This monograph was published in 2003. Reviewing it now, two decades after its release, one cannot help but adopt the perspective of a Monday-morning quarterback. The passage of time, the declassification of more historical materials, and the monumental transformations China has undergone in these twenty years inevitably reshape our understanding.
The author’s prose is notably convoluted, with numerous long and complex sentences conveying a wealth of implicit information. Nevertheless, it is undeniably a masterpiece of meticulous argumentation and progressive, layered analysis. Alought the slightly meaning of “the end of history” within it.
The book’s central thesis chronicles the formation of a large cohort of technical and professional personnel around Marshal Nie Rongzhen following the establishment of the People’s Republic of China. This group was tasked with the development of strategic weapons. The narrative explores how this cohort secured a central position in the allocation of national research and development resources in the 1950s, achieved monumental breakthroughs in the 1960s, and subsequently faced immense challenges in the 1970s. As political tides shifted, their value was questioned, only for them to regain their core status in the national R&D landscape in the 1980s by proposing new strategic initiatives.
This group became a formidable political force. The author contends that for China to achieve genuine integration into the global economy in the 21st century, it must dismantle the top-down, state-mobilized system of science and technology R&D that this group epitomized.
In the following sections, I will attempt to succinctly describe the key developments of each period and then offer a modest discussion on several core concepts.
The difficult position of the People’s Volunteer Army when facing the well-equipped U.S. forces during the Korean War is often cited as the catalyst for Chinese leaders’ pursuit of advanced technology. (However, recent archival research, particularly the work of Shen Zhihua, suggests that the leadership’s quest for high technology predated the Korean War. The war, in fact, became a bargaining chip for China to obtain technological assistance from the Soviet Union.)
Among the central leadership at the time, Liu Bocheng was the most focused on technological development. At the PLA Nanjing Military Academy, he consistently emphasized the need for a modernized military, implicitly countering Mao Zedong’s long-held doctrines of “People’s War” and the idea that “man can conquer nature.”
In the mid-1950s, a strategic debate emerged. Nie Rongzhen strongly advocated for prioritizing strategic weapons, arguing that this would facilitate a “trickle-down” of technology to conventional armaments and civilian infrastructure. In contrast, He Long emphasized the development of conventional weaponry to modernize the army. Ultimately, the strategic weapons faction led by Nie Rongzhen prevailed, a victory closely linked to China’s concurrent hostile relations with both the United States and the Soviet Union.
With nearly all scientific research funding channeled into strategic weapons, this field aggregated the entirety of China’s technological expertise. These experts faced the immense challenge of fulfilling national objectives under intense political pressure.
First, the strategic weapons program was a highly politicized endeavor. The principle of “politics in command” (政治挂帅) meant that placing political figures in charge of scientific research projects carried inherent and substantial risks. Second, the program was a massive inter-departmental and inter-agency undertaking, involving the People’s Liberation Army (PLA), the Chinese Academy of Sciences (CAS), and ministries for mineral resources, electric power, and telecommunications, as well as various academic institutions. After its founding, the PRC adopted a Soviet-style, highly vertical government structure characterized by severe departmental silos. Marshal Nie’s greatest challenge was to secure the necessary resources from these disparate and insulated entities.
Nie devised a solution to the first problem by assigning political roles to his technical experts. These specialists not only solved technical problems but also acted as political liaisons, responsible for briefing senior leaders and coordinating resources. This integration of knowledgeable experts into the political process marked an early professionalization of the bureaucracy.
The solution to the second problem was twofold. On one hand, the project was elevated to the Politburo level, with a system of regular briefings institutionalized. This created a formal channel for communication with top leaders like Mao Zedong and Zhou Enlai to report progress and coordinate resources. On the other hand, horizontal coordination mechanisms were established within the existing bureaucracy. For example, a new bureau dedicated to the strategic weapons project was created within the Ministry of Mines. While administratively part of the ministry, its operations were oriented toward the weapons program, enabling it to marshal resources from various sectors.
The strategic weapons program consumed almost all of China’s R&D resources from the 1960s to the 1970s. However, its technological achievements failed to spur advancements in conventional weapons or civilian technology, and consequently did not drive economic development. This issue was not considered critical during the Mao era, which was dominated by themes of international strategy and national confrontation. However, following the deaths of Mao and Zhou, their successor, Deng Xiaoping, viewed it as an extremely serious problem. Furthermore, Deng’s assessment of a global trend toward peace and détente led him to shift the military’s technological focus from strategic to conventional weapons. The Sino-Vietnamese War, which exposed the backwardness of Chinese equipment, accelerated this trend. As military resources were redirected, the strategic weapons elite faced budget cuts and diminishing resources, leading to a decline in their influence. This was manifested in the gradual decentralization of the Commission for Science, Technology and Industry for National Defense (COSTIND), once the nation’s supreme institution for promoting technological development, with the State Council assuming more control over related affairs.
Deng Xiaoping was more concerned with national economic construction and, therefore, his focus on strategic weapons, which could not be quickly converted into economic benefits, continued to wane. Indeed, given the devastated state of the national economy in 1978, such projects were not a high priority. This state-led, top-down model of mobilizing all economic forces for development faced a severe challenge.
In response, strategic weapons experts, led by Wang Daheng, Wang Ganchang, Yang Jiachi, and Chen Fangyun, took action. In 1986, they submitted a direct proposal to Deng Xiaoping, advocating for focused investment in seven key areas to comprehensively advance national science and technology. Five of these fields were civilian-oriented, while two remained closely related to strategic weapons research.
Deng always had a clear understanding of the importance of technology for economic stimulus. Since 1978, he had been continuously introducing foreign technology and purchasing advanced equipment. With the economy improving and national revenue increasing, he swiftly approved the proposal upon receiving it in March 1986, committing substantial resources to the initiative. This program, known as the “863 Program,” allowed the strategic weapons elite to once again secure massive resource allocation. Although a peer-review system was introduced, this elite group effectively maintained control over resource distribution across nearly all fields of the 863 Program. It became a veritable replica of the Nie-led strategic weapons development of the 1960s, and in some respects, they wielded even greater power.
Fundamentally, however, this model of top-down state mobilization to achieve scientific and technological breakthroughs never changed. Research under this paradigm has always lacked market orientation. This meant that while the 863 Program set ambitious goals for breakthroughs in cutting-edge technologies, what China needed at the time was more market-driven R&D. Consequently, during this phase, China’s economic modernization was substantially driven by the introduction of foreign technologies and practices, rather than by its own indigenous scientific and technological modernization.
As market-driven adoption of foreign technology and expertise continued, coupled with the Deng era’s push for market-oriented reforms and the attempt to integrate into the global economy via the WTO, the state-guided, top-down R&D funding model created increasing friction and contradictions. The core of this conflict is a paradox: China desires to cultivate an indigenous culture of technological innovation and achieve self-sufficient scientific progress, and it persistently uses state will to pursue this goal. However, a significant portion of global innovation is not the result of state will and mobilization, but of market-driven processes. The more a nation relies on market-based technology while simultaneously attempting to force technological progress through state will, the more difficult it becomes to achieve genuine, market-oriented domestic innovation.
Thus, the author concludes by emphasizing that if China hopes to integrate into the global market, it must abandon this state-dominated approach to R&D. It must shift toward a market-led model of technological innovation, with government investment focused on more fundamental research and projects that do not require short-term returns.
Points for Discussion
On Technological Nationalism
Techno-nationalists believe that the innovation and diffusion of advanced technology determine the rise and fall of a nation. In the final chapter, the author revisits the period starting from the Self-Strengthening Movement, tracing how China has attempted to use advanced military equipment to drive modernization and escape foreign oppression. It was through this very process that the cognitive community of the “Chinese nation” gradually formed and was propelled.
Can we then interpret the strategic weapons experts as techno-nationalists? Superficially, their enthusiastic devotion to the most advanced strategic technologies—including nuclear weapons, nuclear submarines, and aerospace technology—suggests an effort to secure a more prominent position for China on the world stage. On deeper inspection, however, they were more akin to implementers (a point to be elaborated below). This is because techno-nationalism has long been a conviction held by the people of this land, from the highest leaders to the common masses. Techno-nationalism compelled China to insist on developing its own nuclear technology even when the Soviet Union was willing to provide a nuclear umbrella; it also compelled the state to launch one top-down national mobilization campaign after another to achieve modernization.
At its core, this is a question of modernity. Nuclear technology became the Jiangnan Arsenal of a new era. This time, China did, in a sense, successfully master the technology. But did it ultimately advance the process of modernization? From today’s perspective, it seems it did not. Instead, the nation became addicted—addicted to this state-led pursuit of technological breakthroughs. Now, another national mobilization campaign is underway to master the most advanced processes across the entire semiconductor industry chain. What is different this time is that more market-oriented measures have replaced administrative commands. Whether it succeeds or not may have little to do with modernity; technical success is merely technical success. This leads to the next question.
Returning to the concept of techno-nationalism itself, an objective definition would be as stated at the outset. However, from its very inception, the term has been imbued with strong political intent and implies a nation-state’s assertion of sovereignty over a technology (Shen Xincheng, 2022). This inevitably leads to “reinventing the wheel.” Even with strong external assistance, the nation is still viewed as the absolute subject, the most important—if not the sole—actor. Its narrative remains intensely framed by a “subject-object” relationship. This confrontational characteristic is a perfect reflection of the narrative of modernity, which implies that, at least to some extent, we are still struggling to enter the realm of modernity.
On the Relationship Between Technology and the Economy
Is there a necessary correlation between scientific and technological progress and economic development? For a long time, many people, myself included, would have assumed a mutually reinforcing relationship. However, observing China’s current economic development can make one overlook its economic level in the 1950s. It could be argued that the vast majority of the population at that time lived at a standard of living no different from that of the Qing Dynasty. Yet, in such an economic environment, China still developed nuclear weapons, albeit with significant Soviet aid. Therefore, one can say that the highest level of technology is not closely tied to economic conditions. Another example is North Korea. How did a country that was undergoing the “Arduous March” in the 1990s manage to successfully test an atomic bomb just over a decade later? Thus, a lack of economic development does not preclude the mastery of advanced science and technology. The most critical factor influencing a nation’s ability to master advanced technology is resource allocation. The question is whether the state is willing and able to invest sufficient resources into a specific technology. Especially in economically disadvantaged situations, there is a greater willingness to concentrate all available resources on a single technology, a feat perhaps only achievable by powerful, centralized states like China and North Korea. In contrast, in a world of free markets and private economies, mobilizing national resources requires more covert and indirect methods, as seen in the United States after Pearl Harbor.
This further demonstrates that techno-nationalism is not unique to China or North Korea; it also appears in the United States and Japan. In fact, the term was originally coined to describe the comprehensive competition between the U.S. and Japan in the 1980s. It is clear, however, that the methods these two types of countries use to promote techno-nationalism differ vastly.
Conversely, does technological progress necessarily lead to economic development? The answer is complex. The cases of China and North Korea initially suggest a negative answer. Mastery of advanced technology did not substantially promote economic development or improve national living standards. Of course, this might be because these are military, not civilian, technologies. However, the logic often espoused by these techno-nationalist states—that “military technology can be converted to civilian use to drive national economic development”—does not hold up. So, can a state-mobilized push for civilian technology drive economic development? One might find successful examples. South Korea’s state-led development of its semiconductor industry could be considered a success story. From the perspective of 2025, China’s electric vehicle industry might also be counted as a success. Following this logic, it might be inferred that the state-led push for chip manufacturing could also succeed in the future, boosting the overall economy and, in turn, living standards. The extent to which people benefit from this is another question of distribution, not discussed here. But within this logical chain, we can faintly see that the cultivation of a culture of innovation is the most crucial element.
Although states may become addicted to mobilizing national efforts for innovation, no country wants to find itself repeatedly having to reinvent others’ wheels. Therefore, the ultimate goal of such a state-led system is to use central mobilization to give birth to a culture of innovation. But this goal contains a self-reflexive contradiction.
First is its inherent paradox. A state-led technological breakthrough naturally concentrates all sorts of resources, including human resources, around a specific goal. In this process, the value of the individual is necessarily subordinated to national objectives, which is inherently at odds with the individual-driven formation of an innovative culture. Market-driven innovation must consider investment and return. A state-led technological breakthrough does not need to consider returns, leading to what is called “saturation R&D” (饱和式研发), seen in projects from lithography machines to vaccines. However, technological innovation that disregards returns is even less likely to foster a culture of innovation. Therefore, state-led innovation cannot achieve the very goal it sets for itself: an innovative culture.
Second, once the role of individuals becomes critical, it is difficult to reclaim the power they have been given. We can see this clearly in the book. When the powerful strategic weapons experts fell out of favor and lost substantial resources in the late 1970s, they were unwilling to relinquish their power (or privilege—the privilege of exclusively controlling R&D resources). They thus initiated the 863 Program in an attempt to regain that power. Therefore, once a state-led system succeeds, those who distribute the resources will not voluntarily give up that power and will try to initiate various state-led systems again.
On the Narrative Perspective
The book adopts the perspective of the strategic weapons R&D elite, describing their journey from the 1950s to the late 1990s—a full cycle of project success, political power acquisition, loss of favor, and the hope of regaining power.
The author’s perspective and tone are centered on the efforts of this elite. However, as analyzed above, they were not the only techno-nationalists. The top leaders, including both Mao and Deng, were also techno-nationalists, and their faith in science and technology was consistent. Therefore, we can view this period from another angle: regardless of what the strategic weapons elite did, they were always going to be valued. This is because techno-nationalists need a state-led system for long-term investment in science and technology. The difference was merely that Mao’s focus was on international politics, while Deng’s was on the domestic economy.
In the late 1970s, the devastated national economy required more of the state’s resources, so the priority of the strategic weapons elite was lowered during a time of resource scarcity. However, once the economy improved by the mid-1980s, the importance of these technical experts was bound to be re-emphasized. One could boldly hypothesize that even if they had made no effort, they would have likely regained their resource allocation power. After all, the cohort of the mid-1980s still represented the apex of the scientific and technological community. This is evident from the fact that Wang Daheng’s letter proposing the 863 Program was delivered directly to Deng Xiaoping, who immediately ordered swift action. The design of the program was initiated within a month, a concentration of resources that echoed the glory of the late 1950s. Therefore, it is plausible that even without this letter, Deng Xiaoping would have eventually restarted a major scientific research program.
This is a very bold hypothesis, and perhaps we cannot make assumptions about history. But from a state-level perspective, it offers an alternative explanation. It is precisely because of the uniqueness of its perspective that the book has some specific problems. For example, it portrays the dispute between Nie Rongzhen and He Long over resource allocation as a intensely hostile relationship. This not only denies the decades of deep camaraderie between He and Nie as comrades-in-arms but also overlooks their long-term cooperation in the defense industry and the friendship strengthened by their common enemy, Lin Biao. Of course, within the political system, the competition for resources between their respective defense industry factions was fierce. However, I personally believe that elevating this fierce competition to the level of animosity is somewhat of an overstatement. Regarding the relationship between the two factions amidst this intense competition, I do not even believe there was mutual animosity. The consistently favored strategic weapons faction continuously absorbed “useful people” from all sectors of society. In this environment, they were more likely to ignore the existence of other factions rather than harbor hostility toward them.
Furthermore, the book lacks a clear description and summarization of the identity of the strategic weapons elite. In the 863 Program, the proposers were the strategic weapons elite, but by the time they proposed it, they were already part of the State Science and Technology Commission (SSTC), led by the State Council. In this process, they had continuously absorbed experts from other fields, including biology and medicine. To continue to view them as “strategic weapons elite” at this stage—a fixation and conflation of identity—raises some questions.