The Day After Russia Attacks
What War in Ukraine Would Look Like—and How America Should Respond
Since the death of Mao Tse-tung on September 9, 1976, two sets of influences have combined to produce significant movement in Chinese foreign policy. The first impetus to change, and certainly the most important, has been the domestic political requirements of the new leaders for legitimacy and stability. The second has been external developments to which the Chinese government has had to be responsive. Superficially, very little has changed in Chinese foreign policy since its main parameters were laid down by Chou En-lai around the time of the Lin Piao incident in the fall of 1971. In fact, however, the changes have been considerable. The two influences on China's foreign policy managers have unspectacularly but decisively pushed the People's Republic into positions that are new for China and that hold the promise of a significant effect on the world balance of power.
Domestic political influences on foreign policy arise from Hua Kuo-feng's so far successful succession to the chairmanship. The way in which Hua is continuing to consolidate his position has had very real foreign policy consequences. Facets of this complicated matter include the need to maintain Mao's authority and transfer it to his successors, while reversing many of Mao's policies of the past decade; the need to service Hua Kuo-feng's main military backers; and the need to reestablish the internal solidarity of the Politburo after years of disunity. External political developments include confusion in U.S. foreign policy, worsening of relations between the U.S.S.R. and Japan, conflict between Vietnam and Cambodia, territorial and offshore resource disputes in the China Sea, and the successes of Soviet foreign policy during 1977 in Africa and elsewhere.
These two broad sets of influences, unequally impinging on the Chinese political process, are slowly producing a new Chinese external stance. Some significant components of this stance are cooperation with Japan and, to a lesser extent, the United States; recognition of the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN); rapid conventional modernization of the People's Liberation Army (PLA); profit-oriented foreign trade; new political allies in the old effort to build a global united front against the Soviet Union; and a willingness, regardless of ideology, to tap the overseas Chinese connection. Chinese foreign policy today is like a complex protein molecule: to understand it at all, the analyst must break it down into its component parts and weigh them individually.
The internal political events of 1976 and Hua Kuo-feng's victory will be argued over and debated for decades to come. If a Chinese Machiavelli should emerge and choose to write an updated version of The Prince, names such as Chiang Ch'ing, Teng Hsiao-p'ing, Yeh Chien-ying, Wang Tung-hsing, and the "Gang of Four" are going to become as well known to students of politics as Borgia, Medici, Sforza and the condottieri are today. No outsider knows in any detail what happened in Peking between the T'ien-an-men riot of April 5, 1976 and Wang Tung-hsing's arrest of Mao's widow and her henchmen on October 6, 1976. But the best-educated guesses are that the long-time Vice Chairman of the Central Committee's Military Commission, Yeh Chien-ying, stood up to the aged Mao and insisted that Hua Kuo-feng replace Teng Hsiao-p'ing as Chou En-lai's successor rather than one of the Shanghai Clique.1 Hua did not belong to either major faction within the party, tended toward the views of the old bureaucrats, was acceptable to the military, and yet could work with Mao's utterly loyal aide and commander of the palace guards, Wang Tung-hsing. The result was that the unknown Hua not only succeeded Chou and Mao; he also garnered Mao's blessing: the last recorded words of the Great Helmsman were, "With you in charge, I am at ease" ("Ni pan-shih, wo fang-hsin").
However, in order to succeed Mao literally, Hua had to betray him politically. By the autumn of 1976 the country had been through ten years of inconclusive turmoil; factories were paralyzed by factional fighting, college-age youths were sullen and educationally a "lost generation," the army held the society together but at the expense of its own primary defense mission, and the public longed for (and wept openly at the death of) Chou En-lai, with his cool reason, clear priorities, and commitment to economic growth.
Whatever his own views, Hua Kuo-feng decided to deliver Chou En-lai's policies. To do so he had first to build a massive mausoleum to celebrate Mao (not unlike Chiang Kai-shek's building a mausoleum to Sun Yat-sen at Nanking 50 years earlier), and he had to interpret his new policies in ways that made them coincide at least superficially with the legacy of Mao Tse-tung. Thus, he began the selective publication of Mao's works from the early 1950s, works that are in line with the views of such later anti-Maoist leaders as Teng Hsiao-p'ing and Li Hsien-nien, and that recommend reforms which the military now demands. Hua in effect de-Maoized policy while sanctifying Mao, the latter being indispensable to his own position and because Wang Tung-hsing would not have tolerated anything less.
"We must strengthen our national defense, and for that purpose we must first of all strengthen our work in economic construction." Mao wrote these words in 1956 (On the Ten Major Relationships); the fact that they were first published openly in China on December 26, 1976 is a clue to the curiously Janus-faced character of Chinese political discussion today. The public is enthusiastic about the new commitment to growth, scientific and engineering expertise, rewards according to work, entrance exams and strict grading in schools and colleges, and imports of foreign technology. And yet, these new policies are justified in the name of Mao and executed by Mao's chosen successor, while every politically attentive person in the country knows that Mao was the author of the Cultural Revolution and that the Gang of Four could not have existed without his patronage.
Perhaps there is nothing strange about this, however. Cesare Borgia, the outstanding figure of the Italian Renaissance and a person whose political career has certain similarities to Mao's, ended up after his death contributing to the consolidation of the Papal States, although his purpose had been precisely the opposite. Mao's legacy is more important than his Cultural Revolution policies, and the public is enjoying the preservation of the one and the demise of the other. Hua Kuo-feng has shown himself to be a skillful builder of coalitions: he has put Mao on a pedestal, implemented Chou's policies, brought Teng back into the government, kept the army happy, and restored unity and purpose to the body politic. When asked about the possible contradictions in all this, the Chinese reply, "Mao is great, Chou is beloved, Hua is wise."
Is the new coalition stable? We do not know. There is a potential for conflict following the death of the aged Yeh Chien-ying, who has mediated the role of the army since Mao's death. Hua Kuo-feng does not yet seem to have his own independent base of support; he may be only a transitional figure. Perhaps the papering over of Mao's role during the last decade will not hold, resulting in open conflict about the meaning of his legacy. Expectations of the public, particularly of skilled workers and the intellectuals, have been raised so high that some retrenchment may become necessary. But this could have serious consequences for the "four modernizations" - agriculture, industry, defense, and science and technology - that Chou promised and that Hua is implementing. On available evidence, it seems that Hua has successfully navigated the succession, including a party congress and a new National People's Congress, and that he is coping with whatever tensions exist within the Politburo. He is also younger than all of his rivals, without being so young that he outrages Chinese sensibilities.
In foreign policy, the new directions have had to be explained and justified doctrinally, this being Communist China. In addition to the use of Mao's works of 1956 and earlier, the regime has now attributed to Mao the origin of a "Three Worlds Thesis" that is cited as the authoritative basis of Chinese foreign policy. The basic source here is "Chairman Mao's Theory of the Differentiation of the Three Worlds is a Major Contribution to Marxism-Leninism," a 35,000-character treatise that filled all six pages of the People's Daily on November 1, 1977.
Actually, the analysis in terms of three worlds seems on the surface to bear a strong resemblance to a line of thinking associated five years ago with Chou En-lai.2 But the differences, on close examination, are instructive. Then, as now, the two superpowers comprise the First World, but with the difference that it is now clearly and unequivocally the U.S.S.R. that is singled out as likely to cause a new world war. And, then as now, the Third World comprises the underdeveloped ex-colonial nations, and the "Thesis" lays great rhetorical stress on unity within that group, of which China still claims to be a part, against superpower hegemonism. And, then as now, the Second World (or Second Intermediate Zone as it was once called) comprises the advanced industrial societies other than the two superpowers.
But whereas five years ago the Second World's aid was invoked only in general terms, today Hua Kuo-feng's de facto contribution is a much greater emphasis on strong ties with the Second World at the expense of the previous emphasis on the Third. The moral seems clear: China needs the Second World not merely as a general counterweight to the Soviet threat, but for the most concrete economic and strategic forms of cooperation and assistance, in ways it was unwilling even a short time ago to give weight to, or in some cases even to acknowledge.
There are several reasons for this shift. First, a corollary of the "four modernizations" is a recognition of China's technological backwardness; advanced industrial technique must be imported. Given the fact that China perpetuates Mao's opposition to Russia - a policy unquestionably supported by the present leaders, not just because Mao advocated it but also because of Russia's attempt to cripple China economically in 1960 and because of the Soviet military buildup on China's borders - the only other place to obtain the technology is in the Second World (or in the United States).
Second, Russia cannot attack China without transferring some of its forces from Europe to Asia (approximately a quarter of the Soviet ground forces are stationed along China's northern border); one way to keep those forces tied down in Europe is to support by all means possible the resistance of the Second World nations of Western Europe. Hence, China approves the strengthening of NATO, opposes Eurocommunism, signed a most-favored-nation trade agreement with the European Community, and actively consults with the leaders of West Germany, France and England, particularly those leaders who are alert to the Soviet danger.
Third, China needs to modernize its conventional armed forces, and Hua Kuo-feng's backers in the army have shifted their defensive planning from Mao's "people's war" to a more conventional defense. Some equipment will have to be imported from the Second World, and China's buyers have been abroad throughout 1978 (we shall return to this subject). Fourth, China believes that the Third World remains the long-range source of strength against Soviet hegemonism, but that for the present, with the Soviet Union and Cuba operating at will in a dozen different African and Middle Eastern countries, the Second World is needed for direct resistance (e.g., France in Zaïre) and for pressure on the United States to meet its responsibilities as a superpower.
There are many lesser axioms included in this Chinese grand strategy. Hua's visit to Bucharest in August 1978 simply underscored a long-standing tie to Romania, but the accompanying visit to Tito symbolized the dramatic recent shift in support from Albania to Yugoslavia, given Belgrade's greater credibility in the Third World as a nonaligned nation. Other recent examples include: cordiality toward Egyptian President Sadat's peace initiative in the Middle East; verbal support for Kim Il-sung in North Korea (even though his policies probably irritate the Chinese) to try to keep him from drifting back to the Russian side; and an endless series of political dinners in Peking for such figures as King Juan Carlos of Spain and Mrs. Thatcher of Great Britain. Three areas of the strategy, however, are more complicated: Sino-Japanese relations, military modernization, and relations with the United States.
By far the most active, and potentially the most important, arena in which China has attempted to unite with the Second World is Japan. The effort did not at first go smoothly. Deputy Foreign Minister Chao Nien-lung opened preliminary negotiations for a treaty of peace and amity on a trip to Tokyo as long ago as November 11-15, 1974. In September 1975 the talks broke down - for two reasons: (a) the Chinese insisted on a so-called antihegemony clause in the treaty, a clause that was contained in both the Nixon and Tanaka communiqués of 1972 and that was directed against Soviet activities in East Asia; and (b) at the end of 1974, Japanese Prime Minister Tanaka Kakuei, the author of Sino-Japanese rapprochement, was forced from office and the Liberal Democratic Party entered a period of internal confusion and electoral weakness. For four years the negotiations deadlocked over Japan's fears that the antihegemony clause meant Japan's enlisting on the Chinese side in the Sino-Soviet dispute. Japan preferred, and still prefers, to maintain a position of equally friendly relations with both China and Russia - a variant of the enormously successful postwar Japanese policy of separating politics from economics.
What has changed of late is a marked deterioration in Soviet-Japanese relations, causing many Japanese leaders to come to see the reality of, and the need to resist, "superpower hegemonism." Three days before the death of Mao, on September 6, 1976, a lieutenant of the Soviet Air Force flew his MiG-25 to Hakodate in Hokkaido and asked for political asylum. Thus began the worsening of relations between Russia and Japan. The Japanese were alarmed that their radar had failed to detect the Soviet fighter until it was on the ground, and they were even more irritated by Moscow's charge that the pilot was being detained against his will.
The U.S.S.R. followed this incident with a campaign of rough pressure tactics against Japan, probably reflecting a Soviet misassessment of the apparent weakness of the conservative party during 1977 and of the meaning of the shift from Miki to Fukuda as Prime Minister. On March 1, 1977, Russia declared a 200-mile fishing zone, including the disputed four islands off Hokkaido, that really affected only Japan. During the year the Soviets repeatedly warned the Japanese about the dangers of agreeing to the antihegemony clause in a treaty with China; and they vigorously attacked Fukuda's August 1977 tour of the ASEAN nations, a visit that in contrast to Tanaka's January 1974 tour was warmly welcomed in Southeast Asia and also in Peking. Thus, the stage was set for the events of 1978.
From January 8 to 11, 1978, Foreign Minister Sonoda visited Moscow for negotiations with the Russians over the disputed islands. The results were disastrous from the Japanese point of view. The Soviet side tore up the Tanaka-Brezhnev statement of 1972 that "the northern territorial question remains a question unsettled between Japan and the Soviet Union" and replaced it with a new formulation: "there remains no question unsettled after the war." The Russians also initiated large-scale military demonstrations in the seas off Japan. On February 22, 1978, Ambassador Polyanski in Tokyo delivered a Soviet-proposed treaty of friendship to Fukuda, which was then published in the Soviet press the following day. Fukuda rejected the treaty on the spot, noting that its terms were similar to the treaties that the Soviet Union has with the East European states; and the Japanese press commented that Japan's "Finlandization" was apparently a prerequisite to friendly relations with the U.S.S.R. Japan's anger and fear were exacerbated by the confusion that characterized U.S. policy toward Asia during the first year of the Carter Administration. In these circumstances, the antihegemony clause appeared to some Japanese leaders and various segments of the public as less a provocation to Russia than a matter of plain common sense.
On February 16, 1978, China and Japan signed a "private" trade agreement worth $20 billion over the next eight years. China will export crude oil to Japan in return for Japanese steel and factories. The significance of the agreement lies in the unity of the Japanese business community, particularly the Tokyo zaikai, which had been much cooler toward China six years earlier, and in the Chinese readiness to export large amounts of oil, up to 15 million tons by 1982. On May 10, 1978, official negotiations between China and Japan for a peace treaty resumed; and on August 12, 1978, Japanese Foreign Minister Sonoda and Chinese Foreign Minister Huang Hua signed a treaty of peace in Peking. The treaty contains the antihegemony clause, but on Japan's insistence (and as a mark of China's readiness to come to terms), it also states, "The present treaty shall not affect the position of either contracting party regarding its relations with third countries." Difficulties remain, including the disputed Senkaku Islands in the Ryukyu chain and the Korean-Japanese treaty delimiting offshore drilling areas. Still, it seems certain that Japan will move closer to China, portending major changes in the Pacific balance of power.
The conventional modernization of the People's Liberation Army in China revolves around two issues: a change in strategy, and how to do it. On the strategic level, Mao Tse-tung settled for a so-called people's war defense against Russia, meaning that China would deploy a counter-city nuclear deterrent and wage a war of attrition against a full-scale but non-nuclear invasion. However, China's military leaders recognize a major flaw in this thinking. If the Soviets choose to attack China with conventional forces in order to seize territory or to aid dissidents in Manchuria or Sinkiang, or to knock out the Chinese nuclear development sites, or to support a third-country attack on China (e.g., from Vietnam), Russia's own superpower strategic forces effectively deter a Chinese first use of nuclear weapons; and China has no defense at all against such limited war objectives.
This point was also brought home to the Chinese by former U.S. Secretary of Defense James Schlesinger, who visited Chinese military installations precisely at the time of Mao Tse-tung's death. After witnessing horse cavalry, antitank weapons that would bounce off contemporary Soviet armor, and aerial target practice against low-flying balloons, Schlesinger expressed his belief that the Chinese were without an antiaircraft or antitank capability. All subsequent military observers, including officials from France, Great Britain, the United States, Germany, Sweden and Japan, have concurred in this estimate to varying degrees. More to the point, the 1973 Middle East War and the 1975 communist offensive in Vietnam convinced most military specialists, the Chinese included, that a revolution in conventional armaments was underway and that modern conventional forces were anything but obsolete in the nuclear era.
As of the end of 1977, China had conducted some 22 nuclear weapons tests, launched seven small earth satellites (the forerunners of a photointelligence system), deployed between 30 and 40 medium-range ballistic missiles of the Soviet SS-4 type and between 30 and 40 intermediate-range ballistic missiles of the Soviet SS-5 type, possessed perhaps 80 Chinese-manufactured Tu-16 medium bombers with a radius of action of 2,000 miles, and fielded a total of 192 conventional divisions (of which 121 are infantry, 40 artillery, and only 12 armored). China has no antitank guided missiles, although it is believed that during 1977 Egypt sent a specimen of the Soviet Sagger wire-guided antitank missile to China in exchange for MiG-21 engine replacements. China lacks an all-weather interceptor capability, modern air-to-air missiles, electronic countermeasures, armored helicopters, a modern battle tank, and most of the other weapons being turned out in the armories of the First and Second Worlds. In short, China's armed forces are at least 10 to 20 years out of date, and Mao's people's war solution to the problem is inadequate for anything but an increasingly unlikely full-scale conventional invasion.3
Thus, the Chinese have begun to send military missions abroad to see if they can buy some of the items they need. In September 1977, Deputy Chief of General Staff Yang Ch'eng-wu led a delegation of air force, navy, signals, and artillery officers to France, where they were received by the French Chief of General Staff, General Guy Méry, who had visited China in June 1976. Subsequent missions have gone to Switzerland and England, and European military visitors to Peking invariably meet the highest Chinese leaders. The possibility of a British sale of Harrier VTOL strike aircraft increased after a six-man Chinese delegation observed a demonstration of the weapon at Lulworth on June 22, 1978.
The lines of this new policy seem clear enough. The Chinese are determined to modernize their forces, and this implies closer cooperation with the Second World and a continuing commitment to improvements in science and technology. The outbreak of war between Vietnam and Cambodia at the end of 1977, and the unprecedented inspection trip to the Soviet Far East by Brezhnev and Defense Minister Ustinov (March 28 to April 9, 1978, the first such visit by the highest Soviet leaders since the October Revolution) only confirmed the Chinese in their view that Mao's "dig tunnels deep, store grain everywhere, and never seek hegemony" slogan was passe. The problem has been the attitude of the United States. Aircraft such as the Harrier contain some American equipment, and their export requires an American license. In more general terms, the Americans will have to express themselves on the purposes, limitations, and overall policy implications of members of the Western alliance arming the Chinese.
American attitudes toward European involvement with China are, of course, only a small part of the complex Sino-American relationship that has developed since 1971. In essence, China wants two things from the United States. First, the Chinese want to see the United States become more actively and coherently engaged in countering the Soviet Union's efforts to expand its sphere of hegemony. Second, the Chinese want the Americans to accept their three conditions for "normalization" of relations between the two countries: the United States must withdraw all of its forces from the island of Taiwan, end diplomatic recognition of the Republic of China, and dissolve the Mutual Defense Treaty that commits the United States to the defense of Taiwan. The problem with these two Chinese desires is that they are politically incompatible.
If the United States should accede to China's terms without gaining assurances of Taiwan's security, the effect on the rest of East Asia would be precisely to destroy the credibility of American security commitments and open the area to an expansion of Soviet influence. China knows this, but it cannot yet bring itself to say so. It also knows that its renunciation of the use of force against Taiwan is the only hope it ever has of reuniting the people of Taiwan with the mainland short of civil war. The Taiwan problem probably cannot be resolved until after Chiang Ching-kuo has been succeeded by a genuinely Taiwanese leader, one who is not obligated by a father's last will and testament. The United States does not need to repudiate the Shanghai Communiqué of 1972; it only needs to adopt a more "Asian" scale of time in which it is to be fully implemented.
It also needs seriously to bolster the credibility of its commitment to maintaining the balance of power in the western Pacific. This is what China really wants from the United States, as do the non-communist countries of the area. Japan, in particular, needs reassurance that the Security Treaty means what it says; without such reassurance, Japan cannot afford to ignore the threatening signals coming from the Soviet Union and enter into a more cooperative relationship with China, however the "antihegemony clause" is interpreted in the future. Doubts about the American commitment to the western Pacific have certainly slowed the Sino-Japanese entente in Japanese thinking, and they have also bolstered the hand of the hard-liners concerning Taiwan in Chinese thinking.
During 1978, the Chinese think they detected signs of improvement in Washington's positions. The Korean withdrawal decision was so thoroughly modified that U.S. tactical air strength in the peninsula actually increased; Soviet-American détente became as problematic as the Chinese always thought it would be; and American leaders were once again coming to visit Peking. The most important of these visits was by presidential adviser Brzezinski in May. His open endorsement of Sino-American cooperation against the U.S.S.R. was precisely what the Chinese wanted to hear. In fact, they were still so euphoric about it when I visited China in late June that I felt morally obligated to suggest that the United States was not quite ready to enter a Sino-American alliance.
In my view, what the United States needs is a more nuanced policy toward China, which would aim at a position in between the two things that China wants from us. The primary element in such a policy would be a commitment to normalization of relations with Peking, but only on terms that guarantee Taiwanese security. A corollary of this commitment would be a bolstering of the Seventh Fleet in the western Pacific. This last is necessary because of serious doubts in the area as to whether the United States has the means to back up its statements of intent. Equally important in this regard, official Washington must come to understand that the Pacific Fleet performs different functions than the Atlantic Fleet - that its presence in the western Pacific is less oriented toward countering a specific military threat than it is toward preventing such a threat from developing, and that both China and Japan feel this form of an American role is indispensable to stability in the area.4 Only if there is such an American presence can China's conventional military modernization go ahead without threatening non-communist Asia.
In short, to talk of "playing the China card" in the Soviet-American game is irresponsible. The United States can neither pay for China's foreign policy by seeking outright conflict with the U.S.S.R., nor can it cause China to pay for U.S. foreign policy by using the Sino-American relationship as a substitute for an effective American defense against the U.S.S.R. On the other hand, to accept China's terms concerning Taiwan serves no one's interests - not China's, nor Taiwan's, nor Japan's, nor the United States'. (Interestingly enough, it might serve the U.S.S.R.'s interests, since the Soviets might offer their services as Taiwan's protector.)
The possibility that the Chinese are coming to accept an intermediate U.S. policy is suggested by the success of the July 1978 U.S. technical mission to Peking led by the President's Science Adviser, Dr. Frank Press. Without mentioning either Taiwan or hegemony, the Americans and Chinese agreed to open a range of channels for civilian scientific and technical exchange between the two countries. The Chinese Communist press in Hong Kong called the visit "the most significant since Nixon."
On balance, Chinese foreign policy today is an amalgam of sensible new responses to the needs of domestic development, combined with an intense nationalistic hostility to the Soviet Union. The policy is popular with the Chinese people, this being one of the reasons it was adopted (given the needs of the new leadership for internal stability and unity). Successes of the new policy have been slow in coming, however. This is because of several built-in constraints: new ventures can be undertaken only as the internal political consensus matures and as the highly charged years of the Cultural Revolution recede. Previous Maoist commitments and theories still exert their hold. Today, the "four modernizations" dictate Chinese domestic and foreign policy. But the Chinese can recognize their full implications only obliquely and covertly, given the current configurations of their leadership and ideology.
In the meantime, events beyond China's control keep interfering with the course of the grand strategy. The Chinese armed demonstration of April 1978 in the Senkaku Islands clearly set back relations with Japan. Since the Chinese subsequently dismissed the incident as an "accident," it is not clear why it occurred. Were some Chinese trying to pressure the Japanese? If so, the long-standing Chinese lack of a sophisticated understanding of Japanese politics is still undercutting their policies. Is the Chinese government divided over its Japan policy? If so, the propitious set of circumstances created by the signing of the Sino-Japanese treaty of peace may prove to be short-lived.
The best example of new developments diverting Chinese policy from its indicated line of advance is Indochina. Fighting between Cambodia and Vietnam poses a major dilemma for China. The Chinese would prefer not to see all of the peninsula come under Hanoi's sway; at the same time, support of its only asset in the area, Cambodia, is both embarrassing (given the nature of the Pol Pot government) and likely to prove ineffective. Meanwhile, the wholesale support of Hanoi by the U.S.S.R. virtually dictates Chinese policy. The unexpected exodus of the Chinese community in Vietnam is a further aggravating element. China cannot afford to ignore these refugees, given its current policy of seeking cordial relations with the overseas Chinese. However, to the extent that China makes a major issue out of the fate of the Chinese in Vietnam, it will cause alarm in the ASEAN states, all of which have significant Chinese populations. Certainly most disturbing to Peking in the entire matter is the ability of the U.S.S.R. to open new fronts on different parts of China's border. China still has many unsettled matters with all of its neighbors, including its support of internal revolutionaries in places such as Burma. Failure to repair relations with the subcontinent and Southeast Asia could severely affect China's overall strategy, and leave open the ominous possibility of Soviet encirclement.
China is only beginning its recovery from the Cultural Revolution. As late as the end of 1977, Vice President of the Chinese Academy of Sciences and Politburo member Fang Yi said that the situation in science and education was so bad that "virtually everything needs to be done." In foreign policy, the Chinese have identified the problems and forged policies to deal with them. The world waits to see if the leadership can liberate the creative energies of the Chinese people and lead them to mutually advantageous relationships with other nations. If not, the alternative would appear to be a return to the sterile internal dispute over what the Chinese should do with their revolution now that they have won it - and a heightened Chinese susceptibility to Soviet pressure. The policies of the United States and of its Second World allies will influence, not decisively but importantly, China's progress in either direction.
1Two particularly useful analyses are Ting Wang, "A Concise Biography of Hua Kuo-feng," Chinese Law and Government, Spring 1978; and Parris Chang, "The Rise of Wang Tung-hsing: Head of China's Security Apparatus," The China Quarterly, March 1978.
3 See The Military Balance 1977-1978, London: International Institute for Strategic Studies, 1977.
4 See Lieutenant Commander Kenneth R. McGruther, "The Dilemma of the U.S. Pacific Fleet," U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings, June 1978.