CHINA
China Emergent
May 1942 by Madame Chiang Kai-shek In the midst of World War II, as China’s Nationalist leader, Chiang Kai-shek, struggled against Japanese invaders from without and the Communist movement from within, his Wellesley College–educated wife decried the exploitation of China by the West and delineated a vision for a more democratic future. We in China, though we have been harried for years by death and destruction, have been giving careful thought toward the perfection of a political and social system that will ensure in the future the greatest good for the greatest number … We have chosen the path that we shall tread in the future. We are determined that there shall be no more exploitation of China. I have no wish to harp on old grievances, but realism demands that I should mention the ruthless and shameless exploitation of our country by the West in the past and the hard-dying illusion that the best way to win our hearts was to kick us in the ribs. Such asinine stupidities must never be repeated, as much for your own sake as for ours. America and Britain have already shown their consciousness of error by voluntarily offering to abrogate the iniquitous system of extraterritoriality that denied China her inherent right to equality with other nations. While as a nation we are resolved that we will not tolerate foreign exploitation, we are equally determined that within our country there be no exploitation of any section of society by any other section or even by the state itself. The possession of wealth does not confer upon the wealthy the right to take unfair advantage of the less fortunate. But neither, as a nation, does China believe in communism or wish to obtain it in our land. Vol. 169, No. 5, pp. 533–537
In China
March 1979 by Arthur Miller After a 1978 visit to China, the renowned playwright Arthur Miller shared his impressions of the country, taking note of its cultural isolation. It was still early in our Chinese voyage and I did not yet know what I would know soon: Chinese, like the French, have little interest in traveling abroad since their country is the center of the world. It is always drought, flood, famine, some desperate circumstance that sends them out of China, rarely curiosity. I asked Chiao Yu [a Chinese poet and playwright], “Do you get to see much foreign literature?” “Yes, a little.” “Any American?” “We have one book in the Writers Union translated from America.” “Which is that?” Jonathan Seagull. But so far it is only available to Union members, not the public.” “That’s the only recent American book translated?” “I have also read Love Story. What do you think of those books?” It was impossible to tell from his expression whether he wanted a compliment on the Chinese having translated these books or a confirmation of his own low opinion of them. “They’re all right,” I said, “but we have better ones.” He nodded, still neutrally. “Why were those books selected for translation, do you know?” “Because they were so popular. It was thought that they would help us to understand the Americans.” “Ah …” I was astounded by the ignorance of this writer facing me across the soda pop and the apples and candy on this lovely afternoon, until an old joke about the English passed through my mind, the one about the London headline: “Dense Fog—Continent Isolated.” How many Chinese writers did I know, free as I was to read anything? And had he not a better right than I to provincial sequestration when there were going on one billion Chinese, a quarter of the human race, while there were only two hundred million or so Americans? In fact, he had more compatriots than the populations of Europe, Russia, and half of India combined. Who was the provincial? I thought about this a long time and decided that he was. Vol. 243, No. 3, pp. 90–117
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