Peng Liyuan performing in Beijing in 2009.
BEIJING — Peng Liyuan, China’s most enduring pop-folk icon, is beloved for her glass-cracking soprano and her ability to take on such roles as a coquettish Tibetan yak herder, a lovelorn imperial courtesan, even a stiff-lipped major general — which in fact she is.
But as the nation begins to absorb the reality that its newly anointed top leader, Xi Jinping, is coming to office with a wife who happens to be a big-haired brassy diva known for her striking figure, palace watchers are daring to ask the question: has China’s Carla Bruni-Sarkozy moment finally arrived?
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Imaginechina, via Agence France-Presse — Getty Images
Peng Liyuan is a brassy diva known for her striking figure.
Ms. Peng, 49, certainly has what it takes to revolutionize China’s stodgy first lady paradigm, in which the spouses of top leaders are usually kept well out of sight or, at best, stand mute behind their husbands during state visits.
For more than two decades she was a lavishly costumed fixture on the nation’s must-see Chinese New Year variety show, often emerging from a blur of synchronized backup dancers to trill about the sacrifices of the People’s Liberation Army, which bestowed on her a civilian rank equivalent to major general. More recently, she has extended her celebrity to public service, comforting survivors of the Sichuan earthquake and gently scolding young people about the dangers of smoking and unprotected sex.
“Peng Liyuan could be an enormously positive thing for China, which really needs female role models,” said Hung Huang, publisher of a fashion magazine. “Just imagine if she turned out to be a first lady like Michelle Obama.”
But experts here agree that there is a major obstacle to Ms. Peng playing a more prominent role on the national stage: Chinese men. Despite Mao Zedong’s feel-good dictum that “women hold up half the sky,” they are barely visible in the inner sanctum of the granite-clad colossus on Tiananmen Square where Communist Party elders selected a new club of leaders.
While there was hopeful, unsubstantiated talk earlier this year that Liu Yandong, a woman, might be named to the seven-seat Politburo Standing Committee, the lineup revealed to the world on Thursday was an unrelieved row of dark suits, drab ties and black hair without a touch of gray. The party did throw out a bone: they added Sun Chunlan to the Politburo, which means the 25-member advisory committee now contains two women.
Chinese women — at least those who dare to speak out — are not pleased. “It’s unhealthy and unfair to have so few women within the Chinese political system,” said Guo Jianmei, director of the Women’s Legal Research and Service Center in Beijing, a nonprofit group. “It just reinforces the traditional cultural view that women are less capable than men.”
By all accounts, Chinese male chauvinism and the fear of the power-hungry vixen has been percolating for a few thousand years. Until the last century, women were kept uneducated and barred from the imperial bureaucracy. In times of famine, boys ate first. A lucky girl might have her growing feet bound so tightly she could barely walk by the time she was married off to the groom’s family as little more than chattel.
Even today the gender imbalance — with 118 men for every 100 women — is a testament to Chinese favoritism toward boys, expressed through targeted abortions or abandoned baby girls. Many of the nation’s best schools give male students a leg up by requiring higher marks for women. The discriminatory scoring system, according to the Ministry of Education, is designed to “protect the interests of the nation.”
Ms. Guo said men dominate Chinese politics at the top because they keep the door firmly shut at the bottom. In a two-year study her institute recently completed, researchers in rural Heilongjiang Province found precious few female party officials at the village and county level. In questionnaires, she said, respondents did not mince words: men make better leaders.
“No wonder there are so few women at the top,” she said. “It’s a vicious cycle that’s only getting worse.”
Chinese history has a few examples of women gaining power behind the scenes — Empress Dowager Cixi in the late Qing dynasty and Empress Consort Wu of the Tang dynasty were the most prominent examples. Cixi, who is blamed for the downfall of China’s last empire, is said to have executed disfavored scholars and to have enjoyed a parlor game that involved her maids slapping one another in the face.
But Lei Yi, a historian at Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, said such tales are wild exaggerations, the product of male bias. “Back then all rulers were vicious,” he said. “Let’s face it, throughout history men wanted a monopoly on power, and when things went wrong, they blamed it on women.”
There is no shortage of ancient proverbs, some still in popular use, that describe what happens when women get close to power. “A great beauty will bring about the downfall of cities and nations,” goes one of them.
More recently, such sentiments were reinforced by Jiang Qing, the former actress and third wife of Mao, who was saddled with much of the blame for the Cultural Revolution and received a commuted death sentence. The fact that she was in show business before she turned rabid revolutionary has probably not helped Ms. Peng.
She appears to have followed a set of unwritten rules about the comportment of women attached to important men. The higher her husband climbed the Communist Party ladder, the less visible she became. She once told a Singapore publication that she performed as many as 350 concerts a year in the 1990s, including one at Lincoln Center in New York. But these days she no longer accepts paid appearances “for the sake of the party.” Since her husband’s ascension to the Politburo Standing Committee in 2007 she has all but disappeared from the annual Spring Festival gala.
Ms. Peng, who was born in a small town in the northeastern province of Shandong and joined the army at age 18, found fame long before she met Mr. Xi. When the couple was introduced by a mutual friend in 1986, she was already known as “the peony fairy” and the “outstanding songbird of the century.”
MR. XI, the son of a revolutionary hero, was a midlevel official in Fujian Province, newly divorced from his first wife. Ms. Peng, who turns 50 on Tuesday, is nearly a decade younger than Mr. Xi. In an interview she gave to Zhanjiang Evening News in 2007, she said she was unimpressed with him at first glance. “Not only did he look rustic, but he also looked older than his years,” she said. But once Mr. Xi opened his mouth, her objections faded. They married a year later.
Their relationship has required many compromises. The two are seldom together, she said, and in 1992, his official duties during a typhoon in Fujian forced him to miss the birth of the couple’s daughter, now a student at Harvard University. Even being in the same city does not guarantee face time. “People would gossip if I bring my wife with me all the time,” he reportedly told her. “It’s not good for our images.”
Her public image has gone through a makeover since Mr. Xi was set on the path to becoming party secretary, even losing her voluminous gowns for matronly pantsuits or crisp military uniforms. The censors have also clipped her wings, removing all but the most anodyne information about her from the Web and blocking her name on China’s version of Twitter.
Li Yinhe, a sociologist at the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, said the party would be wise to use Ms. Peng as a soft power weapon, both at home and abroad.
“If people see that Xi has such a beautiful wife, it would make the party seem more humane and less robotic,” she said.
But she is not counting on much change. “Obama trots out Michelle because it brings him popular support,” she said. “The Communist Party has no need for that, because when you already have all the power, what’s the point of bringing out the wife?”
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