Jiang Zemin’s days are numbered. It is only a question of when, not if, the former head of the Chinese Communist Party will be arrested. Jiang officially ran the Chinese regime for more than a decade, and for another decade he was the puppet master behind the scenes who often controlled events. During those decades Jiang did incalculable damage to China. At this moment when Jiang’s era is about to end, Epoch Times here republishes in serial form “Anything for Power: The Real Story of Jiang Zemin,” first published in English in 2011. The reader can come to understand better the career of this pivotal figure in today’s China.
Chapter 1: Adoption by a Dead Man: The Lie That Fooled the CCP
When Jiang Zemin was mayor of Shanghai, the word on the street was that Jiang was the incarnation of a toad. That people there would so readily identify with this idea is most surprising, given that not only is Shanghai a hi-tech, well-developed city under the direct jurisdiction of the central government, but moreover the place where Jiang climbed the political ladder. The association later followed Jiang to Beijing, to which he moved in 1989. Beijing residents took to calling him “Big Toad Jiang.” Jiang does bear resemblance to a toad, after all. And the association is fairly understandable in light of China’s cultural context, as similarly blurred boundaries between animal and human reach far back in Chinese history; many will recall the fox soul that reincarnated as a beautiful concubine and wreaked havoc in the imperial court.  That a toad’s incarnation could become the mayor of Shanghai was not, in a sense, an entirely new concept.
The toad that had inhaled the wicked, age-old qi was a creature that had depended on water for its survival. After its death the toad reincarnated in a wealthy family by the name of Jiang, which lived on Tianjia Lane in Yangzhou City of Jiangsu Province, and was given the name “Zemin,” meaning literally, “he who survives on water.”
The family Jiang Zemin was born into consisted of a grandfather, Jiang Shixi, a father, Jiang Shijun, a mother, Wu Yueqing, an older sister, Jiang Zefen, a younger sister, Jiang Zenan, and a younger brother, Jiang Zekuan.
In 1915 Jiang Shixi, then 45 and a doctor of Chinese medicine, ventured into business and became an assistant manager at the Yangzhou office of Dadaneihe Shipping Company. After coming to enjoy prosperity he moved to Tianjia Lane in the city’s Qiongguan District—a suburban residential area for the wealthy.
Jiang Shixi had seven children, two of whom died young. The sixth child, Jiang Shihou (also named Jiang Shangqing) joined the Communist Party in 1928 and was killed in war in 1939 at the age of 28. He was survived by his wife, who was of the same age, and his two daughters, Jiang Zeling and Jiang Zehui. The fifth child, Jiang Shixiong, died from a stroke at the end of the 1960s during the Cultural Revolution. The seventh child, Jiang Shufeng, a college teacher in Yangzhou, died in Beijing in November 1993. The eldest child, Jiang Shijun, turned traitor and sold out his country during the War of Resistance Against Japan (1937–1945), disgracing the Jiang family name.
A traitor and collaborationist is invariably despised by the public, regardless of who holds power. Jiang Zemin, the son of Jiang Shijun, thus did everything possible to avoid mention of his father. After becoming General Secretary of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP), Jiang Zemin promoted his lovers and confidants, gaining them important posts, all the while turning a blind eye to their corrupt ways. Yet he would not so much as lift a finger for his biological brothers and sisters and avoided all contact with them, even to the extent of not acknowledging them.
This incredible fact became known only after the passing of Deng Xiaoping. After gaining power, Jiang quickly assembled a team of writers to compose his biography. Though the group labored in search of any accomplishments by Jiang, few were found. And instead much was unearthed that was unknown and suspicious about Jiang, including his attempt to hide his real background. Furious at the group, Jiang ordered it immediately dismantled. But Jiang couldn’t seal each of the writer’s lips, and with time word of his shameful past indeed began to spread.
In November 1940, Jiang Zemin’s father, Jiang Shijun, joined the government of Wang Jingwei in Nanjing—a traitorous puppet regime of the Japanese. With his name changed to Jiang Guanqian, Shijun was appointed as a vice-minister in the Ministry of Propaganda of the Wang government and made a head member of the institution’s editorial committee. He also worked under Hu Lancheng, the main staff writer of the China Daily and former husband of Zhang Ailing. Along with Zhou Zuoren, Hu was one of the most notorious traitor-writers in China. Hu later authored History’s Turmoil after leaving China for Japan, a work in which he specifically mentions collaboration with Jiang Shijun.
So that his eldest son might one day outshine others, Jiang Shijun sent Jiang Zemin to an expensive high school—Yangzhou High School—and then later to Central University, which was run by Wang Jingwei’s puppet government; from a young age Jiang Zemin was enrolled in piano lessons. That wealth would accrue in the Jiang family at that time, and through the dealings of a traitor, no less, was most extraordinary, for those were the years when ordinary Chinese found it hard just to make ends meet. Jiang Zemin would live up to his father’s expectations, learning to sing, dance, play musical instruments, and even know something of Peking and Zhejiang opera.
After coming to power Jiang Zemin returned to his hometown in Yangzhou to pay respect to his ancestors, spending, all told, some 1.5 million yuan (approximately US$200,000) of state money to renovate his family’s ancestral tomb. Journalists uncovered something peculiar, however: Jiang kept talking about his grandfather, Jiang Shixi, while gingerly avoiding any mention of his father, the traitor Jiang Shijun, though the latter had taken great pains to support him.
The Communist Party has always accorded importance to a person’s family background and never hesitated to peg a person’s “class category.” So it was that Jiang Zemin, aspiring to climb the Communist Party ladder, from day one would write the name of Jiang Shangqing—the uncle who was only 15 years his senior—when filling out forms asking the name of his father. For one thing, Jiang Shangqing had participated in the revolution, while furthermore, as a deceased man and a martyr, hardly could he make political mistakes. His name was, as Jiang saw it, the safest bet. Jiang Zemin thus audaciously transformed himself from the offspring of a traitor into the “son of a revolutionary martyr.” Ever since, Jiang sought to constantly deepen ties with his widowed aunt, Wang Zhelan, by way of frequent visits and gifts.
Jiang Zemin was not in fact admitted to the famed Yangzhou Middle School after completing elementary school. Rather, he was admitted merely to a county-level junior high school in Jiangdu—a matter which, in fact, left Jiang feeling depressed. It was in his second year of schooling that he transferred to Yangzhou Middle School, a move made possible by his well-connected father. It was similarly through the maneuvering of his father that Jiang later managed to study at Central University; the school was, as noted, run by the puppet Japanese regime to which Jiang’s father was connected. It was then that Jiang realized power and money get things done. Soon after, however, Jiang discovered much to his disappointment that China’s nationalist government did not recognize Wang Jingwei’s puppet regime and its university; this in effect nullified Jiang’s education there. This stemmed from the fact that China’s prestigious Nanjing Central University had actually been relocated by the nationalist government to its resistance base in southwestern China. The so-called “Central University” in Nanjing City that Jiang attended, despite what its name would suggest, was a school rigged together by Wang Jingwei’s puppet government, and not the real Nanjing University.
Not long after Jiang Zemin became General Secretary of the CCP in 1989, Nanjing University in Jiangsu Province found while sorting through files of past students that Jiang Zemin had studied at one of its predecessors—Central University—from 1943 to 1945. They came across Jiang’s academic transcript and library card. Delighted over their findings, the university’s alumni association was most eager to send Jiang a friendly letter of association. Jiang never replied, however, much to the university’s dismay. This suggests that Jiang not only guarded closely his family background, treating it as secret, but furthermore chose to keep silent about his education lest he be found out.
During his inspection tour of Jiangsu Province in the early 1990s, Jiang Zemin paid a special visit to Nanjing University.  The school took special care to place on Jiang’s itinerary the dormitory where he had stayed in his college years. Upon arriving at the building, Jiang stopped and stared at the dorm, apparently lost in thought. Silence filled the air as all present stood by, waiting. The university’s administrators didn’t dare to come forward and remind Jiang, “This is where you once stayed when you were a student here. We have maintained it well.” Jiang lacked his usual bravado that day, keeping uncharacteristically quiet.
While president of China, Jiang showed a penchant for impromptu theatrics while on overseas state visits. His flare for showmanship, naturally, traces back to none other than his wealthy upbringing: his family, contrary to Jiang’s claims, had the money to support his study of many a musical instrument, be it piano or guitar. By contrast, life was hard for uncle Jiang Shangqing’s widow and daughters. The second daughter, Jiang Zehui, told Kuhn (the nominal author of The Man Who Changed China), “For the first 11 years of my life all I remember is unending want and deprivation. Our family had little to eat, sometimes no food at all.” 
Jiang Zehui’s words undermine the biography’s claim that Jiang Zemin was adopted. Born in March 1938, Jiang Zehui was 11 years younger than Jiang Zemin. If for a moment we accept that Jiang Zemin was adopted by a dead man, then Jiang Zehui would have been merely one year old at the time of Jiang Zemin’s “adoption.” If, as the book alleges, the family of Jiang Shijun was really so kind as to lend a hand to his brother’s widow, then how is it that the widow’s daughter, Jiang Zehui, relates that they “sometimes had no food at all” to feed their family? Or, given that Jiang Shijun knew his sister-in-law could scarcely feed her own children, logically he should have adopted the two nieces rather than having his sister-in-law adopt his own son (Jiang Zemin). Would he really have sent his son over to their family to experience hunger? Something here doesn’t add up.
Jiang Zemin is both the eldest son and the eldest grandson in the Jiang family. He has an elder sister, Jiang Zefen, and a younger brother, Jiang Zekuan. According to Chinese tradition and rules of inheritance, under normal circumstances neither the eldest son nor the eldest grandson can be put up for adoption.
More puzzling still is the alleged adoption ceremony Jiang Zemin later contrived. Not only were protocols from Western society clumsily included in the story (e.g., something like a 13-year-old Jiang rising to embrace Jiang Shangqing’s widow who, notably, was only 13 years older than Jiang), but also Kuhn writes in his book: “‘I wish his [adopted] son to follow his [new] father,’ Jiang Shijun said at the time, ‘and take revenge upon the evil enemy.’ The boy was 13.” 
The absurdity of such a claim should be obvious. Jiang Shijun swore his allegiance to the puppet regime of Wang Jingwei, whereas Jiang Shangqing was a “communist martyr.” Would Jiang Shangqing’s “evil enemy” also include Wang Jingwei’s traitorous government and therefore Jiang Shijun himself? Jiang Shangqing died in 1939 when the CCP, not yet a major force, was referred to as “communist bandits.” The last thing Jiang Shijun, himself disloyal, wanted was to have any involvement with the “communist bandits.” How could he instead offer to send his son to a dead communist for adoption and to take revenge on himself?
What Jiang Zehui, Jiang Zemin’s cousin, said about the “adoption” during her interview with Kuhn proves even more incredible. Kuhn writes:
“For the rest of his life, President Jiang would call his biological mother ‘Mama’ and his adoptive mother ‘Niang,'” explained Jiang Zehui. “In our culture, both mean ‘mother.’ However, there is a subtle difference in terms of intimacy and closeness. ‘Niang’ is a little more intimate, a closer term of endearment.” 
Kuhn goes on to explain in more detail that, “The difference between the two terms is akin to the one in English between Mother and Mom.” 
The fact of the matter is, people in Yangzhou call mother “Muma” or “Amu.” Never does somebody there call his or her mother “Niang.” True, decades ago there were people who called their wives “my Niangzi” in Yangzhou, but no one there—not a single soul—has ever called his or her mother “Niang.” This passage in Kuhn’s book further confirms that it is highly unlikely Jiang Zemin was ever the adopted son of Jiang Shangqing’s widow.
Jiang Zehui also told Kuhn, “To understand President Jiang Zemin, one must appreciate his adoptive father, my real father, Jiang Shangqing.”  What revolting words. As Jiang Shangqing was actively involved in the communist revolution, he seldom had the chance to see Jiang Zemin. Other family members didn’t agree with Jiang Shangqing’s activities. After Jiang Shangqing was arrested, the court defense from the Jiang family was that “Shangqing was only a youth enticed to go astray.”  And Jiang Zemin was merely a teenager then. What possible influence could Jiang Shangqing have had on him?
When the team of writers appointed by Jiang Zemin found inconsistencies in his family background, a panicked Jiang compensated by using his political power to convince the public he had been adopted by his “martyred” uncle, Jiang Shangqing, at the age of 13. A slew of memoirs and biographies were issued, cementing the claim.
Perhaps most absurd was one article, titled “A Martyr’s Wife and Her Pledge to Raise an Orphan,”  carried in the October 2002 issue of The Life of the CCP’s Guangdong Branch—a Party monthly sponsored by the Organizational Department of the CCP’s Provincial Party Committee in Guangdong, headed by Jiang Zemin’s close follower and Guangdong Party chief, Li Changchun. Circulation of that issue reached nearly 2 million, emphatically driving home the message that Jiang Zemin was “a martyr’s foster child.”
One month later, at the CCP’s 16th Congress in November 2002, Li Changchun, the man credited with issuing the phony accounts of Jiang’s past, was promoted to membership in the CCP’s elite Standing Committee of the Politburo. One year later, MediaInChina.com reported that The Life of the CCP’s Guangdong Branch was taken out of circulation on Nov. 29, 2003, on the opinion of a steering office responsible for supervising Party and government newspapers and publications.
Li Changchun spared no effort backing Jiang up in order to advance his own career, while Kuhn claims in the Chinese version of his book that the “adoption” went through legal proceedings. It would seem that they thought the most effective way to fool the public would be to mention “legal proceedings” that Jiang supposedly went through. But Jiang forgot something: in the 1930s, the head of a family clan held all the decision-making power, and an adoption didn’t require any legal papers since there were no such laws existing at the time.
Jiang Zemin didn’t stop at having his parentage alone changed: he felt he needed confirmation from Wang Zhelan, his widowed aunt and “adopted mother,” and her family. Jiang knew the need for investing in them materially, so he began visiting his aunt from time to time. Never did he visit with empty hands, however. Jiang always brought gifts, pleasantly surprising both mother and daughters. People have feelings, and as such are prone, naturally, to feigning naïveté where others might wish it. And in this instance, Jiang’s lies about his parentage stood only to benefit Wang Zhelan and her family.
For Jiang Zemin, having “from a martyr’s family” in his dossier was not the ultimate goal. That background alone would benefit him little. He needed the patronage of certain high-ranking officials in order to advance further politically. It was for this reason that Jiang began to seek out senior communists affiliated with Jiang Shangqing.
In 1982, Jiang Zemin, then Deputy Director of China’s Import and Export Commission, was thrilled to learn that the Vice Premier of the State Council, Zhang Aiping, had once worked for the CCP’s special committee of northeastern Anhui Province. Jiang then proceeded to find out what Zhang Aiping’s hobbies and interests were. When Jiang discovered that Zhang Aiping loved calligraphy, he came up with an idea that would cater to Zhang’s likes.
Once, at the end of a meeting, Zhang Aiping heard someone call from behind “Vice Premier Zhang!” He turned and discovered that it was Jiang Zemin, the Deputy Director of China’s Import and Export Commission. Zhang had met previously with Jiang a few times for work-related matters. Jiang quickened his steps to catch up with Zhang, and asked carefully, “Do you still remember Jiang Shangqing?” “Of course I do. We were good friends,” replied Zhang. “How regrettable he died young.” Jiang, assuming a reflective look, raised his voice an octave and said, “He was my foster father!” So startled was Zhang Aiping by the sudden and outlandish remark that he was rendered speechless.
Zhang Aiping had met Jiang Shangqing during the War of Resistance Against Japan; Jiang had been dispatched by the CCP to work with Zhang on the Special Committee of Northeastern Anhui Province. Jiang Shangqing died at age 28 in 1939 when Zhang Aiping was 29. Jiang Zemin, knowing now that Zhang Aiping was skilled in calligraphy, sought the honor of General Zhang’s handwriting, wishing to place it on Jiang Shangqing’s new tombstone. The scheme was so effective that it not only evoked tears from Wang Zhelan and her two daughters, but furthermore convinced Zhang Aiping that Jiang was indeed his best friend’s “adopted son.”
Everyone knows Jiang Zemin owed his post as Mayor of Shanghai to Wang Daohan, who had recommended Jiang for the position owing to Jiang’s claim that he was Jiang Shangqing’s adopted son. In the early period of the War of Resistance Against Japan, or the “period of cooperation between the Communists and Nationalists,” as it is also called, Jiang Shangqing was Wang Daohan’s immediate superior. At the time, Jiang Shangqing, a communist, was charged with the task of forming a “united front”  with the local government and local armed forces of the Nationalist Party in Anhui, and for his efforts won recognition from Sheng Zijin, the Commissioner and Commander of Security of the Sixth Administrative District of the Nationalist government in Anhui. One of the things Jiang Shangqing did was to assign a group of undercover communists from Shanghai and Jiangsu to all county-level administrations under Sheng Zijin. Wang Daohan was one of them.
When Jiang Zemin worked in the No.1 Automobile Plant in Changchun City, Wang Daohan was the deputy minister of the First Ministry of Machinery Industry. After Jiang learned of the connection between Wang Daohan and Jiang Shangqing, he kept close to Wang and referred to him as his “benevolent teacher.” With Wang’s guidance and support, Jiang’s political career was smooth and uneventful. And yet after Jiang gained supreme power in China, he traveled to Shanghai to see all of his patrons except for, of all people, Wang Daohan. For this he was harshly rebuked in Shanghai as “a mean fish with no conscience.”
Jiang Zemin wasn’t content, however, with the connections he had forged with Wang Daohan and Zhang Aiping. He was determined not to overlook any stepping stone to his advancement.
When Zhao Ziyang was head of the Communist Party, Jiang Zemin found that he lacked opportunities to ingratiate himself with Zhao, and so began to try other, more roundabout ways, to approach him. One such attempt was Jiang’s getting to know Zhao’s secretaries; one such scandal, in which Jiang turned a Zhao secretary into his “hometown kin,” became a standing joke at Zhongnanhai. A former military leader of the CCP’s Central Military Commission, General Hong Xuezhi, was originally from Jinzhai, in Anhui Province. Jiang let it be known to Hong that he, too, was from Anhui, and hence shared the same hometown. Tailoring his words however stands to benefit him is perhaps as much as anything the hallmark of Jiang Zemin’s political life.
As Jiang Zemin wormed his way ever higher politically, so grew his fear that his true background would be revealed. Never would he mention his biological father, and deliberately he distanced himself from his own sister and brother, hiding their relations. Jiang’s elder sister was labeled a “Rightist”  during the CCP’s purge of intellectuals in the 1950s, and sent back to her hometown, disgraced, to survive on eight yuan a month.  Fearing his traitorous family background would be exposed, Jiang didn’t dare to extend even his own sister loving care. According to Kuhn, Jiang at that time sent more than 10 yuan to each of his two cousins (the children of Jiang Shangqing) every month;  nothing, however, was given to his sister.
After moving into Zhongnanhai Jiang Zemin showed a flair for nepotism, as witnessed in the treatment he extended his two cousins. Consider the case of the Shiming Bilingual School in Yangzhou, which enrolls students from kindergarten through high school; it is one of the largest and best-equipped schools in Yangzhou. While publicly it appears to be sponsored by the Red Cross of China, behind the scenes it is run by Jiang Shangqing’s elder daughter, Jiang Zeling. For confirmation one only need note that the school’s official website bears Jiang Zemin’s inscriptions. Of a similar nature was how a bank, acting upon a directive from Jiang Zemin, once provided a loan to Tai Zhan, Jiang Zeling’s son, for his business without asking Tai for the necessary guarantees such as real estate, personal property, etc. as dictated by the Chinese Law of Guarantee.
Even more unscrupulous has Jiang Zemin proved in promoting Jiang Zehui, Jiang Shangqing’s second daughter, to high positions. According to official reports, Jiang Zehui sprung from a lecturer at Anhui Agricultural University to Deputy Director of the Standing Committee of the People’s Congress in Anhui Province and President as well as Party Chief of Anhui Agricultural University. Soon after she shot through the ranks yet again, landing the position of President at China Institute of Forestry and becoming a member of the Party Committee at China’s State Bureau of Forestry. Other titles she has held include: Member of the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference (CPPCC); Deputy Director of the Committee on Population, Resources and Environment at the CPPCC; Member of the Standing Committee of China Association for Science and Technology; Director of the Working Committee on Popularization of Science; Member of the Committee on Academic Degrees of the State Council; Co-Chair of the Board of the International Organization on Bamboo and Vine; President of the China Floral Society; President of the China Society of Bamboo Industry; and President of the China Federation of Forestry, among others.
When Jiang Shangqing died, his three-year-old daughter, Jiang Zeling, and one-year-and-four-month old daughter, Jiang Zehui, had only a vague knowledge of their father. The two sisters understood full well that not all of the offspring of the CCP’s “revolutionary martyrs” could rise to high positions. Their father, Jiang Shangqing, benefited them little in their lives, and in the years after his passing the two nearly lived in starvation. Jiang Zemin, on the other hand, fully exploited the background of their father for his own personal gain, using it to connect to senior officials like Wang Daohan and Zhang Aiping and climb the career ladder, indebted to their bolstering. Little could the two sisters have imagined the status they enjoy today had Jiang Zemin not buried the truth about his family background. The honor their father reaped as a “revolutionary martyr” was fully exploited by cousin Jiang Zemin. It is for this reason that the two have voluntarily exercised “self-restraint” and spoken and acted however Jiang Zemin wishes.
But often, as life would have it, lies and tricks are exposed when a person gets carried away. On one occasion a few friends were chatting with Jiang Zehui, and one said, “You’re so lucky to have a brother like Jiang Zemin. Look at what he has brought you.”
Jiang Zehui replied, “You’re mistaken. He is the one who’s lucky. He advanced so fast because he had our family behind him. Without our family he would have been branded one of the ‘five black categories.'”  One of the friends then asked shyly, “Wasn’t he adopted by your mother?” Jiang Zehui answered, “Life was so hard for us back then. My mother had even hoped relatives would take us in. How on earth could she have adopted other people’s kids? What’s more, his family was rich, ours was poor. They didn’t even want to see us in those days. Only later did it change, when they discovered we could be made use of… Who benefited from whom, then? We know full well.”
Even if we just consider history as Jiang Zemin himself writes it inconsistencies abound. To cover up his traitorous family background, Jiang claimed that he was actively involved in “revolutionary activities” and the patriotic movement while a student in elementary and high school. But the fact is, Jiang was busy instead pursuing, thanks to his father’s wealth, hobbies like music, chess, calligraphy, and painting. When the time came for college, Jiang, in a move rather unbefitting a patriot, did not go to the former Central University that had been relocated to western China but instead to the Central University in Nanjing—an institution run by the puppet Japanese government. His excuse was that doing so he would “rescue China” through the study of science there. If his intention was to depict himself as someone who wanted to save China with science and who was disinterested in politics, then such a claim is at odds with the depiction in Kuhn’s new biography, which claims that Jiang was an enthusiastic participant in the CCP’s underground activities at the school and later joined the Party and became a CCP activist in Shanghai. Yet none of the numerous “revolutionary events” that Kuhn’s book alleges Jiang Zemin to have participated in can be verified. For example, what of the well-known “June 23rd demonstration” against Jiang Jieshi  that was organized by the CCP? It was on that day in 1946 that communists Zhou Enlai, Wu Xueqian, Qiao Shi, and Qian Qichen led a large march in Shanghai of more than 50,000 people hailing from some 300 groups and organizations. But to this day no records of any sort have been found or witnesses of any type come forward that would prove Jiang Zemin, then an “underground communist,” had taken part in the march or been assigned to the event in some CCP capacity.
Jiang Zemin’s “revolutionary experiences” have been engineered in whatever way best suits his needs.
It was the arrangements of history that dictated an ignoble parentage for the clown, just as it was history that allowed him to rise to power by force of deception and hypocrisy. And so it will be that, when history should choose to discard him, it shall prepare witnesses of that era to lay bare all the hidden details surrounding him and his career, such that a warning may be given to the generations to come. Thus is the will of Heaven.
 A reference to a well-known Chinese legend from the Shang Dynasty in which a fox-spirit was sent to the human world, in the form of a beautiful concubine, to bewitch King Zhou, a tyrant. Enraptured with, and heavily influenced by, the concubine, the king neglected his official duties and grew increasingly cruel, causing his officials to turn against him. Legend holds that it was this matter that brought about the dynasty’s downfall.
 The name Nanjing University is an abridgement of the school’s former name, Nanjing Central University, and was renamed as such after the CCP gained control of China in 1949.
 Robert Lawrence Kuhn, The Man Who Changed China: The Life and Legacy of Jiang Zemin (New York: Crown, 2004), 32.
 Kuhn, The Man Who Changed China, 31. Also noteworthy is the telling oversight in Kuhn’s quote: it appears that the first “his” is in reference to Jiang Shangqing, while the second “his,” in fact, alludes to Jiang Zemin.
 Ibid., 31.
 Ibid., 31.
 Ibid., 31.
 This sentence appears only in the Chinese version of Kuhn’s book.
 The “orphan” in this case refers to Jiang Zemin, whose uncle had died.
 A favorable, temporary political alliance that would forward the CCP’s goals. The CCP has strategically used similar “united fronts,” often manipulative, over the years.
 As used in post-revolution China, the term refers to non-Communist figures or those not closely in keeping with Maoist thought.
 Approximately one U.S. dollar.
 Kuhn, The Man Who Changed China, 69.
 Referring to the CCP’s labeling of five pariah groups, i.e., landlords, rich peasants, reactionaries, bad elements, and rightists. These were to be the targets of attack in various political campaigns.
 Also known as Chiang Kai-shek—the former leader of the Nationalists (KMT) who moved to, and later ruled, Taiwan after losing to the CCP several key battles in mainland China.
From The Epoch Times