Fight Fire By Fighting Flies
How do you fight local corruption
in China?
China’s anticorruption crusade
after taking down many high officials accused of graft—“tigers” in the
political parlance—has been showing signs in recent weeks that it might be time
to go after lower-ranking cadres--or “flies”--whose behavior has been equally
dishonorable.
And in one province a bit more than
a month back, some at least are being given tools to do the job.
That is, fly-swatters.
On a popular evening politics
program in Nanning, the capital of China’s southwest province of Guangxi, Communist
party leaders in four counties were called on stage to account for recent
reports showing that government officials were using their working time to
research stocks, purchase lottery tickets, play games, watch videos, read
novels, as well as “other violations of work discipline”. The party
secretaries in each county appeared on stage with fly-swatters, given as a gift
to help them deal with the “flies” whose very laziness was
corrupting. Each pledged to smack their staff
into shape.
On one level, this is an
all-too-common story in China.
Neither the province of Guangxi nor
its capital is a stranger to allegations of government shortcomings and
graft. Guangxi has been the target of anti-corruption inspection
teams since President Xi Jinping’s national campaign began, with Nanning itself
having seen its share of “tigers” toppled from office in the past year—including
the city’s leader, the party secretary, currently under arrest on corruption
charges.
And just a few days before the show
aired, Guangxi officials accused a
set of education administrators of charging students fraudulent fees;
taking kickbacks from contractors and publishers; and then using the funds they
illicitly procured for unauthorized trips and other personal
expenses.
Clearly, the “flies” are abundant
in Guangxi. The question for Beijing has been how to eradicate
them.
There have been experiments in
dealing with the locally corrupt or incompetent. In 2012, the city of Wuhan premiered a
television program seeking to introduce more accountability into government
operations by inviting decision-makers on stage to explain and defend their
policies—or that there were so many social problems that were going unaddressed. The
on-air effort to make cadres answerable had proved popular for a time among
many viewers and spawned similar formats in a couple of Chinese
provinces. But the program has only appeared irregularly; the
concept has never been approved as a template for national television in
China. Probably Beijing wasn’t comfortable with emboldening citizens
to play a direct part in evaluating officials: Cadres themselves may
well have complained to their superiors, or the shows might have smacked of
democratic participation in ways that made some leaders leery of where it all
might lead.
So what’s new in the Guangxi case
is the lengths someone in authority went to, both in exposing the bad behavior,
and by enlisting a format that seemed to have been in hibernation. Apparently, the political leadership (there
or above) became so frustrated with the level of corruption in Nanning that they
decided to stop pretending that local cadres would cease their looting on their
own, and try something a bit different.
That there was a difference in
Nanning became clear because the television program kicked-off a debate: Between those who argue for the positive role
television might play in local politics in helping
Chinese politicians communicate with the public, versus those who think
such programming is simply
incendiary and therefore unhelpful.
Not surprisingly, the middle ground
seemed the safest. According to one
commentator, choosing to hold officials publicly accountable by employing
the format pioneered in Wuhan still makes sense, but it needs to be managed
very carefully.
It’s easy to see why.
There are political dangers for
Guangxi (and for other provinces) if the program was revived and shown
regularly to try to kill off “flies”.
The most obvious risk is the
reaction of local officials.
Everyone agrees that it’s crucial
to at least contain the corrupt practices of cadres—whether it’s robbing public
coffers or shirking responsibilities-- if only because China’s economic and
social challenges deserve careful and sustained attention by local governments;
allowing officials to ignore work and concentrate on rent-seeking leaves
problems to fester. While Beijing seems more interested in making
examples of officials behaving badly by flying in inspection teams and grabbing
the greedy and guilty for trial, local authorities haven’t been given much
autonomy to deal with graft from the ground up. Exposing local officials
in such a public way might actually work small wonders.
But to attempt to fight corruption
by publicly gifting fly-swatters to county party secretaries because their
staff hasn't been well-supervised had to be humiliating for the
recipients. Singling these officials out for public ridicule will
please angry citizens. At the same time,
such events create enemies within the party ranks. Feeling under
siege by both Xi and Guangxi, it’s not guaranteed that cadres will simply slink
away and mend their ways. Indeed, officials could mobilize and
strike back, by retaliating against who organized the spectacle, or to resist
those looking to change what for many officials has after all been common
practice for years. Already one essay
warns that such programs aren’t helpful anyway, because they only produce
resentment and disappointment, and that actual reform has to come from
within.
There’s another problem where
public expectations are concerned.
Residents in Guangxi who want
programming that seeks to hold officials accountable to become a regular
feature of local television aren’t likely to get support from Beijing,
especially as the Xi leadership clearly prefers to run the anticorruption
crusade from the top-down. It’s understandable if citizens in
Guangxi shrug their shoulders and remain apathetic, because that’s usually what
happens in China. But the local level of disgust with official
behavior isn’t going away, and new activism might overcome old
apathy. A couple of hours or so of television programming isn’t
going to satisfy some citizens—the ones who love a good show but wonder whether
they’ll ever be allowed to get out of their seats to help slap the pests that
are annoying them.
Whatever the outcome in Guangxi
itself, it’s good that at least some people there are thinking that it’s worth
the risk to take action before local governance deteriorates in practice and
perception even further. Now the challenge for Beijing is to decide
whether such experiments are worth expanding, or if Xi and his allies see these
efforts as just so much swatting at flies.
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