It was not supposed to end this way. Until recently, the leadership succession of the Chinese Communist party was thought to be on track. Vice-President Xi Jinping and executive vice-premier Li Keqiang will become the general secretary of the CCP and the premier of the State Council (China’s cabinet), respectively. The Politburo standing committee, the party’s supreme policy-making body, will add seven other new members. One of them was to be Mr Bo Xilai, the party chief of Chongqing.
The surprising announcement last week of Mr Bo’s ousting upended his highly publicised quest for a seat on the Politburo standing committee. His ignominious exit from power drew loud cheers from many quarters. Liberals applauded Mr Bo’s demise because his “singing red” campaign, which featured mass singing of songs popular during Mao Zedong’s rule, brought back memories of ultra-leftist madness. Cautious and uptight officials heaved a sigh of relief. They abhorred Mr Bo because he was a cynical self-promoter who broke the party’s taboo against publicly campaigning for one of the highest offices in the land. Mr Bo frightened them because he was rather good at playing a different game: instead of quietly and humbly working the corridors of the party establishment, he built up a charismatic public image and forced the party’s hand. Private entrepreneurs celebrated Mr Bo’s downfall too, because they felt deeply threatened by his populist rhetoric and by the use of questionable legal methods in the seizure of the assets of businessmen during Chongqing’s high-profile crackdown on organised crime.
Given the controversy surrounding Mr Bo’s thinly disguised political ambition and unorthodox tactics, it is easy to treat his fall as political morality play. That would be a mistake. What this episode has revealed is far more important than the political folly of one individual, however unpleasant he might be.