Safety valve of the people
The ninth party congress brings a new leader, more
vague policy, and calls for 'grassroots democracy'
to alleviate public discontent
HANOI - Beneath the pageancy and the platitudes,
a raw nerve throbbed at the ninth congress of Vietnam's
communist party, held on April 19-22. The pain
stemmed from evidence of growing public alienation
from party officials--born of unresolved land disputes,
obvious corruption and opaque government.
In speech after speech, delegates cited "grassroots
democracy" as the most effective remedy. That means
bottom-up participation in decision-making and budget
supervision, and linking party promotions to public
feedback. Unless such measures are consistently
implemented, Vietnam can expect more jolting unrest,
as seen in February in the central highlands, where an
estimated 5,000 ethnic minority protesters took to the
streets.
In Vietnam's collectively run system, no one leader
holds responsibility for making such sweeping changes
in national political life. The last congress that brought
real reform was back in 1986. But the widespread
desire for greater transparency seems reflected in the
choice of Nong Duc Manh, a member of the northern
Tay minority, as the new party chief. During Manh's
deft tenure as chairman of the National Assembly,
ordinary Vietnamese suddenly found that they could
switch on the TV and watch legislators pose hard
questions to the nation's ministers, and even send in
their own questions by phone, letter or e-mail. Those
may sound like small steps toward "grassroots
democracy," but for Vietnam, they are meaningful.
Manh replaces Le Kha Phieu, an army general who
became a driving force behind the party's two-year-old
"criticism and self-criticism" campaign. Phieu's fall from
power, triggered by the view that he was too close to
China and too remote from his own countrymen, also
indicates that voluntary confessions from party cadres
simply don't work to clean up the system. Phieu's taste
for beefed-up intelligence forays sowed discord within
the party's central committee without eliminating
misconduct, party sources say.
Manh is no flaming reformist. Yet some Vietnamese
express cautious optimism about the 60-year-old
Russian-trained forestry engineer, who entered the
National Assembly in 1992 and kept the peace among
rival factions. "He doesn't have the army or the police in
his hand. Therefore, he has to be more accountable to
the people, and rely on them for support," says one
Hanoi businessman. It doesn't hurt that Manh is said to
be the son of Ho Chi Minh, a rumour that Manh did not
entirely squelch by telling reporters his parents died
when he was very young.
The leadership changes also sparked hope within the
foreign business community, although Manh has not yet
expressed any strong views on economic reform. "Now
that they've got younger and better-educated
leadership, it looks like they will be going in the right
direction, in terms of integrating with the global
economy and modernizing the Vietnamese system. It's
definitely a positive signal," says Fred Burke, an
attorney at U.S. law firm Baker & McKenzie in Ho Chi
Minh City.
The congress itself failed to send any clear signals on
economic policy. The party stuck to a broad platform
that assigned a vague "leading role" to the state sector,
but also encouraged the growth of the private sector
and foreign investment.
The advantage of ambiguity is that the broad platform
does not commit Vietnam to a detailed plan to pump up
the state sector at the expense of the private sector.
Manh and his revamped team will need this flexibility to
comply with the conditions of a new, $368 million IMF
loan designed to speed up reforms in state banks and
state firms.
At the same time, the new team must figure out how to
lure more foreign investment. Pledges for the first
quarter of 2001 came to just $273 million. While
Vietnam has become more active in promoting itself
abroad, investors are still frustrated by slow-moving
bureaucracy and high taxes on salaries. For a man of
action, Manh can count on Vu Khoan, now strategically
placed on the central committee's secretariat. Khoan
was the chief negotiator for the U.S.-Vietnam bilateral
trade agreement, which awaits ratification on both
sides.
Back-room negotiations dominated the congress,
despite a new "democratic" twist in the election
mechanism. For the first time, party leaders said, while
the congress was in session each delegate would be
asked to fill out a secret ballot for general secretary.
While the ballots would not directly elect the candidate,
they were to be used as a "reference" to guide the new
central committee in choosing the party chief.
But delegates were in fact asked to fill out their ballots
on April 16, three days before the congress formally
opened. By then, the delegates already knew that Phieu
had agreed to step down in the face of overwhelming
opposition from the central committee. So the delegates
chose Manh, known to be the central committee's
favourite candidate. The new party chief dodged
reporters' questions as to the precise date of the
"democratic" ballot.
In the face of such awkward subterfuge, why should
anyone believe that the party is serious about
"grassroots democracy"? Because for the party, a
limited form of "democracy" represents
self-preservation, not benevolence. A greater voice for
the people is a practical way of defusing local
frustrations before they metastasize into major protest.
"It's not something potentially explosive, but acts as a
safety valve," says Melina Nathan, a Vietnam specialist
at the Institute of Defence and Strategic Studies in
Singapore.
Driving this message home was Bui Si Tieu, who took
over in January as party secretary in Thai Binh
province, the site in 1997 of major protests by farmers
at corruption by local officials. The extraordinary outcry
prompted Hanoi to issue a 1998 decree to enhance
public participation in local government. But in many
provinces the decree has languished.
In a forthright speech, Tieu advocated swift action.
"Most of the complaints of the people were
well-grounded," he reminded his audience, referring to
anger at shady land deals and mismanaged rural
cooperatives. Indeed, 800 officials were punished. And
to supervise development projects such as roads and
irrigation works, and double-check accounting, each
ward now appoints four or five villagers, who are not
necessarily party members.
"Eighty percent of complaints could be addressed [at
the local level], but because we don't have competent
cadres, people bring them to a higher level," Tieu said.
Voices from Danang, Ho Chi Minh City, Hanoi and
even the armed forces echoed the need for more public
accountability. Party officials did try to display evidence
of vigilance, telling the press that 2,192 party members
were dismissed from their posts and 2,983 expelled
altogether from the party over the last two years. But
they also admitted that many party stalwarts had
ignored the rules on financial disclosure. "Leading party
members must declare their assets," said Le Duc Binh,
a member of the party's internal affairs committee. "We
need to publicize the statements, [otherwise] these
declarations will be just a piece of paper in the official
file."
Dishing thee dirt
While Phieu is no longer party chief, his zeal for
collecting dirt on his fellow cadres has cast a long
shadow. When the central committee met for a March
plenum, each member, for the first time, was handed
dossiers detailing the personal "errors" they and their
colleagues had made, as reported by colleagues and
neighbours. Errors included indulgent displays of
wealth, such as expensive cars and houses--and
improper personal relationships.
While such disclosures could have inflicted enduring
damage on mutual trust between members of the central
committee, "it had to be done," sighs one high-ranking
party member. "These matters were getting increasingly
sensitive." In the end, 84 people were retained for the
new, 150-member central committee. Prime Minister
Phan Van Khai and President Tran Duc Luong are also
expected to stay on, preserving the troika's traditional
balance between northern, southern and central
Vietnam.
One big change, however, is that the central
committee's three senior advisers--Do Muoi, Le Duc
Anh, and Vo Van Kiet--have respectfully been put out
to pasture by a central committee decision to no longer
have advisers. With no more meddling from up above,
the new leadership will have no excuse if it fails to push
reforms down below. Villagers remember Manh for his
sympathetic visits during floods and other natural
disasters. Now it's time to handle brewing political
disasters, all man-made.
By Margot Cohen - The Far Eastern Economic Review - April 26, 2001.
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