
When U.S. Defense Secretary Robert Gates landed on Oct. 10 in Hanoi, he hoped to demonstrate Washington's commitment to stability in Southeast Asia. It turns out he was pushing on an open door: Countries in the region are deeply anxious about Beijing's naval buildup and its recent aggressive moves to turn the Pacific Ocean into a Chinese lake.
Meanwhile, Beijing is lashing out at the West over human rights, the environment, and the valuation of its currency, leading many to argue that China's rise is finally beginning to have the destabilizing impact so long predicted by some leading international relations scholars and pundits. But many observers are missing another important driver of Beijing's recent assertiveness: China's foreign policy is not in the hands of its diplomats.
Officially, China's highest-ranking foreign-policymaker is Dai Bingguo, who ranks only 50 in the whole political system. The real power is in the Politburo of the Communist Party -- and, to be precise, in its nine-member-strong standing committee. It is here that the directions to get tough on Japan over the South China Sea, or the United States over renminbi revaluation, are made. And Friday marks the start of the annual four-day Politburo meeting, which begins with a unusual cloud hanging over preceedings.
This Chinese "elite of elites" is somewhat distracted at the moment. In about two years' time, seven of the current nine will have reached retirement age and will need to step aside. Every five years, during the party congress, the next generation of leaders is elevated, and 2012 is going to be a big year: We will see a shift from the "fourth generation" of Chinese leaders under President Hu Jintao and Premier Wen Jiabao to a "fifth." A new era will start. And in theory, Hu and Wen will sink into quiet retirement, minding their own business and letting the younger guys (and perhaps this time one woman) get on with running the show.
Only this time there are a couple of problems. The first is that there is no powerful elder patron who can direct this whole process smoothly. Deng Xiaoping, the paramount leader of his day, anointed Hu many years before he finally got to the top. It ensured that his road was relatively clear. Deng's immense prestige and reputation meant anyone arguing with Hu had to reckon with the influence and legacy of Deng.
While Hu's predecessor, Jiang Zemin, still exercises influence, even in his mid-80s, he has nothing like the clout of a Deng. So the transition this time will be without a patriarch's guiding hand. That means that while politburos before have had high turnovers, the impact of a large number retiring this time could be far more destabilizing.
No one knows what kind of battles might be taking place now in the central government compound in Beijing where the key leaders live and work. The politburos under Hu and Wen have been watertight. Nothing much gets out about who supports whom, and who is in favor, who in danger. Rumors have swirled around Wen for some time about his lack of support in the party and his occasionally falling foul of Hu. He appeared in the southern city of Shenzhen in late August talking up political reform, leading to speculation that he was trying to create at least some legacy on the more liberal side of the party. But before anyone could get too excited, Wen produced the strongest condemnation of the Japanese when they detained the captain of a stray Chinese ship near disputed sea territory in September. Was he opportunistically compensating for being accused of being too soft earlier in the year? We simply don't know. Wen's recent interview with Fareed Zakaria -- censored by state media -- only adds to the uncertainty. Unlike with Western rulers, however, the habit of producing lengthy autobiographies after politicians leave office has yet to catch on in China, so we will probably never find out for sure what exactly has been going on.
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