Jailhouse Rock
Checks and balances, among their other effects, put a disappointing damper on political intrigue. Authoritarian regimes, from Russia’s kleptocratic feudalism to China’s single-party totalitarianism, all try (with varying degrees of success) to protect their power by striking down those most capable of threatening them. The recent and ongoing purge of Bo Xilai from the rarefied ranks of the Chinese Communist Party have borne significant resemblance to the plight of Russia’s Mikhail Khodorkovsky, a modern day Icarus who ignored all warnings not to fly too close to the Kremlin sun. But unlike Khodorkovsky, Bo has little chance of becoming an international cause célèbre, a fact that has as much to do with Western attitudes as with the differences between the flavors of Russian and Chinese styles of repression.
Khodorkovsky hit the jackpot when the Soviet Union crumbled. Already a successful businessman in the days of perestroika, he became a billionaire when he took control of the Russian energy company, Yukos, formerly controlled by the Soviet state. In the early years of the first Vladimir Putin administration, Khodorkovsky became increasingly vocal about governmental corruption and publicly aligned himself with liberal and left-leaning groups and political parties. Putin, hoping to stall the ambitions of a worthy adversary, moved to expunge Khodorkovsky from the political landscape: in 2005, Khodorkovsky was convicted of tax evasion and other financial crimes carrying with them a lengthy prison sentence. He remains in prison today.
Like any enterprising inmate with powerful allies, Khodorkovsky has used his prison time assiduously, transforming his profile from that of ambitious oligarch to human rights martyr. The best of the West have advocated on his behalf, from George W. Bush to Amnesty International with plenty in between. In a hearing this summer of the U.S. House of Representatives Ways and Means Committee, members repeatedly referenced Khodorkovsky’s case as a reason to be vigilant in enforcing Russia’s commitments arising from its new World Trade Organization membership. Khodorkovsky has managed to become Russian Victim De Jour among the Western hoi polloi, a status Putin doubtfully intended to bestow upon him back in 2005 when he locked him up.
That transformation will likely remain elusive for Bo Xilai. As of now, the former Communist Party chief of Chongqing province remains in detention following his dismissal from the Party for crimes of corruption and an unspecified connection to the murder case of British businessman, Neil Heywood. Heywood was found dead in his Chongqing hotel room in March, sparking a months-long political scandal that has rocked a Chinese establishment always wary of bad publicity. A trial that concluded in August found Gu Kailai, Bo’s wife, guilty of murdering Heywood over a business disagreement.
In many ways, the Heywood case provided the Party establishment a perfect opportunity to get rid of a powerful, iconoclastic rising star. Bo had sought an appointment to the politburo’s Standing Committee, the elite group of nine individuals who make Chinese policy more or less by consensus. However, rather than seek his appointment via traditional backroom alliances, Bo took on the mantle of the charismatic populist. Colossal infrastructure projects sprang up in Chongqing, and Bo revived the cult of Mao-worship with “Red Sing-alongs” and other patriotic events reminiscent of a bygone era in China’s development. Bo gambled that popular support, while not an official criterion for career advancement, couldn’t hurt. But he realized how few friends he had when the leadership turned against him following the murder. His career now destroyed, Bo will likely face charges of corruption and abuse of his position later this year, that is, sometime after the tightly orchestrated October political transition when China will get a new president and prime minister
Bo has little chance of garnering the type of support Khodorkovsky has for a variety of reasons. First, it would nearly be impossible for Bo to write critical articles (or any articles) from prison, as Khodorkovsky has occasionally been able to do. Second, Bo lacks an obvious constituency in the West. Khodorkovsky has been able to win the hearts of liberals by advocating for a more responsive and open Russian state, and conservatives by advocating protections of personal freedoms and a business-friendly climate. Bo won’t make many friends with his reverence for Mao and militant Chinese nationalism. The West’s love affair with enemies of the Chinese state has, so far, extended mainly to artists (such as architect Ai Weiwei) and activists (blind lawyer Chen Guangcheng, Nobel Laureate Liu Xiabo).
And yet, if it seems preposterous that Bo would gain Western support, then why has Khodorkovsky had so much success? Prior to going to prison, he was nothing more than a billionaire lusting for political power, no more honorable than the president who locked him up. And therein lies the hope for Bo: if he can just manage to smuggle out a few prison letters pining for a new, freer China, he just might find himself with some new fawning admirers in the Occident. Who says you don’t make friends in prison?