However, there are people who are at a loss to understand the supreme confidence the Chinese people have for so long placed in their leader. Their puzzle is understandable because few statesmen in modern history have been more slandered by their enemies and misunderstood by their well wishers than President Chiang. To make matters worse, he is unusually reticent and never took the trouble to defend himself no matter how malicious his detractors attack him. Having been at the receiving end of organized smears for so long, he simply ignores them. While this attitude is in perfect conformity with the traditional Chinese virtue of shunning self-justification, it nonetheless tends to strengthen the hands of his enemies in deceiving the public about his true personality.
President Chiang's fortitude in facing criticism was best illustrated in the days immediately after the issuance of the celebrated White Paper by the United States State Department in 1950, in which he and his government were represented as corrupt and inefficient. His advisors strongly urged him to make a public refutation of the charges. He merely replied. "It is not necessary." These words appeared in his diary for that day: "When Jesus was being tried on false accusations, he did not say a word in his own defense."
Although his greatness has been to a large extent buried beneath heaps of vilifications and calumnies manufactured by the Communists and their fellow travelers, his true worth is not lost to the world's great leaders and the discerning public. The first man to see in him the qualifications of leadership was no other than Dr. Sun Yat-sen. founder of the Republic of China. After meeting him for the first time in Tokyo while he was still a cadet at the Shinbo Gokyo (Preparatory Military Academy). Dr. Sun made this remark to one of his top lieutenants: "That man will be the hero of our revolution: we need just such a man in our revolutionary movement." Years later, when rumors of General Chiang's death on the battlefield reached Dr. Sun in Canton, he was shocked. He was heard murmuring to himself: "I would rather suffer the extinction of 100.000 of my soldiers than the loss of a Chiang Kai-shek." This brief remark speaks volumes for the confidence he had in his young protege. It is equally noteworthy that the latter's actions in later years fully justified the appraisal of his master.
Another great statesman who recognized his exceptional ability was the late American President Franklin D. Roosevelt. At one time during the last war when General George Marshall was urging that the United States take a strong tone with the Generalissimo over some issue in dispute. Roosevelt wrote the famous American general: "Chiang came up the hard way to accomplish in a few years what it took us 200 years to attain ... One cannot speak sternly or exact commitments from a man like that, as if he were a tribal chieftain."
If the opinions of men like Dr. Sun Yat-sen and President Roosevelt were not enough to vindicate the Generalissimo, his own deeds throughout his long stewardship over the Chinese national affairs are sufficient to convince anyone but the most biased and the most bigoted of the stature of the Chinese leader. Today, though he is still misunderstood among certain quarters, it is gratifying to know that the world at large is slowly taking cognizance of his greatness. It would be better still if the world should heed more closely his advices in the struggle against international Communism.
What entitles him to be heard is the fact that he is almost invariably correct in his forecast of events to come. Many people often link his name with the Chinese mainland without realizing that he was a victim of events largely beyond his control. The fact is that China would have been communized decades ago but for his clairvoyant farsightedness and his courageous fight to avert disasters.
In 1923, when he was only 37, the future Chinese leader was sent to Russia by Dr. Sun for an orientation tour in preparation for China's fullscale cooperation with the Russian Communists, who were then allout to win the confidence of the Chinese revolutionary leader. Upon his return from Moscow, the young general submitted a report on his findings to his patron, in which he strongly advised against fraternization with the Soviet Russians. The report was subsequently lost—probably stolen by the Communists from Dr. Sun's files. But what it contained may be gathered from a letter its writer sent to Liao Chung-kai at the time. This is what he wrote:
"From what I have observed, the Russian Communist Party has absolutely no sincerity. As I have told you earlier, the words of the Russians are only 30 percent dependable. Even that is an over-statement. The sole objective of the Russian Communist Party is to communize China under its protective wing. I can never believe our party and the Russian Communist Party could successfully cooperate from the beginning to the end .... The internationalism and the idea of world revolution which the Russians propagate is actually not different from the imperialism preached in the Kaiser's days. The only difference is that the Russians are clever enough to change slogans for the purpose of bewildering the public .... " Viewed in historical perspective today, this letter indicates how correctly General Chiang gauged the true intentions of the Russian Communists at that early stage.
Another instance of his extraordinary ability of foretelling events to come happened in 1936. When Sir Frederic Leith-Ross was about to return to England upon completing his tour of service as financial adviser to the Chinese Government, he asked the Generalissimo whether he had anything to convey to the British government. "Yes." said the Generalissimo, "please tell them that I believe a clash between China and Japan is absolutely inevitable. Since we are not strong enough to repel the aggression by Japan. I will deter it as long as possible. When war does come. I will put up the stiffest resistance in the coastal area. Should that fail, I would gradually withdraw my troops and make a stand when the right moment arrives. Then I will build a strong redoubt somewhere in Western China, probably in Szechuan, to wait for the moment when Britain and the United States will join us in the fight."
Sir Frederic replied that it was most improbable that Britain would participate in a war against Japan in the Far East, because she was having her hands full in coping with the menace of Hitlerite Germany. But Generalissimo Chiang was unconvinced. "Britain and the United States will have to come to China's aid in her anti-Japanese struggle," he confidently asserted. Recalling the conversation years later, the British financier was forced to express his admiration for the Chinese statesman-soldier's remarkable divination.
During the closing phase of the mainland debacle, President Chiang again used his foresight to save China from total submergence under the rising Red tide. Against the strong opposition of the then Acting President Li Tsung-jen, he saw to it that what remained of the nation's fighting sinew be moved to Taiwan. He also ordered the removal to Taiwan a large amount of gold which Li intended to use as a bargaining item in his doomed peace talks with the Communists. But for these precautionary measures, Taiwan could have succumbed to the victorious Communist hordes following the fall of the mainland.
Like all great leaders, President Chiang possesses courage to a remarkable degree. He always puts national interest above personal safety. On April 24, 1949 when the Communist troops were near Hangchow, the President, then living in retirement at his native town of Chikow, ordered a gunboat be ready for sail. Even Lieutenant General Chiang Ching-kuo, the Generalissimo's elder son, was led to believe that his father was leaving for safety in Taiwan. To the surprise of everybody, he ordered the skipper of the naval vessel to steer the ship for Shanghai which was already in a state of seige. At first he stayed aboard the gunboat at Point Island. As the situation continued to worsen, he moved his residence to the metropolis itself. "Father," young Chiang protested, "the situation is extremely dangerous. How can you move there at this hour?" "Dangerous!" rejoined the father, "Do you think I don't know that?" To Shanghai he went, and left the city only at the insistence of Li Tsung-jen who was loudly demanding that President Chiang leave the country so that he might have a "free hand" in handling the deteriorating situation.
In late 1949, when the Communists were closing in at Chungking, President Chiang again put himself in the midst of peril to direct the city's defense. While in Chungking, he received information that General Lu Han, governor of Yunnan, had secret contacts with the Communists. In order to ward off any untoward happening, he decided to fly to Kunming to see General Lu. His son again protested against the move but to no avail. Though he stayed in Kunming only for a few hours, the Generalissimo could have been detained by the Yunnan general as a hostage. Only the awe he inspired in Lu prevented a repetition of the Sian kidnap. But the game paid off. Lu Han did not defect until the situation became irretrievable.
By November 28, the Communists had reached South Hot-Springs in suburban Chungking. Leading government officials flew to Chengtu from the falling city that day. But President Chiang remained behind through the 29th and did not leave the city until dawn, November 30. He spent his last day in Chungking visiting the buildings he occupied during the last war. In the deserted Military Council building, he even found time to burn a military map. On his way back to his residence he was forced at one point of the road to walk among the panicky refugees. When he retired for sleep that night, rifle shots were audible barely two kilometers away. Before his plane took off for Chengtu several hours later, 30,000 Communist soldiers had already entered the city. Though his presence in Chungking did not avert the fall of the city, it succeeded in postponing the inevitability for several precious days, during which great quantities of strategic goods and important government papers were removed, preventing them from falling into Communist hands.
Born at a time when China was the target of imperialist aggressions, President Chiang showed his patriotism early. When he was a cadet at the Paoting Military Academy, an arrogant Japanese instructor one day placed a cubic inch of earth on his desk to help illustrate his lecture on hygiene. Pointing to the lump of earth, he said that it could support 400,000,000 microbes. The lump of earth could be compared to China, whose 400,000,000 people were like the microbes in the earth, he added insolently. Incensed by the derogatory comparison, cadet Chiang dashed up to the desk, broke the lump of earth into eight parts, and shouted, "Japan has 50,000,000 people. Are they like the 50,000,000 microbes living of a cubic inch of earth?" Taken aback by the impetuosity of the young cadet, the instructor asked, "Are you a revolutionary?"
Strangely enough, President Chiang's intense patriotism more or less played a part in saving his life many years later. After he fell into the hands of rebels during the Sian coup d'etat, his diary was seized by Chang Hsueh-liang. After perusing the diary, in which was recorded the Generalissimo's recollections on national affairs as well as his personal observations, the "young Marshal," as Chang was called, one day approached his boss begging to be forgiven. He told the Generalissimo that he would not have staged the coup had he known but a fraction of what was contained in the diary. "I did not know until today that the Generalissimo is so lofty in character. Your loyalty to the cause of the national revolution and your devotion to the task of national salvation are indeed beyond our expectation," he said in repentance. This belated discovery of his superior's patriotism was probably partly accountable to Chang's change of mind, which resulted in the release of the Generalissimo on Christmas Day, 1936.
But the most unmistakable expression of his dedication to national interests manifested itself on March 1, 1950 when he resumed presidency at the call of the whole nation. The heavy odds against his success were admittedly heavy, and failure meant certain death and, probably, ignominy. He had already enjoyed all the glory which China could confer on the greatest of her sons. By following the example of so many politicians, he could pass the remainder of his life in a comfortable exile abroad. Had he counselled his own personal interests, he would not have stirred from his retirement. But that would not be the man who had repeatedly and defiantly looked at death in the face. In his message issued on the occasion of his resuming the Presidential office, he declared:
"For more than forty years I have dedicated my life to the revolutionary cause and have long ago banished from my mind any thought of life and of death, of honor or of humiliation. My participation in or withdrawal from state affairs depends solely upon the wish of the people. At this critical moment I cannot shirk my responsibility. So I have decided to resume the presidency on March 1 of the present year. All that I can do now is make up for the things in which I have failed in the past and do my best in planning for the future."
That historical event marked the watershed in China's long struggle against Communism. In a few years, Free China was to become the beacon of hope of all Chinese on both sides of the Bamboo Curtain under the leadership of President Chiang.
Another imputation often attributed to him is that he is too stubborn to admit his mistakes. This is again devoid of truth. There is no denying that he is firm in his views which, incidentally, have more often than not been proved correct. But reluctance to admitting faults is certainly not among his virtues. Nay, he is willing to share blames which, strictly speaking, are not his. A few examples will suffice to illustrate this point.
Upon returning to Nanking from his Sian captivity, the Generalissimo said in a written statement: "Being in supreme command of the Army, I am responsible for the coup, because I have failed to maintain adequate discipline in the Army, which I deeply regret." To assume his responsibility for the unfortunate incident, he tendered his resignation from the post of President of the Executive Yuan and that of Chairman of the National Military Council. Fortunately, the Central Executive Committee of Kuomintang did not accept his resignation. The bark clouds of Japanese aggression had already been gathering and the Marco Polo Bridge incident was barely half a year away.
As any unbiased person can see, the loss of the mainland was largely due to Moscow's direct participation in the Chinese Communist rebellion and the meddlings of the misguided allies of China. President Chiang could easily cite a long list of grievances had he wished to pass the buck to others. Instead, he assumed full responsibility for the national catastrophe on numerous occasions. In a speech delivered to the Third Plenary Session of the National Assembly in February, 1960 he even went so far as to say that he wish to submit himself to the nation for "punishment" for his "dereliction of duty and failure of mission" in achieving the national goal of retaking the mainland. Is it possible to find greater humbleness in a chief of state?
As a public figure, President Chiang is blessed with a cool head which success cannot turn and adversity cannot bow. It is this rare quality which places him at par with the world's greatest. At the zenith of his power he could have easily acquired greater popularity and support, if that were possible, among the people by turning their hatred toward foreign enemies, real or imagined, as so many upstarts have done. In his fight for the abolition of unequal treaties when he was forced to criticize the nations which thrust the inequities on China, he scrupulously avoided distorting the issue to please the masses. Even on the eve of the Sino-Japanese war when public sentiments against Japan were one of boiling hatred, he repeatedly urged the nation to remain calm until the last moment. It was the Japanese militarists who, by spurning his appeal for peace at the eleventh hour, were responsible for the holocaust of the long conflict which bled both belligerents white.
When fortune turns against him, the Chinese leader always stands defiantly regardless of the odds. China's veto against the admission of Outer Mongolia into the United Nations in 1955 is a case in point. Her own seat in the world body had never been secure since the fall of the mainland. In pitting herself single-handedly against the entire Communist bloc and its sympathizers, free China would find her UN representation more precarious. So reasoned many free nations which counselled appeasement. But President Chiang was adament. He contended that, if the United Nations bowed to brutal force in violation of its sacred charter, it would lose its value of existence. Accordingly, he instructed Dr. Tingfu Tsiang to cast China's first veto when the issue came to a showdown on December 13. Two American correspondents who interviewed the President three days later asked him if he thought the bold action by China would enhance the chance of the Peiping regime's chance of getting into the United Nations. He replied that he was interested only in justice and would not worry about the consequences so long as justice was on his side.
In terms of magnanimity and tolerance, President Chiang has few peers. After the defeat of Japan it was he who urged the Chinese people not to indulge in vengeance against their vanquished foe. And it was largely due to his insistence that Japan's stabilizing monarchical rule did not end with the loss of the war. Many militarists who had at one time or other fought against the Generalissimo were often found later serving under his banners. Arch warlords like Wu Pei-fu and Sun Chuan-fang were allowed to live peacefully after their defeat.
Equally laudable is his loyalty to friends. In 1922, Dr. Sun Yat-sen took refuge aboard the gunboat Yung Feng at Whampoa surrounded by the mutinous troops of General Chen Chiung-ming. While Dr. Sun's followers were leaving him by droves, President Chiang hastened from Shanghai, and at considerable personal risk, joined his master to share with him the danger and privations of life under seige. Throughout the 56 days of peril and anxiety, he was always by Dr. Sun's side, ready to offer assistance and cheers. He sometimes swept the deck as a common sailor, and frequently went ashore under the cover of night to secure provisions for his boss. He might differ with his patron on important policies, but he never allowed such honest differences to mar his devotion to Dr. Sun. Whenever the enemies of the revolution spread rumors to tarnish Dr. Sun's name, follower Chiang would rise gallantly to his defense.
The world does not lack men whose luster shines brilliantly in public office but they are sadly wanting in private virtues. However, in the Generalissimo the two find perfect harmony. His filial love for his mother did not terminate with her death. Though state affairs kept him away from home the year round, he would never omit the annual tomb-sweeping at her grave. Once he missed the visit due to pressing business. He immediately wrote his sons to perform the duty in his behalf.
The President's devotion to Madame Chiang is public knowledge. Their deep attachment was demonstrated to the full during the Sian coup d'etat. Knowing that Madame Chiang would come to Sian to share his fate, he tried to forestall the move by writing her first, begging her not to place herself in the trap. When she finally reached the ancient capital at great risks he was so moved that he permitted himself the luxury of shedding tears. Throughout their 33 years of married life, they never had so much as a rude word toward each other.
As a father, the President is unimpeachable. When he was away at the head of his troops, he managed to keep contact with his sons through frequent correspondence. Nothing was too trivial to mention in his letters to his sons. He told them what books to read and how to take care of their health. He even took the trouble to teach them how to undress and fold their clothes. These letters revealed the greatest possible parental love a man in the Generalissimo's position could bestow on his children.
Many great leaders are above enjoying the good things of life. But not so with President Chiang. His is a life of simplicity and austerity. How that life is like was graphically told by Butron Crane, correspondent of the New York Times not long after the outbreak of the Korean War. Mr. Crane wrote:
"In a modest one-story house perched near the crest of a craggy mountain eight miles due north of Taipei, Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek directs the destinies of his diminished domain. According to members of his staff and to Madame Chiang, his days of Spartan simplicity are spent in work broken only by two daily periods of Christian prayer and meditation. Madame Chiang, she told me today, prays with him and guides his Methodist conscience with translations from Jowett's Daily Reader and a similar work by Father Keller.
"The house is noticeably simple. It is granite with a green tile roof and runs along the mountain's rim. Before it is a strip of garden, perhaps 15 feet wide, now flaming with azaleas. The view from the house is magnificent, opening miles southwestward. Immediately within the front door is a strange room, about 20 by 30 feet with four square stone columns in the middle, which contains both a dining table for about eighteen on the right, and the overstuffed slip-covered chairs of a living room at the left.
"The decorations in the room where I met Madame Chiang, and which the Generalissimo later visited for one minute to say good, good, about twenty times and then beg to be excused, still reflect the interior decorating tastes of the former Japanese owners. The walls are painted gray below and the lightest of pastel green above, with a pale band accentuating the setbacks for indirect lighting. There is one bathroom, and in addition to the servant's quarters, four little cubicles shared by aides and secretaries.
"The Gimo rises at daybreak nowadays. At about seven o'clock he dresses either in the long blue Chinese robe he wore today or in a military uniform minus all insignia. He retires to his study where Madame Chiang joins him in a dresssing gown for morning prayers. When she leaves him to dress, he has breakfast, consisting of rice, pickled vegetables and cold water—he drinks no coffee and takes tea only once daily—and reads papers until the workday starts.
"His secretaries make digests or translations of matters they feel the Generalissimo must see, and work up background material when necessary. Each morning at nine o'clock, twelve folders about ten by fifteen inches are placed on his desk. Each section sends two, one yellow, for ordinary matters, and one red, for urgent decisions.
"This work continues until 10 or 11, when officials summoned the day before for conferences begin arriving. Some callers will stay for a simple lunch, and, if Madame Chiang is home, she will join the guests and their discussions.
"The afternoon schedule is virtually a repetition of the morning's. It starts with a half hour nap and goes on to the perusal of newspapers and dispatches and conferences with officials. At 4:30 o'clock, the Generalissimo takes a brisk walk with an aide, sometimes through a nearby pine park, sometimes venturing further afield and often singing old-time soldier songs.
"Tea, which is oolong served with sugar, follows his return. He then works until seven and retires for prayer and meditation until dinner. In the evening he may work, or, if at least four persons have recommended it, see a Chinese or American movie. His American-educated secretaries or aides interpret the latter. Several times since coming here he ventured into town for a Chinese opera, which he loves. His day ends with a hot sulphur spring bath, an entry in the diary he has kept thirty-five years, and then bed."
The President's simplicity in daily life has paid off. Today, at 74, he still stands ramrod straight, walks jauntily, and rosy in color. It is fortunate for the Chinese people that he remains perfectly healthy in this hour of the nation's life and death. He has led them safely out many storms before. And they feel sure he will live long enough to lead them to weather the current one.