Michener, James A.
(New York, N.Y. 1907-1997 Austin, Texas) : Schriftsteller, Drehbuchautor
Name Alternative(s)
Michener, James Albert
Subjects
Index of Names : Occident
/
Literature : Occident : United States of America
Chronology Entries (4)
| # | Year | Text | Linked Data |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1 | 1972 |
Michener, James A. China diary [ID D34712]. Peking, Monday, February 21. As we waited for President Nixon's plane to land on that beautiful wintry morning, I was shocked. Most of the 87 members of the American press contingent had arrived in Peking on Sunday night, and now, as we stood at the airport, it seemed to many that the Chinese had decided to snub the American President. What had happened? China, a land of 750 million, whose leaders can produce a cheering multitude at will, had provided an entourage that was little larger than our press corps. When I surveyed the field, I saw our interpreters, a band, a minimal honor guard, and a small delegation of officials. In addition, there were 18 Chinese, probably members of the secret service. Premier Chou En-lai did not appear for the brief formalities until the last minute. We were unprepared for such a cold reception. Some of us overheard an American official talking by radio to the plane as it approached: "That's right. There is no crowd." Peter Lisagor, of the Chicago Daily News, cracked, "When Nixon sees the size of this crowd, he's going to come out for busing." This evoked laughter, but our interpreter, Fu Fung-kud, rebuked us sternly: "In China we love our leaders and would never think of making a joke about them." On the long drive into Peking, the highways were empty. Here and there a peasant driving an oxcart to market had been halted some distance from the highway. Foresters, removing fallen branches, looked up briefly, saw the motorcade and resumed their work. It was obvious that no one along that road knew that President Nixon was visiting China. Now we entered Peking itself, a magnificent city on the uplands of Asia, and drove down Changan Avenue, six car-lanes wide. It was empty, and we sped along in silence. At intersections, I noticed that wherever people might have gathered to cross, soldiers had stopped them at least 150 yards back so as to avoid the appearance of a welcoming throng. Had I not peered down the side streets I would have missed them. The city was empty. I felt acutely aware of this, because I had recently studied a set of photographs showing the arrival of Emperor Haile Selassie the previous October, when at least half a million dancing, roaring citizens had lined the streets to honor him. As our silent motorcade halted, we compared notes and agreed that it was an ominous start Those of us who knew the Orient, and the importance of face, recognized that the leaders of China wanted to indicate at the start that they intended to be formal toward President Nixon but by no means warm or encouraging. When we asked an interpreter if he didn’t find the reception cold, he replied, "Why? Your President asked permission to come here, and the permission was granted." A newsman asked sardonically, "When does the kowtow take place?" The Chinese did not find this funny. There would be no American kowtow. This delicate matter had been decided in 1859, when the American envoy, John E. Ward, became the first American representative to enter Peking. The Chinese emperor demanded the kowtow— which meant that Ward would have to get down on his knees three times, and knock his forehead on the ground thrice at each kneeling. There ensued an angry impasse, and for a while it looked as if Ward would have to go home without a treaty; but someone connected with the Chinese court suggested a happy solution. Ward would not have to prostrate himself, and there need be no knocking of the forehead, but in decency he must at least touch the floor with one knee. Ward refused even that, and never saw the emperor. But then another underling found a solution. He reported that Americans were so socially uncouth they couldn't comprehend the niceties of diplomacy. This the emperor understood, and a treaty was arranged; but it could not be signed in Peking, for the American had not properly kowtowed. My apprehensions about the Chinese reception were heightened that afternoon when I waited in the cold outside the Great Hall of the People to witness a scheduled appearance of President Nixon and Premier Chou. An hour went bv. No Chou, we were told. Another hour passed. Still no Chou. "My God!" a man near me whispered. "If this thing blows up, it's going to be a scandal." A Chinese official, obviously flustered, invited us inside for tea. And then, as we sat staring into our cups, an electric whisper flashed through the crowd. It wasn’t Chou who was late. It was President Nixon. He had been having a meeting with Chairman Mao Tse-tung. A Chinese told us, "No head of state has ever had a meeting with Mao on the first day." Next day, the Peking Peoples Daily carried an unprecedented set of large photographs on the front page, showing Mao and President Nixon in amiable discussion. Within a few hours these newspapers were posted, under glass, throughout Peking. At first blinking, almost unbelieving, the Chinese stood in lines to see their Chairman welcoming China's archenemy, the man they had been taught to hate. Then the reality of the epic turnabout sank in. It was true. The American President was in Peking, and had been accepted by Mao. From that moment on, we, too, were accepted. The people of China welcomed us, and whatever we wanted to see was thrown open to us. I MET Chou En-lai that evening before the opening banquet at the Great Hall of the People. I had first met him in the spring of 1955 at the Bandung conference of Asian-African "third world" nations in Indonesia. I had interviewed him twice. I found him icy-cold, efficient and gifted at turning away questions without antagonizing the questioner. He seemed a better disciplined man than his contemporaries, stable where Nehru was apt to be flighty, permanent where Nehru was transitory, and completely knowledgeable where Nasser was uncertain. I saw him just after he had enunciated the five principles that would govern China's policies henceforth: 1) mutual respect for sovereignty and territorial integrity; 2) mutual non-aggression; 3) non-interference in others' internal affairs; 4) equality and mutual benefits; 5) peaceful coexistence. At that time, Chou was 57, trim, laconic and increasingly self-assured. I remember how his eyes would dart from one face to another when he stood surrounded. He spoke briefly in either Chinese, French or halting English, and seemed in total command of the conference. None of us who saw him then doubted that he would remain in a controlling position in China during the decades ahead. He became the hero of Bandung and, when he left, more than half a million people lined the roads to wave good-by. He had reassured the Chinese who lived in Indonesia that he would protect them, and he had given the Indonesian communists much encouragement. Alas, within a few years China would ignore the five principles by invading Tibet, waging an imperialist war on India and spurring the Indonesian communists to a revolution that ended in terrible bloodshed. But within the Chinese hierarchy, Chou fortified his position until he stood firmly as the perpetual No. 3 man. Tough and durable, he proved as adroit in internal struggle as he was in international negotiation. Now he was 73, perhaps the strongest man in China. Later, Marshall Green, the State Department Far East expert, told friends, "It's amazing to see this man work. In the midst of talks with President Nison or Kissinger, aides come to him with memoranda on internal problems and after studying the issue briefly he will make rapid-fire decisions." The American team was surprised when the editor of People's Daily brought Chou the dummy of a front page for approval. Chou has the habit, when he recognizes someone in a crowd, of suddenly drawing back, cocking his head to the right and raising his left arm awkwardly. When he saw me, he did not remember my name ; but after his interpreter told him that I had known him at Bandung, he said, "Of course ! That was a good meeting." I recalled his propounding of the five principles, and this pleased him, for he grabbed my arm and said, "Those principles still apply. They remain the foundation of China's policy." He said this so spontaneously that one had to conclude that he had recently been studying the matter. The five principles stressed "territorial integrity," and to China this meant that Taiwan was theirs. If there had been any hopes that the Chinese would ease their position on this issue, I knew then that they were in vain. At the banquet, during a superb ten-course dinner, my misgivings about the visit disappeared, for Chou set a firm seal of approval on the venture with a gracious toast. EACH of the 87 newsmen had done an enormous amount of homework, and yet in China each American would come upon something for which he was intellectually unprepared. My surprise was the Mao cult. I knew that Mao had replaced Confucius as the spiritual leader of the nation. I was familiar with his Little Red Book, having read it in both English and Spanish. I knew about the Mao posters. Indeed, Mao's countenance was as familiar to me as that of any living man. But I had no concept of the manner in which this stocky, round-shouldered, smiling man with the wart on his chin dominated China. At every crossroads, or wherever city streets came to a dead end, we found enormous billboards proclaiming some revolutionary slogan in handsome characters. Each was a quotation from Chairman Mao. "Wherever there is oppression, there is resistance. Countries want independence, nations want liberation, the people want revolution. This has become the irresistible trend of history." "Master the teachings of Mao and protect the Revolution." I cannot recall walking as much as a quarter of a mile without seeing one of the Mao slogans. In every factory, 15 or 20 giant signs reminded the workers that they were prospering because of Mao and communism. In schools, three of which I visited, Mao dominated everything. At the theater, only plays extolling communism were performed, and even at athletic exhibitions homage was paid constantly to Mao: "I am able to play better because of the teachings of Chairman Mao." At a commune I was told, "We are able to grow more pigs than before because we listen to the teachings of Chairman Mao," and "We have been able to irrigate more wisely because Mao taught us the way." At a porcelain factory, the chairman of the revolutionary committee solemnly told me, "Prior to the Revolution we used only seven colors. Now, thanks to the guidance of Chairman Mao, we use more than 100." At a children's theater, dancers performed a Tibetan dance while a chorus chanted a song of praise supposed to have been composed by the happy peasants of Tibet: "A great sun shines in Peking and illuminates the whole of China. O, Great Leader Mao, you are the sun for all of us. From Peking you send us your brightness and make the universe light. O, Great Chairman Mao." The Mao cult is best understood as a virulent form of puritanism. At a soiree given for President and Mrs. Nixon, nine excellent acrobatic acts were performed by a group of handsome young men and a bevy of beautiful girls. The latter, even when performing feats requiring maximum leg freedom, wore long, thick pants totally covering their legs, and blouses covering their arms. Even a magician's two pretty assistants were clad from head to toe. Mao had decreed that it be so. A young diplomat from a European embassy was declared persona non grata and sent home by the Chinese because he held hands in public with a young secretary from another embassy. The charge was immoral conduct tending to destroy the stability of the Revolution. Under such repression, Chinese culture has suffered terribly. Later, in Shanghai, I found only two movies were being shown in the entire city. Each portrayed imaginary heroic scenes from the Revolution. The Red Detachment of Women, a filmed ballet soon to be seen in American theaters, is a miserable mélange of melodrama. It is well danced by China's leading star, Hsueh Ching-hua, who plays the part of a peasant girl who escapes from the "Tyrant of the South" to join the communists. "With profound proletarian feelings" declare the program notes, "they direct her to the Red Base Area." What is remarkable about this ballet is not the superb staging but the fact that not once does any character display any human emotion other than revenge or military triumph. There was so much gunfire in this peace-loving representation thatI lost count after the 60th fusillade. Yet this was the masterpiece of the Chinese communists' theater. The humanity of Shakespeare, Molière and Chekhov was pitifully missing. But the staties of Mao startled me most – enormous, brooding things 30 and 40 feet tall; they seemed to crop up everywhere as if grown from the soil. You enter a public building, and – Pow! – standing before you, four times life size, is the Chairman. Then, just as you are about to conclude that China has gone insane in its adulation, you remember that everywhere in the country you see, in addition to the sayings of the Chairman, four gigantic, overpowering photographs. They look down on you from all angles, and appear at the strangest places: Marx, Engels, Lenin, Stalin. Two Germans and two Russians as the patron saints of the new China! I doubt if there has ever been another nation in world history that has so idolized as its spiritual founders four men of other countries, and note even of the same race. In every department store you can buy portraits of the four founders embroidered in silk, or painted on cotton, or on large paper posters. One Chinese speculated, "It is quite possible that if Mao ever falls into disrepute, his images might disappear. But for the four foreigners? Never. They're part of China forever." THE Hotel of the Nationalities, where we stayed in Peking, was immaculately clean. Each floor had a contingent of alert derks and room attendants who would accept no tips. Give them a bag of laundry before nine in the morning, and it was back on your bed by five in the afternoon. Tear a pair of pants, as I did, and you have them back in an hour, beautifully mended. An unusual feature was a bowl filled with Chinese candy wrapped in rice paper (which one also eats). Shortly before we arrived, two members of the advance team of American technicians, in violation of the agreement with the Chinese, had given interviews to a European journalist. The problem arose as to how to discipline them. The Chinese didn't want to jail the technicians, and they wouldn't fine them, because they were workingmen, and it wouldn't be proper for communists to take away a man's wages. So they took away their bowls of candy. "I was really worried," one technician said. "I recognized this as very strong discipline." When it became evident that the men would henceforth behave themselves, the candy reappeared—to their great relief. The hotel staff had a way of leaping to the rescue when we seemed to have lost something. One day, Diane Sawyer, a beautiful White House press assistant, decided she was finished with the panties she wore under her miniskirt. She junked them in her bedroom wastebasket. Not long after, her room attendant rushed through the lobby shouting her name. Not finding her, he came to where our buses were departing, waving the panties until he located their owner, who blushingly accepted them and stuffed them into her handbag. COMMUNIST China is the most frozen-faced society I have ever seen. I met no one who greeted me voluntarily with a smile and only a few who would smile back if I tried to break the ice. The people are regimented beyond belief. In one of his books, Edgar Snow objected to a phrase coined by some Caucasian writer—"Mao's blue ants"—pointing out that not everyone wears blue. He must have been speaking of summer, for on this winter trip more than 95 percent of the men and women I saw on the streets were dressed in the same blue-cotton padded coats and trousers. The cities were so clean that no American or European city could even come close. Chairman Mao has decreed: "China will be cleaned up." I saw not one stray piece of paper or any other kind of litter. Streets even have spittoons, opened by a foot pedal. In the countryside, no shred of land seems to go untended and all appear to be producing. The farm people, too, look somewhat happier than those in the cities. The cities of China are gloomy places; you see few policemen and fewer soldiers (although armed guards were posted outside every hotel we stayed at) but their omnipotence is felt as one watches the vast experiment in repression that is the People’s Republic of China. Nanyuan People's Commune, Tuesday, February 22. "How many people live here?" I asked. "Thirty thousand," was the startling reply. Obviously, this commune, 12 to 15 miles south of Peking, was different from the small kibbutz I had known in Israel or the medium-size kolkhoz in Russia. It was broken into smaller units called brigades, and I chose to inspect the one that specialized in growing vegetables. It operates something like a cooperative, in that people share the work of production, sell their produce to government buying agencies, and live on a cash economy. There were stores in the commune, and a bank at which everyone I met had saved a little money. Indoctrination was incessant, by radio, poster and exhortation. A good many of the workers were city people assigned to the commune for six-week periods "so that they may experience the soil and the life of the peasant." Invariably such people told me, "If was a good thing I was sent here. Now I understand rural life." People dressed well and had adequate food. They paid three percent of their wages for rent and got fairly good houses for about 68 cents a month, which included fees for heat and electricity. As the guides were taking me through the commune, I suddenly stopped and said, "I'd like to inspect that house, if I may." They agreed, and I entered a small, three-room, one-floor house that was immaculate. It was owned by one Chao Yu-chen, who had built the house himself, having saved enough money to purchase the materials. It was comfortable and contained three portraits of Mao, whom Chao praised extravagantly. "In the old days, the landlord could take away a man's house. That would be impossible now. Chairman Mao wouldn't allow it." Chao lived well. He used charcoal bought from the commune store for cooking and for the brazier under his bed. His food he bought at reasonable prices. The house contained no signs of luxury, but it was weather-proof, a far cry from the hovels in which Chinese peasants used to live. The commune raised vegetables, sometimes in hothouses, for the Peking market. Everyone worked long hours, exhorted by the loudspeaker perched atop a tall pole. Revolution was praised constantly, and workers were reminded that they lived well solely because of the great ideas propounded by Mao. I spent some time in the commune school where, from the age of three, children are indoctrinated daily in the philosophy of Mao. On the wall are Mao slogans, and nothing else. Each subject is taught so as to enforce Mao principles, and in addition there is a special class in Mao doctrine. Physical exercise often consists of brandishing wooden guns against an invisible enemy, usually America. Even the children's dances are performed to chants extolling Mao. At the school, I asked several children what they wanted to be when they grew up. Always they said, "I will serve anywhere the Revolution needs me." Later, in talking with adults, I always asked, "How did you get your job? " I was invariably told, "When I left school I was sent here." In spite of the incessant indoctrination, the children were not cowed. They played with vigor, danced with freedom, and acted in plays without self-consciousness. It was obvious that a major intellectual revolution was under way, a total drive to control the minds of the oncoming generation. I judged that everyone who grew up in the commune atmosphere would graduate a confirmed revolutionary ready to give his life to protect the new China. SOMETIME around the year 475 B.C., early doctors, experimenting with sharp stones, discovered that by puncturing the fleshy area between the thumb and forefinger, pain in other parts of the body could be diminished. Silver needles were devised, and by A.D. 220 the system of acupuncture had been recognized in dictionaries. At some point between A.D. 265 and 429, the first book on the process appeared, listing 649 specific points on the human body where needles could be inserted with good effect. During the Ming Dynasty (1368-1644), another exposition of acupuncture was published, and this branch of medical specialization seemed solidly established. But the Manchu Dynasty outlawed it in 1822, and in 1929 Chiang Kai-shek directed doctors to look to Western medicine. Acupuncture persisted only in rural areas, where its simplicity and cheapness kept it popular. Then came the Revolution. When the Red Army was fighting guerrilla actions against Chiang Kai-shek, it had no access to stationary hospitals, so Mao commanded his doctors: "Give both Chinese and Western treatment." Thus began an experiment in reviving the ancient art of acupuncture. During the civil war, it was used only to relieve pain already in existence. But starting in 1958, and solely as a result of Mao's urging, doctors began experimenting with it as a way to prevent even future pains from occurring. We had several extraordinary demonstrations of the art. At the commune dispensary, I watched as a "barefoot doctor," that is, one without medical training at a university, used acupuncture to cure a farm-woman's headache. He inserted two needles near the nose, one at the right ear, and two directly into the scalp. In each case, the needles disappeared to a depth of about an inch and, if the woman felt pain, she masked it. In fact, she talked with me during the procedure, and assured me that as the needles took effect her headache ceased. President's spécial adviser on consumer affairs) ... then take the money you are now earning and, instead of just "getting by" on it, turn it into hard cold cash you can spend on more important things. Mail the Free Trial Coupon and see. How to Live on Your Income will show you how to handle the daily dilemmas that can eat up your paycheck. Use it and save many times what you pay for it—on borrowing, discount buying, the 15 most common repair bills and much more. "Outpsyching" Supermarkets. 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Return the Coupon, postage on us, and this one-volume, nontechnical, everyday-useful reference will be yours either to keep for the low Digest price of two installments of $3.49 each, a total of just $6.98, plus postage and handling (offered in bookstores for $8.95)—or return, at our cost if you wish, and owe nothing. (We will send you a free gift just for agreeing to look at it.) "My entire check goes for bills. How can 1 possibly save anything?" Find the answer to this question and countless others—in How to Live on Your Income. At Peking, the guide, Huang Wei-chin, took about 20 Americans to Hospital No. 3, where he told them they would see something special. He was right. A pregnant woman was about to undergo a full Caesarean section with acupuncture as her only anesthesia. The visitors were led into the operating room, where they set up their cameras and tape recorders. Eight needles were inserted into various parts of the woman's body, after which the surgeon began a standard Caesarean operation. During the 90 minutes that this required, the woman talked with her visitors and told one of them, "Don't look so worried." At the height of the operation a disaster occurred. Huang Wei-chin, the guide, passed out cold, and the doctor had to leave the woman for a moment to care for him. The operation itself was a complete success. Later, one of the Secret Service contingent guarding the President witnessed an operation at Shanghai No. 2 Medical College in which a patient, anesthetized by only two needles in his leg, underwent major brain surgery extending over several hours. During that time he ate mandarin oranges and talked much with the Secret Service man. "It was weird," the American said. "The doctor drilled four holes in the man's skull, then passed a thin silver wire like a hacksaw blade into one of the holes, along the surface of the brain and out another hole. He sawed back and forth for some time then repeated the process. Finally, I watched him as he applied pressure with his thumbs, and the man's skull cracked open. They worked for some time, removing a large tumor. That's when the man began eating the mandarin oranges. Finally, they replaced the skull and sewed him back up. He said he felt fine." The proponents of acupuncture say it is superior to ether in operations on the larynx (because the patient can test his voice to check whether the doctor is cutting too deep) and in work relating to toes and fingers (because the patient can move them as the cutting proceeds). I have heard of spectacular results in curing low-back pains and believe that many Americans (including me) who suffer from sacroiliac problems could have them cured, or at least alleviated, by silver needles. Athletes could also recover more quickly from sore arms and muscle pulls. In fact, Sam McDowell, former Cleveland Indian pitching ace now with the San Francisco Giants, attributes his recovery from a sore left shoulder to acupuncture applied by the trainer of a touring Japanese ball club. Dongfanghong Automobile Plant, Wednesday, February 23. This morning my guide offered me a list of nine places to visit. I picked an automobile plant. We rode to the southern outskirts of Peking, where a row of neat, low buildings sat within a hospital-clean compound. It was run by two men who had not been trained in automotive work: Ching Ping, 54, a former army officer, and Fung Ke, 49, a Party official. They were intelligent and obviously eager to have me inspect. They said that in 1958 the plant had been merely a repair shop; now it was a full-fledged factory. "We were able to make such improvement because we followed the precepts of Chairman Mao," Ching Ping explained. "It was his genius that showed us how to invent new machines to do our work. Our men. thanks to Mao, have invented 270 new machine tools." I asked to see some of the inventions, and Ching took me to a crude assembly line. "In the old days," he explained, "the chassis of a jeep stood in one place, and each workman had to walk to it. In 1965, a workman, inspired by Mao, had the idea of placing the chassis on a moving belt, so that it came to the men!" I suggested that perhaps this radical idea had been discovered elsewhere, say in a Ford factory in America, but Ching said, "No! Only the genius of Chairman Mao could have inspired the man." The same thing happened in the next aisle, where I talked with Miss Li Chin-ming, who operated a multiple drill press. She said that in the old days her drill had had only one head. But a clever mechanic, relying on Mao's guidance, had developed the idea of fitting on two additional drill heads. She was sure that factories in America had nothing so brilliant. By now, I had not the heart to disabuse her. The workmen put in eight-hour days, six days a week, for which they receive from $21 to $45 a month. Fringe benefits? Certain jobs provide free clothing. Medical care costs little. Rents are kept low. I asked if there was a system of incentive pay. Ching said, "In the past, yes, we had bonuses. But, with the Cultural Revolution, we became more politically conscious, and now no one would think of accepting a bonus for merely doing what is expected." I asked what a Peking jeep cost. "Our price is 14,000 yuan ($5880), but we never sell any. They all go to the state. Army mostly. We figure the actual cost at 11,000 yuan, with 3000 yuan profit. " I asked what happened to the profit. He said, "The government must accumulate money to build new additions." How good was the jeep ? I climbed into one, put it into low-low drive and found it practically identical to the one I drive back in the States. The factory needed modern machine tools. Its present heavy presses come from Italy, England and Germany. It could use a lot more. But it was producing 10,000 jeeps a year, plus auxiliary parts for assembly elsewhere. FEW of us in the West appreciate the violent upheaval that China went through during her recent Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution. Starting in 1966, a vigorous intellectual battle developed in Chinese communism between Mao Tse-tung, who called for an ever more basic revolution, and Liu Shao-chi, who wanted to consolidate what had so far been accomplished. The Mao group stressed "uninterrupted revolution," while the Liu faction argued for “production and consolidation. "Mao partisans characterized their adversaries as "power holders taking the road to capitalism," and described them as "freaks and monsters, rats and snakes." At the height of the contest, Mao called into being the famous Red Quard, a gang of violent young people between the ages of 16 and 23 who rampaged over the countryside, beating up and even killing people suspected of reactionary tendencies. They stormed across China for three years. Most editors of this magazine, most publishers of American newspapers and a large percentage of American university professors would have been liquidated by the Red Guard, had the Guard operated in the United States. I had known the history of the Cultural Revolution, but until I caught glimpses of its terrible destruction I had not appreciated its ramifications. I had not known of the May 7 Schools, a chain of rural reformatories to which intellectuals and bureaucrats who survived the Red Guard purges were sent for reeducation. Spending from six months to two years in these schools (named after the date of a speech by Mao calling for the elimination of revisionist tendencies in communist thought) former leaders learn what discipline means. In spartan surroundings, they are re-educated to become peasants, to forget book learning, to trust only in Mao's teachings. I had the opportunity of meeting two graduates of the May 7 Schools. Each said, "In the school, I learned that only Mao can save China. I recognized my former error and came out a much better man." The Great Wall, Thursday, February 24. It is not listed among the Seven Wonders of the World, for that list was parochial and contained only structures in the Mediterranean area. The Great Wall is so vast an accomplishment that it stands by itself, comparable to nothing. When astronauts leave the earth and fly into space, this Wall is the last human handiwork that can be identified. It is unbelievably huge—1684 miles long. Each cross section is a major construction 25 feet thick at the base, up to 30 feet high, broad enough across the top to accommodate horse-drawn vehicles. At intervals of several hundred feet, massive towers rise 40 feet into the air. Most visible parts are of hewn rock or brick; the interior is packed earth. What surprised me was that rarely did this massive wall run in a straight line. It twisted and turned and doubled back on itself until at times it looked like a maze. It kept always to the very crest of the Pa-Ta Ling Mountains (some of them 4000 feet high). Like a great golden snake it crept across China. How could men in the third century before Christ, working only with shovels and hammers, excavate the earth and dress the rocks ? How were the 300,000 workmen clothed and fed during the 20 years of major construction? How were portions hundreds of miles apart ultimately hooked together to form one unbroken masterpiece? Most important, how could the leaders of that time have visualized such a massive work? Who had had the courage to authorize its building? As a defense, the Great Wall was not a total success. Its principal function was to demarcate the nomads to the north from the sedentaries to the south. It served also as a means of communication across northern China. Twice, defenders of Peking foolishly invited marauders from the north to pass through the Wall as allies. On the first occasion, the Mongols (Yuan dynasty) captured the government and stayed for 128 years. On the second, the Manchus (Ching dynasty) stayed for 268 years. President Nixon was scheduled to visit the Great Wall at Nan-kou Pass, a defile in the mountains through which Mongols had often invaded China before the Wall was built. At Nan-kou, we found there was not one wall but several, so that if invaders did crack the first Great Wall, they would find themselves pinned down by those that followed. On our way we passed through several of these back-up walls, any one of which would have been a major site. Then, in the heart of Nan-kou Pass, I looked ahead and saw the Great Wall rising from the hills, enormous, slithering over the mountain crests, dropping precipitously into valleys and rising again. If my guide had told me, "It was built last year," I would have believed him, for there was no sign of ruin or neglect. I jumped out of the bus and rail to the approaches, where I was informed that President Nixon would take his walk along the eastern portion. To the west there was a very high tower, requiring a steep climb. "From the top, a great view," a local official said, and I set forth. The sides of the Wall, for as far as the eye could see, terminated in crenellations through which defenders might fire arrows or guns at those below; thus the Wall was more like an endless castle than a mere blockade. Also, the intermittent towers were much bigger and more stable than I had imagined; they were, in feet, substantial forts built so well that they were also works of art. From the top I could survey an immense distance. A new snow had fallen, for the mountains showed white as they reached across the top of China—and wherever they went, the Wall pursued them as if it had a will of its own. I counted no fewer than 14 major directions in which the Wall headed, even in this restricted area. Sometimes it looked as if there were not one Wall but four, yet always it was this same incredible construction built long before the birth of Christ. In ancient days the enemy from the north had been Mongol or Manchu. Today it is Russia. In my conversations with the Chinese, whenever we got beyond polite amenities, the talk turned to the Soviet Union, and I learned how deeply China fears Russia. Some years ago, Soviet leaders openly discussed whether or not to bomb China before the latter had time to develop a nuclear capability: Russia keeps many divisions at the ready along her 4500-mile border with Chitia, and the threat of invasion is always real. The Great Wall would provide no protection against the Russians, and it occurred to me that China had needed the Nixon-Chou talks just as much as we had, and perhaps more. Last autumn, Chou En-lai gave an extraordinary interview to a Yugoslav journalist in which he said that China was threatened on the north by Russia, on the east by Japan, on the west by India and on the south by America (because of our presence in Vietnam). He boasted that China could handle all these adversaries, even if they attacked simultaneously, but he must have known this was mere bravado. Now he was trying to neutralize his potential southern enemy. He wanted friendship with the United States so that he could direct his attention to two greater problems: Russia and Japan. Our great permanent problems are also Russia and Japan. Thus, Chinese-American relations will, for the rest of this century at least, be of only tertiary importance. It will be desirable to build good relations with China; it will be vital to do so with Russia and Japan. Peking, Friday, February 25. The most instructive sight in China, however, was not the Great Wall. I came upon an even more remarkable spectacle by accident, after I had worked through the night at the press office. When I left, at five o'clock in the morning, I discovered that a rather heavy fall of snow had covered the city. As I stepped into the darkness, I felt the tail end of the storm whipping flakes of snow against my face, and it felt good. As I walked to the street, there were muffled sounds which I could not identify at first, but which I heard as a soft, persistent brushing. Then I saw them! Scores at first, then hundreds, then thousands, and finally half a million men and women in blue, armed with brooms and shovels, sweeping the streets clear of snow. They worked silently and in darkness, and I stayed with them until daylight broke. It was as if the entire city had come out to sweep away the snow. Each man and woman has an assigned position to which he must report whenever snow accumulates. Each citizen swept vigorously, pushing the snow into gutters, frorii which it was lifted by others who piled it about the roots of trees so that when it melted it would irrigate them. As I watched, a contingent of about 500 soldiers ran by at a dogtrot, heading for some point that needed special attention. They moved like gray, ghostlike shadows through the gloom, then disappeared. The sweepers did not even look up. They continued to work in unison, as many as 100 in a group, shoulder to shoulder. There were no sudden outbursts of laughter, no banter, no snowball fights. There was net even a word of small talk as the people continued to sweep and shovel in a steady, regimented rhythm. By 9 a.m., there was no snow visible in the city streets except around the roots of trees. For this work the citizens receive no pay. A guide told me, "If we allowed snow to accumulate in a city this large, it would hamper travel for weeks. So, as soon as it starts to fall, each citizen knows his station, and his job. And he does it." FOR many, the most staggering shock of the trip was Peking University, which had been purged during the Cultural Revolution. We went to the university to meet with Chou Pei-yuan, a distinguished scholar with his PhD. from the University of Chicago. Obviously, he could speak good English, but on this day he spoke only Chinese, so that the thought-control people planted in the audience could check his opinions. In meek submissiveness, he explained how he had fallen into error. Fortunately, a thought-propaganda team had been sent by Mao to identify his error and help him correct it. What had he done wrong? He had tried to develop excellence in his students. He had wanted the bright boys to learn something. This, said the investigating team that grappled with the problem for a whole year, proved he was an elitist. The university was closed for three years. Eric Sevareid was particularly bitter and sad about what he saw. "This great university has become an inferior junior college," he said. "This can't continue for long. Any society needs educated men and women." Theodore White, author of that fine series of books on the making of U.S. Presidents, snorted, "At Harvard we give more courses on Chinese culture and history than they give at Peking University. And we teach them at a higher level." I asked two communists about this, and one said, "You don't understand. Our need is not for scholars versed in past events but for workers who will revolutionize China." The Forbidden City. In the center of Peking, across from the Great Hall of the People, stands a huge plot of ground surrounded by a red wall topped by a golden roof. It breathes an air of mystery, augmented by the two massive gates that provide entrance, each a handsome two-tiered building by itself. This is the Forbidden City, a collection of some three dozen palaces and attendant buildings. The buildings are laid out with fierce symmetry; a sense of order prevails throughout. Inside the walls are more than 9000 rooms, numerous gardens, bronze statuary and priceless jeweled antiques. It is a staggering monument to the last two dynasties that used it as their capital, from 1406 to 1911. Within these walls, protected by concentric circles of power, the Chinese emperors thought of themselves as ruling not an ordinary country but the inner kingdom of the world. Any nation beyond the borders of China had to be barbarian. A heavy snow was falling when President Nixon toured the palaces, and his guide had to caution him about the icy wooden stairs. Bareheaded, the President visited the various throne rooms and was reminded that "today we Chinese do not refer to this as the Forbidden City but as the former Imperial Palaces." Actually, the city is something of an embarrassment to the communists, for it exemplifies the grandeur of the imperial period. They have therefore come up with a neat rationalization. The Forbidden City does not reflect the way emperors lived; instead it "demonstrates the wisdom, talent and highly accomplished building technique of China's ancient laboring people." Toward the back wall of the city is a museum displaying archeological treasures unearthed since 1949. Two newly found items are works of art equal to any in the world. A sixtier castle of gray-green glazed pottery dates back perhaps to 200 B.C. It is so delicate as to constitute a marvel of the potter's art. Even better is a bronze horse some 2000 years old, running so fast that it has stepped upon a swallow in flight. This surely must be one of the great sculptures of history, one that would have pleased Phidias. How do the communists who have so little to point to in their own art or architecture explain these incomparable works? A guidebook offers this stunning comment: "Tempered in the Cultural Revolution and advancing along the revolutionary path pointed out by Chairman Mao, Chinese archeologists are providing rich evidence for historical materialism." In all seriousness, my guide told "These works of art were discovered solely through the brilliance of Chairman Mao." Perhaps I should have known better, but I tried to point out that similar discoveries were being made throughout the world. My guide angrily pointed to a sign: "People and people alone are the motivating force of history.— Chairman Mao." I WAS perpetually surprised at what the Chinese did not know. At the banquet given for the Chinese by President Nixon, packages of American cigarettes appeared on each table. A well-educated Chinese woman read the inscription "…cigarette smoking is dangerous to your health." Like all the Chinese I met, she smoked almost constantly and asked me in some surprise, "Do you mean to say that cigarettes are bad for you?" Most Chinese are still not aware that men have walked on the moon. Hangchow, Saturday, February 26. The Chinese government was prudent when it decided that we must visit Hangchow, 710 miles to the south. Peking has a climate much like western Kansas, while Hangchow resembles the Carolinas. But it was not only the more congenial climate that attracted us. Hangchow is the city of legendary beauty. Of it Marco Polo exclaimed, "The greatest city in the world, where so many pleasures may be found that one fancies oneself to be in paradise." Even so, I was not prepared for the exquisite quality of this setting. There was a lake of some amplitude, dotted with islands and crossed by causeways, and a substantial river opening onto a magnificent bay. Mountains encroached from two sides, and the air was soft. The hardness of Peking was absent, and people moved in leisurely fashion. The food and tea were the best in China. The beauty of Hangchow is timeless, and I could see no evidence that the communists have diminished it. It struck all of us the same way, and after breakfast James D. Cary, Robert P. Martin, William F. Buckley, Jr., and I decided to walk along the lakefront to the city. We slipped away from our guides, and set forth on a walk which the Chinese have been taking for 3000 years, past the islands and the causeways and the lovely trees. Flowers were beginning to bloom, children were playing, and the day was as gentle as any I can remember in Asia. We had been gone about an hour and a half when we were overtaken by a breathless young man riding a bicycle. In perfect English he asked, "Would you like me to act as your guide?" "No." "Don't you want me to interpret for you?" "No." He wheeled his bicycle in front of us and asked, "Would you object if I stayed with you?" Before we could reply, he had dismounted and joined us. The transient freedom we had known was gone. After another hour he said, "Why don't I telephone for a car so that you can get safely back to the hotel?" A car drew up and whisked us back to where we belonged. Shanghai, Sunday, February 27. We arrived in Shanghai, once the most Western city in China, early Sunday morning. It was here that the communique summarizing whatever agreements had been reached would be released. Then we would leave for Alaska on the first leg of the long journey home. During the trip, I had seen a good deal of the President. We met at the Great Wall, again in the snow at the Forbidden City and in the lovely park at Hangchow. Once he had told me that the trip was going somewhat better than expected. In Shanghai, at an industrial exhibition, I was alone with him and Chou for a moment. They were talking about the push-button age. President Nixon said, "We must all be careful not to push the wrong button." Chou's head snapped back, and he agreed. "We should push buttons only for constructive results," he said. I thought the President handled himself superbly throughout the trip. He was amiable, well-groomed, unflappable. He often broke away from protocol and displayed a good deal of easy charm, eating with chopsticks and drinking innumerable toasts. He may well have been just what Chinese-American relations needed at this moment in history—a friendly man who got along well with his hosts. Prior to leaving for China, I had no strong feelings about our First Lady. I knew her as a charming hostess, and that was about all. Since I had to meet no daily deadline, I was often given jobs that hard- pressed newsmen could not fill. Thus I was assigned to follow Mrs. Nixon on her various visits. The more I observed this gracious lady in action, the more I came to respect her. She was always surrounded by pushing, pulling people, but not once did she lose her patience. Not once did she betray indignation. Her smile was always ready, and she spoke without affectation. She photographed sensationally, but she also knew the right thing to do. At one school, when she was tired, the director suggested, "To see the next group of children you must climb two flights of stairs, and we have no heat up there. Perhaps you would like to skip that?" She replied that the children would feel disappointed and climbed the stairs. At the end of our trip, I concluded that Pat Nixon is a captivating woman, an adept politician, a strong-minded gal, and just about the perfect First Lady to take to a difficult area like China. I cannot think of many who would have handled this assignment better than she. As a good Democrat, I shuddered every time she moved before the television cameras, because I knew that she was gathering votes by the score. Well, she earned them. I was much interested in the extent to which China had liberated its women. In my copy of the Little Red Book, a whole section is given over to women's rights, and what it says is instructive: "Men and women must receive equal pay for equal work." Repeated inquiries among women satisfied me that this principle is being observed. But the real secret of Mao's program for women comes elsewhere in the Little Red Book. Women are to be liberated so they can work in factories and fields: "In agriculture, our fundamental task is to adjust the use of labor power in an organized way and to encourage women to do farm work." "China's women are vast resources of labor power. This reserve should be tapped in the struggle to build a great socialist country." Again and again I visited workshops where half the labor force were women, but in only one did I find a woman director. I was told there are eight pay grades, from $14 a month to $45, and within any grade men and women are paid equally, but only rarely are women promoted to the higher grades. When I saw a photograph of the leaders of China, I saw 17 men and one woman, and she was Chiang Ching, wife of the Chairman. At two different communes I talked with perhaps 20 leaders, and found only one woman among them. Still, when I watched heavy work being done, women composed about 50 percent of the work force. Street sweeping, gathering crops, working in factories and tending store are the jobs of women. Management is the prerogative of men. At 5 p.m., we were summoned to a large meeting hall. There a four-page communiqué was handed out, and never have you seen 100 grown men and women read so silently and with such care. The differences between China and the United States were so deep that each side restated its unshakable principles. Among our points: "The United States will work for a just and secure peace ... supports individual freedom and social progress for all people of the world." The Chinese said: "China firmly supports the struggles of all the oppressed people.... It firmly opposes the revival and outward expansion of Japanese militarism." The communique then proceeded to list certain agreements: a desire for normalization of relations; reduction of the danger of military conflict; opposition to hegemony in the Asia-Pacific area by China, the United States or any third party (meaning Russia or Japan); and a promise that neither China nor the United States would try to negotiate on behalf of third states. Furthermore, the two countries agreed to engage in due time in cultural exchanges, to enlarge trade, to meet diplomatically "from time to time". There remained the gnawing problem of Chiang Kai-shek on Taiwan, and here the gulf was deep and unbridgeable. China reiterated its position : that Taiwan is a province of China, and that all U.S. forces must be withdrawn from Taiwan. The United States conceded that "there is but one China, and Taiwan is a part of China.... It reaffirms its interest in a peaceful settlement of the Taiwan question by the Chinese themselves. ... It will progressively reduce its forces and military installations on Taiwan as the tension in the area diminishes.” When we had read the communiqué, there was a surge of disappointment through the room, for it seemed on first glance that we were giving away a great deal and getting nothing. Bitter opening sentences were composed orally, only to be dropped after sober consideration: "Richard M. Nixon departed China today, leaving Taiwan behind." The Philadelphia Inquirer would headline its report: "They Got Taiwan. We Got Eggroll." Reflection, however, showed that much good had been accomplished. No startling breakthrough had occurred regarding Vietnam, and no U.S. ambassador would be taking up residence in Peking; but the dreadful animosity of the past two decades was ended, some kind of normal relations could be established, and the leaders of China and the United States had had an opportunity to size each other up. Those were considerable accomplishments. What of Taiwan ? The fact is that our new stance has altered little. Both the communist and the nationalist factions have for years admitted that Taiwan is a part of China (even though the native Taiwanese and some Japanese might argue otherwise). The 8500 troops that we maintain there relate not to Taiwan but to the Vietnam war, and if the latter dies down our troops will naturally depart. China's new stance has altered much. For it has promised to settle international disputes "without resorting to force". The miracle of this visit was that it took place at all. Ten years ago, Richard Nixon often lambasted Communist China. Only a year ago, Chairman Mao uttered these inflammatory thoughts: "While massacring the people in other countries, U.S. imperialism is slaughtering the white and black people in its own country. Nixon's fascist atrocities have kindled the raging flames of the revolutionary mass movement in the United States. I am convinced... that fascist rule in the United States will inevitably be defeated." Each side did an about-face, swallowed old prejudices and started anew— and each did so gracefully. On OUR last day, we writers received a painful rebuke. The Chinese government, out of appreciation for the fact that the Americans had given them no serious trouble, presented each of us with a present. Technical crews received valuable porcelain vases; newsmen received five pounds of hard candy. When I aisked an interpreter why the discrimination, he said, "Technicians are workers. They deserve the best." I asked what he thought reporters were. He replied, "We think of writers as parasites." As I prepared to leave China, I was filled with conflicting sentiments. I had learned much. Unless I had gone there, I would not have understood, for example, that China is a young nation run by old men. If one judges from the extreme violence of the Cultural Revolution, China should anticipate trouble when Mao and Chou depart. On the other hand, I find no reason to think that the Chinese people are now dissatisfied. Things are better than before Mao took over; there is food; there is an orderly state. But I cannot dispel my lasting impression of contemporary China as a dreadfully dull place, cowed by dictatorship and obsessed by puritan- ism. I will never forget an incident at a factory employing 800 young men and women when an American journalist inquired what would happen if one of the young men fell in love with one of the girls and had an affair. His guide was shocked. "It could never happen," he protested. The American asked, "But suppose it did?" The guide thought for a moment, then said, "I suppose the couple would be called before the revolutionary committee, who would try to persuade them of the error of their ways." The American asked, "And if they persisted in being in love?" "Then," said the guide, "the committee would have no alternative but to put them in jail for disobeying the precepts of Chairman Mao and wasting time that should be spent more constructively." For the past quarter-century, I have known the boisterous Chinese of Honolulu, Singapore and Hong Kong. There, the men at dusk play mah-jongg with such gusto that you can hear their shouting and laughter a block away. I have seen how they enjoy dancing and ogling pretty girls. I cannot believe that Mao has permanently subdued this love of living. It simply must reappear. At first, no Amerit an who saw ihe admirable cities of China, free from so much social disruption,could keep from asking, "Why can't our cities be like this? " Two technicians told me, "Maybe it's time we adopted some of Mao's ideas at home." but by the end of the trip, almost everyone agreed that China's advances have been made at too great a price in the loss of human freedom. The job of China today is to find a way to retain order while permitting some kind of liberty. The job of the United States is to re ain freedom while regaining a sense of order. We shall not be able to assess the long-term political accomplishments of this trip for several years. But the lasting victory of this week is clear now. After 20 years, Americans have seen China again. Via TV, they dined with Premier Chou, hiked with President Nixon along the Great Wall, penetrated the Forbidden City, met Chinese workers and children. And Chinese leaders saw Americans at close hand. Chinese neWsmen met and argued with U.S. journalists and were struck by the freedom we enjoy. They witnessed the miracle of satellite television. Repeatedly, they praised us Americans for our technical competence. I agree with the judgment President Nixon made on his return to Washington: "The primary goal of this trip was to re-establish communications with the People's Republic of China after a generation of hostility. We achieved that goal." |
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| 2 | 1972 | Richard Nixon besucht als erster amerikanischer Präsident Beijing, China. John S. Service ist ein Begleiter. James A. Michener besucht als Korrespondent für China und Russland mit Nixon Moskau und China. | |
| 3 | 1972 |
Silverman, Herman. Michener and me : a memoir. (Philadelphia, Pa. : Running Press, 1999). "In 1972, Jim had joined the press horde that accompanied President Richard Nixon on his historic visit to China. When Jim returned to Pennsylvaina, Ann and I had lunch with him and Mari at the Candlewick Inn near Red Hill in neighboring Montgomery Country so he could tell us about his trip. After lunch, he gave ma a little red book, Quotations of Chairman Mao, which Premier Chou En-lai had handed out as souvenirs to the press. Jim inscribed his copy to me" : "1 March 1972 To Herman Silverman This book was given to James A. Michener In Peking, China, by Chou En-Lai On 27 February 1972." |
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| 4 | 1972 |
May, Stephen James. Michener : a writer's journey. (Norman : University of Oklahoma Press, 2005). Jim [James A. Michener] spent a hurried week in China, visiting the Nanyuan's Peoples Commune, an automobile factory, the Great Wall, Hangzhou and Shanghai. Internationally, Nixon sought détente between America and its two principal adversaries, Russia and China. Jim knew both countries well, although his knowledge of China and Asia was particularly strong. At top-secret meeting with the Advisory Council and with the president, Michener demonstrated his understanding of both Russian and Chinese cultures, helping Nixon get a clearer picture of the challenges and dangers he would face in seeking peace. The press plane carried wighty-seven handpicked journalists, camaeramen, and technicians representing six magazines, twenty-five newspapers, and three television networks. |
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Bibliography (16)
| # | Year | Bibliographical Data | Type / Abbreviation | Linked Data |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| 1 | 1955 |
[Michener, James A.]. Tu gao li zhi qiao. Miqinaer zhu ; Mai Dai yi. (Taibei : Da hua wan bao she, 1955). Übersetzung von Michener, James A. The bridges at Toko-ri. (New York, N.Y. : Random House, 1953). 土高里之橋 |
Publication / MichJ8 | |
| 2 | 1958 |
[Michener, James A.]. Zhen zhong zai jian. Mijina zhuan ; Mao Jiquan yi. (Taibei : Huang guan chu ban she, 1958. (Huang guan cong shu ; 13). Übersetzung von Michener, James A. Sayonara. (New York, N.Y. : Random House, 1954). 珍重再見 |
Publication / MichA15 | |
| 3 | 1959 |
[Michener, James A.]. Ying hua lian. Miqina zhuan ; Li Weigang yi. (Taibei : Zheng wen, 1959). (Shi jie wen xue ming zhu). Übersetzung von Michener, James A. Sayonara. (New York, N.Y. : Random House, 1954). 櫻花戀 |
Publication / MichA12 | |
| 4 | 1961 |
[Michener, James A.]. Nan tai ping yang gu shi. Michena zhuan ; Guo Gongjun yi. (Gaoxiong : Shi sui, 1961). (Shi sui yi cong ; 32). Übersetzung von Michener, James A. Tales of the South Pacific. (New York, N.Y. : Macmillan, 1947). 南太平洋故事 |
Publication / MichJ6 | |
| 5 | 1967 |
[Michener, James A.]. Xia wei yi. Miqina zhuan ; Yun Jing, Zhang Shi, Xue Xingxia tong yi. Vol. 1-2. (Taibei : Huang guan chu ban she, 1967). (Dang dai ming zhu jing xuan , 52. Huang guan cong shu ; 150). Übersetzung von Michener, James A. Hawaii. (New York, N.Y. : Random House, 1959). 夏威夷 |
Publication / MichA10 | |
| 6 | 1969 |
[Michener, James A.]. Zhong fan le yuan. Miqina zhuan ; Guo Gongjuan yi. (Taibei : Taiwan shang wu, 1969). Übersetzung von Michener, James A. Return to paradise. (New York, N.Y. : Random House, 1951). 重返樂園 |
Publication / MichA14 | |
| 7 | 1972 | Michener, James A. China diary. In : Reader's Digest ; May (1972). | Publication / MichJ1 |
|
| 8 | 1977 |
[Michener, James A.]. Sheng huo de pin zhi. Miqina zhuan ; Zhang Zhong yi. (Taibei : San shan, 1977). (San shan wen ku ; 38). Übersetzung von Michener, James A. The quality of life. (Philadelphia, Pa. : Lippincott, 1970). 生活的品質 |
Publication / MichJ7 | |
| 9 | 1981 |
[Michener, James A.] Sha mo zhi lian. Zhang Shi yi. (Taibei : Huang guan chu ban she, 1981). (Dang dai ming zhu jing xuan, 54. Huang guan cong shu ; 798). Übersetzung von Michener, James A. Caravans : a novel. (New York, N.Y. : Random House, 1963). 沙漠之戀 [Enthält] : Kazan, Elia. Ya mei li jia. Übersetzung von Kazan, Elia. America, America. (New York, N.Y. : Stein and Day, 1962). 亚美利加 Remarque, Erich Maria. Lisiben zhi ye. Übersetzung von Remarque, Erich Maria. The night in Lisbon. (New York, N.Y. : Harcourt, Brace & World, 1964). 里斯本之夜 |
Publication / Kaz2 | |
| 10 | 1981 |
[Michener, James A.]. Hao wang jiao. = Shen yue = Nan ji xing. Miqina zhu ; Shi Jiqing yi. Vol. 1-2. (Taibei : Huang guan chu ban she, 1981). (Dang dai ming zhu jing xuan ; 23-24). Übersetzung von Michener, James A. The covenant. (New York, N.Y. : Random House, 1980). 好望角 = 神約 = 南極星 |
Publication / MichJ5 | |
| 11 | 1982 |
[Michener, James A.]. Ying hua lian. Zhanmusi Miqina yuan zhu ; Lin Zhengyi yi. (Taibei : Yi qun, 1982). (Yi cui ming zhu ; 29). Übersetzung von Michener, James A. Sayonara. (New York, N.Y. : Random House, 1954). 櫻花戀 |
Publication / MichA13 | |
| 12 | 1983 |
[Michener, James A.]. Da tai kong. Miqina ; Shi Jiqing yi. (Taibei : Huang guan chu ban she, 1983). (Dang dai ming zhu jing xuan ; 126. Huang guan cong shu ; 887). Übersetzung von Michener, James A. Space. (New York, N.Y. : Random House, 1982). 大太空 |
Publication / MichJ4 | |
| 13 | 1984 |
[Michener, James A.]. Bolan. Shi Jiqing yi. (Taibei : Huang guan chu ban she, 1984). (Dang dai ming zhu jing xuan ; 178). Übersetzung von Michener, James A. Poland. (New York, N.Y. : Random House, 1983). 波蘭 |
Publication / MichJ3 | |
| 14 | 1984 |
[Michener, James A. Tuo dui. Zhanmusi Ai Miqiena zhu ; Yuan Fengxin, Bi Junke, Li Chengyi yi. (Changsha : Hunan ren min chu ban she, 1984). Übersetzung von Michener, James A. Caravans : a novel. (New York, N.Y. : Random House, 1963). 驼队 |
Publication / MichJ9 | |
| 15 | 1987 |
[Michener, James A.]. Xia wei yi. Miqina zhuan ; Yun Jing, Zhang Shi, Xue Xingxia tong yi. Vol. 1-2. (Taibei : Huang guan chu ban she, 1967). (Dang dai ming zhu jing xuan , 52. Huang guan cong shu ; 150). Übersetzung von Michener, James A. Hawaii. (New York, N.Y. : Random House, 1959). 夏威夷 |
Publication / MichA11 | |
| 16 |
[Michener, James A.]. Bai nian. Zhanmusi A. Miqiena zhu ; Pang Bo yi ; Zhu Zhongxue jiao. (Shanghai : Shanghai ren min chu ban she, 1976). Übersetzung von Michener, James A. Centennial. (New York, N.Y. : Random House, 1974). 百年 |
Publication / MichJ2 |