The news arrived unexpectedly, during a journey through Thailand. Professor Joseph Fewsmith, a towering figure in the study of Chinese politics, was gone. Though in his seventies – an age that feels increasingly fluid – his passing resonated as a profound shock to those who had long admired his insightful analysis.
I first encountered Joe nearly three decades ago, a connection forged during a year at Harvard as a visiting scholar. It was a time when I had the privilege of meeting a constellation of American China scholars: Lucian Pye, Roderick MacFarquhar, Ezra Vogel – and Joe, the youngest among them, yet already possessing a remarkable intellect.
These were giants in the field. Pye, a political science titan; MacFarquhar, renowned for his groundbreaking archival work; Vogel, whose biography of Deng Xiaoping captivated China. Compared to their established reputations, Joe was then a rising star, largely unknown within China itself.
He immediately distinguished himself. His introduction was marked by humility, an invitation to lunch extended with genuine warmth. Unlike many of his peers, he spoke fluent Chinese and intuitively understood the cultural importance of sharing a meal. A friendship blossomed quickly, built on mutual respect and intellectual curiosity.
During that year at Harvard, I witnessed firsthand the depth of his understanding of China. His grasp of elite politics was, and remains, unparalleled. He possessed an uncanny ability to perceive nuances and details that often eluded even seasoned Chinese scholars.
Joe’s ascent to prominence was steady and well-deserved. While the study of elite politics wasn’t always favored in American academia, he championed its importance, believing that understanding China required a focus on the informal rules, personalities, and unwritten norms that truly shaped its political landscape. We often found ourselves in agreement on this crucial point.
I recall a meeting around 2011, where the sensitive topic of China’s leadership succession arose. While I spoke cautiously, Joe articulated the concept of an “intergenerational designated successor” system with remarkable clarity – a concept that, at the time, was only dimly understood even within China. Its subsequent fragility only underscored his prescience.
He consistently questioned the prevailing narrative of increasing institutionalization in Chinese politics, arguing instead that the system was entering a period of constant flux. He emphasized the enduring power of informal dynamics, a perspective that resonated deeply with my own research on the interplay between institutional and personalized authority in China.
Around 2012, as some predicted rigid retirement norms for Chinese leaders, Joe boldly predicted the system would retain flexibility and even foresee a resurgence of ideological politics. These observations were a testament to his exceptional insight and willingness to challenge conventional wisdom.
Today, a growing consensus in the United States acknowledges a history of “getting China wrong.” Scholars of Joe’s generation inevitably feel a sense of disappointment, yet their affection for China remains unwavering – their critiques born from a deep and enduring concern.
The question lingers: will another generation of American China experts emerge with Joe’s knowledge, empathy, and long-term commitment? His passing marks the end of an era, a time when healthy U.S.-China relations depended on strong interpersonal connections, particularly within the academic community.
Scholars like Joe, despite differing values, genuinely cared about China’s success. They offered tough love, born from high expectations. In today’s polarized climate, their advocacy for engagement and dialogue feels all the more admirable, even if their efforts seem to be against the tide.
Universities, like Harvard, play a vital role in fostering these exchanges. Harvard’s position as a global hub – attracting leading scholars and officials – creates a unique environment for cross-cultural understanding. During my time there, I encountered not only the China specialists but also luminaries like Samuel Huntington, Joseph Nye, and Tu Weiming.
Joe traveled to China countless times, but the pandemic prevented a return – a journey he will now never make. The cessation of scholarly exchange, the atrophy of cultural understanding, and the increasing difficulty of crossing borders represent a genuine danger.
My last visit to the United States was in 2015, a decade ago. I had just moved to the Shanghai Party School, and relations were still conducive to academic collaboration. It was there, at a conference hosted by the Carter Center, that Joe and I co-chaired a panel. He graciously shouldered the moderating responsibilities when he noticed my jet lag, a kindness I’ve never forgotten.
Joe’s passing is symbolic. The era of a constructive strategic partnership is over, replaced by competition. The broad academic friendliness toward China has faded, replaced by obstacles to exchange. What the younger generation thinks of China remains unknown, but it’s difficult to imagine another figure emerging with his depth of knowledge and dedication.
I deeply miss that earlier era. This remembrance is offered as a tribute to Professor Joseph Fewsmith – a scholar, a bridge builder, and a friend whose legacy will endure.
