Red Star over China

by Edgar Snow

  This wa-wa’s name happened by some thoughtlessness of his parents to be Shang Chi-pang. There is nothing wrong with that, except that Chipang sounds very much like chi-pa, and so, to his unending mortification, he was often called chi-pa, which simply means “penis.” One day Chi-pang came into my little room in the Foreign Office with his usual quota of dignity, clicked his heels together, gave me the most Prussian-like salute I had seen in the Red districts, and addressed me as “Comrade Snow.” He then proceeded to unburden his small heart of certain apprehensions. What he wanted to do was to make it perfectly clear to me that his name was not Chi-pa, but Chi-pang, and that between these two there was all the difference in the world. He had his name carefully scrawled down on a scrap of paper, and this he deposited before me.

  Astonished, I responded in all seriousness that I had never called him anything but Chi-pang, and had no thought of doing otherwise. He thanked me, made a grave bow, and once more gave that preposterous salute. “I wanted to be sure,” he said, “that when you write about me for the foreign papers you won’t make a mistake in my name. It would give a bad impression to the foreign comrades if they thought a Red soldier was named Chipa!” Until then I had had no intention of introducing Chi-pang into this strange book, but with that remark I had no choice in the matter, and he walked into it right beside the Generalissimo.

  One of the duties of the Young Vanguards in the soviets was to examine travelers on roads behind the front, and see that they had their road passes. They executed this duty quite determinedly, and marched anyone without his papers to the local soviet for examination. P’eng Teh-huai told me of being stopped once and being asked for his lu-t’iao by some Young Vanguards, who threatened to arrest him.

  “But I am P’eng Teh-huai,” he said. “I write those passes myself.”

  “We don’t care if you are Commander Chu Teh,” said the young skeptics: “you must have a road pass.” They signaled for assistance, and several boys came running from the fields to reinforce them.

  P’eng had to write out his lu-t’iao and sign it himself before they allowed him to proceed.

  Altogether, the “little devils” were one thing in Red China with which it was hard to find anything seriously wrong. Their spirit was superb. I suspected that more than once an older man, looking at them, forgot his pessimism and was heartened to think that he was fighting for the future of lads like those. They were invariably cheerful and optimistic, and they had a ready “hao!” for every how-are-you, regardless of the weariness of the day’s march. They were patient, hardworking, bright, and eager to learn, and seeing them made you feel that China was not hopeless, that no nation was more hopeless than its youth. Here in the Vanguards was the future of China, if only this youth could be freed, shaped, made aware, and given a role to perform in the building of a new world. It sounds somewhat evangelical, I suppose, but nobody could see these heroic young lives without feeling that man in China is not born rotten, but with infinite possibilities of personality.

  3

  United Front in Action

  In the beginning of September, 1936, while I was at the front in Ninghsia and Kansu, the army under P’eng Teh-huai commenced moving westward toward the Yellow River, and southward toward the Sian-Lanchow highway, to establish connections with Chu Teh’s troops coming up from the South—a maneuver which was to be brilliantly concluded at the end of October, when the combined Red Armies occupied nearly all north Kansu above the Sian-Lanchow highway.

  But having now decided to seek a compromise with the Kuomintang in an attempt to “coerce” the latter into resistance against Japan, the Reds were becoming every day more of a force of political propagandists and less of an army intent on seizing power by conquest. New instructions from the Party ordered the troops to observe “united-front tactics” in their future movements. And what were “united-front tactics”? Perhaps a day-by-day diary account of the maneuvers of the army at this time could best answer that question:

  Pao Tou Shui, September 1. Leaving Yu Wang Pao, the headquarters of the First Front Army, walked for about 40 li, Commander P’eng Teh-huai joking with the muleteers and generally having a lark. Most of the region traveled was hilly and mountainous. P’eng made his headquarters for the night in a Mohammedan peasant’s home in this little village.

  Maps immediately were put up on the wall and the radio began functioning. Messages came in. While P’eng was resting, he called in the Mohammedan peasants and explained the Red Army’s policies to them. An old lady sat and talked with him for nearly two hours, pointing out her troubles. Meanwhile a Red Army harvesting brigade passed by, on its way to reap the crop of a runaway landlord. Since he was a “traitor” his land was subject to confiscation. Another squad of men has been appointed to guard and keep clean the premises of the local mosque. Relations with the peasants seem good. A week ago the peasants in this hsien, who have now lived under the Reds for several months without paying taxes, came in a delegation to present P’eng with six cartloads of grain and provisions as an expression of gratitude for the relief. Yesterday some peasants presented P’eng with a handsome wooden bed—which amused him very much. He turned it over to the local ahun.

  Li Chou K’ou, September 2. On the road at four A.M. P’eng up long before. Met ten peasants, who had come with the army from Yu Wang Pao to help carry the wounded back to the hospital. They voluntarily asked to do this in order to fight Ma Hung-kuei, hated because he’d forced their sons to join the army. A Nanking bomber flew overhead, spotted us, and we scattered for cover. The whole army melted into the landscape. The plane circled twice and dropped one bomb—“laid an iron egg,” or “dropped some bird dung,” as the Reds say—then strafed the horses and flew on to bomb our vanguard. One soldier, slow in taking cover, was wounded in the leg—a slight injury—and after it was dressed he walked without assistance.

  From this village, where we are spending the night, very little can be seen. One regiment of the enemy is holding a fort near here, a Fifteenth Army Corps detachment attacking.

  From Yu Wang Pao comes a radio message reporting the visit of enemy bombers, which attacked the city and dropped ten bombs this morning. Some peasants were killed and wounded; no soldiers hit.

  Tiao Pao Tzu, September 3. Left Li Chou K’ou, and on the way many peasants came out and brought the soldiers pai ch’a (white tea)—i.e., hot water, the favorite beverage in these parts. Mohammedan schoolteachers came over to bid P’eng good-by and thank him for protecting the school. As we neared Tiao Pao Tzu (now over 100 li west of Yu Wang Pao) some of Ma Hung-kuei’s cavalry, withdrawing from an isolated position, ran into our rear. They were only a few hundred yards from us. Nieh Jung-chen,* chief of staff of the First Army Corps, sent a detachment of headquarters cavalry to chase them, and they galloped off in a whirl of dust. A Red pack train was attacked, and another detachment of soldiers was sent to recover the mules and loads. The caravan returned intact.

  Tonight some interesting items of news were posted on the bulletin board. Li Wang Pao is now surrounded, and in a fort near there a trench-mortar shell fell almost directly on Hsu Hai-tung’s headquarters. One Young Vanguard was killed and three soldiers were wounded. In another place nearby, a White platoon commander, reconnoitering the Reds’ position, was captured by a surprise attack party. The Reds slightly wounded him and sent him back to headquarters. P’eng raised hell over the radio because he was wounded. “Not good united-front tactics,” he commented. “One slogan is worth ten bullets.” He lectured the staff on the united front and how to work it out in practice.

  Peasants sold fruit and melons on the road, the Reds paying for everything they bought. One young soldier traded his pet rabbit for three melons in a long transaction with a peasant. After he’d eaten the melons he was very dour, wanting his rabbit back.

  Today’s news was celebrated by P’eng Teh-huai with a large watermelon feast: the melons here are cheap and excellent.

  Tiao Pao Tzu, September 4–5. Liu Hsiao (of
the political department) is now working among the Mohammedans near Li Wang Pao. Today he sent a report of some recent developments there. One of Ma’s regiments asked to have a Mohammedan sent from the Red Moslem regiment to talk to them. Ma’s regimental commander refused to meet the Red delegate, but permitted him to talk to his men.

  Wang (this Red Moslem delegate) returned and reported that he had seen Red handbills all over the troops’ quarters. He said that after he had talked to the troops for a few hours they became more and more interested, and finally the commander listened in too but, getting worried, decided to have him arrested. The men protested, and he was safely escorted back to the Red lines. The regiment sent a letter in reply to the one which Wang had carried to them from Liu Hsiao. They said they would not retreat because they had been ordered to hold this district, and must do so; that they were ready to make an agreement to fight Japan, but the Reds should negotiate with their division commander; that if the Reds would not fight them, they would not fight the Reds; and that letters and pamphlets sent by the Reds had been distributed among the men.

  Two planes bombed a Red cavalry detachment near here today. No men nor horses were hit, but one bomb struck a corner of a village mosque and three old Moslem attendants were killed. This doesn’t increase local affection for Nanking.

  Tiao Pao Tzu, September 6. A day of rest and recreation. All commanders of the First Army Corps met at P’eng’s headquarters for a melon feast, while the soldiers rested and had sports and a melon feast of their own. P’eng called a meeting of all company commanders and higher, and there was a political session. They permitted me to attend. A summary of P’eng’s speech follows:

  “Reasons for our movement to these districts are first to enlarge and develop our soviet districts; second, to cooperate with movement and advance of the Second and Fourth Front armies (in south Kansu); third, to liquidate the influence of Ma Hung-kuei and Ma Hung-ping in these regions and form a united front directly with their troops.

  “We must enlarge the basis of the united front here. We must decisively influence those White commanders who are now sympathetic and win them over definitely to our side. We have good contacts with many of them now; we must continue our work, by letter, in our press, through delegates, through the secret societies, etc.

  “We must intensify our educational work among our own troops. In several recent instances our men have violated the united-front policy by firing on troops that we had agreed to permit to withdraw. In other instances men were reluctant to return captured rifles and had to be ordered several times to do so. This is not a breach of discipline, but a lack of confidence in their commanders’ orders, showing that the men do not fully understand the reasons for such actions, some men actually accusing their leaders of ‘counterrevolutionary orders.’ One company commander received a letter from a White commander and did not even read it, but tore it up, saying, ‘They are all the same, these Whites.’ This shows that we must more deeply instruct the rank and file; our first lectures have not made their position clear to them. We must ask for their criticism and make such modifications in our policy as they think necessary after thorough discussion and explanation. We must impress upon them that the united-front policy is no trick to fool the Whites, but that it is a basic policy and in line with the decisions of our Party.

  “After the East Attack [into Shansi] many of our comrades, coming here to Kansu and Ninghsia, felt discouraged because the contrast was so great compared with the response we received there. They felt depressed because of the poverty of the country here and the low level of political enthusiasm among the people. Don’t be discouraged! Work harder! These people are also brothers, and will respond to the same treatment as other human beings. We must not miss a single opportunity to convince a White soldier or a Mohammedan peasant. We are not working hard enough.

  “As for the masses, we must urge them to take the lead in every revolutionary action. We must not touch any Mohammedan landlord ourselves, but we must show the people clearly that they have the freedom to do so, that we will protect their mass organizations that do so, that this is their revolutionary right, that it is the produce of their labor and belongs to them. We must intensify our efforts to raise the political consciousness of the masses. Remember that they have heretofore had no political consciousness except racial hatred. We must awaken a patriotic consciousness in them. We must deepen our work in the Ke Lao Hui and other secret societies and make them active, not merely passive, allies on the anti-Japanese front. We must consolidate our good relations with the ahuns and urge them to take places of leadership in the anti-Japanese movement. We must strengthen the basis of revolutionary power by organizing every Mohammedan youth.”

  P’eng’s statement was followed by long critical comments from the political commissars of the First and Fifteenth Army corps. Both of them reviewed their efforts in “united-front educational work” and suggested improvements. All commanders took copious notes, and afterwards there was a session of long debate and argument which lasted till dinner. P’eng moved that the two army corps be enlarged by five hundred new enlistments each, and this was seconded and passed unanimously.

  After dinner there was a new play by the dramatic club of the First Army Corps, based on experiences of the past week. It portrayed in an amusing way the mistakes of the commanders and men in carrying out the new policy. One scene showed an argument between a commander and a warrior; another between two commanders; a third showed a company commander tearing up a letter he had received from the Whites.

  In the second act most of these mistakes were shown corrected and the Red Army and anti-Japanese Moslem Army were marching together, and singing and fighting side by side against the Japanese and the Kuomintang. Seemed magically quick work by the education-through-entertainment department.

  During the next month the attention of every Red in China was to be focused anxiously upon the series of maneuvers by which, for the first time in the history of the soviets, all the main forces of the Red Army were eventually united and concentrated in a single great area. And here some illumination should be shed upon the leadership of this second great trek from the South—upon Chu Teh, commander-in-chief of the “All China” Red Army, who, after a heartbreaking winter spent on the frozen marches of Tibet, was now pouring the Second and Fourth Front armies into the Northwest.1

  4

  Concerning Chu Teh1

  Li Chiang-lin told me:

  As a youth Chu Teh was reckless, adventurous, and courageous, moved by the legends of his people, by the tales of “free companions” of the Shui Hu Chuan, and by the exploits of the heroes of the Romance of Three Kingdoms, who had fought over the fields and mountains of his native Szechuan. He gravitated naturally toward military life. Helped by his family’s political influence, he was accepted in the new Yunnan Military Academy, and he was among the first cadets in China to be given modern military training. Upon graduation from the Yunnan Academy he was commissioned a lieutenant, and entered what the Chinese referred to as the “foreign army”—“foreign” because it used Western methods of drill and tactics, because it did not go into battle accompanied by Chinese musicians, and because for arms it used “foreign spears”—rifles with fixed bayonets on them.

  In the overthrow of the Manchu Dynasty in 1912 this modern army of Yunnan played a prominent role, and Chu Teh, leading a battalion of braves, soon distinguished himself as a warrior of the republic. By 1916, when Yuan Shih-k’ai attempted to restore the monarchy, he was a brigadier general, and his Yunnanese troops under the celebrated Ts’ai O were the first to raise the banner of revolt, which doomed Yuan’s imperial ambitions to defeat. At this time Chu Teh first became known throughout the southern provinces as one of the “four fierce generals” of Ts’ai O.

  With his prestige thus established, Chu Teh’s political fortunes pyramided rapidly. He became director of the Bureau of Public Safety in Yunnanfu, and then Provincial Commissioner of Finance. People of Yunnan and Szechua
n agreed that there were two things certain about officials: one was that they were corrupt, the other that they were opium smokers. Reared in a region where opium was as commonly smoked as tea was drunk, and where parents customarily spread the drug on sugarcane to soothe their bellowing infants, Chu Teh had inevitably become a smoker. And given office by a bureaucracy which looked upon plunder of public funds as not so much a right but a duty to one’s family, he followed the example of superiors and manipulated the privileges of office to enrich himself and his heirs.

  He went in for a harem, too. He was said to have acquired several wives and concubines, and he built for them and his progeny a palatial home in the capital of Yunnan. One might have thought he had everything he desired: wealth, power, love, descendants, poppy dreams, eminent respectability, and a comfortable future in which to preach the proprieties of Confucianism. He had, in fact, only one really bad habit, but it was to prove his downfall. He liked to read books.

  Pure realist though he had been till now, there must have been a strain of idealism and genuine revolutionary ardor latent in his character. Influenced by reading, influenced also by a few returned students who occasionally drifted into the backwash of Yunnan, Chu Teh gradually understood that the revolution of 1911 had been for the mass of the people a complete cipher; that it had merely replaced one despotic bureaucracy of exploitation with another. What was more, he seemed to have worried about it—as anyone of feeling, living in Yunnanfu, a city of 40,000 slave girls and boys, might well have done. He was apparently possessed by a sense of shame and simultaneously with an ambition to emulate the popular heroes of the West, and a desire to “modernize” China. The more books he read the more he realized his own ignorance and China’s backwardness. He wanted to study and he wanted to travel.