Richard Hanania & Practical Compassion
Richard is shocked. Shocked!
Last week, Aporia published Rule of the Five Percent–How China selects its governing elite, and popular gadfly, Richard Hanania was shocked at the waste of talent:
That’s pretty funny. Governance in the United States is almost non-existent and it’s China’s strong suit, so a little humility is in order.
Observations
Understandably, Richard missed the point of sending the smartest people to isolated desert towns because, like most Western elites, he is a talker, writer and thinker, not a doer. And of course, China’s smartest, most politically ambitious kids don’t waste their lives in poor villages. Some raise village incomes 50% in a year and move on. Most take 2-3 years. Here’s one young man’s account:
Why the Communist Party Sent Me to the Desert
by Heng Xiao
My adventure began with a phone call late one summer night. It was my boss, the deputy director of the state-funded Institute of International Studies. He had some unexpected news.
The personnel department of our Academy had selected me as a candidate for its Grassroots Service Program (GSP) in one of China’s most underdeveloped provinces, located some 1,500 miles from where I was living in Beijing.
Before hanging up, he gravely informed me that all of my peers had refused to join the program–leaving me with little choice but to accept the offer.
What followed was an incredibly difficult decision for me. As a sophomore researcher, I had spent the past year doing staff work instead of academic research, and I feared I might have fallen behind my colleagues.
After consulting my wife, we agreed that my boss’s call was to inform me of my participation in the program, not to ask my opinion on the matter. I reluctantly called back and accepted his offer. In hindsight, most of us–the 17 researchers who accepted GSP posts–wished we had never received that call.
The GSP’s Chinese name is guazhi. Guazhi means “to hang your position,” in the way one hangs a coat, a common phrase among China’s state-sponsored entities, including research institutes like the one I was part of. It involves temporarily moving to a new position for at least a year, while your old job is guaranteed upon your return.
At the time, it was common practice for young China Communist Party (CCP) members to take on this responsibility at some point. This temporary job sometimes has no relation at all to the cadre’s previous field of work. For example, it would not be unusual for a researcher on US foreign policy to be asked to manage rural development in the Gobi Desert.
The guazhi program is based on the traditional Chinese belief that different experiences lead to real knowledge and make a man competent.
In its most radical form during the Cultural Revolution, this traditional belief was manifested as the “Up to the Mountains and Down to the Countryside” movement.
During the Cultural Revolution, universities and colleges in China were closed and urban youth were sent to poor, remote rural areas to, in the words of Mao Zedong, “learn from ordinary people”.
Although far removed from the modern-day GSP, the intention is similar: namely, a notion that the most thorough education comes from diversified experiences…
Local officials were waiting for us at the airport when we landed at our destination on December 1. After a short rest and a dinner full of animated speeches, we–the 17 exhausted researchers–were dispatched to our new homes by town officials. Upon getting in the car, I was told that I would be working almost 13 miles from the urban area.
During our drive along the rugged country road, I had a good talk with one of my future colleagues, the town’s Party committee’s vice-secretary. At one point, he asked me a strange question, “Secretary, where will you live in the city? Will the municipal government rent you an apartment?”
It seemed that my future colleagues did not even know I was required to live where I worked. I began to realize that there would be no bedroom, no bathroom, and no nice furniture waiting for me.
It was immediately apparent upon arriving at the town hall that I had been right in my premonitions, which did not make me happy at all. There was no breakfast or dinner provided, and I wasn’t allowed to cook in the office. There was no hot water and no heating at night, despite temperatures of minus 20 degrees Celsius.
I later reflected that the outdoor toilet I had noticed upon entering was the least of my worries compared with the other problems. On the plus side, my office was bright”. Sixth Tone.
That lonely little village is Heng Xiao’s first career opportunity. By making poor people richer he demonstrates ren, compassion, the founding principle of Confucian governance. As he rises – from section chief, deputy division chief, division chief, deputy director and director of general office, vice-minister, minister, deputy-state leader to state leader – his demonstration of the Confucian virtues – compassion, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and fidelity – will become increasingly important.
Here's young Xi (L) learning practical compassion from a master1, his dad (R):
Xi Zongde was an army general at seventeen, a provincial governor at twenty-three and, after seven years in jail during the Cultural Revolution, builder of modern Guangdong and its $4 trillion economy. His net worth when he died in 2002 was less than $1,000. His legacy is priceless.