Smelling salts for China’s Jasmine dream
Originally published by Asia Times, 26 feb 2011 By Peter Lee |
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China’s “Jasmine incident” suggests new paradigms in the game of cat-and-mouse between China’s security organs and dissidents.
The government’s anxiety over events in the Arab world and North Africa was on full display on February 20 as hundreds of police were dispatched to Beijing’s Wangfujing central shopping street and other sites around China to counter a “Jasmine” demonstration promoted by the overseas Chinese dissident website boxun.com. Known dissidents were reportedly detained and, in some cases, brutalized. Boxun was subjected to a distributed denial of service The event itself was a bizarre one-off that many dissidents chose not to attend, and yielded more onlookers and journalists than demonstrators. In an interesting way, the Chinese government’s overreaction – rather than the actions of the demonstrators – turns out to be the story. China Digital Times posted the account of one blogger in Beijing, Jason Ng:
With its ceaseless calls for “stability”, China’s government has backed itself into a Confucian corner. “Instability” – a multipolar society fueled by access to the Internet – is becoming a fact of life, the new default setting. The intrusiveness of the “Great Firewall” and the security apparatus attempting to impose stability are threatening to become more prominent irritants than the dissent they are meant to stifle. Unless the Chinese government has enough resources to send police to every street corner, a goon to every dissident’s household, and a fifty-center to every online forum whenever an impish website announces a demonstration, it is going to have to develop new tools to manage China’s political life. The most relevant lesson for China from the people’s revolts in the Arab world is that single-party authoritarianism is increasingly vulnerable. When only state tools (police, security forces and the army) and the occasional club-wielding thugs are available to counter widespread political dissent, the government quickly finds itself on the wrong side of the public-relations equation. China’s future may look more like Russia and Iran’s: messy and multi-party. Both Russia and Iran have chosen to reconcile themselves to multi-party politics, if not democracy. To protect the ruling groups, they have created, financed and preferentially promoted through pro-state media and various murky machinations nationalist political parties that serve as another weapon against democratic dissent. Certainly, Iran sent as chilling but more effective message for pro-government parties in the call of the Majlis (parliament) for the death penalty for key opposition leaders Mir Hossein Mousavi and Mehdi Karroubi, than it was for Chinese policemen to put a rice bag over the head of a dissident, Liu Shihui, punch him and break his leg. [2] The calculation that people will embrace Confucian authoritarianism looks more and more risky as domestic and international forces impinge on China, much as they did the at the first modern collapse of Confucianism at the fall of the Qing Dynasty (1644-1911). The Chinese Communist Party (CCP) may find it necessary to become more Taoist – to react to events rather than pretend to control them all – and think about replacing its overseas Confucius Institutes with Laozi academies. The question, however, is whether the CCP dares surrender some of the perquisites and power that go with being the “father and mother of the people”. There are indications that the Chinese government is going to, if anything, double down on “stability” by perpetuating single-party rule through the second-generation of princelings. If the Chinese leadership does not draw useful and important lessons from the total princeling failure in Libya, coming on the heels of the massive public repudiation of Hosni Mubarak’s son and rumored heir-apparent, Gamal, then its situation is potentially dire. Muammar Gaddafi’s son, Saif, had staked out political space for himself as the sane one in the family: the suit-wearing, London School of Economics-educated technocrat who would manage the family business (which his father had put on a sound geopolitical footing by engineering an unlikely – and expensive – post-terrorism, post-weapons of mass destruction, post-Lockerbie rapprochement with the West) on neo-authoritarian terms. But he instantaneously bankrupted his political capital in a finger-wagging TV address in support of the crackdown. Steve Clemons wrote:
The princeling problem is not a matter of mere academic interest to China. The man widely expected to lead China after Hu Jintao retires as president, Xi Jinping, is himself a princeling, the son of Xi Zhongxun, who implemented the Shenzhen Special Economic Zone (SEZ) reform. Reuters was granted its own exclusive trove of 1,000 WikiLeaks cables. Paul Eckert’s February 17 review of the cables concentrated on the outsized role of princelings in the CCP elite – and in Xi’s mindset.
If the WikiLeaks cables are correct – and there is no guarantee they are; diplomats are not immune to alarmism, wishful thinking, the attractions of delivering opinions their superiors want to hear, and plain, simple error – the CCP is risking self-immolation by placing at the apex of power a mediocre princeling who instinctively understands the elite’s obsession with profit, power, and protection but little else. Inevitably, princelings will serve as the focus of popular resentment in any Chinese political crisis. People may be willing to sacrifice individual rights for national development, but not to perpetuate personal privilege into the second or third generation. In such circumstances, Xi Jinping may be more liability than asset as the face of the party. What may save Xi Jinping is an assist from China’s dissidents, whose perceptions of people power and events in the Middle East seem as mired in nostalgia for 1989 and recollections of Tiananmen as the leadership is obsessed with the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991. Many Chinese dissidents are understandably infatuated with the spectacle of large crowds in large squares. There is also appears to be an understandable but somewhat more dubious assumption that the magic process of democracy will adequately resolve the deeply rooted problems created or papered-over by decades of authoritarian rule. Unfortunately, revolution in China will probably look very little like the Velvet revolution in Czechoslovakia – which inspired the optimistic liberal democratic aspirations of China’s dissident Charter 08 – or even the Egyptian revolution. It may very well look a lot like the Soviet collapse of 1991: the near instantaneous liquidation of the massive territories and state assets of a multi-national empire. Scenarios include secession by Tibet (not just the autonomous region but also large swaths of majority-Tibetan territories in Sichuan, Qinghai and Gansu) and the establishment of a pro-Western/pro-Indian government in Lhasa; nationalist agitation if not independence in Xinjiang; a spasm of aggrieved hypernationalist sentiment, and vigorous competition by candidate strongmen in the ranks of the party, the security apparatus, and the military for the levers of power and profit as the economy lurches into crisis. More problematically, the Egypt experience has elicited another iteration of idealistic Chinese paeans to the selfless national love displayed by the armed forces, which will wield decisive force
This is an interesting but ahistorical expression of optimism, given what actually happened in Tiananmen and fact that the overall political and economic success of the KMT (Whampoa Academy and Northern Expedition) and, subsequently, the CCP (“power comes from the barrel of a gun”) were defined by their development and deployment of independent military power when “people power” – political action and mass agitation – were by themselves ineffectual. As for Egypt, it is an awkward fact that Egypt is, at least for now, under the rule of a military junta and not governed by its increasingly fractious collection of people power advocates. In fact, activists have been obliged to return to Tahrir Square in an effort to advance their agendas against the resistance of the military. Therefore, it might be posited that militaries are not instinctively or reliably pro-democratic and their definition of what constitutes patriotic action is often a matter of institutional convenience. Indeed, the armed forces, when freed from party or state control, may end up supporting whatever opportunistic faction pleases them, instead of “the nation” and “the people”. As an object lesson as to how armed forces actually behave during the collapse of a communist empire, we can turn to Boris Yeltsin’s career, courtesy of Wikipedia:
So far so good.
The pro-parliamentary faction was in the majority on the streets of Moscow. As for the army, the flattery, handholding, and a commitment to risk avoidance seems to have been at least as important as heeding the popular will:
A left-wing dissident, Boris Kargalitsky – who was imprisoned by the USSR for two years and also detained and beaten by Yeltsin’s forces – provides an account of the army’s antagonistic interactions with people power in the Russian capital in 1993:
Wikipedia continues:
Grachev became a key political figure, despite many years of charges that he was linked to corruption within the Russian military. Grachev presided over the disastrous first Chechen War as Yeltsin’s Minister of Defense. In addition to military incompetence, he was known as “Pashka Mercedes” for his alleged corruption. (Dmitry Kholodov , a journalist who penned a devastating expose of Grachev, was killed in 1994 by a booby-trapped suitcase). The crushing of the parliamentary opposition in 1993 with the assistance of the army is considered to be a key milestone in the emasculation of the legislature and the transformation of Russia into a “superpresidential” system in which power – including control of the military – is concentrated in the executive branch. Yeltsin allowed the military to slip the party leash and assume a political role. Unsurprisingly, the military exploited the latitude it was given with little regard for the sensibilities of democracy activists. In 2006, Zoltan Barany of the University of Texas concluded:
The Russian executive branch has been called a “militocracy” because it is permeated by ex-military, state security, and internal security officers. Is it a democracy? Barany wrote:
This is the system that evolved out of the intersection – actually the collision – of military power and people power in the post-communist period in Russia. Something to think about as elites and dissidents pursue diverging fantasies of authoritarianism and democracy inside China. Notes Peter Lee writes on East and South Asian affairs and their intersection with US foreign policy. |