A Question of Justice

In Nationalist China's steaming capital of Taipei, a question of courtroom justice touched off the ugliest and most violent anti-American riot in Formosa's history. Unlike many anti-U.S. outbreaks in the Far East and elsewhere in recent years, last week's riot was no carefully organized manifestation of left or right, but a spontaneous, flash-fire uprising. And because it was misunderstood, and its consequences unforeseen, it very nearly became something worse.

All week, Taipei's newspapers, both government-controlled and independent, had been giving extensive coverage of a U.S. Army court-martial. Robert G. Reynolds, 42, a balding and meaty U.S. Army master sergeant, was charged with the killing of a Chinese intruder in the backyard of his home eight miles outside Taipei. Reynolds contended that the Chinese was a Peeping Tom whom he caught spying on his wife one night last March while she was toweling herself after a shower. He had gone after the man with a 22-cal. pistol, the sergeant testified, had shot him only after the Chinese advanced on him carrying a stick or club (which was never found).

It was the kind of case that turns up in all courts the world over, but because Nationalist China and the United States have never negotiated a status-of-forces agreement for the 2,000 American military men on Formosa, soldiers in effect enjoy extraterritorial rights. So Chinese newspapermen, covering a murder case unrelated to military action, found themselves in the unfamiliar atmosphere of an army court-martial. They did not like it.

Comrades at Law. Their feature stories described "the rich airs and sparkling diamond necklace" of Defendant Reynolds' wife", painted bitter contrasting pictures of the Chinese widow, Mrs. Liu Chi-jan--"pale, weakened with sorrow, weeping bitterly until her eyes were swollen with sorrow." The Army's conduct of the case did little to dispel Chinese suspicions: both defense and prosecuting attorneys had been flown in from Okinawa, where they shared the same office. This was not the first time one had taken one side of the case and the other had been his friendly antagonist. During the trial they conferred together amiably in whispers, continued their comradely discussions during recesses.

During the pretrial investigation, the widow of the slain Chinese had told police that her husband knew Reynolds. But neither the prosecution nor the defense called her as a witness, nor made any attempt in court to explore the relationship, if any. The result was to lend credence to widely repeated rumors all over Taipei that the dead man and Ser geant Reynolds had some kind of connection, perhaps in black-market activities.

Spark for the Tinder. Nationalist authorities privately expected that the court would find Reynolds guilty and let him off with two or three years in jail. Instead, the court-martial's verdict last week, on a basic plea of self-defense, was "not guilty." By this time, emotions were running so high that Reynolds, his wife and seven-year-old daughter had to be rushed out to Taipei airport escorted by 67 police, hustled aboard a U.S. Air Force plane and flown off to Manila.

Next day the Chinese widow appeared outside the grey-walled U.S. embassy carrying a crudely lettered placard bearing the inscription, in English and Chinese: "The Killer--Reynolds--Is Innocent? Protest Against U.S. Court-Martial's Unfair, Unjust Decision." Newspapeir editorials charged angrily that if Reynolds had killed an American, he would not have got off scot-free.

The tinder of trouble had been piled higher than anyone knew. The suspicions reflected by the editorials were joined, in the minds of Taipei's Chinese, with the accumulated frustrations of seven years of exile and political uncertainty, and by a general but seldom articulated feeling of irritation and resentment against the better-paid, better-clad and better-housed Americans (and other foreigners) in the capital.

Soon after the widow with her placard appeared before the embassy, small knots of spectators joined her. Police dispersed them, but as their numbers grew the police were unable to cope with them. Inside the embassy an officer remarked: "Look, we're being demonstrated against." The crowds grew larger, began to stone the embassy; eight attaches took to an air-raid shelter. Chinese police and firemen tried to keep the crowds back with fire hoses, were greeted with howls of derision when they turned on the hose and produced only a feeble spurt of water.

Not Like Russians. Then the real riot started. One demonstrator climbed the flagpole, ripped down the U.S. flag. "Good, good," cried an elderly Chinese greybeard. Bolder rioters stormed into the embassy compound; on their heels came a frenzied mob. The rioters crashed into the embassy building itself, shouting, sacking and destroying. U.S. Ambassador Karl Rankin's safe was hurled out of a second-floor window onto the roof of his Cadillac. Desks, Venetian blinds, papers, files and other office equipment fell in a hail from the embassy window. Secret files and papers were strewn about like wastepaper. Some of the rioters shouted: "Destroy, but don't steal."

Several embassy employees and members of the Marine guard were stoned and beaten. In isolated parts of Taipei individual Americans and other foreigners were set upon or driven into hiding. The U.S. Information Service office was completely destroyed. On the walls rioters painted anti-U.S. slogans in English and Chinese. Said one: "Kick Out the American Devils." Said another, more indicative of Taipei's mood: "Don't Behave Like Russians."

Flustered Nationalist officials, obviously unprepared for the outburst, finally called out troops. From his mountain retreat at Sun Moon Lake in central Formosa, Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek sped north to Taipei, called out a total of 33,000 troops, placed Taipei under martial law, imposed strict curfew regulations. Total estimated casualties: at least two Chinese killed, nine Americans injured, one seriously.

Ambassador Rankin flew back from a Hong Kong vacation, motored to the ruins of his embassy with Nationalist China's Foreign Minister George Yeh (Amherst '24). The rioters, not yet under complete control, stoned the car, hit Foreign Minister Yeh. On instructions from Washington- Rankin angrily demanded a full apology and complete compensation.- Chiang rejected an offer of Premier O. K. Yui's Cabinet to resign, but dismissed his Taipei garrison commander and the chiefs of military and civilian police.

A Long Time Healing. In Washington, aroused by a 6:30 a.m. phone call from Taipei, Chinese Ambassador Hollington Tong rushed over to the State Department to tender to Walter Robertson, Assistant Secretary of State for Far Eastern Affairs, his nation's "profoundest regrets and apologies." Said Holly Tong to newsmen: "It's awful, it's awful."

Congressional reaction seemed strongest among the Nationalist government's staunchest supporters. California's William Knowland, whose critics have dubbed him the "Senator from Formosa," denounced the riots as "shocking to me and to all friends of Free China." Knowland noted the Chinese government's prompt action in putting down the riots, but nevertheless snapped: "This does not condone the irresponsible mob action."

At week's end, as tempers both in Washington and Taipei began to cool, U.S. and Nationalist officials were busy assuring one another that the riots would mean no permanent rupture in Sino-American friendship.

*A bill the U.S. will, in effect, have to foot itself, since U.S. funds keep Formosa's deficit economy in operation.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.