From Third World to First The Singapore Story pdfdrive com

xiong zhang
– bear’s paws, braised tender in a rich gravy. It was the
best gourmet meal I ever had at the Great Hall of the People. The chef had made
a special effort for Deng’s guests. (Bears are now an endangered species in
China.)
Chinese protocol was correct in taking me to see Hua Guofeng last. He was
still chairman of the Communist Party and therefore ranked higher than Deng, a
vice-chairman. But from the importance of the officials in attendance, I had no
doubt whose words carried the day.

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Premier Zhao Ziyang met me again in Beijing in September 1985. He
referred to me as an “old friend of China”, their label for those they want to put
at ease. Then he asked for my impressions of the places I had visited on my way
to Beijing.
His manner encouraged me to speak up. I said I could give inoffensive
observations, leaving out the critical, but that would be of no value to him. I first
gave him my positive impressions. Shanghai had younger leaders than in 1976,
vigorous and dynamic; people looked happier and more prosperous in colourful
clothes; there was construction everywhere; and the traffic problem was still
manageable. I was impressed by the governor of Shandong province, a vigorous
go-getter, full of ideas and great ambition to upgrade the infrastructure of
Shandong. He had plans for airports in Jinan and Yantai, and had proposed three
business projects to our businessmen; his staff was well-organised.
Then I gave the negatives: bad old practices were unchanged. As prime
minister for over 20 years, I had stayed in many guesthouses, and could guess
the nature of the administration from their condition. Jinan’s huge guesthouse
complex gave an impression of waste; I was told my suite with its giant-size
bathtub had been built specially for a visit by Chairman Mao. The labour to keep
this complex in good condition could be put to better use running a top-class
hotel. Because guests in residence were few and far between, the staff were out
of practice.
Next, the poor road system. Parts of the 150-kilometre road from Jinan to
Qufu, the birthplace of Confucius, were just mud tracks. The Romans built roads
that lasted 2,000 years. China had labour and stones in abundance and there was
no reason why there should be mud tracks linking Jinan, the provincial capital,
to Qufu with its tourist potential.
Singapore had little culture or history and a population of two and a half
million, but it had three million tourists a year (in the mid-1980s). China’s
monuments and ruins resonated with history. Selling scenery, fresh air, fresh
food, laundry services, curios and souvenirs to tourists would give much
employment and put money into the pockets of many people. China, with a
population of about 1,000 million, had only one million tourists a year – 800,000
overseas Chinese and 200,000 foreigners.
Hesitantly, I suggested that they might like to send some of their supervisors
to Singapore. They would not encounter language and cultural differences and
could observe our work ethics and attitudes. Zhao welcomed my proposal. He
suggested that our managers and experts at top, middle and grass-roots level visit

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China to assess their workers in a Chinese context. I said their workers might not
respect our supervisors, because they were “descendants of coolies from Fujian
province”. (Later, they sent several delegations of managers of their state-owned
enterprises to Singapore. They saw a different work culture that placed
importance on the quality of work.)
He said China had three major economic tasks: first, build up infrastructure
like roads and railways; second, upgrade as many factories as possible; and third,
improve the efficiency of their managers and workers. He described the problem
of inflation. (This was to be one of the causes of the trouble in Tiananmen four
years later.) He wanted more trade, economic and technical cooperation between
China and Singapore. China was ready to sign a three-year agreement with us to
process not less than three million tons of Chinese crude oil per year, and would
import more chemical and petrochemical products from Singapore as long as
they were at international prices. Thus began their participation in our oil
industry. Their state oil company set up an office in Singapore to handle this
business and also do oil trading.
On Cambodia, Zhao disclosed to me that the Vietnamese had offered to enter
into secret negotiations with them. They had refused Vietnam’s offer: it was not
sincere and was designed to split China from Asean and from the Cambodian
resistance groups. There could be no improvement in Sino-Vietnam relations
before the Vietnamese committed themselves to withdrawing from Cambodia.
China had repelled repeated Vietnamese intrusions into Chinese territory;
700,000 soldiers, or 60 per cent of Vietnam’s forces, were tied down on the
China-Vietnam border but China had several hundred thousand men and would
continue to pressure Vietnam. Unlike his hesitancy in 1980, Zhao now spoke
confidently on Cambodia and Vietnam and did not refer me to Deng.
I was taken to meet Deng. He bantered about his advanced age of 81
compared to my 62. I assured him that he did not look old. He was not worried
about age. China had made satisfactory arrangements for personnel changes:
“Even if the heaven collapsed, there would be people in China to shoulder it.”
China’s domestic development, in every aspect, was reasonably good, with
many changes in the last five years. Ten old leaders had retired from the
politburo, their posts taken by younger leaders. Many leaders over the age of 60
had resigned from the central committee, and 90 new, younger ones had been
elected. These leadership changes had been in progress for seven years, but were

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still not completely satisfactory and needed further reshuffling. By right, he,
Deng, should also retire, but there were a few problems he first had to solve.
He repeated he was already 81, ready to meet Marx, that it was a law of
nature and everyone should be aware of it, except Mr Chiang Ching-kuo. He
asked when I had last met Chiang and whether he had solved the leadership
problem. Only then did I realise that his opening remarks on age were not casual
banter but a lead to Chiang and Taiwan. I said I last met Chiang in January, eight
months earlier, that Chiang had diabetes, which was generally known, and that
he was aware of his mortality. Deng wondered aloud whether Chiang had made
any personnel arrangements after him. As best as I could see, he had, I replied,
but could not say who would replace him eventually. Deng feared chaos and
confusion in Taiwan after Chiang’s departure. At the moment, at least both sides
shared a common feeling that there was only one China. Chaos could lead to the
emergence of two Chinas. I asked how. He explained that there were two
possible developments: first, there were forces in the United States and Japan
which supported Taiwan’s independence; second, the United States would
continue to regard Taiwan as one of its unsinkable aircraft carriers. The present
US government (with Ronald Reagan as president) had not completely changed
its policy on Taiwan. It regarded Taiwan as an important military base and
wanted to keep it in its sphere of influence. Deng had discussed Taiwan with
President Reagan the year before and had tried to persuade him to give up this
aircraft carrier policy, pointing out that the United States had ten other
unsinkable aircraft carriers around the world. Taiwan was of crucial importance
to China.
He had asked US Defence Secretary Caspar Weinberger his reaction to
eventualities. If Taiwan refused to negotiate on reunification, what should China
do? And if Taiwan became independent, what then? Because of these
eventualities, China could not renounce the use of military force to solve the
Taiwan question, but it would make every effort to solve the problem and
achieve reunification by peaceful means. He had told both President Reagan and
Secretary of State George Shultz that Taiwan was the crux of relations between
China and the United States. Last December, he had asked British Prime
Minister Thatcher to convey a message to President Reagan to help China
achieve the reunification of Taiwan in his second term. He had also told Shultz
and Weinberger that if they failed to handle the question properly and allowed
the US Congress to intervene, it would give rise to conflict in Sino-US relations.
China might not be able to attack Taiwan but could block the Straits of Taiwan.

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The United States could be drawn into the conflict. He had asked US leaders
what they would then do, but the response was that the United States did not
answer hypothetical questions.
Knowing that Chiang Ching-kuo and I were good friends, he then requested
me to convey his personal regards to “Mr Chiang” when I next met him. I
agreed. He hoped to be able to cooperate with Chiang as both had been in the
same university in Moscow in 1926 although not in the same class. Chiang was
about 15 or 16 and Deng was 22 in 1926. (A month later I personally passed
Deng’s message to Chiang in Taipei. He listened in silence and did not reply.)
As for the Cambodian situation, Deng said it was not unfavourable. I
responded that what he had said in 1978, before Vietnam invaded Cambodia,
had come about. The Vietnamese were stuck in Cambodia. We should continue
to help the guerrilla forces to ensure that they stayed mired, with no trade,
investments or economic development and totally dependent on the Soviets.
China’s success in economic reforms, I said, would not be lost on the
Vietnamese: they could have built up their own country and traded with the
world instead of occupying their neighbour and suffering for it.
Deng regretted that the Vietnamese leaders were not prepared to follow
China’s way. He said “some friends” in Southeast Asia believed in Vietnam’s
publicity stances and empty promises. The true motive of Southeast Asian
leaders (referring to Indonesia and Malaysia) was to use Vietnam and sacrifice
the Cambodian nation in order to counter China whom they regarded as their
real enemy. Deng then referred to Gorbachev; China had demanded that he
remove three obstacles in the way of Sino-Soviet relations, the first of which was
to stop military aid to Vietnam and get the Vietnamese to withdraw from
Cambodia. China had seen no sign of this.
When I next met Zhao Ziyang, on 16 September 1988, he had been promoted
to general secretary. He saw me at my villa in Diaoyutai, their guesthouse
complex, to speak about China’s economic problems. He was disturbed by a
wave of panic-buying throughout China a few weeks earlier, in late August and
early September. They had had to reduce construction, control the growth of
money for consumption, and slow down economic growth. If other measures did
not work the government would have to stress party discipline – I took this to
mean “punish high officials”. The panic-buying must have reminded him of the
last days of the Nationalist government in 1947–49.

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Then he took me to the restaurant in the Diaoyutai complex to celebrate my
65th birthday. During dinner, he asked for my views on a recent television series
he had sent me, the “Yellow River Elegy”, produced by some younger members
of his reform programme think-tank. It had depicted a China steeped in feudal
tradition, tied down by superstitions and bad old habits, a China that would not
make a breakthrough and catch up with the modern world unless it abandoned
old conformist attitudes.
I thought it over-pessimistic. China need not abandon its basic cultural
values and beliefs in order to industrialise and modernise. Taiwan, South Korea,
Japan, Hong Kong and Singapore had all sought to preserve their traditional
values of thrift, hard work, emphasis on scholarship and loyalty to family, clan
and the wider nation, always placing community interest above individual
interest. These Confucian values had resulted in social cohesion, high savings
and investments, which led to high productivity and growth. What China needed
to change was its over-centralised system of administration and the attitudes and
mindset of the people, so that people would be more receptive to new ideas,
whether Chinese or foreign, and be willing to test them out and adapt them to
China’s circumstances. This the Japanese had done successfully.
Zhao was concerned that China’s economy was not taking off like those of
the NIEs without being plagued by high inflation. I explained that this was
because, unlike China, the NIEs never had to deregulate planned economies with
prices for basic commodities controlled at unrealistically low levels.
He exuded the quiet confidence of a good mind that took in briefs swiftly.
Unlike Hua Guofeng, he was a gentleman, not a thug. He had a pleasant manner,
neither abrasive nor bossy. But one needed to be tough and ruthless to survive at
the top in China, and for the China of that period he was too liberal in his
approach to law and order. When we parted I did not know that within a year he
would become a non-person.
The next day, 17 September 1988, I had my last meeting with Deng. He was
suntanned after several weeks at Beidaihe, the seaside resort for China’s leaders
to the east of Beijing. He looked vigorous and his voice was strong. I praised
China’s economic progress. Yes, there had been “pretty good results” during the
last decade, but good economic development had created new problems. China
had to curb inflation. It was important to strengthen discipline. The central
government had to exercise effective control but not contradict the opening up to
the outside world. Good management was more important after opening up,
otherwise there would be anarchy and “great chaos under heaven”. China was a

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large country but backward in technology and even in culture. In the past
decade, the Chinese had solved the problem of food and clothing. Now they
wanted to reach a