And what did they object to in the combination prose and photographic history of the Red Army's 9,500 kilometer trek in the 1930s? It seems that besides wanting to write Lin Piao completely out of the Long March—rather like writing General Omar Bradley out of World War II—the two Communist Chinese historical experts dispatched to "negotiate" with Lawrence in Hongkong objected to "adverse comments on Stalin."
Given the amount of history exposing the philosophy and tactics of the late Soviet leader, it is difficult to understand Chinese sensitivities on the subject. Even the Soviets themselves cringe at his name, especially now that it is safe to do so following Khrushchev's de-Stalinization campaign. Perhaps it is Stalin's collectivization policies and consequent slaughter of millions that the Communists hold dear to their hearts? Shades of their own past?
Whatever the motivations of the Chinese Communist historians, Ching reports that Lawrence "rephrased" parts of the book, although he insisted that nothing was deleted or altered enough to change the accuracy of his original.
Enter George Orwell. In a 1945 newspaper article under the title "Through a Glass, Rosily," he defended another English correspondent who was writing from Soviet-occupied Vienna at the close of World War II. The reporter had been taken to task by English readers for reporting unpleasant facts about the city's occupying troops, an action that reflected unfavorably upon Stalin's regime. The Soviets were war-time allies, the argument ran, so such frank criticism would only "increase Russian suspicions" about the sincerity of Britain's support in the post-war era.
Orwell raises a key question: In the long run, can the cause of progress be served by lies, or can it not? There are always those who seem to think that suppression or distortion of facts can have favorable results. Maybe in the short-term, but people have a strong tendency to react violently when the truth leaks out in the end, as it normally does.
Lawrence's book required the services of a number of excellent photographers—some foreign, some Chinese. But it seems that certain parts of the Long March route were closed to the foreigners, presumably because their cameras might record extreme poverty. No doubt this prevented them from recording anything "unpleasant" or "unfavorable" to the present regime.
It is disturbing that Lawrence had to face such pressures before his book could hit the bookstores and coffee tables of Hongkong. And the report that he felt accuracy was not affected is even more worrisome. For omission can be commission.
Anyone who has nursed a book from idea to press can sympathize with Lawrence's dilemma as he faced his Chinese Communist experts on "correct" history. All that work go to waste? All that time lost? So, change a sentence or two; leave out a phrase here and a photo there. The net result is still worth it.
Is it? Hongkong newspaper and magazine editors have already introduced "self-censorship," according to Hu Chu-jen, chief editor of Hongkong's semi-monthly Pai Shing. China hands, be they journalists or scholars, know full well that "unfavorable" or "embarrassing" assessments of current mainland politics and society can make them unwelcome and can create sudden visa problems. And no travel means datelines that carry less weight with readers.
But censorship, be it officially enforced or self-imposed, distorts the truth. As readers around Asia and beyond read about Hongkong and its future after the 1997 reversion to mainland Chinese control, how can they trust the written word? A large portion of the analyses of Hongkong's future appear optimistic. Analysts assert that the freedoms "agreed to" in the Joint Declaration signed by the British and Communist Chinese will be incorporated into the new Basic Law, and the Chinese Communists are expected to fulfill the spirit and letter of the document.
One prominent freedom listed in the Joint Declaration is "freedom of the press." After reading about the long reach of censorship in Lawrence's recent experience, it is difficult to believe that the mainland Chinese reading of "freedom" is even remotely similar to what the word means in democratic societies.
If this is true, then it may mean that the mainland Chinese officials will in fact claim to be abiding by the spirit and the letter of "freedom of the press" as recorded in the agreement. The problem is they will be using a dictionary quite different from the one used with such aplomb and success in Hongkong's vibrant publication industry.
There is still time to remove the rose-colored glasses and direct a clearer, more critical lens toward the way the Communist Chinese define each of those freedoms so carefully listed in the Joint Declaration.