So I have to confess. Why concern myself with the fact that it’s impossible to be three different things at once? After all, I do have a wife and a child! So I hereby solemnly confess: I am vulgar; and my son, who I brought into this world, he is cheap; and for my wife to have married me, well that was just tasteless!

In the most recent edition of Guangzhou’s Southern Weekend, CMP fellow Wang Keqin (王克勤) is interviewed about his thoughts and experiences as an investigative reporter in China. Wang speaks principally about the need for more professional and ethical conduct by journalists.
The interview is part of the newspaper’s “Chinese Dream” series.
Southern Weekend‘s interview with economist Wu Jinglian (吴敬琏) on China’s future economic development is also well worth a read:

Southern Weekend: You are perhaps the oldest of China’s investigative reporters. Moreover, you are the most enthusiastic and vigorous of investigative reporters. Judging from your writings, I would say that you see journalism not just as a profession but as a religion.
Wang Keqin: Some have asked me whether if I saw someone fall into the water, my first reaction would be to save them or to photograph the scene. My answer is that the choice is simple. You save the person first. They say, well aren’t you a journalist? And I say, look, I’m sorry, when my mother gave birth to me, I was a human being first and foremost, then a citizen of this society of ours. It was only later that I became a journalist.
Southern Weekend: So you’re not reporting for the sake of reporting?
Wang Keqin: That’s right. If you want to talk about reporting for the sake of reporting, I could list of so many examples [of other’s work]. There was one report in 2004 by a media outfit in Jilin Province about a migrant worker who had leapt out of a window and died. The report’s headline was, “High altitude flight staged last night” (昨夜上演高空飞人). In September of that same year, a newspaper in Jiangsu Province reported how an agricultural transport vehicle struck a bicyclist in the head, killing them. The headline of that report was: “Bicyclist hit right in the head, dies vicious death” (骑车人中头彩：惨死). From these headlines you can glimpse their cold and cynical view of life.
But examples of this kind appear not just in local media. On September 6, 2004, there was a television station that, reporting on a human tragedy in Russia, invited viewers to participate in a contest, guessing the number of children who had been brutally murdered and sending in their answers by instant message [CMP Note: this “television station” was China Central Television, reporting on the Beslan school hostage crisis.]
Now I would ask, if it was your child who was senselessly murdered, would you want the audience playing lottery over it? So, I often discuss this with people. What does it mean to do journalism?
The most elementary goal is to transmit information and report the facts. But journalism has another ultimate goal and end. What is that? It is about protecting the rights of individuals.
On this note, we can look carefully at a case that happened in 2007. After suggestions surfaced of an outbreak of swine flu in eastern Sichuan that year, a Hong Kong television station went to the area to report, as was their duty I guess you can say. But what they did afterward was shockingly unbelievable. They hired a local peasant to dig three meters down and unearth the carcass of an infected pig so that they could film it.
This coverage drew huge audiences in Hong Kong, and the reporters benefitted greatly as a result. But there are at least three basic problems here. First, it deviates from the ultimate value of journalism in that this behavior might conceivably endanger the very life of another person. All of our work in society should be conducted with the idea of making people’s individual lives safer, healthier, freer and more prosperous. This is an ultimate human value, and it is the basic starting point of journalism.
Second, their conduct was fraught with discrimination. This is a problem from which many journalist suffer. We have these prejudices tucked away. The prejudice of the journalist toward the ordinary individual. The prejudice of the city resident toward the rural peasant. I once saw a news report from a major media outfit in China about a migrant worker’s death by high-voltage electricity. Do you know how they described it? It was like roasted duck. That’s how they described it with deep-laden prejudice to their readers. And many readers no doubt were influenced subconsciously by this prejudice.
Third, this conduct by the Hong Kong journalist was illegal. According to our laws on the prevention of communicable diseases, human conduct resulting in second-hand transmission of disease is a criminal offense.
So on the one hand, Chinese journalists face the dilemma of receiving no protection under the law; and on the other hand, Chinese journalists, like the rest of us, operate in an environment that is essentially lawless. This is a monstrous situation.
Southern Weekend: The proper respect for life isn’t just an issue for journalism.
Wang Keqin: Yes. I’ve always said that I’m a human being first, a citizen second and a journalist last. I’ve often had people say that I do too many things that don’t fall in a journalist’s purview. They say that I step over the bounds. I say, look, I’m sorry, in my reports I follow the rules of professional reporting and conduct very strictly. But after I’m done reporting, as a citizen, I can seek to do more for the rights and interests of the weak with whom I am faced. In such cases I must act as a citizen.
As an individual, when I see others in pain I feel pain with them, and the solution to this pain is action. What is humanity? It is about feeling pain in your heart of hearts when you see others who are suffering pain. If what you feel at seeing others suffer is excitement, this indicates that your humanity has already been distorted.

Journalists have recently been the target of attack and ridicule, not just from the authorities, who, true to form, have sought reporters across provinces, but also from celebrities, who have dropped all good form to heap bile on the press.
After real-estate mogul Yu Jinyong (禹晋永) was accused of cheating and fakery, he called a press conference to issue his flat denials. He said: “If I want to close the door and beat the dogs, I have to first let them into the house. So there are a lot of media with us today.” After the pupil and relative of crosstalk performer Guo Degang (郭德纲) struck a reporter from Beijing TV, he continued to pile on the verbal abuse, saying that “Beijing TV is a filthy outfit” and that “journalists are no better than whores.”
Film director Feng Xiaogang, for whom scolding reporters has become something of a sport, responded that journalists “have no humanity” when he was asked an uncomfortable question about product placement while promoting his new film Aftershock.
I understand that I live in a coarse and vulgar society, but for these holders of public, economic and cultural power to conduct themselves in such a way, showing such poor judgment and character — this fills me with astonishment.
The Czech writer Vaclav Havel once advocated “eight principles of dialogue.” Two of these principles were: do not issue personal attacks, and do not persist in defending one’s errors. In China, these two principles have been turned on their heads, and [these upside-down principles of dialogue] have become part of the playbook of success for officials and other personalities.
Yu Jinyong has even shamelessly declared that, “Integrity doesn’t need to be expressed in words, and even less so in our actions,” but is evinced rather in “persistence in one’s heart.”
In each of these recent examples, personalities have blown their lids over journalists, voicing their utter disdain for the press.
A rather pure hearted colleague of mine, who has a great deal of respect for our profession, asked me how I viewed our work in light of these recent blow-ups. It was my view that even as we angrily defend ourselves against these attacks, we must seize this opportunity to ask ourselves tough questions.
Why can’t we garner even the most basic level of respect? Aside from the aggressiveness of those in positions of influence, are there reasons for how we are treated that lie with our own conduct? Aside from those honest, brave and professional top journalists who command respect, what is the situation for our media at large?
In modern societies, the press has a pivotal role, and has been called the “fourth estate” after the legislative, judicial and executive branches of government. The press serves three principal roles. First, to provide information for the convenience of citizens in their daily lives, seeking out the facts and helping them distinguish between truth and falsehood. Second, to monitor power, preventing its abuse by fulfilling the public’s right to know. Third, to serve as a platform for free opinion, so that differing views can be expressed.
The second of these tasks can easily turn journalists into heroes opposing power. And journalists who actually serve this role might be accorded great respect.
Many journalists in China today invoke the words of Joseph Pulitzer, who once said: “A journalist is the lookout on the bridge of the ship of state.” They believe it is a journalist’s duty to survey the seas, watching out for rough waters ahead and issuing timely warnings. And they know the words of Thomas Jefferson, who said: “Were it left to me to decide whether we should have a government without newspapers, or newspapers without a government, I should not hesitate a moment to prefer the latter.”
There are many journalists in China who goad themselves on with sentiments like these. And when they’ve chanted them often enough, they begin to actually believe their work embodies the noble mission set down in the words of Pulitzer and Jefferson. But in fact, even Western media, working in much freer environments, cannot fully live up to these expectations — and in the age of new media things have even perhaps slid backwards.
Admittedly, Chinese media have experienced major change over the past 20-30 years, and have begun now to have a greater sense of independence and professionalism. The problem is that as they have been squeezed between government restrictions and the market, Chinese media have been seduced to the filthy road of temptation before they’ve even had an opportunity to find the true road to professionalism.
I remember a discussion journalists had last month during a “China-Europe Social Forum” I attended in Chengdu about the taking of “red envelopes” (or cash payments). “Red envelopes” are extremely common in China’s media, and have become a primary source of income for some journalists. Professor Zhan Jiang of the Foreign Languages University and other communications experts in attendance characterized the practice as abhorrent. After all, no one can reasonably suppose that a journalists who accepts cash gifts will maintain independence in their reporting — and even supposing they could, this is still a harmful practice.
But many Chinese journalists at the forum were wearied of this discussion. They grumbled that every time this sort of forum is arranged, the intractable issue of “red envelopes” comes up. They made the point that as nearly every newspaper maintains lists of advertisers who have to be protected from negative coverage, so even if journalists don’t accept cash gifts the integrity of their work is compromised.
Western journalists in attendance couldn’t get a word in edgewise on this topic. I think they just couldn’t understand this point of view. Fishing desperately for common ground, some recalled how Hollywood corporations would invite European reporters to attend film screenings, and there was a debate over whether it was OK for journalists to accept plane tickets to these events. But the idea that journalists would accept money directly from those they were reporting on, regardless of the industry, surpassed their imagination.
Alain Frachon, the editor in chief of France’s Le Monde newspaper said that when he was a deputy editor he did everything possible to avoid dinners with political leaders in order to avoid emotional interference, even if dinner parties were of a personal nature.
I have to say quite honestly that not only would the vast majority of Chinese editors — no matter how big or small their publications — not dare to spurn an invitation from a government leader if it happened to come, but in fact they would feel a deep sense of honor, to the point that they would write it directly into their advertising brochures and even report the meeting as news.
Given the way our media operate as a general rule, is it any wonder personalities like Guo Degang and Feng Xiaogang have expressed such disdain for the press?
Responding to questions from young reporters, Feng Xiaogang often refers to them as “little sisters.” You’re too young, he suggests, and you don’t understand things. You’re all little children. You don’t know your manners. But while Feng’s harsh response to reporter’s questions about product placements in his latest film may expose his agism and sexism, they also reflect his legitimate doubts about the character of journalists generally. After all, Feng understands that the product placements in his latest film have a corollary in the soft content that is so ubiquitous in China’s media.
There are indeed journalists in China who can be admired and respected for challenging the forces of power and money and bravely providing facts to the public. But while such professional conduct should be the norm for Chinese journalism, I often find myself saddened by the extent to which it is not.
So perhaps, when we’re speaking about our press as a whole, the contempt others feel for us is not such a grave injustice.
A version of this article appeared originally in Chinese at Southern Metropolis Daily.

If I want to close the door and beat the dogs, I have to first let them into the house. So there are a lot of media with us today.

I’ve said before that online writing is the power of the powerless. When you’ve written for a period of time and have a definite readership, you develop a degree, albeit a small degree, of power as a result.
Of course, all power must be kept in check. Well then, what is it that keeps me in check once I possess this sort of power as a writer? Do I rely on my knowledge and my conscience? Do I rely on the readers who thoroughly enjoy what I write? No, that’s not enough to keep me in check. And if I operated that way, how would I be any different from those I criticize? No matter how much I might believe in my own rightness and perspicacity, and even if my readers are scrupulous beyond comparison and stand on the right side of history — power relies nevertheless on opposition to keep itself in check.
It’s true that website editors and managers already serve to a large extent as checks on my work. They can choose not to promote my writings, and they have the power to remove them altogether. But this is insufficient, at least as far as I’m concerned. After all, I have many platforms for posting my work, overseas as well as domestic.
It was by mulling over this question that I came to alter my attitude toward criticism of my own work online. Before this, I outright ignored those criticisms that bore an aggressive and confrontational attitude. Web users who helped me manage my blog would tell me what sort of irrational or boisterous comments were being made (because I decided from the beginning that I would not delete any comments whatsoever), but I would never myself thumb through the comments attacking me.
Why didn’t I bother to read these criticisms? Actually, my motives were selfish and pragmatic. Before my attitude toward criticism changed, comments attacking me had the power to affect my mood to the extent that I was unable to “forge courageously ahead” with my writing.
After my attitude adjustment, I would set aside a bit of time to browse through the critical posts, and when I really didn’t have the time I’d ask friends to put together brief summaries of the attacks and share them with me. Gradually, I came to realize that all of these criticisms, even those that many web users identified as posts made by [government] posters for hire, or “50 Cent Party” folk, touched me in some way or another, inspiring or helping me.
Today I’d like to share not those constructive and well-meant criticisms of my work, but only those posts that web users characterize as poisonous attacks and share my views about them.
Shortly after I started blogging, a number of weblogs appeared that were especially devoted to criticizing my writings. There were also blogs opened to support my writings, but I’ll focus on those launched with the express purpose of making attacks against me more convenient.
At Netease, for example, there is a well-known web user called Zhou Xiaomi (周小米) who has had a blog devoted to criticizing me for more than a year now. As soon as I make a new post, there is a flurry of activity at this blog. That nickname of mine, the “democracy huckster” (民主小贩), is a favorite target of their ridicule.
For this blogger nothing about me is spared criticism and ridicule — my appearance, my wardrobe choices. Judging from his language, he not only fails to recognize me, but has not even bothered to carefully read my work.
However, it’s exactly this sort of blog that, once I changed my attitude to criticism, provided me with a great deal of help. He often poked fun at my appearance, and very eloquently. And perhaps no one out there realized that this cut me where it really hurt, because I’ve always lacked confidence about my appearance.
I’ve always felt my eyes are too small. I’m not even quite 1.75 meters tall. My waist is too thick, my legs too thin, and my neck too short. (^_^) . . . When I first launched my blog I posted a photo that looked really bookish. I didn’t think too many people would read the blog, but later when more and more came, I took the photo down.
But after this Zhou Xiaomi began heaping ridicule on my appearance, I began to reflect more about how I am who I am. My parents gave me this appearance. Why had I, just like this cynical person who attacks me, been so unsatisfied with my natural appearance?
Everyone can go and see for themselves that ever since I had this epiphany I’ve posted all sorts of photographs, because suddenly I have self-confidence. This homely fellow, this is me, the “democracy huckster,” Old Yang. And thanks to Zhou Xiaomi’s back-handed support, I am now recognized by my readers when I go out in public.
On my Sohu blog, which has already been shut down, there was a reader who would throw the Eight-Power Allied Forces [if the West] into any discussion, and would ask me accusingly how much money I had received from the Americans, what exactly my connection was to the Eight-Power Allied Forces, how much money I received from them for each piece I wrote, etcetera . . .
Any rational person might suppose that this reader is still a child, mentally challenged, or suffers from acute paranoia. But the lessons I took away from this reader’s barrage of attacks and accusations will probably have significance for me throughout my life.
His constant reversion to the Eight-Power Allied Forces was wearying. But then again, so many of my own blog entries dwelt on America and democracy, and wouldn’t people find that wearying too? Everyday he accused me of taking money from Americans (or Westerners), but then again, should I not ask myself: have you taken money or not? Has money on any level influenced your blog writing?
Given my qualifications and experiences over the years, I have to be honest with myself. If I wanted to apply for funding from Western countries or government-financed programs, it might be easier for me than almost anyone. Moreover, a number of programs have sought me out in the past. To be honest, these programs don’t apply restrictive conditions, and its not a bad thing to participate in them (please note, I don’t oppose to other people taking advantage of them).
But I want to tell everyone — I have never in my life taken a cent of financial support from Westerners, and I have never taken part in any program or event financed by Western governments. I have never had so much as a cup of coffee on the tab of Western governments . . .
These are just two more extreme examples. But criticisms and attacks of this kind all became useful to me once I changed my attitude toward them, and my critics became my teachers and friends, goading me to greater purity and simplicity.
As an online writer, my greatest hope is that when you enter my name into Baidu or Google, what comes up are the articles I’ve worked so hard to write. But still I have a special place in my heart for the words that are critical of me, and many times I’ve asked those web users who help me manage my sites to aggregate posts criticizing me so that they’re not lost. And if we have to, we’ll set up our own platform for this purpose.
If I can continue to write I’ll write several hundred thousand words a year. This is something I’ve demanded of myself. But without the strict oversight of editors, how can I guarantee I don’t commit major errors?
It’s because of this problem that I’ve come to look on those posts and blogs that criticize and attack me as beneficial to me. I believe that if my work continues to improve, this owes a great deal to the readers who support me, but also to those who attack and berate me.
Now, to return to the subject of my title. In the eyes of those anonymous web users, I’m definitely a person of some “power.” But for all of us Internet users, the government is not just powerful, but has a complete grip on real power.
So what attitude should the government have toward web users who criticize (and even attack) it? They too can choose two responses. The first is to feel “wronged and angered” and to act accordingly. That means not just attacking back online as I might, but really striking back, going across provinces if necessary to hold them criminally responsible.
The other possibility is receptiveness and acceptance, correcting your errors if you’ve made them or guarding against them if you’re not in the wrong. By taking this second approach, the government might win the understanding of the people, and even their support and regard. And general social progress will be faster.
Everyone knows about the open letter I wrote to Hubei’s party secretary, Yu Zhengsheng (俞正声). At the time my mother had just passed away, and her work unit had pocketed a portion of the government required funeral allowance. Just imagine them delinquent in paying her wages going back more than a decade.
With a mix of grief and anger, I wielded my pen with feeling. My letter was full of hot satire and cold irony toward the party secretary. Not long after, the provincial authorities sent an investigative team to my home town to resolve the issue, and later I learned that not only had Yu Zhengsheng not suppressed the letter, but in fact had passed it on to a number of local leaders.
Afterwards my father and I discussed the matter, and once we had gotten my mother’s funeral allowance back we agreed to drop our campaign for her unpaid wages. This was around 80,000 yuan, no meager sum as far as my father is concerned.
Our reasoning was simple. In our situation, if we continued to make a fuss it might be possible to get mother’s wages back. But in Suizhou City (随州市), my hometown, there are thousands upon thousands of old people who like my father and mother are owed back wages. Because I was able to write an open letter, I drew the attention of provincial leaders and was able to get a portion of our own money back.
But what about the rest of the old people in Suizhou who are owed money? Considering Yu Zhengsheng’s attitude toward resolving this issue (some things take time to resolve), we cut our losses and stopped seeking the rest of mother’s back wages. Of course, in my writings afterwards I never stopped helping out the rest of those people in a weak position who seek the money they deserve.
I believe other government leaders should learn from Yu Zhengsheng’s attitude toward my critical open letter. And could the government not, in the same way, benefit from my own “bitter experiences” online?
A version of this post appeared originally in Chinese at Yang Hengjun’s blog.

The July 28 explosion in Nanjing rocked the city, injuring at least a hundred people and destroying streets and buildings. The explosion was of an intensity and dimension rarely seen. After a meeting of the city’s top party leadership, which had been interrupted by the explosion, was recalled to session, local leaders demanded that lessons be drawn from this painful and bloody experience, that it serve as an impetus to create a safe and civilized city to the satisfaction of its citizens.
In line with this directive, the city government in Nanjing announced plans for a disaster memorial (or museum) for the July 28 tragedy, incorporating ruins and fragments left behind by the explosion, including burned out buses and destroyed pipes. Local media in Nanjing, citing statements from experts, have said that the purpose of the memorial will be to draw lessons from the tragedy and to honor life, and at the same time to serve as a special cultural marker.
The rapid progress toward planning of a 7.28 memorial has drawn a great deal of public attention. The situation naturally calls to mind for people how local governments are often in the habit of inventing catchphrases and breaking construction ground to deal with public opinion flash points.
Building this or that memorial or “cultural marker” has become a habit with local leaders in China, to the point where people are left somewhat disgusted that such things are being done in the name of bitter tragedies. Opinion online suggests most people believe there is no need whatsoever for these memorials.
If memorials can be constructed in a frugal and serious manner, to stand as testament to such tragedies, that’s something I can approve of. But these memorials must be done with sincerity, and more importantly must be done in an attitude of reflection and regard. And such reflection and regard seems woefully absent from these recent preparations for a memorial to the July 28 explosion in Nanjing.
I’ve noticed that when local media report on this news, they still resort to such words of praise as, “transforming a bad thing into a good thing” — and of course, Nanjing’s leaders are giving this top priority, the government doing everything in its power, repairs going forward night and day, the injured recovering. The reports even go into such concrete details as how officials’ “eyes are brimming with hot tears.”
But there seems to be no reporting whatsoever about the basic situations facing the injured and their family members. Instead, we get tricky language like: “Of the 14 people seriously injured, 5 have improved for the better, and the number of seriously injured has been reduced to just 9 people.”
Nothing at all is said about the number of those killed, which remains in question. Apparently, those who cannot be transformed into stories of achievement and success can be erased entirely.
Permitting the media to go deeply into the facts of the story, and seek out its causes — this must for the foundation of our memory and of reflecting back. Unless this can be done, there is no need at all to build a memorial, and efforts at commemoration will have exactly the opposite effect.
On the day the disaster occurred in Nanjing, local leaders left behind there own official words for our memories — “No direct broadcasting.”
The next day, if you go back and analyze media coverage, you find that aside from Modern Express, published by Xinhua News Agency’s Jiangsu bureau, which included coverage of the tragedy, other papers were all still reporting on the “grand gathering [of party leaders]”, the [upcoming] Mid-Autumn Festival and National Day holidays, and the success of a local award ceremony. The most eye-catching photographs in the news that day were of the air crash in Pakistan, or of normal, everyday Nanjing streets . . .
What’s more, after the local government officially circulated the number of dead, the media cast doubt on these figures in quite a detailed manner, and yet to this day there has been no response by the Nanjing government.
The staggering statement from Nanjing officials preventing “direct broadcasting,” the toning down of local media coverage, and the lingering doubts about the number of people who died — will these be incorporated in plans for the 7.28 memorial? If they cannot be, then what will this memorial stand for?
We can actually glean an inkling from the name of the memorial (or museum) bandied about by officials. Plans are to call it “Disaster Reduction Memorial” (减灾纪念馆). So the actions of the local government in “mitigating” the tragedy are the lesson left to us from the 7.28 explosion? Is that right? What the government wishes to memorialize is the idea that after the tragedy occurred, leaders prioritized it, the government applied resources to it — they want to remember how quickly they responded, how stable society remained, and how moved the people were . . .
I hope that local leaders understand that regardless of whether a memorial is erected or not, any major incident will leave behind its own lessons and memories. Everything that you do, including timely response and handling of the tragedy, and including official acts depriving the public of their right to know, will all be recorded in the history of this event.
These lessons will not take shape through official memorials, and perhaps will linger only in the hearts of the public, in online forums or spoken conversations. But they will have a much deeper place in the hearts of the people, and they will weather the test of history.
This article originally appeared in China at the Shanghai Morning Post.
[See Shanghai Morning Post on CMP’s media map]

If someone achieves fame in China, they become a personality, and once they’ve become a personality they simply can’t make errors in judgement. If they do happen to make errors in judgement, all they have to do is raise their chins and tough it out, going straight into denial mode.
This is true of those in academia and the government, and even for personalities in the business world. Big shots in academia, if they are found to have plagiarized the work of others, must definitely stick to their guns and, whatever happens, refuse to admit wrongdoing. If the attacks are too hard, you exit through the backdoor and prepare your lawsuit. If the attacks are soft, you respond by playing dead, issuing not so much as a whisper.
In sum, whatever happens you don’t ever admit you were wrong — and you definitely don’t apologize.
From time to time our government officials admit error, but this stems from institutional pressure and is done in a bid for leniency. Interview these characters once the storm has passed and they’ll all, to a man, act as though nothing ever happened. It’s only too clear now, as this ethos of stubborn denial infects our business leaders, that a culture of denial (死撑的文化) has become deep rooted in our society.
Some time back, Jun Tang (唐骏), the CEO of New Huadu Industrial Group and former chairman of Microsoft China, was accused by certain parties of having falsified his academic credentials. There was a lot of shoving back and forth, and the question of whether Tang had actually faked his credentials or not remained unclear until finally a diploma was produced from America’s Pacific Western University.
Who could have guessed that once a quick Internet search was done on this institution it would turn out to be just another so-called “wild chicken university” (野鸡大学) selling off diplomas?
Search a bunch of Jun Tang’s Chinese classmates and you’ll find that they’re all leaders in various fields. Among these, one of his classmates, Yu Jinyong (禹晋永), who is listed by some sources as chairman of the board at the so-called Generation Investment Group (中国世代投资集团) — perhaps because he feels he’s not famous enough, or because he feels a strong sense of fraternity — saw the need to step out and run defense for Jun Tang.
In the end, they’ve run a brave defense, but [Jun Tang’s] degree is still a wild chicken degree all the same, and the human flesh search has heaped all sorts of other scandals on his head. While Yu Jinyong has loudly proclaimed that he intends to sue in order to bring all of these accusers to justice, it’s easy to see that the case isn’t so simple after all. It’s already too late for Yu to shake himself off and come out clean.
Historically, the business world has paid little attention to academic credentials. Even in cases like that of nineteenth century textile giant Zhang Jian (张謇), who was a top scorer on the imperial examinations, people wouldn’t have factored his academic achievements into their business dealings with him. Zhang Jian wasn’t the only literatus of his time to dive into the private sector. But the old man’s successes owed to his business acumen, not to his book smarts.
In the period after economic reforms began, China’s new generation of businesspeople were principally farmers who pulled themselves up by their bootstraps. Not only were they uneducated, but many in fact were functionally illiterate. They might only have had primary school educations, but they could pride themselves on the fact that they had graduates of Peking University and Tsinghua University working under them.
In recent years, however, businesspeople have begun, and I’m not quite sure why, to pay a great deal of attention to academic credentials (perhaps this has something to do with the ease with which degrees can now be purchased?). If you’ve got some pull, you fork out cash and go earn your EMBA at an elite university. And there are those too who, unable to satisfy their craving for diplomas, go out and get a fake ones. So this Pacific Western University is no doubt making money hand over fist.
A politician using a fake diploma to grab a leadership position, and a scholar finagling his way into a teaching position are fundamentally different matters. And while fake diplomas may be all the rage in the business world, when you’re really sitting down to do business, no fool is going to buy this degree of yours, regardless of whether it’s real or not. For someone like Tang Jun to have several bogus PhDs might deceive young and impressional students if he publishes a book or speaks at a university. But the rest is just narcissism.
If you’re unfortunate enough to be exposed, coming clean at the first available moment is best. If that doesn’t happen, you can still stand up and apologize, saying, look, it was just vanity on my part. I’ll bet most Internet users would then lower their banners and silence their drums. Few people would then be interested in pursuing the matter to its death.
But instead these guys go into denial mode. It’s not just Jun Tang who denies everything. His former classmates step up to help him deny everything. The more they issue denials, the more holes open up, and the more holes open up the more determinedly they issue denials. They’ve denied this whole matter from a tragedy to a comedy.
Just look. Now Yu Jinyong only has to utter a word on his microblog to draw peals of laughter and scorn from the stands. Regardless of whether or not all of the revelations about business trickery appearing online are true, I’m quite sure these men never imagined that they would be reduced so quickly from business success stories to national buffoons.
At one time our nation’s scholars all held the conviction that our neighbor Japan is a culture of shame, a culture where people were unwilling to admit they were wrong. When people refuse to believe there is shame in doing something wrong, coming clean becomes the only indignity. And in the end, it’s us who have become a culture of shame, where no one has compunctions about doing wrong, and where everyone regards compunction as a mark of shame.
This is even truer if you believe you’re a personality. If you’re found to have done wrong, it’s as though the sky is collapsing on your head. In fact, these people see things the other way around — it’s they who have been wronged. After all, they are surrounded by cheats — in fact, everyone’s a cheat — so why must they singled out for censure?
We might even say that our melodic culture has changed into a culture of shame, and the reason for this transformation is our increasingly serious climate of fakery. When people have become entirely desensitized to fakery, the natural response of those who get caught out is to resort to still more acts of fakery, glossing over the original act of fakery.
Even if things get a bit hot on the Internet, how long can the heat really last, after all? Within a few years, they’ll be squeaky clean again. At the very worst, the Internet can only pile up scorn and ridicule. And anyone, theoretically at least, can slide right past [the scandal] — whether they are politicians, academics or businesspeople. Once they’re past it, there’s no need even to remake themselves. They just wipe their faces clean and go right on being the bigwigs they always were.
This editorial appeared originally in Chinese at Southern Metropolis Daily.
Further Reading:
“The Ruminations Of A Reporter Who Once Covered Jun Tang,” ESWN, August 6, 2010
“Chinese Debate Allegations of Fraudulent Credentials,” Wall Street Journal, July 18, 2010
“Former Microsoft chief Tang Jun fights back,” People’s Daily Online (English), July 7, 2010

On July 16, 2010, at 10:09am, Sohu chief executive Zhang Chaoyang (张朝阳) made a post to his Sohu microblog in which he wrote:

The explosion [in growth] of the microblog [in China] has been no easy feat, and it is a major point of progress resulting from the aggregated development of Internet products over the past decade. Discussion forums are collective and decentralized in nature. E-mail is personal, peer-to-peer and delayed. Weblogs are centered on the individual and take the collective into account, but they are not quick and timely. Instant messaging approaches real-time, but is only peer-to-peer. Personal computer products have struggled forward left and right, transforming and becoming universal, and mobile phones have become popular as information tools, in a decade-long process that has created this form of individually-centered interactive Internet product, [the microblog], that enables group relationships, approaches real-time and can be used at any time and place. This is the product of technological progress and transformation in user behavior chosen from among myriad possibilities, and it was not easy. Won’t everyone please treasure it.

This statement [of Zhang’s] sounds on first hearing like an industry expert’s summation of ten years of progress in the development of Internet products. But the final five words about the need to treasure [the microblog] are deeply significant. Who exactly should cherish [this technology]? Are there perhaps people who do not share [Zhang’s sentiment] that “[t]his is the product of technological progress and transformation in user behavior chosen from among myriad possibilities”?
Looking at the situation that has emerged recently at microblog websites in China, we cannot see this call [of Zhang’s] as a random shot.
On July 10 visits to Sina Microblog were suddenly impossible. The service claimed to the outside world that they were in the midst of “security” measures, and only on July 12 was service finally restored. The microblog service at Netease, [another major Internet portal site], began its own “security” measures on July 13, saying that it was “resting due to high traffic volumes.”
Sina Microblog, which has the highest volume of users and has been operating for more than a year, suddenly announced itself as a “beta version” on July 12. This is not all. Aside from QQ.com and Netease, which had been advertised as “beta versions” all along, the microblog services at Sohu.com, Phoenix Online and even the party-backed People’s Daily Online Microblog all put up this “beta version” label or similar statements to that effect.
As a result of this “beta” change, some microblog services have done away with their search functions, and others have placed restrictions on links to content outside the site. The latest development is that newly registering users of the Sina and Sohu microblog services must all submit valid identification and mobile phone numbers for verification. The era of real-name registration for microblogging seems to be upon us.
This year, microblog services have taken off in China, and the density of information they have created, their frequency of dissemination and the degree of connectivity they have enabled for web users far surpass any previous form of Internet use. This is probably the reason microblogs have suddenly drawn such a high degree of attention.
One can see the influence that microblogging has in China simply by looking at recent events. During the Qinhai earthquake the short 140-character online post became the vehicle by which people shared information, conveyed their feelings and offered mutual assistance. It was a microblog writer who revealed that the former Chinese executive for a multinational company had faked his PhD, a revelation that drew the attention of web users to the problem of diploma mills, or so-called “wild chicken universities” (野鸡大学), and tested the credibility of elites.
Recently, when a newspaper reporter exposed related-party transactions by a listed company, local police authorities issued a warrant for his arrest. Tens of thousands of microblog posts were sent out about this incident. Users expressed their views and revealed the immense appetite the Chinese people have for participation in news events. The incident ended with the withdrawal of the arrest warrant by the police.
After the July 28 explosion in the city of Nanjing, web users immediately using microblogs to “report from the scene.” There was some confusion early on about the nature of the explosion, and China Central Television reported that a “gas station had exploded,” but a representative from China Petroleum and Chemical Corporation (SINOPEC) quickly clarified the cause of the incident through their microblog.
Clearly, the defining characteristics of the microblog that Zhang Chaoyang points to — individuality, instantaneity and interactivity — can be seen in abundance in these cases. What is most critical is that these characteristics are not useful to Internet users alone, but can be useful to the government and to the media.
Microblogs can work as tools to gather public opinion, and they can also serve a useful role in communicating with the public. There have already been a number of classic examples of this.
There’s no need even to point to the role microblogs played in online participation during the meetings of the National People’s Congress and Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference this year. Look at our national police network nationally and you find many notable cases.
On June 3, for example, Guangzhou police reported a shooting incident through their microblog, bravely using new media to openly share information about a major sudden-breaking incident, thereby improving the reputation of the police and simultaneously raising the expectations of web users about the possible role of microblogs in sudden-breaking incidents.
The Guangdong Provincial Public Security Department and the police offices of the province’s 21 prefectural-level cities have all launched police microblogs, and this stands as a positive example [to other areas].
Just recently in July, Beijing’s Public Security Department announced the formation of a public relations office, which plans to launch an official microblog in order to help gauge public opinion. Beijing police chief Fu Zhenghua (傅政华) put it aptly when he said at the time: “With the coming of the age of the Internet, there is a clear increase in the independence, selectivity and difference among people’s thoughts and activities. Public opinion about the police must necessarily become a hot topic for various mainstream media, so it’s extremely important for the police to carry out open and timely interaction with the public, the media and disadvantaged groups, and to increase its fair, just, timely and credible publicity efforts (宣传).”
What should especially draw attention is that when the Beijing police answered a question from a reporter who asked how the police would respond to sharp criticism from web users, and whether they would impose restrictions, they responded with an openness that might serve as an example for other government microblogs: “We respect the expressions of web users. As to the question of ordinary public attention and critical opinions, we have prepared ourselves psychologically, and we will meet the questions of citizens head on, and actively reach out to web users, regularly connecting with opinion leaders from various walks of society, seeking understanding and support.”
This is exactly the attitude the government should have toward microblogs.
First, they should recognize that the significance of microblogs far outweighs that of social networking sites, that they have, moreover, a capacity for the expression of views and for political communication, and that they can be used for the mobilization of society.
Second, governments should recognize that microblogs are a gathering place for opinion leaders, especially for the gathering of many professionals in the media, and that they have already to a definite degree become the vanguard (引领者) of other forums in China and of Chinese traditional media. Gaining the understanding and support of these opinion leaders benefits the healthy operation of the government, and helps to mend public confidence.
Third, they should recognize that the voices on microblogs are diverse, and that they can include fierce criticism, and web users are going there seeking not just rhetoric and good tidings, but also reason and facts (理性和真相).
Surveying [microblog] development over the past year, we can say that a kind of microblog politics has already emerged in China.
The microblog is an excellent supporter of sudden-breaking news, an open platform for expression, a strong tool for participation in and deliberation of state affairs, and it is a channel for so-called sunshine governance, [or open governance], that we cannot do without. Naturally, the economic significance of the microblog cannot be overlooked either.
Doing more to open up microblog services would benefit the closing of the gap in Internet technologies, products and influence that presently exists between [China] and the United States, thereby meeting the demands of China’s more than 400 million Internet users.
This is an opportune moment in China for the rise of the microblog. Now that various microblog services [in China] have been transformed into “beta versions,” we can only hope that this as a test run process — allowing for trial and error, allowing for experimentation, and allowing users to develop in an autonomous manner. When Zhang Chaoyang calls on “everyone to please treasure” [the importance of microblogging], this “everyone” includes experimenters and regulators (管理者) [in the government]. Because when it comes down to it, the Internet belongs to everyone in China.
A version of this article appeared originally in Chinese at Southern Metropolis Daily.

The plagiarism case involving the well-known “left” scholar Wang Hui (汪晖) has made ripples in the press lately, and some academics in the West have stepped up to defend Mr. Wang. My own readers have written to me about this. Why, they ask, do Western academics rush to defend such a scholar?
I’ve read only a number of essays by Wang Hui. Nevertheless, I do have some understanding of scholars of Wang’s ilk. Scholars in China who have, like Mr. Wang, been branded with the label “left” tend to criticize Western democratic systems and universal values with an aptitude not greatly unlike that of Western academics. Their scholarship and pronouncements on such matters as “Chinese characteristics” and Chinese models have found some favor among Western academics [for whom such material provides fresh fodder]. As a result, many Western academics enjoy and “respect” these scholars on China’s “left”, and not without their reasons.
It only makes sense that Web users should have trouble separating truth from fact in the Wang Hui case, and that they should end up turning some things on their heads.
I want to use this Wang Hui affair as an opportunity to talk about the academic environment in the West. Allow me, if you will, to approach this topic in a roundabout sort of way. Friends who have read my piece called “Why I do not criticize America” will perhaps remember my experience as a young man being a visiting fellow in the United States. Looking back now, I realize that my academic abilities at that time were almost nonexistent. I was simply a combination of an “educated youth” and a “political angry youth.” Owing to my educational background and my work experience, my head was at the time stuffed full of the idea that “China can say no,” and with various articulations of “unhappy China,” and I was most certainly no less influenced by these ideas than the authors of the two books [dealing principally with these issues], China Can Say No and Unhappy China.
At that time I was avidly pursuing “academic” opportunities in order to seek out opportunities personally, and I would simply cobble together things I recalled from my textbooks and from Chinese newspapers and spill these out cathartically to American scholars and experts. But it was in exactly this way that I earned the “respect” of Americans. Americans listened to me eagerly, and many scholars were quite willing to engage in discussion with me. Some research centers even invited me to give talks, and these were all Washington, D.C., think tanks. How’s that for villainy?
Even more villainous was what came later. When my ideas and attitude later underwent change, when I began to feel that democracy and freedom were pretty decent after all, and also quite suited to us Chinese, when I finally awakened to the realization that being a Chinese person was not about going to great ends to criticize America for the benefit of America’s improvement, and that I would better serve China’s progress by criticizing China, I found that my points of commonality with Western academics were fewer and fewer, up to the point where I ultimately had no interest at all in conversing with them.
The reason for this was simple — they cared about their country and I cared about mine. Many times, when I invited them to talk about their criticisms of China, they were far more interested in talking about my criticisms of America. Humph. What time do I have to criticize your country? I am no traitor, devising strategies for the benefit of your country.
If you don’t get what I’m talking about, just indulge me while I address this issue by talking a bit about the role of intellectuals. The greatest utility of intellectuals lies in their capacity to “sing against” those who hold power, to monitor power, to improve government performance, to encourage national change and promote social progress.
Once we understand this fact, we are ready to ask another question: what constitutes the mainstream of political power in Western nations? What I mean is, would you best characterize the ideas of those holding power as “left” or “right”? Without a doubt, the “right” holds sway – particularly when measured by China’s academic establishment, where all those who advocate democracy and universal values are labeled as “right.”
And if the ideas of those who exercise public power tend to the “right,” when the political establishment is in the hands of the “right,” what should the natural attitude of intellectuals be? Should they like me, Yang Hengjun, spend all day praising universal values, democracy and freedom? Of course not. If this were the case, they would appear as co-opted intellectuals, even lackeys one might say. What we see as a result is a very interesting phenomenon in which the mainstream in Western academia, and most scholars of note, are principally of the “left.” They do not focus particularly on democracy, freedom and universal values, but rather nitpick from within democracy, freedom and universal values, singing songs of opposition to power. Only this kind of scholar earns any respect.
This trend has invited another phenomenon in China, and that is the species of the Chinese “left.” These are scholars who have a rich experience with China, who understand the experiences of China in recent years, and also understand so-called Chinese models (which Western scholars do not adequately understand). Capitalizing on these advantages they find a great deal of welcome in the West.
Let me tell you about an experience I personally found very discouraging. I once told a number of Western professors (not particularly renowned ones) about four well-known mainland liberal intellectuals whose work I particularly enjoyed, and they knew nothing about any of them. When I muttered the names of a couple of Chinese scholars who advocate the “China Model” and attack universal values, however, they were immediately on familiar ground, and they eventually added: you know, Vietnam and Ukraine also have strong scholars like this, who like Western scholars recognize the shortcomings of Western democracy.
How do we explain this phenomenon? First of all, these scholars on China’s “left” cater to the dominant trend in Western academia. After the end of the Cold War, the principal task of Western scholars was no longer exposing the shortcomings of authoritarian and non-democratic systems, but rather “exposing” the failings of democracy. Everyone must work in common to improve the weak points in democratic systems. Naturally, everyone is working for common improvement, and no Western nation is advocating wholesale adoption of Chinese models. From this vantage point, it seems that the ones who are truly helping Westerners improve their democratic systems are not those of us so-called “Western traitors” of the right, but rather those scholars of China’s left who, with a Bethune-like spirit of devotion, praise China’s “experiences” for the benefit of the West even as China is behind by several decades and the quality of life of the Chinese people falls far short.
At the same time, we cannot deny that in the same way the achievements of China’s leftist scholars for humankind are far greater than that of their counterparts on the right in China. Why? Because America points the direction of progress for all of mankind, and helping America improve itself means by extension assisting with the constant progress of humankind’s most advanced social and political system.
Poor scholars of China’s “right,” meanwhile, like this Yang Hengjun, spend too much energy worrying about China in isolation, and rehashing experiences with democracy and universal values that the West finished with long ago.
I’m not at all exaggerating when I make this argument. A number of Chinese on the “left” are in vogue in the West, but if bona fide rightists find their way to American or European universities and lecture there, they will get very little reaction [Wang Hui at NYU]. Just imagine me going to the United States to lecture about democracy, freedom and human rights. Let’s just search our own souls for a moment. Their thinking on democracy and freedom has developed for hundreds or even thousands of years, and their books and essays and works of literature probably couldn’t be stacked up in all the libraries of Beijing. And here’s me, a Chinese who only a few years ago came to know what democracy and freedom really are, coming from a place where just over ten years ago the word “human rights” itself was banned. What can I possibly talk about to my American audience?
If I were a “leftist” it would be completely different. According to my own experiences and observations, I would stand on stage and use stories to show what a mess democracy is, and to show up the glories of all things with Chinese characteristics, so that everyone was teary-eyed and wanted to shout: democracy has bottomed out, and socialism with Chinese characteristics is here to save us all! . . . This really is like hearing the thunderous sounds of silence! Just think, Western scholars have rattled around for centuries in democratic systems, and just when they’re at their wits end, the cannon fire of socialism with Chinese characteristics sounds out, giving them a “post-modern”
experience and theory to sink their teeth into. How could they not welcome this?
When I see on the Internet that those of us who promote democracy and freedom have been broad-brushed as running dogs of the West, that we have been clumped in a “clique of traitors for the West,” I feel the resistance rise in my chest. In fact, if you really want to win favor in the West, the best way is to viciously attack democracy, freedom and universal values without any thought whatsoever to the welfare of the Chinese people, and to paint a portrait of China’s imperial past as an otherworldly paradise. Of course, you can’t forget to secretly send your wife and kids off to live in a Western country [as many of these thinkers on China’s “left” have done].
As we talk about Western academia, there is another thing worthy of note. When a number of us [who do sympathize with democracy] see that Chinese scholars who have lived in the West disapprove of some aspect of democracy, freedom and universal values, we are unhappy and agitated. We think these Chinese have forgotten their brethren back in China and are merely looking after their own interests. This is actually unfair. When someone lives overseas, they must naturally accommodate customs overseas. Scholars living in the West, if they are true intellectuals, can’t merely cozy up to those in power. That they don’t do so doesn’t at all mean they oppose democracy or universal values outright, nor does it mean their consciences have been eaten by the dogs. Quite the opposite, it means they are behaving like professional Western academics. They live in the West, but this doesn’t mean they have to sing songs of praise for the West day in and day out. If they do, even I would have contempt for them . . .
In American politics there is a tendency toward the “right,” and there is much fear of the left. But more relevant for Chinese scholars is the fact that American academia dwarfs the American political establishment. How many Chinese scholars could enter American politics? It’s in academia that scholars spend most of their time, and its in academia that you can make a name for yourself and make a bit of money. Most grants in the United States also come from academia, not from the political establishment. And there is no way whatsoever that the political establishment can control academia. These factors means that the situation is very different from what we see in China, perhaps even diametrically opposite.
This might be the difference that has created confusion for some Internet users who believe that China’s “right” has taken money from the U.S. government. Don’t forget — the money that any three universities in the United States provide to the Chinese side to fund research probably equals what the American government spends on Chinese scholars to carry out so-called “peaceful evolution.” The United States is a very different country from China, where perhaps all university expenditures come from money directly or indirectly provided by the government.
I might have left the impression at this point that Chinese scholars on the left are the true “clique of traitors of the West.” Actually, so long as what you do is true scholarship, you can support or oppose whatever you wish. The world, after all, needs diversity. So long as scholars are not working for any clear interest, so long as they are doing real academic work, they are scholars and should be respected as such. When I look back I think that, had I stayed in the West and really become an overseas Chinese academic, I would definitely have focused my research on criticizing weaknesses in democratic systems and universal values.
But I did return to China after all, and no matter what benefits and honors you shower me with, I won’t live by criticizing and attacking democracy and universal values. The reason is simple. Democracy and universal values have never come to this land, and they have naturally therefore never caused any harm to the people of this country. However, as times change a day might come when democracy and universal values do finally visit us here. Perhaps then I will change colors just like a chameleon, and crawl over to the “left.”
I sincerely hope that day comes quickly when I have the opportunity to really attack democracy, freedom and universal values against my conscience!
This essay originally appeared in Chinese at Yang Hengjun’s Blog.