4 China Embarks on Democracy

Sun Yat-sen could not have failed to register Ei-ling's refusal. But his mind was focused elsewhere: he was totally absorbed in his fight to supplant Interim President Yuan Shi-kai.

Yuan was a fearsome rival. A short and burly man, he nevertheless exuded stature and inspired awe. Born in 1859, seven years Sun's senior, he came from a very different background. His birthplace was the landlocked northern plain of Henan, and his forebears were affluent landed gentry. He had a purely Chinese upbringing and was deeply rooted in tradition, rising through the ranks of the imperial army. He never travelled to the West, and his private life was an extreme version of the very rich Chinese male of the time. He had one wife and nine concubines – with seventeen sons and fifteen daughters between them. The women in his household were not allowed to go out, and they had bound feet. Three concubines were Korean – Yuan had been stationed there for more than a decade when it was a tributary state of China. The Korean women had to endure the agony of squeezing their unbound feet into small, pointed shoes for him.

Yuan's personal habits were conservative. After bathrooms were introduced into the presidential palace, he still eschewed the flush toilet, preferring his old wooden stool. The bathtub was used only once a year; the rest of the time, his concubines cleaned his body with hot towels. The route to a healthy life for him was the ancient Chinese recipe of drinking human milk; two wet nurses were employed to squeeze their milk into a bowl for him. He mistrusted Western medicine and was reluctant to see Western doctors, which may have hastened his death from uraemia.

And yet he was an outstanding reformer. During the reign of Empress Dowager Cixi, he had proved to be an effective implementer of her radical reforms, including replacing the entire old educational system with Western-style schools. Westerners and Chinese alike were impressed by Yuan's performance. The Rev. Lord William Gascoyne-Cecil, who travelled the country, wrote in his 1910 book Changing China, 'In the provinces where H. E. Yuan Shi-Kai ruled the schools approached in some degree to the level of Western efficiency.' Among his many other achievements was to reshape the Chinese army on Western models. As he commanded the allegiance of the army, Yuan became the most formidable force in the land – which he demonstrated flamboyantly. At one time his guards, selected for their giant size, wore uniforms in leopard-skin patterns, and looked to astonished onlookers like 'tigers and bears'.

Yuan's power, together with his obvious ambition, made him a threat to Cixi's successors after her death, who lacked her authority, and they removed him from court. When the republican uprisings started, they were forced to reinstate him, in the hope that he could command the army to fight the republicans. Yuan was able to use this position to negotiate a deal for himself: he would 'persuade' the throne to abdicate, in exchange for the republicans endorsing him to head the republic. He got what he wanted. Sun Yat-sen considered that Yuan had 'stolen' the position from him. But Westerners welcomed the choice. Having had dealings with him, they respected him and regarded him as a reformist statesman. The Chinese public liked the idea too. Yuan provided some crucial continuity as China moved from age-old monarchy to republic.

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Indeed, the country went through a remarkably peaceful transition. The fabric of society was undisturbed and ordinary life went on as before. The biggest sign of change turned out to be in men's hairstyle: the plaited queue trailing at the back of their heads, imposed by the Manchus in the seventeenth century, disappeared. Shear-wielding petty government employees prowled through the streets and marketplaces, slashing people's long hair. Another noticeable change was in clothing, as new Western-influenced styles became fashionable. Otherwise, there were few visible differences. The nation was shifting to a new era with extraordinary ease.

The smooth transition had much to do with the fact that the last years of the Manchu dynasty and the early years of the republic shared the same goal: to turn China into a parliamentary democracy. Before her death in November 1908, Empress Dowager Cixi had committed to transforming China into a constitutional monarchy with an elected parliament, and had authorised voting procedures. In early 1909, within months of her death, elections of provincial assemblies (zi-yi-ju) were held in twenty-one of the country's twenty-two provinces (except Xinjiang) – the first phase in forming a national parliament. Although no more than 1.7 million of the population of 410 million were registered to vote, the precedent was set. This was the very first election in China's long history. Amazingly, people did not seem to find the idea of an election alien. Fair competition as the route for high office was deeply ingrained in Chinese culture. Historically, China's political elite had been selected through competitive nationwide examinations open to all males. That system had been abolished in 1905 as a part of the modernisation process. To the frustrated elite, parliament offered an alternative route to power, and a large number of educated men competed for membership.

By the time the republican revolution took place, it was generally accepted that the 'parliament' was the future institution of authority. It had also been agreed that there must be a ruling constitution. The republican delegates who had voted for Sun to be the interim president called themselves members of an 'acting parliament', guided by a 'provisional constitution' which had been drafted. This 'parliament' opposed Sun when he tried to retain office, and voted decisively for Yuan Shi-kai to take over. Time and again, the delegates demonstrated that they would not take Sun's orders. Sun wanted to be obeyed – he had already been regarded as 'dictatorial' by his comrades. He came to the conclusion that parliamentary politics was not for him.

The country, on the other hand, was busy building a democracy. Following the election of provincial assemblies in 1909, a general election was held throughout the twenty-two provinces in 1913 to elect members of China's first ever parliament. Ten per cent of the total population – close to 43 million men – registered to vote. Observers from the American consulate found that in the two counties they observed, sixty to seventy per cent of registered voters cast votes. A French scholar concluded: 'these elections truly did constitute a national consultation … There were 40 million registered electors … The political debate was open and free and was recorded by the press. In many respects, this poll seems to have been more democratic and more meaningful than any that followed.' This first general election produced 870 members of parliament, an impressive constellation of highly educated specialists outstanding in different fields. They were scheduled to arrive in Beijing by the end of March for the opening of parliament.

Sun took no part in this historic venture, even though he was the nominal head of a political party that ran an energetic election campaign. The party, the Kuomintang (‘Nationalists'), was founded by a thirty-year-old new star, Song Jiao-ren, a moustachioed Hunanese who was a thinker of rare calibre. A believer in democracy, he had devised a whole blueprint on how it could work in China, and played the leading role in drafting the provisional constitution. He had taken over the ramshackle and dysfunctional United League that had been Sun's organisation and merged it with four other political groups to form the new party. Launched in Beijing in August 1912, the Nationalist party voted Sun its honorary head, but its real leader was Song, a born organiser and a brilliant orator. People flocked to hear him. (Later some likened his personal charisma to that of US president John Kennedy.) Under him, the Nationalists carried out an effective campaign and became the majority party in parliament. Song looked set to become the first prime minister of the Chinese republic, while Yuan would be elected president. There was no place for Sun Yat-sen.

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Sun declared that he was giving up politics to devote himself to building national railways. People rejoiced at such a benign ambition. Interim President Yuan invited him to Beijing. Literally meaning the Northern Capital, Beijing is situated on the edge of the Gobi Desert. Sandstorms periodically swept the city, and streets would turn into muddy streams after heavy rain. But the capital's magnificence could not be diminished. Here camels were the beasts of burden, and they walked with their loads in a stately manner in long caravan trains. The streets were arranged like a chessboard, with all the main thoroughfares leading to the Forbidden City, a vast compound of palaces closed off by majestic outer walls. The last emperor, Pu Yi, still resided inside, in accordance with the abdication agreement.

Towards the end of the Manchu dynasty, Beijing had undergone modernisation while carefully preserving its old-world essence. Some streets were paved and lit and kept clean. But camels, horses and colourful mule carts were still an everyday sight alongside bicycles and motor cars. The city's telephone service was relatively new, and on its way to bettering that of Shanghai.

In Beijing, Sun appeared gracious in public, shouting 'Long live Grand President Yuan!' Yuan laid out the red carpet. But it was clear to astute observers that their relationship was far from amicable; indeed it was cut-throat. Earlier that year Yuan had survived an assassination attempt by a group who dropped explosives onto his carriage from the upstairs window of a restaurant. Men and horses in his entourage had been killed. Yuan believed the assassins were acting at the behest of Sun. Sun was scared that Yuan might seek revenge. In addition to the tight security arranged by Godfather Chen, Sun kept William Donald, his Australian adviser, close to him on all occasions. Donald suspected that Sun calculated that any would-be assassin 'would catch sight of Donald, a foreigner, and pause to reflect on international complications'.

Sun made a big thing about his retirement from politics, telling Yuan that all he asked was to be given full authority to build railways. At the core of this request was that the Chinese government guarantee any foreign loans he might raise and, moreover, allow him to be the only man in charge of those vast sums. These demands roused Yuan's suspicion. Indeed, Sun's interest in building railways seemed to focus exclusively on collecting money. He showed no interest in any other aspects of the monumental project, not even equipping himself with elementary information. He talked about the length of the railways to be built, but the figures did not come from any study or consultation with experts, or discussion with anyone else. Donald described how Sun appeared to conjure up the mileage. One day he walked into a room where Sun stood on a large map of China with an ink brush. He was drawing black lines all over it.

"'Oh,' said Dr Sun, looking up, his cheeks puffy as a cherub's, 'I want you to help me with this railway map … I propose to build two hundred thousand li [100,000 km] of railways in ten years,' he declared. 'I'm marking them on this map. You see the thick lines running from one provincial capital to another Well, they will be trunk lines. The others are laterals and less important connections.'"

Every now and then, Sun would 'take a piece of cotton, dip it in water, wipe out a crooked line and mark a straight one in its place … The doctor with a deft stroke built a hundred miles of rails in one place, a thousand in another.'

Interim President Yuan was convinced that Sun was using railway building as a ruse to appropriate huge sums of money, with which Sun could build an army and stage a grab for power. He countered by declining to promise automatic government guarantee for any money Sun might raise and put Sun's railway company under the jurisdiction of the transport ministry – whilst authorising Sun to be in charge of railway building.

Outsmarted by Yuan, Sun went to Japan on 11 February 1913. He had suffered a setback but appeared in public in high spirits, laughing as he reminisced about his past surreptitious trips to Japan. Greeted by crowds of well-wishers and much publicity from the Japanese press, Sun told everybody he was there not for political purposes but to raise funds for China's railway network. He raised no money, but stayed in Japan for forty days.

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Charlie and Ei-ling accompanied Sun to Japan. Charlie was still under Sun's spell and loyally followed him, neglecting his business and leaving his wife in Shanghai. Ei-ling continued to work as Sun's assistant.

In March 1913, Mu-zhen came to Japan with Wan, her daughter with Sun, perhaps to tell him about the grave illness of their other daughter, Yan (who would die in June). Sun was travelling round and met his wife in Osaka for half an hour. Ei-ling volunteered to accompany Mu-zhen to Tokyo. In Tokyo, their car hit a telegraph pole and they were badly injured. Friends cabled Sun at once, telling him that Mu-zhen's condition was particularly serious.

Charlie was beside himself with anxiety. As he was arranging the logistics for the trip, he rushed up to Sun and asked, 'What shall we do with the luggage?' He was assuming that Sun would want to change trains to go to Tokyo and visit his wife and daughter. A Japanese friend in Sun's entourage noted that Sun was chatting merrily with them when Charlie approached. His smile froze and, 'very coolly', he replied, 'What's the point of going to Tokyo as we are not doctors?' Then, it seems, he remembered he had actually been trained as a doctor and added, 'Even if we were, it would be too late by the time we got there. Besides, we have appointments in Fukuoka.' Even this samurai-like Japanese man found Sun's lack of concern astonishing.

Sun never got to Tokyo to see his wife and daughter – or Ei-ling. Days after the car accident came the news of the assassination of the Nationalist founder and leader, Song Jiao-ren. On the evening of 20 March, he had been leading the delegation of his party to travel from Shanghai to Beijing by train to attend the opening of parliament. At the ticket barrier at Shanghai railway station, he was shot and died later in hospital.

As soon as the news reached him, Sun issued a statement denouncing Yuan Shi-kai for being responsible. He raced to Shanghai the very next day to start a war with the express goal of toppling Yuan.

The assassin, a penniless man named Woo, was easily caught. He confessed immediately, but then suddenly and inexplicably died in detention. The identity of who was ultimately responsible is still being argued about today, over a hundred years later. Both Yuan and Sun are suspects. They both had motives: Yuan would be threatened if he had to share power with Song; Sun stood to lose any political role and be completely marginalised. The victim himself did not suspect Yuan. After he was taken to hospital, he addressed his last words to 'President Yuan', urging Yuan not to let his death cast a shadow on the budding parliamentary politics in China. He sent no message to Sun, the honorific head of his own party.

Most other Nationalist leaders did not jump to accuse Yuan. They asked Sun what evidence he had for his accusation. Sun said he had suspicions but no evidence: Yuan 'must have given the order for the assassination,' even if there was no proof.

Huang Xing, the de facto number two among the republicans, argued that the case should be solved through legal procedure, as there was a working justice system. He was against Sun's call for war, protesting that this would wreck the infant republic, and in any event they might not win. Huang had actually been standing next to Song at the ticket barrier when the shot was fired, and could have been the victim if the bullet had missed its target. His dispute with Sun over whether to start the war led to their split. Sun denounced him, privately, as a 'snake' and 'very bad man'. (Huang died three years later, in 1916.) Sun went ahead and ordered a series of riots against Yuan to try to force Yuan to resign in favour of him. This, the first war in the infant republic, unleashed decades of bloody internal strife. The 'Father of China' was the man who fired the first shot.

The war against Interim President Yuan had little public support and quickly collapsed. Sun was expelled from the foreign Settlements in Shanghai, where he had been based. He fled to Japan in August 1913 – this time as an exile, tolerated by the Japanese authorities only as a potential card to play. In October, Yuan was inaugurated in Beijing as president of China, and was recognised and congratulated throughout the world. In spite of repeated attempts, Sun had failed to make it to the top. But he did not give up trying.