Mao: The Unknown Story

Mao clearly felt that he was the man for the job, as he dismissed America and Russia as possible unifiers, using arguments that rested solely on China’s huge population. “But these two countries [America and Russia],” he went on, “have too small populations, and they will not have enough manpower if it is dispersed. Further, they are also afraid of fighting a nuclear war. They are not afraid of eliminating populations in other countries, but they are afraid of their own populations being eliminated.” It was hardly necessary to read between the lines to see that the ruler with the largest population — and the least fear of it being wiped out — was Mao himself. He saw China’s role as follows: “In another five years, our country … will be in a better position … In another five years …”

It was for the sake of this world ambition that Mao had embarked on his Superpower Program in 1953, insisting on breakneck speed, and taking hair-raising risks in the nuclear field. The most scary of these came on 27 October 1966, when a missile armed with an atomic warhead was fired 800 km across northwest China, over sizable towns — the only such test ever undertaken by any nation on earth, and with a missile known to be far from accurate, putting the lives of those in its flight path at risk. Three days beforehand, Mao told the man in charge to proceed, saying that he was prepared for the test to fail.

Almost all those involved in the test felt that a catastrophe was likely. The people in the launch control room expected to die. The commander of the target zone was so nervous that he moved his HQ to the top of a mountain, comforting himself and his colleagues with the argument that if the missile went off course, they might be able to shield themselves from the atomic blast by scrambling down the opposite side of the mountain.

As it happened, the test succeeded, an outcome that was attributed to Mao’s “Thought,” summed up in the slogan “The spiritual atomic bomb detonating the material atomic bomb.” In fact the success was a fluke. Subsequent tests of the same missile failed, as it began gyrating wildly shortly after lift-off.

The whole missile program suffered from insuperable problems. The regime blamed sabotage, and scientists were put through hideous persecutions, including mock executions, to extract “confessions.” Many died violent deaths. In this climate, not surprisingly, Mao never possessed an intercontinental missile in his lifetime. The first successful launch of a Chinese ICBM took place only in 1980, years after his death.

But in October 1966, thanks to the one nuclear-armed missile landing on target, Mao assumed that he would soon be able to deliver the Bomb wherever he liked. On 11 December, a decision was made that China must possess the entire missile arsenal, including intercontinental missiles, within four years.

Mao’s optimism was given a big boost when China’s first hydrogen bomb was detonated on 17 June 1967. Mao told its makers on 7 July: “Our new weaponry, missiles and atom bombs have gone really fast. We made our hydrogen bomb in just two years and eight months [since the first A-bomb]. Our speed has overtaken America, Britain, France and the Soviet Union. We are the No. 4 in the world.” Actually, much of this was due to assistance Russia had provided earlier (and which had only ended completely in 1965); without Soviet help, it would have been impossible to develop either the A-or the H-bomb nearly so soon. But Mao was not about to dwell on this aspect. His emphasis was rather on what he could do with the technology. Using the royal “we,” he declared to the Bomb-makers: “We are not only the political centre of the world revolution, we must become the centre of the world revolution militarily, and technologically. We must give them arms, Chinese arms engraved with our labels … We must openly support them. We must become the arsenal of the world revolution.”

It was now, between October 1966 and summer 1967, with the nuclear program seemingly riding high, that Mao vastly expanded the worldwide promotion of his cult. In the year before, 1965, he had suffered some major setbacks. Now “to propagate Mao Tse-tung Thought” was made the “central task” of foreign policy. Peking proclaimed that “the world has entered the new era of Mao,” and sweated blood to make sure that the Little Red Book got into over 100 countries. Supposedly this was “an event of immense joy for the people of the world,” who “love Chairman Mao’s books more than any other books,” and to whom the Little Red Book “is like the sweet rain to crops withering in a long drought, and the shining beacon to ships sailing in thick fog.” China’s entire diplomatic and clandestine machine was thrown into attempts to induce adulation of Mao in foreign countries.