Following a
decade of conservative leadership in Beijing under Hu Jintao, the country may
be on the cusp of radical change
The Guardian, The
Observer, John Simpson, Saturday 10 August 2013
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| Beyond the congress hall in Beijing there is little interest in the speeches of the party leaders. Photograph: Wang Zhao/AFP |
Under the
new leadership of President Xi Jinping, a quiet process of reform is under way
in China. If successful, it will transform the country's politics and the way
it approaches the world.
Every
leadership in the past two decades has altered and developed China's direction.
Over the past 10 years Hu Jintao, the outgoing president, introduced a sterner,
more conservative tone. The changes that had been the work of the witty, liberal-minded Zhu Rongji, premier from 1998 to 2003, were set aside. Hu clamped
down on criticism and alternative approaches to government.
Now, Zhu's
ideas are back in fashion. One dissident figure I interviewed for my Radio 5 Live documentary, to be broadcast on Monday, believes the next five to seven
years will change everything. "I would expect to see a popularly elected
parliament in that time," he said.
China is
certainly changing. After three months when its relations with Britain were put
into deep freeze because David Cameron had met the Dalai Lama, the Chinese
government wanted to signal a return to normality. And it did so by giving a
formal interview to the BBC: an organisation that it has also frozen out in the
past.
The
interview I recorded with the deputy director-general of the foreign ministry,
Hong Lei, was the first political interview a senior figure had given to the
BBC in Beijing for well over 20 years.
It was
heavily wrapped in official-speak: this was China, after all. But later a
senior official said in the clearest English: "We have a new start in our
bilateral relationship."
It is part
of a wider pattern. The new bosses in China want a new start in various ways.
Last November I sat in the Great Hall of the People listening to Hu address the party congress. His speech drew a line under his years in office and introduced
the incoming leadership of Xi. Delegates sat bolt upright in their identical
black suits, white shirts and red ties, outfits obtained from official
suppliers in Beijing as soon as they arrived for the congress.
On stage,
the leaders were ranged in order of seniority, looking like waxworks. Each had
his (they were almost, though not quite exclusively, male) hair dyed a
startling raven black – in the current semiotics of Chinese Marxism-Leninism,
grey or white hair denotes feebleness.
There was
one solitary exception as my eye swept along the ranks. Zhu Rongji, the elder
statesman whose ideas had encouraged China's epoch-making changes of the 1990s,
sat in the front row, his hair an eye-catching grey, his tie a tasteful blue.
It was a quiet defiance of Communist party norms; it also showed confidence.
Zhu knew that, after 10 sombre years under Hu, things were swinging in his
direction again.
I grew
bored with Hu's speech. He had an irritating way of raising his voice when he
came to key passages, copies of which were in the hands of every delegate. At
the end of these passages, everyone was expected to applaud. They did, of
course, at interminable length.
So I
wandered out to the lobby of the hall and sat on a step of the splendid marble
staircase to jot down my impressions. It was a minute or two before I
remembered when and where I had done this before: in the Kremlin, during the
Soviet Communist party conference of June 1988. Similarly bored with the
predictability of it all, I had wandered out and sat on the steps to write my
report for that evening's news.
The 1988
conference was the key moment in Mikhail Gorbachev's effort to wrench Soviet
communism away from the old conservative Brezhnevite norms and open it to new
political and economic thinking.
The 2012
Beijing conference also represented an important change of direction. Xi
understands the pitfalls of reforming an old-fashioned autocracy: after the
fall of Soviet communism, there were intensive official studies in China of
what had gone wrong in Russia from 1989 to 1993 and how such mistakes could be
avoided. And yet, as in the old Soviet Union, reform doesn't come exclusively
from the massed ranks of the black-suited party delegates; it seeps into society
through the tiny cracks that exist even in the strongest autocracy, and slowly
begins to permeate society.
The day
after Hu's keynote speech, I went to Zone 798, an area of Beijing that was once
a closed suburb of weapons factories and has now been handed over to, of all
things, the arts. In the halls where heavy guns were once produced, artists are
free to show their work.
My
colleagues and I filmed there, then headed for a nearby cafe to get something
to eat. On the television at the end of the room, speakers at the congress
droned on at the lectern and identical black suits clapped them dutifully.
I looked
around. Not one of the artists or their customers paid the slightest attention:
two parallel yet unconnected universes were passing each other. Again, I had
the feeling I had been here before. In the Soviet bloc in 1988, most
intellectuals felt divorced from the processes of formal Marxist-Leninist
politics. And very soon the old, brittle system had cracked because of its
utter lack of relevance to the lives of real people.
Can Xi
reform the system, without – like Gorbachev – destroying it? He has advantages
that Gorbachev lacked, so it's not absolutely impossible. But I suspect things
have gone too far for traditional Marxism-Leninism to survive. The dissidents
who talk enthusiastically about wholesale change during Xi's tenure may yet
turn out to be right.
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