One of the salient features of this speech is its vacuity: it offers no answers to any of the questions that concern the people. Chiang Kai-shek asserts that there remains vast territory in the rear areas, so there is no need to fear the enemy. Yet the Nationalist leaders, who have long imposed an oligarchic dictatorship, have thus far given every indication of lacking both the will and the capacity to reform politics and mount effective resistance. The only readily available asset they can rely upon is land. However, it is clear to all that land alone cannot suffice; without sound policies and the concerted efforts of the populace, Japan’s relentless advance continues to threaten whatever remnant of territory still remains.

Chiang Kai-shek himself keenly senses this mounting peril, as evidenced by his repeated assurances to the public that no such threat exists—indeed, his claim that “since I began building the army at Whampoa, over these ten years, the revolutionary situation has never been as firm as it is today” is itself a reflection of his apprehension. His exhortation not to “lose our confidence” likewise betrays the widespread erosion of faith within the Nationalist ranks and among influential figures in the rear areas. Chiang is searching for ways to restore that confidence. But rather than seeking remedies in politics, military strategy, or the economy—any of which might offer genuine solutions—he has resorted to dismissing dissent and covering up failure. He declares that “international observers” are merely “mystified,” and that “foreign opinion abounds in speculation about our military and political affairs” because it has fallen prey to “the insidious propaganda of the Japanese aggressors and their Chinese collaborators.” Strangely enough, foreigners like Churchill and Roosevelt, as well as Nationalist figures such as Soong Ching-ling and T.V. Soong, along with most members of the National Political Consultative Council and indeed all conscientious Chinese, refuse to be fooled by Chiang and his inner circle’s soothing rhetoric; they continue to “speculate” about China’s military and political realities.

Throughout this period of frustration, Chiang had never been able to muster a defense he deemed convincing—until this year’s Double Tenth Day, when he finally pinned the blame on “the insidious propaganda of the Japanese aggressors and their Chinese collaborators.” In his speech, he devoted a disproportionate amount of time to denouncing this alleged “propaganda,” believing that by doing so he could silence both foreign critics and domestic detractors alike. According to his logic, anyone who dares to “speculate” further about China’s military and political affairs must necessarily be crediting the enemy’s fabrications.

Observers in Yan’an regard this line of reasoning as unbecoming of a leader in wartime, for the Nationalist regime’s oligarchic rule, its feeble war effort, its endemic corruption and incompetence, and its fascist decrees coupled with defeatist military orders have always been welcomed, even encouraged, by the Japanese invaders and their Chinese collaborators. Even Chiang’s own book, “The Destiny of China,” which provoked universal condemnation from both Chinese and foreign audiences, received repeated and enthusiastic praise from the Japanese. Similarly, there has been nary a word of criticism from the enemy or its agents regarding the proposed reorganization of the Nationalist government and its supreme command, for preserving the status quo—a government and military leadership that daily oppress the people while suffering one defeat after another—is precisely what the occupiers and their collaborators desire.

Is it not a fact that Chiang and his inner circle have long been the target of Japanese attempts to induce surrender? And has not Japan’s slogan of “anti-communism and the destruction of the Kuomintang” now largely dropped the latter half, retaining only the former? Moreover, Japan has yet to formally declare war on the Nationalist government; Tokyo maintains that no state of war exists between Japan and the KMT regime. Meanwhile, the property of prominent Nationalist figures in Shanghai, Nanjing, Ningbo, and other cities remains intact. General Hata Shunroku even dispatched representatives to Fenghua to pay homage at Chiang’s ancestral tomb. At the same time, Chiang’s closest associates have been secretly and persistently maintaining contact with Japanese counterparts in Shanghai and elsewhere, engaging in clandestine negotiations—especially during times of acute crisis, such as the Japanese offensive of 1936. Are these not facts?

Viewed in this light, are the “foreign speculations” concerning Chiang and his entourage truly “mysterious,” or have they in fact become all too transparent? And does the source of this supposed “mystery” lie in the machinations of “the Japanese aggressors and their Chinese collaborators,” or does it reside instead in Chiang and his inner circle themselves? For a leader of one of the Four Great Powers to dismiss serious critiques from foreign statesmen—including Prime Minister Churchill and President Roosevelt—as mere credulity toward “enemy propaganda” is, in truth, a grave affront to the dignity of the Republic of China.

Particularly noteworthy is Chiang’s assertion, made in this very address, that China should achieve “self-reliance, self-strengthening, and independent participation in combat operations.” Observers in Yan’an interpret this as a manifestation of Chiang’s xenophobic tendencies. With the Nationalist government and its military command mired in corruption and inefficiency, some argue that establishing a joint Allied supreme command on the Chinese theater has become imperative. To counter this proposal, those who habitually rely on foreign aid have begun to tout “self-reliance” and “independent operational responsibilities.” Furthermore, although Chiang denies that civil war will break out in China, he simultaneously insists that “no one will ever again dare betray the Republic or undermine the War of Resistance, as Wang Jingwei once did.” Yan’an analysts see this as an attempt to lay the groundwork for civil strife—an endeavor that may already be underway. Those with good memories recall that in 1941, when Chinese traitors announced the dissolution of the New Fourth Army and the Chinese people rose up to avert a full-scale civil war, Chiang delivered a speech declaring that “there will never be another civil war; if one does occur, it will be a campaign to punish the rebels.” Readers of “The Destiny of China” will also remember Chiang’s earlier contention that the Communists had “colluded” with Wang Jingwei during the Wuhan government of 1917. And in 1943, a resolution adopted at the Tenth Plenary Session of the Nationalist Party once again branded the Communists with the eight-character charge of “undermining the War of Resistance and endangering the nation.” Judging from this latest speech, Yan’an observers conclude that the danger of civil war not only persists but is actively intensifying. The Chinese people would do well to bear in mind that one day, at an unforeseen hour, the authorities may issue an order to “punish the rebels,” charging them with “treason,” “undermining the War of Resistance,” and “acting in the manner of Wang Jingwei.” Our rulers excel at such pronouncements; they are far less adept at designating Pang Bingliang Xiaogang and others as traitors or at prosecuting them. What they do master, however, is labeling the New Fourth Army in Central China and the Death Squad in Shanxi as “rebels” and then launching vigorous campaigns against them. The Chinese people must never forget that whenever the authorities proclaim they will refrain from civil war, they invariably proceed to dispatch 775,000 troops—by rail, road, or sea—to attack the Eighth Route Army, the New Fourth Army, or other guerrilla forces aligned with the Communists.

In conclusion, Yan’an observers find that, on the positive side, Chiang’s speech is devoid of substance; he has offered no constructive response to the urgent calls from the Chinese people and their allies for a more effective anti-Japanese front. On the negative side, however, the address brims with peril: Chiang’s stance grows increasingly erratic, marked by a rigid rejection of Allied counsel, a steadfast opposition to popular demands for political reform, a virulent hostility toward the Communist Party, and thinly veiled pretexts for a new anti-communist civil war. Nevertheless, Yan’an analysts believe that Chiang’s current course is doomed to fail unless he fundamentally alters his approach. We earnestly hope he will change tack, for his present path is utterly untenable. Having proclaimed “a relaxation of restrictions on free expression,” he should not seek to silence dissenting voices by accusing them of being duped by “enemy propaganda.” Having announced “an end to the period of tutelage,” he ought not to continue to block calls for government and military reform. And having declared that “the Communist question must be resolved through political means,” he should refrain from fabricating further excuses to justify a crackdown on the Communists.