Editorial

As President Xi Jinping arrives in Bishkek for the Shanghai Cooperation Organisation (SCO) Summit and a state visit to Kyrgyzstan—followed by Egypt—Beijing continues its relentless purge of top People’s Liberation Army (PLA) generals. Recent dismissals of senior officers, including those linked to previously ousted leaders, underscore a campaign that has hollowed out China’s military high command since 2022. What began as an anti-corruption drive has evolved into one of the most extensive shake-ups of the PLA in decades, raising profound questions about loyalty, readiness, and the true nature of Xi’s absolute control.

Reports indicate that Beijing has widened the net this week, targeting more generals amid a broader effort that has already removed scores of senior leaders. The Central Military Commission (CMC), once a seven-member body, has been reduced to Xi and a handful of loyalists, with key figures like former vice chairman Zhang Youxia and Joint Staff chief Liu Zhenli previously investigated for “serious violations of discipline and law.” Analysts note the purges increasingly focus on officers affiliated with earlier targets, suggesting not merely graft but a deeper purge of potential independent power bases. Over 100 senior officers have been sidelined or disappeared, affecting theatre commands, equipment development, rocket forces, and political commissars.

This internal cleansing occurs precisely as Xi seeks to project strength across the Indo-Pacific and within multilateral forums like the SCO. The summit offers Beijing a stage to showcase unity with Russia, Central Asian partners, and others, advancing narratives of multipolarity and countering Western influence. Yet the optics of a leader touring abroad while decimating his own military elite reveal a striking contradiction: outward confidence paired with inward insecurity. Combat readiness is called into question; command structures disrupted by successive waves of removals cannot easily be rebuilt overnight. Modernisation of the PLA—central to Xi’s 2027 centennial goals—risks being undermined by the very campaign meant to purify it.

Xi’s approach echoes historical patterns of authoritarian consolidation, where absolute loyalty trumps institutional competence. Corruption may be genuine and endemic in procurement and patronage networks, but the scale suggests political motives dominate. By leaving the CMC as an extension of his personal will, Xi eliminates rivals but isolates decision-making and fosters a climate of fear that discourages initiative.

The international community should watch closely. A militarily disrupted China may appear less aggressive in the short term, yet an unpredictable PLA under tighter personal control could heighten risks of miscalculation over Taiwan or the South China Sea. For SCO partners, the spectacle of purges alongside summitry serves as a reminder that Beijing’s external diplomacy is inseparable from its domestic power struggles. Xi’s dual track of purge and projection ultimately reveals a leadership more concerned with regime survival than seamless military professionalism. Stability, in this view, is purchased at the price of perpetual vigilance.

Iceland has spoken with clarity, if not unanimity. In a referendum marked by unusually high turnout of 82.5 percent, voters rejected the government’s proposal to reopen European Union accession talks by 52.8 percent to 47.2 percent. Public broadcaster RÚV confirmed the result: a narrow but decisive victory for the “No” side that effectively shelves the membership question for the duration of the current government. The outcome is neither a populist revolt nor a sudden lurch toward isolation. It is a measured assertion of national priorities in a country that already enjoys deep economic integration with Europe without the full political constraints of membership.

The debate was never primarily about abstract European ideals. Fishing rights, control over natural resources, and the preservation of Iceland’s distinctive economic model dominated the campaign. The Common Fisheries Policy has long been the principal obstacle; Iceland’s waters remain among its most valuable assets, and the industry’s near-unanimous opposition carried significant weight outside Reykjavík. Urban constituencies leaned “Yes,” reflecting greater comfort with continental alignment, while rural and coastal areas delivered solid majorities against. This geographic split mirrors patterns seen elsewhere in Europe, where capital cities often favour deeper integration while the periphery guards local livelihoods.

Security arguments, heightened by Donald Trump’s repeated comments about Greenland, failed to tip the balance. Although pro-membership voices argued that EU solidarity would offer additional protection for a small Arctic nation, voters appear to have judged NATO membership and existing European Economic Area arrangements sufficient. The “now or never” framing advanced by Prime Minister Kristrún Frostadóttir did not convince a majority that the risks of sovereignty loss outweighed the benefits of formal accession. For Brussels, the result is a quiet setback. Iceland would have been an attractive, wealthy, and relatively straightforward candidate—an example of successful enlargement that might have eased scepticism toward other applicants. Instead, the EU must continue managing a close but incomplete relationship through the EEA and Schengen frameworks. The rejection underscores that even highly integrated partners retain the right to draw a firm line.

Prime Minister Frostadóttir has responded with democratic maturity, describing the outcome as a victory for participation rather than a personal defeat and pledging not to reopen the issue under her government. That restraint is welcome. In an era of polarised politics, Iceland has demonstrated that a high-stakes question can be settled by ballot without lasting national fracture. The “No” is not a rejection of Europe; it is a defence of the carefully calibrated independence that has served Iceland well.

• SAS Kirmani