Xi Jinping is purging the People’s Liberation Army with Mao-era ferocity. One man, however, remains untouched: the intelligence chief Xu Youming
In the bloodiest shake-up of China’s armed forces since the Cultural Revolution, Xi Jinping has removed nearly a fifth of the generals he personally elevated after the 20th party congress in 2022. The vice-chairman of the Central Military Commission (CMC), the admiral who ran political indoctrination, the former defence minister, the head and political commissar of the Rocket Force—all gone. Some have vanished without explanation; others have been accused of corruption so severe it amounts to “betraying the first killer of combat readiness”, in the party’s inimitable phrase. Yet amid the carnage, one senior officer has not only survived but strengthened his position: Xu Youming, the low-profile commissar of the PLA’s Intelligence Bureau.
Mr Xu runs the closest thing China has to a combined CIA and Defence Intelligence Agency. His bureau, a direct product of Mr Xi’s 2015–16 military reforms, sits inside the Joint Staff Department but answers ultimately to the chairman himself. It controls human-intelligence networks across the Indo-Pacific, overseas military attachés, satellite reconnaissance tasking and a cluster of opaque think-tanks used to cultivate foreign experts. Unlike the glamorous missileers and carrier admirals who parade at party congresses, Mr Xu has spent his career in the shadows: postings in Central Asia and Brazil, no known factional ties, no public speeches. In a system that increasingly rewards visible loyalty, his invisibility has proved an asset.
The contrast with the fallen could hardly be sharper. General He Weidong, once seen as a potential successor to Mr Xi as CMC vice-chairman, has not been seen since March. Admiral Miao Hua, the political commissar who oversaw ideological purity, was expelled in November. Both were Fujian natives with decades-long personal connections to Mr Xi—precisely the kind of “loyalists” the chairman once relied upon, now deemed unreliable. The Rocket Force, guardian of China’s nuclear arsenal, has lost its commander, political commissar and at least three deputies in the past 18 months amid rumours of graft so extensive that dummy missiles were allegedly filled with water instead of fuel.
Why has Mr Xu been spared? Three reasons stand out. First, utility. With Taiwan the overriding priority and the 2027 PLA centenary looming as Mr Xi’s notional deadline for invasion readiness, he cannot afford disruption at the very nerve centre that tracks American carrier movements, Taiwanese missile deployments and Japanese naval exercises. Second, deniability. Intelligence chiefs, unlike theatre commanders, rarely command large budgets or patronage networks; they are harder to accuse of the epic corruption now used to justify purges. Third, and most important, trust. Mr Xu has no independent power base and no obvious ambition. In an era when Mr Xi fears coups more than foreign invasion, such negative virtues are priceless.
The purge has already paralysed parts of the military. Promotions are frozen, officers avoid decisions and foreign militaries report a sharp drop in routine PLA exercises. Yet Mr Xu’s bureau hums along. Recent American assessments note a surge in Chinese cyber intrusions against Taiwanese defence networks and an unusually aggressive crop of new military attachés in South-East Asia—all hallmarks of an intelligence apparatus that feels no chill from the anti-corruption storm.
For the Indo-Pacific, the implications are mixed. A weakened conventional command structure may delay any invasion of Taiwan, but an empowered and unchecked intelligence service raises the risk of miscalculation. Mr Xi’s message is clear: he would rather break his army than lose control of it. In Xu Youming he has found the perfect instrument—loyal, indispensable and, for now, untouchable.
The shadow technocrat has outlasted the generals. Whether he outlasts the chairman’s paranoia is another question.
In the bloodiest shake-up of China’s armed forces since the Cultural Revolution, Xi Jinping has removed nearly a fifth of the generals he personally elevated after the 20th party congress in 2022. The vice-chairman of the Central Military Commission (CMC), the admiral who ran political indoctrination, the former defence minister, the head and political commissar of the Rocket Force—all gone. Some have vanished without explanation; others have been accused of corruption so severe it amounts to “betraying the first killer of combat readiness”, in the party’s inimitable phrase. Yet amid the carnage, one senior officer has not only survived but strengthened his position: Xu Youming, the low-profile commissar of the PLA’s Intelligence Bureau.
Mr Xu runs the closest thing China has to a combined CIA and Defence Intelligence Agency. His bureau, a direct product of Mr Xi’s 2015–16 military reforms, sits inside the Joint Staff Department but answers ultimately to the chairman himself. It controls human-intelligence networks across the Indo-Pacific, overseas military attachés, satellite reconnaissance tasking and a cluster of opaque think-tanks used to cultivate foreign experts. Unlike the glamorous missileers and carrier admirals who parade at party congresses, Mr Xu has spent his career in the shadows: postings in Central Asia and Brazil, no known factional ties, no public speeches. In a system that increasingly rewards visible loyalty, his invisibility has proved an asset.
The contrast with the fallen could hardly be sharper. General He Weidong, once seen as a potential successor to Mr Xi as CMC vice-chairman, has not been seen since March. Admiral Miao Hua, the political commissar who oversaw ideological purity, was expelled in November. Both were Fujian natives with decades-long personal connections to Mr Xi—precisely the kind of “loyalists” the chairman once relied upon, now deemed unreliable. The Rocket Force, guardian of China’s nuclear arsenal, has lost its commander, political commissar and at least three deputies in the past 18 months amid rumours of graft so extensive that dummy missiles were allegedly filled with water instead of fuel.
Why has Mr Xu been spared? Three reasons stand out. First, utility. With Taiwan the overriding priority and the 2027 PLA centenary looming as Mr Xi’s notional deadline for invasion readiness, he cannot afford disruption at the very nerve centre that tracks American carrier movements, Taiwanese missile deployments and Japanese naval exercises. Second, deniability. Intelligence chiefs, unlike theatre commanders, rarely command large budgets or patronage networks; they are harder to accuse of the epic corruption now used to justify purges. Third, and most important, trust. Mr Xu has no independent power base and no obvious ambition. In an era when Mr Xi fears coups more than foreign invasion, such negative virtues are priceless.
The purge has already paralysed parts of the military. Promotions are frozen, officers avoid decisions and foreign militaries report a sharp drop in routine PLA exercises. Yet Mr Xu’s bureau hums along. Recent American assessments note a surge in Chinese cyber intrusions against Taiwanese defence networks and an unusually aggressive crop of new military attachés in South-East Asia—all hallmarks of an intelligence apparatus that feels no chill from the anti-corruption storm.
For the Indo-Pacific, the implications are mixed. A weakened conventional command structure may delay any invasion of Taiwan, but an empowered and unchecked intelligence service raises the risk of miscalculation. Mr Xi’s message is clear: he would rather break his army than lose control of it. In Xu Youming he has found the perfect instrument—loyal, indispensable and, for now, untouchable.
The shadow technocrat has outlasted the generals. Whether he outlasts the chairman’s paranoia is another question.
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