The Beijing Olympics were to be the most lavish ever. China would spend $34 billion to refit the capital with sparkling new subways and 10 state-of-the-art stadiums. The spending was the plan of former Communist Party chief and former President Jiang Zemin, who took credit for Beijing's winning bid in 2001. The Olympic projects, it was hoped, would mark China's economic growth and proclaim its arrival as a world power. Now times have changed. Last week Liu Qi, president of the Beijing Olympic-organizing committee, scrapped half the planned stadiums in a demonstration of what he called "the principle of thrift." But in Beijing, observers of the always opaque Chinese leadership are wondering if the new policy smacks of political infighting as much as it does of economy.
Though Jiang stepped down from his positions as General Secretary of the Communist Party in 2002 and President of the country in 2003, he remains chairman of the Central Military Commission and hence commander of the People's Liberation Army. Hu Jintao, who succeeded Jiang as Party chief and President, wants to consolidate his own power. Last week, a report in the New York Times suggested that Jiang may give up his army position at a key Communist Party plenum this week. There is no consensus in Beijing on whether such an outcome is likely. But with rumors swirling, cancellation of the Olympic stadiums gained added significance. Older Chinese remember that in 1979, Deng Xiaoping signaled his rise to power by canceling 10 massive industrial projects championed by his rival, Hua Guofeng. In all likelihood, says a well-placed Beijing academic, the scaling back of the Olympic plans relates to a "struggle" between Hu and Jiang.
Hu's primacy remains incomplete. Jiang continues to enjoy the loyalty of many senior Party and military officials and maintains a power base in China's commercial hub of Shanghai. But as is always the case in China, assessing whether there are differences between the two men depends on the examination of tiny shards of evidence. According to agreed protocol, for instance, Hu can demonstrate first-among-equals status by entering meeting halls before Jiang. Yet Jiang often ambles into halls first. So Beijing's political insiders watched closely on August 22 as both men entered the Great Hall of the People to commemorate the centenary of Deng's birth. Just before Jiang entered ahead of Hu, the live television broadcast cut to a shot of the red star on the ceiling and didn't pan the hall until Jiang had seated himself. "Apparently, Hu had had enough," says an editor at a Party-run newspaper. In this shadowland, the hardest question to answer is whether personal differences speak to larger disagreements on policy. Hu has emphasized a balanced development between China's booming coastal cities and its poor hinterland, and he seems to want closer ties with European and Asian nations, as well as with the U.S. Jiang, for his part, encouraged rapid economic growth along the coast and made sound relations with the U.S. the cornerstone of his foreign policy. Last December, Hu made a major speech on "The Peaceful Rise of China," which was meant to signal his arrival as a theorist while assuring the world that China's emergence as a world power would not threaten its neighbors. But Jiang, says a Western diplomat in Beijing, "forced Hu to tone [the theory] down." In subsequent speeches, Hu has referred instead to China's "peaceful development."
Conceivably, the change in wording suggests differences in policy. Many Chinese foreign-relations experts, for example, have long favored a more conciliatory posture toward Taiwan. They remain deeply skeptical that Taiwan's President Chen Shui-bian could ever become a trusted negotiating partner but fear that threatening Taiwan with military action may only drive the island further down the road to independence. That sentiment is shared by many who worked on Hu's "Peaceful Rise" theory, according to a scholar who consulted with them. This source says Jiang opposed the slogan partly because it sent too soft a message to Taiwan and Washington. In the same vein, Beijing's attitude toward Hong Kong could also hinge on contests at the top. China watchers in Hong Kong are deeply divided on whether there are any splits in Beijing in policy toward the city. But it was Jiang who appointed Tung Chee-hwa, Hong Kong's deeply unpopular Chief Executive. Hu, for his part, has seemed to distance himself from Tung by urging him to pay closer attention to the popular will.
In moving to consolidate power, Hu has shown a deft touch. In July, he visited Jiang's power base of Shanghai. Senior officials there had complained that new austerity measures requiring Beijing's approval were deflating the city's boom. A smiling Hu allowed photographers to record him strolling past marshland that Shanghai officials hope to turn into an industrial zone and touring high-profile factories. Shortly after Hu returned to Beijing, the central government approved construction of a long-awaited tunnel-and-bridge project to Chongming Island, and city officials say the second phase of a deepwater port has not been blocked by central planners. The message seemed to be that Shanghai could continue steaming ahead. "Hu set out to defang Jiang's tiger" in Shanghai, says the Western diplomat.
Hu may also be able to rely on unexpected allies in the army, where he is No. 2 to Jiang. Last month Gen. Chi Haotian, a retired Defense Minister long considered supportive of Jiang, wrote in Seeking Truth, a Party magazine, that the army must "at all times obey the Party" and "cannot concentrate power in a few individuals." Chi then praised Deng for his quick resignation as head of the military in 1989: "He just said 'bye-bye,' picked up his briefcase and left." This, wrote Chi, showed that Deng was a "truly selfless man, a man who considered the overall picture." That sounded like a message to Jiang. Taken together with the stadium cancellations, those messages seem to be getting more frequent, and louder.