Storytime's Over: Xi Jinping's Tall Tales Crumble – And What Comes Next? | Digging into China

Hi, I'm Dong Xiong. Welcome to Digging into China, where we explore China in-depth to review unique perspectives. Political scholar Max Weber pointed out that for political rule to last, it has to earn society's trust in its legitimacy. In authoritarian systems, that trust often rests on narrative legitimacy. Leaders spin these grand tales of historical missions through wrapping their own power up as to share the fate of the people and the nation. But when those stories fall apart, the whole edifice of the dictator's power comes tumbling down right along with them. And right now, China finds itself at just such a critical moment in its narrative crisis. More than a decade ago, when Xi Jinping came to power, he vowed to rebuild the faith. Using stories like the anti-corruption drive, poverty alleviation, and the Chinese dream to give his rule some real meaning. But 10 years on, those narrative resources have been completely exhausted. The anti-corruption myth has morphed into factional infighting. Poverty alleviation and a comprehensive well-off society have slipped into economic downturn. And the zero-COVID miracle came crashing down in a single night. Even though Xi still commands this massive machinery of power, he just can't find a story anymore that keeps the people bound to it. This doesn't mean the regime is facing some immediate threat of overthrow from the outside. But its foundation of legitimacy is draining away fast because of this narrative void. Dictators don't always die from coups or revolutions. Sometimes, they simply perish from the end of their stories. In reflection on the Soviet collapse, Xi once warned party members to hold firm to their ideals and beliefs, saying the Communist Party of the Soviet Union fell because those beliefs shook loose. The irony is, the governing myth he tried to rebuild is now shattered into pieces, and the public's political faith has vanished entirely. This piece breaks down the rise and fall of China's political narratives from Mao Zedong to Xi Jinping, revealing the underlying logic of Xi's narrative crisis and its impact on the regime's ultimate endgame. The beginning of modern China's political narratives can be traced back to the revolutionary myth that Mao Zedong crafted. He justified his power through the people's revolution, manufacturing enemies to rally a sense of justice and a fighting spirit. In Mao's narrative, class enemies and imperialism posed an internal threat, and only endless political campaigns could safeguard the fruits of the revolution. This constant mobilization of the masses kept the ruling legitimacy alive, from land reform to suppressing counter-revolutionaries, to the anti-rightist campaign, the Great Leap Forward, and the Cultural Revolution. He kept calling for struggles against new enemies, creating an atmosphere where the revolution felt like it would never end. Mao's non-stop internal struggles pushed country to the brink of chaos and collapse. The Cultural Revolution swept the nation under the banner of class struggle mythology, with the Red Guards brainwashed to hate the five black categories and capitalist rotors, dragging society into a decade of catastrophe. These fights against imagined foes misjudged or deliberately ignored the real problems, bringing deep disasters to the nation. In Mao's era, China was worn down by internal friction, with the economy teetering on the edge of breakdown. In 1978, Deng Xiaoping chose to pivot the narrative, shifting from class struggle to economic construction. He tossed aside outdated revolutionary myths and replaced them with the pragmatic creed that development is the absolute principle. No more shouting about socialist utopias. Instead, he traded economic growth for public support, rolling out reform and opening up, and allowing some people to get rich first. This development myth reshaped the sources of ruling legitimacy. The ruling party no longer relied on ideological fervor, but proved the rationality of its rule through improving livelihoods and boosting national strength. In the 1980s and 90s, China's economy took off like a rocket, and people's living standards shot up fast. The social consensus formed around the idea that as long as there is growth, there is stability. Official ideology faded into the background, and political narratives turned mild and pragmatic. Slogans like the black cat, white cat theory sank deep into people's minds, and ordinary folks came to believe that the Communist Party had brought them opportunities for development. So they were willing to accept its rule. This performance-based legitimacy became the cornerstone of the CCP's governance, with high-speed economic growth providing the key pillar for the regime. Heading into the late 90s and early 2000s, Jiang Zemin and Hu Jintao carried on Deng's development narratives while easing the social tensions that came with breakneck growth. They hammered home that stability overrides everything, crafting a milder political narrative. Jiang came up with his three-represents theory, expanding the party's legitimacy to include representing advanced productive forces and the people's interests, pulling in new social strata. Hu Jintao pushed for people-centered approaches and a harmonious society, acknowledging issues like wealth gaps and corruption, and using social policies to soften the edges. On the foreign policy front, this period promoted ideas like China's peaceful rise or peaceful development, stressing that China's growth was an opportunity for the world, not a threat, which dialed down external awareness. Overall, the Jiang Zemin and Hu Jintao narrative struck a cautious tone, striking with economic growth to sustain performance legitimacy, toning down the class struggle vibes and projecting an image of peace and stability at home and abroad. Political propaganda started talking about the rise of great powers, but the core was still seeking social buy-in within the economic framework. Yet, this narrative, so dependent on development and stability, was fragile. If growth slowed, the foundations could shake loose. When Xi Jinping took power in 2012, the dividends from high-speed economic growth were fading, and social contradictions were piling up. Facing a potential legitimacy crisis, Xi, who isn't exactly known for his economic chops, couldn't keep the development narrative going, and with his stubborn, self-assured style, he chose to swing the narrative back to the past. On one hand, he inherited his predecessor's grand vision of China's rise, basking in the afterglow of reform and opening. On the other, he summoned the Mao-style political passion. He stressed that the lack of faith led to the Soviet collapse, demanding the whole party replenish its calcium, and declaring a firm commitment to the path of socialism with Chinese characteristics. He ramped up the revival of ideology, emphasizing Marxism, Leninism, and Mao Zedong's thoughts, downplaying his predecessor's reform theories and elevating Xi Jinping's thought as the guiding light. He put forward the Chinese Dream as the overarching narrative framework, rallying everyone to achieve the great cause of national rejuvenation, binding the party's rule to the nation's destiny, and fusing love for the party with patriotism into one. This narrative tried to recapture the mass fervor of the Mao era, firing up support through high-profile anti-corruption, military strengthening, and nationalism. But unlike Mao's time, 21st century China has left the revolutionary setting behind, with society's main contradictions now centered on demands for development and prosperity. Xi's struggle narrative struggles to ignite mass enthusiasm. Instead, it leads to policy infighting. The governing discourse has retreated from development back to struggle, with the nation's political energy dissipating into internal friction and self-isolation. On the international stage, the aggressive propaganda stirs anxiety among neighbors, eroding the friendly image from the reform era. Xi imitated Bo Xilai's thin-red-strike-black approach, trying to fill the development vacuum with revolutionary zeal. But it flopped. In a post-industrial society, Mao's style of mass mobilization has lost its popular base, and over-relying on struggle just traps society in stagnation. Anti-corruption was the core kernel of Xi's early narrative. When he came to power in 2012, he hoisted the anti-corruption banner high, declaring that if corruption wasn't tackled, it would mean the death of the party and the country. Through thunderous actions, he successfully shaped an image of iron-fisted graft-busting and a political moral renewal. Ordinary people, watched as big corrupt officials tumbled, placing high hopes on Xi and seeing anti-corruption as the moral source of the new regime. This campaign gave him a sense of historical mission to set things right, solidifying his base and building moral legitimacy. But the hallow didn't last. A decade later, anti-corruption lost its sense of justice and turned into a negative regret. First off, it showed clear signs of factional purging. The big tigers who fell were mostly from other factions or uncooperative top leaders like Zhou Yongkang and Guo Boshong. Clearing out the old guard made room for Xi's own people. But the irony is, Xi's own camp is now, the more they fight corruption, the more corrupt they get. In 2025, nine generals, including He Weidong and Miao Hua, were collectively expelled from the party. And all four former commanders of the Rocket Force failed, showing that the armed forces the regime relies on have been reduced to ruins by corruption. In the past, Xi used anti-corruption to eliminate rivals. Now it's become the politically correct tool to clean house among its own allies. Second, anti-corruption shifted the bureaucratic mindset from passion to cold indifference and sloth. Officials live in fear, playing it ultra safe. Do more, risk more mistakes. Do less, risk fewer. Do nothing, risk none. Especially in campaign-style policies like zero COVID, poverty alleviation, and common prosperity. Local officials play dead to cope, with caution and fear of trouble becoming the norm. In 2021, Xi bitterly criticized the caterers for not lifting a finger without directives. This chokes off initiative and creativity in a bureaucracy. Finally, public attitudes flipped from eager anticipation to suspicion. Corruption hasn't vanished. It's just gone more underground, and people feel precious little gain from it. Corruption gets depoliticized as a systemic ailment, not an individual issue. When Xi's own inner circle all come crashing down, anti-corruption losses its moral righteousness and becomes just another term for power struggles. The 2025 military purge puts the final nail in the coffin of the anti-corruption equals justice fantasy, exposing the system itself as the root cause. Through anti-corruption, Xi cleared out political enemies, but he exhausted the moral foundation of his narrative. The image of the incorruptible crusader crumbles, and the public no longer sees him as a savior. Their trust in the regime wavers. With the moral narrative in ruins, the first cornerstone of legitimacy topples over. Anti-corruption wins fearful compliance but loses the people's hearts. Since Deng's time, high-speed economic growth has been the core pillar of the CCP's legitimacy. The growth social contract, trading better living standards for the support, is now facing bankruptcy. China's growth rate slowed from the mid-2010s onward, plunging into malaise in the 2020s, with GDP dropping from double digits into deflationary depth. The growth dividends from the Deng era are spent, and society's faith in prosperity is shaking. In the past, people believed hard work could hitch them to the development express. Now for young people, lying flat has become the rational choice. They just can't see any light ahead. Facing this lack of momentum, Xi rolled out new strategies to reshape the economic narrative. But they are mostly slogans, harking back to planned economy thinking. State advancement at the expense of the private sector is glaring. State-owned enterprises expand while private firms get hammered by regulatory storms, stifling their vitality. Common prosperity sounds like narrowing gaps, but it really means cracking down on capital, like the ban on the education sector or forcing tech giants to donate. The market confidence plummets. Domestic circulation or dual circulation aims to boost consumption and cut external dependence. But without structural reform, it's all empty shell. Tech self-reliance and green development can't rebuild trust either. In recent years, the chain reactions from the economy have highlighted the collapse. Private capital flees. Investments slide. Under high-pressure regulation, entrepreneurs emigrate. Assets shift abroad. And foreign investment freezes. Starting in 2022, capital net outflow kicked in. The real estate bubble burst. Evergrande and Country Garden defaulted. Housing prices tank. Local finances shrink. And a debt crisis emerged. Fiscal woes hit hard. Infrastructure stalls. Public services suffer. Employment and livelihood slide. Youth unemployment at 20%. Graduates can't find jobs. Incomes stagnate. Consumption downgrades. And pessimistic expectations spread like wildfires. The public psychology has reversed, from striving to change your fate to letting it rot and lying flat. From buying property to get rich, to high housing prices, it shackles. Ordinary people have lost faith in the future. They no longer believe authorities can deliver prosperity, dealing a fatal blow to legitimacy. With the growth narrative failing, the regime falls back on suppression and fear to hold things together. Xi's economic governance shows a conservative mindset. Cracking down on capital. Purging financial high-ups for short-term stability but crushing confidence. Expanding civil service and state jobs to ease youth pressure but burdening the budget and stifling innovation. These measures delay the crisis but can't remake the narrative. With growth dried up and the regime turns to fear using high-pressure stability amendments, opinion control, and nationalism to keep discontent from exploding. But fear can't create prosperity. It only manufactures a brittle calm. China looks orderly on the surface but the hope bubbling up from below has vanished, planting dangers for the future. With the economic story running on fumes, Xi fills the vacuum with a national security narrative, replacing visions of living well with something darker. Official discourse fixates on security, tying everything policy, every policy to it. In 2014, he proposed the overall national security concept, expanding it to politics, economy, culture, and more. 2015 national security law was formed by cybersecurity, data security, and Hong Kong national security laws, forming a tight web. Security rises to the top fifth, proclaimed as the cornerstone of national rejuvenation. In the 2022 20th Party Congress report, security appears 91 times, getting its own standalone chapter for the first time, set to run through all party and state works. Xi strengthens security to swap fear for hope, shaping a crisis mentality to forge unity. Internally, he amplifies internal enemies, ambitious party insiders, color revolutionaries, rights lawyers, religious groups, hinted as foreign agents. He broadens definitions of spying and subversion, arresting opinion leaders and justifying control as risk prevention. Externally, he waves the flag of nationalism, claiming the West is encircling China. Media hypes US-China rivalry, Taiwan and the South China Sea stoking hatred and crisis awareness. The security narrative drives extreme policies. First, monitoring and thought control. Speech space titans. Internet censorship is routine. Police are everywhere. Hong Kong's national security law casts a chilling shadow. Zero COVID used security as a cover for total control, turning pandemic fighting into a political mission. Second, reshaping legal institutions. The Central National Security Commission coordinates anti-spy operations ramp up. In 2025, revisions to the anti-espionage law broadens its scope, leaving foreign firms and NGOs on edge. Third, wolf-warrior diplomacy. Diplomats sling aggressive barbs opposing the US at every turn on Xinjiang and Hong Kong human rights. No concessions, just propaganda defenses. It plays to nationalism on the surface but damages the international image, leading to isolation. The security narrative is a paradox. It needs constant crisis to justify itself. Without turmoil, the high-pressure policies lose their excuse, so it exaggerates endless threats, reminding of hatred and stressing severity to keep the masses on alert and uneasy, avoiding questions about economic decline and mismanagement. That's why campaign-style stability madness keeps popping up. Counter-terror, anti-gang crackdowns, pandemic control, internet purges one after another. People get exhausted running around. Social calls skyrocket, and public trust and cohesion get drained dry. The security narrative extends the lifespan of power but destroys the foundation of legitimacy. The government can only manufacture fear to sustain rule, severing the bond of trust with the people. After the COVID pandemic broke out in early 2020, China paid a heavy price to control the Wuhan outbreak and treated it as a political victory. Officials built the zero-COVID myth, proclaiming that under Xi's command, the full, strict prevention showed the superiority of the system and saved lives. Propaganda around the COVID hospital built in 10 days, PLA aid rushing in. It packaged the China model as a global miracle. By year's end, official deaths in the thousands contrasted with hundreds of thousands in the U.S. and Europe, proving CCP's superiority. Against a backdrop of slowing growth, this anti-epidemic win became an alternative narrative, adding luster and surging nationalist pride. But the myth was built on misjudging the virus and society's tolerance. Early zero-COVID worked, but later, the world adapted to living with it while China dug in, elevating zero-COVID to political orthodoxy. They blindly exalted lockdowns to suppress the virus without beefing up vaccines or health care. After Omicron, mass testing and citywide lockdowns became routine, dragging down the economy and livelihoods, with public resentment boiling over. In 2022, Shanghai's two-month lockdown sparked massive anger, and one-size-fits-all silent management hit many places. Zero-COVID turned into a political task. Questioning was disloyalty, but the narrative couldn't hold up. Omicron swept the globe. China couldn't zero it out, and sticking to it just burned through credibility. By late 2022, resentment erupted in the white paper movement. The authorities abruptly ditched zero-COVID with no prep or notice. One night, checkpoints dismantled, health codes scrapped, and messaging did a 180, claiming the virus had weakened. After lifting, infection waves surged. Elders died in droves. Hospitals and funeral homes overflowed, with estimates of over a million deaths a month. Officials stayed mum. No data, no warning. The old line, every life is worth protecting, vanished with no accountability or apology. At the 2023 two sessions, they declared a total victory in the anti-epidemic fight, with policies spot on and no room for reflection. The zero-COVID myth burst from triumph to nightmare. Society bears deep scars, but the authorities forced the nation to forget. Billions endured lockdown miseries, infections, and deaths. No investigations, no apologies. Pain buried alive. The whole society simmers in suppressed silence. No memorial for the dead. No absurdity undiscussable. And if it never happened. Rulers rely on control to erase collective memory, but the people know they were once forced to believe and obey. The lie exacts a huge price, but the bank rubs itself. Xi's one unique narrative, dynamic zero-COVID, went from great victory to laughing stock, foreshadowing the end of his ruling myth. After zero-COVID collapse, no new success stories emerge. The narrative degrades to the pallid routine of stability madness. With internal narrative resources completely tapped out, those stories of progress and unity that once kept everything together, Xi now looks outward, turning to the idea of a war narrative as his last real option. The focus falls on Taiwan, that nearby island stronghold, where military drills and tough talks from Beijing keep tensions high and risks all too real. Would Xi push for an invasion there to hold onto power, framing it as the final step in national revival to quiet growing doubts at home and secure his place in history? Or would it just be a repeat of old patterns from Mao's time, a way to stir up external conflicts when the internal ones have run out of steam? It's a big pressing question for analysts and the world watching closely. Might war become the desperate glue for a weakened regime, or could it backfire and bring everything down? Stick around, because as history shows, the stories leaders tell in times of peace are one thing, but the ones they emerge from the brink of war cut even deeper. Thank you so much for watching. If you find this video helpful, please like it, drop a comment below, and hit subscribe button right here. It really helps YouTube suggest my video to others. I'll be back with more content soon. Until then, be well.