On September 22, The Economist asked “Could Asia really go to war?” The article concerned the potential ramifications of recent protests in China concerning the Japanese government’s recent purchase of the Diaoyu (or Senkaku) islands from a private citizen. For weeks afterwards, this article remained the most popular on the publication’s website, and has over 4,000 ‘likes’ on Facebook. Its popularity is perhaps best explained by its alarmist standpoint: to take one example, the author noted a recent poll suggesting that “just over half of China’s citizens thought the next few years would see a ‘military dispute’ with Japan.” One hopes even the general reader will have recognised the audacity of claiming to represent over 600m people on the basis of one poll: the diversity and nature of China’s population makes claims like this difficult even with an abundance of data. Unfortunately, this rash generalisation was not unique as the author strove to get across his doom-laden perspective. I should point out at the outset my agreement with the author’s subtly concealed conclusion that “this latest squabble will probably die down, just as others have in the past”. Indeed, it is my conviction that (in the foreseeable future, at least) there is no danger of war between China and Japan. This conclusion, however, was all but refuted by the content and tone of the article itself. I hope to show the reasons for my optimism to be rather more sophisticated than the cursory explanations offered by The Economist.
The recent protests in China are, undoubtedly, a prime example of ‘political theatre’. They served as a convenient distraction from the Chinese Communist Party’s (CCP) leadership transition, but more importantly they deflected attention from the regime’s biggest political scandal in recent times: the murder of British Diplomat, Nigel Heywood. Furthermore, it is no coincidence that the latest disruptions coincided with the dismissal of Bo Xilai (the Chongqing party chief who was just a year ago who had been tipped for one of the top jobs this time around. Similarly, the first round of protests, around three months ago, erupted on the eve of Gu Kailai’s suspended death sentence verdict. The Economist made no connection between these events.
Anti-Japanese protests have provided an important function for the party leadership as this scandal has unfolded. By directing media attention to these protests, the regime not only distracts from the Heywood affair, but simultaneously reminds its citizens that the party is the primary vehicle of national redemption. The Economist raises the issue of nationalism, which it rightly asserts the regime “helped create”. In its most basic form, Chinese ‘Patriotic Education’ (initiated just over twenty years ago) portrays Japan as China’s arch-villain, whilst promoting an enduring ‘victim’ identity amongst the Chinese themselves. This narrative allows the CCP to present itself as the saviour of modern China. Assertive Chinese rhetoric, therefore, is not simply a distraction from internal crises, but reinforces the CCP’s conception of national identity, and legitimises the party’s enduring role within it.
It is also true that “Asia is too busy making money” to make war. Japan is indeed “China’s biggest trading partner”: according to Bloomberg, China and Japan currently enjoy a $340 billion trade relationship. Once again, however, this issue should be viewed with greater complexity than its superficial treatment in The Economist. The CCP relies on economic growth, which has resulted in part from this relationship, as a primary basis of domestic legitimacy. Shed of its Maoist origins, a delicate social contract has arisen in which the party achieves such legitimacy in return for rising economic prosperity of the wider population. Yet in order for this to continue, the regime requires stability. As a result, the CCP is driven by a basic fear of instability, both internally and externally, and it is this which mitigates any serious disruption of the status quo: or in this specific case, military conflict with Japan.
Furthermore, The Economistfails to point out that, had the party wished to stop the demonstrations, steps would have been taken to close them down. This, after all, is exactly what happened during the Wukan protests in December last year. Instead, the Chinese media splashed the recent protests across its networks, whilst Foreign Policy reported that “plainclothes cops intermingled with the marchers, keeping in nervous contact through their earpieces.” In fact, anti-Japanese nationalist fervour is a direct product of the party’s inherent compulsion for continued stability: since the CCP has established itself as the natural guardian of the Chinese nation, it has simultaneously assumed a role which is difficult to oppose in a coherent manner. The protests, therefore, whilst posing a diplomatic problem for the CCP leadership, can also be seen to provide significant benefits; as long as they are contained. In this regard, I see no compelling reason why these anti-Japanese protests should be seen any differently to those of the past. The CCP’s basic caution constitutes a formidable obstacle to military conflict in the foreseeable future.
So, could Asia really go to war over these islands? Don’t count on it. Whilst one must be wary of predicting the course of future events, it is far more likely that Sino-Japanese relations will witness greater normalcy by the turn of the year. The dangers associated with escalation are too high; the relative reward asymmetrically minimal. Chinese objections are best understood as a manifestation of the CCP’s domestic priorities, than as genuine foreign policy. Indeed, China has a basic interest both in the maintenance of the status quo, and the execution of a responsible diplomatic resolution. Contrary to The Economist’s pessimistic outlook, military conflict in East Asia is highly unlikely for the foreseeable future.
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