At his QQ comic blog, cartoonist Fan Jianping (范建平) sketches his thoughts as new stocks of melamine tainted milk powder are found in Gansu, Qinhai and Jilin almost two years after the Sanlu milk scandal was exposed in September 2008. The “grandma” wolf, holding a basket with packets labeled “melamine milk powder,” feeds an infant with a bottle labeled “problem milk.”
At his QQ.com weblog, Chinese cartoonist Fan Jianping (范建平) explores the hypocrisy of over-consuming Americans who rely on a busy Chinese manufacturing sector churning out cheap goods, and who turn around and blame China for polluting the environment. In the cartoon, an American sits atop a pile of consumer goods, pointing his finger accusingly at the Chinese industrial complex across the way: “You are over-polluting!”
On July 23, 2010, Xinjiang journalist Gehret Niyaz was sentenced to 15 years in prison for the crime of “endangering national security.” This is the stiffest sentence we have seen for any journalist in China in recent years. While his defense lawyers have launched an appeal, the case has prompted an international campaign for his support. Inside China, scores of intellectuals put their necks on the line last week by issuing an open call for “the release of the Xinjiang journalist, and respect for freedom of expression.”
But media in Hong Kong have been eerily silent on the Niyaz case.
After the verdict was handed down, most Hong Kong media settled on Reuters and BBC wire content. There was little follow-up coverage, and no attempt to dig deeper into the story. The only notable exception was coverage by Yazhou Zhoukan (Asia Weekly). It so happens that one of the reasons Niyaz was found guilty was that he granted an exclusive interview to Yazhou Zhoukan after last year’s July 5 riots in Urumqi.
This is one reason Niyaz’s fate deserves much greater attention from the people of Hong Kong. The use of an interview with Hong Kong media as evidence in proving guilt amounts to killing a chicken to frighten the monkeys. It is a warning to the Xinjiang and Chinese public that talking to media from outside China could land someone in Jail. This has a chilling effect on news gathering activities by Hong Kong media inside China.
Niyaz is a public intellectual who has the right to speak his mind. He is also entitled to a fair trial. Based on everything we know about Niyaz, he is a journalist and a patriot. As a Uighur, he is also deeply passionate about his people and Xinjiang. On Xinjiang’s ideological spectrum, he is a moderate who is opposed to the separatist cause.
One of the signers of the open letter, Xu Youyu (徐友渔), a prominent liberal academic, told media that, “Everyone believes Niyaz is a moderate voice, that he encourages interaction between Han Chinese and Uyghurs in a spirit of friendship, and that he has a rational approach. We believe that such a rational person is particularly essential to the handling of ethnic issues. And we urgently hope his treatment does not serve as a precedent for similar actions against others.”
It is puzzling that a person of Niyaz’s convictions has become a target of the authorities, and this raises more fundamental questions about the Party’s credibility, and their handle on the situation in Xinjiang.
In his Selected Works, Chair Mao wrote from the outset that “Who are our enemies? Who are our friends? This is a question of the first importance for the revolution.” If the Chinese authorities are incapable of distinguishing its friends from its enemies, how do they expect to win confidence in Xinjiang or anywhere else? How can they possibly formulate workable policies on Xinjiang and issues of ethnic minorities?
51 year-old Gehret Niyaz is a Xinjiang native. He graduated from the Chinese Studies department at the Central University of Nationalities in Beijing. He writes in Chinese, and works for the party-state press. He was formerly head of editorial desk at Xinjiang Legal News, a reporter for Xinjiang Economic News, and an editor and manager at Uighur Online. Xinjiang Legal News is published by Xinjiang Daily, the official paper of the Xinjiang party leadership.
Niyaz was detained on October 1, 2009, and he was sentenced in a closed trial. Chinese authorities have revealed nothing about the trial proceedings.
It is fair to say that Niyaz is a “party media” journalist, and everything about his public statements and background suggest he should be considered a “friend” by the CCP. His weblog, “The Cultural Perspectives of a Uighur Journalist,” still available on the Web, provides a glimpse into his thinking.
For example, Niyaz fiercely criticizes Uyghur businesswoman and activist Rebiya Kadeer, who is much hated by the CCP, charging that she has “no head for politics” and that “she cannot represent the interests of the Uighur people.” Kadeer has been singled out by Chinese authorities as “an outside terrorist and a prominent proponent of separatism and extremism,” as well as the “black hand” behind the July 5, 2009, unrest in Urumqi.
In his writings on affairs in Xinjiang, Niyaz is frank about problems of his own people living in the mainland — for example, drug use and trafficking, prostitution, organized crime, and so forth. He has encouraged the leadership in Xinjiang to tackle these problems head on.
And Niyaz does not mince words in his criticism of the local authorities in Xinjiang: “To put it less politely, if the authorities do not put the people first, if they do not resolve these social problems that bring increasingly disastrous consequences . . . the top party leadership and government officials might just as well return home and eat their sweet potatoes,” he writes.
In his blogs, Niyaz’s writes about Uighur culture and history, and relations with Han Chinese. His tone is always moderate, inclusive and reasoned.
Ilham Tohti, an economics professor at the Central Nationalities University in Beijing and director of Uighur Online, told ABC Radio Australia: “He [Niyaz] should be someone just like the government people. He holds the same views as the government. He thinks of himself as a cadre trained by the Chinese Communist Party. I never imagined that the authorities would take measures against him like they have.”
Niyaz’s remarks after Urumqi riots were among the most objective and factual available, deserving of careful consideration by state leaders. Instead, his well-meant words have been leveled against him as evidence of his crimes.
In his interview with Yazhou Zhoukan, Niyaz mentioned that the day before the riots he sent warnings to local authorities. On July 5, the day of the riots, he met with high-level Xinjiang leaders to suggest that authorities should take urgent action to address popular discontent and to prevent violence. His suggestions were ignored. According to media reports, Niyaz admitted his interview with Yazhou Zhoukan during his trial, but said his intentions were good and that he was only acting as a responsible citizen and journalist.
So far, most of the reports on the Niyaz case have come from online media and blogs, from Western human rights groups, and from foreign media, including ABC Radio Australia and Deutsche Welle.
Reporting on Xinjiang is difficult and requires sustained effort. But the Hong Kong media can do much more. This is their professional obligation as media working in a free society.
Three other journalists from Uighur Online were also found guilty in July of “endangering national security” and were given sentences of between 3 and 10 years. We call on prosecuting authorities in China conduct a fair and transparent review of the Niyaz case and the cases involving the three online journalists. This is the only way for the Chinese government to allay public concerns and to defend its own credibility.
A version of this article appeared in Chinese in Hong Kong Economic Times.
In late July 2010, a video surfaced on the Internet of a young man in Shanghai crawling under a train and filming it as it pulled over him into the station. The video generated massive traffic in China and ignited a debate online and in the traditional media about why someone would, well, want to do something so stupid. In this cartoon, the man holds his “DV” camera and shouts “I’ve got it on film!” as the train bears down on him.
If I had a dime for every time I heard someone argue that the Chinese people are apolitical and don’t give a rat’s backside about democracy. If you think that’s true, you’re not paying attention. Sure, an errant question to a taxi driver in Guangzhou — “Do you care about politics?” — might elicit an expression of indifference. But recent history shows that this same driver could be spearheading a transport strike next week — which means you asked the wrong question.
Democracy — or have we forgotten? — is about engagement and participation. And one of the most interesting and exciting things about China today is the level of engagement that does happen in spite of its restrictive political culture. Real political participation may be impossible in China, but people of all stripes and shades keep on pushing nonetheless.
Chinese journalists know this only too well. Formally speaking, China’s government has never relinquished any ground in terms of media control — and yet, independent-minded journalists, like New Century News editor-in-chief Hu Shuli (胡舒立) and investigative reporter Wang Keqin (王克勤), have actively muscled their way into new professional terrain. Why? Because they care about their country, and they believe that there must be mechanisms to check the expansion of blind, self-interested power.
The legacy and impact of authoritarianism is also a fact, of course, but engagement is a real Chinese mega-trend, and it is not confined, as many insist on believing, to a handful of educated elites.
Consider a story that played in China’s media last week, but which strangely had no attention whatsoever from foreign media. I read the story first in The Beijing News, not exactly an obscure newspaper, and when I searched for English stories several days later I was exasperated to find that the only English-language report at all was from the Global Times, which actually did some of their own reporting too.
So we have a story about a “democratic” election gone wrong, complete with hundreds of politically engaged villagers and their own popular candidate, and 200 riot police thrown in for good measure — and it happened right under everyone’s feet, in the urban outskirts of China’s capital city.
On July 27, Raolefu Village (饶乐府村) in Beijing’s Fangshan District — the Global Times reports the name of the village as Yaole (?) — held an election for its village head. There were two candidates, one an ordinary villager and the other the village’s party secretary who had been concurrently serving as village head. (This cadre, Wei Jiandong, has held both top positions in the village for eight years, according to the Global Times, so I would suspect there are some interesting back stories on possible abuse of power here too).
When the voting results were in, the villager had received 1,025 ballots and Party Secretary Wei had received 963. But because, apparently according to Wei himself, who was probably running the election committee, neither candidate had 50 percent of the 2,058 ballots the election committee had received, the results of the election were nullified in accordance with regulations, which state that a candidate must have more than 50 percent of the votes in order to win an election.
But clearly, something sneaky was going on. When Party Secretary Wei announced that the counting was done, votes counted for the two candidates fell 52 ballots short of the total number of ballots received by the election committee (18 or so ballots were reportedly omitted, for reasons unknown).
Raolefu villagers insisted that the election results were fraudulent, and they demanded a recount, even guarding the ballot box through the night. Their demands were ignored by the election committee. The standoff turned nasty when local leaders dispatched 200 policemen to the scene. The police forcibly took the ballot box from villagers and loaded it into a waiting police vehicle. But villagers surround the vehicle to prevent it from leaving. As a result, police carted off eight villagers on criminal charges of “creating transportation havoc and disturbing social order.”
Anyone interested in exploring this story might also have taken advantage of any number of “experts” commenting on its significance in Chinese-language media. Here, for example, are some remarks by Shao Jian (邵建), a professor at Nanjing Xiaozhuang University who wrote a piece called, “Puppet elections are not democracy,” on August 21, 2010.
It’s fair to say that democracy is a century-long dream of the Chinese people. And the ecology of democracy [and how it works] is something that deserves to receive more attention from us . . .
Judging from the sidelines, this [situation in Fangshan] was clearly an election that was manipulated by the powers that be. If their own candidate was not popularly elected, they could just weasel him in. The legitimacy of power should arise from the elective process, and yet it was power, in this case, that aborted this entire election process. The district and neighborhood governments should be held fully accountable in this case. Remember, election rights are the most important political rights citizens have, and these villagers are standing up and being responsible for this right, which hasn’t come easy — they want elect the candidate they wish to elect. That is the only reason why they have protested against this clear case of fraud. Though they are clearly within their reasonable rights, what do they get in return? Not only are they unable to get at the truth behind the election, but eight villagers are detained on criminal charges.
It is clear from news reports that district representatives went to the scene four separate times to discuss matters with the villagers, but they could not reach an understanding. That’s when they sent in the police. The villagers had done nothing illegal, so why mobilize the police? What right did police have to take away that ballot box before the problem had been worked out? On top of it, the criminal detentions were based on a total pretense . . . The villagers were entirely within their constitutional rights to protect the ballot box. The local government and police were highly unreasonable in their attempts to resolve the election standoff. Strictly speaking, this is a political problem in and of itself, revealing the sort of attitude local officials have toward democracy.
In public life today, elections are the most important manifestation of so-called democracy. If elections are fraudulent, then the democracy they purport to realize is fraudulent. I don’t care whether or not this election fraud is a low probability occurrence in our public life or a high probability occurrence. What I am saying is that this case gives us a lot to think about, and we should not let it go so easily.
I find this story fascinating, and I would love to know more. But apparently it doesn’t meet news selection criteria — not like a story about China’s economy overtaking Japan’s, or a train carriage plunging into raging floodwaters.
FURTHER READING:
“China’s Wen calls for political reform,” AFP, August 22, 2010
Luo Jie (罗杰), a cartoonist whose work often appears in the English-language China Daily, illustrates the dramatic challenges facing traditional print media in the new media age, as Newsweek magazine, facing serious financial problems, is sold to tycoon Sidney Harman for one dollar.
Writing at his Sohu.com blog, CMP fellow and rights defense lawyer Pu Zhiqiang (浦志强) tells the harrowing story of eight villagers in the county-level city of Qinyang (沁阳), Henan Province. The villagers, several of whom were jailed on “slander” charges in 2009 after distributing materials alleging wrongdoing by local leaders, and whose case received national attention, continue to suffer reprisals from local officials.
Most recently, the children of two of the petitioners have been denied school textbooks. The Supreme People’s Procuratorate, China’s top agency for prosecution and investigation, recently issued a statement against the use of slander charges by local governments to address criticisms made against leaders. But, as the old saying goes, “The dragon cannot flush the snakes from their holes.” Local leaders will do as they please.
Click HERE for the full blog entry in Chinese.
One day back in July, an old woman in the city of Bell, a community located in Los Angeles County, stumbled across a document listing off the salaries of the local mayor and other city officials while she was rummaging through the garbage. She was shocked to find that in this city whose per capita income stands at roughly one-half of the American average, the city manager was drawing a salary of US$787,637 (higher than the salary earned by President Obama). The police chief was earning US$457,000 (US$150,000 higher than that of the chief of the Los Angeles Police Department).
Stranger still, four City Council members, who had only limited part-time responsibilities, were drawing salaries of US$97,000 each. Generally, city officials in small communities like this, who need only attend occasional meetings and vote yeah and nay, are paid around US$400.
It goes without saying that America is a country where democratic institutions are highly developed. Local areas in the United States are self-governing, and in cities like Bell, the city manager and members of the city council are elected by local voters.
How could such a flagrant case of self-aggrandizement occur on a democratically elected city council?
The reason, as it turns out, is local sovereignty itself. The salaries and benefits of officials serving in city governments like this are determined by the city council. Bell is an area suffering from poverty, and local voters are not sufficiently clued in to local affairs. As a result, people were blind to the actions of the city council.
Though close to Los Angeles, Bell is a small community drawing little attention. The media too were derelict in their duties. As a result, city council members were able to use their voting rights to award themselves exorbitant salaries.
Cold indifference to politics is a common problem in developed nations. But such exploitation of indifference for personal gain is rare and surprising.
Under our present political system in China, we don’t see officials awarding themselves higher salaries. As citizens, however, we harbor all kinds of doubts about our government officials and their sources of income.
It’s impossible for us to know just how much “grey income” Chinese officials scoop up by exploiting their positions of power. Why don’t we know? Because so far we have no effective laws to ensure the transparency of the incomes of government officials. Official incomes are a terrain completely beyond our scrutiny.
So while Chinese leaders cannot award themselves higher salaries, they can employ all sorts of tactics shielded from the public to line their own pockets. Government officials with paltry incomes manage to afford palatial homes, drive fancy sedans, deck themselves out in elite brands and enjoy the very best liquor and tobacco.
In real terms, the benefits China’s officials accrue by virtue of their unsupervised power almost certainly dwarfs the salaries officials in the city of Bell decided to award themselves.
Government power tends to be self-aggrandizing by its very nature, a potentially monstrous Leviathan. It need only be handed the opportunity and it will enlarge itself and seek its own interests.
The matter of salaries was the first to be debated during the first meeting of China’s legislature, held after China’s Xinhai Revolution brought an end to the Qing Dynasty. What decision did the legislature make? Flying in the face of suspicion, these framers of Chinese democracy awarded themselves monthly salaries of 500 yuan. In those days, six yuan was sufficient to support a large family. This amount was preposterously high. But the public and the media were totally oblivious, and so the process of self aggrandizement began.
Supervision is the only way power can be turned away from self-interest. Power beyond the public gaze grows dangerous and avaricious. This is true in China, and it is equally true in America.
The revelation of the dirty secret in the city of Bell happened because an old woman scavenging in the garbage was mindful of her own rights. Once the media became involved, the problem was quickly resolved. The city officials involved were given 90 percent salary cuts. The city manager pledged not to accept payment for his work. All of them will serve out their terms in disgrace, and in all likelihood none will stand again as candidates.
The Bell case has jostled many Americans awake. They realize anew that if they don’t keep their eyes trained on their elected leaders, those leaders will see greedily to their own interests.
This article originally appeared in Chinese at Shanghai Morning Post.
Under the leadership of founding editor Hu Shuli (胡舒立), Caijing magazine was for close to a decade an undisputed leader of professional journalism in China. The publication was a rare example in China of a magazine focusing on business and finance, with hard-hitting investigative reporting on business corruption, for example, but also strong in its coverage of current affairs.
Hu Shuli’s resignation from Caijing in late 2009 after a dispute with the magazine’s owner over editorial control was rued by many journalists as a sign of China’s worsening press environment, where political pressures squeeze media from the top while commercial interests squeeze them from beneath. And there were concerns too, as Hu Shuli walked off with the core members of her professional editorial staff at Caijing to pilot a new magazine, New Century News, that this spelled the end of Caijing as a leader in professional journalism.
Caijing has fared rather well, however, under the leadership of a new team of top editors, including CMP fellow Jin Liping (靳丽萍).
One of the strengths of Hu Shuli’s Caijing was its ability to report on public health issues (like the 2003 SARS epidemic) and disasters (like the 2008 Sichuan earthquake), and the magazine’s coverage of disastrous mudslides in Zhouqu, Gansu Province, is an encouraging sign that it has not lost touch with this tradition.
Hopefully, Caijing‘s coverage will serve as an example to other media in China to raise their professional game as the CCP pushes for the dominance of core central party media in the reporting of sudden-breaking news incidents — and actively discourages exploration into the deeper story.
The following is a selected translation of a recent report for Caijing filed by reporters Ouyang Hongliang (欧阳洪亮), Hu Jianlong (胡剑龙) and Wei Xue (韦雪) from Zhouqu. Our translation accounts for roughly a quarter of the report.
The heady smell of corpses permeates this small city tucked away in a mountain valley. Now and again comes the sound of passersby retching as they clutch their noses.
The lower floors of many of the buildings are completely buried in the thick mud. The boss of one corner store roots down into a shelf buried to the top in mud and manages to fish out soiled boxes of Furongwang brand cigarettes and Tuopai Wine. This 40-something man, in the prime of his life, lets out gentle gasping sobs as he wipes the mud carefully from the packages.
It is the third day since the disastrous mudslides struck Zhouqu, in Gansu Province. The urban disaster area is a boundless and desolate expanse of mud. Under the scorching hot sun, bubbles form in the pools that gather in the low-lying areas, where flies flit about over water colored with blood.
Team after team of firemen, police, officials, soldiers gather in the midst of this muddy expanse. They use picks and shovels to dig holes down ten feet and more, clearing away the corpses. Each time rending shouts and weeping surge up signals that yet another body has been uncovered.
Family members, covered head to foot in mud, grasp on to each other at the openings in the mud as they exhume their loves ones, first the hands or the feet. All seem insensible to the stench of the corpses. In places where whole families fell, kinsfolk undertake the search, or friends, or colleagues. Some keep funeral clothing folded out at the digging site, ready to cover the bodies once they are dug free.
It’s impossible to imagine that it was quiet and peaceful here just days ago. That there were shops and homes here among the green trees. That the twisting streets were crowded and bustling with people. That sunlight shone upon the eight great red characters on the mountainside above the Bailong River: “A hidden jewel on the river, the natural spring city of Zhouqu” (藏乡江南，泉城舟曲).
The mudslide that roared through this place in the deep of night claimed at least 1,156 lives. But this number counts only the long-term residents, and migrant workers, so difficult to count, have not entered into these statistics.
It will be written into the history of Chinese disasters, that on August 7, 2010, at 11:50 p.m., after a thunderstorm swept through this area, close to two million square meters of mud came coursing down through Three Eye Canyon at the head of Zhouqu and destroyed half of the city.
This is a county seat that has, for a thousand years, lived alongside the danger of mudslides. This is a disaster that has ever existed and yet been ignored. This city lost touch with its senses through each step of expansion, and a blindness to disaster prevention, monitoring and warning meant that disaster swallowed up the city’s ill-prepared residents.
In China, there are at least 150 cities at the county level and above that face the danger of mudslides . . . As our cities boom and expand, as our cities expand chaotically, as the destructive cost to the natural environment grows heavier, and as disaster preparedness and early warning lag behind — all of these greatly increase the dangers of mudslides.
The pain and senseless death of Zhouqu, the loss of innocent life, the flesh and blood, stand to us as a warning, as a warning and a prelude. They ask: can we deliver ourselves from this cycle?
Crowning Calamity
The signal suddenly dropped on the phone.
When the mudslide occurred, Liu Jiqin’s (刘吉琴) nephew was talking on the phone with his girlfriend. The last thing the girl heard was someone shouting that the electricity was out, and when she called back there was a caller unavailable message. There is no way to find him now. The two had planned to marry on August 15. She’s wept for three days straight, and won’t eat or drink a thing.
A light rain was coming down on the night of August 7, and they went off to bed like any other night . . .
In fact, the fate of this county town, built itself on a mudslide, has always been inextricably linked to mudslides.
According to geological records, Zhouqu County has 43 danger points that are prone to slides, and the Bailong River Canyon is where slides have happened most frequently. The urban area of Zhouqu is the area in the county where landslide damage is most severe . . .
In the more than 180 years since records began in 1823, there have been 11 major mudslides in Three Eye Canyon, all doing substantial damage to the town. The most recent major disasters were in 1989 and 1992. Smaller mudslides happen every year on average . . .
Ecological Environment Imbalanced
The destruction of vegetation [in this area] has exacerbated the dangers of mudslides.
The eight characters — “A hidden jewel on the river, the natural spring city of Zhouqu” — still hang on the mountainside in Zhouqu, but the naked hillsides and the devastation of this most recent mudslide belie the good name of this “hidden jewel.”
According to the Zhouqu County Records, “Zhouqu is a mountainous terrain, with peaks rising one over the other and a land of sprawling green . . . In the 1950s the county was covered with lush forests, a picturesque scene of hills and waters, with crisp and clear air . . . Subsequent wide-scale logging destroyed the forests . . . and erosion became a serious problem.”
Historical records make clear that while Zhouqu was once a place fresh and green, several decades of chaotic exploitation raped the forest resources here. Before the national government banned logging here in 1998, logging accounted for 95 percent of Zhouqu’s economy . . .
Three Eye Canyon, where this most recent mudslide occurred, was also once covered in dense forests, with large trees that shut out the sunlight. But in the 1980s these too were destroyed. Most of the homes in the neighboring villages were built with wood from Three Eye Canyon. It was not until after the Wenchuan earthquake of 2008, [which also affected this area], that these were rebuilt using bricks.
According to available statistics, Zhouqu County’s logging industry was sustained until 1990 and an estimated 1,265 square kilometers of forest were cut down, and most areas were left with only shriveling secondary growth. With the added destruction wrought by illegal cutting, Zhouqu’s original forest coverage of 67 percent fell to 20 percent. With the destruction of the forests, the entire ecological system met with extreme devastation.
Zhouqu’s resource advantage shifted quickly from logging into hydropower and mining. According to media reports, logging was stopped in 1998, and after the year 2000 Zhouqu began an aggressive program of hydropower station construction along the Bailong River and its tributaries. Up to now, 55 hydropower stations have been approved in Zhouqu County, with a total installed capacity of 540,000 kilowatts. Twenty-seven of these have already been constructed . . .
Mining for ore deposits is now the way of life in Zhouqu. According to official statistics, “this county’s mineral resources are rich and abundant, and the prospects for exploitation are vast.” . . .
[THERE IS A LARGE SECTION HERE ON URBAN EXPANSION]
Insufficient Early Warning
As the old saying goes, “Like a blind man riding a blind horse, and arriving in the deep of night.” And so the city expanded, its people insensible to the grave danger that loomed at their side.
That night, 40 migrant workers were sleeping in tents at the mouth of the canyon. They had been working on a dam repair project along a road heading into Three Eye Canyon. As the mudslide approached they had no idea. The lowest of the tents were carried away by the mud, and 8 workers lost their lives.
Since the 1992 mudslide, 18 years had passed and Zhouqu had experienced nothing of its kind. But the monster was quietly gathering its force, and the geological dangers were always there. If there had been more timely warning and management, more people might have been spared.
Liang Zhiheng (黎志恒), head of the Gansu Geological and Environmental Monitoring Center, believes that if a comprehensive and effective early-warning system had been in place, the mudslide could have been predicted at least 40 minutes before it occurred.
In fact, on the night of the disaster, thunderstorms had battered the mountains since around 8 p.m. They had fallen for a full three hours, but only light rain had fallen in Zhouqu itself. During these three hours, from the time of the thunderstorms in Three Eye Canyon to the time of the mudslide, there were no warnings at all.
Local villagers say that since mudslide monitoring stations were withdrawn from Three Eye Canyon in 1997, the more than 10 kilometer long stretch of the canyon has been devoid of people. Along the entire expanse of the canyon there is now only a temple at the peak, in which lives a monk in his seventies. Perhaps only he knew at the first moment that a mudslide was about to occur, but there is no phone in the temple, and it’s a journey of roughly three hours from the peak down to the city.
