Why China’s loyal youth no longer want democracy

In the last two decades, China’s economy has tripled in size. The numbers of young, relatively affluent people (15–25 years) number around 17–20 million, almost the size of Australia’s population. China’s rising ‘me generation’—so-called because the progeny of the ‘single child policy’ era are known to think mainly about themselves—carry Prada handbags, wear Nike shoes, drink Starbucks frappuccinos, go snowboarding, own mobile phones, and surf the Internet. They look and live like their counterparts in developed Western countries, and their demand for Western products and Western-style living is insatiable. But their enthusiasm for political reform and democracy is at an all-time low.
It was not meant to be this way.

Back in 1989, the most widely distributed photograph from the Tiananmen Square protests was that of the anonymous ‘unknown rebel’ or ‘Tank Man.’ Dressed neatly and modestly in dark pants and a white shirt, and carrying his shopping, Tank Man stood metres from an advancing tank. As the tank swerved right, Tank Man moved to his left to block the vehicle. When the tank then moved left, Tank Man moved right. As the tank stopped, the young man appeared to remonstrate with and wave the tank away. He climbed onto the vehicle and had words with the soldier driving the tank. He was then swiftly pulled away by anxious onlookers and absorbed into the crowd.

Tank Man’s courageous actions came shortly after government troops had killed hundreds if not thousands of protesting students, workers, and professionals. Tank Man might have been one of the students, or just a worker passing by. Although his identity was never known, and the countrywide protests were eventually quelled, it didn’t matter. China had been undergoing a radical economic and social transformation since reforms began in 1978. Before they were killed, arrested, or dispersed, students had erected a ten-metre-high statue they named the ‘goddess of democracy.’ Standing there at the site of the massacre, Tank Man represented a new generation of Chinese that was defiant, and independent. Many said this young generation, growing in numbers, prosperity, and influence, would again demand political reform.

One of the many who believed this was former US President Bill Clinton. In 1997, he made the case that economic liberalisation and rising wealth would “increase the spirit of liberty over time … just as inevitably as the Berlin Wall fell.” At a press conference, he brazenly told his Chinese counterpart President Jiang Zemin that China’s authoritarian system was “on the wrong side of history.”

President Clinton and those who made similar points before and after him had good reason to do so. The recent history of East Asia (in countries such as Taiwan and South Korea) suggested that free markets combined with rising prosperity levels eventually led to democratisation in those societies. The rise of an independently minded, influential, and wealthy urban middle class meant that the demand for political reform and eventually democracy would become irresistible. As social and economic institutions increasingly outpaced old-style authoritarian ones, something would have to give.

The Democracy Wall movement of 1979, the student protests in 1986, the Tiananmen Square uprisings in 1989, and the China Democracy Party movement of 1997–1998 were all youth-led democratic movements in some form. So it was supposed that the young, educated, materially comfortable sons and daughters of the country’s elites would lead the drive towards democracy.

But somewhere along the line, the plan has gone awry. China’s young, vibrant, successful ‘me generation’ has little enthusiasm for any democratising agenda, now or in the future. Ask them about politics, and they are not interested. Press them for an opinion, and very few favour political reform or change. Mention Tiananmen Square, and many are in fact critical of those students who instigated the protests in 1989.

This political conservatism is brought out by the fact that college students are the fastest-fastest growing group applying for Chinese Communist Party (CCP) membership, with student membership numbers having grown tenfold over the past decade. Almost a third of all graduate students are card-carrying Party members. In fact, multiple studies and anecdotes reveal that far from being embarrassed about China’s lack of democratic progress, the educated young are amongst the strongest supporters of the CCP in the country.

Twenty years ago, China’s young elites associated democracy with social justice and prosperity. Tank Man once symbolised defiance against a corrupt one-Party state. Now this is associated with risk, chaos, and loss of privilege. Why?

The regime learnt important lessons from the Tiananmen Square protests, as well as from the collapse of communist governments in the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe. The communist regimes antagonised and isolated elites within their societies. In doing so, they made professionals, students, intellectuals, and businesspeople despise them. Worse still, these authoritarian regimes became more and more irrelevant as social and economic structures changed. Their failure to adapt was their undoing.

To preserve its economic relevance, the Chinese regime has gone to extensive efforts to maintain control of the major levers of economic power. This control is the heart of an economic structure that entrenches the role and position of Party members in the Chinese economy and society. Around a dozen key segments of the economy—including banking, construction, infrastructure, media, and telecommunications—are dominated by state-owned-enterprises (SOEs). The state still owns about 60% of the country’s fixed assets and receives 70% of the country’s capital.

This offers the CCP a powerful strategy to get elites on side.

In contrast to the Communist Party of the Soviet Union, the CCP has conducted a tireless and largely successful campaign to co-opt, and in many respects create, the rising educated and economic classes from which the ‘me generation’ arises. It controls the most important industries, the bulk of the country’s capital (through state-owned banks), and oversees an extensive system of awards, promotions, and regulations. The Chinese government is thus in a position to dispense a dominant share of the most valued economic, professional, and intellectual opportunities. It directs vast resources toward the creation and enrichment of these middle classes. It is by design, not by accident, that the middle class’s future is tied to the CCP’s.

Young careerists who want to get ahead do much better by working closely with Party officials and state-owned businesses than they would by acting independently. For example, the government offers the best students special stipends, while the Party makes academic appointments. Political insiders dispense prestigious awards and grants to young professionals, and offer young entrepreneurs exclusive access to land, markets, and capital.

Even those in the ‘me generation’ who have little interest in career advancement would not seek to rock the political apple cart: the current political structure and economic model underpins their lifestyle. China’s state-led development model heavily favours the 100–200 million people that constitute the middle class. With the country’s current development strategy and economic structure, almost one billion people have little prospect of sharing in its new-found wealth. Democratisation would inevitably lead to some redistribution of the country’s resources. Why would China’s middle classes want to change to a democratic system when it could lead to their own dispossession?
Finally, the ‘me generation’ is now also extremely patriotic. They feel justifiably proud of China’s recent achievements and see themselves as representing China’s success. China’s well-educated youth harbour a deep expectation that their nation will soon retake its rightful place as a great power. Teachers drum into students early the notion that the Chinese have endured a ‘century of humiliation’ beginning with the Opium Wars against the British in 1839. ‘Victim narratives’ and the promise of a return to China’s historic glory strike a deep chord with China’s current youth.

Significantly, the regime has used these nationalistic sentiments to build a consensus that places the CCP as the guardian of China’s historic return to greatness. For example, millions of China’s ‘me generation’ have written blog posts and letters, and attended ‘pro-Chinese’ rallies, to protest widespread international condemnation of the regime’s hard line in Tibet. Their outrage is both genuine and profound. They hold a real belief that the world wants to ruin the Olympics for China and that the Dalai Lama is conspiring with Western forces to split the country. As a result, they treat international criticism of the Chinese government, its policies, and its authoritarian system, as a criticism of ‘China’ itself.

The rise of an alternative to the Western liberal model of development—the so-called ‘Beijing Consensus’—has been the unexpected consequence of China’s rise, and is proving a difficult ideational challenge for the West. Where once we placed our hopes on the ‘me generation’ to push for political change, we must now confront the fact that China’s young elites believe working within a one-Party state is the better bet for their and the country’s future.

Dr John Lee’s paper Putting Democracy in China on Hold was released by the Centre for Independent Studies in May.