CHINA: China in Central Asia: Riches in the near abroad

Jan 28th 2010

From The Economist

The West’s recession spurs China’s hunt for energy supplies in its own backyard

DURING his first visit to Kazakhstan in 1996, Jiang Zemin was reportedly amused to learn that his Central Asian neighbour, the ninth-largest country in the world by land mass, had a population of only around 15m. “You probably all know each other,” China’s then president is said to have quipped to his hosts. With its population of 1.3 billion, China naturally thinks on a grand scale. This is what the five countries of Central Asia—Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan—both admire and fear. Like Russia, looking to its own far east, they worry about Chinese expansionism.

But for most of the 18 years since the Soviet Union’s break-up, China has taken a back seat in the fierce competition between Russia and America for influence in this resource-rich region. In 2009, with the energy needs of its burgeoning economy continually growing, it woke up to new opportunities in its western backyard.

Booming China had not exactly been neglecting Central Asia, but its priorities had lain elsewhere. Since the global financial crisis left Russia and America struggling with their budgets, China has loosened its purse strings to offer Central Asia a helping hand. Its money has been welcome. From a Central Asian point-of-view, Chinese credit offers an additional advantage over the Western kind: it comes with no annoying political strictures.

In June, for example, China agreed to lend Turkmenistan $4 billion to develop its largest gasfield, South Yolotan, close to the Afghan border. This was part of a 30-year deal that should eventually bring China 40 billion cubic metres of gas each year. The same month Hu Jintao, Jiang Zemin’s successor, announced a loan of $10 billion loan to the Shanghai Co-operation Organisation (SCO), a security forum grouping China, Russia and four Central Asian countries, to shore up members faltering in the global downturn. In November China’s largest oil-and-gas provider, jointly with Kazakhstan’s oil-and-gas firm, bought MangistauMunaiGas, a big oil producer in Kazakhstan. In exchange, China had lent the country $10 billion earlier last year.

In December Mr Hu and the leaders of three Central Asian countries gathered at the Saman-Depe gasfield in eastern Turkmenistan for a moment of crowning symbolism. The four men turned a tap to inaugurate a 1,833km (1,139-mile) gas pipeline, running through Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan into China’s far-western region of Xinjiang. For China, the new line forms part of a global effort to secure energy supplies for its rapidly growing economy. For Turkmenistan, it is a chance to reduce dependence on Russian demand.

A few days before the event, Vladimir Putin, Russia’s prime minister, said that Russia could be comfortable with Turkmenistan’s gas flowing eastward. But many Russian commentators bemoaned the loss of strategic ground to China.

Views about China are divided in Kazakhstan too. Late last year the president, Nursultan Nazarbayev, announced that China wanted to lease 1m hectares (2.5m acres) of farmland in Kazakhstan. In Almaty, Kazakh nationalists marched in protest at encroaching Chinese influence. Even the weak opposition briefly sprang to life. Similarly, last July China’s suppression of Xinjiang’s rioting Uighurs, whom Kazakhs consider brethren, raised tempers.

Dossym Satpayev, a political analyst, says that many protesters believe China’s vast population makes it inevitable immigrants will start moving to places such as Kazakhstan. Had dwindling Russia made the request for a land-lease, he says, the reaction would not have been so strong.

China may have taken its time before beginning to pursue its interests in Central Asia, but it seems determined to do so with vigour and for the long term. Mr Satpayev believes that within the next ten years it will come to dominate Central Asia’s political, economic and military spheres, mainly through the SCO. Its main rival will be less affluent Russia, whose historic dominance has left it with the habit of trying to boss former Soviet republics. America, Europe and other powers will become less important. China’s leaders have managed to advance far beyond the largely ceremonial co-operation of “friendship treaties”, without resorting to Russian tactics. As Mr Satpayev has it, “China doesn’t only buy loyalty with documents, but with money given at a low percentage.”

View Article on The Economist

Party Elder Still Jousts With China’s Censors

October 17, 2009

Party Elder Still Jousts With China’s Censors

By SHARON LaFRANIERE and JONATHAN ANSFIELD
BEIJING

FOR nearly two decades, the Communist Party strove to wipe out the national memory of Zhao Ziyang, the reform-minded party secretary who opposed the use of force against pro-democracy protesters in 1989.

So when a former aide of Mr. Zhao’s, Du Daozheng, disclosed in May that he had helped secretly record Mr. Zhao’s memoir for posthumous publication, Mr. Du’s daughter refused to let him walk outside alone for fear of possible repercussions.

She need not have worried. On June 25, a top official in charge of propaganda showed up at Mr. Du’s western Beijing apartment with a reassuring message from Zhongnanhai, the headquarters of the Communist Party and the government. Mr. Du said he was told that, as an old friend of Mr. Zhao’s, “Zhongnanhai and party central can understand why you did this.”

Mr. Du used to be among those who delivered such judgments. Until he was ousted in 1989 with Mr. Zhao, he served as head of the government’s press and publications administration, an agency that helps enforce censors’ orders.

Now he spends his days jousting with such officials, trying to foist unmentionable topics like Mr. Zhao’s career into the public domain. Helping with Mr. Zhao’s memoir — a rare look at the party’s inner conflicts that was published this May outside China — was a particularly daring thrust.

But strategic ventures into forbidden territory are characteristic of his monthly scholarly journal, Yanhuang Chunqiu. In 2005, he published articles on Hu Yaobang, the former party leader whose death helped set off the Tiananmen protests. Infuriated authorities threatened to reduce copies of the magazine to pulp, according to Mr. Du’s daughter, Du Mingming.

After a string of journal articles last year touched on Mr. Zhao’s accomplishments, party authorities issued an internal regulation so precisely focused that it could have been named after Mr. Du. The order forbids retired government or party officials to serve as publication directors.

Party sources say Jiang Zemin, the now-retired leader who replaced Mr. Zhao, was irritated by the articles and instigated the pressure on Mr. Du to step down. Sitting in the magazine’s musty offices, Mr. Du said he dealt with the order by reshuffling titles.

“I just ignore it,” he said. “I am old enough and tough enough that if there is any pressure from the government, I can hold on here.”

MR. Du survives such skirmishes because he is 86, wily and quietly supported by certain party luminaries. He says as many as 100 former party officials back his magazine’s attempts to draw lessons from the party’s buried past and nudge it toward democratic reforms. Some current officials also sympathize with the effort, he suggests. “Nobody dares close it,” he said, lest that provoke a reaction from “old cadres.” Last year supporters promised him, “If the magazine closes, we will take to the streets,” he said.

They said: “We are old. We are in our 80s. We have heart problems. We will probably die in the streets.”

“So the conservatives don’t take any action,” Mr. Du said, “because they are afraid of that responsibility.”

Others suggest the party can afford to be tolerant. Russell Leigh Moses, a Beijing-based analyst of China politics, said that Mr. Du and other liberal-minded party “elders” posed no particular threat to today’s Communist Party, so slaps on the wrists sufficed.

“I admire the courage and the conviction, but the conservatives really won this battle some time ago,” he said. “I really see him as a tragic figure, still holding the flag after most of the armies have left the field.

“He is fighting a struggle against the political tenor of the times, as well as against time itself,” Mr. Moses said.

Mr. Du is not, however, fighting with himself. He sees his modest magazine, printed on newsprint-quality paper and distributed to some 100,000 subscribers for about a dollar a copy, as “the best thing he has done in his life,” his daughter said.

The struggle between truth and propaganda has been a constant theme in Mr. Du’s life. He was an early Communist Party loyalist, dropping out of middle school at age 14 to join the battle against Japanese invaders. After the Communists rose to power in 1949, he dutifully — and falsely — reported the party’s claims of record harvests and free food as a reporter for Xinhua, the state-run news agency.

But by April 1959, he could no longer reconcile the discrepancy with reality. In a 4,900-word letter to a superior, he documented widespread famine and disease in the countryside.

Within two months, his letter was turned against him during the campaign against antiparty “rightists.” He was publicly condemned 17 times — once before an auditorium filled with 6,000 people — and dismissed from his job and party post.

He escaped even worse punishment, as many did, by betraying others to his government tormentors. The four people he named “suffered greatly,” he said. One refused until his dying day to forgive him.

Mr. Du was persecuted anew during the Cultural Revolution. “It was as though I was sent to hell and back,” he wrote in his magazine in January.

Once rehabilitated, he rose quickly in the ranks of the state-run media. He held a vice ministerial position during the 1989 pro-democracy protests.

Mr. Du tried to marshal support for Mr. Zhao’s position that the crisis should be resolved peacefully. In a letter signed by some 30 other government officials, Mr. Du urged party leaders not to use force against the demonstrators, according to his daughter.

When the troops opened fire on the night of June 3, he, his wife and some friends “cried from our hearts” in his living room, Mr. Du said.

“We all shared one feeling,” he said. “The Communist Party is over.”

IT was three years before he could discuss the tragedy with Mr. Zhao, who was removed as party secretary and placed under house arrest. Mr. Du, who was also ousted, said he urged Mr. Zhao to record his version of events for history’s sake.

In the ensuing years, Mr. Du said, he filled two notebooks with Mr. Zhao’s words, then switched to a tape recorder. Four other former officials also pitched in. Mr. Du hid his copies of the tapes in his daughter’s underwear drawer and later she transported the copies to Hong Kong. After Mr. Zhao, still under house arrest, died in 2005, Bao Pu, the son of Mr. Zhao’s top aide, began transcribing and translating other copies of the recordings.

Ever the strategist, Mr. Du recommended that the memoir be published only after the 20th anniversary of the crackdown in June. But with the support of Mr. Zhao’s family, in May Mr. Bao arranged publication of a Chinese version in Hong Kong and an English version, titled “Prisoner of the State: The Secret Journal of Premier Zhao Ziyang.”

Hong Kong bookshops have reportedly sold 100,000 copies. “I have not seen such excitement about a book in years,” said Lam Mingkei, owner of Causeway Bay Bookstore, a prominent bookseller in Hong Kong.

Mr. Du said he believed that the democratic ideals expressed in Mr. Zhao’s book and in the pages of his beloved journal would eventually take hold, though not, he predicted, under the current leaders. “If the Communist Party refuses to take political reform, then there must be some other force that rises up to carry it out,” he said.

In the meantime, he says, he will defend his journal’s role as a liberal windsock. Said his daughter: “My father knows how to fight.”

Jing Zhang contributed research from Beijing, and Hilda Wang from Hong Kong.