The sixth congress of the Communist Party of India (CPI) met at Vijayawada, Andhra, from April 7 to April 16. Since it was the first such congress to be held since the beginning of the frontier disputes between India and China, it was clearly of some importance. The disputes have created bitter divisions within the party, and the ideological rift between the Soviet Union and China has intensified these divisons. For nearly two years the CPI has been unable to function effectively and the rift within it is openly acknowledged by members.

As we all know only too well, the American student of Chinese Communist affairs must rely heavily on the recorded public utterances of representatives of the régime. The interpretation of such data is of course subject to a number of uncertainties. The ways in which public political statements can be used to deceive, to mislead, or to bargain are not always obvious. Even when a statement embodies a real calculation or the speaker's genuine perception of the world, the motive for making it may lie in the passing demands of small-scale tactics, or it may be of extreme subjective import to the speaker. One of the more favourable situations for analysis of this kind of material is found when linked propositions concerning a unitary topic are reiterated over a fairly long tune period, so that they occur in varying environmental contexts, with qualitative or quantitative variations in content, and with fluctuations of frequency or emphasis. The problem under examination here— the way the Chinese Communists have represented the significance for others of their experience in achieving power by revolutionary means— fits these last specifications.

India has been perhaps the most favoured of non-Communist countries in its cultural relations with China. Yet the curve of Sino-Indian relations has been as affected by political considerations as the relations of China to any other country. The scant eleven years of the Communist regime have been marked by sharp ups and downs. In the first period, 1949–50, relations were cool and tentative, in spite of the presence as Ambassador of Sardar K. M. Panikkar, the distinguished historian, who was very friendly to the new régime, and in spite of India's sponsorship of Communist China for membership in the United Nations. This was the period, it will be remembered, when China was taking a very aggressive attitude towards the border problems between the two countries, and when China still considered India's independence not a “true” one and the replacement of the “bourgeois nationalist leadership” as the order of the day.

Traditional China was often singled out in economic texts as an example of a country in which a large population and a backward economy had combined to create “underemployment” or “disguised unemployment” in agriculture. Although estimates varied, it was suggested that in countries such as China the rural labour force could be reduced by as much as 25 per cent, without diminishing the agricultural output. The problem was intensified during the winter months when seasonal unemployment forced minions of peasants to seek some form of work in the already overcrowded cities. Because of the relatively slow growth of China's cities and since no major efforts were made to expand the acreage under cultivation, the long-range trend was an increasing population pressure on already available arable land. Although, as a result of characteristically high death rates, the natural increase of the population in rural China was generally low (in periods of natural and man-made calamities the death rates even exceeded the birth rates), the population nevertheless continued to grow, with ever-increasing numbers seeking a livelihood.

It would be only a mild exaggeration to say that China has been dominating the international conference on Laos. Certainly the weight of the Chinese presence has made itself felt in ways that were not true of the Far Eastern conference held in the same city—Geneva—in 1954. In various respects, indeed, the Chinese seem to have been determined from the start to make an impact on other participants commensurate with their own estimation of China's international stature. To this end, they sent the largest of all the sixteen delegations to Geneva and—though willing on occasion to display a proper co-existential courtesy towards carefully selected other delegations—they have consistently stuck to a line that is, in most respects, markedly more intransigent than the Soviet Union's.

The prospects are growing that the United States will be dealing directly with ranking Chinese Communist leaders on a continuing basis. Such an encounter has occurred at the Geneva conference on Laos. Almost every article concerning disarmament and arms control mentions Peking, implying, of course, future face-to-face United States–Chinese Communist meetings. And, if Communist China were to enter the United Nations in 1961 or perhaps 1962 there would, of course, be vastly increased contacts.

Founded in 1898 and made illustrious by the scholars who taught there in its early years—Ts'ai Yuan-p'ei, Ch'en Tu-hsiu, Hu Shih, Lu Hsun— and as a result of the leading role of its students in the numerous patriotic and revolutionary movements that have shaken modern China, Peking University nevertheless by the time of its 50th anniversary had little to show for its past other than a glorious name. This name is something to conjure with in China today since Peking University was the cradle of the May 4 Movement and the place where Mao Tse-tung worked in his youth as a librarian and learned Marxism from professor Li Ta-chao.

On August 26 Tass announced that the Soviet Union had successfully tested “an intercontinental multistage ballistic rocket.” On October 4, Moscow announced the launching of the first earth satellite. On November 3, Moscow announced the launching of the second sputnik. Ironically, it was these dramatic indications of Soviet power that accelerated the Sino-Soviet conflict on strategy.

Genetics is the science of heredity. In the Western world modern genetics has a history of nearly a hundred years, beginning with the discovery of laws of heredity established by Mendel in 1866. Then, early in the 1930s, a Soviet genetics emerged. The foremost proponent of this new science is the Soviet Academician and agriculturist Lysenko. Let me sum up briefly the differences between Western and Soviet genetics. Modern genetics has established that hereditary material is located in the chromosomes of the nucleus of reproductive cells (sperms and eggs). This material is organised into functionally separate units called “genes.” Hence, it is known as the gene theory or the chromosome theory of heredity. On the other hand, Lysenko and his followers believe that every particle of an organism plays a part in heredity; the particles assimilate the influence of environment and pass it on to the next generation. Thus, if an organism can be forced or trained to assimilate certain environmental elements, there will be hereditary changes in their offspring. Lysenko borrows the prestige of Michurin, a skilful and successful Soviet horticulturist by calling this doctrine Michurinism, while we refer to it as Lysenkoism.

Among the minority of Communist Parties supporting China at the Moscow Conference last November was the Australian party. The feuds that have riven that Party since then illustrate the most damaging result for the Communist movement of the Sino-Soviet dispute—the end of the era of unique ideological authority.

After the turbulence of the anti-rightist movement of 1957 which silenced those who held different views from the Communist Party line, Ma Yin-ch'u, then Dean of Peking University, refusing to yield to pressure, continued to express his “unorthodox” views and accepted a challenge to defend them against some two hundred critics. He stated in November 1959, “Although I am nearly eighty years old and outnumbered, I shall accept this challenge [to defend my position] and fight single-handed till I die. I shall not yield to those critics who resort to force rather than reason.” Professor Ma's integrity and courage in defending his beliefs command our respect and would justify the following biographical account even if he were not one of China's leading intellectuals.

If one were to imagine what occupation one might like to follow in a Communist state, it is unlikely that one would choose that of Westerntrained political scientist. The intellectual apparatus associated with social science alone makes such an occupation untenable in the face of Communist ideology. Social science, as practised in the democracies, may be said to be non-existent in the Communist world. However, this does not eliminate the practical problem that faces the newly established Communist régime of what to do with those social scientists, and certain other types of intellectuals, who are already present. The problem becomes doubly complicated if the professors, journalists, and authors welcomed the advent of the new government and regarded themselves as “progressives”—as many of them did in China. One of the most striking ironies of ssu-hsiang kai-tsao (thought reform) in 1951–52 and of the rectification movement of 1957 was that the accused had, to varying degrees, all supported the régime when it came to power and had tried sincerely to work within its frame of reference.

In order to cope with the demands of national industrialisation and reconstruction, much attention has been paid in Communist China to public health and medicine in an effort to prevent disease and promote health and thus increase productivity. Since public health practice is closely related to the political system and governmental structure, in addition to indicating actual achievements it serves as an indirect reflection of political and socio-economic conditions in present-day China.