The North Star

「中國可能的第六代領導人陸昊至今乏人知曉」 林中斌 2015.11.23

A largely unknown political rising star in China who may suceed Xi JinPing - Chong-Pin Lin Nov.23.2015

20151114 The north star P31

20151114 The north star P32  

ASKED what they think of Lu Hao, their governor, residents of Harbin, capital of the north-eastern province of Heilongjiang, often reply with the word xiaozi. This roughly translates as “young whippersnapper”. Mr Lu’s youthfulness is indeed striking. Born in 1967, he is the youngest of China’s current provincial governors. He was also the youngest to hold most of his previous positions. Those include factory boss at a large state-owned enterprise, deputy mayor of Beijing and leader of the Communist Youth League, an important training ground for many a national leader.

China’s system of political succession produces occasional surprises, such as the purge three years ago of another provincial leader, Bo Xilai, on the eve of what appeared to be his likely elevation to the pinnacle of power, the Politburo Standing Committee, alongside Xi Jinping, who is now president. But at least since the Communist Party began institutionalising succession arrangements in the 1990s, high-flyers have often been easy to spot. Mr Lu is one of them.

His stint at the youth league was of greatest portent. The organisation is something like an American fraternity club (without the misbehaviour)—its members form close ties which are often maintained in their later careers. Its leaders have a tendency to move into high national office. Hu Yaobang, a party chief in the 1980s, grew to prominence in the league, as did Hu Jintao, Mr Xi’s predecessor. Li Keqiang, the current prime minister, is also an ex-head of the league. Mr Lu’s stint in that role from 2008-13 made him an obvious rising star. His subsequent promotion to a provincial governorship confirmed this impression.

Youth is on his side. The next rung on the ladder to the top may be induction into the 25-member Politburo, possibly as early as 2017. But it will not be until around the time of the party’s 20th congress in 2022—a year after its 100th birthday—that Mr Xi will retire and Mr Lu will have a chance to shine, likely as one of the (now seven) members of the Standing Committee. He will then be 55, a year older than Mr Xi was when he joined the body in 2007. That would give Mr Lu a good few years at the top: Standing Committee members are expected to retire around 70. He would be a member of what party officials already call the “sixth generation” of Communist leaders (the first having been led by Mao Zedong, Mr Xi representing the fifth).

There are several other likely members of the upcoming generation. They include Hu Chunhua, Mr Lu’s predecessor as head of the youth league who is now the party boss of the southern province of Guangdong; and Sun Zhengcai, the party chief of Chongqing, a south-western region. One rising star has already fallen, however. Su Shulin was thought to have bright prospects until he was removed as governor of coastal Fujian province after being snared in a corruption investigation in October.

China’s media often drop hints of who to watch. Mr Lu’s appointment as Heilongjiang’s governor (a few months after he became the youngest full member of the party’s 370-strong Central Committee) was accompanied by a flurry of celebratory articles in the party’s main mouthpiece, the People’s Daily, and other newspapers. They emphasised Mr Lu’s youth, impeccable work ethic and solid record of excellent performance in his previous jobs.

The hagiographies credit Mr Lu with reviving the fortunes of a debt-ridden wool factory in Beijing, of which he was appointed boss in 1995 as a 28-year-old. Four years later he was promoted to a job in the city government, managing a technology zone in the city’s north-west. The area, Zhongguancun, was already referred to by hyperbole-prone state media as “China’s Silicon Valley”, although it consisted mostly of streets lined with stalls selling computers, electronic accessories and pirated software. But by the time Mr Lu moved on to his next job, in 2003, Zhongguancun was well on its way to being worthy of its nickname. Today it is full of modern towers housing the Chinese headquarters of many world-class technology companies.

The likes of Mr Lu rarely give interviews to foreign journalists (President Xi never has, one-on-one). But a foreign businessman who met Mr Lu several times recalls him as an exuberant manager who, somewhat ahead of his time, advocated the recruitment of talented Chinese who had returned from abroad. Another foreigner familiar with Mr Lu calls him “sharp”, “impressive”, “focused” and good at giving speeches without a script—not a preferred style of oratory among Chinese officials.

Mr Lu’s current job is an exceptionally tough one. Heilongjiang was once known as a rustbelt of shuttered heavy industries. It boomed under a rejuvenation scheme earlier this century, but its fortunes have slumped again. Its oilfields are well past peak output, and, thanks to low oil prices, far less lucrative. Trade across its long border with Russia is hampered by Russia’s economic woes and its much-devalued rouble. The coal industry, another economic pillar, is suffering from overcapacity thanks to a slump in demand as China’s growth slows. One of the province’s largest employers, Longmay Group, announced in September that it would reduce its 240,000-strong mining workforce by 100,000 within three months. The company cut thousands of jobs last year.

Since the first quarter of 2014, Heilongjiang’s real GDP growth rate has hovered between 4-5%—far behind the 7% nationwide figure. Its growth is among the slowest of China’s provinces. Last year Mr Lu was summoned, together with other governors, to a meeting with the prime minister to discuss their provinces’ ailing economies. “I took his remarks as criticism,” Mr Lu contritely said afterwards.

He is probably confident, however, that his career remains secure. For all China’s fixation on high economic growth rates—at least until recently when it became more obvious that they were unsustainable—several studies by Western scholars have shown little correlation between economic performance in provincial jobs and advancement to high-level posts in the central government. Residents rarely blame Mr Lu, who ranks below Heilongjiang’s party secretary, even though it is Mr Lu who is responsible for managing the province’s economy. “It’s mostly because of factors the governor cannot possibly control,” says a local reporter.

Mr Lu has a nearby scapegoat: Russia. He blames it for failing to develop transport facilities on its side of the frontier. “How can you increase the volume of turnover if many border crossings are seasonal in nature… and in the winter, the border crossings remain idle?” he demanded at a China-Russia trade expo last month, according to Russian media.

The views of ordinary citizens do not count for much in the grooming of successors. That is fortunate for Mr Lu. In Heilongjiang he is chiefly known not for anything he has done for the province, but for his love of dancing, both ballroom style and, in his student days, disco; at Peking University where he studied economics he is said to have choreographed a group routine. Crucially, Mr Lu is widely believed to be a protégé of President Xi. That is a strong qualification for power.

 

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