Mao Zedong and Lin Biao:The Mystery of the First Faction's Defection(Part 4)

Mao Zedong’s secret speech to local leaders quickly reached Lin Biao through various channels. Lin, who was in Beidaihe at the time, realized that a break was imminent. Knowing Mao well, Lin understood that he had been ensnared in a noose and couldn’t help but feel somewhat dejected. He even confided to those around him, “I won’t live much longer anyway. If I die, I’ll die here. It’s either prison or martyrdom.” However, his son Lin Liguo, being too young and politically inexperienced, lost his composure under the severe circumstances.

Taking advantage of the fact that the air force was his direct subordinate, Lin Liguo privately organized a group and drafted a plan for a military coup, called the “Project 571 Outline.” The “571” was a homophone for “armed uprising” in Chinese. He intended to preemptively strike and overthrow Mao Zedong, seizing power. The language of the plan was extremely sharp, directly targeting Mao in its opening. It criticized Mao as not a true Marxist but a feudal tyrant using Marxist ideology as a cover and implementing the harsh laws of Qin Shi Huang. It also accused their socialist regime of being social fascism, turning the state’s machinery into a meat grinder of mutual slaughter and purges. Their real revolution, it claimed, was against the Chinese people and dissenters.

Frankly speaking, Lin Liguo, despite being a stubborn young man, showed considerable insight. His “Project 571 Outline” displayed a profound understanding of the Cultural Revolution and Mao. After Lin Biao’s death, Mao disseminated this plan as evidence to the entire Party, but it had the opposite effect. It starkly revealed the true nature of the CCP’s gangster politics and became a rare piece of enlightening material on the Cultural Revolution. Many people began to have irreversible doubts about the Cultural Revolution after reading this plan.

Returning to the main topic, political assassination is not the same as writing an essay. Poor preparation and planning doomed “Project 571” to failure. It was leaked before it could be implemented, leading to secret adjustments in Mao’s itinerary. Lin Liguo’s plan to bomb Mao’s special train was never carried out. In fact, post-event reactions indicate that many of Lin Biao’s staff had already been infiltrated or turned, including his daughter Lin Doudou and the pilot of his private plane. After the assassination plot was leaked, Lin Biao’s wife Ye Qun and Lin Liguo panicked and planned to flee with Lin Biao. On the night of September 12, 1971, Lin Doudou informed Zhang Hong, deputy commander of the Central Guard Corps, about the family’s plan to escape by plane the next day.

Upon learning this, Zhou Enlai immediately called Ye Qun to probe for information and expressed his desire to visit Lin Biao. Ye, already in a panic, disclosed their plan to flee immediately. At midnight on September 13, Lin Biao, Ye Qun, and Lin Liguo boarded a Trident aircraft numbered 256 in a hurry. Lin Doudou, who was plotting with the Central Guard Corps to prevent their escape, did not board as planned. The circumstances under which Lin Biao boarded the plane and what happened on it remain unclear, leaving many questions about whether the plane circled within China due to indecision about heading south to Guangzhou or north to the Soviet Union.

What is certain is that the pilot did not follow Lin Biao’s instructions. The plane, fully fueled to reach either Guangzhou or the Soviet Union, deviated significantly from its course within just two hours, leading to fuel exhaustion and a suspicious crash. Mao was fully aware of Lin Biao’s escape. An hour after the plane took off, Zhou Enlai asked Mao whether to intercept it with fighter jets. Mao replied, “If the sky wants to rain, and the mother wants to remarry, don’t stop it. Let it fly.” Lin Biao’s plane eventually crashed in Ondorhaan, Mongolia, killing all nine onboard.

The exact instructions the pilot received remain unclear and await further declassification of historical records. Personally, I believe Lin Biao’s escape was an emergency measure, not premeditated, and he likely had no intention of armed rebellion. The whole process was too hasty and crude, unworthy of a general who once commanded a million troops, more akin to a desperate act of resignation.

Lin Biao’s mysterious death, filled with inexplicable details, continues to puzzle. Zhou Enlai, upon learning of Lin’s escape, radioed the plane, shouting, “As long as Chairman Lin returns, I will personally welcome him at any airport he lands at.” I believe Zhou was sincere because he, more than anyone, understood the intricate relationship between Mao and Lin. Zhou and Lin were not historical adversaries; they were in similar political positions, both high-ranking officials yet pawns under Mao’s control. Zhou cried openly upon hearing of Lin’s death, a reflection of shared fate rather than personal loss. Both belonged to the faction of loyalists, bound by the same tether.

Posthumously, many believe Lin Biao’s death was disgraceful, tarnishing his legacy. However, compared to Liu Shaoqi and Peng Dehuai, who died in humiliation, Lin’s end was relatively dignified. His final desperate act delivered a severe blow to Mao. Mao’s typical strategy was to discredit and isolate his opponents before eliminating them effortlessly. Lin’s fierce resistance and mysterious death greatly disrupted Mao’s plans, leaving him struggling to explain the betrayal of his chosen successor and former close comrade to the entire Party and nation.

For Mao, Lin Biao’s death was a pyrrhic victory—removing a significant threat but also revealing his own vulnerability. Lin Biao had always adhered to Mao’s thoughts, making it difficult to criticize him. Mao eventually resorted to condemning Confucius alongside Lin, but this approach was transparently flawed and absurd to any rational observer, leading some to mock the campaign as “Criticize Lin, Criticize Confucius.”

Lin Biao’s death is considered a turning point marking the downfall of the Cultural Revolution because it made many within the Party, military, and nation question the true nature of the revolution. Mao’s prestige suffered an unprecedented blow, never fully recovering. Even Mao’s subsequent attempt to designate Wang Hongwen as his successor was met with skepticism. Mao foresaw the turbulent succession issues, famously remarking to Hua Guofeng and Zhang Chunqiao, “Only heaven knows your fate, it could end in bloodshed.”

Even Hua Guofeng, Mao’s chosen transitional figure, saw through Mao’s plan to pave the way for Jiang Qing and Mao Yuanxin. Hua ultimately betrayed Mao’s legacy in the Hua Deng coup, eliminating Mao’s remaining influence.

From the analysis above, it’s evident that Lin Biao, in the post-revolution turmoil, was more a pawn than a mastermind. So why does Lin Biao still bear the black mark in Party history? In my view, there are two reasons.

Firstly, Deng Xiaoping, despite occasional friction with Lin, had no deep-seated conflict with him. Deng, having faced repeated downfalls, likely shared Lin’s disdain for Mao. After Lin’s death, Deng repeatedly submitted self-criticisms to distance himself from Lin and Zhou Enlai, seeking Mao’s favor. Mao, in need of new forces to counterbalance Zhou Enlai, found Deng’s submissions satisfactory, leading to Deng’s political resurrection. Deng’s self-preservation strategy, while not a major flaw, made it difficult for him to rehabilitate Lin Biao, given their previous estrangement.

Secondly, Deng was cautious about critiquing Mao, fearing it could unravel the entire communist movement, as seen with Khrushchev’s denouncement of Stalin. Mao’s governance, though flawed, was carried out in the name of the Communist Party. Admitting Mao’s faults could jeopardize the Party’s legitimacy and unity. Protecting Mao meant protecting the Party and himself, hence Deng’s pragmatic assessment of Mao’s legacy. The Lin Biao incident, as Mao’s greatest political scar, remains a deadlock in Maoist thought, unexplainable and untouchable.

Reflecting on the Mao-Lin story inevitably draws parallels with Liu Bang and Han Xin. The similarities are striking, suggesting that China may have been treading the same path for two millennia. Readers can ponder whether the country has truly progressed.