While I was en route to China, Nixon had outlined his perspective to the U.S. ambassador in Taipei, who would have the painful task of explaining to his hosts that America in the years ahead would be shifting the emphasis of its China policy to Beijing from Taipei:

  We must have in mind, and they [Taipei] must be prepared for the fact, that there will continue to be a step-by-step, a more normal relationship with the other—the Chinese mainland. Because our interests require it. Not because we love them, but because they’re there. . . . And because the world situation has so drastically changed.33

  Nixon forecast that despite China’s turmoil and privation, its people’s outstanding abilities would eventually propel China to the first rank of world powers:

  Well, you can just stop and think of what could happen if anybody with a decent system of government got control of that mainland. Good God. . . . There’d be no power in the world that could even—I mean, you put 800 million Chinese to work under a decent system . . . and they will be the leaders of the world.34

  Now in Beijing, Nixon was in his element. Whatever his long-established negative views on Communism as a system of governance, he had not come to China to convert its leaders to American principles of democracy or free enterprise—judging it to be useless. What Nixon sought throughout the Cold War was a stable international order for a world filled with nuclear weapons. Thus in his first meeting with Zhou, Nixon paid tribute to the sincerity of the revolutionaries whose success he had earlier decried as a signal failure of American policy: “We know you believe deeply in your principles, and we believe deeply in our principles. We do not ask you to compromise your principles, just as you would not ask us to compromise ours.”35

  Nixon acknowledged that his principles had earlier led him—like many of his countrymen—to advocate policies in opposition to Chinese aims. But the world had changed, and now the American interest required that Washington adapt to these changes:

  [M]y views, because I was in the Eisenhower Administration, were similar to those of Mr. Dulles at that time. But the world has changed since then, and the relationship between the People’s Republic and the United States must change too. As the Prime Minister has said in a meeting with Dr. Kissinger, the helmsman must ride with the waves or he will be submerged with the tide.36

  Nixon proposed to base foreign policy on the reconciliation of interests. Provided the national interest was clearly perceived and that it took into account the mutual interest in stability, or at least in avoiding catastrophe, this would introduce predictability into Sino-U.S. relations:

  [S]peaking here, the Prime Minister knows and I know that friendship—which I feel we do have on a personal basis—cannot be the basis on which an established relationship must rest, not friendship alone. . . . As friends, we could agree to some fine language, but unless our national interests would be served by carrying out agreements set forward in that language, it would mean very little.37

  For such an approach, candor was the precondition of genuine cooperation. As Nixon told Zhou: “It is important that we develop complete candor and recognize that neither of us would do anything unless we considered it was in our interests.”38 Nixon’s critics often decried these and similar statements as a version of selfishness. Yet Chinese leaders reverted to them frequently as guarantors of American reliability—because they were precise, calculable, and reciprocal.

  On this basis, Nixon put forward a rationale for an enduring American role in Asia, even after the withdrawal of the bulk of U.S. forces from Vietnam. What was unusual about it was that he presented it as being in the mutual interest. For decades, Chinese propaganda had assailed the American presence in the region as a form of colonialist oppression and called upon “the people” to rise up against it. But Nixon in Beijing insisted that geopolitical imperatives transcended ideology—his very presence in Beijing testified to that. With one million Soviet troops on China’s northern border, Beijing would no longer be able to base its foreign policy on slogans about the need to strike down “American imperialism.” He had stressed America’s essential world role to me before the trip:

  We cannot be too apologetic about America’s world role. We cannot, either in the past, or in the present, or in the future. We cannot be too forthcoming in terms of what America will do. Well, in other words, beat our breasts, wear a hair shirt, and well, we’ll withdraw, and we’ll do this, and that, and the other thing. Because I think we have to say that, well, “Who does America threaten? Who would you rather have playing this role?”39

  The invocation of the national interest in the absolute form as put forward by Nixon is difficult to apply as the sole organizing concept of international order. Conditions by which to define the national interest vary too widely, and the possible fluctuations in interpretation are too great, to provide a reliable single guide to conduct. Some congruence on values is generally needed to supply an element of restraint.

  When China and the United States first began to deal with each other after a hiatus of two decades, the values of the two sides were different, if not opposed. A consensus on national interest with all its difficulties was the most meaningful element of moderation available. Ideology would drive the two sides toward confrontation, tempting tests of strength around a vast periphery.

  Was pragmatism enough? It can sharpen clashes of interests as easily as resolve them. Every side will know its objectives better than the other side’s. Depending on the solidity of its domestic position, concessions that are necessary from the pragmatic point of view can be used by domestic opponents as a demonstration of weakness. There is therefore a constant temptation to raise the stakes. In the first dealings with China, the issue was how congruent the definitions of interests were or could be made to be. The Nixon-Zhou conversations provided the framework of congruence, and the bridge to it was the Shanghai Communiqué and its much debated paragraph about the future of Taiwan.

  The Shanghai Communiqué

  Normally, communiqués have a short shelf life. They define a mood rather than a direction. This was not the case with the communiqué that summed up Nixon’s visit to Beijing.

  Leaders like to create the impression that communiqués emerge full-blown from their minds and conversations with their counterparts. The popular idea that the leaders write and agree on every comma is not one they discourage. Experienced and wise leaders know better. Nixon and Zhou understood the danger of obliging leaders into drafting sessions on the short deadlines inherent in a summit. Usually men of strong will—why else would they find themselves where they are—may not be able to resolve deadlocks when time is short and the media insistent. As a result, diplomats frequently arrive at major meetings with communiqués already largely drafted.

  I had been sent to Beijing by Nixon in October 1971—on a second visit—for that purpose. In subsequent exchanges, it was decided that the code name for this trip would be Polo II, our imaginations having been exhausted by naming the first secret trip Polo I. The chief purpose of Polo II was to agree on a communiqué that the Chinese leadership and the President could endorse at the conclusion of Nixon’s trip four months later.

  We arrived in Beijing during a time of upheaval in the Chinese governmental structure. A few weeks earlier, Mao’s appointed successor, Lin Biao, had been accused of a plot whose full dimensions have never been officially revealed. Different explanations exist. The prevalent view at the time was that Lin Biao, the compiler of the “Little Red Book” of Mao’s sayings, seemed to have concluded that China’s security would be better assured by returning to the principles of the Cultural Revolution than by maneuvering with America. It has also been suggested that, by this point, Lin actually opposed Mao from something closer to the pragmatist position of Zhou and Deng, and that his outward ideological zealotry was a defensive tactic.40

  Vestiges of the crisis were still all around us when my associates and I arrived on October 20. On the way from the airport, we passed posters that proclaimed the familiar slogan “Down with American Imperial Capitalism and its Running Dogs.” Some of the posters were in English. Leaflets with similar themes had been left in our rooms at the State Guesthouse. I asked my staff assistant to collect and return them to the Chinese protocol officer, saying that they had been left behind by a previous occupant.

  The next day, the acting Foreign Minister escorting me to a meeting with Zhou at the Great Hall of the People took note of the potential embarrassment. He called my attention to a wall poster that had replaced an offending one, which said in English: “Welcome to the Afro-Asian Ping Pong Tournament.” All other posters we passed had been painted over. Zhou mentioned as if in passing that we should observe China’s actions, not its “empty cannons” of rhetoric—a forerunner of what Mao would say to Nixon a few months later.

  The discussion on the communiqué began conventionally enough. I tabled a draft communiqué that my staff and I had prepared and Nixon had approved. In it, both sides affirmed their devotion to peace and pledged cooperation on outstanding issues. The section on Taiwan was left blank. Zhou accepted the draft as a basis for discussion and promised to present Chinese modifications and alternatives the next morning. All this was conventional communiqué drafting.

  What happened next was not. Mao intervened by telling Zhou to stop the drafting of what he called a “bullshit communiqué.” He might call his exhortations of Communist orthodoxy “empty cannons”; he was not prepared to abandon them as guidelines for Communist cadres. He instructed Zhou to produce a communiqué that would restate Communist orthodoxies as the Chinese position. Americans could state their view as they chose. Mao had based his life on the proposition that peace could emerge only out of struggle, not as an end in itself. China was not afraid to avow its differences with America. Zhou’s draft (and mine) was the sort of banality the Soviets would sign but neither mean nor implement.41

  Zhou’s presentation followed his instructions from Mao. He put forward a draft communiqué that stated the Chinese position in uncompromising language. It left blank pages for our position, which was expected to be comparably strong to the contrary. There was a final section for common positions.

  At first, I was taken aback. But as I reflected, the unorthodox format appeared to solve both sides’ problem. Each could reaffirm its fundamental convictions, which would reassure domestic audiences and uneasy allies. The differences had been known for two decades. The contrast would highlight the agreements being reached, and the positive conclusions would be far more credible. Without the ability to communicate with Washington in the absence of diplomatic representation or adequate secure communication, I was confident enough of Nixon’s thinking to proceed.

  In this manner, a communiqué issued on Chinese soil and published by Chinese media enabled America to affirm its commitment to “individual freedom and social progress for all the peoples of the world”; proclaim its close ties with allies in South Korea and Japan; and articulate a view of an international order that rejected infallibility for any country and permitted each nation to develop free of foreign interference.42 The Chinese draft of the communiqué was, of course, equally expressive of contrary views. These could not have come as a surprise to the Chinese population; they heard and saw them all day in their media. But by signing a document containing both perspectives, each side was effectively calling an ideological truce and underscoring where our views converged.

  By far the most significant of these convergences was the article on hegemony. It read:

  —Neither [side] should seek hegemony in the Asia-Pacific region and each is opposed to efforts by any other country or group of countries to establish such hegemony.43

  Alliances have been founded on far less. For all its pedantic phraseology, it was a stunning conclusion. The enemies of a little more than six months earlier were announcing their joint opposition to any further expansion of the Soviet sphere. It was a veritable diplomatic revolution, for the next step would inevitably be to discuss a strategy to counter Soviet ambitions.

  The sustainability of the strategy depended on whether progress could be made on Taiwan. By the time Taiwan was discussed during the Nixon trip, the parties had already explored the subject, starting with the secret visit seven months earlier.

  Negotiations had now reached the point where the diplomat has a choice to make. One tactic—and indeed the traditional approach—is to outline one’s maximum position and gradually retreat to a more attainable stance. Such a tactic is much beloved by negotiators eager to protect their domestic standing. Yet while it appears “tough” to start with an extreme set of demands, the process amounts to a progressive weakening ushered in by the abandonment of the opening move. The other party is tempted to dig in at each stage to see what the next modification will bring and to turn the negotiating process into a test of endurance.

  Rather than exalting process over substance, the preferable course is to make opening proposals close to what one judges to be the most sustainable outcome, a definition of “sustainable” in the abstract being one that both sides have an interest in maintaining. This was a particular challenge with respect to Taiwan, where the margin for concession for both sides was narrow. We therefore from the beginning put forward views on Taiwan we judged necessary for a constructive evolution. Nixon advanced these on February 22 as five principles distilled from previous exchanges during my July and October meetings. They were comprehensive and at the same time also the limit of American concessions. The future would have to be navigated within their framework. They were: an affirmation of a one China policy; that the United States would not support internal Taiwan independence movements; that the United States would discourage any Japanese move into Taiwan (a matter, given history, of special concern to China); support for any peaceful resolution between Beijing and Taipei; and commitment to continued normalization.44 On February 24, Nixon explained how the Taiwan issue might evolve domestically as the United States pursued these principles. His intention, he affirmed, was to complete the normalization process in his second term and withdraw American troops from Taiwan in that time frame—though he warned that he was in no position to make any formal commitments. Zhou responded that both sides had “difficulties” and that there was “no time limit.”

  Principle and pragmatism thus existing in ambiguous equilibrium, Qiao Guanhua and I drafted the last remaining section of the Shanghai Communiqué. The key passage was only one paragraph, but it took two nearly all-night sessions to produce. It read:

  The U.S. side declared: The United States acknowledges that all Chinese on either side of the Taiwan Strait maintain there is but one China and that Taiwan is a part of China. The United States Government does not challenge that position. It reaffirms its interest in a peaceful settlement of the Taiwan question by the Chinese themselves. With this prospect in mind, it affirms the ultimate objective of the withdrawal of all U.S. forces and military installations from Taiwan. In the meantime, it will progressively reduce its forces and military installations on Taiwan as the tension in the area diminishes.45

  This paragraph folded decades of civil war and animosity into an affirmative general principle to which Beijing, Taipei, and Washington could all subscribe. The United States dealt with the one China policy by acknowledging the convictions of Chinese on either side of the Chinese dividing line. The flexibility of this formulation permitted the United States to move from “acknowledge” to “support” in its own position in the decades since. Taiwan has been given an opportunity to develop economically and internally. China achieved recognition of its “core interest” in a political connection between Taiwan and the mainland. The United States affirmed its interest in a peaceful resolution.

  Despite occasional tensions, the Shanghai Communiqué has served its purpose. In the forty years since it was signed, neither China nor the United States has allowed the issue to interrupt the momentum of their relationship. It has been a delicate and occasionally tense process. Throughout, the United States has affirmed its view of the importance of a peaceful settlement and China its conviction of the imperative of ultimate unification. Each side has acted with restraint and sought to avoid obliging the other side to a test of wills or strength. China has invoked core principles but has been flexible as to the timing of their implementation. The United States has been pragmatic, moving from case to case, sometimes heavily influenced by domestic American pressures. On the whole, Beijing and Washington have given priority to the overriding importance of the Chinese-American relationship.

  Still, one must not confuse a modus vivendi with a permanent state of affairs. No Chinese leader has ever abandoned the insistence on ultimate unification or can be expected to do so. No foreseeable American leader will jettison the American conviction that this process should be peaceful or alter the American view on that subject. Statesmanship will be needed to prevent a drift toward a point where both sides feel obliged to test the firmness and nature of each other’s convictions.

  The Aftermath

  The reader should keep in mind that the kind of protocol and hospitality described here has evolved substantially in the decades since. Ironically, the style of hospitality practiced by the early Communist leaders was more comparable to that of the Chinese imperial tradition than of contemporary practice, which is less elaborate, with fewer toasts and a less effusive tone on the governmental side. What has not changed significantly is the meticulous preparation, the complexity of argumentation, the capacity for long-range planning, and the subtle sense for the intangible.