A Fractured Empire and the Rise of the Huai Army

In the turbulent 1860s, the Qing Dynasty faced existential threats. The Taiping Rebellion (1850–1864), led by the self-proclaimed “Heavenly King” Hong Xiuquan, had carved out a rebel state across southern China, while Western powers exploited China’s weakness after the Opium Wars. Into this chaos stepped Li Hongzhang, a shrewd statesman and military commander, tasked with defending Shanghai—a strategic port teetering on the brink of collapse.

Li’s Huai Army, a ragtag force hardened by years of guerrilla warfare, became a symbol of both China’s desperation and its resilience. When foreign observers in Shanghai dismissed the Huai Army as “China’s largest beggar gang,” Li bristled at their condescension. Yet behind his defiance lay a pragmatic calculus: while he rejected foreign military intervention (“borrowing troops to suppress rebels”), he eagerly sought Western firearms. This tension—between self-reliance and selective modernization—would define China’s path for decades.

The “Borrowing Troops” Debate: A Clash of Visions

The Qing court was deeply divided over whether to accept foreign military aid. Proponents like Governors Xue Huan and Wang Youling argued that Western firepower was indispensable against the Taiping. But Zeng Guofan, Li’s mentor and the architect of the Hunan Army, vehemently opposed the idea. His reasoning was geopolitical:

1. The Cost of Dependency: “Historically, foreign aid always comes with hidden demands,” Zeng warned. He cited the precedent of the Tang Dynasty’s reliance on Uyghur mercenaries, which had led to extortionate reparations.
2. Strategic Futility: The Taiping’s strength lay in land warfare; foreign naval power would be ineffective inland.
3. Sovereignty: “The Taiping are Chinese rebels,” Zeng declared. “China’s troubles must be resolved by Chinese.”

Li Hongzhang, though loyal to Zeng’s principles, displayed greater flexibility. While publicly scorning foreign troops, he privately negotiated arms deals, embodying the paradox of ti-yong (“Chinese learning for essence, Western learning for utility”).

The Cultural Fault Lines: Pride, Prejudice, and Pragmatism

Foreign observers mocked the Huai Army’s disheveled appearance, unaware of its tenacity. This cultural clash revealed deeper biases:

– Western Arrogance: The North China Herald dismissed Chinese forces as incapable of modern warfare, reflecting racialized views of “Asian backwardness.”
– Qing Skepticism: Conservative officials like Chong Hou proposed absurd compromises, such as hiring Indian troops from British colonies—a plan Zeng derided as “ludicrous.”

Yet Li’s pragmatism shone through. He allowed Westerners to defend Shanghai (where they had economic interests) but barred them from campaigns inland, a nuanced stance that balanced realpolitik with national pride.

The Asben Fleet Debacle: Sovereignty at Stake

In 1863, the Qing’s attempt to modernize its navy backfired spectacularly. Purchasing seven British warships through intermediary Horatio Nelson Lay, the court discovered too late that Lay had secretly signed a contract granting British officer Sherard Osborn total control. The terms were colonial:

– The fleet would fly foreign flags.
– Osborn could veto Chinese naval policies.

Zeng Guofan erupted: “Better to scrap the ships than surrender sovereignty!” After a bitter standoff, the Qing dissolved the fleet at a loss of 400,000 taels of silver—a costly lesson in self-reliance.

Legacy: The Seeds of Self-Strengthening

The Huai Army’s eventual role in crushing the Taiping (1864) validated Zeng and Li’s strategy. Their defiance of foreign intervention preserved China’s military autonomy, while Li’s later advocacy for the Self-Strengthening Movement (1860s–1890s) laid groundwork for industrialization.

Yet contradictions remained. The very Western firearms Li coveted required concessions to foreign arms dealers, and the Qing’s refusal to fundamentally reform institutions (as Japan’s Meiji leaders did) ultimately proved fatal. As historian Mary Wright observed, “They bought the tools of modernity but ignored its soul.”

Modern Echoes: Sovereignty and Strategic Autonomy

Today, China’s leaders invoke Zeng and Li as symbols of “indigenous modernization.” The 19th-century debates over technology transfer versus self-reliance resonate in contemporary tensions over semiconductor bans and Belt and Road partnerships. Li’s pragmatism—embracing foreign innovation while resisting control—mirrors Beijing’s stance on globalization: open to trade, wary of dependency.

The Huai Army’s tattered uniforms may be relics of the past, but its defiant spirit endures in China’s insistence on zili gengsheng (“regeneration through one’s own efforts”). In an era of renewed great-power rivalry, the lessons of 1860s Shanghai remain strikingly relevant.