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China's change of leadership, now under way in
Beijing, marks the beginning, not the end, of a
secretive succession struggle
AFTER more than half a century in power, and for the
first time in China's history, the Chinese Communist
Party is on the verge of a leadership change that
involves neither the death nor the overthrow of an
incumbent. At the party's 16th congress, which begins
on Friday, Jiang Zemin, a man once widely dismissed as
a lightweight, is likely to give up his 13-year tenure
as party chief and move into semi-retirement. China
will trumpet this as evidence that, in spite of all
the economic and social problems the country faces,
its politics are stable and its leaders are full of
confidence. It will be wrong.
The five-yearly congress, held in Beijing's Great Hall
of the People, will appoint a new Central Committee (currently
about 330 members, of whom about 40% are “alternates”
with no voting rights). This will meet immediately
afterwards to give its rubber-stamp approval to a new
line-up of the ruling Politburo (currently 21 members,
of whom seven will serve on its all-important Standing
Committee) that for months has been the subject of
bitter feuding between party leaders.
A couple of months ago there was widespread
speculation that Mr Jiang might keep his job as
general secretary. Though he is 76, he is not formally
obliged to stand down. But now it seems likely that,
for the first time in 15 years, Mr Jiang will not be
in the Politburo. This would be in line with a new
though unwritten rule that nobody over 70 should be
appointed.
The biggest question is whether Mr Jiang will continue
serving as chairman of the party's Central Military
Commission, a position that makes him supreme
commander of the armed forces. Some observers believe
that Mr Jiang will give up the post next week. He
would then complete his formal retirement at the
annual session of the legislature, the National
People's Congress, which is due to be held next March.
This would involve stepping down as state president (which
he is constitutionally obliged to do, having served
two terms) and as chairman of the state's Central
Military Commission (a body confusingly identical to
the party's body of the same name).
But on the eve of what could be the biggest change of
leadership in China since the death of Mao Zedong in
1976, little is really known for sure. It is all but
certain that Hu Jintao, a so far colourless
59-year-old former engineer, will be touted by the
party as China's new leader after the new Central
Committee meets, probably at the end of next week (in
keeping with the party's traditional secrecy, only the
opening date of the congress has been made public).
But the extent to which that will really be true will
be hotly debated. Mr Jiang will continue to exert
influence, possibly as head of the Central Military
Commission, but, if not, then through his allies in
the Politburo. It is a safe bet that his retirement
will be incomplete, at best.
The new Politburo—and particularly its Standing
Committee—is likely to be stacked with Mr Jiang's
supporters. Mr Hu, after all, was not Mr Jiang's
choice. It was at Deng Xiaoping's request that he was
promoted to the Standing Committee ten years ago with
a view to succeeding Mr Jiang. None of the new
Standing Committee members are likely to be protégés
of Mr Hu. He has no power base of his own to call upon
for support. Even though Mr Jiang's succession
arrangements have been unusually smooth compared with
those of Mao and Deng, there are still good reasons
why the party should worry about the future stability
of its leadership and indeed about the future of the
66m-member party itself.
It is true that Mr Jiang himself came to power in the
wake of the Tiananmen Square protests in 1989 with
many of the disadvantages now faced by Mr Hu. In some
ways, Mr Jiang was in an even worse position. He was a
provincial leader—Shanghai's party chief—with no
experience in the armed forces (Mr Hu was appointed
vice-chairman of the Central Military Commission in
1999) and was only an ordinary member of the Politburo.
But Mr Jiang had the backing of powerful elders,
including a still living Deng. He also used a loyal
aide with superior knowledge of Beijing's political
intrigues to plead his case with the elders. That aide,
Zeng Qinghong, looks likely to be rewarded by Mr Jiang
with membership of the Politburo Standing Committee
after this congress. Mr Hu will have enormous
difficulty outmanoeuvring such a skilled political
operator.
Even if Mr Hu were able to appeal to retired or
semi-retired elders for support, it is unlikely that
they would be able to exert power in the way Deng and
his octogenarian colleagues (the eight Immortals, as
ordinary citizens liked to call them, all but one of
them now dead) did in the late 1980s and early 1990s.
Apart from Mr Jiang, the most influential elders will
be the chairman of the National People's Congress (or
parliament), Li Peng and the prime minister, Zhu
Rongji, both 74, who are expected to retire next year.
Another may be the 68-year-old Li Ruihuan, who is head
of the parliament's advisory body, the Chinese
People's Political Consultative Conference. Beijing
has been awash with rumours that Mr Li, a rival of
Jiang's, will also retire from the Politburo—a
last-minute compromise that could help edge Mr Jiang
out of the military commission.
None of these men has anything like the revolutionary
credentials or standing within the party enjoyed by
the Long Marchers of Deng's generation. Mr Jiang is
the butt of jokes among party officials, who resent
his vanity and the dominance of the “Shanghai faction”
he has built up around him. Li Peng is widely disliked
for his prominent role in the crushing of the
Tiananmen Square protests. Rumours of corruption have
also long swirled around members of his family.
Mr Zhu—though lionised by foreign businessmen—is
considered by many in the party to be arrogant and
abrasive. Li Ruihuan, a plain-spoken reformist, is
more popular among ordinary Chinese and party members.
But he does not have enough clout in key institutions
such as the armed forces to help Mr Hu much.
Hu Jintao's strongest supporter in the Politburo is
likely to be Wen Jiabao, who is all but certain to
replace Mr Zhu as prime minister next March. Mr Wen is
a quietly spoken consensus-seeker rather than an
aggressive politician (much like Mr Hu himself). But
while being courteous to colleagues has helped Mr Hu
and Mr Wen make it to the top, staying there and using
their power effectively will require other political
skills that both have yet to demonstrate. Some
observers believe Zeng Qinghong and not Mr Hu will
emerge as China's most powerful figure as Mr Jiang's
authority fades.
Mr Zeng and fellow protégés of Mr Jiang are likely to
be the dominant faction in the Politburo Standing
Committee. Members of this group are likely to include
Wu Bangguo (tipped to become first deputy prime
minister), Huang Ju (until a few days ago the party
chief of Shanghai) and Jia Qinglin (until recently the
party chief of Beijing). Luo Gan, the party's head of
internal security and a protégé of Li Peng, is also a
strong candidate. If Li Ruihuan leaves the Politburo,
Huang Ju would be a likely, if uninspiring, choice to
become head of the National People's Congress and Jia
Qinglin could succeed Mr Li as chairman of the
legislature's advisory body.
Adapt or die?
Mr Hu may find that allegiances shift once Mr Jiang is
no longer in office, perhaps even in his favour. But
more probably the Politburo will consist of contending
groups with no clear voice of authority.
That does not bode well for a country which will face
enormous social and economic stresses in the coming
years as its state-owned industries crumble, its
markets open wider to foreign competition, the gap
between rich and poor grows, corruption spreads and a
fast-growing middle class begins to demand greater
political involvement. “There is a danger when so many
new leaders come into position, and they are not used
to working with each other very well, that cases of
social unrest may sharpen differences and create
instability,” says Jean-Pierre Cabestan of the French
Centre for Research on Contemporary China in Hong Kong.
Mr Jiang appears belatedly in his career to have
recognised that the party is failing to adapt to the
wrenching changes around it. The congress is expected
to revise the party charter to include his idea of the
“Three Represents”. This concept, first unveiled two
years ago, suggests that the party represents not only
its traditional clientele of workers, peasants,
intellectuals, soldiers and officials but also new
social forces such as private enterprise. For the
first time, a sprinkling of private businessmen has
been included among the 2,100-odd delegates to the
congress. It is even possible that one or two will
make it on to the new Central Committee.
The revised party charter is likely to mention Mr
Jiang by name as the author of the “Three Represents”,
much to the annoyance of many in the party who regard
this as an attempt by Mr Jiang to prolong his
influence and create a personality cult. But, by
raising the idea, Mr Jiang has made it easier for the
party to co-opt the middle class rather than be
marginalised by it. From the party's perspective, such
a step is essential—even though more orthodox Maoists,
of whom there are still a surprising number around,
find Mr Jiang's admission of “exploiters” into the
party ranks difficult to swallow.
China's new leaders, of whatever faction, are likely
to pursue Mr Jiang's efforts to woo private business.
Party literature is suffused with a sense of crisis
about the way the growth of private enterprise and the
decay of the state sector are eroding the party's grip.
In moribund state-owned enterprises, party members are
often as demoralised as ordinary workers and sometimes
even lead protests (though party regulations
explicitly ban members from joining such activities).
In 2000, 82% of private businesses had no party
members (all state-owned enterprises have not only
members but also party cells). In rural China, party
control at the grassroots is similarly under assault
as power shifts to village chiefs (many of them not
party members) directly elected by villagers. This has
resulted in fierce power struggles between party
cadres and elected officials in many rural areas.
The congress will try to shore up the party's
legitimacy by stressing the need for greater
“inner-party” democracy. But in this area Mr Jiang has
come up with no new ideas. At best it will involve
extending the practice of giving low-level party
organisations a choice of more than one candidate to
fill a party post. The Tiananmen protests and the
collapse of communism elsewhere still haunt the party
so much that nobody in the leadership is willing to
grasp the issue of political reform.
Bao Tong, a former member of the Central Committee who
helped to organise the party's 13th congress in 1987
(and was sentenced to seven years in jail for being on
the wrong side in the power struggle that erupted
during the Tiananmen demonstrations), says that, if
inner-party reforms under way in the late 1980s had
been pursued, the party by now would have multiple
candidates for the post of general secretary. “Very
unfortunately, [the unrest in] 1989 marked an end to
any progress with inner-party democracy, if not a
retreat from it,” Mr Bao says.
Despite its proclaimed stability, the party is still
fearful of a Soviet-style collapse. Outspoken critics,
like Mr Bao, are kept under close police surveillance.
The general secretary at the time of Tiananmen, Zhao
Ziyang (for whom Mr Bao worked), remains under house
arrest. Mr Hu has given no indication that he is a
closet liberal impatient to revive political reforms.
Indeed, the indications are otherwise. As party chief
in Tibet he imposed martial law in 1989 and organised
the brutal suppression of anti-Chinese unrest.
His speeches give warning of the dangers of
ideological deviation and the threat posed by western
ideology. A state-controlled publication, News Weekly,
says that Beijing's police have been on high alert
since September to prevent attempts by organisations
such as the Falun Gong cult and “hostile elements
inside and outside China” to sabotage the congress.
The congress will mark the start of Mr Jiang's
protracted withdrawal from politics, but that alone is
no reason to expect any big changes in China.
Nov 7th 2002 | BEIJING
From The Economist print edition
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