Reconsidering Marco Polo

“Marco Polo’s reports of China, now judged mostly hearsay….” Perry Anderson, LRB

MMA 2012 - China - Tang - late 7c - Camel and RidersI got an email from a student who found my blog post in which I make a highly critical case regarding the historicity of Marco Polo’s adventures. They wanted to confirm (since some data was lost in the latest HNN transition) that it was mine for citation purposes. I’ve been considering revisiting it for a while now,1 and this seems like a good time, because my views on the subject have evolved a bit since: I’m still highly skeptical of Polo, but more importantly, I think the very structure of the argument and nature of the sources makes it highly unlikely that the believers and skeptics will come to a consensus.

When I expressed my doubts, lo those many years ago, I was informed that there was still some life left in Polo’s tale. It turns out that there is so much scholarship on aspects of Polo’s text that there’s even a term for it — “Polan scholarship” and if there’s one thing Polan scholars can’t stand, it’s to have Polo’s work seriously questioned. All the errors are “honest”; all the omissions are “explicable”; all the unconfirmed and untranslated stuff are just waiting to be decoded if only we had better Chinese sources; and incomprehensible bits are the result of Polo listening to the wrong people. That’s the attitude going in, and it’s the same attitude coming out.2 There seem to be lots of Euro-centric scholars with strong attachments to Polo, but a lot of Sino-centric scholars were very dubious.3

Foreigners were involved in Qin construction, and travel in China was common and widespread: the idea that China was closed or that people never migrated are both vestiges of simplistic thinking rather than historical verities. Even the harshest critics of Polo’s historicity admit that he got some thing right, and must have had some valid sources. The question is whether he was an eyewitness and participant in the history and culture he described, and, most importantly, whether he can be considered a credible independent source for the study of Chinese history and culture. I think the answer is still “no.” The story is great, but even if you take it seriously, it’s fantastical.4

Still, having entered this fray, I feel an intellectual obligation to stay informed. So when I ran across a catalog blurb for Stephen Haw’s Marco Polo’s China: a Venetian in the realm of Khubilai Khan (Routledge, 2006), it piqued my interest; thanks to inter-library loan, I finally got hold of it. Only for a week, unfortunately, but it was an interesting ride.
Continue reading →


  1. You can tell by the dates on the articles linked here, this has been in draft for quite a while  

  2. there’s a lot of emotion in Polan defenses, though if I’d made a life’s work on a complex source and found a lot of scholars who hadn’t attacking it as fraudulent, I might be emotional about it as well  

  3. E.g. Obituary of John Larner, historian of Marco Polo. And “New archeological data highlights Polo errors.”  

  4. WaPo review of new Polo bio 

Daiyou Islands: New Sources, New Clarity?

NYT reporter Nick Kristof brought in a guest blogger, Han-Yi Shaw of Taiwan, to examine some new mid-Meiji documentation about Japan’s relationship with the contested Senkaku/Daiyou islands. The core of Shaw’s findings is

the Meiji government acknowledged Chinese ownership of the islands back in 1885.

After several abortive attempts to survey the islands, the Japanese government declared them incorporated Japanese territory during the Sino-Japanese war, despite recognizing that it should have been negotiated with China. As territory seized in 1895, it should have been reverted to China in 1945, but for a variety of reasons, including an administrative shift of the islands from Taiwan to Okinawa prefecture, it remained outside of negotiations until a few years later.

It’s a reasonably persuasive presentation, historically, though I don’t think that these details are going to shift Japanese nationalists, even mild or moderate ones, to support politicians who would abandon Japan’s claim to these useless rocks which sit in such valuable territory. And as long as there’s no particular cost to maintaining the claim — Chinese hostility to Japan is not predicated on this issue sufficiently that abandoning the claim would eliminate anti-Japanese sentiment as a nationalist motivational tool of the mainland regime — it seems unlikely that anything will change, except a few American lectures.

Senkaku Islands: New Sources, New Clarity?

NYT reporter Nick Kristof brought in a guest blogger, Han-Yi Shaw of Taiwan, to examine some new mid-Meiji documentation about Japan’s relationship with the contested Senkaku/Daiyou islands. The core of Shaw’s findings is

the Meiji government acknowledged Chinese ownership of the islands back in 1885.

After several abortive attempts to survey the islands, the Japanese government declared them incorporated Japanese territory during the Sino-Japanese war, despite recognizing that it should have been negotiated with China. As territory seized in 1895, it should have been reverted to China in 1945, but for a variety of reasons, including an administrative shift of the islands from Taiwan to Okinawa prefecture, it remained outside of negotiations until a few years later.

It’s a reasonably persuasive presentation, historically, though I don’t think that these details are going to shift Japanese nationalists, even mild or moderate ones, to support politicians who would abandon Japan’s claim to these useless rocks which sit in such valuable territory. And as long as there’s no particular cost to maintaining the claim — Chinese hostility to Japan is not predicated on this issue sufficiently that abandoning the claim would eliminate anti-Japanese sentiment as a nationalist motivational tool of the mainland regime — it seems unlikely that anything will change, except a few American lectures.

National Library of China- A fine place to do research

 

Most of our readers who might care already know this, but the National Library in Beijing is a fine place to do research on Republican China. It has it’s own subway stop, which means easy access. The computer system works well (nice search features), getting a card is easy, and the collection is good. Specifically, a lot (all?) of the published journals and reports that used to be in Nanjing are now in Beijing. Many years ago, Nanjing had the Tezangbu (Special Collections Department) which held all the journals and books that used to be in the pre-49 National Library. I spent some time talking to people and looking through the computer, and it seems that the books I read many years ago are still in Nanjing (or somewhere) but pretty much all of the journals and official publications are now in Beijing. This is a big deal, since local and provincial governments loved to publish stuff. If you find a monthly report in a provincial archive there is a good chance that at some point it was published in a monthly report in a nice typeface that does not look like the work of a budding master calligrapher.

They will photocopy stuff for you. Photography is not permitted. I saw some people who were obviously trying to photograph whole books get yelled at. On the other hand, I was in the reading room while some people discretely photographed a few individual articles and nobody noticed or cared.

 

 

Celebrate the working class

So, today is Labor Day in the U.S.A., which means that you can celebrate the achievements of the working class without being a Communist. The rest of the world, including China, celebrates on May 1st, but American images of labor have been imported to China in the past. Over the summer I looked into some of the issues of 工合画刊, the illustrated journal of the Co-operative movement in China. Although not enough scholarly work has been done on the movement, it is usually associated with Rewi Alley’s attempts to bring knowledge of western industrial techniques to China. Apparently they also brought techniques of illustration, since a lot of their stuff seems to borrow from western techniques.

 

This guy, who is calling for the people of the Northwest to produce more stuff might have come from Madrid, and the composition seems western to me as well, although I’m not a good enough illustrator to explain why.


This guy (and they are all guys) might have come from an American propaganda poster of an evil Japanese, showing how thoroughly Chinese artists were borrowing American conventions.

The two that I found most striking were the Son of Vulcan

and, most impressive of all, John Henry

I guess what I like best about him is that he seems not only confident in his own power, but confident that this will be accepted. He looks innocent but not naive. Needless to say, this type of image did not become common in China, but it is nice to see it there.

Things I don’t know about Korea, part 3

One of the things that I noticed about the materials I used last time I taught Korean history1 is that the texts I chose for my course did not mention, much less discuss in depth, the recently departed Moon Sun Myung‘s Unification Church. The global reach of this uniquely Korean Christian sect would seem to make it a natural topic for discussion, but even works that look in some detail at the religious changes of modern Korean history didn’t address this sect.

The absence was so striking, that I started to wonder if there was some sort of political minefield or cultural taboo at work, or if I had grossly misunderstood the scale and impact of the movement. I haven’t been looking all that hard for answers one way or the other in the two years since, but I certainly would like to have some better sense going in this time.


  1. and I’m scheduled to teach it again in the Spring, in parallel with my Modern Japan course, so it’s on my mind. I’m thinking of adding some literature to the syllabus  

What do Samurai Have To Do With It?

FallsofClydeLongViewI saw Margi Preus’s Heart of a Samurai (Amulet, 2010) and the title alone made me cringe: just what the world needs, another kid book touting the putative values of warrior aristocrats! But when I picked it up, I realized immediately that it was something else entirely (or almost entirely): a fictionalized retelling of John Manjiro‘s adventures as a castaway from Japan. Here’s a story that’s worth retelling — though it’s been done a few times already — and which presents a very different light on Japanese history. I borrowed it from my friend1 and discovered that I was right. Both times.

John Manjiro, also known as John Mung and Nakahama Manjiro, spent most of the 1840s on American ships and American soil, finally returning to Japan not long before Perry’s arrival marked the end of Japan’s relative isolation from foreign contact and trade. I haven’t read any of the other books on castaways, though I’ve heard a number of my friend Stephen Kohl’s panels at ASPAC. Manjiro’s tale is more extreme, both in the length of time he was away and the depth of his experiences, not to mention the timing of his return. When he returned he was interrogated thoroughly, then forced to remain in his hometown before being called to service. With his experience, he became a valuable source for policy-makers, starting with his native Tosa domain, passing to Shogunal service, and then as a promoter of Western learning. Manjiro’s journey was well-documented, and highlights some fascinating aspects of mid-19th century global life, including the whaling industry famously chronicled in Moby Dick, early education, and the tensions engendered by Japan’s isolation. Preus’s handling of the chronology and substantive topics is straightforward and sometimes quite good, including the racism Manjiro encountered both at sea and in New England.2

My reservations about this book stem from the samurai lens which is imposed on a commoner’s tale. The title refers to Manjiro, who is described early in the book as having ambitions to become a samurai, fulfilling the romantic and honorable role laid out in the classic tales. (pp. 13-14) Each section of the book has an epigram from Yamamoto’s Hagakure or something called “the Samurai’s Creed”3 and Manjiro’s elevation to sword-wearing Shogunal retainer is treated as the culmination of a long-held dream (as well as being entirely unprecedented). It’s possible that Manjiro really felt this way — I haven’t been able to find any reference to it in the materials I’ve seen — but it certainly seems odd for a tale about a fisherman who became a proponent of egalitarianism and Westernization to have more references to sources on samurai than on village life or Meiji transformations. There was one bit I liked, though: in New England, Manjiro is demonstrating sword fighting to an American friend, but confesses to himself that he has no idea what he’s doing, and that he and his friends in Japan made up their own moves to go along with the styles of fighting they’d heard about but never saw. (p. 133)

There were a few bothersome details — an anachronistic use of bata-kusai and the misuse of the word “sutra” for “prayer” on the same page (p. 31) was particularly troubling and I’d have been happier if Manjiro’s acknowledgement of Japanese whaling came before he expressed shock and horror at Western whaling (p. 45) — but the errors were not fundamentally damaging to the historical context. The fictionalized characters and conflicts (p. 280) seem a bit overdrawn to me, though the issues they raise were real. The length of the book is something of a problem: though it’s almost 300 pages, they are so sparse and there is so much illustration and blank space that the story felt quite rushed. Perhaps the fictionalized material stands out so much because it’s quite detailed, whereas large sections of equally dramatic real life read like paraphrases of the short histories cited above.4

On the whole, not a terrible book, though I think there’s still room for, say, an kid-oriented abridgement of Manjiro’s own testimony, with annotation by actual experts.


  1. who had bought it as a donation to a youth library based on recommendations from other children  

  2. A really excellent summary of Manjiro’s tale can be found here: Nakahama Manjirō’s Hyōsen Kiryaku: A Companion Book : Produced for the Exhibition “Drifting, Nakahama Manjirōs Tale of Discovery” : an Illustrated Manuscript Recounting Ten Years of Adventure at Sea. Aside from the great pictures and introduction, the book claims that Manjiro was used as a kind of spy, eavesdropping on American negotiators (21)  

  3. that’s before part one. In the bibliography, Yamamoto Tsunetomo’s Hagakure is cited twice, both the 1979 and 2008 translations, his name is cited backwards, and once misspelled  

  4. and the helpful material at the end really is fairly clearly paraphrased material. I understand not footnoting the story, but clear references in reference material seems reasonable, no?  

Zhong Kui comes to Sunnydale High

Sigh…

I try to keep my posts to this blog to at least a minimal level of scholarly-ness. At the very least I try to avoid doing too many posts on weird Chinese English. Not that there is anything wrong with them, but there is a time and a place for everything. Plus if I start making fun of people’s English then the comments may fill up with odd quotes from things I have written in Chinese.

However…. When I was in Pingyao, Shanxi (which is worth visiting, by the way) I went to the city-god temple. They had a shrine to Zhong Kui, the demon queller, which was not much of a surprise.

The statue is undistinguished, and does not look very old. The sign, however, is great. In English it identifies him as

“Zhong Kui, the popular beliefs of the Han ethnic areas folk,1 is one of the Taoist God solely primarily of Buffy the governance ghosts, evil spirits exorcism of God….”

The Chinese text does not mention Buffy, so I’m guessing this is a Google translate error of some sort.

 

 

 


  1. It is interesting that the more recent signs at Chinese sites treat the Han just like any other ethnic group. 

Atomic Bomb Symposium at Federation of American Scientists

Atomic Bombing 50th Anniversary - Ground Zero Dome zoomThere’s almost no new historical content here, aside from some biographical ruminations. Stanley Kutler’s, reprinted at HNN, is the most historically interesting, highlighting the “all or nothing” fallacy in many debates about the use of the bombs versus other tactical options.

Milton Leitenberg’s rejoinder (right after Kutler in the alphabet, by chance) recaps the “saved Japanese lives” argument, but misses something important, as this argument always does.1 Given that the Japanese did surrender after 2 bombs and the Soviet entry into the war, on what grounds does he think that a successful conventional invasion wouldn’t have produced surrender?2

I liked this one, though.

Dr. Richard A. Frankel, government analyst for energy and the environment

My memory of the first use of atomic weapons goes back to my 7th year. At that time, I was a rather precociously educated student of science, so I was able to understand the workings of nuclear weapons and thus recognized the damage done by the Hiroshima bomb.

My political sense wasn’t as advanced, so I wasn’t, at the time, susceptible to the questioning raised then and subsequently by involved scientists and then, later, by writers like Gar Alperovits. But my sense of simple fairness was distressingly violated when, less than one week later, on my 8th birthday, another bomb was loosed on Nagasaki.

Even to a then 8-year-old child, it was clear that once was enough. There was no possible reason to justify doing it again. The arguments about having to show we had more, about convincing the Japanese military, about advancing peace negotiations simply made no sense to me then, any more than now.

There are some odd errors, which you’d think the editors would have caught. One participant says that “The Japanese barely had time to digest what happened at Alamogordo before the bomb dropped on Hiroshima.” But the Alamogordo test was secret: nobody outside of the scientists and military involved, and up the chain of command, knew about it.

All in all, not a bad collection of arguments if you want to engage students. But I’m mostly not impressed.


  1. And calling this argument “a neglected consideration” is just absurd, given that I’ve seen variations of this argument going back to about 1947  

  2. For an interesting take on this kind of argument, see Chris Bertram on drone ethics.  

Winning Over the Puppets: Conclusion

This posting is part of a series which comprise a draft dissertation chapter. Read more about it here. The first posting is found here. The post preceding this one is here.

There was a girl whose father was executed by shooting. She cried continuously as she faced the war criminal and accused him of the crime. Then she climbed up onto the stage and beat him to death with a stone.
Reaction: The masses were moved and began to cry.

-Example case from the “Oppose Treason and Voice Grievances” campaign in Rizhao county, Public Security Bureau Report, 1946.

The Communist Party in Shandong province understood just as well as the Nationalist regime that the tens of thousands of Chinese soldiers who helped maintain the Japanese occupation in the peninsula were as valuable for their manpower and their rifles as they were reviled for their treason and their violence. This value did not diminish with Japanese surrender and the approach of a devastating civil war. The Party’s wartime efforts to win over military collaborators, shield them from retribution, and redeploy them were renewed in the postwar period, but as we saw, this was punctuated by a short period in which tens of thousands of Chinese treated as prisoners of war found themselves caught up in twin processes of reform and retribution in the fall of 1945 and spring of 1946. Here too the Party pressed hard to limit the scope and severity of retribution through its policy of magnanimity, but found this impossible to achieve.

If puppet soldiers feared retribution in the mass trials carried out throughout Shandong in 1945 and 1946, their alternative was to be a part of Chiang Kai-shek’s “conspiracy” to merge his troops with the puppets. Just as the major puppet army commanders who were won over to Communist control in Shandong, including Mo Zhengmin, Zhang Xixian, Han Shouchen and later Wu Huawen, retained command of their forces and went on to successful postwar careers in the People’s Republic, many puppet commanders in the province were able to rejoin the Nationalist army, and some estimated 100,000 puppet soldiers joined them. These include Zhang Tianzuo, Ning Chunling, Wang Jimei, and Wang Jinyang. Some, such as Cao Keming survived the civil war in Shandong and joined the Nationalist retreat to Taiwan.

The fate of puppet commanders who stayed in the few Nationalist controlled areas was not guaranteed, however. Two of the most important wartime puppet army generals, Zhang Buyun and the former Japanese citizen Zhang Zongyuan were both executed after being tried by the courts of the Nationalist administration. Zhang, tried for “pillage, murder, and treason,” was executed in Qingdao, January 1948.

Zhang Zongyuan’s origins made his case more complicated. Even though the Nationalist government’s law for the punishment of treason did not stipulate that those charged have Chinese citizenship and, in fact, tried number of foreigners for the crime, Japanese prisoners of war were to come under the laws for prosecution as war criminals. Though born in Japan, Zhang Zongyuan claimed ties to a Chinese ancestor that had joined the crew of a Japanese pirate ship during the Ming dynasty. Zhang’s convoluted case resembled the challenge faced by the Nationalist government in prosecuting the last Chinese and later Manchurian emperor Puyi’s cousin Kawashima Yoshiko, as well as a small number of accused Taiwanese traitors who could claim they were Japanese citizens during the time they committed their alleged treason. Like Kawashima Yoshiko, who at various times described herself as Chinese, Manchurian or Japanese, after his arrest Zhang Zongyuan could not seem to make up his mind whether he wanted to be treated as Chinese or as Japanese. A military investigation looking into the problem was equally confused and ruled he had two native places. It claimed this merely made the severity of his crime, which was to include “war crimes and treason” (戰犯漢奸) among others, all the more serious. He was executed in Shanghai, in June, 1948.

On the Communist side, those puppet soldiers who were subjected to mass trials in the Oppose Treason campaign of 1945 and 1946 were sentenced in a legal process which was not terribly concerned with particular crime its convictions were filed under, even if its campaign was ostensibly organized to target those guilty of collaboration. On the contrary, from the Party’s perspective, the key was to tie this process to its preparations for full scale land reform by linking it with the Rent and Interest Reduction campaign. As a report from northern Binhai put it, “The Oppose Treason campaign is a movement with two sides. One is the national struggle (民族鬥爭). It is a struggle of all the classes against the small time traitors. Secondly it is a class struggle, a way to attack landlords who maintained their wealth through their treasonous acts.” Of these, the second was by far the most important. Puppet soldiers were thus largely peripheral to this process, all the more so because they often came from relatively humble origins and were needed in the fight against the Nationalists.

From the perspective of the population, however, the military collaborators who were briefly subjected to mass justice were as reviled as the Japanese occupier. Indeed, for those who lived in areas without regular Japanese patrols, these Chinese military collaborators were the only face of the long occupation. Having stood by during the war while dozens of small groups of military collaborators transformed overnight by the Enemy and Puppet Work teams into units of the army of resistance, it is not terribly surprising that many had little patience for the Party’s “policy of magnanimity” when their opportunity finally came for retribution.

Note:  If you have any interesting information about 伊達麟之介 / 伊達順之介 / 伊達順之助 / 張宗援 / 张宗援 I’d love to hear from you. I’ve been collecting information about him and his fate for a separate article.

The Eight Great Disorders and the Oppose Treason Campaign

This posting is part of a series which comprise a draft dissertation chapter. Read more about it here. The first posting is found here. The post preceding this one is here.

“What have the violations of our policies been like over the past year? Those of disorder…the eight great disorders of luan (wanton, chaotic and indiscriminate) beatings, luan arrests, luan killing, luan punishment, luan imprisonment, luan torture, luan confiscations, and luan sealing off of buildings. One can say this explains the luan state of our policies.” Public Security Bureau Report, Bohai District, 1946

The formal and almost bureaucratic process of purging guilt through repentance and re-education overlapped with a simultaneous process of mass trials for traitors. As Communist control was consolidated over dozens of towns, counties, and even a few cities that had been under some form of occupation by Japanese or puppet military troops, its new administrators subjected their inhabitants almost immediately to two increasingly linked campaigns, the “Rent and Interest Reduction” (減租減息) campaign and the “Oppose Treason and Voice Grievances” (反奸訴苦) campaign. This second campaign was also called the movement to “Settle Accounts with Traitors” (漢奸清算). In the vast territories of Shandong liberated during the aggressive push of Communist forces in the last months of the war, the Oppose Treason campaign was both the main vehicle for retribution against both wartime collaborators and a preliminary blow against local elites that would soon become the main target of the massive land reform efforts that would follow.

Though it was carried out on a rolling basis as areas were liberated, the peak of the campaign in the Shandong base area was in the first half of 1946. It combined the public airing of grievances against collaborators with mass trials of selected suspects. Each town and village was to collectively request the purging of their community. The Shandong provincial archives holds a number of petitions of this kind, all dated February or March of 1946, calling for the new democratic government to punish collaborators. They are often signed by a list of family or clan representatives with an indication of the number of its members. While each of them have some variation in the list of their demands, most include the request that the new Shandong government under the Communist party carry out the, “disbandment of the puppet armies and strict punishment of traitors” Each petition then usually lists some of the local collaborators and their crimes, and sometimes includes and account of the deaths and possessions pillaged in attacks by a particular puppet army unit.

For many communities in Shandong, the Oppose Treason movement and the Rent and Interest reduction movements were the first taste of the large scale mass political campaigns to be felt throughout China in the decades to come. The Oppose Treason campaign does not appear to have focused on puppet army officers and soldiers but for the first time puppet soldiers begin to appear consistently as a category in lists of cases and sentencing reports of treason elimination cadres summarizing their progress. At least some of these puppet soldiers subjected to mass trial were prisoners that had completed the process of registration and repentance but were found to have been guilty of particularly heinous crimes. In the eyes of the local population as well as the local cadres who lived and worked among them, the transfer of puppet soldiers and other collaborationist employees from the repentance and training process to public trials did not happen enough. Acknowledging a growing criticism of its policy of leniency, in the case of puppet soldiers in particular the Public Security Bureau blamed its failures on the difficulty in sharing information about alleged crimes from one county to the next.

As a 1945 report on traitor elimination work in Kunlun county put it, “there is criticism of our paralysis. We think if the [puppet soldiers] confess we should be lenient and after show our magnanimity there is no need to continue to collect material [for their cases].” The problem was also, however, that the reform and repentance process usually included at least one large rally where puppet soldiers and collaborators made their remorse public. In Zhaobei county, this was accomplished over the course of two days in rallies attended by 9,600 men, women, and children. Evaluating their response, the county administration noted that most people felt the government was showing its desire to follow the will of the people, but noted that other criticized it saying, “Today, were they suddenly reborn when they confessed their crime? That is just too easy.” Both administrators and the local populace began to take things into their own hands and the Shandong Party Sub-bureau found it impossible to control the retributive violence it had sought to channel into political mobilization. Reports came in of local militias refusing to hand over their prisoners, or of executing them rather than risk Party “magnanimity.”

Party officials were also eagerly joining in. In Bohai, for example, “the cadres are enthusiastic, but they usually believe that all the world under Heaven is ours. They lack political consciousness in the dealing with puppet police, traitors, and so on and simply view their task as one of revenge.” Throughout the newly liberated districts, Party cadres were engaged in “wanton arrests and killing” (亂捕亂殺), wanton beating, and the torturing of prisoners. “The beatings and arrests have become as regular as one’s daily meal. Where the campaigns are being carried out, every village has its own jail and its own militia.”  The violence also spread to the handling of other crimes as in one village where a few suspected bandits were beaten to death on the spot by a cadre sent to apprehend them without any formal proceedings. Most of the violence, however, seemed to be at the hands of local militias (民兵) and those who attended the rallies organized in the Oppose Treason rallies. In one county carrying out the Oppose Treason campaign, it was reported that 40 treason suspects had been beaten to death by locals, 24 in a second, 8 in the county of Putai, and 20 accused “war criminals” (戰犯) stoned to death in the county of Gaoyuan.

Retributive violence against collaborators, or at least carried out in the name of vengeance against collaboration, is found in formerly occupied territories throughout the world in 1945, and the violent repression of the Japanese and puppet army occupation in Shandong gave its population more than enough reason to demand punishment. Beyond this, at least two factors contributed to the scale of retributive violence in Shandong. The first was the mass character of campaigns themselves. Treason elimination cadres, especially those in Shandong, were on notice for their excesses in earlier years, whether this was mass executions like those carried out at Huxi, a tendency to pursue vendettas and the “subjective” punishments of traitors, or for causing general fear among the peasants when secretly arresting and executing suspects (密捕密決) in the dead of night. The mass trial approach that was developed in the last years of the war tried to combine meticulous stage management of trials with an effort to carry out of the will of the people and thereby win their support. Activists were planted, suspects chosen, evidence carefully prepared, but disappointment expressed at the outcome in some internal reports suggest that the outcome of trials was at lease sometimes genuinely left up to the people, with calls for execution subject to confirmation from the district leadership. It was essential to create the impression that the people were sovereign, while the Party merely carried out its wishes. When it was reported that the people did not feel their will was carried out in treason trials, this was blamed on insufficient preparation by traitor elimination cadres. This process of managed empowerment of the people lay at the heart of the Party’s ability to rapidly gain trust in areas it captured, but was a double-edged sword. The time and manpower required to prepare and direct these trials might have been manageable in wartime years, but in 1945 and 1946, cadres were completely overwhelmed. Their control over the trial process deteriorated as a result.

The second significant factor contributing to the scale of violence in Shandong was the huge growth in people’s militias. These forces, often armed to some degree, played an important role in rapidly expanding a nominal Party presence in areas beyond the wartime base area as the war drew to an end, but they lacked discipline and often ignored directives, especially where Party authority was still weak. The militias of towns began to fight with each other, with militias of one village threatening to arrest the collaborators of neighboring communities. In a reference to the brutal counter-insurgency raids of the Japanese, it was reported in one district that the local militias had been, “carrying out a mopping-up campaign for three months.”

Not surprisingly, word of the uncontrolled violence against puppet soldier prisoners and collaborators alike was beginning to reach the puppet troops that had not yet surrendered. Word of their responses, in turn, made their way back to the Party. “If you are going to surrender, do it directly to the government. If the people’s militia catch you, they will stone you to within an inch of your life,” one was reported saying. Another pointed out the risks of magnanimity being combined with mass rallies where their victims could call for their death, “The government is magnanimous, but if the people in the village aren’t magnanimous, it does you no good.” And again, “There is lenient, and then there is lenient. If they ‘struggle’ the life out of you, what good does it do you?”

This was precisely the kind of distrust that jeopardized the continuing work of the enemy and puppet cadres after Japanese surrender. It could even threaten the base area’s control over whole communities as another report from Jiaodong pointed out. “You must be careful in carrying out the Oppose Traitors campaign. In some villages there were a relatively large number of surrendered puppet soldiers and their families. If they come under attack [by the movement], they will resist us and come under the influence of bad elements.” Most of all, however, it meant more men under arms serving the armies of the Nationalist government. An intelligence report on the state of puppet troops in Luzhong from the summer of 1946 saw this as translating directly into a military threat. There an estimated 50,000 puppet soldiers had joined 38,700 Nationalist forces entering into Shandong after Japanese surrender. The report lamented that these Luzhong puppet soldiers had not been won over and that they had failed to appreciate the Party’s policy of leniency. The reason for this was not hard to grasp, as the report admitted. The soldiers were terrified of the Party’s mass movements, saying, “Even if the Eighth Route Army forgives me, the people cannot.”

Next: Conclusion

Magnanimity, Repentance, and Reform

This posting is part of a series which comprise a draft dissertation chapter. Read more about it here. The first posting is found here. The post preceding this one is here.

By the time of Japanese surrender, the work of traitor elimination cadres had gradually moved away from its roots in the liquidation business. During the period of Communist control in the Jiangxi Soviet period, and in Shandong during the early years of the resistance, the traitor elimination work lived up to its name most fully, as its work often consisted of the arrest, trial, and execution of those deemed traitors. Though these were often referred to with the common word for traitor hanjian (漢奸) or, one who has betrayed the Han people, the term most directly referred to the betrayal of the Party and only indirectly the Chinese nation as a whole. Those accused were most often Party cadres accused of Trotskyist or other heterodoxy. They were overwhelmingly “internal traitors” (內奸) who were accused of secretly plotting the destruction of the Party and working in league with international fascism. Following the mass witch-hunt of Trotskyists in the Huxi Incident of 1939, along with several similar incidents, the Shandong Sub-bureau began to slowly deemphasize the threat of Trotskyists in its internal directives to traitor elimination cadres, call for greater attention to the threat of Japanese and Nationalist spies and, most importantly, reform the procedures for the punishment of accused traitors. Increasingly, treason elimination work was to be carried out through the masses in the form of struggle sessions and mass trials.

While treason elimination cadres had to take responsibility for ensuring that liberated zones remained free of enemy spies, the Party purged of its crticis, and uncooperative collaborators in nearby communities kept continuously under threat of liquidation, there was ever greater emphasis on using their work as another way to mobilize or awaken the masses. While enemy and puppet work teams stayed focused on winning over their enemy, treason elimination committees paid closer attention to the number of passive peasants who were transformed into political subjects by a process of mobilization (發動 or 震動起來) than to the number and fate of traitors they apprehended. The reaction of the masses to any given sentencing and their numbers of attendance at mass assemblies were the subjects of extensive comment in treason elimination reports, while the facts of a case or the justice of any ruling were only important when some grave injustice had caused widespread discontent with the Party.

It was this world that puppet soldiers in detention in 1945 found themselves thrust into. Prisoners were were subject to a new set of regulations which merged the crimes of treason with those of war crimes, the “Provisional Regulations for the Punishment of War Criminals and Traitors in Shandong Province.” It called for a sentence of death or 10 or more years of imprisonment for a wide range of crimes including:

1) Those who from start to finish showed loyalty to Japanese imperialism, were guilty of great crimes and had caused suffering for the people.
2) Those who were leading officers or conspirators who served in the Japanese military, intelligence organs, liaisons, or military police.
3) Those who, after Japan declared surrender, refused to surrender, and continued to resist, or killed the people.
4) In the confusion of war caused disorder.
5) Those who were leading officers and conspirators among the puppet military and police, were puppet officials, or who actively destroyed the efforts towards national liberation.
6) Those who killed or abused prisoners
7) Those leading conspirators who, through feudal societies and superstitious organizations served the enemy and actively destroyed the efforts towards national liberation
8) Those who massacred the people.
9) Those who arranged for betrayal and surrender to the enemy or who themselves treasonously surrendered to the enemy and actively destroyed efforts towards national liberation.

And so the list went on. Unlike the Nationalist regime’s own law for the punishment of traitors published in draft form later that winter, these regulations contained no mitigating clauses. They were flexible enough in their definition that they could ensnare almost any military collaborator and sentence them to the ultimate punishment. After all, what puppet soldiers had not “treasonously surrendered to the enemy,” or at least “caused disorder” doing the war? Instead of mitigating clauses for those who had somehow helped the resistance or helped the people, only the magnanimity of the Party allowed traitors a chance to reform themselves, be forgiven, and welcomed back into the community. This “magnanimous policy” (寬大政策) was to serve as a general guide in all treatment of collaborators but, on the ground, puppet soldier prisoners would face  two potential processes of retribution and reform: one administered directly by treason elimination cadres of the Public Security bureau, and the other incorporated directly into the mass campaigns in the local community, in which treason elimination cadres played a more indirect role more akin to theatrical directors.

In the early months after surrender, puppet soldiers found themselves for the first time subject to a joint process of retribution together with other accused traitors. They were required to complete a program of re-education in a special “training unit” (偽組織人員訓練班) which included a process of supplying written confessions and open expressions of repentance (悔過). In Weihaiwei, on the northeastern coast of the Jiaodong peninsula, these training units were assembled October 2nd, 1945. The course they were offered was carried out in two cycles to accommodate the large numbers of puppet employees, and were divided into two stages. The first stage consisted of a period of educational lectures on the nature of the new democratic government, lectures on the Party policy towards land reform, on the resilience of the Eight Route Army, on their accomplishments during the war of resistance, on the Party’s policy of leniency, and then a selection of public confessional speeches by former leading collaborationist officials. Two hours of classes were offered in the morning, followed by one hour of discussion and each day concluded with two hours of informal discussion (座談) in the evenings. The second stage of the course was conducted in small groups, during which time course participants were expected to produce detailed self-criticisms of their past behavior. In order to promote sufficiently repentant behavior, in each group activists (積極份子) were cultivated who would urge the others on. Those who showed remorse passed the course, and would be conditionally released. Particularly stubborn or uncooperative course participants were forced to enroll in an additional short training course.

The first two cycles yielded 178 “graduates,” including 60 “puppet” village mayors, 71 officers of various ranks in neighborhood associations, 13 “puppet” secretaries, as well as a number of commerce chamber members, and city district chiefs. Most of the trainees were from poor backgrounds: 103 were poor farmers, 14 were registered as merchants, and only one a landlord. By the end of the total four months of training courses provided, two hundred more collaborators had completed the training course, and its targets had significantly expanded, including police chiefs, security guards, bandits, spies, “puppet” laborers, “puppet” teachers and students, puppet village level officials, and puppet soldiers.

In Bohai district, a more scaled-down and decentralized process was adopted for an estimated 40,000 puppet soldier prisoners and other collaborators. Those in towns were processed directly by Public Security bureau cadres who manned special “Offices for Repentance” (悔過處), while in the country county government officials handled their cases. Accused puppet soldiers were collectively registered and organized into training units with 70-80 puppet troops each. These units were given a mere two days of intense re-education that was to emphasize the forgiving nature of the Party’s magnanimous policy, the severity of their past crimes, and carry out group exercise of self-reflection and confession.

Not all areas of Shandong had such organized re-education programs for puppet soldiers and other collaborators. In some, areas the processing of puppet soldier prisoners consisted of a more simple process of organizing a single mass rally, and have the assembled puppet prisoners collectively express remorse for their crimes. The sheer numbers involved sometimes made it impossible to do more. For example, in Yongzhi county which had a total population of 180,000 in 1946, there were no less than 10,000 puppet soldiers, most of whom were poor farmers from the area. After asking them to confess their crimes and write letters of self-examination (反省), they were allowed to regain their political rights.

Next: A Settling of Accounts with Treason

Traitors, Puppets, and Divided Responsibilities

This posting is part of a series which comprise a draft dissertation chapter. Read more about it here. The first posting is found here. The post preceding this one is here.

The key innovation of the Communist Party in dealing with military collaboration with Japan was that, up until Japanese surrender, its general policy was to treat puppet soldiers as neither traitors nor as war criminal suspects, even if it portrayed them as such.  In propaganda, in Party sponsored publications, and in postwar literature their violence and national betrayal was a regular topic of discussion. Threats made to puppet soldiers who the CCP tried to win over, and the red and black point system also, of course, primarily focused on the seriousness of the crimes they were guilty of. However, the Enemy and Puppet Work Bureau judged its success by the metric of loyalties won, not by criminals punished. Every puppet soldier executed for crimes committed against civilians or resistance forces could potentially frighten away an entire unit of his fellow soldiers. Until a new regime under the leadership of the Communist Party was strong and stable, those lost rifles and the lost fighting ability would not only denied the Party but serve the Japanese or the Nationalist central government that sought its destruction. We already saw this threat become a reality in Laiwu when the Party alienated the followers of the Middle Way society and even more following its attack on the leadership of the Hard Fist Society.

In order to keep enemy and puppet work separate from the process of apprehending and punishing traitors and collaborators in general, the work of the bureau was kept explicitly distinct from the “traitor elimination work” (鋤奸工作) carried out by the Social Affairs Bureau and later the Public Security Bureau. A Shandong Party Sub-Bureau directive clarifying the relationship between enemy and puppet work and traitor elimination work ordered that, “No targeted individual may be handled by both.” Its instructions on how to determine who should assume responsibility were not terribly helpful. Those who were to be won over, it explained, were to be handled by the enemy and puppet work groups, while traitors were to be handled by the traitor elimination cadres. Puppet soldiers generally but not always fell into the former category, something that is mostly confirmed by traitor elimination work reports up to 1945. For example, internal statistics on traitor elimination and police work in the Bohai district for 1944 lists 2,529 arrests in thirteen categories of crimes. Of these, 466 were executed. While there were many categories of treasonous behavior and other crimes listed, none of these listing puppet armies. As we shall see, this changed after Japanese surrender. The two largest groups executed were 181 enemy spies (敵探) and 103 bandits or thieves (盜匪). The same report mentions elsewhere, however, that almost a hundred puppet soldiers had been won over in a discussion of its work with apprehended enemy agents, suggesting at least some flexibility in the divisions of labor. Another 1944 list of punishments meted out in almost 200 cases of treason elimination work in the Jiaodong area included one puppet police officer, who was released, but no other puppet soldiers. Puppet soldiers do appear occasionally in traitor elimination statistics from earlier years, but they were very small in number.

Japanese surrender would bring a number of changes to this arrangement. As we saw earlier, on 14 August the Sub-bureau threatened liquidation to any puppets who did not immediately surrender. On 20 August, new “Shandong Military District Regulations for Handling Puppet Soldiers and Puppet Police” were issued.

1) For those that secretly helped the resistance or surrendered before Japan did so, the regulations confirmed the “three guarantees” that had been offered: not to be disarmed, not to be disbanded, and to be allowed to continue fighting.

2) Even those who had “caused relatively large damage to the resistance efforts but who gave in before Japanese surrender” were to be treated leniently.

3) Those who were under attack by Communist forces and finally gave in under direct military pressure were to have their units reorganized but given preferential treatment.

4) Those who gave up when Japan surrendered were to be given treatment according to the regulations for prisoners of war.

5) Those who refused to surrender were to be liquidated and considered guilty as traitors.

Soon enough, however, article five would lose some of its bite, and the work of combining threats with enticements was to resume. A 25 September directive ordered that the work of the enemy and puppet bureau was to continue but its form and approach would change. Instead of focusing on the upper ranks of puppet soldiers in order to secure large-scale defections, the emphasis was to shift to primarily convert the lower ranks. Also, because the territory under Communist Party control had vastly expanded, cadres were to widen their efforts to register the family members of former puppet soldiers.

From this point on the term “puppet soldiers” became a more ambiguous term. It could refer to those who had previously fought for the Japanese, but increasingly, it could refer to anyone who fought in the central government’s army. During the war, military collaborators with Japan and Nationalist forces were distinguished. The latter called either the “allied army” (友軍) when the Party wished to emphasize the united front but they were more often referred to as the “stubborn army” (頑軍) when relations were hostile. After the war, Nationalist troops who had never fought for the Japanese might find themselves referred to as puppet armies to rob the central government of its claim to legitimacy.

As a result, there emerged a very unfortunate group of former military collaborators caught between two Communist policies. Those who surrendered in time could retain their weapons, unit integrity and sometimes even their commanders. They had picked the right side at a moment when a new stage in the Chinese civil war was about to begin and could potentially avoid punishment for wartime crimes completely—or at least until future political campaigns in the 1950s and 1960s dug up their past sins once again. On the other hand, those who remained safely in Jinan, Qingdao, or a handful of strongholds in the otherwise Communist landscape of Shandong stood a reasonable chance—but as we shall see by no means a guarantee—of continued employment under a Nationalist regime desperate to reestablish its hold on the province. They could then defect to the Communist enemy work bureau when the opportunity presented itself and continue to serve as newly minted revolutionary soldiers.

The puppet soldiers who found themselves faced with the real prospect of punishment, now at the hands of “traitor elimination” cadres were primarily: 1) those puppet soldiers who were already in Communist custody and had neither defected or been released according to the “seven captures of Meng Huo” policy, 2) those puppet soldiers who surrendered to Communist forces in or around August, 1945. After Japanese surrender, these unlucky puppet prisoners of war would find themselves merged together with the ranks of other “puppet government employees” and enemy agents who were the primary targets of the traitor elimination cadres.

Next: Magnanimity, Repentance, and Reform

The Wartime Gains of the Bureau

This posting is part of a series which comprise a draft dissertation chapter. Read more about it here. The first posting is found here. The post preceding this one is here.

The cumulative efforts of the enemy and puppet work of the Communist party in Shandong were considerable, but fell far short of the ambitions of the party. An early 1945 estimate of the total number of puppet soldiers that had been won over in Shandong, based on incomplete statistics, was around 12,000. This was despite the fact that in only the year preceding the report, some 45,000 captured puppet soldiers had been offered the opportunity while under detention. Some of these, it was claimed, had already been captured and released six or seven times, by which time even the rebellious Meng Huo of ancient times had mended his ways. About half of those who were won over came from relatively small groups. Some 140 puppet army units with under 1,000 soldiers each had been won over with a total of around 6,000 rifles.

Three units with more than 1,500 soldiers each, including some 6,500 rifles came over. These were the forces of the three major commanders to defect to Communist control in Shandong during the Japanese occupation: Wang Dao, Ying Zhengmin, and Zhang Xixian. The significant numbers these three defections alone brought over amply explains why, during the war, reports on the work of the Enemy and Puppet Bureau repeatedly lamented its failures to win over larger units. By July, 1945, the number won over had increased to 150 of the smaller units, but only one additional large unit had come over to the Communist side.

If the total number of those won over was indeed around 12,000, this is below the number of puppet soldiers who were claimed as kills up to 1941, let alone the likely far increased kills of later years, when the 115th division and local resistance forces grew more confident and moved to the offensive. Though they are even more likely to be susceptible to wild exaggeration, the cumulative reports of claimed puppet army kills in a selection of wartime chronologies of Shandong regional gazetteers are vastly higher, especially from local skirmishes listed for the summer of 1945 when Communist forces throughout Shandong aggressively attacked strongholds and towns occupied by puppet armies.

It is likely that most of the remaining puppet soldiers, including the 57 units listed in Appendix C1, were in part or whole integrated or reorganized as units in the Nationalist army. Some of these, as we saw in the case of Wu Huawen, would later turn to the Communists when the nationalist cause in Shandong was truly deemed lost by mid-1948.

For the most part, however, when Nationalist forces returned to the province in 1945, beginning with the entry into the province of its new governor He Siyuan, they resumed control of only the small number of towns and strongholds that were still under Japanese and puppet army control. Puppet soldiers as well as Japanese soldiers were instructed to “maintain public order” until the central government could re-established control.

The American marines are welcomed to Qingdao in October, 1945. Above the cannons the text reads, “The merging of Japanese, puppets, and Chiang [Kai-shek’s] forces.” From a selection of Communist propaganda posters from early postwar Shandong. US State Department Central Files China Internal Affairs 1945-1949 893.00B-11-2646

Most Japanese soldiers were eventually disarmed and returned home, though some retained their arms to patrol the streets for months in major Chinese cities and in places such as Shanxi, continued to actively fight in the civil war. Communist propaganda of a “conspiracy” by Chiang Kai-shek to “merge” with the enemy and the puppets was not that far from the truth. The majority of former puppet soldiers in Shandong who were still operating as of August, 1945 would soon have the option of continuing to serve in the Nationalist army. If this was a conspiracy, however, it was one that the Communists shared. If most puppet armies served the Nationalists after the war, it was because of the failures of the Enemy and Puppet Work Bureau to win and retain their loyalty, not because they refused to try.

Next: Traitors, Puppets, and Divided Responsibilities

Zhu De and The Prices of Betrayal

This posting is part of a series which comprise a draft dissertation chapter. Read more about it here. The first posting is found here. The post preceding this one is here.

Attempts to secure the defection of Chinese soldiers fighting alongside the Japanese by means of propaganda and by approaching family members in the villages required considerable time, manpower, and a patient process of wearing down the enemy. Establishing contacts directly with soldiers or junior officers and either appealing to their patriotic virtues or offering promises of protection against any future punishment was direct but dangerous. Perhaps the simplest method to turn the puppet soldiers away from their treasonous ways was to appeal to the same motivation which led many of them to fight for the Japanese in the first place: cold hard cash.

An example of the scale contemplated by Communist plans to supplement its political efforts with the outright purchase of puppet loyalty is found in a January 23, 1945 letter from Commander Zhu De to the U.S. head of the China Theater, General Albert Wedemeyer. “I have a favor that I wish to ask you,” he began, and then requested a loan of $20 million from the U.S. to use for the purpose of bribes.  The amount would be repaid, “following the victorious conclusion of the war against Japan.” Given his earlier career, this pragmatic approach was entirely in keeping with the character of the pragmatic Communist leader of the wartime 8th Route Army, though none of Zhu De’s main works on winning over enemies openly proposed  bribes for puppets to switch their loyalty. On the contrary, he argued that the Eighth Route Army and the New Fourth Armies had an “inexhaustible supply of manpower” thanks to its ability to attract voluntary recruits inspired by a desire to resist Japanese aggression. Instead it was the Nationalists who used “buying,” coercion, and deceit in its efforts to recruit soldiers.  In the January, 1945 letter to General Wedemeyer, however, Zhu suggested that bribery could easily double the number of defections among Japanese collaborator troops achieved by political means.

Table: Zhu De’s Statistics on Puppets Won-Over, January, 1945

Area Men Rifles Machine Guns Mortars Field Pieces
Shandong 11,987 6,540 122 109 26
Shanxi-Hebei-Shandong-Henan 5,821 3,909 60 32 12
Shanxi-Suiyuan 932 550 8 10 3
Shanxi-Chahar-Hebei 1,024 620 13 11 1
Central China 14,075 8,314 134 121 18
Total 34,167 20,159 343 288 60

The approximately 34,167 puppets won-over up to this point, according to the letter, comprised around 3.8% of a total estimate of around 900,000 Chinese fighting on behalf of the Japanese. Zhu argued that political measures alone could probably bring this number up to about 5%. This percentage could be doubled, he argued optimistically, to 10%, or around 90,000, by using “financial” measures. In what can only be described as a proposed investment plan, Zhu outlined the accounting for his estimates. The requested $20 million was to be divided into five parts. $7.6 million was to go towards administrative costs and operations, including the cost of intelligence and liaison work. $1.4 million was to be paid directly to puppet officers ranging from squad commanders and up through platoon, company, battalion, regiment, and even the proposed bribery of ten puppet division commanders. Some 3,000 squad commanders were to be offered $30 each, while division commanders were to be offered $10,000. In addition to these one-time defection bonuses, this fund was to include post-defection awards to officers who were brought over by political measures and “comfort fees.” Third, almost a million dollars was to be set aside for bounties to puppets for bringing over various weapons ranging in value from rifles ($20 each) to artillery ($1,000), as well as valuable communications equipment. Radio sets, for example, were to be purchased at $200 a piece.  Fourth, almost five million dollars was put aside to pay puppets their original salaries for three months, for a supply of clothing and equipment, a fund for gifts, and subsidies for the families of the defected puppets. Finally, a reserve fund of five million was to be put towards using military collaborators for sabotage and demolition operations as well as special missions to assassinate Japanese officers.

It is possible that the letter merely represents one very elaborate attempt by Communists to secure large scale funding from the U.S. in a slightly more indirect manner, and that the funds were never intended to go fully towards bribing military collaborators. However, given Zhu De’s own deep appreciation for the importance of dismantling one’s enemy as well as destroying them in battle, this may well be only the most ambitious proposal for employing “financial measures” in Communist puppet policy. There is little chance Zhu De’s request could have been met but the proposal for a loan to bribe military collaborators did come at a time when the newly arrived commander of U.S. forces in China was actively considering the possibility of arming and otherwise supporting Communist efforts in the war of resistance against Japan. In the aftermath of the replacement of the controversial general Joseph Stilwell in late October, 1944, Zhu was merely taking advantage of a brief opportunity to establish an entirely new relationship with American forces. In the months that followed there were a number of proposals and counter-proposals exchanged on cooperation between Nationalists and Communists, with General Patrick Hurley serving as intermediary. The process was complicated by other negotiations, unknown to Wedemeyer and Hurley at the time, between another U.S. General Robert McClure and the Communists that culminated in an offer to send thousands of American airborne troops to be stationed in Communist controlled territory. The final result of the complicated process was a warning by General Hurley to President Roosevelt that the offer of close military cooperation with the Communists was a dangerous development that threatened the preservation of the Nationalist regime. On 27 January, Chief of Staff George Marshall ordered that no negotiations were to continue that did not also involve Chiang Kai-shek’s government. Three days later General Wedemeyer issued an order to all officers in the China theater directing them refrain from “discussing hypothetical aid or employment of U.S. Resources to assist any effort of an unapproved political party, activity, or persons.”

Note: Long time readers of Frog in a Well will recognize the material used in this section which I wrote about back in 2007, here.

Next: The Wartime Gains of the Bureau

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