Since being helped out of the Great Hall of the People at the end of the 20th Party Congress, Hu Jintao has not been seen in public. Nor is he likely to be. Retired senior party officials rarely are. Apart from at congresses and big party or state occasions, such as the 100th anniversary of the founding of the party in July last year or the military parade on the 70th anniversary of the end of the second world war, they rarely emerge.
The premature departure of Hu from the closing session of the congress has provoked much speculation. Three explanations are doing the rounds: that Hu was ejected because Xi Jinping wanted to send the message that he was in full control and that any other faction within the party had better knuckle down to reality; that Hu was upset during the meeting, possibly as a result of reading in his folder that the new line-up of Politburo and Politburo Standing Committee (PBSC) had been filleted of all but Xi’s men. There might even have been a last-minute change, and it was feared that Hu would spoil the closing session and photogenically unanimous vote by indicating his opposition; or that Hu is ill, possibly with Parkinson’s disease or some other form of debilitating senility. His behaviour was that of someone not in temporary or permanent control of their faculties.
Most have chosen to believe in the two more Machiavellian interpretations of the incident. This is in line with the ‘cock-up vs conspiracy’ law, which applies generally in life, but especially in China’s black box politics. The law states that, although cock-up is the explanation 90 per cent of the time, 90 per cent of people will believe that conspiracy is to blame.
The ‘incident’ has been scrutinised frame by frame, but there have been no conclusions. Yet the weight of party practice is surely against the two political explanations.
The idea that Xi planned the ejection of Hu is bizarre. Why was it necessary to emphasise the extent of his control? If the last five or more years have shown anything, it is that those whom Xi knows and trusts have been promoted to high office, while those not saluting Xi have received a visit from the Central Commission for Discipline Inspection, the party’s version of the Spanish Inquisition. There is now only one faction in CCP politics: the Xi faction.
If there were any lingering doubts as to the completeness of control, these should have been dispelled by the new line-up in the Politburo and its standing committee and by the premature despatching of Li Keqiang, Wang Yang and Hu Chunhua, whom age and precedent might have allowed to remain in office. Furthermore, for the past year, Xi has been saying that the smooth functioning of the 20th party congress was a major task. The modern CCP keeps its internal disagreements to itself. ‘Yanking’ a past leader from the stage by ‘CCP goons’ (as one commentator described it) in full view of the congress is not CCP style.
What about the theory that Hu was intent on advertising his opposition? That too is unlikely. If Xi or his people had been aware of that in advance of the session, Hu would not have been there. So how, once on the platform, did he betray that he might protest, for example by not raising his hand to express manual unanimity at the passing of resolutions? We cannot be sure, because we don’t have footage of the whole session. But it is inherently unlikely that he gave away such an intention.
Hu almost certainly will have been informed of the make-up of the new Politburo and its standing committee well in advance of the congress. As Xi said of the party leadership, it ‘cannot simply be chosen by votes’. The list of the new leadership was discussed by the PBSC on 28 September and a day later the Politburo ‘decided to submit it to the First Plenary Session of the 20th CPC Central Committee… for election, approval and decision respectively’: a week before Hu’s putative opposition.
Opposition from Hu is also unlikely because it is not the nature of the man. His leadership was collective. He never rocked the boat. Unlike his predecessor, Jiang Zemin, who stayed on for two years in charge of the military, Hu gave up all offices in 2012 and 2013 and kept quiet.
A debilitating illness of old age is far more likely. In 2017 there were rumours that Hu was unwell. He was helped onto the stage during the congress. At the July 2021 celebration of the Party’s centenary, he looked more alert. And his hair was dyed its customary jet black. But not this time, a possible indication that the ever-dapper Hu was losing concern for appearances, perhaps because he was no longer sufficiently fit to be concerned.
Senility also seems more consistent with the pictures of the incident. His neighbour Li Zhanshu looked like he was dealing with a child, as though saying that there is no need to worry about the papers in the folder. Hu looks confused rather than angry. Weakly he tries to take Xi’s papers, which he would surely never have done in public if his wits were whole. He appears not as a sharp proponent of political infighting, but rather a candidate for the Xiang Shan Home for the Bewildered.
For once in describing Hu as ill, the official news agency Xinhua may have been speaking the truth. We shall probably never know. But the likelihood is that Hu is indeed ill.
What conclusions can we draw from this penumbra of considerations on the ‘Hu incident’?
The first is that in ten years’ time, this could be the state of Xi Jinping himself, who, like Hu, will be 79. The difference between them is that Xi may well still hold power. A leader of China oscillating between clarity and senility is a frightening prospect.
Secondly, what strikes the mind most about these scenes, whatever their explanation, was the reaction of the others on the platform, some of whom owed their rise to Hu. It was brutal. It lacked compassion. No one moved to comfort a confused old man. All were afraid to show humanity. They revealed the values and nature of the regime in all its coldness.
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