China’s Resurgence and Jiang’s Reflections
In the midst of the
periodic crises recounted above, the 1990s witnessed a period of
stunning economic growth in China, and with it a transformation of
the country’s broader world role. In the 1980s, China’s “Reform and
Opening Up” had remained partly a vision: its effects were
noticeable, but their depth and longevity were open to debate.
Within China itself the direction was still contested; in the wake
of Tiananmen some of the country’s academic and political elites
advocated an inward turn and a scaling back of China’s economic
links with the West (a trend Deng ultimately felt obliged to
challenge through his Southern Tour). When Jiang assumed national
office, a largely unreformed sector of state-owned enterprises on
the Soviet model still constituted over 50 percent of the
economy.27 China’s links to the world trade system
were tentative and partial. Foreign companies still were skeptical
about investing in China; Chinese companies rarely ventured
abroad.
By the end of the
decade, what had once seemed an improbable prospect had become a
reality. Throughout the decade China grew at a rate of no lower
than 7 percent per year, and often in the double digits, continuing
an increase in per capita GDP that ranks as one of the most
sustained and powerful in history.28 By the end of the 1990s average income was
approximately three times what it had been in 1978; in urban areas
the income level rose even more dramatically, to roughly five times
the 1978 level.29
Throughout these
changes, China’s trade with neighboring countries was burgeoning,
and it played an increasingly central regional economic role. It
tamed a period of dangerously escalating inflation in the early
1990s, implementing capital controls and a fiscal austerity program
that were later credited with sparing China the worst of the Asian
financial crisis in 1997–98. Standing, for the first time, as a
bulwark of economic growth and stability in a time of economic
crisis, China found itself in an unaccustomed role: once the
recipient of foreign, often Western, economic policy prescriptions,
it was now increasingly an independent proponent of its own
solutions—and a source of emergency assistance to other economies
in crisis. By 2001, China’s new status was cemented with a
successful application to host the 2008 Olympics in Beijing, and
the conclusion of negotiations making China a member of the
WTO.
Fueling this
transformation was a recalibration of China’s domestic political
philosophy. Traveling further along the reformist road Deng had
first charted, Jiang undertook to broaden the concept of Communism
by opening it from an exclusive class-based elite to a wider
spectrum of society. He spelled out his philosophy, which became
known as the “Three Represents,” at the Sixteenth Party Congress in
2002—the last Congress he would attend as President on the eve of
the first peaceful transfer of power in China’s modern history. It
laid out why the Party that had won support through revolution
needed now to represent as well the interests of its former
ideological foes, including entrepreneurs. Jiang opened the
Communist Party to business leaders, democratizing the internal
governance of the Communist Party in what remained a one-party
state.
Throughout this
process, China and the United States were becoming increasingly
intertwined economically. At the beginning of the 1990s the total
volume of U.S. trade with mainland China was still only half the
volume of American trade with Taiwan. By the end of the decade
U.S.-China trade had quadrupled, and Chinese exports to the United
States had increased sevenfold.30 American multinationals viewed China as an
essential component of their business strategies, both as a locus
of production and as an increasingly monetary market in its own
right. China in turn was using its increasing cash reserves to
invest in U.S. Treasury bonds (and in 2008 would become the largest
foreign holder of American debt).
In all this China was
surging toward a new world role, with interests in every corner of
the globe and integrated to an unprecedented degree with broader
political and economic trends. Two centuries after the first
mutually miscomprehending negotiations over trade and diplomatic
recognition between Macartney and the Chinese court, there was a
recognition in both China and the West that they were arriving at a
new stage in their interactions, whether or not they were prepared
for the challenges it would pose. As China’s then Vice Premier Zhu
Rongji observed in 1997: “Never before in history has China had
such frequent exchanges and communications with the rest of the
world.”31
In earlier eras—such
as Macartney’s or even the Cold War era—a “Chinese world” and a
“Western world” had interacted in limited instances and at a
stately pace. Now modern technology and economic interdependence
made it impossible, for better or for worse, to manage relations in
such a measured manner. As a result, the two sides confronted a
somewhat paradoxical situation in which they had vastly more
opportunities for mutual understanding, but, at the same time, new
opportunities to impinge on each other’s sensitivities. A
globalized world had brought them together, but also risked more
frequent and rapid exacerbation of tensions in times of
crisis.
As his period in
office moved toward its conclusion, Jiang expressed his recognition
of this danger in a personal, almost sentimental, way not generally
found in the aloof, conceptual, self-contained manner of the
Chinese leadership. The occasion was a meeting in 2001 with some
members of the America-China Society. Jiang was in the last year of
his twelve-year tenure but already seized by the nostalgia of those
who are leaving activity in which, by definition, every action made
a difference for a world in which they will soon be largely
spectators. He had presided over a turbulent period, which had
begun with China substantially isolated internationally, at least
among the advanced democratic states, the countries China most
needed to implement its reform program.
Jiang had surmounted
these challenges. Political cooperation with America had been
reestablished. The reform program was accelerating and producing
the extraordinary growth rate that would, within another decade,
turn China into a financial and economic global power. A decade
that began in turbulence and doubt had turned into a period of
extraordinary achievement.
In all of China’s
extravagant history, there was no precedent for how to participate
in a global order, whether in concert with—or opposition to—another
superpower. As it turned out, that superpower, the United States,
also lacked the experience for such a design—if indeed it had the
inclination for it. A new international order was bound to emerge,
whether by design or by default. Its nature and the measures for
bringing it about were the unsolved challenges for both countries.
They would interact, either as partners or as adversaries. Their
contemporary leaders professed partnership, but neither had yet
managed to define it or build shelters against the possible storms
ahead.
Now Jiang was
encountering a new century and a different generation of American
leaders. The United States had a new President, the son of George
H. W. Bush, who had been in office when Jiang was elevated so
unexpectedly by events no one could have foreseen. The relationship
with the new President started with another unsought military
clash. On April 1, 2001, an American reconnaissance plane flying
along the Chinese coast just outside Chinese territorial waters was
being tailed by a Chinese military aircraft, which then crashed
into it near Hainan Island off China’s southern coast. Neither
Jiang nor Bush permitted the incident to torpedo the relationship.
Two days later, Jiang left on a long-planned trip to South America,
signaling that he, as head of the Central Military Commission, did
not expect crisis action. Bush expressed regret, not for the
reconnaissance flight but for the death of the Chinese
pilot.
Some foreboding of
the danger of drifting events seems to have been in Jiang’s mind
during the meeting with America-China Society members, as he
meandered on in a seemingly discursive statement quoting classical
Chinese poetry, interjecting English phrases, extolling the
importance of U.S.-Chinese cooperation. Prolix as his utterances
were, they reflected a hope and a dilemma: the hope that the two
countries would find a way to work together to avoid the storms
generated by the very dynamism of their societies—and the fear that
they might miss their chance to do so.
The key theme of
Jiang’s opening remarks was the importance of the Sino-American
relationship: “I am not trying to exaggerate our self-importance,
but good cooperation between the U.S. and China is important for
the world. We will do our best to do that [said in English]. This is important for the whole
world.” But if the whole world was the subject, were any leaders
really qualified to deal with it? Jiang pointed out that his
education had started with traditional Confucianism on a trajectory
that included Western education, then schools in the former Soviet
Union. Now he was leading the transition of a country that dealt
with all these cultures.
China and the United
States were confronting an immediate issue, the future of Taiwan.
Jiang did not use the familiar rhetoric to which we had become
accustomed. Rather, his remarks concerned the internal dynamics of
the dialogue and how it might be driven out of control, whatever
the intention of the leaders, who might be urged by their publics
to actions they would prefer to avoid: “The biggest issue between
the U.S. and China is the Taiwan issue. For example, we often say
‘peaceful resolution’ and ‘one country, two systems.’ Generally
speaking, I limit myself to saying these two things. But sometimes
I add that we cannot undertake not to use force.”
Jiang could not
avoid, of course, the issue that had caused a deadlock in over 130
meetings between Chinese and American diplomats before the opening
to China or the deliberate ambiguities since. But while China
refused to abjure the use of force because it would imply a
limitation of its sovereignty, it had in practice refrained from it
for thirty years by the time of the conversation with Jiang. And
Jiang had put forward the sacramental language in the gentlest of
manners.
Jiang did not insist
on an immediate change. Rather, he pointed out that the American
position contained an anomaly. The United States did not support
independence for Taiwan nor, on the other hand, did it promote
reunification. The practical consequence was to turn Taiwan into
“an unsinkable aircraft carrier” for America. In such a situation,
whatever the intentions of the Chinese government, the convictions
of its population might generate their own momentum toward
confrontation:
[I]n the nearly twelve years I’ve been in the Central government, I’ve felt very strongly the sentiments of the 1.2 billion Chinese people. Of course we have the best aspirations toward you, but if a spark flares up it will be hard to control the emotions of 1.2 billion people.
I felt obliged to
reply to this threat of force, however regretfully and indirectly
formulated:
[I]f the discussion concerns use of force it will strengthen all the forces that want to use Taiwan to harm our relationship. In a military confrontation between the U.S. and China, even those of us who would be heartbroken would be obliged to support our own country.
Jiang replied not by
repeating the by now traditional invocation of the imperviousness
of China to the danger of war. He took the perspective of a world
whose future depended on Sino-American cooperation. He spoke of
compromise—a word almost never used by Chinese leaders about
Taiwan, even when it was practiced. He avoided making either a
proposal or a threat. And he was no longer in a position to shape
the outcome. He called for a global perspective—precisely what was
most needed and what each nation’s history made most
difficult:
It is not clear whether China and the U.S. can find common language and resolve the Taiwan question. I have remarked that if Taiwan were not under U.S. protection, we would have been able to liberate it. Therefore, the question is how we can compromise and get a satisfactory solution. This is the most sensitive part of our relations. I am not suggesting anything here. We are old friends. I do not need to use diplomatic language. In the final analysis, I hope that with Bush in office our two countries can approach U.S.-China relations from a strategic and global perspective.
The Chinese leaders I
had previously met had a long-range perspective, but it drew a
great deal from lessons of the past. They also were in the process
of undertaking great projects with significance for a distant
future. But they rarely described the shape of the middle-term
future, assuming that its character would emerge from the vast
efforts in which they were involved. Jiang asked for something less
dramatic but perhaps even deeper. At the end of his presidency, he
addressed the need to redefine the philosophical framework of each
side. Mao had urged ideological rigor even while making tactical
maneuvers. Jiang seemed to be saying that each side should realize
that if they were to cooperate genuinely, they needed to understand
the modifications they were obliged to make in their traditional
attitudes. He urged each side to reexamine its own internal
doctrines and be open to reinterpreting them—including
socialism:
The world should be a rich, colorful, diversified place. For example, in China in 1978 we made a decision for reform and opening up. . . . In 1992 in the Fourteenth National Congress I stated that China’s development model should be in the direction of a socialist market economy. For those who are accustomed to the West, you think the market is nothing strange, but in 1992 to say “market” here was a big risk.
For that reason,
Jiang argued that both sides should adapt their ideologies to the
necessities of their interdependence:
Simply put, the West is best advised to set aside its past attitude toward communist countries, and we should stop taking communism in naive or simplistic ways. Deng famously said in his 1992 trip to the South that socialism will take generations, scores of generations. I am an engineer. I calculated that there have been 78 generations from Confucius until now. Deng said socialism will take so long. Deng, I now think, created very good environmental conditions for me. On your point about value systems, East and West must improve mutual understanding. Perhaps I am being a bit naive.
The reference to
seventy-eight generations was intended to reassure the United
States that it should not be alarmed at the rise of a powerful
China. It would need that many generations to fulfill itself. But
political circumstances in China had certainly changed when a
successor of Mao could say Communists should stop talking about
their ideology in naive and simplistic ways. Or speak of the need
for a dialogue between the Western world and China over how to
adjust their philosophical frameworks to each other.
On the American side,
the challenge was to find a way through a series of divergent
assessments. Was China a partner or an adversary? Was the future
cooperation or confrontation? Was the American mission the spread
of democracy to China, or cooperation with China to bring about a
peaceful world? Or was it possible to do both?
Both sides have been
obliged ever since to overcome their internal ambivalences and to
define the ultimate nature of their relationship.