Escape from Shanghai

by Paul Huang

  But the general’s gold was another story. This most important commodity from the Bank of Canton had been loaded onto the trucks first. In the chaos and panic of the aftermath of the gasoline fire, boxes of sensitive and top-secret files had been thrown, almost willy-nilly, into the trucks, too.

  In her hunt for some of her papers, Mom had stumbled on a few files that had not been intended to be seen by anyone. At least Mom had not seen these files before. These were the ledger books and inventory sheets for the gold from the Bank of Canton. More importantly, what really got her attention was a folder full of receipts from a Swiss bank. There were no names on the Swiss documents. Just numbers. There were two numbered accounts.

  Guiltily and with a slight tremble in her hands, she covered the box. She knew she had stumbled onto something that she shouldn’t have seen. Quickly she put the box in the back of the truck, exactly where she had found it. What frightened her was that there were two numbered accounts. There was only one conclusion to be drawn from this, and that is that one of them belonged to Chiang Kai-shek and the other to Governor-General Li. Only the most powerful of men could move the gold from the middle of China all the way to Switzerland. Clearly, she had to keep this information to herself. She told herself to pretend that she never saw these files. If Li found out that she knew, then our lives could be in danger. On the other hand, this information, if used properly, could be the downfall of the corrupt regime.

  My mother’s discovery of the movement of the gold bullion into two numbered Swiss bank accounts explained a lot of things. For starters, she suddenly realized why the provincial civil servants, particularly the higher-ranking ones that were closest to the general, had been so bold in their efforts to collect bribes and to intimidate the average citizen.

  To move heavy bricks of gold from the middle of China all the way to Swiss banks required the participation of a lot of people. The highest levels of government officials had to approve such a transfer otherwise the paperwork authorizing the movement of these assets across numerous international borders could not have been created. This high-level participation also ensured the safety of the eventual delivery of the bullion. No transport company or individual would risk his life to interfere with this transaction. The power behind this move had to be absolute, and everyone involved had to know it. Otherwise the gold could just vanish without the possibility of retribution. For these reasons, Mom concluded that Chiang Kai-shek had to be the owner of one of those numbered accounts.

  The other aspect of this move was that many people, not just the high-level ones, had to be involved. Moving this heavy metal took manpower, from the original packers of the shipments, to the people who would load them onto the camels for the long trek across the old Silk Route. The general’s closest cronies knew what was going on because the general did not put the bullion on the trucks by himself, nor did he pack them for shipment to Switzerland. Hence, these trusted cronies had something on their boss. They knew that their leader had committed a crime.

  If it were permissible for people at the top to behave like this, then what would stop the lower-level ones from exercising their own brand of corruption within their own little fiefdoms? The answer was: nothing. They were all co-conspirators in a brazen act to enrich themselves at the expense of the general public.

  For over a year, Mom had been trying to figure out why the provincial government was so corrupt. Now she knew. She secretively shared this latest information with May and Jin. Working together, they had contacted and personally spoken with powerful people across a wide spectrum of businesses and political affiliations. It was clear that this corrupt culture had not only weakened the province, but the nation as a whole. A nation cannot be strong if her leaders were only concerned with their individual well-being and not the welfare of the nation as a whole. The selfish attitude of the ruling elite corrupted the entire nation. China was both morally and economically bankrupt.

  But the event that pulled all of the disapproving players together was the gasoline fire. The people that Mom had been talking with were now willing to act. It was time to finalize their plan to make some changes. For her own protection, Mom said nothing about the gold or the numbered accounts. Nor would May and Jin. The three of them were afraid for our lives.

  In total secret, they set the meeting at a Mandarin’s summer retreat. The ancient house was far from any neighbors. There were centuries-old shade trees mixed with exotic plants and flowers surrounding the modest single-story building. A peaceful rustic silence greeted us as we approached the historic house. Other revolutions and uprisings had been plotted here across a few Dynasties. Mom held my hand as she led the way up the crushed stone path. She always took me to these secret meetings. If at all possible, she didn’t want us to be separated. She used me as an excuse to get away from the office; a doctor’s appointment or some other family excuse. She wanted me around because she was about to meet with a roomful of powerful men. They were all high-ranking officials from the nearby provinces—mayors, magistrates, district commissioners and the like. She had reasoned that no self-respecting Mandarin would make any untoward advances on a married woman with a child in tow. More importantly, she didn’t want to take a chance on losing me during these uncertain times. And, as it turned out, this would be the last and most memorable meeting of its kind.

  As usual, I waited for her outside. I inspected all the cars and talked with the chauffeurs. A few of them let me look under the hoods of their limousines. Unfortunately, none of them would let me blow the horn. They would put their index finger to their lips to indicate quiet, then point at the house. And, to be egalitarian, I talked with the rickshaw drivers and sedan-chair carriers, too. They had nothing to do, and neither did I.

  The hideaway housed a most unusual group of powerful local political leaders. Many of them belonged to Uncle Jin’s underground network, though none of them knew that they were connected in this way. They included people from nearby Fukien and Kiangsi Provinces. These men, and they were all men with the exception of Mom, felt that this meeting had national significance, rather than merely Provincial ones. They felt no allegiance to the governor of another province. More important, they had been appalled by the fact that General Li blew up his own gasoline supply through sheer stupidity and negligence. This was just inexcusable. It was further proof to the western world that China was, indeed, a backward and ignorant nation. And this unpleasant thought galled them. This once proud ancient nation was tired of being a backward, third-world, fifth-rate country. The anguish and anger was palpable in that room.

  These important people had gathered there with one purpose in mind: to determine the fate of Governor-General Li, and by implication, the nation. The thinking was that once news of the gasoline debacle reached the High Command in Chungking, Chiang Kai-shek would have to make some changes. And this group wanted a say in making those changes.

  Perhaps more conducive to change was the fact that General Joseph Stilwell, the man that President Roosevelt (FDR) had put in charge of the China-Burma-India Theatre had a very low opinion of Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek. And Stilwell didn’t hide his disdain. The general called Chiang Kai-shek, that “little peanut”, not to the Generalissimo’s face, of course, but only to his superior FDR, and his subordinates in Chungking. American disdain for the Generalissimo was universal among General Stilwell’s staff. Only a delusional egomaniac would have the gall to call himself “The Generalissimo” of a poor, feeble country. A grand title isn’t going to make China great and powerful.

  In the eyes of the Chinese politicians, looking inept in front of the American high command reflected poorly on all of them. This was a classic case of a loss of Face. They felt ashamed of themselves and their country. Their national pride had been hurt by Li’s ineptitude.

  Additionally, they knew that the peasants, who had been thrown off their farms, had linked up with Mao Tse-tung’s peasant army. The group’s fear of Communism helped them overcome any remaining doubts. It wa
s time for them to go against the status quo. China needed a change. And they felt that it would be better to change from the inside, rather than have change dictated by the Communists.

  This group of patriotic people drafted a powerful document. The list of grievances and misdeeds was long and substantial. The top two items on this list were the mishandling of the gasoline reserves and, secondarily, a request for an audit of the assets in the Bank of Canton. Uncle Jin had suggested the audit since corruption ruled the province. The request for a financial audit was the prudent thing to do, especially under these chaotic circumstances. This rationale made common sense, but more importantly, it wiped away all suspicions of a hidden agenda for the accounting of the gold. This would be a general audit of all of the provincial assets.

  The fact that the missing gold could not be accounted for would not only throw suspicion on the general, but also serve as an unspoken warning to Chiang Kai-shek. As a consummate politician, Chiang would want to distance himself from this political time bomb. Under the present dire economic circumstances, Chiang’s enemies, particularly the Communists, would want to turn this disgraceful situation into political capital.

  Additionally, bureaucratic misdeeds such as blatant requests for bribes, and in some cases outright extortion, were also cataloged. The document clearly spelled out the corruption that permeated the entire regime under the Governor-General Li’s command. No names were actually attached to the misdeeds. This was done to ensure tranquility amongst the brethren of leaders. They knew that misfortune could happen to any of them. People still had lives to lead after the war. If nothing else, Confucius preached compassion. Politics should not be a blood sport. Everyone could be reeducated to follow the Confucian way.

  The anonymous document was hand-delivered to an American liaison officer who passed it along to Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek.

  This American intelligence officer had no knowledge of who the authors of the letter were nor would he disclose from whom he had received it. Besides, he was not under the command of the Generalissimo and he had no obligation or duty to reveal any confidences that had been entrusted to him. Most important is the fact that a friendly envoy had delivered this damning document to Chiang Kai-shek and not to his political enemies.

  Everyone involved hoped that this warning shot in the direction of the Generalissimo would produce results. Under the circumstances, they knew that Chiang would, at the very minimum, release Li from his duties. But the ultimate gesture would be a clean sweep of the entire provincial regime.

  Front row, left to right: Unknown Mandarin/bureaucrat, Madame Li, unknown Mandarin/bureaucrat, Governor-General Li Hanhun.

  Back row, left to right: Unknown civil servant, unknown officer, Jane Sun Huang, American officer at a meeting sometime in the winter of 1944-1945.

  My mother is the lone woman at this meeting

  sometime in the winter of 1944-1945.

  The war ended in China on a hot, bright sunny August day. The one radio we had blared out the news. The Japanese had surrendered to China and Great Britain on August 15 in accordance with the terms of the Potsdam Declaration. We had electricity because this was the location of the provincial government. In the countryside, word of Japan’s defeat flew across the land at the speed of sound. In some remote regions, the news came a bit slower because people had to carry the word to the next village. Eventually, everybody knew.

  Then on September 1, 1945, one day before the Japanese signed the formal surrender aboard the battleship U.S.S. Missouri, Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek, the supreme military-civilian ruler of China, asked Governor-General Li, the supreme military-civilian leader of Canton Province, to resign.

  Li Hanhun, his family and servants were shipped off, down the East (Dong) River, back to their home in Canton.

  Li’s entire staff, cronies and thousands of corrupt civil servants were also let go. There was a complete shakeup in the provincial government.

  With the Japanese surrender, their occupational currency suddenly became worthless. Those who lived in the occupied zones were holding colored paper. To avoid complete chaos, Chiang’s government promised to exchange the Japanese money for the yuan. People were ordered to use the Japanese currency to conduct daily business until this exchange could be made. Most Chinese were living in a world of uncertainties, wondering what was going to happen next.

  Meanwhile, Mom was asked to go to Chungking for a debriefing.

  But the saga was far from over. Our paths with the Li’s would cross again in Shanghai.

  The way to Chungking was mostly one-lane dirt roads. The mode of transport was an army truck. And we were lucky to get it. Whatever resources the army had were being used to round up the Japanese. The overwhelming issue at hand was the building of prison compounds to house the POWs. The first thing was to put them all into prisons, mostly for their own protection. Feeding the Japanese was a secondary problem. No one had any sympathy for a starving Japanese soldier on Chinese soil, especially when we went hungry ourselves.

  Perhaps more damaging to the countryside was the rampaging poor who had turned to crime for their survival. Mom and I were stuck outside a burning town gate because the citizens of the town had started a fire thinking that we were bandits intent on robbing them. One of their lookouts had seen a man with a rifle in our truck and immediately thought the worst. The ancient stone wall that housed the burning wooden gate was so hot that water turned instantly to steam upon contact. We sat and waited for the stone to cool before we could drive through the opening.

  Once we were inside this remote mountain-top town, the residents again piled firewood into the arched gateway. The mayor wanted us to stay. He even offered to house and feed us because the two soldiers traveling with us would be enough to scare off the bandits.

  Unfortunately, this was not an isolated case in our journey. In the remote mountainous regions of southwestern China, law and order was essentially nonexistent.

  When we reached Kweilin, Mom and I went to the Li River to spend a few days being tourists. This was the spot that Chinese watercolorists, calligraphers, and emperors visited to cleanse their heavily burdened minds. We spent that evening watching the sun set behind the wondrous limestone mountains that characterized its unique beauty. While the setting sun hid behind the bulbous mountains, the bright light-blue sky cast its majestic aura over our heads. Then, magically, as if a series of switches had been thrown, spots of lantern lights flickered on. Within minutes, dot after dot of tiny lights marched across the dark broad mirror of the Li River. Out there, the lantern-lit fishermen unleashed their cormorants on the unsuspecting fish.

  We were reluctant to leave, but Mom had meetings to attend in Chungking. She was clearly upset and nervous. What do they want to talk to me about, she wondered. She didn’t give me many of the details of those meetings because they had sworn her to secrecy. They had asked her not to publicly divulge her war-time experiences while under the employ of the Chinese Government. She even signed the equivalent of a non-disclosure agreement. She then made it clear to me that I was never to speak of our war experiences, too.

  Though our lives had never been threatened, that unspoken danger was never far from her thoughts. Clearly, the wise thing to do would be to keep her silence.

  After college, I asked her whether it would be permissible for me to tell our story. She said: “No.” When I pointed out that the Chinese government of that era no longer existed, she said that a promise is a promise. But she gave me permission to tell our story after her death. Then she would smile and say: “I promise you this: I am determined to outlive all of my enemies.”

  By that, I knew she meant Chiang Kai-shek and Li Hanhun. Though neither one of these people had ever deliberately hurt her, she still considered them her enemies because of their inability to govern in a benevolent and generous way. Selflessness was not a word in their vocabularies. My mother believed that leaders should serve their constituents, not exploit and abuse them.

  At th
e beginning of the war, our problem was getting out of Shanghai. At the end, it was getting back. Unfortunately, what we learned in Chungking was not encouraging or conducive to our return to Shanghai. The situation was actually a lot worse than it was before the war ended. Now that the Japanese were no longer in control, their disappearance created a social and political vacuum. Powerful local politicians and self-proclaimed warlords all claimed a right to rule their designated regions. The jockeying for power was in full force because the central command was disorganized and in disarray.

  The Generalissimo’s men were occupied with rounding up the Japanese. Many of his soldiers were stationed in the north trying to contain Mao Tse-tung and his band of ever-growing peasant soldiers. Chiang himself was occupied with re-establishing the Kuomintang (Nationalist) Government to a large portion of the country formerly held by the Japanese. And because the Party needed money, very often the highest bidder got the coveted position. Suddenly, a “warlord” became a “governor.”

  Left alone in the mountainous and remote regions were freely roaming bands of disgruntled, displaced peasants. They looted and pillaged the countryside for food and any valuables that they could carry, that is, if they couldn’t eat it first. For them, there simply wasn’t any other way to survive. These were landless people with absolutely nothing in their names.

  One sure and ancient way for us to return to Shanghai was by boat down the Yangtze. Unfortunately, many remote stretches of the rugged and sparsely inhabited banks of the untamed, raging river were controlled by bandits. When possible, they stopped river traffic to collect a toll. And the obviously wealthy were taken and held for ransom.

  But none of this deterred my mother. We went in search of a boatman who would take us to Shanghai. She had a number of leads. The most highly recommended one came from an American intelligence officer who worked with Uncle Jin.