The private rooms of an elegant restaurant near the Bund in Shanghai, one of the most expensive areas of the city, were recently filled with high-ranking local Communist Party officials and officials from neighboring provinces, who frequently shared tables with state-owned company executives and entrepreneurs. French wines, Scotch whisky, cigarettes, and a succession of dishes where high-level Chinese cuisine mixed with Western touches paraded on the tablecloths: gratinated lobster, Japanese wagyu, and desserts topped with gold leaves.
Now, during dinner service, the officials no longer appear in those private rooms. "This year they have disappeared", laments the restaurant manager.
"They were regular customers. They organized huge banquets, brought guests, closed private rooms. Since the new austerity policy was published last year, no one wants to take risks. They are afraid of an anonymous report that could end their careers if it is discovered that they have spent money, even from their own pockets, in a luxury restaurant."
Xi Jinping's government has once again dusted off one of its favorite tools: austerity. As part of the ongoing campaign to discipline Communist Party cadres and project an image of closeness to the common citizen, Beijing has intensified pressure on officials in recent months, demanding that they get used to a more frugal life away from the excesses that have accompanied the exercise of power for years.
Up to twenty new regulations have been issued regulating everything from official meals to the use of public vehicles or institutional receptions. Expensive dishes at working lunches, cigarettes, and alcohol are prohibited; extravagant decorations disappear, and the celebration of meals in private clubs and luxury restaurants is banned.
In Beijing, Spanish chef Lucas Garigliano, at the helm of the exclusive European restaurant TRB Hutong, distinguished with a Michelin star, recently explained to this newspaper how the new austerity guidelines have transformed the profile of his clientele. A significant portion of his regular diners were high officials and state-owned company executives, but many have stopped coming since the authorities reinforced the code of conduct urging to avoid "sumptuous banquets" and any display of ostentation.
To understand the scope of this offensive, it is worth remembering how the Chinese bureaucratic ecosystem operated for decades. The banquet was a language of power. The ascending official displayed status by hosting tables overflowing with expensive seafood; the businessman cultivated relationships through toasts with baijiu (traditional liquor); expensive gifts greased promotions, administrative favors, and public contracts. Luxury watches and premium cigarette packs were part of the usual decor of an elite convinced that opulence reinforced authority.
That culture of excess began to crack when Xi came to power in 2012 with his famous "eight-point" code of conduct. Many thought it was a passing campaign, another propaganda exercise aimed at impressing a public tired of the privileges of the nomenclature. But it was not.
The anti-corruption crusade has become one of Xi's leadership pillars. Last year, 889,000 CCP members were disciplined for violating conduct rules. "Exemplary behavior affects the survival or disappearance of the Party. It is crucial to gain the support of the people," Xi warned during an inspection in the south of the country.
Inspectors to ensure good conduct
Behind these austerity campaigns is the Central Commission for Discipline Inspection (CCDI), the powerful anti-corruption body responsible for overseeing the nearly eight million Chinese officials and the more than 30 million employees of public institutions. The CCDI has deployed inspection teams throughout the country.
But even in a system accustomed to vertical obedience, the mechanical application of orders can have unintended effects. Some local governments interpreted the new guidelines as an absolute ban on eating out. Officials stopped going to even modest restaurants; mass cancellation of meetings; a collapse in reservations at certain establishments. The reaction forced the central government to clarify.
In a rare warning, the People's Daily, the official CCP organ, warned that some officials had taken austerity too far. The newspaper denounced that certain administrations were "adding layers of restrictions," a common practice in China where local authorities further tighten the instructions received from above to demonstrate political zeal.
"Equating the prohibition of eating and drinking illegally with the prohibition of all kinds of food and drink is also a form of negligent governance," the publication pointed out. "This behavior causes businesses to lose customers and diminishes the vitality of daily life."
The article itself acknowledged something unusual in the official narrative: when restaurants lose customers, the blow is not only felt by the entrepreneurs. It also affects waiters, delivery personnel, farmers, and service sector workers. "The cost of these excessive measures ultimately falls on the shoulders of the workers," it admitted.
This episode illustrates one of the great contradictions of present-day China. Xi Jinping needs to keep alive the moralizing narrative that presents the Party as an austere and disciplined organization, close to the people and an enemy of waste. But, at the same time, the world's second-largest economy is going through a delicate stage: weak consumption, persistent real estate crisis, and indebted local governments.
Therefore, pursuing excessive luxury without further strangling economic activity has become a political balancing act.