Eight Months Behind the Bamboo Curtain—A Report on the First Eight

Preface to the Second Edition

My basic motivation in republishing this little book from a manuscript written forty-nine years ago (which was published in Chinese the same year) is to preserve a memento of my old days with the United Press of America, an experience that I value tremendously in my life.

I was the United States Staff Correspondent in China from 1946 to 1952, based in Nanking, the nationalist capital of China. When the Chinese communists banned foreign news agencies in the fall of 1949, I was transferred to the United Press Bureau in Hong Kong.

The original manuscript for this book was made for publication in Chinese. I must have kept copies but have lost them in the long years since and had not expected to see any copies until this one was found among the wartime papers of US General Claire L. Chennault.

General Chennault achieved fame when he organised the American Volunteer Group (AVG), also known as the Flying Tigers, in 1941 to aid China in the war against Japan. It was later expanded into the US 14th Air Force, and General Chennault became its commander with the rank of Lieutenant General.

This little book has no contemporary interest, albeit perhaps some contemporary relevance since it is possible that what the Chinese communists encountered and experienced in the first eight months of their rule might have helped convert them into what they are today.

The Chinese communists can be said to have been tamed at birth, the cumulative result being: the Chinese communists were compelled to abandon the radicalism of their Marxist ideology and continue to accept the moderation of Chinese philosophy, though stubbornly keeping their brand name – communism. They answered in their own way the question of what is in a name: as long as they keep their name, they could and are willing to do anything else.

At the end of my eight months stay behind the Bamboo Curtain, I left China with mixed feelings – with regret that I would not be able to witness what could be described as one of China’s most cataclysmic transformations in history; and with happiness that moving to Hong Kong would assure my family and me a life without uncertainty and fear, where we could at least be sure of tomorrow.

In 1956, I met veteran journalist K.S. Chang in Singapore who gave me the first hint of what might have happened to me if I had stayed behind in China. His initials are the same as mine, leading the Chinese communists to mistake him for me. Mr. Chang was formerly editor-in-chief of the English-language China Times in Shanghai and moved to Singapore before the “liberation” to become the editor-in-chief of the Singapore Standard, often called the Tiger Standard. His wife, who was still in Shanghai when the city was “liberated”, was denied an exit visa to join her husband in Singapore. The Chinese communists thought she was my wife. After they realised their mistake, they granted her the exit visa. The Chinese communists continued their pursuit of me, harassing and questioning some of my friends about my whereabouts.

In China I had watched and covered its greatest intellectual and political revolution in history. I learned much about the forces of history which alienated the government from the people and inspired a revolution to establish democracy and freedom. I learned, too, that all good things do not always end in good results.

The Chinese communist revolution to overthrow autocracy and oppression ended, as we all know by now, in worse democracy and oppression. That was what appeared in the first eight months of communist rule in China. But it has changed over the years and has become more acceptable to the Chinese people.

In my 1950 manuscript, I reported copiously on the negative Chinese public reactions to comm