The Chinese people should be grateful to Acheson, the spokesman for the American bourgeoisie, not only because he explicitly confessed that the United States had supplied money and arms—while Chiang Kai-shek provided the troops—to wage war on China’s behalf and slaughter its citizens.
This stark admission gave China’s progressive elements concrete evidence with which to persuade the more backward segments of society.
After all, as Acheson himself acknowledged, the great bloody conflict of recent years, which cost the lives of millions of Chinese, was systematically orchestrated and brought to fruition by U.S. imperialism.
Moreover, the Chinese ought to thank Acheson because he openly announced Washington’s plan to recruit so-called “democratic individualists” in China, to form an American fifth column aimed at overthrowing the people’s government led by the Communist Party.
Such a revelation drew the attention of the Chinese public, especially those with liberal leanings, prompting them to resolve collectively never to fall for U.S. tricks and to remain vigilant against imperialist conspiracies hatched in secret.
Finally, Acheson deserves thanks also for his absurd concoction of modern Chinese history—a narrative rooted in the very same idealist, bourgeois view of history held by a segment of China’s intellectual class.
By refuting Acheson’s fabrications, we can open the eyes of the broad masses; for those who share his perspectives, or even merely certain aspects of them, the exercise may prove particularly enlightening.
What, then, is this spurious account of modern China?
Acheson begins by attempting to explain the outbreak of the revolution in terms of the country’s economic and ideological conditions.
In doing so, he resorts to a host of myths.
He asserts: “China’s population doubled during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, placing an unbearable strain on the nation.
The primary challenge confronting every Chinese government has been to ensure adequate food for its people.
To date, no administration has succeeded.
The Nationalist Party sought to address this problem through numerous land-reform decrees, some of which failed outright, while others were simply ignored.
The predicament facing the Nationalist regime today stems largely from its inability to provide sufficient food for the Chinese people.
Much of the Communist Party’s propaganda, meanwhile, revolves around its promises to resolve the land question.”
To the uninitiated, this might sound plausible: too many mouths, too little bread—hence the revolution.
Since the Nationalists could not solve the problem, the Communists presumably stand no better chance either; “no government has yet succeeded.”
But can revolutions really be attributed solely to overpopulation?
Have there not been countless upheavals throughout history, both at home and abroad, driven by entirely different causes?
Were the many revolts that have shaken China over the millennia likewise sparked by demographic pressures?
Was the American Revolution of 1776 itself the product of an overpopulated society?
Evidently not.
Acheson’s historical knowledge is nil; he has clearly never even read the Declaration of Independence.
Washington and Jefferson launched their rebellion against British rule precisely because the colonists were being oppressed and exploited, not because America’s population had grown beyond sustainable levels.
Similarly, time and again the Chinese people rose up to topple their own feudal dynasties, not out of concern over overpopulation, but in resistance to the tyranny and exploitation imposed by those very regimes.
Likewise, the Russian Revolution of 1917—and the earlier February Revolution—were sparked by the oppression and plunder of the tsarist autocracy and the Russian bourgeoisie, not by any supposed excess of population; indeed, Russia remains a vast land with a sparse human presence.
Even Mongolia, with its immense territory and tiny population, would seem, according to Acheson’s logic, immune to revolution—yet it has nonetheless experienced several.
According to Acheson, China is hopelessly trapped: with a population of forty-seven million five hundred thousand, it faces an “insupportable burden.”
Whether or not a revolution occurs, the situation is untenable.
Implicit in his argument is a broader agenda—one that he does not articulate directly, but which many American journalists have nonetheless discerned: namely, that the Chinese Communist Party will never be able to resolve the country’s economic problems, that China will remain in perpetual chaos, and that its only salvation lies in reliance on American flour—that is, in becoming an American colony.
Why, then, did the Xinhai Revolution fail to deliver on its promise to feed the people?
Because it overthrew only the Manchu Qing dynasty, without dismantling the structures of imperialist and feudal oppression.
And why did the Northern Expedition falter in this regard?
Because Chiang Kai-shek betrayed the revolution, capitulated to imperialism, and became the leader of a counterrevolutionary force that continued to oppress and exploit the Chinese people.
Is it truly the case, as Acheson claims, that “no government has yet succeeded”?
Do the old liberated areas of Northwest, North, Northeast, and East China—regions that have already resolved their land issues—still grapple with the “food problem” he describes?
Given the large number of U.S. spies and self-styled “observers” operating within China, how is it possible that none of them detected this fundamental fact?
As for the unemployment crisis in Shanghai and elsewhere—the root of the “food problem”—it is nothing less than the brutal, relentless result of imperialist, feudal, bureaucratic-capitalist, and Nationalist reactionary rule.
Under the people’s government, however, it took only a few short years to eradicate unemployment completely, just as had been achieved in North and Northeast China.
China’s vast population, in fact, represents a tremendous asset.
No matter how many times it might grow, there exists a viable solution: production.
The Western bourgeois economists’ fallacy—that food supplies cannot keep pace with population growth—has long since been thoroughly debunked both theoretically by Marxists and empirically by the realities of post-revolutionary Soviet Russia and the liberated zones of China.
Guided by the principle that revolution coupled with productive labor can resolve the problem of feeding the people, the Central Committee of the Communist Party has ordered party organizations and the People’s Liberation Army nationwide to retain all former Nationalist personnel possessing marketable skills, so long as they are not known reactionaries or notorious criminals, and to refrain from laying them off.
During periods of extreme hardship, when food must be rationed and housing severely cramped, those previously dismissed are to be reinstated and provided with sustenance.
Soldiers of the Nationalist army who have defected or been captured are likewise to be welcomed and absorbed under these same principles.
Any non-principal reactionary who repents shall likewise be afforded a path to rehabilitation.
For in all things, human beings are paramount.
Under Communist leadership, given the right conditions, humanity can accomplish miracles beyond imagining.
We reject Acheson’s counterrevolutionary theory.
We believe that revolution can transform everything.
It is only a matter of time before a new China emerges—one that is populous, richly endowed with natural resources, prosperous, and culturally vibrant.
All pessimistic prognostications are baseless.
“Western influences,” Acheson maintains, constitute the primary cause of China’s revolutionary upheaval.
He contends: “For more than three thousand years, China developed a highly sophisticated culture and civilization largely insulated from external forces.
Even after suffering military conquest, the Chinese often managed to subdue and assimilate their invaders.
Consequently, they naturally regarded themselves as the center of the world and the pinnacle of human civilization.
In the mid-nineteenth century, this insurmountable barrier of Chinese isolation was finally breached by the West.
These newcomers brought with them a spirit of enterprise, unique technological advances, and a level of cultural sophistication previously unknown in China.
Partly owing to these factors, and partly due to the waning power of the Qing dynasty, the Westerners not only failed to be assimilated by the Chinese but instead introduced novel ideas that stirred unrest and instability.”
To the unthinking, this sounds quite plausible: Western ideas entered China and sparked revolution.
Ideas can spark revolution—this is textbook idealist historiography.
Whose revolution, exactly?
By “the decline of Qing rule,” Acheson implies an attack on a weak point—the overthrow of the Manchus.
Yet the Xinhai Revolution was, in truth, a revolt against imperialism.
The Chinese rose up against the Manchus because they served as lackeys of foreign powers.
The Opium Wars against British aggression, the Second Opium War alongside France, the Taiping Rebellion against the imperialist puppet Qing regime, subsequent conflicts against French and Japanese invaders, and the Eight-Nation Alliance campaign—all ended in failure.
Only then did the Xinhai Revolution erupt, directed squarely against the imperialist agents within the Qing court.
Such, in essence, is the modern history of China as Acheson portrays it.
What, then, are these “Western influences” to which Acheson repeatedly refers?
They are none other than the process described by Marx and Engels in the Communist Manifesto (1848): the transformation of the world according to the interests of the Western bourgeoisie, carried out through predatory means.
In pursuing this project—or rather, this act of reshaping—the Western bourgeoisie required local collaborators and servants well-versed in Western customs.
Thus, countries like China were compelled to open schools, dispatch students abroad, and otherwise facilitate the introduction of “new ideas” into Chinese society.
In the course of this endeavor, a national bourgeoisie emerged alongside a burgeoning proletariat, while the peasantry was reduced to destitution, giving rise to a vast semi-proletariat.
In this way, the Western bourgeoisie created two distinct classes in the East: a small elite—those who, as Acheson puts it, “serve imperialism as lackeys”—and a much larger mass of workers, peasants, petty-bourgeoisie, national bourgeoisie, and intellectuals drawn from these ranks.
All of these groups were, in effect, the gravediggers of imperialism; it was from among them that revolution ultimately arose.
It was not the infusion of “Western thought” that ignited the unrest, but rather the aggression of imperialist powers that provoked resistance.
Over a protracted period—from the Opium War of 1840 through the May Fourth Movement of 1919—Chinese revolutionaries fought tirelessly against imperialism and its proxies, enduring defeat after defeat.
Faced with such repeated setbacks, they were forced to draw upon their own indigenous traditions, adapting the principles of Confucianism and traditional Chinese political philosophy to the task of resisting foreign domination.
However, attempts to graft Western models onto China’s political and institutional framework invariably proved inadequate: single-party systems were inherently weak and unable to withstand the onslaught, ultimately collapsing and leaving the country in disarray.
The Russian Revolution of 1917 awakened the Chinese consciousness, imparting to them a crucial lesson: Marxism-Leninism.
The founding of the Communist Party of China marked a momentous turning point.
Sun Yat-sen, too, advocated learning from Russia, calling for “alliance with Russia and cooperation with the Communists.”
From that point forward, China fundamentally altered its trajectory.
As a spokesperson for the imperialist establishment, Acheson naturally avoids any mention of imperialism itself.
Instead, he characterizes imperialist aggression as “the arrival of outsiders bearing a spirit of enterprise.”
How elegant—“a spirit of enterprise”!
The Chinese, having adopted this “enterprise,” did not direct it toward Britain or the United States; rather, it fueled domestic unrest, inspiring them to rise up and overthrow imperialism and its lackeys within their own borders.
Regrettably, none of these efforts succeeded; each was crushed by the very architects of that “spirit of enterprise”: the imperialists themselves.
It was only after turning away from such futile endeavors and embracing a different approach that real progress began to emerge.
Remarkably, Acheson was correct in noting that “the Communist Party of China was organized in the early 1920s, drawing inspiration from the Soviet revolutionary model.”
Indeed, the guiding ideology of the nascent CCP was unmistakably Marxism-Leninism.
Compared with Acheson’s notion of “a high degree of culture previously unknown in China,” the cultural achievements of Western capitalism pale in comparison.
Witness the spectacle of Western bourgeois culture—so proudly hailed by Acheson—as it collides head-on with the ancient feudal traditions of China.
Once confronted with the scientific social revolution propounded by Marxism-Leninism, that “high culture” proves utterly incapable of holding its own.
The first victory came against the Beiyang warlords, imperialist stooges; the second against another such agent, Chiang Kai-shek, whom the Red Army encountered during the Long March; the third against Japanese imperialism and its collaborator, Wang Jingwei; and the fourth, ultimately, to end U.S. and all other imperialist domination in China, along with their local proxies like Chiang Kai-shek.
The profound impact of Marxism-Leninism in China stemmed from specific social conditions: a revolutionary ferment was already underway, and the new ideas resonated deeply with the Chinese people.
Conversely, the bourgeois culture extolled by Acheson stood in stark contrast to China’s social reality: it was alien to the lived experiences of the masses.
Any ideological construct, no matter how lofty, remains devoid of meaning unless it is grounded in objective necessity and embraced by the people.
Even the finest doctrines, including Marxism-Leninism, are useless apart from such engagement.
We are historical materialists, opposed to idealist interpretations of history.
Strikingly, “Soviet theory and practice exerted a considerable influence on Mr. Sun Yat-sen’s ideas and principles, particularly in the economic sphere and in matters of party organization.”
How, then, did the “high culture” lauded by Acheson affect Sun Yat-sen?
Acheson offers no answer.
Sun, having searched in vain within Western bourgeois culture for a path to national salvation, eventually turned to the Soviet Union—an occurrence hardly coincidental.
Both Sun and the suffering Chinese people he represented were incensed by “Western influences” and resolved to “ally with Russia and cooperate with the Communists,” engaging in a desperate struggle against imperialism and its minions.
Here, Acheson dares not admit that the Soviets were aggressors, nor that Sun had sought guidance from them.
If Sun could learn from the Soviets—despite their status as non-aggressors—why, then, could not his successors, the Chinese people after Sun’s death, likewise draw upon Soviet experience?
Why, moreover, did Chinese revolutionaries following Sun, armed with the scientific principles of social revolution taught by Marx, Engels, Lenin, and Stalin, adapt these ideas to China’s unique circumstances, launch the People’s Liberation War and the Great People’s Revolution, and establish the People’s Republic of China under a system of people’s democratic dictatorship, only to be branded as “under Soviet control,” “agents of the Comintern,” or “lackeys of red imperialism”?
Does such reasoning make any sense?
Since the Chinese people embraced Marxism-Leninism—the science of social revolution—they have shifted from passivity to agency.
From this moment onward, the era of condescension toward China and its culture, prevalent in much of the modern world, has come to an end.
To the great, victorious Chinese people: Through the Liberation War and the Great People’s Revolution, you have revived—and continue to revive—their magnificent cultural heritage.
In terms of intellectual vitality, this cultural renaissance has already surpassed that of the entire capitalist world.
Take, for example, U.S. Secretary of State Dean Acheson: his understanding of contemporary China and the contemporary world scarcely equals that of an ordinary soldier in the People’s Liberation Army.
Until now, Acheson has presented himself as a bourgeois university professor reciting a dry textbook, claiming to seek the causal origins of China’s revolutionary upheavals.
According to him, the revolution erupted partly due to overpopulation and partly because of “Western influences.”
Clearly, he is a reductionist, fixated on simplistic cause-and-effect relationships.
Yet even this feeble, fabricated causality soon dissolves, giving way to a bewildering array of inexplicable events.
Without any apparent reason, the Chinese find themselves locked in strife, suspicion, and animosity.
The balance of spiritual forces between opposing sides undergoes sudden, inexplicable shifts: one side plunges into despair, even nihilism, while the other spirals into frenzied zeal.
What accounts for this?
No one knows—such is the “high culture” propagated by the United States, where all logic vanishes.  (Xinhua News Agency, Beijing, October 16)