by Ashutosh Jogalekar
The China Mirage: The Hidden History of American Disaster in Asia. By James Bradley
By the time Henry Luce’s LIFE magazine was churning out colorized visions of a democratic, Christian China under the steady hand of Chiang Kai-shek, the die had already been cast. Not in Beijing or Nanjing but in Washington and New Haven, where a potent combination of missionary fantasy, elite delusion, and diplomatic theater spun the most expensive fiction in American foreign policy. It might well turn out to be the most expensive misunderstanding in American history. James Bradley’s fascinating The China Mirage tells that story in a way few books have. It’s less a cautionary tale and more a generational hallucination, one whose ghosts are still rattling around the White House Situation Room today.
This is not a subtle book, and that’s its strength. Bradley writes with the fervor and sardonic tone of a man watching a slow-motion car crash that everyone else mistook for a victory parade. The narrative he unspools is less about China itself and more about the American invention of China, an invention powered by an astonishingly small handful of men: Henry Stimson, Henry Morgenthau, and above all Henry Luce, whose boyhood in China as a missionary’s son formed a kind of mythic cradle for the 20th-century China Lobby. Their China was a Christian China, a Westernized China, a China that never really existed.
This is the mirage of the book’s title, and Bradley makes clear that it has cost America dearly.
At the heart of The China Mirage is a claim that would sound like conspiracy if it weren’t so well-sourced: that Chiang Kai-shek, Madame Chiang, and her brother T. V. Soong orchestrated the most successful foreign public relations campaign in American history. Under the pretext of fighting Japan, they extracted huge sums of money and military hardware from FDR, which either went into their own pockets or flowed toward Chiang’s guerilla war with Mao. With the Soongs’ impeccable English, Wellesley diplomas, and Methodist polish, they seduced a generation of American policymakers into believing that Chiang’s faltering, corrupt regime spoke for China. Luce, with his vast media empire, did the rest, featuring Chiang and Madame Chiang on LIFE’s cover more often than most American celebrities, opening women’s clubs and Manhattan drawing rooms to China donations, and making millions of Americans believe they were elevating the noble Chinese peasant.
The result: billions in aid, doctored diplomatic cables, falsified briefings to the president, and a country misled into war. Read more »
As the saying goes, if you believe only fascists guard borders, then you will ensure that only fascists will guard borders. The same principle applies to scientists working on nuclear weapons. If you believe that only Strangelovian warmongers work on nuclear weapons, you run the risk of ensuring that only such characters will do it.
I’m haunted by the enormity of all of that which I’ll never read. This need not be a fear related to those things that nobody can ever read, the missing works of Aeschylus and Euripides, the lost poems of Homer; or, those works that were to have been written but which the author neglected to pen, such as Milton’s Arthurian epic. Nor am I even really referring to those titles which I’m expected to have read, but which I doubt I’ll ever get around to flipping through (In Search of Lost Time, Anna Karenina, etc.), and to which my lack of guilt induces more guilt than it does the real thing. No, my anxiety is born from the physical, material, fleshy, thingness of the actual books on my shelves, and my night-stand, and stacked up on the floor of my car’s backseat or wedged next to Trader Joe’s bags and empty pop bottles in my trunk. Like any irredeemable bibliophile, my house is filled with more books than I could ever credibly hope to read before I die (even assuming a relatively long life, which I’m not).
Physicists writing books for the public have faced a longstanding challenge. Either they can write purely popular accounts that explain physics through metaphors and pop culture analogies but then risk oversimplifying key concepts, or they can get into a great deal of technical detail and risk making the book opaque to most readers without specialized training. All scientists face this challenge, but for physicists it’s particularly acute because of the mathematical nature of their field. Especially if you want to explain the two towering achievements of physics, quantum mechanics and general relativity, you can’t really get away from the math. It seems that physicists are stuck between a rock and a hard place: include math and, as the popular belief goes, every equation risks cutting their readership by half or, exclude math and deprive readers of a deeper understanding. The big question for a physicist who wants to communicate the great ideas of physics to a lay audience without entirely skipping the technical detail thus is, is there a middle ground?
Religion has always had an uneasy relationship with money-making. A lot of religions, at least in principle, are about charity and self-improvement. Money does not directly figure in seeking either of these goals. Yet one has to contend with the stark fact that over the last 500 years or so, Europe and the United States in particular acquired wealth and enabled a rise in people’s standard of living to an extent that was unprecedented in human history. And during the same period, while religiosity in these countries varied there is no doubt, especially in Europe, that religion played a role in people’s everyday lives whose centrality would be hard to imagine today. Could the rise of religion in first Europe and then the United States somehow be connected with the rise of money and especially the free-market system that has brought not just prosperity but freedom to so many of these nations’ citizens? Benjamin Friedman who is a professor of political economy at Harvard explores this fascinating connection in his book “Religion and the Rise of Capitalism”. The book is a masterclass on understanding the improbable links between the most secular country in the world and the most economically developed one.
Throughout history there have been prophets of doom and prophets of hope. The prophets of doom are often more visible; the prophets of hope are often more important. The Danish economist Bjorn Lomborg is a prophet of hope. For more than ten years he has been questioning the consensus associated with global warming. Lomborg is not a global warming denier but is a skeptic and realist. He does not question the basic facts of global warming or the contribution of human activity to it. He does not deny that global warming will have some bad effects. But he does question the exaggerated claims, he does question whether it’s the only problem worth addressing, he certainly questions the intense politicization of the issue that makes rational discussion hard and he is critical of the measures being proposed by world governments at the expense of better and cheaper ones. Lomborg is a skeptic who respects the other side’s arguments and tries to refute them with data.