranking member of the Chinese Politburo, has been dismissed from the key post of first secretary of the Peking municipal party committee together with his senior colleagues. At least one other Politburo member, propaganda chief Lu Ting- yi, has been sacked along with many subordinates throughout the country. The long-missing Chief-of-Staff of the People's Liberation Army (P.L.A.) has been replaced and the army has undergone its third struggle over professionalism versus political control Finally at a giant rally in Peking on August 18, it was revealed that Mao's heir-apparent of twenty-years standing, head of state Liu Shao-ch'i, had been demoted several steps in the national hierarchy and had been replaced as Number 2 by Defense Minister Lin Piao. It is a startling picture of disarray in a Communist party which for most of the 31 years of Mao's chairmanship has been a model of solidarity at the top. What has happened to dispel the spirit of comradeship in that generation which participated in the Long March? Is the Chinese party now to undergo the periodic purging which has been the fate of the Soviet party ever since the death of Lenin? Are we witnessing a struggle for the succession to China's aging if still active father figure? Or is Mao himself turning into a Stalin in his old age?
Over the last few years Mao has been obsessed with one problem above all others: the danger that his brand of Communism will degenerate in China after his death. As the Sino-Soviet dispute over foreign policy has worsened, Mao has examined the internal situation of the Soviet Union with increasing foreboding. His worries were finally expressed in codified form in the last of the nine great polemics which the Chinese party directed against Moscow between September 1963 and July 1964. After stressing the danger of a "restoration of capitalism" in the Soviet Union and prescribing a number of long-term policies to prevent its occurring elsewhere, he stated that "we must not only have a correct line and correct policies but must train and bring up millions of successors who will carry on the cause of proletarian revolution." He went on:
In the final analysis, the question of training successors for the revolutionary cause of the proletariat is one of whether or not there will be people who can carry on the Marxist-Leninist revolutionary cause started by the older generation of proletarian revolutionaries, whether or not the leadership of our Party and state will remain in the hands of proletarian revolutionaries, whether or not our descendants will continue to march along the correct road laid down by Marxism-Leninism or, in other words, whether or not we can successfully prevent the emergence of Khrushchev's revisionism in China. In short, it is an extremely important question, a matter of life and death for our Party and our country.[i]
But the problem of training revolutionary heirs and successors raised another, prior problem in Mao's mind. Were the potential trainers-not just educators but writers, artists, journalists, anyone likely to have influence over the minds of the masses-revolutionary enough themselves to be entrusted with this supreme task? If not, could they not prove a more immediate threat than the "peaceful evolution" to capitalism? The Soviet Union provided Mao with an example of how revisionist leaders could seize the reins of power; and in Hungary the Petofi Circle[ii] had demonstrated how Marxist intellectuals could set a nation alight.
As Mao surveyed the Chinese ideological scene in the early sixties, he evidently became increasingly worried-and apparently with good cause. In the aftermath of the crisis brought on by the Great Leap Forward, three disastrous harvests and the withdrawal of Soviet technical assistance, hitherto trusted stalwarts started to question his policies and perhaps even his leadership. The situation was made worse by the régime's desperate need for the coöperation of all trained personnel in the enormous task of getting the economy moving again. To this end, a new "let a hundred flowers bloom" campaign was launched in 1961. Although it was hedged about with qualifications to prevent a repetition of the unfortunate results of the 1956-57 episode (as the recent purge literature has now revealed), it did encourage widespread criticism of the party and of party policies by officials, scholars and journalists throughout the country.
By the autumn of 1962, perhaps anticipating an economic upturn, Mao had decided to stop the rot. At the Central Committee's Tenth Plenum in September, Mao warned the party, "Never forget the class struggle." The following year a "socialist education campaign" was launched as the first major attempt to vaccinate the heirs and successors against the virus of revisionism. But Mao was still dissatisfied with the socialist educators. In December 1963 he informed intellectuals that "problems abounded" in all forms of art: Communists showed absurd enthusiasm for advancing feudal and capitalist art but no zeal in promoting socialist art. Six months later, Mao bluntly told the All-China Federation of Literary and Art Circles that in the fifteen years since the founding of the People's Republic, they and most of their publications had failed to carry out party policies. They had slid to the verge of revisionism and if serious steps were not taken to remold them, they were bound at some future date to resemble the Petofi Circle.
It is not yet clear when Mao finally decided that the remolding he was demanding of party intellectuals could not be carried out by the existing agitprop apparatus and that there would have to be wholesale sackings and a fresh start with new men. As early as February 1964, he sanctioned a national campaign to "learn from the experience of the People's Liberation Army in political and ideological work," which in retrospect seems to have indicated his impatience with the normal channels of political education. Nor could he have been pleased with the results of his repeated prodding of the party's cultural bosses. "Bourgeois" literature and drama still dominated the stage and although a number of senior party intellectuals were to come under fire that year, they were but a small fraction of those who had been "stirring up an evil flurry of attacks on the general line" in 1961-62.
What does seem certain is that from the start of the present purge, Mao was operating very much on his own, outside the normal party machinery. He entrusted the executive responsibilities to his former Political Secretary and alternate member of the Politburo, Ch'en Po-ta, who was put in charge of a new ad hoc body, the "group in charge of the cultural revolution."[iii] Mao chose three bases for the new campaign, which was launched at some form of Central Committee meeting in September 1965: the Shanghai party organization, the P.L.A. and the party's theoretical journal, Red Flag, edited by Ch'en Po-ta. The Liberation Army Daily made most of the attacks and supplied much of the venom, while Red Flag magisterially directed the pursuers toward the principal victims. But the first salvo was fired in the Shanghai party press on November 10 and other important articles appeared there from time to time. After November 26 Mao disappeared from public view until it was reported on May 9 that he had received the visiting Albanian Premier. Presumably he went off to hibernate as usual in the warmer climes of south-central China, but this winter he had also to devote himself to running the purge.
The top propaganda officials must have known something about Mao's new crusade. Chou Yang, probably the most important deputy director of the propaganda department and for over two decades Mao's literary czar, used the term "socialist cultural revolution" and spelled out what were to be its major propaganda themes in a speech to spare-time writers last November. His superior, propaganda director Lu Ting-yi, was reported touring the provinces as late as April, instructing local party committees on how to run the new Mao-study campaign. But clearly, if Mao's planned climax of the campaign was the elimination of Lu and Chou, he could hardly have taken them into his confidence, although he had to string them along for a while. Nor until he was ready for the denouement could he use the normal propaganda channels, which were under their control. This accounts for the unusual disarray in the Chinese press during most of the campaign. Significantly, the leading party newspaper, the People's Daily, which is edited by another deputy director of the propaganda department, was trailing behind Mao's chosen organs in its denunciations until shortly before the announcement of P'eng Chen's removal on June 3. It seems to have been just before June 1 that the new propaganda officials took over.
The first target of the "cultural revolution" was a noted historian, Wu Han, who was also a deputy mayor of Peking. Although not a party member, he had always been very correct during drives against intellectuals. Now in the Shanghai article of November 10, 1965, he was denounced for writing a Peking Opera drama about a Ming dynasty official which had been performed in 1961 under the title "Hai Jui Dismissed from Office." Allegedly, in order to support the 1961 attacks on the communes and demands for restoration of peasant ownership, Wu had built up a historically false picture of an honest official who advocated "return of land" to the peasants and "redressing of grievances."
The unexpected attack on Wu Han caused confusion and consternation in Peking. For not entirely disinterested reasons, some of Wu's friends on the municipal party committee attempted to defend him, or at least to divert the attack. They "made unscrupulous attacks on the Shanghai municipal committee . . . and used the propaganda organs in their hands to try in every way possible to resist and block the article." When, at the end of December, Wu felt compelled to apologize in print if his play had encouraged the wrong sort of people, he still felt confident enough to defend the accuracy of his history and the purity of his motives. And in the new year it looked as if Wu had a chance of getting lost in the crowd as the attack widened to embrace other writers and historians. But it is now clear that behind the scenes the attacks on Wu had produced a major confrontation between the mayor of Peking, P'eng Chen, and Mao Tse-tung.
From P'eng Chen's point of view, Wu Han was probably expendable. But Wu was closely linked with two of P'eng's senior aides on the municipal committee, Teng T'o and Liao Mo-sha. From 1961 to 1964 these three men had collaborated on a column entitled "Notes from a Three-Family Village" which appeared in the Peking party's theoretical journal, Front Line, edited by Teng T'o. Official critics were later to assert that "Notes" and another column, "Night Chats at Yenshan," which Teng T'o wrote for the Peking Evening News, used fables and historical vignettes to cloak vicious attacks on party policies, particularly those of the Great Leap, and to urge reëxamination of the cases of disgraced "right-opportunist" opponents of the Leap like P'eng Teh-huai.
Casting an eye over back issues of his party publications, P'eng Chen must easily have appreciated that his subordinates might be open to attack. Nor did he need the Liberation Army Daily to remind him of Mao's injunction that "since he has become first secretary, he should assume all responsibilities for all shortcomings and mistakes in the work of the party committee." In fact, some months later Red Flag was to accuse P'eng of regarding the Peking municipality as an "independent kingdom, watertight and impenetrable, and nobody was allowed to intervene or criticize it; it was like a tiger whose backside no one dared to kick." P'eng evidently felt he had no option but to "shield the sinister anti-party and anti-socialist counter-revolutionary gangsters" in order to protect himself.
The crunch must have come around the end of March, between the 29th when P'eng Chen made his last public appearance and April 3 when, after a month of virtual silence, the newspaper attacks on Wu Han were resumed. The new attacks represented a sharp escalation of the campaign, for it was now that Wu was first accused of supporting the P'eng Teh-huai group in 1959. P'eng Chen was presumably already in disgrace for defying Mao, who had personally intervened to criticize the Peking committee. But P'eng apparently had not yet been deprived of the reins of power; at least he was still able to communicate with his "faithful lackeys." As Red Flag later revealed, "even after Comrade Mao Tse-tung criticized the former Peking municipal party committee, they continued to carry out organized and planned resistance in an attempt 'to save the queen by sacrificing the knights'." On April 16, the Peking party press published a self-criticism for printing not merely Wu Han's articles but those of Teng T'o and Liao Mo-sha, who had not so far come under attack.
Possibly the man?uvre caused Mao to think again about disgracing P'eng, for it was not until May 8 that this self-criticism was denounced as a fraud by the Liberation Army Daily. A week later, Red Flag asked the Peking press, "Who directed you to play such tricks of sham criticism?" It was then presumably only a matter of choosing the appropriate time to break the news of P'eng Chen's dismissal. On the afternoon of June 3 the names of the new first and second secretaries of the Peking municipal committee were announced. P'eng Chen was not mentioned then or since, for it seems to be normal Chinese Communist protocol that Politburo members are not attacked publicly by name.
P'eng Chen is by far the most powerful man to have been disgraced during the current purge. Effectively number six in the Politburo, second secretary of the party's secretariat under Teng Hsiao-ping and boss of the Peking region with considerable control over the troops of the capital's garrison,[iv] he had some chance of being Mao's successor. But although his dismissal should therefore have logically been the climax of the purge, in fact it appears now to have been a side issue.
The main targets remained the party intellectuals and propagandists, although it was not until P'eng Chen's opposition was crushed that the "cultural revolution" could really get under way. On April 14, Shih Hsi- min, a deputy minister of culture appearing before the standing committee of the National People's Congress, discussed the importance of "firmly carrying through the socialist cultural revolution to the end." (This speech led China's top intellectual, Kuo Mo-jo, president of the Academy of Sciences, to exclaim that all his writings were fit only to be burned.) Four days later, the Liberation Army Daily proclaimed that "a new upsurge of the great socialist cultural revolution has taken shape and is now assuming the form of a mass movement."
Initially, the central thrust of the campaign was the renewed drive against Wu Han. After May 8, the attack shifted to the whole "three-family village" and especially to Teng T'o. On June 2, another phase of the campaign began with the publication in the press of the contents of a poster that had been stuck up at Peking University denouncing the university president and party first secretary, Lu P'ing, along with his second secretary. At just after midnight on June 3-4, only a few hours after the announcement of the reorganization of the municipal committee, Peking's new second secretary dramatically arrived on the university campus to relieve Lu P'ing and his deputy of their jobs. Lu P'ing was accused of following the instructions of the notorious Peking party to turn the cultural revolution onto a revisionist path. But when, within days, university officials came under attack throughout the country-many in areas where the local Communist parties remained in the clear-it became evident that the events at Peking University had to be seen as part of a drive against the men in charge of higher education, not merely as fallout from P'eng Chen's disgrace.
The strategy of attack seems to have been much the same in universities and schools from Peking to Yunnan. "Revolutionary leftists" among the students and faculty would denounce one or more of the top university officials, presumably at the instigation of emissaries from Ch'en Po-ta's cultural- revolution group. The officials, unaware of the credentials of their critics, rallied their own supporters for a counteroffensive. For two or three weeks the campus would be seething with mass denunciations, poster wars, and sometimes physical violence. It seems that during this period no one but the few instructed agents knew who was favored to emerge on top. Then a delegation would arrive from the local or provincial party committee to sort out the revolutionary good guys from the counter-revolutionary "monsters" and to put a work-group in charge of reorganizing the campus branch of the party and the university administration.
By mid-August, more than a dozen university presidents and many more vice- presidents and university party secretaries had lost their jobs. The full extent of the purge cannot yet be seen. Perhaps the most relevant evidence is that during the last purge of educational administrators after the Hundred Flowers in 1957-when many of today's hares were the hounds-a thousand party officials were moved into the universities and secondary schools, two hundred of them as presidents or vice-presidents.
But the purge of educators has been only one aspect of a frontal assault on all the men responsible for shaping the mind of China: journalists, writers, publishers and-most important-party propaganda officials from the local and provincial level right up to Lu Ting-yi and Chou Yang. Chou Yang was first denounced on July 1 and with increasing venom and velocity thereafter. Lu Ting-yi, as an alternate member of the Politburo, like P'eng Chen was not attacked by name. He was revealed to have lost his propaganda post when the first secretary of the party's central south bureau, T'ao Chu, turned up with Lu's title at a reception for Afro-Asian writers on July 10.[v]
All the purge victims have been accused of a syndrome of sins which add up to favoring "expertness" over "redness" or failing "to put politics in command." The president of the Shanghai Conservatory of Music, for instance, is said to have performed "sad symphonies" which depressed the masses. The chairman of the department of economics of the Academy of Sciences is said to have wanted to out-Liberman Liberman. In local papers across the country, duplicates of Peking's "three-family village" are said to have criticized party policies in the dark days of 1961-62. Whether they did or not may never become fully clear, since the truth or falsity of the accusations depends in many cases on whether historical essays were intended to be allegorical. But at least some of the party's accusations seem to be well founded.
It seems unlikely that incorruptibles like Lu Ting-yi and Chou Yang did in fact promote an anti-Maoist whispering campaign. But it is conceivable that at a time when the leadership's prestige had been severely dented, Lu, Chou and their equally orthodox subordinates had felt obliged to loosen the reins of doctrinal control.
From July 1, with the cultural revolution well under way, Mao began gradually to dispel the mystery that surrounded the purge. It was on that day, in an editorial on the 45th anniversary of the founding of the Communist party, that the People's Daily went through the extraordinary exercise of first stating that "one's attitude toward Mao Tse-tung's thought is the yardstick distinguishing the genuine revolutionary from the sham revolutionary and the counter-revolutionary, the Marxist-Leninist from the revisionist," and then pointedly quoting approving remarks on Mao's thought from Liu Shao-ch'i, Chou En-lai, Lin Piao and Teng Hsiao-p'ing. That these four of Mao's closest comrades-in-arms should have to be publicly given a clean bill of ideological health is a startling revelation of how far rumor and suspicion must have gone.[vi] Shortly thereafter the top officials unaffected by the purge were paraded at receptions, presumably to inform a bemused public who was still who.
In mid-July, Mao himself reappeared to signal a return to what the Chinese call normalcy and straightaway plunged into the Yangtze to prove his fitness. On August 8 a Central Committee decision laid down the future guide-lines for the cultural revolution in an evident attempt to minimize confusion. Then the Central Committee, after its first plenary session in four years, issued a communiqué retroactively approving the whole series of measures leading up to the cultural revolution and clearly attributing them to Mao.
The purge has been the most dramatic aspect of the "great proletarian cultural revolution" but it has only been the negative first stage. What is needed is not just new men but new measures. It is in the educational field that the most drastic changes seem to be contemplated. On July 17 the party and government announced a six-month postponement of this year's enrollment of students in higher educational institutions. The aim is partly to allow high schools and colleges to complete the cultural revolution, but more importantly to provide time for a thorough recasting of the present admissions system. It has been decided that entrance examinations give too much weight to academic ability and too little to political reliability, thereby preventing the large-scale admission of revolutionary peasants, workers and soldiers. A presumably inspired letter from some high school girls which appeared in the press has proposed that after graduation all schoolchildren should normally enter productive labor and be selected for college on the basis of the "ideological diplomas" they could win among the peasants and workers.
According to the August 8 decision of the Central Committee, another major move will be to shorten courses of study and make them simple and concise. "Teaching material should be thoroughly transformed and part of it should first be simplified." A second students' letter, indicating another possible innovation, complained that education lasted too long: "Seventeen years of hard academic study really wastes one's youth and leads the young generation astray."
If even greater politicization is to be the watchword in academic life, the method is to be to de-professionalize literature and the arts. Before being purged Chou Yang had proclaimed the ultimate aim: "By the time Communist society is achieved, all writers will probably be amateur ones." Mao seems to feel that full-time intellectuals, by the very private nature of their work, can never be properly remolded. Even frequent contact with workers, peasants and soldiers is not enough. To be really safe for the revolution, intellectuals must be workers, peasants or soldiers. And since intellectuals notoriously drag their feet at this prospect, it is possibly more effective in the long run to start at the other end.
Mao's aim is in fact the total amateurization of all activities, the rearing of 700,000,000 universal men. "With hammer in hand they will be able to do factory work, with hoe or plough they will be able to do farming, with the gun they will be able to fight and with the pen express themselves in writing," the People's Daily declared on August 1, though by using the phrase "where conditions permit" when describing practical steps towards amateurization, the paper indicated a cautious approach would be adopted.
All this is highly reminiscent of the Great Leap Forward and indeed the communiqué of the Central Committee's Eleventh Plenum declared that there was a "new all-round leap forward emerging." However, the phrasing here and earlier suggests that the party is trying to boost morale rather than recreate the apocalyptic atmosphere of 1958. As early as April, Premier Chou declared-descriptively rather than prescriptively-that industrial production "has taken a new leap forward." Chou, Foreign Minister Ch'en Yi, and now the Central Committee have all stressed improvement in quality, whereas in 1958 the operative word was quantity, and quality was thrown out the window. Significantly, too, the Central Committee in its decision on the cultural revolution took special pains to reassure scientists and technical personnel, the people most likely to get alarmed at the prospect of another leap forward.
If the heady wine of a leap forward is to be eschewed, revolutionary zeal will presumably have to be maintained by the new propaganda department and the People's Liberation Army, the original "school of the revolution." Yet curiously enough, although the Army is still held up as the unquestioned political paragon, it too has been undergoing a major if quiet convulsion. On August 1, an "acting Chief-of-Staff" held the reception for Army Day, indicating that Lo Jui-ch'ing, absent from view since November, had gone the way of his two disgraced predecessors. At least seven top officers have now been sacked over the past eight years, though one has reappeared. On August 1, the Liberation Army Daily revealed that the P.L.A. had "not very long ago" experienced its third major struggle over the issues of political control and professionalism. Even the former security chief, Lo Jui-ch'ing, who had apparently done such a good job of helping Lin Piao politicize the Army after the purge of P'eng Teh-huai and his Chief-of-Staff in 1959, had evidently finally adopted the anathematized "purely military viewpoint."
The Liberation Army Daily did link Lo implicitly (he has not yet been denounced by name) with P'eng Chen and the propaganda chiefs, describing him and his other disgraced colleagues as "important members of the counter- revolutionary, anti-party, anti-socialist clique recently uncovered by our party." But while Mao may find it doctrinally neat to link all these men, the timing of Lo Jui-ch'ing's disappearance suggests that, though he may have also disapproved of what was then only a projected cultural revolution, he is unlikely to have had the opportunity of joining P'eng's later resistance to it. What is interesting is that only now is the disaffection of Lo and his colleagues revealed, possibly because Mao did not wish the country to know before the cultural revolution got under way that the model he was displaying for emulation had feet of clay. It is significant that, having brought the matter up, the P.L.A.'s journal seems since to have dropped it, as if fearful that people may get the idea that soldiers are no more revolutionary than anyone else. What may be even more significant is that only the P.L.A.'s own journal was allowed to mount an attack on the army leaders. This fact, coupled with the curt announcement that the P.L.A. would carry out its cultural revolutionary tasks according to the directions of the Military Affairs Committee of the Central Committee, suggests that the central party apparat may exercise little control over the P.L.A.
Mao's grand design is no less than the total transformation of the nature of Chinese man. According to the People's Daily:
The proletarian cultural revolution is aimed not only at demolishing all the old ideology and culture and all the old customs and habits which, fostered by the exploiting classes, have poisoned the minds of the people for thousands of years, but also at creating and fostering among the masses an entirely new ideology and culture and entirely new customs and habits- those of the proletariat. . . . This great task of transforming customs and habits is without any precedent in human history.
When one realizes the extent of Mao's ambition, it is not difficult to understand why he has been prepared to sanction the incredible cult of his thought (the "compass" of the revolution) and himself (its "helmsman") and to cut a gigantic swathe through the ranks of the party-though unlike Stalin he does not kill. The loss of a few hundred or even thousand old comrades must seem a small price to pay for hundreds of millions of revolutionary heirs and successors.
Mao can presumably survive the destruction of the Yenan camaraderie-though even he might be counter-attacked if what is shaping up as an educational leap forward proves disastrous. But what of his successor? At the great cultural revolution rally on August 18, 59-year-old Defense Minister Lin Piao clearly emerged as Mao's heir. The cultural revolution was not the result of a succession struggle but it gave Mao the occasion to settle the succession. He has opted for Lin because in the younger man he apparently detects the qualities needed in a future leader charged with preserving militant Maoism.
It is still difficult to understand how a man who practically never is able to appear in public can be healthy enough to run the country. But even assuming Lin's fitness, he will face major problems in ensuring the loyalty of many of his principal colleagues once Mao goes. Chou En-lai's adherence has been secured, probably in exchange for an undertaking not to launch a new leap forward. But the manner of Lin's rise must have angered many top people and he may seek to buttress his personal position by packing the central committee and politburo with loyal army cadres. He would need to diminish the importance of the full-time party officials in these central organs, for the party apparatus could be the power base for a challenge to his leadership.
The outcome of such man?uvres would have far wider importance than the rise and fall of personalities. It would inevitably involve the whole role of the army within Chinese society. Already under Mao the army is the tutor of the nation. Its cadres have been lent to farms and factories to put over the Maoist way. The name of the new revolutionary youth organization, Red Guards, and its olive-drab uniforms, suggest army assistance in its foundation. Even the new acting Minister of Culture was recently a soldier. At the August 18 rally, second-echelon army officers were given precedence over vice chairmen of the national legislature, and Mao himself appeared in military uniform to symbolize the army's prime importance in national affairs.
What may be happening is not a Bonapartist takeover in the ordinary sense- after all, Lin Piao and his officers are supposed to be the reddest party members of them all. But the country is increasingly dominated by military men and, in the long run, a peacetime army is not a suitable vehicle for guiding the revolution. Political leadership cannot be its sole major task; and besides, even the reddest army cadres are subject to conservative pressures from their more professionally minded colleagues which, however often criticized, have an effect. Ultimately the influx of army cadres into the top party organs would adulterate party leadership. By handing the baton to Lin, Mao may have undermined what he considers the very basis of proletarian dictatorship.
[i] The Polemic on the General Line of the International Communist Movement (Peking: Foreign Languages Press, 1965), p. 477-8. This year a party official revealed that the author of this ninth polemic was Mao himself.
[ii] Named for the Hungarian poet and patriot killed in the revolt of 1848- 49, the Petofi Circle was formed in Budapest in 1955 to encourage free debate among students and intellectuals. The Hungarian uprising occurred a year later.
[iii] While the thesis that the purge has been planned and directed by Mao can be buttressed both by quotations from the Chinese press and by an analysis of how the main thrust of the purge dovetails with Mao's principal policy aims, the role of Ch'en Po-ta provides an important additional "kremlinological" clue. On the only other occasion when Mao has gone it alone-during the 1965 collectivization drive-it was Ch'en whom Mao chose to explain his ideas to the Central Committee. And when in 1958 at the launching of the Great Leap it was felt necessary to set up a new party theoretical journal, Red Flag, it was Ch'en who was made editor.
[iv] Liu Jen, the Peking party's second secretary who was dismissed with P'eng, was political commissar of the Peking garrison.
[v] Lu Ting-yi may have been dismissed as early as the end of April.
[vi] The omission of a paean from 80-year-old Chu Teh, number four in the Politburo, was possibly a mark of respect to Mao's oldest colleague, on the assumption that he at least should be above suspicion. But he too has now been demoted.