Now Executive Director of the China Media Project, leading the project’s research and partnerships, David originally joined the project in Hong Kong in 2004. He is the author of Dragons in Diamond Village (Penguin), a book of reportage about urbanization and social activism in China, and co-editor of Investigative Journalism in China (HKU Press).
Lu Xun’s short story Diary of a Madman, published almost a century ago, ends famously with the appeal: “Save the children!” In an age of social media the Chinese writer surely never envisioned, has this rallying cry found its most potent means and support?
One of the biggest domestic stories of the week in China has been a grassroots, web-based initiative to locate abducted children and reunite them with their parents. Dubbed the “take a picture” movement, the initiative calls on Chinese internet users to photograph children seen begging on the streets and post these photos with time and location on special community groups formed through Twitter-like “microblog” platforms (or weibo) at QQ.com and Sina.com. [Roland Soong is posting copiously on this story in China, and his translations are well worth a read].
So far the movement, launched by CMP fellow and Chinese Academy of Social Sciences professor Yu Jianrong (于建嵘), who has a reputation for uniting social research with social action, is credited with locating 6 children. In one of the first signs of the government grappling with the swell of opinion around this issue, the Public Security Bureau called yesterday on police around the country to “staunchly prevent such crimes from occurring.”
But while the response from Chinese citizens seems so far to have been overwhelming supportive of Yu Jianrong’s inspired idea, there are also isolated voices of dissent who are raising some very valid doubts.
On February 9, Hecaitou (和菜头), a prominent Chinese internet writer, provocatively likened China’s unquestioning internet masses to the children in the legend of the Pied Piper of Hamelin, who follow the piper right out of town. Everyone, in other words, is jumping on the bandwagon — and no one is asking some very basic questions.
Hecaitou takes issue with the logic and economics of one of the fundamental premises of the “take a picture” movement, the notion that children in China are being routinely abducted, then mutilated by their keepers to ensure they become more pitiable and profitable beggars:
Buying an abducted child happens because one lacks a child. Begging happens because one lacks a means of livelihood. No matter how you figure it, whether from the standpoint of risk or cost, abducting a child then handicapping them in order to turn them to begging is something that can only be a very rare occurrence. But now the whole country is up in arms, as though there is a class of people in China who are willing to spend years slowly creating handicapped children and dragging them all over the place. Moreover, [we suppose] this must be a very profitable business, otherwise why would this group of people dare to face the risk of exposure . . . ?
Hecaitou suggests by implication that it is much more reasonable to suppose the vast majority of abducted children are now living undetected with families that “adopted” them. That’s a tragedy social media will undoubtedly prove less effective in dealing with.
The rights and privacy of individuals are also recurring concerns in the rare instances of dissent over this hot-button issue. Is it right for web users to be photographing child beggars in every corner of the kingdom, then posting their photos online?
In a blog post yesterday, a Chongqing-based blogger writing under the alias “Flying Nuthouse” (飞越疯人院) — “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest”? — argued that the justice-fueled emotions of China’s internet users are little more than a form of cowardice. It is the government they should be monitoring and pressuring, he says, not the poor street urchins and their (illegal) guardians.
The following is a partial translation of the post:
I’ve felt a bit uneasy these past few days, and it’s all because of this “microblog anti-abduction” campaign that has blown up on the Internet leaves me apprehensive.
The “microblog anti-abduction” campaign was launched by Yu Jianrong. This person is known to the world largely for his role in organizing the citizen investigation group that went and probed into the reasons for the death of [village leader and activist] Qian Yunhui (钱云会). The “microblog anti-abduction” campaign is said to have arisen after a woman from Fujian province sought help from Mr. Yu, saying that her child was abducted, turned into a cripple and forced to beg on the streets. Thereupon, Yu Jianrong used his microblog and called on internet users to take up their cameras, take photos of juveniles out begging, and post these on the web, with the idea that these parents might more easily track down their lost children. At the same time he urged internet users to report cases of child begging to the police.
I immediately harbored doubts about Yu Jianrong’s call. What if the child was not being forced in any way but rather was out begging of their own free will? Isn’t taking a picture of someone begging and then posting it on the internet an infringement on their rights?
As soon as I voiced these reservations, I was verbally attacked . . . They said that children shouldn’t be begging, and there was no such thing as children “begging of their own free will.” If a child could not meet the basic needs of existence, then the state should care for them, and they should not be left to beg on the streets.
There is of course of lot of reason in what these web users said. You could say they are entirely right. But this absolutely right response not only failed to dispel my doubts — it could not possibly explain why this photographing [of children] was warranted.
Imagine for a moment a child without means of subsistence — the famous cartoon character San Mao, for example — left to beg on the streets. Not only has the child not received assistance from the government, but their most basic level of dignity has been intruded upon by these internet users. Can this be called humane?
If internet users believe there should be no beggars in our society, and that the government should take responsibility for these child paupers, well then, ather than taking casual pictures of these begging children and post them online, what these internet users puffed up with a sense of justice should do is press their government to take on the responsibility is should have. But the reality is that it’s much easer to trample on the weak than it is to probe those in power. It seems to me that these justice-loving web users much prefer doing things that come easily.
On the eve of Valentine’s Day, artist Shang Haichun (商海春) turns his powers of illustration to the more mundane subject of love — and misunderstanding. In this cartoon, appearing on Shang’s QQ blog, a woman approached by a man bearing a single long-stemmed rose blushes and says: “Oh my! What an unexpected surprise!” The man spouts back: “Relax. I just want to know if you’re interested in buying a rose.”
During the recent Chinese New Year, the Year of the Tiger gave way to the Year of the Rabbit. Given the economic and other woes facing China and the rest of the world in 2010, the Lunar New Year was certainly an occasion to look forward to better and more prosperous times to come. In this cartoon, posted by artist Xu Jun (徐骏) to his blog at QQ.com, a weary and ragged tiger steps out of his burning apartment on crutches and hands the reins over to a very apprehensive rabbit. The tiger clutches his “2010 Work Handover Report,” presumably a record of misery, and says to the rabbit: “Best of luck!”
Two of China’s major Internet news sites, QQ.com and Sina.com, reported prominently today on a grassroots web-based initiative attempting to locate abducted children in China and re-connect them with their families. The initiative, launched on January 25 by CMP fellow Yu Jianrong (于建嵘), a professor at the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, calls on web users to share photos through the dominant QQ and Sina microblog platforms of children around the country who are working as street beggars. Once shared through these platforms, the photos may be matched with police databases or recognized by parents.
Child beggars are an all-too-common sight in major cities in China, where they are often forced to approach passersby and ask for money by chaperoning adults who are not their parents. In some cases, abducted children are sold to couples who cannot have children or prefer boys, but many also end up in positions of virtual slavery, forced to work as beggars.
Within one week of the initial call, close to 1,000 photographs were shared through the microblog groups set up by Yu Jianrong. In a story today from Information Times, a spin-off of Guangzhou Daily, Yu tells the reporter that four children have already been identified from photographs provided by web users, and efforts are now underway to rescue the children.
Soon after the movement got under way, Chen Shiqu (陈士渠), the head of the Child Abduction office of China’s Public Security Bureau, voiced his support on his microblog, providing his contact information, and a number of delegates to the upcoming session of the National People’s Congress said they were preparing to submit a proposal on the issue of child abduction.
QQ.com has now set up a special “Baby Return Home” page for the movement, with a link to the QQ microblog group.
An English-language story from the official Xinhua News Agency on the “photograph a child to stop abduction” movement is available HERE.
This will be an interesting story to watch as it develops. While it certainly demonstrates the power social media can have in addressing an issue of broad social concern — and one that has vexed authorities in China — it also illustrates how such tools might challenge controls on public opinion.
This movement is unofficial, and it is growing rapidly. How will the leadership get behind it? How will the seek to shape it?
Remember, too, that we have the recent ban on the use of the term “civil society.” So we’ll have to see how China’s newspapers discuss this movement and what it signifies.
Headlines in China are now telling us that the recent annual Spring Festival Gala on China Central Television was an immensely popular success. But it’s no secret to anyone that the annual CCTV gala is increasingly falling on deaf and inappreciative ears. On the Internet, this massive show of entertainment, national unity and feel-good cheer has already become the butt of much amusement. According to one telling quip, the gala’s greatest comic impact comes after the show.
It does not take much effort, actually, to realize that CCTV’s Spring Festival Gala has never had an easy time of it so far as pleasing the audience goes.
The primary aim of the event has always been to achieve so-called “closeness to the people,” and this could be glimpsed this year as three performers took to the stage in a blatant appeal to grassroots sympathies. I’m referring to the performance by guitarist Liu Gang (刘刚) and singer Wang Xu (王旭), the duo behind the band Xu Ri Yang Gang (旭日阳刚), who became Internet sensations after stepping into the national spotlight with their rendition of the song “In the Springtime” in the 2010 state film production Labor in Flux. Liu and Wang took the stage with singer Ren Yueli (任月丽), known by her stage name Xidan Girl (西单女孩) and another popular artist born of the Internet.
In an attempt to add to the grassroots feel, the CCTV gala was also sprinkled liberally with Internet slang.
The ordinary Chinese who are the focus of this “closeness,” however, just don’t buy this kind of forced cozying up. These grassroots gestures and slangs are like dragging Cinderella straight off to the royal court. It changes nothing. The royal court is still the royal court, and the commoners resent it nonetheless.
Ultimately, the Spring Festival Gala isn’t something that fills everyone with joy. Even those who manage to get into the actual event are shrink-wrapped with caution, forced to sit stiffly at attention.
We have an ancient saying in China about “teaching through lively activities.” But truly successful instruction through amusement can only happen as an unintentional consequence of arts and entertainment. If the didactic purpose is too intrusive, teaching becomes teaching, and joy can’t find a way in.
Just think, how many of our traditional Chinese dramas could be taken as examples of this idea of teaching through lively activities? Many of them, to be sure. But how many were were created and put on by the government? They were almost all genuine grassroots efforts. In fact, the Chinese gentry rarely took part in them at all.
The way ordinary Chinese see it, the Spring Festival Gala should be a massive celebration for them, a time when everyone can sit back, relax and have a great time. But the host of this celebration has become so serious about the whole thing, and can’t resist the temptation to preach through the performances. This is so woefully removed from public feeling that no matter how “close” the host gets it can never close the gap.
Encroaching seriousness is also evident from the changes made in recent years to spoken comedy acts, which have always been a staple of the Spring Festival Gala and something people have eagerly anticipated. Now, apparently, satire is off limits in these acts, though I’m not exactly sure when this started. In my view, satire is essential to the art of crosstalk, China’s unique brand of stand-up comedy, and without satire crosstalk comes off as soulless.
All acts performing for the Spring Festival Gala are limited in the space they can safely explore. You can imagine the shriveling limitations imposed in terms of both topic and interpretation.
The result is a critical and fundamental departure from the moods and opinions of the people. It’s only natural that through the course of the year people will harbor some form of resentment or feel disgruntled in some way. Enjoying a bit of satire during the annual gala can help them relax a bit and free themselves up.
But when would-be comic acts can only tiptoe around, when they must take care to avoid the pitfalls of [President Hu Jintao’s] “Three Vulgarities,” when they can only seek pleasure in a senseless vacuum, this creates and perpetuates misunderstanding.
The arts and entertainment are products of the spirit. Their closeness to the people isn’t a matter of form, but rather of content, of spiritual energy and meaning. It is no longer possible for the annual Spring Festival Gala, so saddled already with official errands, its planners and performers strapped in tight, to cozy up to the people in earnest.
Nothing in heaven or on earth could save the Spring Festival Gala in its present form. The only possible cure is openness. We 1.3 billion Chinese deserve more than just one Spring Festival gala. We should be able to enjoy a few more celebrations, of all different kinds, with more people actually taking part, so that everyone can relax and have a great time. If that could happen, any sickness might be cured. A version of this editorial originally appeared in the February 5 edition of Southern Metropolis Daily
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SUGGESTED READING:
“Glimpsing [Comedian] Zhao Benshan’s Heart of Fear from This Year’s Spring Festival Gala” (Chinese)
In January 2011 China’s State Council passed in principle a draft regulation that seeks to do away with the widespread practice of forced home demolition to make room for development projects. Forced demolition, or qiang chai (强拆), and its social fallout has been one of the most pernicious issues to haunt China over the past decade, as local government leaders across the country have recklessly seized land and destroyed property in a race to fuel local economic development, and to personally enrich themselves. While state media hailed the new draft regulation as a clear victory in holding the practice of forced demolition at bay, many experts said it would do little — and might even do more harm — without deeper legal and political reforms. We have a round-up of the debate at CMP here. In this cartoon, printed in the English-language China Daily on January 28 and posted to artist Will Luo’s (罗杰) QQ blog, a hulking bulldozer (labeled “violent demolition”) sent to demolish the home of an angry citizen, who shouts in defiance from his rooftop, is held back by a huge iron ball and chain labeled “new law on demolition and eviction.” The caption reads hopefully — remember, China Daily is published by the State Council Information Office — “The promulgation of the new law on demolition and eviction will prove a definite check on instances of violent demolition and eviction.”
The Beijing News reported late last month that six major regional satellite television stations in China were opting against broadcasting China Central Television’s annual Spring Festival gala this year, citing the program’s waning influence and CCTV broadcast fees. Television networks deciding not to broadcast the annual event included Anhui Television, Jiangsu Satellite TV and Hunan Satellite TV. A top advertising manager with Anhui Television said: “This year at least five networks will not broadcast the CCTV Spring Festival Gala, and there are already many stations talking about this issue. Not broadcasting the show should be the trend we see in the future.” The CCTV Spring Festival Gala, an all-night stage show to ring in the Lunar New Year, with acts ranging from traditional dance and pop music to comedy — and a heavy dose of state propaganda — has been a household tradition in China for many years. In this cartoon, posted by artist Shang Haichun (商海春) to his QQ.com blog, a salesman with red lanterns labeled “China Central Television” and “Spring Festival Gala” tries to approach a TV screen labeled “regional TV station” but is turned away by a big hand.
As millions of Chinese make their way home from major cities for the annual Spring Festival, and train and bus tickets remain notoriously scarce, hundreds of thousands of people have resorted to travel by motorbike. An estimated 100,000 people returned home from the southern city of Guangzhou alone on motorbikes. In this cartoon from New Century magazine posted to Caing.com, drawn by Ding Huayong (丁华勇) with text by Qiu Kaijun (邱锴俊), a migrant motorbike rider with a pair of scissors cuts the cord that ties him to China’s rail system, represented by a massive grey figure labelled “China Railways” seated atop a train car, and the motorbike and the train symbolically part ways as the migrant says, “I’m done playing with you.” The head on the massive shoulders of the grey figure is proportionally tiny, presumably a criticism of how inept China’s Ministry of Railways has been in recent years in resolving the problem of insufficient supply during the annual Spring Festival rush.
According to a recent report in Guangzhou’s official Guangzhou Daily newspaper, all official vehicles used by government officials in Guangzhou will be installed with GPS devices designed to help authorities crack down on the personal use of public vehicles (公车私用). While a useful application of technology, one has to wonder whether this method is practical in monitoring anyone but lower-level government bureaucrats. Who, in other words, are the flesh-and-blood human beings sitting behind these monitoring devices? And are they really going to slap the mayor on the hand? In this cartoon, posted by the Kunming-based studio Yuan Jiao Man’s Space (圆觉漫时空) to QQ.com, a black official government sedan, identifiable by its hubcaps in the shape of official red stamps, nervously casts a sidelong glance at a screen labeled “GPS,” on which a large eye hovers.
