On April 16, a man with close-cropped hair and wearing casual
clothes disembarked from an airliner that had just arrived in
Beijing from the United States. He looked calm, almost smiling.
Looks can be deceiving, however, and there was certainly nothing
serene about this scene.
Waiting for the man was a throng of law enforcement agents, all
dressed in dark uniforms and packing pistols and beepers. And none
of them was smiling.
They promptly clamped a pair of handcuffs on the man's wrists
and whisked him away.
It might have looked like an outtake from a cinematic crime
drama, but this one was guaranteed to send shivers down the spines
of Chinese officials who have pilfered public funds and vanished
overseas. The man was Yu Zhendong, former president of a Bank of
China branch in Kaiping, Guangdong Province, and he is accused of
collaborating with a couple of former colleagues to steal US$483
million.
Yu's extradition was such a major triumph in the Chinese
government's campaign against official corruption that pundits
pontificated for weeks afterward on the meaning of the move as well
as all the behind-the-scenes legal wrangling between China and the
US that preceded it.
Crime and punishment
Those who have pillaged public coffers might now think twice
before fleeing to the US with their families. But experts seem to
agree that one incident of expulsion will not be deterrent enough
to stop them from trying.
The crackdown on corrupt officials has been escalating. Those
who used to be off-limit-or at least seemed to be so, such as
provincial-level officials-are increasingly becoming fair game.
According to media reports, over the past decade some 16 or17
provincial leaders would "fall from the horse" each year. Last
year, the number rose above 20, which experts interpret as an
indication of increased government vigilance.
The penalties have also become harsher, reveals Li Yongzhong, an
eminent anti-corruption scholar. Of the 13 cases made public last
year, one received the death penalty, two were given reprieves from
death sentences, two were sentenced to life in prison and two
others received prison terms of longer than 10 years.
Li, director of the research office with the Chinese Communist
Party's Central Commission for Discipline Inspection, compares two
sets of figures to show that rampant corruption is being tackled
with more aggressive countermeasures.
From 1992 to 1997, 669,000 Communist Party members were
disciplined and 121,500 were expelled. Among them, 20,295 were
county-level officials, 1,673 bureau-level and 78 provincial-level.
From 1998 to 2002, there were 846,000 disciplined and 137,700
expelled, of which 28,996 were county-level, 2,422 bureau-level and
98 provincial-level. The figures indicate rate increases of 13 to
44 percent, depending on the parameter examined.
In an online discussion, Li was asked why the wave of corruption
has not plummeted with the harsher punishments. Instead, it seems
to be swelling into a tidal wave.
That perception is misleading, Li responded. The surge in cases
reflects more criminal activities being uncovered rather than
ineffectiveness of the anti-corruption policies. "The fact that
those officials would flee demonstrates that the Communist Party
and the Chinese authorities do not tolerate corruption. Of course,
it also shows the system has major loopholes."
An ongoing survey by the CPC Central Commission for Discipline
Inspection shows that in 2003, 51 percent of the public was
"satisfied" with the government's fight against corruption. In
1996, the satisfaction rate was only 32.8 percent. "This time the
thunder is loud, but the raindrops are also falling hard," explains
Li, rephrasing the old analogy for half-hearted policies or poor
implementation.
Li, who is also director of the China Supervision Society, lists
six methods of "primitive accumulation" by officials, which refers
to amassing wealth through illegal means: (1) the issuing of
permits for land use; (2) authorizing loans; (3) authorizing tax
reductions; (4) manipulating the stock market; (5) turning a blind
eye to smuggling or even participating in it; and (6)
subcontracting major infrastructure projects.
Li says in some places it has become routine for a corrupt
official first to send his or her spouse and child abroad, followed
by a massive outflow of illegal money. Finally, when everything is
ready or when there is a whiff of investigation, the official
orchestrates a stunning disappearing act and joins the family. Some
even gamble away much of their ill-gotten gains in Las Vegas.
Moreover, financial mechanisms are being cleverly employed in
the trading of power for money. One is "options," by which an
official grants benefits to someone who will return the favor down
the road-principal plus interest. No cash transactions take place,
so there is no trace of foul play. Another method is "transfer,"
whereby official benefits are exchanged for goodwill accorded to
family members rather than to the official. The third method is
"whitewashing," or money laundering in the broad sense, by
channeling illegal wealth into legal or "not outrageously illegal"
operations.
Li Yongzhong divides China's anti-corruption approaches since
1949 into three categories. The first phase was movement-based,
when top leaders launched campaigns and galvanized the whole nation
in one specific direction. The second phase, starting with the
economic reform and opening policy, was power-based, when the
attention of individual leaders was focused on this area. Now, says
Li, the fight against corruption has become system-based. Without a
system-based mechanism, policies can only have limited impact.
That's because corruption is not individual-based.
Li Tiecheng, Party secretary of Jingyu County, Jilin Province,
took "gifts" in the amount of 440,000 yuan (US$53,000), about 2.3
percent of that county's total financial revenue. In his
confession, he wrote, "The money was not for me, but for the
position I happened to be in."
"There is an element of certainty in it when power is
unsupervised and unchecked," says Li Yongzhong. The way an official
first gets corrupted can be a "coincidence," such as a chance
encounter or an innocuous gift. But once that opening is made in
his mental barrier, it's downhill all the way, says Li. "It's a
road of no return. Nothing can stop him."
Li feels the mainland should not copy Hong Kong's ICAC
(Independent Commission Against Corruption) model, but create
something that can prevent corruption from happening.
"The real victory would be a system that can deter such
behavior," he says. However, as China is in the process of
transforming itself from a planned economy to a market economy,
there are plenty of loopholes in the system that enable people in
the know to take advantage.
"That's a price we have to pay. Right now, the price of being
corrupt is too low, while that of exposing it is too high," Li
says.
One story that showcases the high cost of fighting official
corruption is Guo Guangyun, whose perseverance in uncovering the
misdeeds of provincial leader Cheng Weigao led to his own
imprisonment. Even though he was eventually vindicated when Cheng
was stripped of power, Guo, the anti-corruption hero, is now in ill
health, the tragic result of eight years of abuse in the hands of
the powerful and corrupt.
Li Yongzhong, while lamenting the suffering that preceded Guo's
triumph, highlights the symbolic meaning: the central government
has made a point of mentioning Guo's name in its report on the
Cheng case.
"This is unprecedented and shows how serious the government is
in fighting corruption," he says.
Li explains that China's power structure is in the shape of a
pyramid. Officials are appointed by those who are one level above
them. "This system, which was borrowed from the Soviet model, can
reduce the sense of accountability that an official feels toward
the public."
It is not feasible to expect equals or subordinates to supervise
someone who can well determine their fate. Local courts and
discipline committees sometimes tend to detach themselves from
cases that involve officials in their own jurisdiction.
Right now, teams of inspectors are dispatched every year from
the central government to local levels. The good thing is, these
people are outsiders who do not fall under the halo of power of
those under investigation. The bad thing is, they are often made up
of people from various organizations who are on temporary missions
and may treat their assignment as a mere formality.
In Li Yongzhong's opinion, this is an interim solution with high
input but low output. The long-term answer, he emphasizes, is
further implementation of "intra-Party democracy"-the pillar that
can support power balance-and the structure of supervision.
As for Yu Zhendong, the Guangdong banker accused of stealing
hundreds of millions of dollars, he admits that, "Once you get the
ball of corruption rolling, it's beyond your control." He regrets
what he did and wants to cooperate with law enforcement agencies in
their investigation.
"I want to give myself a chance, and want them to give me a
chance," Yu said.
(China Daily June 3, 2004)