https://www.foreignaffairs.com/china/af ... -mattingly
Soon, however, everything will start to change. As the CCP elite begins the search for a leader to replace the 72-year-old Xi, China is transitioning from a phase defined by power consolidation to one defined by the question of succession. For any authoritarian regime, political succession is a moment of peril, and for all its strengths, the CCP is no exception. The last time the party dealt with the problem of political succession—when Xi took over from Hu Jintao—rumors swirled in Beijing of coup attempts, failed assassinations, and tanks on the streets. The rumors may have been unfounded, but the political drama at the top was real.
Xi’s succession is unlikely to be as catastrophic, but the prelude, execution, and aftermath of transitioning power will shape China’s foreign and domestic politics in the coming years. The United States and its allies may be tempted to exploit this internal disruption, but meddling in the process would probably backfire. Instead, they should be mindful of the fact that, in the past, fights over succession have contributed to disastrous Chinese foreign policy choices. The vacuum left by a strongman such as Xi will make succession especially challenging, potentially triggering a scramble for power and a fight over the direction of the country. Such instability in the world’s second-largest economy could ripple beyond China’s borders—particularly as China navigates its tense relationship with Taiwan.
Since the founding of the People’s Republic of China, in 1949, only one of Xi’s five predecessors stepped aside fully and willingly. Mao, the strongman founder of communist China, wielded overwhelming power and authority within the party-state apparatus and ruled the country until the day he died. Hua Guofeng, Mao’s heir, was able to hold on to power for only a few years before being pushed aside. Deng Xiaoping, the famous architect of China’s economic reforms, maintained his grip over the CCP’s most important decisions even after relinquishing his formal titles and positions. Until his health declined in the mid-1990s, Deng was said to be the most powerful man in China, even though his only formal title was honorary president of an association of bridge players. The man who succeeded Deng as paramount leader, Jiang Zemin, clung to the important post of military chief despite giving up his position as party leader, undercutting his successor, Hu Jintao. Only Hu gave up power all at once in a relatively orderly succession, to Xi, but that process was tainted by the dramatic downfall of a Xi rival and powerful Politburo member, Bo Xilai.
Here, Hua Guofeng’s story is revealing. Mao selected Hua in 1976, when Mao’s health was failing. The problem for Hua was that he was a cadre of middling status and influence within the CCP: someone whom Mao and his allies could control, and not a figure who could survive a political knife fight. Mao had written Hua a note that read, “With you in charge, I am at ease.” But even Mao’s word was not enough to keep Hua in power. In the end, he needed the military’s backing.
On the night of September 8, 1976, as Mao hovered near death, senior members of the Politburo gathered in a sickroom in the leadership compound in Beijing to pay their final respects. The chairman was no longer able to speak. Instead, he raised a frail hand and reached out to one visitor—Marshal Ye Jianying, one of the country’s most venerated military figures. Clasping Ye’s hand, Mao’s lips moved faintly, and Ye later told his colleagues that Mao instructed him to back Hua as his designated heir.
Mao’s choice to single out Ye, as opposed to the other civilian elites who would survive him, was intentional. Hua had little experience in national politics or with the military brass. When Hua’s enemies came for him, Ye and those with similar military credentials would have to decide whether to stand by him or abandon him. The head of the Chinese military was, as the sociologist Ezra Vogel has observed, the CCP’s de facto “kingmaker.”
Ye initially stood by Hua during the first assault on his leadership, which was launched immediately after Mao’s death by Mao’s wife and three radical compatriots known as the Gang of Four. With the support of Ye and other top military leaders, People’s Liberation Army troops arrested the gang. This ensured that Hua would hold on to power, but only as long as the PLA supported him. Just two years later, when Deng orchestrated a second challenge to Hua’s leadership, Ye and other military commanders sided with Deng, who had extensive social connections and personal rapport with senior military officers.
When Deng needed to bolster the standing of his chosen successors, for instance, he appointed his close ally Admiral Liu Huaqing, the father of the Chinese navy, to the Politburo Standing Committee—an unusually high promotion for a military officer that has not since been replicated.
It is tempting to think that China is so fundamentally different today that the military’s latent role in succession is the artifact of a bygone era. In reality, the military remains pivotal in China’s elite politics, and control over it will remain a key asset for future political leaders. The military does not pick leaders on its own—Xi was reportedly chosen because he beat Li Keqiang in a straw poll of current and retired civilian and military leaders—but military backing can make a leader immune to civilian challenges. Hu Jintao, for example, was considered politically weak in part because his career trajectory offered comparatively few opportunities to build personal connections to the military. When Hu entered office, he had no ties to the members inside China’s apex military organization, the Central Military Commission. In contrast, through what was likely a combination of fortuitous assignments and savvy politicking, Xi started with ties to four out of ten CMC members—a leg up that gave him the latitude to start a wide-ranging purge of rival elites and reorder the military brass. For personalist leaders such as Xi and Mao, continuous purges ensure that no rival power centers emerge and that the military stays loyal. Xi’s recent reshuffling of the CMC and the PLA shows that Xi is continuing to play this old game.
Historically, Chinese strongmen have cycled through multiple successors before making their final selection. Mao, for instance, picked Liu Shaoqi and Lin Biao as his potential heirs before casting them aside. He selected Hua only when his health was unmistakably failing. Once secure in his position, Deng followed a similar path, removing two presumed successors, CCP General Secretaries Hu Yaobang and Zhao Ziyang, before settling on Jiang Zemin.
The 1989 student-led protest movement, for instance, which led to violent repression at Tiananmen Square, began as a response to the sudden death of Hu Yaobang, the liberal leader who had been Deng’s most likely successor until Deng and other party elders removed him from his post as party secretary for being too lenient in response to an earlier wave of student protests. Hu’s death—a heart attack during a meeting of the Politburo—galvanized protesters partly because students saw a more liberal future for China slipping from their grasp. Student protesters pushing Chinese political leaders to adopt liberal reforms found tacit support from Deng’s second heir apparent, Zhao Ziyang, until Deng pushed him aside and placed him under house arrest. Jiang Zemin quietly arrived in Beijing in the middle of the protests to succeed Zhao, in part because party elites saw Jiang as someone who was ideologically palatable to all sides but a hard-liner on repressing protest.
In China, the game of political succession plays out behind the high red walls of CCP headquarters at Zhongnanhai, making it difficult for outside observers to know what to look for and what to expect. The lack of public information about CCP politics also means that while Xi is in power, he will be subjected to regular rumors that he is in political trouble. This summer, for example, word circulated that Xi is on the verge of being pushed out of office, allegedly elbowed aside by his predecessor, Hu Jintao, and his military chief, Zhang Youxia. Such rumors about Xi’s premature political demise can usually be safely discounted. The odds that China’s top leader will be removed from office are not zero, but they are exceedingly small. Yet even if these rumors are not true, they are telling; indeed, they are products of a system of government in which the dynamics of leadership succession will play an increasingly urgent role.
This time around, however, the party’s elders may sit the process out. At 82 years old, former General Secretary Hu Jintao is thought to be in poor health; in his most recent public appearance during the 2022 party conclave, he seemed to be confused as he was led off stage in a humiliating scene. Other surviving party elders are also unlikely to intervene; some, such as former premier Wen Jiabao, may lack the stature, and others, such as the retired premier, Zhu Rongji, are well past 90 years old.
If Xi dies without having picked a successor, there will be a scramble. According to the CCP constitution, the leader should be elected in a plenary session of the entire Central Committee, which has more than 200 members. Yet before this group convenes, a subset of party higher-ups, perhaps in consultation with retired leaders and military generals, would meet and essentially predetermine the outcome. A natural choice, should Xi die unexpectedly, might be Premier Li Qiang, who is 66. But there are no guarantees: a civilian with the backing of the military, security services, and enough of the Politburo could push him aside.
The best-case scenario might be for Xi to anoint a successor who is permitted to quietly build a base of power in Xi’s final years. Following the Tiananmen Square crackdown, Deng handed Jiang Zemin the formal posts of military and party chief in 1989 while Deng was aging but still vigorous. Jiang was a newcomer to both Beijing and elite politics when Deng handed him the reins. Jiang’s position, particularly his weak ties to the military, offered Deng continued leverage, and Deng used his final years to shepherd Jiang through his first years in power, insulating the novice leader from rivals while also pushing him firmly toward economic liberalism. By contrast, if Xi anoints a successor but refuses, or is unable, to allow him to build a power base, the next in line will be vulnerable to potentially chaotic leadership challenges after Xi dies—similar to what befell Hua Guofeng.
To follow the Deng model, Xi would need to select someone relatively young who can carry his agenda forward for years. He could first appoint his chosen successor to the position of head of the party secretariat, an important job that would familiarize him with the internal workings of the Politburo. And eventually, Xi may even make this person a vice chairman of the Central Military Commission to give him some experience with military affairs and the power to rule. The goal is likely for the successor to be ready to assume the top job when he is in his late 50s or early 60s.
Strikingly, none of the current members of the seven-man Politburo Standing Committee fit this profile. Li Qiang will be in his late 60s in 2027 and in his 70s in 2032, significantly older than recent party leaders when they took office. Cai Qi holds the critical position as head of the party secretariat, a steppingstone to the top job, but he is only a couple of years younger than Xi. Ding Xuexiang will be 65 in 2027, which makes him a more plausible choice, but he has never governed a province or municipality, a likely prerequisite to ensure the successor is a competent administrator. The remaining three men—Li Xi, Wang Huning, and Zhao Leji—are also too old to be likely contenders.
The larger Politburo offers some more candidates, but each comes with a big asterisk by his name. Chen Jining is the party secretary of Shanghai, a job that both Xi and Jiang held—and, at 61, one of the youngest members of the Politburo. But Chen is not a sitting member of the Standing Committee, and Xi would probably want to elevate him a few years before he took over so he could learn the ropes. (Xi was elevated to the Standing Committee five years before he became CCP general secretary.) By the time Chen was ready, he would be older than Jiang, Hu, and Xi were when they took office.