TIME: Almanac 1995

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<text id=89TT0434> <link 93TG0022> <link 93TG0021> <link 93TG0020> <link 93HT0342> <link 89TT1409> <title> Feb. 13, 1989: Diplomacy:Comrades Once More </title> <history> TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1989 The New USSR And Eastern Europe Feb. 13, 1989 James Baker:The Velvet Hammer </history> <article> <source>Time Magazine</source> <hdr> WORLD, Page 44 DIPLOMACY Comrades Once More </hdr> <body> Long bitter rivals, Beijing and Moscow plan the first Sino-Soviet summit in 30 years By William R. Doerner It was an ordinary gesture to herald an extraordinary event. As a biting wind chilled the tarmac, Soviet Foreign Minister Eduard Shevardnadze walked down an airplane ramp, strode up to the man waiting to greet him and shook hands. His host was Qian Qichen, the Foreign Minister of China. After a long and bitter estrangement between the leviathans of the Communist world, Shevardnadze had come to Beijing to set a date for a meeting that would bring the two countries' leaders together for the first time in 30 years. Moscow and Beijing had reached the verge of something that eluded them even during the years of friendship: a normal relationship of mutual respect. It has not often been that way. In the 1950s China was the Soviet Union's little brother, a junior partner in the world Communist conspiracy. After they broke ranks in 1960 over Chinese objections to Soviet lapses in ideological purity, each fiercely cold-shouldered the other. It was Mikhail Gorbachev who stepped up overtures to his populous and powerful neighbor three years ago. In a 1986 speech in Vladivostok, the Soviet leader offered to create "an atmosphere of good-neighborliness," and to do so "any time and at any level." Soon after, Chinese Leader Deng Xiaoping said he would meet with Gorbachev, provided that the Kremlin resolve three specific issues: border tensions, the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan and the Vietnamese occupation of Kampuchea. Moscow began moving on all three, and last December Qian showed up in the Soviet capital. Shevardnadze's return visit made him the first Kremlin foreign policy chief to set foot on Chinese soil since the last, disastrous Sino-Soviet summit, in 1959. The object of all these travels was to arrange a climactic summit between Deng and Gorbachev in Beijing this spring, perhaps in May. The easing of tensions is certain to produce diplomatic fallout of global importance. It could lead to a new era of stability in Asia, where the 4,500-mile Chinese-Soviet border sometimes threatened to become the fuse for war, perhaps even nuclear conflict. The U.S. might be losing its "China card," but the world will gain a new style of superpower diplomacy: no more will China be the stick for the U.S. to beat the Soviets, or for the Soviets to menace Washington. Of course, there is also a chance that Moscow and Beijing, disengaged from rivalry with each other, might proceed to make mischief elsewhere. On the regional level, the advantages of Sino-Soviet detente are already evident. The ten-year Vietnamese occupation of Kampuchea appears near an end. Following Moscow's example, India has started to mend its frayed relations with China. For the U.S., the reconciliation poses the threat of diluting the special relationship between Beijing and Washington dating from 1971. Yet almost no observers fear a return of the Sino-Soviet axis that provoked near paranoia in the 1950s. The Bush Administration "is relaxed" about a rapprochement between the Communist giants, said a U.S. diplomat. Most experts feel the advantages could outweigh the dangers. On Saturday Shevardnadze paid a quick visit to Deng at his winter retreat in Shanghai following two days of talks in Beijing. The Soviets were far more eager to put a gloss on the new relationship than are the Chinese. Before his departure, Shevardnadze recounted how Deng had spoken of a "chapter on the future." But Chinese Vice Foreign Minister Tian Zengpei chose to emphasize "differences" between the two sides over the Kampuchea issue and even said the mid-May summit date was still under "study." The evolution of the Sino-Soviet relationship has followed a tortuous course. A decade of comradeship shattered in 1960 over China's resentment at forever being expected to let Moscow call the tune, and over Mao's charge that Nikita Khrushchev was diluting Marxist-Leninist dogma. Border talks in 1978 began to melt the two-decade freeze. But before normalcy could be achieved, two outbreaks of hostilities in Asia seriously disturbed China. One was the invasion of Kampuchea by Viet Nam, a Soviet ally, which eventually provoked a "punitive attack" by Chinese troops on Hanoi's territory. The second was the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, which revived China's longstanding fear of Russian "hegemony." China first hinted at a change of heart by pointedly referring to Gorbachev as "comrade" following his rise to power in 1985. But most of the diplomatic action--and concessions--in the march toward reconciliation has come from Moscow. As diplomats in Britain sum up the warming trend: "Russia woos and China coos." On border issues, Gorbachev agreed in his Vladivostok speech to pare Soviet claims. Last April the Soviets announced a phased withdrawal from Afghanistan, scheduled to end next week. The third obstacle, Kampuchea, has proved somewhat less tractable, with the future role of pro-Vietnamese and pro-Chinese political factions inside the country still clouded in uncertainty. But progress has been sufficient to inspire a Deng-Gorbachev dialogue. Moscow had several motives for acting the suitor. To some degree, its concessions were part of Gorbachev's "new thinking" in foreign affairs. A continuation of cold-shoulder policies between two of the world's great powers made little diplomatic sense. "There have been no benefits from this rift for anyone," says Mikhail Titarenko, director of Moscow's Institute of Far Eastern Studies. For its part, China had ample reason to respond positively to Soviet overtures. The lowering of tensions along the border has allowed Beijing to reduce the size of its army over the past three years from 4 million to 3 million. The extraordinary warming in U.S.-Soviet relations over the past four years also put pressure on the Chinese to make a parallel move. Says a senior State Department official in Washington: "They must respond to the vitality in the U.S.-Soviet relationship." But both countries were mainly motivated by a kind of joint venture: their simultaneous attempts to reform inefficient centralized economies. Says Francois Joyaux, a professor of international relations at the University of Paris: "They are both searching for an exterior situation that will allow them to resolve their internal problems." Neither can afford the immense military machines they have built. By curtailing the animosity that made such military spending necessary, the two nations can put those resources to better, domestic use. Though they have something to offer each other in bilateral trade, sales of tangible goods may be less important than another exchange: strategies for reform. Says a Chinese analyst: "Beijing needs to push its stalled political reforms and Moscow needs to produce results in economic reform. Both sides are interested in what the other is doing." The Deng-Gorbachev summit will have a daunting list of issues to resolve before any grand hopes for an era of good feeling in the Far East are realized. Working out details of a new government order in Kampuchea will be difficult enough. Larger dreams of transforming Indochina from "a battlefield to a marketplace" or reconciling North and South Korea lie well in the future. But the 1.4 billion people of the Soviet Union and China have good cause for some quiet celebration. At the very least, they can mark the beginning of the end of a dark era. </body> </article> </text>