In his radio address, Chiang Kai-shek began by stating that, during the eight years of the War of Resistance, “last year was by far the most perilous and fraught with the deepest anxieties.” This remark vividly underscores the profound crisis brought about by the Kuomintang’s defeatist and fascist policies. As for the causes that have plunged the nation into such a dire predicament, Chiang called upon “all sectors of the country, high and low,” to engage in “thorough self-examination and a unified awakening.” Yet Chiang himself exhibited neither reflection nor awareness.

He asserted that both the government and society bore responsibility for these past shortcomings and errors. From the government’s perspective, he claimed, on the one hand, that wartime administration had been insufficiently vigorous and incomplete; on the other, that out of concern for the people’s hardships, it had hesitated to increase their burdens—actions that, he argued, undermined combat morale, military discipline, and ultimately, military effectiveness. In areas under Chiang’s rule, where the populace’s fiscal burden often amounted to roughly eighty percent of their income, his assertion that he was unwilling to further burden the people required no small measure of brazenness.

Not only did Chiang refuse to acknowledge that his own fascist, defeatist oligarchy constituted the root cause of all military defeats and national decline; he went so far as to shift the blame onto “society.” The reason for this was that popular resentment against Chiang’s fascist, defeatist oligarchy had reached an unprecedented height, with daily torrents of anger, denunciation, and recrimination. To quell public outrage, Chiang could only offer a perfunctory admission that his administration’s efforts had been “insufficient.” He then hastily introduced the notion of “society” bearing its own share of responsibility, in an attempt to deceive those of limited political discernment. However, the people—crushed beneath Chiang’s suffocating oppression—were steadily coming to their senses. They understood that the oppressed could not be held accountable; the sole parties responsible were Chiang and his clique, whose oligarchic, fascist, and defeatist policies lay at the heart of the nation’s woes. If the government’s fault was merely that its work had been “insufficient,” coupled with the “benevolent consideration” of the people’s difficulties, then such a regime deserved to reign forever.

But Chiang saw things differently. In the same broadcast, he declared: “I believe there is no need to wait until the end of the war to convene our National Assembly. I now propose to the Central Committee that, once our military situation stabilizes, the foundations for a counteroffensive are firmly established, and final victory becomes more assured, we should promptly convene the National Assembly and promulgate a constitution… thereby returning power to the people of the entire nation.” Does this not seem rather odd? Yet there is nothing strange about it. The extremely tense political climate that has developed in recent months has compelled Chiang to affix a seemingly promising but entirely arbitrary date to his long-outdated, unfulfilled promises. Nevertheless, this announcement will have no positive effect, for it rests solely on the assumption that the Chinese people possess no memory. In fact, they do remember: the Kuomintang government has issued countless such pledges. Consider the following: “October 10, 1924, shall be the date for the commencement of constitutional government”; “The National Assembly will convene in April 1925 to inaugurate constitutional rule”; “The National Assembly is to be convened on November 12, 1936”; “The National Assembly must be convened no later than November 1937”; “The National Assembly is to be summoned by November 12, 1940”; “A National Assembly will be convened and a constitution drafted one year after the conclusion of the War of Resistance.” Mr. Chiang, might we ask: were not many of your earlier promises already stamped with specific dates for fulfillment? The first, October 10, 1924; the second, April 1925; the third, November 12, 1936—all predated the July 7 Incident, when there was no “military tension” or “practical difficulty” in convening the assembly. Why, then, were none of them honored? Over seven and a half years of war, even in years arguably less fraught than the present, why was no promise kept? Now you pledge to convene the assembly “once our military situation has stabilized.” But can military stability ever be achieved so long as your oligarchic, defeatist course remains unchanged? You also speak of doing so “once the foundations for a counteroffensive have been laid.” Under your oligarchic, defeatist regime, could such foundations possibly be established? And what, precisely, constitutes “greater assurance” of final victory? Have you not always insisted on being “absolutely certain”? Why, then, do you suddenly profess uncertainty? For years you have oppressed the people, monopolized the war effort, indulged in hubris, and acted with impunity. Then, on New Year’s Day 1945, you publicly admitted your lack of confidence. What crime does this constitute, and what moral standing do you and your circle still possess to talk of a National Assembly? Sun Yat-sen himself, in his dying testament of 1925, advocated for the convocation of a National Assembly. You, however, betrayed Sun’s vision: seizing power from the people and establishing your bloody oligarchy. The foundation was unstable, opposition ran deep, and yet you repeatedly deceived the public with empty promises of an upcoming assembly—first with fixed dates, and now with none at all. With no prospect of victory in sight, what crime have you committed?

Returning to your words: if a National Assembly is to be convened during the war, will it be the same body elected through pre-war bribery and subsequently largely siding with Wang Jingwei and the Japanese puppet regime, or will it be newly elected? If the former, who would want such an assembly—dead, stinking, and rotting beyond repair? If the latter, how is it to be elected? Who will conduct the election? Who will oversee it? Until the oligarchy is abolished, the current Kuomintang government thoroughly reorganized into a democratic coalition government, secret police agencies dismantled, and freedom of speech, assembly, and association restored, there can be no talk of a genuinely democratic National Assembly. Yuan Shikai convened the Hongxian Congress, Cao Kun presided over the “Piglet Congress.” Are we really to tolerate another despot, another national traitor, daring to call forth either a “Chiang Family Congress” or a “Piglet Congress”?

Following Yan’an authorities’ exposure of Chiang’s brazen deception regarding the National Assembly, their concluding remarks stated: in order to thwart the nationwide demand for the immediate establishment of a coalition government, Chiang has once again brandished a fig leaf. Yet the so-called “National Assembly” concocted by Chiang and his cronies has long since earned a notorious reputation; keeping it hidden may serve to conceal its futility, but bringing it out only serves to unleash an even more fetid stench. As Mencius observed: “When Xi Shi is defiled, everyone covers their nose as they pass by.” Xi Shi was a beauty; defile her, and all will turn away. How, then, could the Chinese people fail to hold their noses as they watch a tyrant wallowing in a cesspool? Unless that filth is washed away, no one will fail to recoil.