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I t was an exhilarating moment for China and the world. In late 1987, at the end of a spirited Communist Party Congress that seemed to propel China on a more progressive course, a new team of leaders emerged, led by a preternaturally tranquil man named Zhao Ziyang.
Zhao wasnt an unknown: after an impressive career in the provinces guiding the first, baby steps of Chinas recovery from Mao Zedongs lethally unsuccessful economic experiments, Zhao had been summoned to Beijing in 1980 and was soon named Premier, responsible for the economy.
Yet now he was being elevated to the most senior position in Chinas leadership: General Secretary of the Party. Since he was only sixty-eight years olda mere child among Chinas leadershe had to deal with an older generation of Party veterans who lacked official titles but nonetheless wielded ultimate authority. But the supreme leader of those octogenarians, Deng Xiaoping, had given Zhao the keys to the republic. It was his time to shine.
Zhao was unlike any previous Chinese leader. When the new inner core, the Standing Committee of the Politburo, appeared at the end of that Congress in 1987 for an unprecedented face-to-face with the international press corps at the Great Hall of the People, Zhao beamed with a relaxed confidence. He seemed to signal that China was ready to join the world, that it had begun a process of transforming not just its economy but also its tightfisted politics.
For the first time in memory, the entire Standing Committee appeared in Western attire, their Mao suits stashed away for this photo op aimed at telling the developed West that China was comfortable on stage. When a reporter commented on Zhaos impressive double-breasted pinstripe suit, Zhao, with a big grin, playfully pulled open the jacket to show off a lapel that indicated: made in China. A new era seemed to be at hand.
Over the next two years, however, things would spin out of control, for China and for Zhao. Missteps on the economy led to a rampant inflation that unnerved Chinas citizens and opened the door for Chinas more cautious leaders to seize authority and reimpose central controls.
And then, in April 1989, the Tiananmen protests erupted. By the time they were suppressed, less than two months later, Zhao was out of power and under house arrest in his home on a quiet alley in Beijing. Chinas most promising change agent had been disgraced, along with the policies he stood for.
Zhao spent the last sixteen years of his life, up until his death in 2005, in seclusion. An occasional detail about his life would slip out: reports of a golf excursion, a photo of his aging visage, a leaked letter to Chinas leaders. But China scholars often lamented that Zhao never had his final say, that he didnt leave his take on what really happened behind the scenes during the tumultuous years that he was in Beijing and, in particular, in 1989 during the Tiananmen protests, when he stood up to Chinas conservative forces and lost.
The fact is, Zhao did produce such a memoir, in complete secrecy. This book is the first time it is being made public.
Zhao, it turns out, methodically recorded his thoughts and recollections on some of modern Chinas most critical moments. He talked of the Tiananmen crackdown, of his clashes behind the scenes with his powerful rivals, of the often petty bickering that lay behind policy making, of how China had to evolve politically to achieve long-term stability.
Somehow, under the nose of his captors, Zhao found a way to record about thirty tapes, each about sixty minutes long. Judging from their contents, they were made around the year 2000. Members of his family say they knew nothing about the project. Zhao produced these audio journals mostly by recording over some low-quality cassette tapes that were lying around the house: kids music and Peking Opera. He indicated their order by numbering them with faint pencil markings. There were no titles or other notes. The first few recordings, covering Tiananmen and other topics he was eager to addresslike allegations that Zhao had backstabbed his predecessor, Hu Yaobang, when Hu had been forced out of power in 1987seem to have been made in discussion with friends. Their voices are heard on the tapes but have been edited out to protect them and their families security.
When Zhao finished the recordings after about two years, he found a way to pass tapes to several trusted friends. Each was given only a portion of the total recordings, clearly an attempt to hedge the risk that the tapes might be lost or confiscated. When Zhao died in 2005, some of the people who knew of the recordings launched a complex, clandestine effort to gather the materials in one place and then transcribe them for publication. Later, another set of the tapes, perhaps the originals, was found, hidden in plain view among the grandchildrens toys in Zhaos study. The audio recordings themselves have been returned to Zhaos family, who will decide how they should be preserved. Clips of the recordings will be released to the public upon the release of this book.
Prisoner of the State is a nearly complete presentation of Zhaos recorded journal. The book does not follow Zhaos precise sequence. Some chunks were rearranged and others trimmed to eliminate repetition and for greater readability. For instance, we open with sections that deal with the Tiananmen protests and crackdown of 1989 and with Zhaos many years under house arrest. We begin each chapter with brief editors notes, in italics, to help set the stage for readers who arent familiar with what was happening in China at the time. We also have inserted material throughout the book in brackets and footnotes to provide added clarity. Wherever these appear, these are our words, not Zhaos.
Although Zhao gave no instructions as to how or when the materials might be published or otherwise used, he clearly wanted his story to survive. Heres what he says at the start of Part 1, which covers the events leading up to the Tiananmen Massacre of June 4, 1989: I jotted down some notes about the events surrounding the June Fourth incident because I was worried that I might start forgetting some of the specifics. I hoped that it might serve as a kind of historical record.
What is the significance of this journal? Above all, it is the first time that a leader of Zhaos stature in China has spoken frankly about life at the top. He provides an intimate look at one of the worlds most opaque regimes. We learn about the triumphs and failures, the boasts and insecurities, of the man who tried to bring liberal change to China, and who made every effort to stop the Tiananmen Massacre. This is Zhaos version of history, and he perhaps was making his arguments for a future generation of leaders who may revisit his case and decide whether he should be rehabilitated in the memory of the Party, and of the nation.