Mao: The Unknown Story

ALTHOUGH DOCTORS WERE under orders not to tell Chou that he had cancer, he sensed it from the frequent urine tests they asked him to take, and the evasive way they behaved. He resorted to reading medical books himself. Mao knew that Chou was extremely anxious to have treatment, and seized the chance to exercise a bit of blackmail. Ever since Lin Biao had fled to his death the previous September, Mao had been wary about the amount of power Chou held in his hands, as Chou was running everything — Party, government and army. Mao decided to exploit Chou’s anxiety to get him to do something that would weaken him to the maximum. He demanded that Chou make a detailed self-denunciation about his past “errors” in front of 300 top officials.

In addition, Mao ordered Chou to circulate to these 300 officials a highly self-incriminating document. Back in 1932, just after Chou had superseded Mao as Party boss of the Red state, Ruijin, a “recantation notice” had mysteriously appeared in the Shanghai press, bearing Chou’s then pseudonym, and averring that its author condemned the Communist Party and was renouncing it. Chou had taken fright at this smear, in particular fearing that it might have been planted by Mao, and had cozied up to Mao. From then on Mao knew that he had an effective blackmail weapon. When the Cultural Revolution started, more than three decades later, Mao dangled it over Chou’s head. Now, Mao dragged it out again.

Chou spent many days and nights composing the humiliating speech, which was so long that it took him three evenings to deliver. He was so harsh on himself, and so pathetic, that some of his listeners cringed with pain and embarrassment. At the end, he announced: “I have always thought, and will always think that I cannot be at the helm, and can only be an assistant.” This was a desperate attempt to pledge that he had no ambition to supplant Mao, and was no threat.

In this period, Chou lived an extraordinary double life, unique in the annals of modern politics. Hidden from outside eyes both in China and abroad, he was a blackmailed slave, living in dread of untreated cancer and of being purged; for the world at large, he was a virtuoso who dazzled visiting statesmen, many of whom regarded him as the most impressive political figure they had dealt with and the most attractive man they had ever met.

Yet even after Chou did what was required of him, Mao still refused him treatment. At the beginning of 1973, Chou’s urine contained a lot of blood, a sign that the tumor had worsened critically. It was only now that he was officially informed he had cancer. But when doctors pleaded to be allowed to conduct a full examination and give him treatment, Mao told them off through his chamberlain on 7 February, using words to the effect that Chou was quite old enough to die; adding: “What the hell do you want an examination for?”

Then, a week later, Chou performed a sterling service for Mao, which put the boss in a good mood. When Kissinger was in Peking that February and Mao pretended he wanted an alliance, Chou did an excellent job of making Mao’s pretense plausible. Mao finally agreed to let him have treatment, after Chou had humbly requested it. But Mao set conditions: he ordered it done “in two stages,” authorizing only an examination, and specifying that the surgeons must leave the removal of any tumor to a “second stage.” When it came to keeping Chou from being cured, Mao’s ingenuity and resourcefulness were infinite.

The chief surgeon realized that “there won’t be a second stage,” and decided to risk Mao’s displeasure and remove the cancer during the examination, which took place on 10 March.

Just beforehand, Mrs. Chou reminded the surgeons: “You do know that you must do it in two stages, don’t you?” The chief surgeon asked: “But if I see a little lump during the examination … should I leave it there …?” and she agreed he could remove it. When Chou regained consciousness and learned that the tumor had been removed, he adroitly performed a bit of Maoist theater and berated the doctors: “Weren’t you told to do it in two stages?” But he was visibly delighted, and invited the medical team to a Peking duck dinner.

The doctors had been nervous about how Mao would react to what they had done, and were relieved to receive a telephone message saying: “It’s good that the doctors combined two stages into one.” Though the praise was hypocritical, it signaled that Mao had accepted their fait accompli. But it was not a full-scale operation.