Month: July 2024

Xi’s Ten-Year Bid to Remake China’s Media

In recent years, the buzzword “media convergence,” or meiti ronghe (媒体融合), has abounded in official documents about public opinion and ideology in China. What does this term mean? And why is it important in a Chinese political context? The quick answer — it is about remaking information controls for the 21st century, and building a media system that is innovative, influential and serves the needs of the ruling party.

The idea of “media convergence” took off in official circles in China almost exactly 10 years ago as Xi Jinping sought to recast “mainstream media” (主流媒体) — referring narrowly in China’s political context to large CCP-controlled media groups, such as central and provincial daily newspapers and broadcasters — into modern communication behemoths for rapidly changing global media landscape. More insistently even than his predecessors, Xi believed it was crucial for the Party to maintain social and political control by seizing and shaping public opinion. To accomplish this in the face of 21st century communication technologies, built on 4G and eventually 5G mobile networks, the Party’s trusted “mainstream” media had to reinvent themselves while remaining loyal servants of the CCP agenda. 

Xi Jinping saw an opportunity in the global phenomenon of media convergence, the interconnection of information and communications technologies, to consolidate the Party’s control over communication — so long as it could seize the initiative. 

The New Mainstream

During a high-level meeting on “deepening reform” in August 2014, Xi Jinping set the course for media convergence with the release of the CCP’s Guiding Opinion on Promoting Convergent Development of Traditional Media and New Media. He urged the creation of “new mainstream media” (新型主流媒体), to be achieved through an ambitious process of convergence between traditional media and digital media. This would result in “new-form media groups” (新型媒体集团), he said, that were not just powerful and influential, but innovative. 

The process that followed involved the creation at the both the central and provincial levels, and even eventually at the county level, of “convergence media centers” that focused on the application and integration of new tools and trends like big data, cloud computing, and blockchain at traditional media — but often focused on simpler things like the creation of digital content such as short videos and news apps to accommodate the mobile-first focus of media consumers. During a visit to the People’s Liberation Army Daily in December 2015, Xi Jinping noted that communication technologies were “undergoing profound change,” and demanded that media persistently innovate in order to maintain the advantage. “Wherever the readers are, wherever the viewers are, that is where propaganda reports must extend their tentacles, and that is where we find the focal point and end point of propaganda and ideology work,” he said. 

More insistently even than his predecessors, Xi believed it was crucial for the Party to maintain social and political control by seizing and shaping public opinion.

Through 2017 and the CCP’s 19th National Congress, many local and regional media groups heeded the call, developing centers for multimedia content production and distribution, and investing in the necessary technologies. But as generally the case with such top-down policy programs, there was also significant waste and confusion about priorities. While a number of larger state-run media groups such as CCTV had the resources and market to sustain initiatives like “Central Kitchen” (中央厨房), a convergence center to produce a range of multimedia content for distribution through diverse CCTV channels, local governments that copycatted such methods found themselves saddled with unnecessary costs.  

But the broader trend was unstoppable at all levels of the Party-state system, core to the Party’s vision of information control for the future. In September 2020, the General Office of the CCP and the State Council further accelerated the media integration strategy with the release of Opinion on Accelerating the Development of Deep Media Convergence. The Opinion pressed media groups across the country to actively innovate while keeping to the main direction of “positive energy,” a Xi Jinping-era term for emphasizing uplifting messages over critical or negative ones. From 2020 onward, official reports and analyses by CCP communication insiders routinely referred to media convergence as a “national strategy” (国家战略). 

In February 2024, a report in the official Jiangsu journal Broadcasting Realm (视听界) to mark the 10-year anniversary of of the formal start to Xi Jinping’s campaign of “convergence development” (融合发展) noted 10 major accomplishments. These included the complete theoretical innovation of the Party’s public opinion and propaganda work and the systematic rollout of a consistent program of digital development, with innovations along the way. The result, the report said, had been the creation of a “modern convergence media system” (现代融媒体系) structured at the central, provincial, city and county levels. Media convergence was no longer just about “add ons” (相加), but had been implemented “from top to bottom.” 

More concretely, the report noted the development and rollout of “Party apps” (党端), meaning state-run news apps targeting Chinese and foreign audiences, and a shift toward short video (短视频) to meet changing consumption patterns. In a telling sign of how media convergence was meant to consolidate CCP controls on information at the source, the report noted that the latest version of the government’s list of approved news sources — released in 2021, and naming those politically trusted outlets other media and websites were authorized to draw from without consequences — included official news apps as well as social media channels and public accounts. 

Ten years on from the start of Xi Jinping’s media convergence campaign, the leadership seems confident it has wrestled back control of a media ecosystem that from the late 1990s through the 2000s had grown restive and unruly from the standpoint of public opinion controls. This has been aided by strict media controls under Xi Jinping, as well as the swift collapse of the traditional media models (such as advertising-driven metro tabloid newspapers) that to some extent empowered more freewheeling journalism more than a decade ago. Even if there have been cases of waste, particularly at the county level, there is also a clear sense that convergence has optimized the state’s use of media resources. 

Going Global with Convergence

Over the past two years, China’s leadership has also sought to capitalize on a decade of nationwide media convergence to super-charge international communication. Released in May this year, a report on media convergence development in 2023, produced by a think-tank under the official People’s Daily, noted that the development of local and regional “international communication centers” (国际传播中心), or ICCs, has been “like wildfire” (如火如荼). These centers, which draw on the media convergence resources of provincial and city-level media groups and propaganda offices, are core to Xi Jinping’s effort to remake how China’s conducts external propaganda, the ultimate goal being to enhance the country’s “discourse power” (话语权) internationally, and offset in particular what the leadership sees as the West’s unfair advantages in global agenda-setting. 

According to the People’s Daily think-tank, 31 ICCs were launched in 18 provinces and municipalities, including at the city level, in 2023 alone. According to our latest count at CMP, there are now 26 provincial-level ICCs in China. 

ICCs below the national level are now actively involved in producing external propaganda, much of it powered by the newest tool in the media convergence arsenal, generative AI, directed at foreign audiences through social media platforms such as Facebook, X, Instagram, YouTube and TikTok. Central state media and regional ICCs are working closely with state-backed technology firms to harness generative AI and streamline foreign-directed content production. Many of the media convergence centers that have sprouted up across the country over the past 10 years are now setting up centers dedicated to AI.

Ten years on from Xi Jinping’s August 2014 meeting on deepening reform, when the push for media convergence set off on the road to becoming a national strategy, the concept has become a crucial mixed bag in which the CCP leadership can pack its high-tech aspirations for information dominance, a core priority as old as the hills.

History has taught China's leadership that communication technology is a capricious force. More so, perhaps, than even at the dawn of the internet era in the late 1990s, drawing on the difficult lessons of the decade that followed, Xi Jinping is determined to pre-write the history of communication technology in the 21st century and its impact on politics at home and globally. If he succeeds, harnessing convergence media for the long-term benefit of the CCP's controlled system, this will no doubt be regarded — in the history "books" written by the Party's own generative AI — as one of the signature achievements of his New Era .

How to Push China’s Narrative Abroad

Highlighting the growing role of China’s provinces in the state-led push to bolster its global messaging, a media delegation from the South American country of Guyana visited a propaganda office-run international communication center (ICC) in the coastal province of Shandong this week — with at least one outlet signing an agreement for cooperation. 

Members of the Guyana media delegation came from several major outlets. They included the country’s state-owned television and radio broadcaster, the National Communications Network (NCN), Stabroek News, Kaieteur News, and the Guyana Times

During their visit, the Guyanese outlets toured the facilities of the Shandong International Communication Center (山东国际传播中心), or SICC, a center established in November last year under the state-owned Shandong Radio and Television (山东广播电视台), tasked with boosting Chinese propaganda abroad.

In a formal ceremony on Monday, the SICC signed a cooperation agreement with the Guyana Times (圭亚那时报), with both sides pledging to “deepen cooperation in the exchange of news copy, personnel, branding and other aspects.” The Guyana Times, which identifies itself in its motto as a “beacon of truth,” was first launched in 2008 as the country’s first full-color broadsheet, and now runs an online news portal as well as radio and television channels in the country, directed as its population of just over 800,000 as well as diaspora communities in the United States and Canada. 

The Chinese embassy in Guyana has been playing a long game in wooing Guyana’s media. In December 2022, the Chinese embassy hosted an event for journalists in Guyana, the ambassador telling assembled journalists (which included the CEO of NCN) that they needed to better understand China. “They should not simply reprint news from Western media, but should also pay attention to Chinese media reports.” The Chinese embassy in Guyana notes expressly on its profile for the country that its print media have mainly resorted to Western media sources for China-related coverage. 

“They should not simply reprint news from Western media, but should also pay attention to Chinese media reports.”

The embassy-hosted event closed with remarks from NCN anchor Samuel Sukhnandan on his experiences two months earlier while in a training course as the International Press Communication Center (IPCC) in Beijing. Directly under China’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs (MOFA), the IPCC hosts courses and internships for journalists, largely from the Global South, to introduce China’s society and political system and encourage what MOFA, in a lengthy text on public diplomacy strategies, called “objective media reporting on China.” During his Beijing training course, Sukhnandan submitted a news account to the Guyana Chronicle of the CCP’s 20th National Congress. In the report, the journalist quoted liberally from Xi Jinping’s political report, without any additional sourcing or context. The report closed by saying that the political event would “culminate” the following Saturday. 

According to the embassy read-out of the December event back in Guyana, Sukhnandan said that after attending the IPCC course he realized “Western media reports on China were often one-sided and inaccurate, and he was willing to work hard to enhance objective reporting on China in the future.” 

Sukhnandan is back in China this week, taking part in the tour of the Shandong ICC, which is applying at the provincial level the lessons that MOFA has pushed at the national level.

Local communication centers like the one in Shandong are spearheading efforts promoted by the leadership since 2018 to “innovate” foreign-directed propaganda under a new province-focused strategy. This allows the leadership to capitalize on the resources of powerful commercial media groups at the provincial level, like Shandong Radio and Television, which can also — or so is the hope — tell more compelling stories, as Xi Jinping has made “telling China’s story well” the heart of the country’s external push for propaganda and soft power.

ICC development is also premised on the introduction on new technologies, including AI, to media production, and the perception that Chinese outlets are at the cutting edge of media technology may also be an important draw for participating Guyanese media. Shandong’s Integrated Media Information Center (融媒资讯中心), which works to apply emerging technology to traditional media practices, gave a demonstration of its work to the visiting delegation. In response, Sukhnandan told his hosts that he was amazed by the center and how it was far beyond what he was used to back in Guyana, where NCN remains the only live television broadcaster.    

This push to attract Guyana’s media is in line with China’s concerted effort to offset the impact of Western media in Global South countries. CCP leaders have repeatedly sent the message that international communication is a top priority. The issue was the focus of a collective study session of the CCP politburo three years ago, and the Decision emerging from the recent Third Plenum, which closed just days ahead of the Guyana delegation's visit, urged cadres to build a stronger system to “improve the effectiveness of international communication.”

Code of Silence

In other parts of the world, getting elected to lead one’s local press group is a cause of celebration — a sign that a journalist has become a pillar of the professional community, esteemed and trusted by their colleagues. But for Selina Cheng, it was a cause for concern. The day after she was chosen by members of the Hong Kong Journalists Association to be their next chairperson, she told the China Media Project she was surprised not to have been immediately fired by her employer, the Wall Street Journal. When senior editors learned about her plan to stand on the eve of the election, her supervisor at the WSJ’s international desk in London told her to withdraw and quit the HKJA’s executive committee, where she had already served for three years.

The hostility Cheng faced from her workplace, however, only steeled her resolve to give back to the community. “Reporters in Hong Kong know their editors or employers don’t always have their backs,” she said. “That’s why the JA is so important. We want other journalists to know we’re here for them.”

Selina Cheng (center) stands with other newly elected members of the HKJA executive committee.

The relief, however, would not last long. Less than a month later, Cheng was fired by the Journal, with World Coverage Chief Gordon Fairclough appearing at the Hong Kong bureau to deliver her termination notice in person. The weeks in between, she realized, were merely to square things with legal and prepare the paperwork — and the HKJA’s first battle to defend press freedom under her leadership would be her own. 

Fighting on Two Fronts

The Journal’s decision sent shockwaves through Hong Kong, where press freedom has been pushed to a cliff-edge by an ever-widening national security crackdown that has both netted reporters and media executives and forced some of the city’s most popular news outlets to shut down. But the most concerning part of the story might in fact be how unsurprising it was. 

Rumors had already been swirling that international newsrooms were dead-set against employees getting too involved in the body, which had become the target of a government and state media smear campaign. The China Media Project spoke with three newly elected members of the HKJA board, as well as an outgoing leader of the Foreign Correspondents’ Club of China, which has faced similar pressures. All asked to remain anonymous, fearing reprisals from their employers, but confirmed that the Journal is not alone: the biggest names in Hong Kong and China’s foreign press have been pressuring their employees to stand back and stay quiet, or face the repercussions. For the territory’s embattled journalists, defending the free press has become a fight on two fronts: against both an increasingly authoritarian government and their own employers, based in the West and nominally committed to liberal principles.

For Hong Kong’s embattled journalists, defending the free press has become a fight on two fronts: against both an increasingly authoritarian government and their own employers, based in the West and nominally committed to liberal principles.

As well as the Wall Street Journal, outlets cited included the BBC, CNN, and Bloomberg — newsrooms that, in at least one case, had staff join the HKJA en masse during the city’s mass anti-government protests in 2019, when HKJA press cards were seen as a defense against police hunting for “fake” or “black journalists” (黑記) they regarded as supporting the democracy movement. These organizations were apparently willing to benefit from the Association’s protections when they themselves were under threat, but are now reluctant to return the favor when the group — and local journalists as a whole — are in the firing line. As one new HKJA leader pointed out, these are also outlets that would never try to prevent their employees from joining similar press clubs in their home countries.

Their accounts are also backed up by Eric Wishart, former president of the city’s Foreign Correspondents’ Club and AFP’s standards and ethics editor. “I can attest to the fact that several international media organizations in Hong Kong have barred their journalists from standing for club president over the years,” he says. “I know of several good potential candidates who were told by their management that they could not run — that’s why the election for president is often uncontested due to a lack of candidates.”

International media are not alone in efforts to dissuade employees from joining the JA, however. Some local newspapers are taking a similar line — but they are split, unsurprisingly, along political lines. All staff at the independent, reader-funded Hong Kong Free Press, for example, are HKJA members. One HKFP staff member, reporter Hans Tse, sits on the executive committee and told the China Media Project that his employer did not interfere with his decision. Ming Pao (明報) and the Alibaba-owned South China Morning Post do not oppose staff joining the group, reporters say, but would prefer they not serve on the executive committee. The pro-Beijing Sing Tao (星島) and Oriental Daily (東方日報) newsgroups, meanwhile, may not hire reporters who are HKJA members.

Considering the climate of fear around taking up prominent positions in the HKJA, it is easy to see why freelance journalists — unbeholden to a single employer — have been more willing to step up recently. This year’s executive committee included two reporters for foreign media and a record three freelancers, among a total of eight members — a fact that has been weaponized by the Hong Kong government and its state-run media. Earlier this year, Secretary for Security Chris Tang suggested that the organization has become unrepresentative and illegitimate owing to the number of freelancers and foreign media employees standing for election. After the election, two newly elected board members immediately stepped down, including a reporter with the BBC who also faced opposition from his employers, according to others on the board. Another board member told us he feared stepping forward to serve on the body would be “career suicide.”

“Pressure on journalists comes in many forms,” Cheng says. “Not just high-profile cases like Stand News and Apple Daily but also small, even mundane incidents in the day-to-day.” She says it was “naive” to believe foreign editors who vowed they would close the local bureau before bowing to self-censorship. “We see now that even editors thousands of miles away, on different continents, are affected by deteriorating circumstances in Hong Kong.”

Crackdown Upon Crackdown

The main argument, according to Cheng, is that press freedom in Hong Kong is now seen as a “contentious,” even “anti-government” issue. Cheng has declined to conjecture about the Journal’s motivation for firing her, but another HKJA board member suggests it could be related to their reporters’ access to the Chinese mainland. Foreign media are subject to monthly communications with China’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs, they point out, where they are told whether their reporting has been appreciated by authorities or not. Increasingly concerned about access to mainland China, higher-ups in the foreign press are keen not to unnecessarily ruffle any feathers in Beijing.

But the HKJA is not just an advocacy group for press freedom — it is also a trade union representing the interests of its membership. “The advocacy side may have stood out more in recent years given the need to defend press freedom,” another HKJA board member told us, “but the JA has also been helping former Apple Daily staff regarding their labor rights as well.”

Looking ahead, they want the group to focus more on their union work — both to reach more potential members and bolster their profile and, they hope, avoid the government’s wrath: “I think, realistically, we should strengthen our capacity as a union, to connect with journalists who are not yet our members. I believe if we can convince them that JA is here to help, it will bring credibility and support to JA, and also I think the government may be less interested in us if we focus solely on union works — but that's only a guess.” 

And it may, unfortunately, be an overly optimistic one. The government has not just been cracking down on advocacy groups in Hong Kong, but independent trade unions as well. Hundreds of unions have been dissolved or stopped operations since the start of the national security crackdown in June 2020, and numerous unionists have been arrested, incarcerated, or had bounties put on them. Two of the city’s biggest unions, the pro-democracy Hong Kong Confederation of Trade Unions (HKCTU) and the politically liberal Hong Kong Professional Teachers' Union (HKPTU) were disbanded in 2021. Last year, police put a HK$1 million bounty on the head of former HKCTU leader Christopher Mung, now in exile in the United Kingdom.

Hong Kong finance workers, mobilized by a newly formed and now shuttered trade union, gather for a pro-democracy protest in August 2019. Photo: Ryan Ho Kilpatrick.

The HKJA stands at the confluence of two concurrent crackdowns: one on the free press and one on organized labor. While the latter may be deemed less sensitive for now, it is far from a guarantee of insulation from the authorities.

Watchdog or Lapdog?

That is not to say that Hong Kong authorities have come down on all unions or press groups, however.

At the same time as the government has been beating down the HKJA, it has been lifting up the Hong Kong Federation of Journalists (香港新聞工作者聯會), an alternative press group formed by “patriotic” journalists on the eve of Hong Kong’s 1997 handover to the PRC. As the Hong Kong government prepared to introduce its own, locally legislated national security law known as Article 23 earlier this year, to supplement the one imposed by Beijing in 2020, it invited the HKFJ — and not the HKJA — to join its consultation process. 

Li Dahong and Lin Zhan stand side-by-side to open the HKFJ's “new home.”

At the unveiling ceremony for HKFJ’s new office last year, located in the North Point neighborhood that has for decades hosted pro-Communist institutions, HKFJ Chairman Li Dahong (李大宏) said that the HKFJ “would not let down the honored guests” assembled for the occasion. Rather curiously for a press advocacy group, these included Lin Zhan (林枬), deputy director of the Cultural Affairs Department of the Central Government’s Liaison Office, and a special commissioner on the press from China’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs (MFA) — the kinds of officials that professional media unions are often at loggerheads with.

As it happens, Li Dahong wears many crowns in Hong Kong. As well as chairing the HKFJ, he is the chairman and editor-in-chief of the Ta Kung Wen Wei Media Group, which combines the city’s two biggest state-run newspapers, the Ta Kung Pao and Wen Wei Po. He is also a delegate to the National Committee of the Chinese People's Political Consultative Conference (中國人民政治協商會議全國委員會), the CCP-led political advisory body. Li is a prominent representative, in other words, of a model of state-led journalism that doesn’t question political power but serves as its megaphone.

It’s a model well-understood to anyone familiar with the All-China Journalists Association (中華全國新聞工作者協會). The ACJA, as the China Media Project has covered in numerous pieces over the years, is not your typical industry organization. Even though it describes itself as “a national non-governmental organization” the ACJA in fact serves as an important layer for exercising the Chinese Communist Party’s control over news organizations and the country’s more than one million registered journalists, rewarding compliance with the CCP’s demands and punishing perceived failures.

Earlier this year, the HKFJ hosted a gala dinner where they were addressed by Hong Kong’s Chief Executive John Lee. As though channeling the spirit of official numerology, so common to the rarefied discourse of China’s ruling Communist Party, Lee laid out Three Goals for news media in the Special Administrative Region (SAR). First, “promote patriotism”; second, “tell good Hong Kong stories''; third, “act as a communication channel between the government and the people.” The same night also served as the launch ceremony for a new body in the ACJA’s mold: the Guangdong-Hong Kong-Macau Greater Bay Area Media Federation (粵港澳大灣區媒體聯盟). 

CE John Lee instructs journalists on "New Media Conduct [for] Hong Kong’s New Stage" at HKFJ's gala.

Given the strong history of press freedom in Hong Kong, such unapologetic intrusion into the work of local media would have appalled many of the city’s famously dogged reporters. But for the event’s hosts, it was all par for the course. As HKFJ leader Li Dahong addressed the crowd, he said in a nod to one of Xi Jinping’s key propaganda phrases that this new mega-group would endeavor to “tell Greater Bay stories well,” and that it would share the HKFJ’s foundational mission “to support the SAR government.”

The charge to smear, discredit, and ultimately destroy the HKJA has been led by none other than Li Dahong’s Ta Kung Pao and Wen Wei Po. The two newspapers have dedicated reams of coverage to casting aspersions on the Association and its leadership. This includes accusations that the HKJA  is an “anti-China” foreign force representing “Anglo-American” political interests, calls to disband the group immediately, and threats that members who do not “jump ship” before the HKJA sinks will “go down with it.”

This, at least, is one form of “journalism” local authorities can get behind.

War of Attrition

In the face of threats like that to even ordinary members, the HKJA is facing “an existential crisis with memberships in decline and the government crackdown,” an executive committee member tells us.

It’s a scenario grimly familiar to members of the Foreign Correspondents' Club of China. A former FCCC member told the China Media Project the club was “struggling” to find candidates for its board. And while the dwindling number of foreign correspondents in Beijing had definitely been a factor, it was not the only one. 

Last year, two candidates for the FCCC board pulled out after authorities “called them in for tea” (a euphemism for police questioning and intimidation). This year, the nationalistic Global Times newspaper, part of the People’s Daily group, has published hit pieces targeting both the FCCC and the HKJA, and several would-be FCCC board members ultimately declined to stand, citing opposition from their employers. Board members who had intended to resign feared they would be forced to stay in their positions for another year just to keep the club functioning.

At the group’s annual general meeting on May 23, most of the event was spent “haranguing members about standing and preserving the club,” according to a member present — but to no avail. No one stepped up, although some remarked that they had not realized the situation was so dire. “Hopefully,” this FCCC member told us, “recruiting will be easier next year.”

In both cases, the endgame for central government authorities in Beijing and their proxies in Hong Kong seems to be the same: for these independent and often outspoken groups to either be squeezed out of existence or willingly transform into a compliant shadow of their former selves. That was the fate many ascribed to Hong Kong’s FCC after the club suddenly scrapped its annual Human Rights Press Awards in 2022, when the now-shuttered pro-democracy outlet Stand News had earned several honors. AFP’s Eric Wishart, however, who resigned from the FCC in protest over the awards’ cancellation, says that “the club has slowly rebuilt its reputation as an advocate for media freedom” under new leadership, issuing statements on various media freedom issues including Selina Cheng’s termination.

Noting that “different press groups around the region have had problems finding board members, people willing to step up,” Selina Cheng says she is worried her case could set “a negative precedent” if it goes unchallenged.

That’s why she has vowed to fight her dismissal in Hong Kong’s courts. According to the territory’s Employment Ordinance, every employee has the right “to be a member or an officer of a trade union.” During her termination, senior WSJ staff cited a potential conflict of interest between Cheng’s position at the HKJA and the outlet’s reporting. But Cheng — who covered the Chinese EV industry — says it is “very clear what they were trying to do with my termination” and she is confident the courts will protect her rights.

A Study in Contrasts

As Cheng stepped out of the WSJ office for the last time, AFP reporter Holmes Chan captured this remarkable image of her in the lift lobby, the bureau’s glass doors between her and a portrait of her erstwhile colleague Evan Gershkovich.

Since Gershkovich was detained in Russia last year and falsely accused of espionage, his employer has pushed hard for his release. Efforts by management, editors, and fellow reporters at the Journal to ensure that Gershkovich is not forgotten — which included shaving their heads in solidarity — have been a reassuring picture of how all journalists hope their colleagues will react should they face persecution for their reporting.

It’s also why Cheng says she was “deeply shocked” when the Journal demanded she not get involved in free-speech advocacy. Is that not, after all, exactly what the Journal itself is doing by advocating — rightly — for Gershkovich?

“Every country needs press freedom,” Cheng says, Hong Kong as well as Russia. And at a time when international organizations that paint themselves as champions of the free press seem to disagree on this point, she adds that “every member of society needs to defend their constitutional rights.”

Despite their employers’ reluctance to stand up for their rights in China or Hong Kong, this resolve to stand together is nevertheless a sentiment shared by many reporters on the ground. “Without wanting to get too Martin Niemöller about it,” a leading member of the FCCC told us, “you've got to stand up for stuff like this. Otherwise, there will be no one left to stand up for you.”

When Worlds Collide

Government and private tech have teamed up to create the first AI-generated sci-fi short-video series in China. “Sanxingdui: Future Apocalypse,” released on July 8, imagines a world far in the future where characters travel back to the Bronze Age Sanxingdui (三星堆) civilization of southern China. The series consists of 12 three-minute clips — generated with human guidance, edited through Douyin’s “Jimeng AI” (即梦AI) algorithm, and then released on their short video platform. The company has already reported views of over 20 million.

The series combines the slickness of Douyin tech with the media know-how of the State Council’s National Radio and Television Administration (NRTA) and the Bona Film Group, one of China’s biggest production companies and a subsidiary of the state-owned mega-conglomerate Poly Group. At a press briefing, Bona executives explained how the Jimeng algorithm had generated video through the input of original images, responding to prompts on camera angles and movement speeds.

This production process is a convergence of trends that the Chinese Communist Party has been pushing forward for years to modernize the media. To look at the show is to look at some of the first sprouts of the Party’s long-term goals for communication.

Modernizing Messages

Since at least the “Three Closenesses” of the early 2000s, the Party has been saying that it needs to make its messaging more attractive to the masses. President Xi Jinping’s focus on a combination of virality and control is just the latest iteration of this. “Wherever the readers are, wherever the viewers are, that is where propaganda reports must extend their tentacles,” he told the People’s Liberation Army Daily in 2015, “and that is where we find the focal point and end point of propaganda and ideology work.”

Partnerships between private media companies and stuffy state institutions have helped breathe life into ideology. In 2023, “The Knockout,” released by iQIYI, managed to be a successful and gripping TV show about the mundane topic of grassroots corruption, produced in partnership with the Central Political and Legal Affairs Commission under the CCP Central Committee. “Sanxingdui: Future Apocalypse” is not even the first time Douyin, Bona, and the NRTA have teamed up on a project — they did so back in 2021 and 2022 for the “Battle at Lake Changjin” franchise, a tub-thumping war epic about Chinese soldiers fighting in the Korean War.

Then there is the content of this recent collaboration. In 2013, Xi Jinping urged cadres to adapt traditional Chinese cultural relics to modern realities — indeed, he said they had to “come alive” and be “promoted in a way people love to hear and see.” Since then, there have been multiple attempts across state media to bring traditional Chinese culture to life for contemporary audiences.

As for Sanxingdui, the Party has promoted education about the site ever since excavations began in 2021, as it is seen as a counterpoint to claims that southern China was simply colonized by Han people from the north — the People’s Daily credits the site with proving that “Chinese civilization” (中華文明) did not spring merely from the banks of the Yellow River. State media even set the relics to pop music back in 2021 in an attempt to raise their public profile.

Combining traditional Chinese culture with a forward-looking genre like sci-fi is a good way to bring the former up-to-date. Since 2020, the China Film Administration (CFA) has offered generous subsidies for domestic sci-fi productions through a series of initiatives. Merging the old and the new worked for author Hai Ya (海漄), who was awarded — under dubious circumstances — the Hugo Award for best novella earlier this year. His story centered on a Beijing cop who time-slips back to the Song dynasty, learning about a famous traditional painter in the process.

Harnessing AI

There’s no better way to combine sci-fi and cutting-edge modernity than with the hot topic of AI-generated video. In China, AI is both a byword for modernity and an official policy, with the government having set a progressive AI strategy back in 2017, gunning for technological breakthroughs and world firsts. This year, Premier Li Qiang announced the launch of the “AI+” policy at the annual Two Sessions, intended to integrate AI into all of China’s industries — media included. 

Recently, others have also tried to position themselves at the intersection of traditional culture with AI and science fiction. Take China Media Group, for example, whose “China AI Festival” in Chengdu last May featured a trailer for a TV show about kungfu set in modern Shenzhen, giving prominent billing to the show’s AI-generated characters. At the same festival, Alibaba’s AI studio made the terracotta army literally come to life — as per Xi’s instructions — and break into a rap for state broadcaster CCTV.

“Sanxingdui: Future Apocalypse” will likely please the Party with its exclusive release on Douyin, embodying a push within state media to prioritize distribution via social media. Since 2014, Xi has made it clear that traditional media must integrate with emerging media to better reach audiences. Buzzwords such as “mobile first” (移动优先) started appearing in the late 2010s when officials noticed that the most effective channel to communicate with people was through social media apps. Years later, this has only become more pronounced: by 2022, 99.8 percent of Chinese could access the internet through smartphones, compared with 32 percent by laptop.

State media launched a coordinated campaign in the late 2010s to migrate to social media platforms, and have adapted their messaging to suit the medium, releasing short videos with cutesy aesthetics.

AI-generated content, however, still has a long way to go. The director at Bona’s AI-generation center told reporters that although AI sped up some parts of production, the algorithm tended to hallucinate. It struggled to maintain consistency between shots and accurately depict the human body in motion. It also couldn’t generate high-quality special effects, which had to be added in post-production. “The most difficult thing in real-life shooting happens to be the easiest thing for artificial intelligence, and the most difficult thing for artificial intelligence happens to be the easiest thing in real-life shooting,” she said

But listing these problems is intended to help push the technology forward, not to dissuade others from using it. Since the very beginning of his leadership, Xi Jinping has been saying that traditional media and culture must be fused with modern technology. This is not just a futuristic show — it’s a taste of the media of tomorrow that the Party has been planning for at least a decade.

A Rare Exposé

On July 2, the Beijing News kicked up nationwide health concerns in China by reporting that the state-run grain stockpiler Sinograin was using the same tanker trucks to transport both fuel and food oil products, forgoing any cleaning process between. Naturally, Chinese consumers were infuriated at the idea that their soybean oils and syrups might be sloshed together with coal-to-oil (CTL) products, which use coal as a raw material to produce oil and petrochemical products through chemical processing.

In a more active press system, Sinograin’s violations might have been revealed long ago. According to the report, the safety violations of the Sinograin oil truck fleet have long been an “open secret” in the industry — and it lays bare the fecklessness and ambiguity of national standards, which are treated as recommendations only, and routinely ignored by oil manufacturers and transporters.  

The Beijing News report, which was promoted on the front page and ran to over 5,000 words on the inside pages, closely documented the transport process of both chemical and food oils. Reporters, for example, trailed one tanker truck that loaded up with first-grade edible cooking oil in the city of Sanhe, in Hebei province, just three days after it had unloaded a cargo of coal-derived chemical oil at a port to the east — without any washing or sanitizing of the tank in between.

Investigative reports of this kind, many focusing on basic livelihood concerns such as food safety, were a common occurrence in China from the early 2000s through to around 2008, when Shanghai’s Oriental Morning Post newspaper revealed that infant formula produced by China’s Sanlu Group was tainted with the chemical melamine, resulting in kidney damage and other serious health issues for infants. In the years that followed, Chinese authorities leaned more heavily on professional media in China, and investigative reporting became rarer and rarer.

Enterprising reports like that last week in the Beijing News, a state-run newspaper under Beijing municipal propaganda office that into the early 2010s was among the country’s more outspoken professional outlets, have become a true rarity in the Xi Jinping era, as the leadership has emphasized “positive propaganda” and the need for media to abide by “correct public opinion guidance.”

It goes without saying that such reports should be celebrated when they do appear. Below, we provide a partial translation.

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An Investigation of Tanker Truck Transport Chaos in Unloading Coal Oil and Loading Edible Oil (罐车运输乱象调查卸完煤制油又装食用油)

Han Futao (韩福涛)

At 10 AM on May 21, an oil tanker truck slowly pulls in to an oil company in Yanjiao, [a town in central] Hebei province. One hour later, this tanker truck leaves the facility loaded with more than 30 tons of soybean oil.

What casual observers may not know is that just three days ago this tanker full of edible soybean oil transported a truckload of coal-to-oil from Ningxia to Qinhuangdao, [on Hebei’s coast]. After unloading, it was directly loaded with edible soybean oil for transportation, with no cleaning of the storage tank.

The full-page spread investigative report in The Beijing News on July 2.

Like white oil moisturizer and liquid wax, coal-to-oil is a chemical liquid processed from coal. A tanker driver revealed to a reporter for the Beijing News that it is an open secret in the tanker transportation industry that food liquids and chemical liquids are mixed [during transport] without cleaning. 

From May this year, reporters for the Beijing News carried out an extensive follow-up investigation and found that the liquids transported by many general cargo tankers in China are not allotted fixed substances, but carry edible liquids such as syrup and soybean oil as well as chemical liquids such as coal-to-oil. In order to save expenses, many tankers do not clean the tank during the exchange and transportation process, and some cooking oil manufacturers do not strictly check whether the tank is clean according to regulations. As a result, edible oil is contaminated by residual chemical liquids.

In fact, there is no mandatory national standard at present for the transportation of edible oil in China. There is only a recommended Code for Bulk Transport of Edible Vegetable Oil, which mentions that special vehicles should be used for the transportation of edible vegetable oil in bulk. Because it is a recommended national standard, this means that it has limited binding force on manufacturers.

Professor Wang Xingguo (王兴国) of the School of Food Science and Technology told our reporters that although the current transportation norms are recommended national standards, they are also to a certain extent mandatory. “These are national standards,” he pointed out. “When formulating company standards, companies should rely on them. Generally, company standards need to be stricter than these standards, and certainly cannot be lower.” 

Mixed Tanker Transport

Once coal-to-oil is unloaded and before edible oils are loaded, no one checks to make sure the tank is clean.

Many tankers are piled up in the parking lot of the Ningdong Energy and Chemical Engineering Base, all waiting to load up and begin transport.

The base is located in the city of Lingwu, in China’s Ningxia Hui Autonomous Region. It has the largest coal-to-oil project in China. In the coal-oil factory area covering an area of thousands of mu, it is possible to “transform black coal into oil" and produce liquid wax, white oil and other downstream products through a series of complex processes involving high temperatures and high pressure. 

Public information shows that this "coal-to-oil" project belonging to Ningxia Coal Industry (宁夏煤业) has an annual production capacity of 4 million tons, ranking it first in the country. Most of the coal-to-oil output here is shipped to economically developed regions on the east coast, where it can be used as raw material for chemical products, or as fuel.

On May 1, trucks line up outside a Sinograin facility awaiting loads of edible cooking oil for transport. SOURCE: The Beijing News.

A tanker driver told our reporter that tankers [at the facility] are generally divided into dangerous goods tankers and general cargo tankers. Dangerous goods tankers transport products such as gasoline, diesel and other flammable and explosive liquids; as the term suggests, general cargo tankers transport more ordinary coal-to-oil products such as liquid wax and white oil that are not regarded as dangerous — meaning that they cannot be ignited by an open flame (white oil burns with the use of a special gas cooker). Those products not regarded as dangerous can be transported by ordinary transport tanker trucks.

In mid-May this year, at the Coal Oil Plant operated by Ningxia Coal, the reporter observed that both sides of the road were jammed with transport vehicles of all kinds. Many of these were transport, tankers for coal oil and general cargo. Their outsides displayed information such as their volume and the “medium” (介质) [they transport]. One tanker truck driver explained that “medium” generally refers to the substances that tanker trucks transport, and coal oil is regarded as a “common liquid.“

“Right now is the low season, and there are fewer trucks than usual,” said a driver resting in the parking lot. “During the peak season, the lot can accommodate well over a hundred trucks.“ The driver told reporters that most of these tankers are usually parked close by in the area, and once they receive a transport order, they enter the plant to queue up and load up with oil. After that, the coal oil is transported to its destination according to the buyer’s needs. “Many tankers rely on the coal oil plants year-round to make a living,“ he said.

On May 16, a tanker truck with the license plate number “Hebei E××65Z” departed from the Ningdong Energy and Chemical Industry Base [in Ningxia]. It arrived two days later in Qinhuangdao, Hebei, more than 1,000 kilometers away. The tanker truck drove into a small courtyard on the outskirts of town, and set out again just over an hour later. The tanker did not leave immediately, but stopped on a nearby roadside. The driver opened the door as he rested inside the cab of the vehicle, the journalist from the Beijing News observed.

Pretending to ask about how business was going, the reporter from the Beijing News spoke to the driver, who revealed that he had just transported a load of coal oil from Ningxia to Qinhuangdao and unloaded it in a small yard. “They use the oil her to burn and use as kitchen fuel,” he said. He told the reporter that his tanker is one in a fleet of trucks, and that he is a full-time driver. There are more than 10 such trucks in the fleet. After unloading of coal oil, he said, he had not yet received new transport orders, so he was parking on the side of the road to rest. “Generally, we need to get [new] dispatch orders close to where we unload, and we can’t head back with empty vehicles,” he said.

After this [conversation], the Beijing News reporter remained close to observe the movement of the tanker. On the afternoon of May 20, the tanker restarted, and that evening it drove to the town of Yanjiao, just outside the city of Sanhe, in western Hebei province. There it drove into a parking lot belonging to a grain and oil company. According to guards at the facility, the parking lot belongs to Sanhe Huifu Grain and Oil Group, (汇福粮油集团). The tanker truck parked outside the facility and prepared for the transport of edible cooking oil.

At around 10 AM on May 21, the tanker drove right into the production area of the Sanhe Huifu Grain and Oil Group. The tanker had not been cleaned since unloading its cargo of coal oil [from Ningxia on May 18]. One hour later, the tanker was loaded with product the plant. According to the transport document maintained by the factory gatekeeper, the product loaded into the tanker at the factory was first-grade soybean oil, and the net weight of the load was 31.86 tons.

China Starts Influence Ranking for Cities

Over the past two years, China’s central government has pressed provinces and cities to join the national push for more effective external propaganda, which it sees as essential to building the country’s international soft power. This week, it unveiled one of the first mechanisms to measure and track progress on this strategic goal — an annual ranking to measure the relative success of cities in building their image abroad. 

The “China Cities International Influence Report 2023” (中国城市国际传播影响力报告),  announced on Monday, claims to take a global perspective, “synthesizing media reports and internet user responses” to determine how effective various Chinese cities have been in communicating internationally. It was jointly created by a think-tank affiliated by the official China Daily newspaper, under the State Council, and the journalism and communication departments of both Tsinghua University and the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences (CASS).

In practice, researchers compiling the report seem to have taken a relatively basic measure of presence across traditional media, internet and social media. How often are cities mentioned in mainstream news reports outside China? How often do social media users mention a given city in comments, and how often are these liked or shared? The result is predictable. Beijing and Shanghai top the rankings, with Hangzhou and Shenzhen following in the third and fourth places. 

If there is any surprise in the report, it might be that Chongqing, China’s most populous city and a leader of inland commerce, just manages to make the Top Ten. The municipality has been one of the most active in pushing its image and that of China externally through its Chongqing International Communication Center (重庆国际传播中心), which operates the external communication platform iChongqing.

Chongqing was one of the earliest out of the gate with an “international communication center,” or ICC, putting out a call for foreign talent in February 2021 — months before Xi Jinping’s address to a collective session of the CCP Politburo that was meant to recalibrate China’s approach to external propaganda. 

China’s provincial and city-level international communication centers, or ICCs, are spearheading efforts promoted by the leadership since 2018 — but accelerating since the May 2021 Politburo session — to “innovate” foreign-directed propaganda under a new province-focused strategy. This allows the leadership to capitalize on the resources of powerful commercial media groups at the provincial level, and also to take advantage of richer story resources — as Xi Jinping has made “telling China’s story well” the heart of the country’s external push for propaganda and soft power. 

To date, provincial-level ICCs have been established in 26 provinces and municipalities across China, and the number of city-level ICCs is steadily rising. 

Your Partner, China Daily

The involvement of the China Daily in the new ranking procedure is another feature of how the ICC push has unfolded. As the Chinese government’s flagship external media outlet, published through the State Council Information Office — the same office as the CCP’s Central Propaganda Department — China Daily is a critical and well-funded layer of the country’s international communication array. It seems to be serving as a media partner for many newly-created ICCs, particularly at the city level, where there may be less media savvy, and fewer resources, to handle external communication. 

As the local Weifang Bohai International Communication Center (潍坊渤海国际传播中心) was launched late last month in Shandong province, China Daily took part in the launch ceremony as a partner, and signed a related framework agreement with the propaganda office of Weifang city. The media group has also signed such framework agreements for international communication with various official think-tanks and cultural institutions, suggesting that it is being tasked with directing broader external propaganda efforts — and is perhaps also capitalizing commercially on this policy from the top. 

In May last year, China Daily signed a similar agreement with the city of Wuhan and its Changjiang International Communication Center (CICC), which involved working closely with the city’s state-run Wuhan Media Group (武汉广播电视台), which administers the ICC under the local propaganda office, on various external promotion activities, including an account called “Wuhan Plus,” which has a special sub-domain on the China Daily website.

The social media brand currently has 2 million followers on Facebook,  more than 2,000 subscribers on YouTube, and more than 43,000 followers on Twitter. None of these accounts are labeled as being state-affiliated. 

As the annual city influence rankings were released this week, Wuhan came in right at the middle of the Top 10, at number five. The website of the city government quickly pounced on the news as a point that needed publicizing: "Number Five! Wuhan Makes the List of Internationally Influential Chinese Cities," read the enthusiastic headline.

The Politics of Pure Business

More than five years ago, the top bosses at several US media companies, including the Associated Press (AP), were taken to task by lawmakers in Washington for partnerships with Chinese state media. They expressed concern that such cooperation might compromise the integrity of news and information outside of China as the country’s leadership pursued greater influence over global public opinion. 

For all the criticism such partnerships have caused, they show no signs of abating. This was evidenced last month as the president of China’s official Xinhua News Agency, which sits directly under the country’s State Council, made a whirlwind tour from New York to London, meeting with top executives from AP, Reuters, and PA Media Group

The deal between Xinhua and AP, which involved cooperation on the distribution of photos, videos and press releases, was finalized with a handshake and the exchange of signed copies. It was covered enthusiastically by Xinhua. For AP, meanwhile, the story was apparently not news — no reporting was available. The same pattern held for Reuters and PA Media Group: enthusiastic coverage from Xinhua, silence from its partners. 

These deals with Xinhua should invite tougher questions about how international media companies with a stated commitment to professional standards should deal with Chinese media giants whose sole commitment — crystal clear in the country’s domestic political discourse— is to strengthen the global impact of Party-state propaganda. 

These partnerships are part of a broader effort by Xinhua to deepen its global media influence, curtailing criticism of the Chinese government and shaping international discourse that portrays the CCP in a positive light. And yet, year in and year out, Western media executives insist, even against the substance of their own statements, that this type of cooperation is just normal business. 

The Politics of the Purely Commercial

In 2019, as AP faced blowback from members of the US Senate for cooperation with Xinhua, the global news wire’s then-CEO, Gary Pruitt reassured the lawmakers that the cooperation was “purely commercial in nature,” and that “AP’s business relationship with Xinhua is completely separate and firewalled from its journalistic coverage of China.” 

Reuters President Paul Bascobert meets with Xinhua’s Fu Hua on June 12, 2024.

 According to the arrangement, Pruitt said, Xinhua and AP had agreed only to an optional arrangement by which the partners could share five text stories and five photos per day. “In practice, AP uses a fraction of those photos and publishes none of the stories,” said Pruitt. As for regular meetings on cooperation, Pruitt said, these are “often a formality.” 

If it is true that AP “publishes none of the stories,” this raises the obvious question of why the arrangement is necessary or commercially viable at all. What is the point of such empty formalities? Read the fine print of Pruitt’s reassurance letter and the truth about the arrangement becomes clear. “Like most major news agencies,” said Pruitt, “AP has an agreement with state-run media in China that allows AP to operate inside the country.” 

And there we have the crux. AP’s relationship with Xinhua, in place since 1972, is not commercial at all — not really. Instead, it is the political foundation on which AP and other major news agencies, including Reuters, are able to operate in China. 

It should be obvious such conditionality has no place in any “purely commercial” arrangement. And as they obscure the true nature of the arrangement, news executives like Veerasingham and Pruitt do a huge injustice to the thousands of journalists who struggle each day to report the facts. 

Again and again, international news executives lean into the act of the ostensibly commercial Xinhua deal. As Pruitt’s successor, Associated Press CEO Daisy Veerasingham, met with Xinhua President Fu Hua (傅华) last month, she spoke encouragingly of deepening cooperation. “We have seen many changes in the world,” she said, “but I think the relationship that the two organizations have forged together for so long is a really important indicator for how we can strengthen our relationship in the years ahead.”  

Xinhua President (and senior propaganda official) Fu Hua shakes hands with Emily Shelley, CEO of PA Media Group. 

What does it mean to strengthen a relationship that AP has consistently minimized in the face of scrutiny, and that it does not even care to disclose?  

It bears emphasizing a simple, incontrovertible fact that no one in these instances is making clear — that Fu Hua is not merely a news agency executive but a senior Chinese official with a full ministerial rank, or zhengbuji (正部级), effectively giving him the same ranking as the country’s foreign minister. Fu was elevated three years ago to his current position from his previous role as a deputy minister of the Chinese Communist Party’s Central Propaganda Department. Fu is not a champion of shared media values, or a partner in tackling the information challenges of the future. His agenda is that of China’s ruling CCP. Plain and simple. 

Meanwhile, this monstrous charade underwrites Xinhua’s credibility as a news agency as it seeks to work across the world, and even to place itself at the center of global media cooperation through a mechanism called the World Media Summit (WMS) — launched in 2009 under an explicit Central Committee directive and headquartered at Xinhua. 

Global Media Groups Curry Beijing’s Favor

As Xinhua signed its MOU last month with PA Media Group in London, it even reported that this cooperation was to happen “under the framework of the World Media Summit.” At CMP, we called it clearly on the WMS 15 years ago. It is time for news executives to catch up. 

Fortunately, there are signs of sobriety elsewhere in the international media. On Monday this week, Christoph Jumpelt, the head of the international relations unit at Germany’s public broadcaster, Deutsche Welle, said in a keynote speech here in Taipei that all independent news outlets across the world that uphold democratic values must cooperate to counter the growing threat of propaganda and censorship. “Together, we stand a far better chance of stemming the tide of propaganda,” he said. 

“What [authoritarian] regimes have in common is their fear of a well-informed public,” Jumpelt added. “This goes to show the power behind free media.”

International media like AP, Reuters and PA Media Group that claim to uphold professional values need to decide where they stand. If they insist on the charade of standing with Xinhua, shaking hands and signing on the dotted line, they should at least be forthcoming about what exactly it is they fear.

Angels and Demons

In the spring of 2013, just months after Xi Jinping came to power, reports emerged that the Chinese Communist Party had released a high-level document warning against “infiltration” of the country by dangerous ideas from the outside. When the document was published in full later that year by the US-based Mingjing Magazine, it detailed a range of perceived ideological threats, including the notion of civil society. Document 9, as the text came to be known, portrayed civil society as a threat to CCP rule: “Advocates of civil society want to squeeze the Party out of the leadership of the masses at the local level,” it said ominously, “even setting the Party against the masses, to the point that their advocacy is becoming a serious form of political opposition.”

Document 9 marked a more dramatic expression of the anxieties of China’s leadership toward global civil society. But it was also a reflection of tensions that had been at the heart of China’s relationship with civil society since its development in China in the early post-Mao era. To discuss the history of these tensions, and their relevance today, CMP sat down with Anthony Spires, an Associate Professor at the University of Melbourne’s Centre for Contemporary Chinese Studies, whose research on China has encompassed civil society, political sociology, organizational development, and philanthropy. Released in April this year, Spires’ most recent work, Global Civil Society and China, looks at the country’s conflicted relationship with global civil society.  

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David Bandurski: In your monograph, you write about China’s unstable relationship with the idea of “civil society” — how it totters between the hope of enlightenment and the threat of national security. Maybe you could start by bringing us up to speed on the history of civil society development in China, and how it has grappled with this relationship.

Anthony Spires: There’s a long history of community association in dynastic times, of course, but the most recent introduction of “civil society” started in the 1980s, when there was much anticipation – and expectation in and outside China – that Deng Xiaoping’s economic reforms would also lead to political reform. The violent crackdown on the protests of 1989, though, put an end to speculation about political reform, especially the hope that the government might tolerate community-based groups outside its control.

The protests also led to the birth of what we now call government-organized nongovernmental organizations or GONGOs. The basic idea there is that with the 1989 protests the government suddenly became aware of deep problems within a rapidly changing society, so it mobilized party members and state agencies to ‘go into’ society, find out what the problems were, then report back with policy suggestions. GONGOs were originally meant to be a kind of ‘transmission belt’, figuring out what problems people were encountering in society, reporting up to policymakers, then sending new policies back down into society to fix the problems. So, GONGOs are one part of the story of associational life in China.

But then, with the UN Conference on Women held in Beijing in 1995, the government was required to also allow an international NGO Forum to be held at the same time. That forum is widely credited with introducing the idea of independent, bottom-up civil society organizations into post-Mao China. Although it was focused on women – including women’s rights, education for girls, and other related issues – the forum also legitimated community-based activity on a whole range of issues, from the environment to ethnic minority concerns to labor rights.

Bandurski: That time, in the late 1990s, was also when a new era of commercialized media took off in China, not to mention the birth of the Chinese internet. Did that help to spread this idea even further?

It took a few years for the idea of an NGO to spread beyond Beijing and a couple of other major cities, but the rise of the internet in the early 2000’s helped usher in a wave of grassroots NGOs in the Hu-Wen era. So, by the time I started researching these issues in 2004, there were a range of groups operating on all kinds of ‘new’ social issues, everything from HIV to autism and LGBTQ+ rights, and rural educational inequality to environmental protection. Even groups supporting sex workers – although sex work was and remains illegal in China – emerged during this period.

The rise of the internet in the early 2000’s helped usher in a wave of grassroots NGOs.

All of this happened, to be sure, alongside an influx of global civil society actors. The Women’s Conference in 1995 was a massive, attention-getting event, but prior to that, in the 1980s, the PRC government itself had begun inviting INGOs, international NGOs, to come in. Groups like the Ford Foundation, Oxfam, and a lot of others began advising and eventually running programs on everything from disaster relief to – in the case of Ford – the re-establishment of sociology as an academic discipline at universities.

Bandurski: That’s an interesting case of the benefits of global civil society engagement. What other issues were a focus then? We often hear about the environment as a can-go issue.

Spires: Yes, a number of groups went into Yunnan, in the southwest, to work on a range of environmental protection issues, which eventually grew to include work with ethnic minority groups, women’s economic empowerment, education, drug addiction treatment facilities, and other issues.

With assistance from the Panyu Workers Center, a civil society organizations, workers from Guangdong’s Liansheng Moulding Factory successfully won about five million yuan in compensation in 2013. SOURCE: China Labour Bulletin.

Guangdong, in particular, became a hotspot for labor rights activism, in no small part due to direct influences from NGOs based across the border in Hong Kong.

Although the PRC state had itself invited INGOs and actively lobbied to host the UN Women’s Conference, by around 2005 at least parts of the party had become worried that the ‘Color Revolutions’ of Europe and Central Asia might spread to its own territories. Claims that domestic and international NGOs were working as agents of foreign governments, supported by foreign money, began circulating in elite circles and, eventually, within academia and the official press.

Bandurski: In your book you use this concept, or contrast, of angels and demons.

That’s right. It was in this context that Zhao Liqing, a professor at the Central Party School, penned a short analysis asking whether INGOs – and, by extension, global civil society – were ‘angels’ helping China or ‘demons’ out to bring down the CCP and overthrow the state.

Zhao summarized the arguments of the conservative critics of INGOs, but he also noted the positive contributions they had made to China, including funding, new ideas, and new methods for addressing social problems. On balance, he concluded, INGOs were a net positive, although the country still needed to be on guard against potential negative impacts.

Bandurski: National security thinking seems always to be in the foreground in China in these days. Having observed Chinese civil society over the past couple of decades, how do you think this security mindset has impacted groups and activities on the ground?

Spires: National security concerns have grown since Zhao Liqing published his article in 2006, and they remain a constant concern not just for the state but also for Chinese civil society groups. NGOs, activists, and scholar-activists (of which there are a few at Chinese universities) have learned they need to be aware of the political wrangling over the desirability of international influences. Leading up to the 2014 Occupy Central and Umbrella Movement protests in Hong Kong, many Chinese NGOs were visited by authorities coming to check their financial records, demanding they disclose any and all contact with overseas NGOs, including those from Hong Kong.

Just a couple of years later, with the development of the INGO Law in 2016, another wide-ranging discussion of foreign influences took place within domestic NGOs, as well as within academic institutions. There were many academics at universities and at government think tanks who had been beneficiaries of foreign foundation monies, of course, taking overseas trips or being sponsored for short exchanges or periods of study at overseas universities. In short, the overall level of attention, and suspicion of any overseas connections, has just grown in the past 10 years.

With the 2019 protests in Hong Kong, of course, Hong Kong connections were thrust into the limelight again, so that nowadays many groups have to be much more circumspect and cautious when considering working with foreign NGOs, even those with approved operations and offices in the Chinese mainland.

Bandurski: Are there other factors, aside from national security, that have shaped civil society development in China?

Spires: I think national security is a common thread running through the last 20 years of civil society development, for sure. But another big change is the rise of domestic philanthropy. As Chinese entrepreneurs have gotten richer – some very, very rich – there’s been a push from the government to have them contribute to government-approved causes like education. And, of course, many entrepreneurs are also keen to ‘give back’ to society, working on government priority issues like education but also health care, the environment, and other issues they personally care about.

The overall level of attention, and suspicion of any overseas connections, has just grown in the past 10 years.

And the rise of social media – where people can put out calls for help – and offer help to others – has also changed the civil society scene quite dramatically. These are developments that can largely be seen as a result of economic growth, but I’d say their impacts on civil society are things we’re only just beginning to make sense of. Overall, it means there’s more money going towards ‘charitable causes’, and while the government would like to direct those funds where it wants them, it also opens up space to talk about the things grassroots actors are doing and the values and goals that underpin their efforts. That, in turn, means there’s increased awareness of civil society, again expanding the realm of what’s possible and the conversations people can have about what different groups in society need.

Bandurski: That growing awareness is a good segue into the question of shared values. A key point you make in your exploration of rhetoric and reality is that the idea of “universal values,” including broader notions of human rights and democracy, has gained currency. Many observers of China will have a knee-jerk response to this. How is this possible, they might say, when we know that even a high-level CCP document right at the start of Xi’s first term more than a decade ago explicitly rejected the idea of civil society, freedom of speech, constitutionalism and so on. . . My question is getting long. But could you tease out this question of rhetoric and reality? How is the Party leadership deploying its own rhetoric, how is civil society responding, and where do you see this gain in currency you write about?

Spires: Many groups that may appear as ‘non-governmental’ to people outside China are in reality PRC government creations. I wouldn’t see this as a trend, though, but rather as long-standing standard operating practice. In the book I recall meeting a civil servant in Guangdong almost twenty years ago who had multiple cards – or ‘hats’, as he called them. He normally wore his government hat in his day-to-day life, but when heading overseas he and his colleagues put on their GONGO hats so that they could get permission to leave the country more easily – there are lots of restrictions on government officials traveling overseas (even more nowadays, actually). But, as he said, wearing that GONGO hat also makes it easier to talk with foreigners.

Granted, what ‘easier’ means is up for debate, but clearly in part it means that Chinese officials have worked out that NGOs are here to stay, globally, and that GONGOs offer access to doing things overseas that may not be so easy in their PRC government official role. This is a fair assessment, I’d say. Whether foreigners should be surprised or especially concerned, however, is probably up to the context and what’s at stake morally or practically. But, inside China itself, the context is very clear – no organization with ‘China’ in its official name is going to be anything but state-approved and state-controlled.

That doesn’t mean GONGO representatives have no room to take their own initiative at times, but it does mean that, ultimately, they will be held accountable by the party-state. So, in the realm of human rights, for example, although Chinese GONGOs can utilize the language of international human rights when testifying at UN hearings, they must be careful to do so in ways that do not contradict the stated goals or policies of Beijing.

Bandurski: Given the situation in China today, what role do you think there still is for global civil society in China?

Spires: Global civil society continues to have an interest in China. It’s scaled down from before, to be sure, as there’s a sense – both inside and outside the country – that China doesn’t need so much foreign ‘charitable’ aid anymore. But the changed political climate has also meant that activities deemed potentially threatening to the state – like rights-based advocacy – are much less likely to feature centrally in the work that INGOs can do there.

Some groups have just left altogether, but the ones that have stayed have had to adapt to what the state prefers. In some ways, the situation of INGOs isn’t so different from that of China’s home-grown grassroots groups. In the early 1990s and ‘00s, there was a lot more free-wheeling dynamism in civil society activities, more experimentation, and even pushing right up against political boundaries. But today, if you’re an INGO that wants to be on the ground and make a difference on whatever issue you care about the most, you have to play by the government’s rules.

China Grapples with Nationalism, and Fuels It

A violent knife attack against a Japanese woman and her child late last month in the city of Suzhou, the second such attack against foreigners in the space of several weeks, unleashed a torrent of xenophobic comments on Chinese social media — some even celebrating the attacker as a hero.

In what Chinese state media portrayed as a full-scale effort to grapple with the problem of violent xenophobia, several platforms issued statements last week condemning the “extreme nationalist” comments users had left under news stories about the Suzhou attack. They included Weibo, Tencent, Phoenix Media, Baidu, and others. But this moment of supposed reflection ignored the deeper roots of extreme nationalism in the public discourse of the Chinese party-state, which for years has nurtured a sense of nationalist outrage over the imagined slights of foreign countries, including Japan in the United States, and has turned the blind eye to extreme nationalist sentiment online. 

In its statement on June 29, Tencent said it would “strike out” against language that “incites confrontation between China and Japan and provokes ultra-nationalism.” In language that echoed frequent statements from the Cyberspace Administration of China (CAC), the country’s top internet control body, Phoenix Media pledged to combat extreme nationalism, distortion and exaggeration, and “maintain favorable and orderly information content, and create a clear and bright online environment.” 

State media feted these statements of apparent self-reflection and resolve, even as they chastised online platforms for their past lapses. The state-run Global Times, an outlet under the CCP’s official People’s Daily that for decades has made nationalism its primary selling point, condemned social media platforms that have “not only tolerated such content, but have even encouraged it” in a bid to boost views and revenue. 

In a post to Weibo, former Global Times editor-in-chief and public opinion leader Hu Xijin said he considered the release of the platform statements as proof of the government’s resolute stance on the issue. He dismissed the forces of extreme nationalism as fringe elements working against cool-headed international engagement: “Right now there are certain extreme voices online that work together to create momentum in public opinion, and this has bewitched some people at the grassroots.” 

Grassroots, or Political Roots? 

The suggestion by Hu Xijin and others that extreme nationalist voices are noisy exceptions shows an extreme lack of self awareness at the exact moment we are being told that China is in a moment of self-reflection. 

In its coverage of the platform statements, Singapore’s Lianhe Zaobao (聯合早報) questioned the assertion from China’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs (MFA) that the incident in Suzhou was “incidental.” The outlet noted that there has been an upsurge in anti-Japanese rumors on China’s internet since last year in particular, and these have followed a broader pattern of xenophobic nationalism. Specifically, rumors were rampant last year that Japanese schools in China are engaged in malicious activities against China’s national interests, including cultivating spies working for Japan.

Despite the talk of incidental nationalism, any regular user of Chinese social media might have the sense that it is awash with nationalist sentiment. And while much of this has no direct affiliation with the state, China’s government has constantly peddled nationalism from center stage. On June 28, as Ministry of Foreign Affairs spokesperson Mao Ning responded to a question about the Suzhou incident, she held up the tragic death of Hu Youping (胡友平), the Chinese bus driver who died defending the Japanese woman and her child, as evidence of “the spirit of the Chinese people to act bravely and help others.” This remark set the tone for state media coverage that day. 

Despite the talk of incidental nationalism, any regular user of Chinese social media might have the sense that it is awash with nationalist sentiment.

In the question immediately preceding the one about Suzhou, however, Mao Ning was asked by a broadcast reporter for state media what the government’s response was to the latest release of treated nuclear wastewater from the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear power plant. Mao responded with typical sternness on an issue that the Chinese government has played up endlessly to its public, despite findings from the UN’s International Atomic Energy Agency and others that the release meets with international safety standards. “The Japanese side’s insistence on transferring the risk of nuclear contamination to the whole world through the discharge of nuclear contaminated water into the sea constitutes a blatant disregard for the health of all humankind,” said Mao. 

But the most important indication that China’s soul-searching over extreme nationalism is a momentary ripple in the ongoing pattern of state-driven nationalist sentiment comes in the continued coverage in the country’s state media. 

A post from CMG Global News, an official account with more than 48 million followers, whips up fury over Japanese actions against China nearly a century ago ‚ the very day many platforms release statements urging an end to language encouraging divisions between China and Japan.

On June 30, the day after Tencent’s pledge to strike out against those “inciting confrontation between China and Japan (煽动中日对立), China’s flagship state broadcaster CCTV promoted a story on Weibo about Japan’s use of counterfeit currency to destabilize China’s economy ahead of its invasion in the 1930s. While the broadcast report was not particularly sensational in its approach, it drove forward a theme familiar to media consumers in China — that the indignities committed by Japan nearly a century ago are clear and present for all Chinese today. 

If any Chinese Weibo users were in doubt about what they should feel in response to the CCTV story, the post from CMG Global News (总台环球资讯) — an official account for the CCP’s China Media Group that has more than 48 million followers — was enough to get any user steaming. “Ironclad evidence!” it began, before adding a bright red angry face emoticon, and the hashtag: “Japan printed counterfeit banknotes during its invasion to devastate China’s economy!” 

Social media platforms may be feeling the heat over the recent outpouring of extreme nationalism. But the real lesson here is one of moral confusion — that nationalism is to be encouraged until it embarrasses the leadership.

MAGA Communism and the China Grift

“Our country is crumbling,” American influencer Jackson Hinkle says in a YouTube video from March. “The working class have terrible jobs. Our infrastructure is falling apart. Our government is spending hundreds of billions on wars in Ukraine, Taiwan, Israel, everywhere else, and we’re letting all these 7 million illegal migrants come into our country in one year.”

Hinkle is attempting to explain the meaning of “MAGA Communism” to Zhang Weiwei (張維為) of Fudan University’s China Institute, one of the Chinese Communist Party’s favorite propagandists and public intellectuals. The ideology he espouses is a chimera born of two seemingly irreconcilable belief systems: the right-wing nationalism and nativism espoused by former US President Donald Trump — represented by his campaign slogan “Make American Great Again” — and the ostensibly far-left authoritarianism of the Chinese Communist Party.

“What we’re trying to do as MAGA communists,” Hinkle says, “is show the American youth that yes, communism is good… China is the embodiment of it and we should respect them and also try to work with them rather than go to war with them.”

The exchange, conducted at a forum in Moscow and uploaded to Zhang’s YouTube channel, was just one of several Hinkle joined in affiliation with the Guancha Syndicate (觀察者網), an online news portal and China Institute partner closely associated with China’s “new nationalist” movement. At Guancha’s invitation in February, Hinkle also joined a forum in Shanghai attended by some of the country’s top intellectuals.

This strange spectacle begs a simple question: Why is China platforming — indeed, treating as a renowned expert — a 24-year-old whose ideas more closely resemble edgy conspiracy-theory memes than any coherent ideological alternative?

The Horseshoe Game

On the face of it, this appears to be an incomprehensible and out-of-touch choice. But Hinkle’s meteoric rise on social media and his wide target audience seemingly offer authorities in Moscow and Beijing access to swathes of the US population they may have once found unreachable. He appeals both to the left — through his pro-Palestine stance, his identification as a “communist,” and his frequent denunciations of American imperialism — and also to the right, with his anti-“woke” nationalism peppered with invocations of the “deep state” and “globalist” conspiracy theories.

Over the past two years, this approach has earned Hinkle 2.6 million followers on X, plus a few in the Kremlin. More recently, PRC media have also begun to see him as royalty. He has appeared on panels and in interviews alongside well-known figures like Zhang, venture capitalist turned Guancha founder Eric X. Li (李世默), Russian government officials, and Aleksandr Dugin, the far-right political philosopher dubbed “Putin’s brain” by some foreign media.

In March, Hinkle announced, in English and simplified Chinese, that he was opening his own Weibo account. “I’ll be collaborating on content with some of China’s most influential academics & largest social media influencers. Looking forward to building this bridge between our people,” he wrote in a post sent from Moscow. There, his account has become a source for content on Israel-Palestine and US anti-war protests, both for ordinary users and media like RT News, the state-controlled international network funded by the Russian government.

With an election approaching and the US entrenched in two wars increasingly unpopular with the general public, Russia and China are using Hinkle and others like him to further discredit the US government and elicit sympathy for their own regimes.

From Zero to Hero

The fact that any government is assigning so much importance to Hinkle would have been inconceivable just a couple of years ago.

Before Russia invaded Ukraine in early 2022, Hinkle was essentially a nobody. He began his foray into politics as a left-wing environmental activist who ran a failed 2019 campaign for city council in San Clemente, California. It’s unclear when or why, exactly, he took his radical turn, but as Russia’s war on Ukraine pressed on, Hinkle saw a steady rise in visibility for his pro-Putin views as he became part of a network of Western propagandists helping to legitimize Russia’s invasion to foreign audiences.

But his popularity truly took off on Elon Musk’s X thanks to his posts about Israel and Palestine. Since October 2023, Hinkle’s following has grown from about half a million followers to 2.6 million. His personal account has become akin to a content farm, where he mostly shares photos and videos of world leaders or injured Palestinians with short, emoji-laden captions like: “Israel is a TERRORIST STATE,” (31 million views) or “DROP A LIKE if you stand with IRAN!” (3.9 million views). He also engages regularly in homophobia, antisemitism, and denial of the Uyghur genocide in Xinjiang, and has circulated numerous false claims.

His virality and bizarre ideology have earned him interviews with right-wing media personalities like Tucker Carlson and Alex Jones, as well as former CNN anchor Chris Cuomo, who as suspended by the network in 2021, and left-wing British MP George Galloway, plus a recent profile in The New York Times. Hinkle has not disclosed how much money he makes from his posts, but the social data intelligence company Notus estimates he collects more than 4,000 dollars per month in advertising revenue.

Despite its profitability, MAGA communism “at its core is a working-class movement,” according to Hinkle. “It’s the first time we’ve had class consciousness reintroduced in the American political debate for decades.” Its target demographic is the “MAGA movement” itself: “working-class individuals that feel as though they’ve been screwed over by the establishment, whether it’s the warmongers, whether it’s big pharma, whether it’s Wall Street.”

At an event announcing a new think tank earlier this year, “MAGA communism” founder Haz Al-Din explained that America is failing because it is run by “a small cartel of American capitalists” who represent “foreign interests.” In a similar vein, Hinkle says that America should instead look to countries like China and Russia, which are “much nicer, much cleaner, much safer, have no homeless, [and] have better infrastructure” while at the same time “are not waging imperialist for-profit wars.” They discuss the dream of a “multipolar world” to replace American “unipolarity” with the help of financial institutions like BRICS. Though MAGA communists stress that they disagree with some of Trump’s positions, they have recently become bolder in advocating for him, claiming he is “the only candidate working to build global peace.”

Strange Bedfellows

Hinkle seems to be an extreme example of “tankie” leftism, referring to Marxist-Leninists who support acts of violent repression as long as they’re done by regimes in their camp. Others have called him a right-wing grifter exploiting the crisis in Gaza to spread misinformation and gain an online following. But what Hinkle echoes most familiarly, as Ben Lorber explains in a recent piece for Jewish Currents, is a long tradition of conservative nativism and “America First” nationalism gaining ground in pockets of the MAGA right among figures like Carlson, Candace Owens, and Steve Bannon.

“There’s this sort of horseshoe dynamic going on where the further left or the further right you go, you sort of meet in the middle and the CCP seems to be comfortable dealing with either extremity as long as it aligns with the CCP’s view,” said Fergus Ryan, a senior analyst at the Australian Strategic Policy Institute (ASPI).

Code Pink, Code Red

English-language media in the PRC, particularly the generously-funded CGTN, have been platforming foreign “tankie”-esque figures like Galloway, Calla Walsh, and Jeffrey Sachs with increasing regularity. Andy Boreham, a New Zealander who hosts the English-language show “Reports on China” with the Shanghai Daily, seems lately to be increasingly comfortable espousing far-right views, expressing sympathy for Trump and praising far-right commentator Andrew Tate for “helping China spread the word.” Boreham also recently released a 37-minute interview with Hinkle. In Europe, China has succeeded in courting both the far-right and far-left, with Hungary’s Viktor Orban emerging as a close ally.

“The Communist Party doesn’t have any political principles so they have no difficulty identifying with people identifying as far right or far left, even people as being avowedly anti-Chinese. They are extremely practical to a fault in thinking about who their collaborators might be,” says Eli Friedman, an assistant professor of sociology at Cornell University who studies labor and social movements in China.

The CCP’s ethnonationalist tendencies and positions on issues like immigration and gender make its positioning closer to that of Russia, Trump, and the Republican party than the American right may like to admit, “a big exception being how they approach this question about empire,” Friedman says. It was for those issues and his nationalistic, “strongman” style that Trump gained his share of Chinese fans during his presidency.

Hinkle and Zhang Weiwei in Moscow.

In China, Hinkle is so far being platformed only by the tight-knit circle of propagandists surrounding Zhang’s China Institute and Guancha, which is not directly controlled by the CCP but abides closely by government narratives. It is unclear who invited Hinkle to China and who is translating his posts into Chinese for Weibo, but The New York Times reported that he “visited Russia and China this year at the invitation of organizations close to the governments.”

“The combination of him having such an influential account on X and him already being sort of vetted in a way by the Russian Foreign Ministry and Dugin would help make any decision by this Guancha Syndicate group to invite him onto panels,” Ryan said.

Engagement is Everything

The appeal to more extreme voices in the Chinese media reflects its commercialization and a growing need for more engaging and controversial content, says Maria Repnikova, a researcher of China’s political communication at Georgia State University. In that way, it may be taking notes from Russia.

“[It’s] interesting to consider how much RT is a model, is an inspiration of an alternative propaganda platform that has been arguably more successful. This matrix might have influenced this approach as well in China,” she said.

Israel’s war on Gaza has become a useful tool in bolstering China’s existing narratives that position the US as a hypocritical warmonger in contrast with China as a peacemaker. And as a particularly contentious election approaches, Israel and Gaza are featuring prominently Chinese “Spamoflage” campaigns, according to findings by the Institute for Strategic Dialogue (ISD). These efforts have pivoted from standard “Spamoflauge” activity — first detected in 2017 in connection to China’s Ministry of Public Security — toward a more explicitly right-wing, pro-Trump “MAGA” perspective, posting real and AI-generated photos and videos on “culture war” issues alongside pro-CCP narratives. Many of these accounts have shared posts from Jackson Hinkle and related influencers.

Researchers say these campaigns aim to amplify existing divisions rather than sway the election in either direction. Some such posts have garnered significant engagement. In one notable example, Alex Jones shared a post by what ISD identified as a Chinese “Spamoflauge” account on X claiming that “Biden and the CIA had sent a neo-Nazi leader to fight in Ukraine with the Azov Battalion,” a claim that originated on Russia’s RT News. However, that strategy appears to have been largely ineffective.

The Paper debunks Hinkle’s claim.

Hinkle’s ideology would appear to align well with that of Chinese nationalists, but he hasn’t achieved popularity within China. Many see straight through his grift: when the false claim that Hamas had killed an Israeli sniper circulated on Chinese social media last November, state-backed The Paper traced the claim to Hinkle and called him a “spreader of false information.” “I get high blood pressure just watching Jackson Hinkle for one minute,” one Weibo user commented. “I don’t know why every site is pushing him.”

His long-term resonance among Americans is up in the air, too. Some tech research companies have found that a significant number of his followers are likely fakes and that his posts have been amplified by networks of inauthentic accounts, some of which have previously posted unrelated content in Chinese. A look at his presence on other platforms reveals much smaller followings; after Hinkle was kicked off YouTube, he moved to Rumble, where view counts on his videos rarely surpass the tens of thousands. Offline, he remains relatively unknown.

His ideology, too, leaves much to be desired from both the left and the right. A left-leaning audience may be fooled by his seemingly pro-Palestine viral posts, but a deeper look into Hinkle’s ideology exposes no more solidarity for Palestinians than a strategic placement of a Palestinian flag during a speech in which he makes a clear reach to the right in focusing almost exclusively on Israel’s crimes against Christians. What CCP media attempt to portray as solidarity with Palestine, too, is negated by China’s close economic relationship with Israel and exchanges on “anti-terror” strategies and surveillance technology.

In the end, Hinkle seems to be a much dearer friend to the Kremlin, which has been far more successful in courting the American right. China seems as though it wants to replicate that success, but it has a problem: Russia, unlike China, does not pose a credible threat to American dominance. “For people on the right in America, it’s a question of the ordering of principles. For them, the preeminent principle is American dominance. Then they can’t compromise with China,” says Cornell’s Friedman.