What Does China Think?. Mark Leonard

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       CHAPTER ONE

      Yellow River Capitalism

      In the 1980s, we were all reformists. We criticized old-style Maoist goals and practices. We looked at our circumstances through the ideas of the West. What we got was naïve and abstract because we didn’t really know what would happen to China once the market took off. We didn’t know that the market would create rich and poor: we thought it would benefit everyone. And for a few years it did.

      Gan Yang

      It was the Cuban cigars that first caught my eye. Half a dozen boxes of Cohiba, Romeo y Julieta and Montecristo piled high on Zhang Weiying’s desk in a haphazard monument to the economic opportunities of today’s China. These almost Freudian status symbols – worth several times a Chinese peasant’s annual income – are like pocket-sized pyramids, toiled over by workers for the rich to flaunt. Like the 300 skyscrapers of Shanghai or Beijing’s new Olympic Stadium they testify to the nature of an economy where labour has become a commodity, and money is spent almost as quickly as it is earned.

      But for Zhang Weiying they are also pocket-sized fragments of freedom; products of a parallel universe – a republic of the West – that has been built alongside the Communist state in China; one whose dynamism he hopes will gradually eclipse and replace the last vestiges of Maoism. Like other economic liberals – or members of the ‘New Right’ as their opponents call them – he thinks that the planned economy is the foundation of political despotism; that China’s freedom will not come until the public sector is dismantled and sold off, and the state has shrivelled into a residual body designed primarily to protect property rights. Only then, according to the ‘New Right’, will a propertied class – a new civil society – be able to lay the foundations for democratic politics. The cigars, therefore, do not just show that getting rich is glorious, as symbols of private wealth they are milestones on the road to freedom.

      Behind Zhang Weiying’s desk a glass-fronted display case glistened with the trophies and baubles of a distinguished career: books he has written and edited, pictures of him with Nobel laureates and statesmen, degrees from leading universities, and an award for ‘The Man of the Year in Chinese Economy’ from Chinese Central Television (CCTV) in 2002. They all reinforce the point that Professor Zhang Weiying has made it; that he is one of the most famous economists in China. But life today is getting tougher for economists like Zhang Weiying. After thirty years of ruling the roost with imported ideas from the West, they can feel China turning against them. Opinion polls show that they are the least popular group in China – on a par with traffic wardens and used-car salesmen in the UK. Public anger is growing over the costs of reform, with protests by laid-off workers coming together with concern over illegal demolitions, corruption and unpaid wages and pensions. As a result, the ideas of the market are being challenged by a ‘New Left’ which advocates a gentler form of capitalism. A battle of ideas is raging which pits the state against the market; coasts against inland provinces; towns against the countryside; the rich against the poor.

       The dictatorship of the economists

      Success is all about timing, and Zhang Weiying’s was perfect. He graduated with a degree in economics in 1982 – just as Deng Xiaoping’s opening and reform process was gathering momentum. It is hard for Westerners, used to life in a fissiparous open society, to understand a purposeful state like Deng’s China. Zhang Weiying frequently uses the word ‘missionary’ to describe the determination with which China pursued economic growth. In a similar way, Franz Kafka, the pre-eminent chronicler of life in the closed society, conjures up the singleness of purpose of the Chinese authorities in a different period in his essay on the Great Wall of China: ‘Fifty years before the building was begun, throughout the whole area of China that was to be walled around, architecture, and masonry in particular, had been declared the most important branch of knowledge, all others being recognized only in so far as they had some connection with it.’ When Zhang Weiying graduated in 1982, there was a new wall to build: China’s market economy. The Communist Party had declared that economic growth was ‘the central task’, and suddenly everyone wanted to be an economist. ‘Economics,’ as Wang Hui puts it, ‘acquired the force of an ethics.’ As the economy grew, so did the influence and wealth of the economists. They populated government taskforces, wrote plans for privatization and filled the boards of the newly privatized companies (131 of 274 independent directors in today’s listed enterprises are academic economists). They became the new high priests of China whose arguments increasingly trumped those of Maoist refuseniks (who were derisively known as fanshipai or ‘whateverists’ because they supported whatever policy decisions Chairman Mao made).

      Deng Xiaoping’s ‘dictatorship of the economists’, as disgruntled political scientists, philosophers and sociologists called it, produced startling results. An average of 9 per cent growth over three decades made China the world’s third biggest economy by 2007. Three hundred million people rose from absolute poverty, while 200 million left their farms to work in industry. One hundred million joined the so-called middle class and 500,000 became millionaires. And a new generation of Chinese companies such as the computer giant Lenovo that bought IBM and the Nanjing car company that bought MG Rover entered the global corporate league.

      Like Zhang Weiying’s own success, China’s economic miracle owed much to its timing. Unlike his Russian and Latin American counterparts who СКАЧАТЬ