In February 1972, Nixon arrived in Beijing. The newspapers were full of reports of his visit, with pictures of his arrival at the welcome party and a large picture of him calling on Mao. I looked at Mao’s smiling face as he shook hands with the U.S. president and thought to myself that this was his most triumphant moment. In this moment, all the humiliations he had suffered for more than a decade (i.e., the political denial of recognition) vanished. He must have realized that the negotiation with the American president had a profound and immeasurable significance not only for himself and the Communist Party, but also for his archrival, the Kuomintang of Taiwan.
From all the news pictures and reports in the press, Zhou Enlai’s performance seems to be the most outstanding. The news reports said that Premier Chou accompanied President Nixon to Shanghai before the President returned to the United States from Shanghai. It was also said that the U.S. President would stay in Shanghai for a short time, which implied that there was some final disagreement about the draft of the Sino-American communiqué. But in any case, it was finally signed. The published translation of the communiqué indicated that the United States recognized Taiwan as a part of Chinese territory, a promise that made it impossible for the United States to recognize Taiwan as another China, something that had long been a concern of the Communist government. The communiqué also stated that China denied that it would abandon the path of unifying China by force in the future. This was a decisive victory for the Chinese Communist Party. China gained immeasurably from Nixon’s visit, at the cost of nothing more than a thoughtful hospitality. It seemed that China’s policy of rapprochement with the United States was not only legitimate, but also promising. And Premier Zhou Enlai’s personal standing was greatly enhanced by his outstanding diplomatic skill and success.
Now at this stage, it seems that the class struggle has relaxed a little, that there is no more harping on it, and that the air has eased slightly. Even the tone of the newspaper articles was less combustible. Even the guards were more humane. I was brought in for questioning again in March, and the same interrogator who had questioned me when I first came in, came back. He started everything from the beginning, as if the years that separated them had never existed. He asked me to write another autobiography, and then asked about my family and social relations, my personal life experiences, and so on. He asked me about my family and social relations, my personal life history, and so on. He repeated what the labor propaganda team interrogators had asked me in 1969. Feeling impatient, I told him that I had already answered these questions. He just said, “You have to answer again.” I don’t think it was necessarily a trick to get me to say something different from what I had said in the past, so that I could be accused of lying and not being truthful. It was because the interrogator of the First Detention Center and the interrogator of the Labor Propaganda Team were under two different supervisors. This series of interrogations took several months, and I don’t remember how many times I was brought in for interrogation, or how many passages I read. But during this time, there was no such thing as shouting or arguing. But I was sick and weak, and I was really bored by the endless interrogations.
One day in the fall of 1972, the guard showed me a letter that must have come from our office. He asked if I had written the letter. I saw that my name was on it and replied, “Yes.”
“This is proof of your unlawful activity, or perhaps just a political mistake.” He said.
I was taken aback. “Can I see the letter again?” I demanded.
He handed me the letter. I found that it was written in 1957, just after my husband had died. At that time I had to go to Asia to manage something. The Bank of China had to have the stamp of the head of the company, who had a stamp in their bank, in order to pay the cash. I remember the situation very well: early that morning I received a phone call from the general manager of Asean, who told me that a new general manager had been sent to take over my late husband’s position. But he could not come at the moment, and would not be able to take up his post until the following March. He said, “I need to know from London, would you like to deputize for a while?” I answered him yes, but I first had to ask the Shanghai Municipal Federation of Commerce and Industry. Then he asked me to list some of the necessities that the new general manager and his wife should bring with them when they came to Shanghai, pointing out in particular whether they needed to bring flour, since they knew that rice was eaten in China.
As my secretary at that time was an English woman, I thought she was the best person to know what was most necessary, so I asked her to write a list of the required items on my behalf, and then wrote a letter to him, which I signed. Out of enthusiasm for her fellow countrymen, she wrote a long list of items, including buttons and detergents. But from a political point of view, the letter did me no harm.
“I don’t see anything political in this letter.” I said.
“No political problems? You gave away the food supply in Shanghai.”
“Is that so? Let me look again.” I didn’t know until now that he had been instructed to find an excuse to prove that my imprisonment was for a reason, so that I wouldn’t have to be noted as innocent when I was released. I know that some Communists do not like to admit their mistakes.
He handed me the letter again: “Read the paragraph about grain distribution again.”
I read, “The Shanghai government allots citizens a monthly grain ration of twenty pounds, and they are free to buy white rice or flour, so it is more than enough.” I asked the interrogator, “What was wrong with that?”
“That was the leaking of information about the grain distribution.” He said.
“The distribution of grain to various citizens of Shanghai, which also included Europeans living in Shanghai, was not a secret, it was known to everyone. How can it be said to be a leak?”
“This letter of yours was sent to a foreign country.” He said.
“You mean that the European who lives in Shanghai will not tell people in his own country about this situation when he returns to his country in the future. Also, what about the Chinese who return to their country to visit their families? Won’t they know how much food their families get every month? Will they forget about this as soon as they leave Shanghai?”
“That’s their business. But this letter is your responsibility. Do you admit that you wrote this letter?”
“In fact I didn’t write the letter, but I take full responsibility because I signed it. And I was the one who sent this letter when I was the head of the company. But what I disagree with you is that the matter of stating that the monthly ration for each person is twenty pounds of white rice or flour cannot be considered a leak of information.”
“It is illegal to divulge information about food distribution. However, based on the fact that you are not yet aware of the governing regulations, it is only treated as a general political mistake.” He said.
“There is no such reason. It’s not something I’ve done wrong, politically or otherwise. If you have the governing text, please spread it out for me to read.” I was fired up. But he just ignored me and stopped the interrogation without permission.
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