TIES THAT BIND

In 1972, New Zealand hosted a Chinese table tennis team. It began an important relationship – and then, as now, China called most of the shots, writes Anna Fifield.

The Chinese table tennis delegation – a group of players and managers, diplomats masquerading as managers, a doctor and a few ‘‘newsmen’’ – arrived at Auckland airport to a voluminous welcome.

About 100 people were holding aloft banners reading, in English and Chinese: ‘‘Warmly welcome the Chinese table tennis delegation’’ and ‘‘Long live the great unity of the people of the world’’.

They held Chinese flags and bouquets of flowers, and they sang Chinese songs to the arrivals. A ‘‘European’’ in the crowd greeted the Chinese delegation with red bound copies of ‘‘The Thought of Mao’’ – although they almost certainly were already familiar with the text.

‘‘We felt warm at heart in this remote, oceanic land, so distant from our motherland,’’ the delegation head later said, describing that welcome.

It was July 16, 1972. The delegation had arrived for a fourcity tour. But the trip was about so much more than sport – it was New Zealand’s own version of ping pong diplomacy.

An American table tennis team famously visited the Communistrun People’s Republic of China in 1971, paving the way for US President Richard Nixon to make a historic visit behind the ‘‘bamboo curtain’’ the following year. However, the two countries did not forge formal relations until 1979, long after Nixon had resigned in disgrace.

But New Zealand’s own experience with ping pong diplomacy is hardly known – not even to ‘‘old China hands’’ who’ve devoted their careers to studying the country. And New Zealand’s efforts were arguably more successful – while it took eight years for the US and China to progress from table tennis games to official recognition, we completed the same journey within six months.

Three days before Christmas in 1972, New Zealand severed ties with Taiwan, technically called the ‘‘Republic of China’’, and instead formally recognised the People’s Republic of China as the official China.

The New Zealand and Chinese governments are this month marking 50 years of diplomatic relations. Across the country, there have been speeches made and glasses clinked.

But in reality, the relationship has never been more precarious to manage: China’s entry into the World Trade Organisation (WTO) 20 years ago has not triggered political openness to accompany economic liberalisation, as many democracies hoped at the time.

Instead, over the last decade in particular, China has regressed on many measures, including freedom of expression and other human rights. Xi Jinping is the most autocratic leader since Mao Zedong, who was at the helm when the formal relations were forged.

Delving back into the archives to look at the events of the early 1970s reveals much about the state of relations today: from the almost laser-like focus on trade with and economic opportunities in China, to the way Beijing was learning to use its economic power to bring about its political and diplomatic aims.

Since then, China has managed to convert almost the entire world to its diplomatic side. Only 13 countries – including Belize, eSwatini (formerly Swaziland) and Tuvalu, hardly global power players – and the Holy See still recognise Taiwan over the People’s Republic.

For New Zealand, that path began in 1971, with a National government that thought it could find a way to maintain relations with Taiwan while forging full diplomatic ties with China.

‘‘Friendship First, Competition Second’’

The People’s Republic of China spent a good 20 years in the international cold following its establishment in 1949. Even relations with its communist comrade to the north, the Soviet Union, had turned frosty.

During those years, only a select few Chinese citizens were allowed to travel abroad. Among them were athletes, who set out into the world under the slogan ‘‘Friendship First, Competition Second’’.

These efforts picked up speed in

1971, the year China was admitted to the United Nations.

A chance meeting between a Chinese and American player at the World Table Tennis Championships in Japan led to the Americans being invited to China, a breakthrough moment that showed both sides as human beings rather than ideologues.

That same year, a New Zealand University Students’ Association delegation, which included David Caygill and Tim Groser, toured the country, visiting food processing and metallurgy factories, and attending a performance of the opera Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy.

‘‘If relations between the two countries can be improved ... something of value will have been achieved,’’ association president Paul Grocott wrote after the trip, ‘‘even if the full effects are not felt for 20 years hence, when some of us may be in better positions to influence the decision-making, policies of our own country.’’

Caygill went on to be minister of trade and of finance in the Labour government in the 1980s, while Groser was trade minister in John Key’s National government, and also served as a senior trade negotiator and as New Zealand’s ambassador to the WTO.

In 1971, 78 countries tried to follow the United States’ lead and get in on ping pong diplomacy, inviting Chinese table tennis teams to tour. New Zealand’s invitation was the sixth to be accepted.

This came about amid efforts by prime minister Jack Marshall, who had taken over the leadership from Sir Keith Holyoake at the start of 1972, to join the international detente with China.

The mandarins in the foreign ministry noted that Beijing – then called ‘‘Peking’’ in English – were reassessing their traditional views of New Zealand.

‘‘Recently the Chinese have apparently concluded that to counter the influence of Taiwan, a much broader pro-Peking political lobby is needed in this country,’’ secretary of foreign affairs George Laking wrote in a note in 1970. ‘‘They have therefore adopted, as in other countries, a people-topeople approach.’’

China began by inviting a New Zealand swimming team to China, but the invitation was declined because of funding. But officials

here could see the opportunity for a ‘‘largely political gesture’’ to create a ‘‘more favourable climate of opinion towards the People’s Republic’’.

An invitation to play table tennis was issued. And it was full speed ahead with our own historic rapprochement over a 2.74-metrelong-table.

‘‘Skirmish’’ in Rongotai

The Chinese delegation arrived in Wellington at 11.10am on Monday, July 17, some eight hours before they were due to play in Lower Hutt Town Hall. Their arrival did not, however, go as smoothly as in Auckland.

This time, a group of about 10 people shouted ‘‘New Zealand is a free country! Choose freedom!’’, calling on the Chinese to defect. One was waving the flag of the Kuomintang, the nationalists who had fled China during the civil war and set up in Taiwan in opposition to the Communists.

There was some jostling, and police stepped in to ensure things didn’t escalate.

The delegation’s leaders took exception to the display, and threatened to pull out of that night’s match unless they were assured there would be no more such ‘‘offensive’’ demonstrations.

A Mr Buckingham, assistant head of the foreign ministry’s Asia

division, was dispatched to the St George Hotel that afternoon to try to smooth things over.

‘‘I explained that, in New Zealand, people were at liberty to raise banners and flags either for or against particular causes,’’ he told his bosses. ‘‘We had no powers to intervene to stop this. Indeed, any attempt to do so would probably detract from the goodwill the present tour was intended to promote,’’ Buckingham told the Chinese official.

The official responded that, if New Zealand genuinely wanted friendship, ‘‘it was important that nothing be done to prevent that relationship from being attained’’. But he was apparently sufficiently placated to allow the match to continue.

When the Chinese arrived in Lower Hutt, the messaging was much more to their liking. The town hall was decked out in the two countries’ flags and the 1000 spectators burst into applause when the players entered.

China as a country might have been ‘‘terra incognita’’, as one diplomat put it, but its sporting reputation preceded the team. China were the reigning men’s world table tennis champions, with more than three million registered players – more than the population of New Zealand at the time.

The Chinese side did not disappoint. They made sure to put on an electrifying show.

‘‘The Chinese have a flair for showmanship,’’ wrote Evening Post journalist Doug Stewart. They made sure to display the fullest range of strategies and techniques – and also to allow their opponents to win a few games.

‘‘Winning the match is a secondary consideration, in contrast with most national sporting encounters in which an obvious superior player or team will grind its opponent into the dust in an exhibition so one-sided that it becomes most uninteresting.’’

Indeed, James Morris, who was only 17, won the men’s singles. The audience erupted – even if the Chinese had clearly gone easy on the Kiwi.

The Evening Post declared across its front page the following day: ‘‘Chinese thrill big crowd with greatest night of table tennis seen in NZ.’’

With the sport done, in Wellington at least, the diplomacy could begin.

The following day, the Chinese delegation attended an official afternoon tea reception attended by the prime minister and more than half the Cabinet. Labour leader Norman Kirk, Wellington mayor Frank Kitts and Bryce Harland, who would soon become New Zealand’s first ambassador to China, were also there.

So too was Peter Cullen, today a well-known Wellington lawyer but then president of the Victoria University of Wellington Students’ Association.

The reception had ‘‘a distinctive Chinese flavour’’, The Dominion reported the following day. There were cups of green tea, bowls of ginger and even larger bowls of king prawns. The visitors ‘‘generally did not tuck into much of the food’’, the newspaper noted.

One of the reporters at the reception, a young Rosemary McLeod, didn’t miss the opportunity to stir things up. She asked the team about the airport protesters’ offer to help them defect. ‘‘Taiwan has already been

chased out of the United Nations,’’ a member of the team told McLeod, according to her report. ‘‘As a province of the mainland, it will eventually return to us. We are the true China, as most of the world realises,’’ they continued – in language that comes out of Chinese officials’ mouths to this very day.

New Zealand government officials at the reception were not reticent in expressing their hopes that the tour would lead to bigger things.

‘‘When historians of the future come to record our achievements of this era, I know that they will reserve a special chapter to the significance of sport, especially table tennis,’’ internal affairs minister Allan Highet said at the reception.

The Chinese were similarly charming, saying the visit would be ‘‘conducive to the promotion of understanding and friendship between the people and sportsmen of China and New Zealand’’.

The event – if not the catering – was declared a resounding success on both sides. ‘‘The reception was a manifestation of the high regard for the Chinese delegation, which represented a country with a population of nearly 800 million people for a country with a long and magnificent history,’’ China’s official news agency reported afterwards.

The Dominion noted the ‘‘political shrewdness behind the government’s hospitality towards the Chinese table tennis stars’’ by hosting them at Parliament and congratulated the government for practising the ‘‘theory of bridge building through sport’’.

But behind the scenes, discussions were more frank. The record of a meeting between Holyoake, who had become foreign minister after stepping aside as prime minister earlier that year, and Madame Cheng Chi-Hung revealed some tensions, although couched in careful diplomatese.

Cheng was listed on the paperwork as a table tennis official, but was actually head of the powerful American, western European and Australasia department in the Chinese foreign ministry.

Holyoake expressed hopes the sides could move towards normalisation. Cheng replied that Mao Zedong had made it clear what

countries needed to do if they wanted formal relations with the People’s Republic of China. Left unsaid: Cut ties with Taiwan.

Holyoake responded that it was important in a democracy like New Zealand, where the government had recognised Taiwan for more than 20 years, to carry public opinion with it and show they were taking proper steps towards normalisation of relations.

But officials’ meetings were a tiny part of the visitors’ schedule.

Foreign ministry officials were conscious throughout the trip that the Chinese side needed to leave happy as ‘‘the report that they will undoubtedly prepare on their impressions of New Zealand could be an important document in the development of Peking‘s attitude to this country’’.

The New Zealand high commissioner in Singapore, noting how the ‘‘sombre and rather earnest’’ players had been subjected to an itinerary of factory visits, recommended something a bit more fun for them in Godzone.

The organisers did not disappoint, arranging a doublewhammy of genuine Kiwiness by taking the Chinese to the Pāuatahanui farm of former All Black Ken Gray the day after the reception.

‘‘The tourists thoroughly appreciated the shearing, but were even more delighted with the sheepdog trials, especially when one dog rounded up four wild sheep from well up a hill,’’ the Evening Post reported.

Some even went for walks on the horses, led by Gray or his wife – but not until Morris, who they didn’t

realise was a farmer, had shown them that ping pong players could indeed ride.

The Chinese delegation headed to Australia – where the prime minister would not even meet them, let alone attend a reception for them – satisfied. ‘‘We have been deeply impressed by the sincere friendship of the people and sportsmen of New Zealand for the people and sportsmen of China,’’ top official Chen Yuan-kao said as the team prepared to leave.

‘‘We will take this memory back with us to our own people.’’

They must have also been pleased that there had been almost no protests, beyond a few newspaper ads and angry letters to the editor.

After the team had left, The Dominion declared the trip a resounding – if not complete – success. ‘‘Warm hearts . . . more than compensated for cold weather,’’ the paper wrote. ‘‘But they went off as fixedly Maoist as they arrived. Neither the pleasant verdure of Ken Gray’s farm nor the prevalence of lipstick and miniskirts dented their commitment.’’

It wondered out loud how to capitalise on the visit and ensure New Zealand benefited from ‘‘the diplomatic and trade advantages

closer ties with Peking presage’’.

‘‘Perhaps we should take a leaf out of Mao’s sporting book and dispatch a rugby football team with China to demonstrate our innate friendliness?’’

Trade at the fore

The trade advantages were never far from the front of everyone’s minds. For these small primary industry-dominated islands at the bottom of the world, the prospect of opening up a market of 800 million people – even at the height of their Communist zeal, as Mao’s brutal Cultural Revolution was still ongoing – caused many companies to salivate.

In 1972, Taiwan, home to 15m people, was the fourth largest economy in Asia. The average Chinese person, on the other hand, earned $100 a year.

But everyone could see the opportunities if the closed market of 800m Chinese people – many of them still hungry, although the devastating ‘‘Great Leap Forward’’ agricultural policy was long abandoned – began to develop.

The official souvenir programme shows just how important the tour was for New Zealand exporters, eager to get into the mainland. The programme is

full of ads for All Forest Products Ltd, Dalgety’s and Fisher & Paykel. Some of them printed messages in Chinese characters.

In one ad, New Zealand Breweries lauded its ‘‘superb beer’’ like Lion Brown, loved by ‘‘appreciative consumers around the Pacific Basin’’. It provided the hotel accommodation and all meals for the Chinese delegation throughout their tour.

‘‘The sponsors intend doing their utmost to provide the best available Chinese foods,’’ notes from the time say, outlining a menu of ‘‘soups, rice, fresh fruit, fish, chicken, pork, green vegetables and selected Chinese dishes’’.

Marshall and Holyoake’s goals for relations with China were interrupted, however, by the November 25 election, when the Labour Party swept into office.

New prime minister Norman Kirk quickly seized on the work done by the National government – but had none of its reticence about cutting loose the Taiwanese.

Kirk took office on December 8. On December 22, at a ceremony in New York, his government formally recognised the People’s

Republic of China as ‘‘the sole legal government of China’’.

New Zealand did not technically recognise that there was only ‘‘One China’’, but recognised China’s view that there was only one China – and that Taiwan was part of it.

To this day, it’s a policy that causes headaches, with China using its economic leverage to make sure trading nations like New Zealand do not stray from this principle. Xi has made it clear he wants to ‘‘reunite’’ Taiwan with China – despite the fact that Taiwan has never been part of the People’s Republic.

Back when Kirk’s government recognised Beijing, it immediately severed relations with Taipei, telling the Taiwanese ambassador in Wellington – who’d been known as the ‘‘Chinese ambassador’’ until that point – to pack up his embassy.

Throughout 1973, Kirk and his ministers would repeatedly remind the Chinese that they’d recognised the People’s Republic within two weeks of taking office, as a key part of its efforts to parlay diplomacy into trade.

For 1973 unleashed a flurry of activity. Overseas trade minister Joe Walding led a mission representing the primary sectors: dairy and wool, forestry and paper, meat and tallow.

The effort to establish an embassy was slowed by China’s bandwidth problem – there were so many countries recognising Beijing at that time, but a dearth of offices and apartments suitable for foreign diplomats.

But by the end of 1973, Bryce Harland had presented his credentials in Beijing – in a room ‘‘bigger than a Wellington picture theatre’’ – and was officially New Zealand’s first ambassador.

The efforts that started in 1972 with a ping pong game have surely exceeded New Zealand’s wildest hopes. China is now New Zealand’s largest trading partner, buying a full third of our total exports. Twoway trade totalled $37.7b last year, up 20% from the year before.

But then, as now, China continues to set the broad parameters of the relationship. Madame Cheng made it clear in 1972 what New Zealand needed to do to forge closer ties with the mainland. New Zealand did it then – and continues largely to do so now.

Whether at a ping pong table, a trade negotiation or a geopolitical flashpoint, China might use some spin and dazzling gamesmanship, but it always keeps its eye on the win.