the Communist Party’s leadership has the unswerving support of the People’s Liberation Army (PLA) and other security forces; these forces are enthusiastic about the Communist Party and enjoy a privileged position in the state and society; and both the Communist Party and the PLA have the unwavering support of the patriotic Chinese people, who will take umbrage at any perceived affront to China.

But this manufactured image has always been problematic. For example, one political scientist spent over a year interviewing policemen, who, like cops nearly everywhere, kvetched about poor pay, low status, and a lack of operational autonomy and opportunities for advancement. Many citizens see Chinese police forces as lazy and corrupt.

Studies on Chinese constitutionalism in the early 1950s found policemen worried that better educated citizens would give them guff by citing their constitutional rights during arrests. They also fretted about their marriage prospects because of their paltry salaries and low ‘cultural level’ and hoped that spiffy new uniforms would improve their chances. In Shanghai, some former PLA soldiers turned police officers were called ‘PLA trash’. PLA soldiers who returned from US or UN captivity after the Korean War were treated particularly poorly.

Not much has changed over 60 years. PLA veterans have been lauded in the official media as liberators, builders of socialism, protectors of the nation and heroes worthy of emulation. But the veterans themselves have complained to anyone in earshot and in messages posted to the ‘Voice of the Veteran’ and other websites about widespread discrimination in employment, physical abuse at the hands of the police, lack of social respect, difficulty finding wives, ungrateful bureaucrats and meagre to non-existent benefits. The veterans protested mistreatment as early as 1951 and they continued after the Korean War and during the Cultural Revolution.

After former Chinese leader Deng Xiaoping downsized the PLA in the early 1980s in the wake of China’s short border war with Vietnam, veterans found themselves unprepared for the new market economy, which valued money and education far more than military or policing skills. Rural women, always practical, preferred to marry wealthy farmers now that getting rich was just as ‘glorious’ as fighting a war.

For some ex-soldiers, securing a position in the security forces was a step up. Compared to the labour market it was relatively secure and offered benefits. But for the majority, military service did little to improve their prospects. Upon discharge they were sent home to resume farming. Many officers found themselves without stable employment once the factory positions that they had been assigned evaporated when firms went bankrupt or changed ownership.

Today, the ranks of protesters in China are filled with hundreds of thousands of these former soldiers and officers. Among them are the veterans of China’s war against Vietnam, many of whom now live in poverty in inland provinces, and low-to-mid level officers who were ‘downsized’ by China’s changing economy. In an interesting twist, facing them across the police barricades are cops — some of them former soldiers themselves — who otherwise share the protesters’ social class, life experiences and challenges.

This veteran-on-veteran antagonism is useful to the government (and is actively encouraged by it) because it prevents current and former servicemen from uniting based on their shared interests.

Standing mostly on the outside of all of this frustration and conflict, literally and figuratively, has been the PLA. Many veterans go to Beijing to protest outside of the PLA’s General Political Department or the offices of the Central Military Commission, where they call upon the brass to run interference on their behalf with civilian authorities in the provinces who fail to implement national policies. But such pleas are more symptomatic of veterans’ desperation than of the PLA’s clout.

In China’s highly decentralised fiscal system, former soldiers are not under the jurisdiction of the PLA but rather of the administrative authorities in the region from which they were drafted. Many of these happen to be in rural areas and small towns that lack resources to help them. Making matters worse, these local officials are penalised by the higher authorities should returned veterans file petitions in Beijing.

Abuse at the hands of local officials — who operate without much concern for state ideology or legitimacy — or at the hands of the thugs they regularly hire, is a common cause of protest. Veterans can also suffer when they are forced back home and officials take their revenge.

The Chinese public is largely disinterested in all of this back and forth. There is virtually no social mobilisation on behalf of former soldiers (online or off), in contrast to other cases of social injustice. It is far from clear that the public sees them as worthy of their sympathy or support. What, in the end, did veterans contribute to China’s prosperity and security in the last 40 years of peace? Didn’t many of them have cushy jobs in factories for decades?

It is then hardly surprising that the PLA has difficulty recruiting young people who have other opportunities by virtue of education, connections or wealth. Further hampering recruitment is growing knowledge of the insecurity facing soldiers when they become veterans. The government has improved policies towards veterans in recent years, but this is unlikely to be a panacea: the decentralised funding and implementation mechanisms remain unchanged, local officials still fear their activism and veterans cannot form national-level organisations to lobby on their own behalf (unlike their counterparts in most countries that experienced large-scale warfare).

China’s image makers work overtime to convince people that veterans, policemen and others in the security apparatus are worthy of respect and honour. But the historical legacy of discrimination against military personnel, the long peace and rampant materialism make this a near-impossible lift.

Neil J Diamant is Professor of Asian Law and Society at Dickinson College.