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China: The Next Foreign Minister?

4 minute read
TIME

The roster of Peking’s staunch allies in Europe numbers precisely one— Albania. Accordingly, the Chinese dispatched a high-powered delegation to Tirana last week to help the Albanians celebrate the 25th anniversary of their liberation from Nazi occupation. At the head of the team was a man whose name and background were little known outside Peking until this summer—Li Hsien-nien, a jowly, rumpled man in his early 60s who is very likely to become China’s next Foreign Minister.

A tough, pragmatic survivor of the Long March era, Li has taken on more and more of the ceremonial duties of the Foreign Minister during the past year. Meanwhile Chen Yi, who still holds the title of Foreign Minister, has all but faded from view. Last September, Li headed Peking’s delegation to the funeral of Ho Chi Minh. Since Ho was a particular friend of Peking, Li’s rank was significant. A few days later, he was in the group that met Soviet Premier Aleksei Kosygin at Peking Airport. Last month Li was the first Chinese official to make a statement on Richard Nixon’s major address on Viet Nam. His line at the time was a tough one. He charged that “U.S. imperialism will never abandon its criminal aim of vainly trying to perpetuate its forcible occupation of South Viet Nam.” He also condemned the Middle East policies of both the U.S. and the Soviet Union. The two nations, said Li, are trying to “intimidate, bribe, deceive and divide the Arab countries.”

Born in Hupeh province to a poor peasant family, Li received at best a patchwork education and in his teens was apprenticed to a carpenter. His chairs and tables regularly collapsed, however, and he was fired. By his early 20s, Li had joined the party and soon won a reputation for unquestioning loyalty to Mao Tse-tung and for his talent at organizing effective guerrilla bands. After the civil war ended in 1949, Li rose steadily in the party’s central China hierarchy. In 1954, he was summoned to Peking as Minister of Finance.

For all his reputation as a Mao enthusiast, Li differed with the chairman on several occasions. One was in 1958 over the ill-conceived Great Leap Forward. Another was in 1962, when Mao decided to send party cadres to work among the peasants. “Damn it,” he reportedly complained, “we have not even completed our revolution in Peking. How can we make progress if we weaken our organization by sending cadres down to labor?”

Such tough-mindedness was bound to get Li into trouble with fervent Maoists. During the Cultural Revolution, Red Guards threatened to “bombard” and “burn” him. Protected by Chou, one of his closest associates, Li survived. With strong links to the army, government and party, he is in a position to rise still higher, in spite of his personal crudeness. A man who loves spicy food and hot chili peppers as much as he despises table manners, Li was once addicted to opium. Since breaking the habit, he has become a heavy cigarette smoker.

Displaying Forethought. More serious than the jovial, paunchy Chen Yi, Li is a skilled debater. His given name, fittingly, translates roughly as “forethought.” Under his guidance, Chinese foreign policy has already begun to display that quality. During the Cultural Revolution’s frenzy, 41 of Peking’s 42 Ambassadors were recalled. Since April, 18 posts have been refilled. En route to Tirana last week, Li paused for talks with senior Rumanian officials, and there were reports that he might even seek to refurbish Peking’s tattered relations with Yugoslavia. Some observers, in fact, believe that one of Li’s first major diplomatic goals will be to add a few countries to that short list of Chinese allies in Eastern Europe.

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