Inside the PLA Corruption Shock: When Loyalty Matters More Than Rank in Beijing.
China’s army isn’t fighting a war abroad — it’s fighting one inside its own command.
A sweeping corruption scandal inside China’s armed forces is raising a question once considered unthinkable in Beijing’s tightly controlled system: is President Xi Jinping losing trust in his own top generals?
Over the weekend, Chinese authorities confirmed investigations into two of the most senior figures in the People’s Liberation Army for “serious disciplinary violations,” the Communist Party’s standard euphemism for corruption. Those targeted include Zhang Youxia, one of Xi’s closest military allies and a deputy chairman of the Central Military Commission, as well as General Liu Zhenli. Both have been removed from their posts.
The implications are profound. The Central Military Commission is the nerve center of China’s military power, overseeing the army, navy, air force, rocket forces, armed police, and militia. Its chairman is Xi himself — a role widely regarded as more powerful than the presidency. Under China’s constitution, command of the gun rests with the commission, not the state.
This hierarchy reflects a long-standing truth in Chinese politics. Mao Zedong famously declared that political power grows out of the barrel of a gun, a principle that has shaped leadership transitions for decades. In 2005, Jiang Zemin clung to the military chairmanship long after stepping down as president, handing it to Hu Jintao only after a delay — a reminder that control of the PLA is the ultimate guarantor of authority.
That is why the fall of Zhang Youxia is especially striking.
Zhang was China’s highest-ranking uniformed officer and the only senior commander in the commission’s top tier with actual combat experience, having fought in the 1979 border war with Vietnam. Rising from an ordinary soldier to the pinnacle of the PLA, he embodied a traditional military career path increasingly rare in modern China’s politicized officer corps.
His political stature was just as significant. Zhang sat on the Communist Party’s 25-member Politburo and was promoted past retirement age, a clear signal of Xi’s personal favor. Their ties ran deep, rooted in shared family history and provincial origins.
Yet that proximity now appears to have become a liability.
Analysts see the investigations as part of Xi’s broader effort to reassert absolute control over the military — and to dismantle any networks that could rival his authority. The PLA Daily, the military’s official newspaper, accused Zhang of abusing the power entrusted to him by the commission chairman, warning that no rank or honor grants immunity. The language was telling: it hinted at factionalism, not just financial wrongdoing.
“Once trust is gone, the specific charge becomes a formality,” one regional security expert observed. In Xi’s system, loyalty outweighs experience, and perceived independence can be fatal.
The timing matters. Xi has poured resources into the PLA, doubling defense spending since taking office and demanding readiness for a potential conflict over Taiwan. Yet successive purges have hollowed out the upper ranks. With Zhang’s removal, the commission’s leadership is now devoid of commanders with battlefield experience — a reality that quietly unsettles military professionals even as Beijing projects confidence abroad.
Online, the public has noticed the contradiction. Dark humor circulates on Chinese forums: “The army is now fighting wars against its own generals.”
China continues to showcase naval power and military modernization, spending more than €220 billion annually. But beneath the parades and exercises lies a deeper tension. Xi’s anticorruption drive has evolved into something more existential — a struggle to ensure that the gun remains firmly in his hands, even if that means purging the very generals once considered indispensable.
In today’s China, the greatest threat to a commander may no longer be the enemy across the border, but suspicion in Beijing.
