While the CCP swept away many remnants of China’s imperial past, one prominent feature has endured: the existence of an elevated official class, to which fiercely contested examinations offer an entryway. A pair of recent essays on WeChat discuss the social, economic, and other effects of China’s “officialdom complex.” The first, by the public account Ni Ren, describes the official system as an ossifying force causing the misdirection of human talent and economic resources, and calls for its reform:

Becoming an official has always been something that countless people in China dream of.

From the ancient imperial examinations to the civil service exams of today, entering the realms of officialdom has long been synonymous with success, respect, authority, and affluence.

This deeply-rooted "officialdom complex" leads people to view official rank as life’s highest aspiration, as different from other stations as heaven is from earth, even to the point that our whole society revolves around it.

But any country that views becoming an official as the "one true path" to social mobility is a country whose developmental path is a dead-end.

An "officialdom complex” presents many dangers. Not only does it limit the flow of human talent and constrain market vitality, it also leads to pervasive formalism and bureaucratism within government itself, and of course it fuels corruption.

In the 40-plus years since the start of Reform and Opening, economic development has soared, but there are many places where power—rather than innovation, markets, or the labor force—remains the most valuable “natural resource.” How can we talk about modernization if this doesn’t change?

The most malignant aspect of the "officialdom complex" is that authority consumes everything.

China’s millennia of feudal history have deeply instilled the maxim that “when a person reaches attainment, even his dogs and chickens ascend to heaven.” As a direct result, power is less about responsibility than perks and privileges.

As a rule, Chinese people are infatuated with privilege. Even those who call for anti-corruption measures are actually jealous of those with the privileges of power. Were they able to enjoy those privileges themselves, they would quickly change their tune.

Although the market-driven economy has become the mainstream in today’s China, there are still many places where the official-centric mindset determines how society operates.

For example, there’s no shortage of places where entrepreneurs with any instinct for self-preservation rely not on innovation, but on cultivating guanxi; where those seeking to develop their talents rely not on ability, but on patronage.

The civil service exams are as hotly contested as ever each year, with candidates battling it out to enter the system not out of any passion for public service, but because the work is stable, prestigious, and confers various “hidden perks.”

The pervasiveness of such “all-consuming authority” has a number of serious consequences:

1. Markets are usurped by the authorities, and companies become less competitive. When bureaucratic authority determines the allocation of resources, business competition tends to rely on connections rather than product quality, and genuinely innovative firms often lose out.

2. Young people are demotivated, and society is drained of vitality. The best and brightest are drawn into the civil service instead of scientific research or entrepreneurship, and society loses a wellspring of innovation.

3. The government becomes a "resource referee" instead of serving society as it should. Instead of maintaining its proper role of establishing rules and guaranteeing fairness, it becomes the primary distributor of benefits, and may even become a resource-competitor itself.

These phenomena are not as common in countries with a less entrenched officialdom complex.

In the United States, for example, although elites still need a strong network, an officialdom complex like ours—in which official titles lead directly to privilege—is much weaker, and young Americans rarely view public service as highly prestigious.

In Germany, a highly skilled blue-collar worker can still achieve high social status. What’s really valued in countries like this is not authority but individual ability, creativity, and professionalism.

In Europe, with no officialdom complex, people’s values and pursuits are generally very diverse.

But in China, many people still see becoming an official as the best choice. Even some successful entrepreneurs, as soon as they’ve made their fortunes, neglect R&D investment and instead pull every possible string to sidle up to those in power—making donations, pulling in favors, and arranging jobs for officials’ children, all to ensure smooth sailing for their own businesses.

This phenomenon deprives market participants of a level playing field. For example, only the well-connected can obtain startup loans, while real entrepreneurs are shut out. The whole of society sinks into a kind of "power-centrism" in which it seems as if the only sense of security comes from proximity to power.

So, how can we break out of this officialdom complex? Truly changing all this will require a multifaceted approach:

1. The government should step back, and allow markets real control of resources. The government’s core responsibility should be the provision of public services, not direct control of economic resources. It should reduce oversight and regulation, and give businesses and individuals more room to grow.

2. Roll back officials’ privileges so that the system is no longer seen as a “golden ticket.” Make government a genuinely service-oriented institution, rather than a reaper of benefits. Reduce the hidden perks of officialdom, strengthen accountability, and put public service instead of personal advancement at the center of official work.

3. Promote respect for innovation and expertise. Give those with entrepreneurial, technical, and scientific skills their proper social status and rewards, so that young people can see that there are more possibilities in life than just becoming an official.

4. Strengthen rule of law so that power is constrained. If there is rule of law, officials won’t be able to arbitrarily interfere with the market, businesses will be able to succeed on their own merits, and individuals won’t have to rely on connections to get ahead.

There is no construction without destruction, no reform without sacrifice. If the officialdom complex is not reformed, there is no way we can move forward.

If the officialdom complex remains intact, society will be trapped in a vicious cycle of officials fixating on power, businesses fixating on befriending them, young people fixating on becoming officials, and the whole country’s energies wasted on meaningless power games.

If China is to truly modernize, it must rid itself of these ideological shackles, and let markets be markets, power be power, and talent gravitate to where it has real value.

This process won’t all be smooth sailing, but reform really is the only way forward. [Chinese]

The second post, from WeChat public account A Thousand Sheep On Fire, also highlights the longstanding grip that official employment has held on Chinese ambitions. It alludes to Fan Jin, the protagonist of the 18th century satirical novel “The Scholars,” whose successes in the civil service exams after decades of failure eventually drive him insane. It notes that the dream of an official career is currently enjoying a resurgence, as oversupply of graduates for hot career choices like medicine or computer science leads to less certain prospects, falling pay, and deteriorating working conditions. The post highlights a rise in the number of civil service exam candidates to 5.3 million this year, vying for a mere 166,000 vacancies. Next year, it adds, the number of hopefuls may pass seven million, with an unusually large graduating class exceeding this year’s by as many as 300,000.

[…] For now, I’ll just focus on this one issue: the public’s fixation on “system status” has almost reached the point of madness.

Compared with others these days, just standing still is getting ahead, whether in the eyes of judgmental elders or in terms of your value in the marriage market. Secure “iron rice bowl” jobs, once stereotyped as the last resort of the unambitious and academically mediocre, are now powerful trump cards.

Contrast this with programmers, lawyers, junior faculty, and doctors—across the board, these once-glamorous professions have lost their shine, with those who aren’t laid off facing low pay and fierce competition.

But let’s look at programmers, the occupation whose reputation has suffered the most. In fact, it’s not true that they’re all laid off at 35, or that 996 is the norm. (There’s a lot of overtime in some official jobs, as well.) They have access to a relatively broad field of job opportunities, and they can save enough to retire on before they’re cast aside, as long as they don’t sink those savings into a house.

(It’s not easy to join one of the big-name firms, of course, but compared with the cattle auction of the spring and autumn job fairs, computer science majors still find work more easily, and for higher pay.)

Apart from the lucky few who can move back home and become “full-time children,” most of those who’ve graduated in the last couple of years and haven’t yet found suitable work are probably living like hermits, preparing for the civil service exams. Even niche platforms like Douban now have communities of hundreds of thousands of exam preppers, and in groups that used to be carefree and artistic, the hot topics now are things like “Should I switch jobs or take the civil service exam?”

The consoling cliché among these civil service candidates is that “if you sit the exam enough times, you’re bound to make the cut.” But this is obviously impossible. Even a ratio as low as 30 candidates for each role means despite all their efforts, the other 29 amount to no more than cannon fodder. Those who live to “fight another day” in next year’s exam will be even worse off, competing with fresh graduates whose brains are in peak condition while their own have been numbed by endless practice tests.

Why is there such bias against certain occupations? Why does getting into the system cast such a spell? There are hundreds of hopefuls battling it out for a town or county post miles from home, shelling out large sums on training courses, giving up life experiences … and for what?

According to the logic of Chinese humor, the goal is probably a kind of “off-the-peg life”: more stable work begets higher social status, higher social status begets preferential treatment in selecting a mate, a premium mate begets premium offspring, and so on.

Those studying for the civil service examinations may be doing so mainly because they see no alternative. If they had a single decent job offer in hand, the fierce competition wouldn’t be so terrifying. Ultimately, given the stark reality of the acceptance ratio, all their efforts are laughably deluded.

From the point of view of society as a whole, using a couple of hundred thousand official vacancies to placate ten million young people is undoubtedly an epic feat of social engineering. But from another angle, a society of Fan Jins flocking toward a chance at stability runs a serious risk of ossification and imbalance.

I’ve really been quite struck by occupational bias recently. For degree-holders in some fields, the civil service exams are the only way out. [Chinese]

The brutality of the current job market was illustrated recently by a censored meme comparing attendees at a Hangzhou job fair with the famous Terracotta Warriors in Xi’an. “The Terracotta Warriors aren’t packed in as tightly,” quipped one Weibo user. “Different armies, same hole,” commented another.