Now Executive Director of the China Media Project, leading the project’s research and partnerships, David originally joined the project in Hong Kong in 2004. He is the author of Dragons in Diamond Village (Penguin), a book of reportage about urbanization and social activism in China, and co-editor of Investigative Journalism in China (HKU Press).
In recent days in China a buzz of speculation has surrounded an article published on January 10 by the Study Times, a publication of the Central Party School, the training academy for Party leaders. At issue is the suggestion in the article that Xi Jinping, the General Secretary of the Chinese Communist Party, has “an aristocratic character” (贵族气质). Such language apparently shocked many readers, judging from comments on social media.
Called “Comrade [Xi] Jinping Stresses that We Must Be People Who Flow With the New Era” (近平同志强调要敢做时代的弄潮人), the article in question was an interview with Lin Bin (林彬), the former deputy head of the government office in the city of Fuzhou, corresponding to Xi Jinping’s time in the leadership there in the early 1990s. Lin is currently the CEO of The Straits Publishing and Distribution Group, a state-run company.
In
the interview, Lin relates a story of how several friends, knowing he had served
with Xi Jinping in Fujian province, had asked for his impressions of the leader.
I said: “Do you want
the long version, or the short version?”
My friends asked: “What’s the short version?”
I said: “The short
version is that I can sum up my impression of him in eight words — the
feelings of the people, an aristocratic character. I’ll just say that, and you
can glean what you will.”
Why would this word, “aristocratic,” cause such a buzz of speculation?
First of all, we have to understand that within the political culture of the Chinese Communist Party, language is not at all flippant or incidental. There is no such thing (not if one is disciplined) as off the cuff, though leaders with sufficient strength might have greater latitude in toying with language – like Mao Zedong and his poetic reference to flatulence. While the Party’s discourse may be fluid to a certain extent, there is an unmistakable orthodoxy, reflected clearly in the Party media and in official documents. Second, we need to understand that the word “aristocrat,” which suggests distance and differentiation from the people, is not a word of praise within CCP discourse.
And so people had to ask: Wasn’t it an act of scarcely veiled criticism for a high-level official to praise Xi Jinping as having an “aristocratic character”?
In Chinese, this question surrounded what we refer to as “high-level black” (高级黑), this being a political term meaning to satirize in a guarded or euphemistic manner, sometimes through overwrought praise. A close cousin of this act of poor discourse discipline is “low-level red” (低级红) – referring essentially to acts of sycophantic ingratiation (to borrow from John King Fairbank and Merle Goldman) that are so overwrought as to become humorous or invite disdain, undermining the Party’s credibility.
When Chinese in the context of the CCP’s political culture talk about “aristocrats,” this means something very different from the word in a Western context. It is political terminology that is tantamount in most cases to an accusation of “confusion” (混乱), or fundamental problems in attitude or conduct.
Over a century ago, in 1919, 26 year-old Mao Zedong wrote a short essay of around 2,000 characters called “The Great Union of the Masses” (民众的大联合) in which the word “aristocrat” appeared 14 times. “Since ancient times,” he wrote, “there have been various forms of union including the union of those in power, the union of the aristocracy, and the union of capitalists.”
The People’s Daily wrote back in 1966 that: “Chairman Mao published many splendid revolutionary essays in the Jianghu Commentary magazine that he launched and edited in Changsha, and he raised many slogans of struggle and full-fledged revolution about striking down the old world, and making the aristocracy and the capitalists quake before the people.”
If we search back over the 74-year history of the People’s Daily, we can see many different types of “aristocrat”: the “decadent aristocrat” (没落贵族); the “feudal aristocrat” (封建贵族); the “aristocratic landlord class” (地主贵族阶级); the “capitalist aristocrat” (贵族资本家); the “children of aristocracy” (贵族子弟); the “elite aristocrat” (精神贵族); the “imperial aristocracy” (皇室贵族); the “aristocratic class” (贵族阶层); the “aristocratic serf masters” (贵族农奴主); “aristocratization” (贵族化); “aristocratic dictatorship” (贵族专政); the “aristocratic caste system” (贵族等级制度); the “aristocratic hereditary system” (贵族世袭制), and so on.
The bottom line is that
none of these are appellations any leader would wish for within the mainstream
political discourse of the Chinese Communist Party.
Let’s consider just a couple of examples that were used quite frequently in the history of the CCP. One of the most prominent is “aristocratic grandfather” (贵族老爷), a term that was equivalent in the eyes of the Party to “the exploitative classes” (剥削阶级).
One story in the People’s Dailydating back to October 1979, right as the cusp of the reform era, tells how the military commander Peng Dehuai, known for his spartan style of living, once learned of several villas in a scenic area outside the capital that had been given over to the use of certain senior officials, but sat empty most of the year. After he learned of this, Peng went off in the middle of the night to keep watch over the villas. His personal secretary urged him to get some sleep, but Peng refused. “He ignored him and said to himself, ‘There are those who would have us become aristocratic grandfathers, like ministers serving the monarch. I’m afraid people don’t realize that these are temples built for the new imperial ministers of today!”
Another common term was “aristocratic classes” (贵族阶层). At the Second Plenum of the Eighth Party Congress in 1956, Liu Shaoqi warned: “Given the situation in several socialist countries, it seems national leaders could become a special class, a new aristocratic class.” At the same Party meeting, Mao Zedong said: “We must be alert against fostering a new bureaucracy, a new noble class separated from the people.”
Within
the mainstream political discourse, the term “new aristocracy” is often used to
refer to the emergence of a new elite class within the CCP owing to problems of
corruption, which you can see in the headline of the following People’s
Daily article.
The
references above should suffice to show that the “aristocrat” is not a term of praise
within the dominant political discourse in China, but rather is quite categorically
a word with negative associations. But now, puzzlingly, we have this word being
applied to Xi Jinping.
In
February 2019, the Central Committee of the CCP issued a “New Opinion on the
Strengthening of the Party’s Political Building” (关于加强党的政治建设的意见), which made a point as it elucidated the
so-called “Two Protections” (两个维护) – protecting General Secretary Xi Jinping as
the “core,” and protecting the unified central authority of the CCP Central
Committee – of clarifying several instances of “incorrect language” (错误言行). The
document emphasized that, “[Party members] must not engage in any form of ‘low-level
red’ or ‘high-level black,’ and absolutely must not act in a two-faced manner
toward the Central Committee, engage in double-dealing, or engage in
‘pseudo-loyalty.’”
For leaders inclined to
comment on Xi Jinping’s “aristocratic character,” this might be a time for
reflection.
For months now, fires across Australia have drawn the attention of the world, demanding people sit up and take notice of climate change and ecological crisis as well as hard questions about disaster response and readiness.
Meanwhile, in the Chinese social media space, an article comparing Australia’s unprecedented crisis to a major forest fire that occurred in China in 1987 itself fanned a wildfire over the weekend – raising questions about factual news reporting over self-aggrandizing propaganda.
The article, called “Without this Australian Fire, I Wouldn’t Know the Awesomeness of China 33 Years Ago!” (没有澳洲这场大火，我都不知道中国33年前这么牛逼!), characterized the 1987 Daxing’anling Wildfire, a devastating tragedy that had bitter lessons for China, as a moment of great heroism. All of the failings, pain and loss of the 1987 fire were twisted in the article into evidence of the “awesomeness of China 33 years ago,” contrasted with the supposed incompetence of the Australian government.
An excerpt of the article on WeChat criticizing Australia’s response to recent wildfires, and praising China: “Perhaps certain countries are more developed and more advanced than we are in certain areas. But I don’t see in them the responsibility and action that a country should have. They say pretty things about ‘freedom and democracy,’ but they do nothing about refugees.”
Despite the distressing level of ignorance the article showed toward history, it quickly attracted more than 100,000 views, and an image from the backend of the WeChat platform shared in private chat groups showed that by Sunday afternoon the article had been read 23 million times, and “liked” 300,000 times. These numbers are still climbing.
As a researcher of journalism and mass communication, I am
familiar with the 1987 Daxing’anling Wildfire because the reporting of this
story was a major event in Chinese media history. I still remember sitting in a
classroom at Peking University and listening to news editors who had been involved
in the story discussing the event.
A Human Disaster
On May 6, 1987, Daxing’anling prefecture in China’s northeastern Heilongjiang province experienced the most serious large-scale forest fire in the history of the People’s Republic of China. The fire raged for close to a month, swallowing up more than a million hectares of forest, a fifth of the total forest area in the prefecture. Close to 200 lives were lost in the fires, and more than 50,000 people were displaced.
On May 14, after the fire had raged for a week, the China
Youth Daily newspaper sent a reporters to the scene to report the story. China
Youth Daily, a paper published by the Chinese Communist Youth League, had
substantial credibility and influence at the time. Before the paper’s
journalists set out for Heilongjiang, they made a solemn promise
to themselves: “We must remember not to take this tragic song and sing it
as a hymn of praise!”
Why would they make such a promise? The reason, as the
newspaper later made clear in its own summary of its reports, was that up to that
time disaster reporting in China had been all about “handling funerals as happy
events, greeting small misfortunes with small hymns, and treating major tragedies
and great victories.”
“In the magical writings of journalists, the catastrophe often
becomes a triumph of communism,” they wrote. “This was at the time the
entrenched way of doing things in disaster reporting.”
But in the new climate of reform and opening, as respect grew for the value of factual reporting, a number of aspiring professional journalists were unsatisfied with this way of working. Yang Lang (杨浪), the domestic affairs editor at China Youth Daily responsible for the Daxing’anling reports, said at the time: “Everyone recognizes that a disaster is a disaster. Turning a disaster into a triumphal hymn is heaping disaster on top of disaster.”
Following these principles, journalists on the front lines
in Daxing’anling went in search of the facts and tried to report the truth.
Through the reports they filed, we saw clearly that the origin and spread of
the fires had much to do with local officials and with bureaucratic work styles.
We saw how local country leaders in the area of the fire had sent out
truckloads of people to sweep and tidy up the streets to ready them for
visiting officials from Beijing, even as the fires were raging. We even saw,
amid the rubble of the county seat of Mohe, a single red-brick building standing
alone, miraculously saved from the devastation. This was the home of the county
chief and the fire department head, and local residents had told reporters that
the home had been spared because the fire department head had dispatched fire
trucks and a bulldozer to the scene to protect it.
These reports, the newspaper said in its own assessment, relayed
to the public with a deafening sound that this was not just a natural disaster
but a human disaster (人祸). “This
is us—our severe bureaucratism and our rigid system have made us bureaucratic. Even
as we are spared, this fire consumes us.”
The China Youth Daily series contained three reports in all. The headlines were: “The Red Warning” (红色的警告); “The Black Sigh” (黑色的咏叹); and “The Green Sorrow” (绿色的悲哀). People referred to the series at the time as the “three color reports” (三色报道). They were widely praised, and they earned the newspaper a special award that year for best national news reporting.
“The Black Sigh,” one of three reports put out by China Youth Daily on the Heilongjiang wildfires in 1987.
One reader in Hubei province wrote a letter to China Youth
Daily saying: “In the past, I always thought that journalists in our
country were just in the business of pretending everything is fine, but after
reading these reports I strongly feel you reporters are worthy soldiers of our
times.”
In Chinese media history, the “three color reports” occupy
an extremely important position. They are a milestone in disaster reporting,
marking the return of disaster reports to the plane of factual reporting, respecting
news values.
In fact, China Youth Daily was not the only newspaper
at the time to report the Daxing’anling fire in a new spirit of thoughtfulness.
Even the Party’s official People’s Daily published reports of this kind.
As veteran People’s Daily journalist Zhu Huaxin (祝华新) has recalled, “the People’s
Daily published 64 consecutive news reports and commentaries [on the fire],
and within one month 22 news articles on the fire appeared on the front page.”
One of these reports directly questioned the idea that the
disaster had been inevitable: “Many facts suggest that the fire was not a
natural disaster whose containment was beyond our powers, and that this terrible,
heart-wrenching misfortune should not have happened; or if it indeed it had to
happen, it should not have resulted in such calamitous losses.”
The People’s Daily also addressed the question of the
red-brick house belonging to the country chief and the fire department head. Journalist
Wei Yanan (魏亚南)
filled in a key detail of this story – that two homes to the right and left of
the chief’s red-brick house had been demolished in order to help protect it.
A disaster is a disaster, as Yang Liang said. And turning a
disaster into a hymn of praise is heaping disaster on top of disaster.
Reporting Against the Odds
Under the circumstances of that time in China, it was not
easy to make breakthroughs in reporting. While there was talk of the need for liberation
of thought, there were also of course very real restrictions and difficulties
to work through for news media.
Jia Yong (贾永),
a journalist who took part in reporting at the time as an intern at China
Youth Daily, later continued to work as a journalist, serving for a time as
director of the People’s Liberation Army desk at the official Xinhua News Agency.
He later said in
a piece looking back on the Daxing’anling fire that in fact the whole
reporting process was extremely difficult, because many local leaders and offices
worked with a “news control” mentality.
But the China Youth Daily reporters did not give up
in the face of these restrictions. “With the exception of Lei Shumai (雷收麦),
who was almost 40, the other three of us were young, had experience reporting through
adversity on the front lines, and we were up to the challenge,” Jia Yong said. “We
worked hard and with full confidence to get first-hand materials – at the scene
of the fire, at the cemeteries, in the ruins, from local broadcasters, hose
operators, bulldozer operators. During the day we toughened our skins and
visited local government offices, and at night we were together with those who
had been displaced by the disaster, sleeping together in cold tents with 40 or
more people.”
Jia Yong said they felt they had to face danger and
difficulty to get to the story “in order to protect the people’s right to know
about this major event.” And their efforts were repaid: “More and more affected
people who at first did not dare voice their anger opened up to us and told us
the real situation,” he said.
Ye Yan (叶研), a
reporter who later won China’s Fan Changjiang News Award, recalled that he had photographed
a group of people at a local dining hall eating a meal together, and as a
result was stopped in the road by a group of about 20 officials, including the
head of the tourism office. He and several other reporters we set on and beaten
by the group. “It was nothing for them to attack people,” he said. “And we were
taken in by the Public Security Bureau for two days of questioning.”
After more than a month in Heilongjiang, the journalists
returned to the newsroom to write their stories. This was at the height of the
hot summer in Beijing, and an article in China Youth Daily later recalled
the lengths the reporters had gone to to finish their stories. “Lei Shumai and
Jia Yong were living in an underground room near the China Youth Daily
newsroom that cost 35 cents a night, and together they consumed 40 bags of instant
noodles. To make sure they didn’t have stomach problems, Jia Yong used a grain
coupon to buy five kilograms of garlic.”
Twisted Histories
The WeChat public account that ran “Without this Australian
Fire, I Wouldn’t Know the Awesomeness of China 33 Years Ago!” this past week is
called “Youth Courtyard” (青年大院).
In fact, this is the new name for an account that was previously shut down on
the platform.
If we click into the “Youth Courtyard” account and go into the information section, we can see that the operator is “Beijing Fuguang Yuejin Cuture and Media Company Limited” (北京浮光跃金文化传媒有限公司). And when we click the name of this company we find that the account is the new name for the previous account “90s Tonight” (今夜90后). In fact, it does not really hide this fact. In fact, at the top of the article itself and in the subhead, you can clearly see mention of “90’s Tonight.”
Screenshot of the “90s Tonight” public account article praising China’s handling of wildfires in Heilongjiang province in 1987 and criticizing Australia and the West.
For some readers, this may not ring a bell. Others will know
that “90s Tonight” is the same outfit that published another controversial
article in 2018 about teen idol Yang Chaoyue (杨超越) that drew over 100,000 reads, and
later faced accusations of fabrication along with a detailed analysis from Newslab.
Later, this same public account ran an article with the headline, “That 17
Year-Old Shanghai Youth Decided to Commit Suicide by Jumping off the Bridge” (那个17岁的上海少年决定跳桥自杀),
in which it engaged in pure speculation about the facts behind the
suicide in April of a teenager who jumped from the Lupu Bridge. The public
account was subsequently shut down.
Searching job search websites we can see that this company behind “90s Tonight” proudly declaring recently that it is “starting up again as a completely new public account.” But while the account is a new one, it seems that the tactics and flavor are the same ones we are familiar with.
What should particularly distress us all is to see that this
attitude of “greeting small misfortunes with small hymns, and treating major
tragedies and great victories,” which was rejected by Chinese journalists 33
years ago, is now, in the traffic-oriented social media environment of the 21st
century, being plucked off the garbage heap of history by this “90s Tonight”
public account.
To the team behind “90s Tonight,” I wish to say: The
professionalism with which journalists like Yang Lang, Lei Shumai, Li Weizhong,
Ye Yan, Jia Yong, Wei Yanan and others worked to dig out the facts and get at
the truth, exposing our maladies – therein lies the true awesomeness of what
happened 33 years ago. And to employ cheap emotional language to cynically draw
traffic is a most irresponsible exploitation of that tragedy.
On August 25, 2019,
the official People’s Daily newspaper ran a bold headline on the front
page that included a term that caused some
observers to sit up and take
notice. “The people’s leader loves the people,” the headline read.
The term “people’s
leader” is a rare title of praise in
China’s political discourse, reminiscent of the personality cult that prevailed
during the Mao Zedong era, and its re-emergence was rightly read by many as a
further aggrandizing of Xi Jinping. The appellation was apparently greenlighted
by the Chinese Communist Party at a conclave in Beidaihe that same month.
The reference to Xi
Jinping as the “people’s leader” first came about six months after Xi Jinping
was designated as the “core” in October 2016. In reporting on
an internal CCP study campaign on April 17, 2017, the People’s Daily said that the
curriculum focused on “looking back on the resolute and core role of the people’s
leader for our Party at important historical moments, leading everyone to build
a solid foundation of loyalty and maintain the core.”
In October 2017, right
around the 19th National Congress of the CCP, Party
media began using a new phrase to describe Xi, who was formally given a
second term as general secretary. He was referred to as “the core of the Party,
commander of the army and people’s leader” (党的核心，军队统帅，人民领袖). In the run-up to the congress, some local
leaders in China, considering and calculating their own political futures, made
declarations of fealty to Xi that were fawning in a way reminiscent of the Mao era,
and quite out of keeping with language in the CCP charter about avoiding cults
of personality.
Rumors circulated at
that time that the central authorities had issued guidelines to caution against
acts of excessive praise, and on November 1, 2017, the CCP released a
“Decision” outlining three phrases that were acceptable when it came to signaling
Xi’s preeminence and stroking his ego. These
were: “Loved by the entire Party” (全党拥护), “loved and respected by the people” (人民爱戴) and “full worthy and deserving [of core
leadership status]” (当之无愧).
After a local Party newspaper in Guizhou province, Qianxinan Daily, referred to Xi Jinping as “great leader,” or weida lingxiu (伟大领袖), on its front page on November 10, 2017, the digital version of the newspaper was doctored to remove the page – a sign that the central leadership was still wary of seeming excessive or premature.
As I said before, the term “people’s leader” to refer to Xi Jinping actually emerged in April 2017, but such elevated praise was more cautious and exploratory, the 19th National Congress and its internal power-brokering almost certainly playing an important role behind the scenes. But by the end of 2017 and through to February-March 2018, Xi seemed to be in a strong position, his unwieldy banner term, “Xi Jinping thought on socialism with Chinese characteristics for the new era” having been written into the Party charter and set to be added to the preamble of the state constitution, along with an amendment on presidential term limits. The inclusion of Xi’s name in his banner term was a clear political victory not achieved by any leader since Mao and Deng.
In January 2018, the term “peoples leader,” or renminlingxiu, re-emerged, as though Xi and his allies apparently saw an opening. The Global Times reported that month that this was “the first time for People’s Daily to refer to Xi as lingxiu,” an act it referred to as “swearing allegiance” to Xi. This was not entirely accurate, as we have seen, but perhaps there was a feeling that the term had come out of hibernation.
As the March National People’s Congress drew nearer, many headlines appeared in newspapers across the country referring to Xi as the “people’s leader.” These often occurred within the phrase “the people’s leader is loved by the people” (人民领袖人民爱).
But the climate was about
to shift. By late March 2018, warm relations between the US and China, trailing
in the wake of President Trump’s November 2017 state visit to China, were
rapidly chilling. On March 22, President
Trump signed a memorandum directing a series of tariffs and restrictions
against China. The ensuing trade war was a shock to China’s political system,
and internal fault lines could be glimpsed as propaganda officials made some
attempts to calm a
rising national exuberance, much of it focused on the personality of Xi,
that risked becoming insensate arrogance.
By the second half of 2018, the brakes were clearly being applied. We find a unmistakable drop in use of phrases like “core of the Party, commander of the army, people’s leader.” Looking at the People’s Daily alone, we can note that 47 articles in 2018 made use of “people’s leader,” most of these clustered in the first quarter, ahead of the NPC. In 2019, use of the term was halved to 23 articles. But if we look more broadly at use of the term in newspapers across the country, based on the QianFang database, the fall is much more obvious, 2018 forming an abrupt peak, following by a precipitous decline.
Why then did the use of “people’s leader” in the People’s Daily cause such a wave of interest and speculation on August 25 last year? The reason is that the term appeared in a prominent headline on the front page of the newspaper, right under the masthead. This was in fact the first time it had appeared in a headline, and it seemed a visual declaration of intent, a sign that Xi and those close to him were once again ready to test the waters.
Last month, the Politburo
held a special conference on “democratic life” that gave us a further glimpse
of recent shifts in the discourse of praise. How the conference promoted
democracy is unclear, but the following passage from an article appearing in
the People’s Daily on December 28, 2019, elucidates the true purpose of
the meeting:
The conference
emphasized that protecting General Secretary Xi Jinping’s status as the core of
the central Party, and the core of the whole Party, and protecting the Party’s
centralized authority and unified leadership, is the fundamental political
guarantee of the steady and forward development of socialism with Chinese
characteristics in the new era.
The
article spoke of the need to address “major tasks,” about facing a “great
struggle of historical character,” and so on. But perhaps most importantly, it
said that “General Secretary Xi Jinping is looking ahead,” while “evincing the
firm idealism and faith of a Party member, and the deep feelings for the
people of a people’s leader.”
Is this the
start of a new round of worshipful praise for China’s top leader? Yes,
possibly. But we must continue to observe the development of this term “people’s
leader.” It is quite possible that in 2020 it will experience a notable rise,
which of course would be reflective of Xi’s further consolidation of power and
strengthening of his position.
On December 20, 2019, the Cyberspace Administration of China, the country’s top body for internet control and regulation, released new rules governing online information, setting out both generally encouraged content types and content that would be regarded as unacceptable — and making clear that all members of Chinese society have a responsibility to take part in internet governance.
The “Provisions on the Governance of the Online Information Content Ecosystem” (网络信息内容生态治理规定), available in translation at China Law Translate, were released in draft form back in September as the CAC formally solicited feedback on the regulations from other departments and the public. The final regulations show little substantive change based on a comparison of the texts, although fines for serious content violations that were specified in the draft version at “100,000 yuan or above, not exceeding 500,000 yuan” were apparently removed in the final version, leaving the question of fines ambiguous.
A reading of the new regulations posted during the draft phase in September by the news app of China Youth Daily, a newspaper published by the Communist Youth League, said one of the most notable aspects of the new approach in the draft was the “diversification of the agents of internet ecology governance” (网络生态治理主体的多元化). The post suggested the new approach amounted to a “collaborative governance model” (协同共治的治理模式), and that the process of internet governance “needs to break through the dominant oppositional and singular model of opposition between the market and the government.”
Internet
governance, in other words, is a process that should include all aspects of
society, focusing the energies of more diverse parties on achieving the information
control objectives of the Chinese Communist Party. All of this is very much in
keeping with Xi Jinping’s interest in reviving the notion of the “mass
line” in social governance, and his emphasis on Mao-era approaches such as
the so-called “Fengqiao
experience,” which the official Xinhua News
Agency touted as a Xi interest as late as November.
Article
Two of the new regulation states clearly that “governance of the online
information content ecosystem” as stipulated in the document refers to a
range of actions, including deletion of “illegal and harmful
information,” carried out by “the government, enterprises,
society, internet users and others.”
The “Provisions” also reflect this mass line participatory approach to control in defining not just areas of prohibition, but information content to be encouraged. While news and propaganda policy language in the past – particularly in the Jiang Zemin and Hu Jintao eras – would often refer to “emphasizing positive propaganda” (正面宣传为主) as a duty of the news media, the nature of such propaganda was generally not made explicit – and this was the prerogative of the media as the front line in maintaining “correct guidance of public opinion,” not of broader society. By contrast, Article 5 of the new regulations defines 7 points of “encouragement” for “producers of online information content” (网络信息内容生产者), which can be defined quite broadly in the world of interactive digital media, where the line between producer and consumer is blurred:
Propagating Xi Jinping Though on Socialism with Chinese Characteristics for a New Era; comprehensive, accurate and vivid interpretation of the path, theories, system and culture of socialism with Chinese characteristics.
Propagating the Party’s theoretical line, policies, and major central decisions.
Displaying the highlights of economic and social development, reflecting the great struggle and fiery life of the people.
Carrying forward socialist core values, publicizing the outstanding moral culture and the spirit of the times, and fully demonstrating the uplifting spirit of the Chinese nation.
Effectively responding to social concerns, solving doubts, clarifying matters, and assisting with the formation of mass consensus.
Increasing the international influence of Chinese culture, showing the world a true and comprehensive China.
Other content dealing with proper taste, responsibility, encouraging truth and beauty, and promoting solidarity and stability.
In a December interview, an unnamed official at the CAC said that the new regulations served to clarify for “producers of online information content” the nature of “positive energy” (正能量), or content deemed to advance the social and policy goals of the CCP. The official said: “The regulations clarify the concrete scope of positive energy information, illegal information and harmful information. They encourage producers of online information content to produce, copy and distribute information with positive energy content.”
In 2019, the most important change we saw in the political discourse of the Chinese Communist Party was the complete abandonment of the phrase “political system reform,” or zhengzhi tizhi gaige (政治体制改革). The process of political reform in China was jump-started in the 1980s by Deng Xiaoping (邓小平), Hu Yaobang (胡耀邦) and Zhao Ziyang (赵紫阳) between 1986 and 1988, and during this period the term “political system reform” actually became what we label a “hot” (热) phrase within the discourse heat scale I have developed with the discourse analysis team at the China Media Project.
The political reform wave – speaking here from a discourse standpoint –
culminated with the first ever inclusion of the phrase “political system
reform” in the political report to the 13th National Congress of the
CCP in 1987. But ever since that time, we can say that the phrase has sputtered
and sizzled, fading and returning, as it has progressively cooled within the
overall discourse environment.
Since the 18th National Congress in 2012, which marked Xi Jinping’s rise to power, use of the phrase “political system reform,” already rare enough, has dropped off dramatically. And we now can say with some confidence that we are seeing the complete elimination of the term, a trend we noted at CMP back in October.
Below I’ll provide just a quick summary in English of the trends we saw in the Chinese political discourse in 2019, and then look at the key words used to discuss the economy and what these reveal about anxieties in the leadership. For our full discourse report, I refer readers to the Chinese-language version, which I’ve included in full further down.
The Blazing and the Red Hot
Using the index of political discourse terminologies and their “temperature” as developed by the China Media Project on the basis of frequency of use in the CCP’s official People’s Daily newspaper, we can note that in 2019 the following phrases stood out either for their intensity of use (“blazing” and “red hot” being the strongest intensities) or for their shift in temperature within the index.
Source: People’s Daily Full Database.
Compared to our study of discourse for 2018, the overall position of
these terms and phrases shows little change. At the top of the chart, the
biggest difference is that two of the four terms in the “blazing” category last
year – namely, “19th National Congress” and “Xi Jinping thought on
socialism with Chinese characteristics for the New Era” – have dropped into the
“red hot” category for 2019. The Belt and Road Initiative and “reform and opening”
top the charts this year, showing the greatest intensity of use in the People’s
Daily on a per article basis.
In the “red hot” category, meanwhile, we have two new additions this
year. These are the “two protections,” essentially protecting Xi as the “core”
of the Party leadership and protecting the Party’s unified leadership, and that
stay-the-course phrase so common this year, “not forgetting the original
intention, holding to the mission.”
In 2018, the “two protections” joined the “four consciousnesses” and
the “four confidences” to become standard phrases (规范用语) in the Party press. “Not forgetting
the original intention, holding to the mission,” a phrase introduced during the 19th National Congress of
the CCP in October 2017, became a “hot” phrase in 2018, rising in use in the People’s
Daily. In 2019, the phrase rose further, entering the “red hot” category.
The term “good governance” (善治), rose two
levels in 2019, from “warm” to “red hot”.
In 2019, we have a handful of phrases that appeared in the “red hot”
category in 2018 that dropped down to “hot.” These include the “village revival
strategy” (乡村振兴战略), “innovation-driven” (创新驱动) and “administration in accord with the law” (依法治国).
Among the “cold” terms in 2019, we find “political civilization”
(dropping two levels from “warm”), “ruling the nation in accord with the
constitution” (dropping two levels from “warm”), “authority of constitutional
law” (dropping two levels from “warm”), and “full accounting of
power/responsibility” (dropping two levels from “warm”).
One result that may surprise, given official propaganda over perceived foreign meddling in Hong Kong, is that the phrase “hostile forces” (敌对势力) remained in the “cold” category in 2019. But this does not necessarily mean a drop in the use of related phrases, and in fact in the second half of the year we see a marked rise in these use of the term “external forces” (外部势力), which brought the term into the “hot” category.
The Economy
What does the political discourse in 2019 tell us about the economic
situation?
In 2019, we saw a dramatic rise in use of the phrase “steady
improvement, long-term improvement” (稳中向好, 长期向好) in the official discourse, and broadly used across Chinese
newspapers, based on our search of the –
an indication that the authorities are keen to send a message that all is well.
But if we look beyond the Party-run newspapers and digital outlets, we
see other indicators of economic concern. Here, for example, we see the
dramatic rise in 2019 of the word “pig” in news headlines, reflecting the
nationwide crisis over pork prices.
The increase in coverage seen in the above graph is driven by news
about pork prices and supply shortages. While this is just one factor within
the overall economy, it was without a doubt a source of anxiety for the leadership
and a factor that undermined the sense that all was “steady” and “improving.”
When we look at the economic picture in China after the 19th
National Congress in 2017, we can observe the term “economic downturn” (下行压力). This term experienced a peak back in 2015 but later declined. Here
is how the term has looked in Chinese newspapers over the past three years.
At the end of every year, the CCP’s Central Committee holds an important
economic work conference that sends signals about economic sentiment and
policy, though the language often requires a great deal of reading between the
lines. Since 2012 there have been eight such work conferences, and here is the key
language emerging from each, reflected in the official discourse played across
Party media.
2012: “comprehensive deepening of economic system reforms” (全面深化经济体制改革)
When we review these eight terms we can note the diminishing sense of
optimism over time, and a rising sense of crisis that is understated in the
official discourse. “A new normal for the Chinese economy” was a phrase
introduced when GDP growth in China was falling below the 8 percent level, the
goal being to habituate Chinese to the idea that GDP growth between 7 and 8
percent was acceptable. The phrase “supply-side structural reforms,” meanwhile,
was a way of coping with continued weakness, the goal being to regain momentum.
Both “new normal” and “supply-side” rose rapidly to become “red hot” terms
after their introduction. But in 2019, we have seen signs of fatigue for both
terms when we look at use within the official People’s Daily on a
per-article basis.
In 2019, we see “supply-side” maintaining its “red hot” status, but
with significantly diminished use in the People’s Daily, about half the
level of use recorded for 2017. The “new normal,” meanwhile, drops down to the “warm”
category, understandable considering that the 7-8 percent GDP growth level it
pointed to is no longer sustainable.
On October 19, 2019, the National Bureau of Statistics released the
latest GDP estimates, which drew a great deal of attention globally. GDP growth
came in at what Deutsche
Welle and other news outlets referred to as an “underwhelming” 6 percent
for the quarter.
China’s economy currently faces a downturn unlike anything it has faced
in the past several decades. We now see the term “Six Steadies” (六稳) being used as a provisional response to this weakness – the next
conditioning of the public to lower expectations. The goal now, in other words,
is holding the line in terms of employment, investment and so on. Use of the term “Six Steadies” was 2.8
times higher in Chinese newspapers in 2019 (based on the Qianfang database) than
in 2018.
Among the six priorities outlined in the “Six Steadies” formula, we saw
“steady expectations” leading in 2018. In 2019, the clear priority seems to be “steady
employment,” which shows quite a dramatic rise over the past two years.
The release just last month by the State Council of “Opinions
Concerning Further Stabilizing Employment Work” (关于进一步做好稳就业工作的意见) can be read as a further sign of just how
serious the issue of employment has become for the leadership.
The announcement of the State Council document took prime position in
the People’s Daily on Christmas Day, appearing right next to the newspaper’s
masthead.
The full text in Chinese of our 2019 political discourse report is included below, including a discussion of what I call the “442 Formula,” referring to the “Four Consciousnesses,” “Four Confidences” and “Two Protects,” which warmed up toward the end of the year, along with increased talk of Xi Jinping as the “people’s leader” (人民领袖) — a direct result of the reformulating of the “442” formula.
You will also find a more in-depth discussion of the phrase “political system reforms,” which as I said at the outset seems very much to be on its way out.
A report earlier this month by Southern Weekly (南方周末) has generated intense debate in China about emotional abuse and sexism — and has also sparked lively discussion of journalism standards.
The original report in what is now being referred to in shorthand as the “Bao Li suicide incident” (包丽自杀事件) was called “The Death of a Female Peking University Student” (北大女生之死). Published through Southern Weekly’s WeChat public account on December 12, the article, written by journalist Chai Huiqun (柴会群), chronicled the alleged emotional abuse of a third-year female student at the Peking University Law School, identified as Bao Li (包丽) — this being a pseudonym used to protect the victim’s name — by her boyfriend, a fourth-year student in the School of Government at Peking University surnamed Mou (牟).
According to Chai’s story, Bao was driven to suicide in October by allegedly demeaning treatment from Mou, much of it through chats on the social media platform WeChat. Bao’s parents discovered her exchanges with Mou after recovering her mobile phone from police on November 7.
The messages between Bao and Mou appear to trace a pattern of emotional abuse, with Mou voicing anger and disappointment over the fact that Bao was no longer a virgin. The original Southern Weekly report included screenshots of some of the exchanges, and excerpts of others.
Chai Huiqun reports in his story that when he reached out to Mou to ask whether he and his girlfriend had a conflict over the question of her virginity, he responded that, “It is inconvenient to say.”
Chai’s report, which has since been removed from the internet (but is archived here by China Digital Times), was full of terms like “virgin complex” (处女情结) and “moral harassment” (精神暴力) that have sparked discussion online about abuse, sexism, gaslighting, consent and other issues. But on the evening of December 12, shortly after Chai’s post was published, Lifeweekly (三联生活周刊), a news and lifestyle magazine launched in 1994, waded into the “Bao Li suicide incident” by accusing Southern Weekly of poor professional journalism standards.
In a response post on its WeChat public account (有罪推定？ — — 为什么我们不这么报道“不寒而栗”的新闻), the magazine accused Southern Weekly of “presuming guilt,” and said it had been too cavalier in its reporting. According to Lifeweekly’s view, the Southern Weekly report contained a number of serious problems. It had not been sufficiently “fair and objective” (公正客观); it had not taken care in the protection of personal privacy; it had not been balanced in its reporting (没有做到报道的平衡), seeking other sides of the story; and it had been reckless in reporting in detail the nature of the Bao Li’s suicide.
Some journalists countered, however, that if Lifeweekly took issue with the accuracy of the Southern Weekly story, the proper response was to do a comprehensive report of their own to set the record straight. Many saw the Southern Weekly report as courageously tackling a difficult and sensitive issue, particularly in a press environment much less conducive in recent years to substantive reporting at all.
The Southern Weekly report certainly brought the death of Bao Li (包丽) into the public light, resulting in follow-up reports from (红星新闻), a news outlet in Chengdu, and other media, including reporting that the male student had not, as previously reported, entered Peking University with exchange student status despite graduating from a Beijing high school. Matters, the Hong Kong-based news outlet by Initium founder and former editor-in-chief Zhang Jieping (张洁平), has also run an in-depth commentary on the case, a piece clearly critical of Mou.
Censorship of discussion of the “Bao Li suicide incident” seems to be patchy and inconsistent. As previously stated, the original report has been removed. A chat thread on the incident at the popular question-and-answer site Zhihu first comes up with a notice saying the link has been disabled, before resolving into a chain of posts dated up to December 16.
Visiting a link through Google for the “Bao Li suicide incident” as discussed on Zhihu, visitors first get a “this response has been deleted” message before the page settles into comments up to December 16.
A December 16 report from The Beijing News is also still available today. That report says that the original report, based largely on the chat history, generated “massive ripples” (巨大震动).
OTHER SOURCES:
“Presuming Guilt? Why We Don’t Report ‘Chilling’ News in This Way” (有罪推定？ — — 为什么我们不这么报道“不寒而栗”的新闻)“ / WeChat public account for Lifeweekly
“Was ‘Chilling’ Love” a Piece of Problem Reporting?” (“不寒而栗”的爱情》是一篇有问题的报道吗?) / WeChat public account “NewsLab” (新闻实验室)
“The Lifeweekly-SW Controversy: Report First, Or Balance?” (三联与南周之争：先报道，还是先平衡?) / WeChat public account “Journalist’s Home” (记者站)
On December 3, Chinese foreign ministry spokesperson Hua Chunying (华春莹) held a press conference at which a journalist asked about a recent op-ed by U.S. Secretary of State Mike Pompeo published through the US news site POLITICO, in which he said that in light of security concerns over 5G technology “it’s critical that European countries not give control of their critical infrastructure to Chinese tech giants like Huawei, or ZTE.”
Pompeo’s remarks included a range of accusations against Huawei in particular, noting its links to the Chinese military, charges that it engaged in espionage in the Netherlands, the Czech Republic and Poland, and allegations that it stole intellectual property from countries such as Germany and Israel. Pompeo also pointed to Chinese state subsidies for Huawei as evidence of unfair practices that “undercut prices offered by market-based rivals.”
Phoenix Online reports on Hua Chunying’s remarks about Pompeo resembling Lu Xun’s character Auntie Xianglin.
In her response to the question, Hua Chunying once again employed the sort of colorful (and often mistaken) language that has been her signature, and has often in the past sparked lively discussion in the Chinese social media space. Invoking the novel Blessing (祝福) by the writer Lu Xun (鲁迅), a leading figure of modern Chinese literature at the start of the 20th century, the spokeswoman said Pompeo resembled the character Auntie Xianglin (祥林嫂), who in the book always chatters on and on about the same topic.
Hua’s implication was the Pompeo’s utterances on Huawei and the 5G issue were tiresome. “As I see it, Mr. Pompeo’s behavior now really resembles that of Auntie Xianglin,” Hua Chunying said. “But of course, Auntie Xianglin prattles on with nonsense about certain harmless topics, while Pompeo prattles on with poisonous lies.”
Once again, Hua Chunying’s colorful references were quickly picked up by Chinese internet users, who followed with a torrent of commentary. But Hua’s Lu Xun reference did not exactly work in the foreign ministry’s favor. This is because Auntie Xianglin is a literary character who generally invites a great deal of sympathy from Chinese readers, and to employ her as a tool in an official state calumny to insult and belittle an American official was regarded by many as inappropriate.
What should we know about Auntie Xianglin?
Auntie Xianglin appeared in Blessing in 1924, at a time of great internal upheaval in China.
In the book, we learn that Auntie Xianglin was widowed at a young age, after which she ran away from the household to seek work, and was subsequently caught and carted back by her mother-in-law, who arranged another forced betrothal. She then gave birth to a son – at that time, of course, a huge honor – but the son was killed and eaten by a wolf. In light of her experiences, Auntie Xianglin is broken spiritually, something Chinese readers have felt they can understand and relate to.
When Hua Chunying referenced Auntie Xianglin’s “prattling,” she presumably meant passages like this one, in which the character relates her personal trials:
I was foolish, truly. I only knew that during the snows when the wild animals in the mountains have nothing to eat, they’ll come into the village; I didn’t know that it might happen in the spring too. In the morning I opened the front door, and took a basket of beans, and I told Ah Mao to sit there on the threshold and peel them. He was such an obedient child, so he did what I said. I went out. I was chopping firewood and washing rice behind the house, and we were going to steam the beans. “Ah Mao!” I called. There was no answer. When I went over, the beans were scattered all over the ground, and our Ah Mao was nowhere to be seen. We looked everywhere. I was beside myself. They sent out a search party. People searched the mountains into the afternoon, and they found one of his shoes in the brambles. Everyone said, that’s it, we’re afraid the wolves have gotten him. They went further in and there he was lying in the grass, his insides already eaten out. The poor child still had a bean held tightly in his hand . . . . “
This poor woman often relates the story. She repeats it as soon as she finds a willing ear. The above is a very classic passage from Lu Xun’s novel, which was made into a film in China in 1956.
The film was even distributed outside China. Here is a poster form the film as it was promoted in the former Yugoslavia.
How can this poor woman who was victimized and suffered under a feudal ethical system be used in reference, with critical overtones, to an American government official?
Here is the response from one Chinese internet user, in which they employ the Chinese Communist Party’s own unique political discourse to criticize Hua Chunying’s tactic:
Auntie Xianglin is a classic image in the arts, a laborer from the bottom of society who in the old society was persecuted by feudal forces, and she has long been a figure with whom readers sympathize. Her constant prattling is a condition of her spiritual collapse as a result of her persecution. And now, a spokesperson for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs makes a comparison to Auntie Xianglin when mocking a foreign politician, and it seems that in her eyes Auntie Xianglin is a comical and ridiculous figure, someone clownish and undeserving of sympathy; and we are told that Auntie Xianglin’s constant prattling of the story of her son being eaten by a wolf is “harmless nonsense.” This shows a shocking ignorance of history, a low cultural character, and a lack of empathy and compassion. Hua Chunying, I ask you: How are you preserving your sense of advancement as a CCP member? How many sessions on not forgetting the original inspiration and holding to the mission have you actually attended?
The front page of the Chinese Communist Party’s official People’s Daily newspaper featured an official commentary yet again today that sent a stern warning over violent standoffs between protesters and police in Hong Kong.
The commentary, like yesterday’s attributed to “a commentator from this paper,” or benbao pinglunyuan (本报评论员), marking it as a staff-written piece representing views in the senior leadership, was a stern warning to so-called “external forces” accused of fomenting discord in order to “impede the great rejuvenation of the Chinese people.”
The commentary says that Xi Jinping’s speech at the 11th BRICS summit of leaders in Brazil — also referenced in yesterday’s commentary — had “sent a severe warning to the radical Hong Kong rioters and their behind-the-scenes supporters.” [Featured image above by Studio Incendo under CC license.]
“Certain radical Hong Kong forces and violent rioters have deliberately destroyed public order and destroyed public facilities, have violently attacked police, have smashed and burned everywhere, have trampled the moral bottom line, broken through the bottom line of rule of law, and have challenged the bottom-line principles of ‘one country, two systems,'” the commentary raged, in the breathless sentence composition so typical of official Party discourse.
“Certain Western politicians and media have been deceptive with the facts,” it continued, “turning black and white on their heads, not distinguishing between truth and falsehood, neglecting the will of Hong Kong society, neglecting the basic principles of international relations, openly cheering for radical and violent separatist forces.”
Concerning the public will, the latest independent polling in Hong Kong, where such polling is actually possible, showed in October that support for the protests remains strong. 52.5 percent in the poll said the SAR government bore the chief responsibility for tensions, while 18.1 percent put the blame on the police. Only 9.6 percent said the protesters were responsible.
The commentary concluded with cresting indignation, fomenting about “those external forces” that must “withdraw their black hands.” But the opening of the final paragraph might easily have been read by protesters in Hong Kong as bearing words of encouragement, though the opposite was certainly intended.
“Injustice is doomed to destruction,” it read.
In a front page commentary today, the Chinese Communist Party’s official People’s Daily newspaper sent one of its strongest signals yet that the leadership is not prepared to acknowledge the demands of Hong Kong protesters, or to reach any sort of compromise. [Featured image by Studio Incendo under CC license.]
“On this question concerning national sovereignty, concerning the fate of Hong Kong,” says the editorial, “there is no middle ground, there is not the least bit of margin for compromise.”
The piece, attributed to “a commentator from this paper,” or benbao pinglunyuan (本报评论员), marking it as executed by top staff representing views at senior levels of the Party, referred to a “struggle” between the protection and destruction of “one country, two systems.” The word “struggle,” a legacy of China’s pre-reform era, has become a prominent feature of Xi Jinping’s more hardline political language.
The commentary mentions the “constant enriching” of “one country, two systems” as an “integral part of the Chinese dream” — a reference to Xi Jinping’s vision of national rejuvenation. It also suggests that the development of the “one country, two systems” formula is “a necessary condition of the refinement and development of the system of socialism with Chinese characteristics and the promotion of the modernization of the national governance system and governing capacity.”
What can this thick crust of discourse possibly mean? What is intended by this talk of “constant enriching” of the arrangement for relative political autonomy and rule of law under which Hong Kong has abided for more than 20 years? If enrichment, that is, does not mean direct election of the SAR’s chief executive?
The crux may lie in this phrase about the “promotion of the modernization of the national governance system and governing capacity.” Proposed changes to national governance were the key focus of the recent Fourth Plenum of the 19th Central Committee of the CCP. As our brief analysis of the bulletin stressed, this is essentially about reform as anti-liberalization — the need for the Party to re-double and consolidate its control over society.
In light of the Fourth Plenum bulletin and the clear hardline turn in Chinese politics under Xi Jinping, we must seriously consider what the improvement of “one country, two systems” means in practical terms in the context of “the promotion of the modernization of the national governance system and governing capacity.”
The most ominous signal comes in the fourth paragraph of the commentary: This storm over the amendment has exposed deep contradictions and problems in Hong Kong’s politics, economy, society and other areas, and has further magnified the necessity and urgency of improving Hong Kong’s governance system.
The current trajectory of Chinese politics suggests that Party leaders understand the improvement of governance only as the consolidation of Party power, which would suggest a difficult road ahead for Hong Kong. We should remember, however, that the signs we see in the Fourth Plenum also point to internal weakness in the Party, and the likelihood that Xi Jinping faces substantial headwinds. As we have previously written, the Party is “struggling,” and this volatility is another variable for Hong Kong.
A partial translation of the People’s Daily commentary follows:
The realization of the constant enriching and development of “one country, two systems” in the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, and the preservation of Hong Kong’s long-term prosperity and stability, is an integral part of the Chinese dream, and also a necessary condition of the refinement and development of the system of socialism with Chinese characteristics and the promotion of the modernization of the national governance system and governing capacity.
At the 11th BRICS summit of leaders in Brazil, Chairman Xi Jinping gave a speech on recent developments in Hong Kong, pointing out that extreme violent criminal activities seriously challenge the bottom-line principles of “one country, two systems.” We will absolutely not tolerate any behavior that challenges the bottom-line principles of “one country, two systems,” and all criminal activities that openly challenge the bottom-line principles of “one country, two systems” must be resolutely punished according to the law.
For more than five months, under the misguided instigation of interference by the opposition faction (反对派) and interference from external forces, continued violent street activities have occurred in Hong Kong [Note: The “opposition faction” is how the CCP refers to Hong Kong’s pro-democracy camp, the word pro-democracy being unsayable]. Certain [people] who even openly advocate “Hong Kong independence,” and shout “Liberate Hong Kong, the Revolution of Our Times,” wantonly dishonor the national flag, the national emblem and the regional [Hong Kong] emblem, surround and attacked the office of the Central Government in Hong Kong and the Legislative Council, the government headquarters, the goal being to sow chaos in Hong Kong and paralyze the SAR government, and in this way to capture the authority to govern in the SAR, turning Hong Kong into an independent or half-independent political entity — with the ultimate result that “one country, two systems” exists only in name.
Today, right before us, is a struggle (斗争) between the protection of “one country, two systems” and the destruction of “one country, two systems.” On this question concerning national sovereignty, concerning the fate of Hong Kong, there is no middle ground (中间地带), there is not the least bit of margin for compromise.
“One country, two systems” is an innovative undertaking, and for the Central Committee it is a major issue for the governance of the country. For Hong Kong and our brethren in Hong Kong, [“one country, two systems”] is an important historical turning point. The facts have shown that “one country, two systems” is the best plan for resolving the historical legacy of the Hong Kong question, and also the best system for preserving prosperity and stability following Hong Kong’s return . . . . At the same time, “one country, two systems” as a system innovation, must, like all new things, be constantly improved in light of practice and experience. This storm over the amendment has exposed deep contradictions and problems in Hong Kong’s politics, economy, society and other areas, and has further magnified the necessity and urgency of improving Hong Kong’s governance system.
The propaganda stunt pulled today by soldiers from the Kowloon barracks of the Chinese army could be read in many ways, and speculation is now running free across Hong Kong. But in very clear ways, the action underscores the deep divide that separates political cultures and consciousness in China and Hong Kong.
For some, the brief publicity campaign, in which People’s Liberation Army soldiers clad in olive green t-shirts and orange basketball jerseys jogged out from the barracks in triple-file to clear away barricades and bricks left by protesters in the vicinity of Hong Kong Baptist University, is an ominous sign that China wants to normalize the public image of the PLA taking a more active role in public order in the city.
A Twitter post from Demosistō, the political party founded by activist Joshua Wong, called the action a “salami tactic” used by China to “intervene in [Hong Kong] affairs more directly.” Others interpreted it as a warning message — a reminder that if the unrest continues, the gates of the Chinese garrison can swing right open.
Although the PLA must not, according to Hong Kong’s Basic Law and the Garrison Law, interfere in local affairs, its troops may be called upon to assist with disaster relief or maintain public order upon request by the SAR government. No request for assistance with public order has ever been made since Hong Kong’s return to Chinese rule in 1997. Democratic Party lawmaker James To Kun-sun told the SCMP, however, that today’s action did not appear to be voluntary service, as when the PLA took part last year in the planting of trees felled during Typhoon Mangkhut. “It’s more like assisting the maintenance of public order,” he said.
But aside from the question of what this propaganda stunt means in the context of events in Hong Kong, the action is a clear illustration of the political culture that prevails across the border — and its sharply different conception of the role of the media.
Camera Shy
One video of today’s stunt includes several scenes with the garrison’s own soldier-cameraman. Watch the opening frame and you’ll see him, the only one wearing camouflage fatigues, hustling alongside the column of soldiers.
As the soldiers turn the corner onto the street, they are greeted by a small group of onlookers who shout and applaud, but the scene seems awkward and contrived, and the applause immediately subsides.
In a subsequent frame, the soldier with the camera again moves across the lens as the soldiers are standing at attention.
When the column returns to the garrison, and as the gates are closing, the cameraman in fatigues is the last to enter. He has captured the scenes, we can assume, that will now spread across the Chinese internet — telling a story of duty, obedience and restoration of order.
But in Hong Kong, where freedom of the press and publication are enshrined in Article 27 of the Basic Law, constructing and maintaining such a narrative is not such a simple matter as it might be inside China.
In a separate video shared by RTHK, a member of the PLA group who appears to be an officer from the garrison is confronted by journalists and ordinary Hong Kong residents about the reason for the action and the poor message it might send to the city.
“We are spreading positive energy!” he shouts at the outset of the video, parroting a phrase straight from Xi Jinping’s information control lexicon, meaning to emphasize positive messages over critical ones.
To this an off-camera voice responds, deepening the sense of divide and dissonance: “What does that mean, positive energy?”
“I’m not doing interviews!” he says sternly as he turns, clearly growing upset. He walks around as the cameras and microphones trail him closely. Can he sense, perhaps, the narrative unwinding? He is out of his element entirely, a relic transported into the future. His strapping soldiers are busy clearing away the street, presenting the kind of ready image one might expect to find on the front page of the Liberation Army Daily. And yet the cameras have turned on him. He has become the story.
Next, a reporter asks the question that will soon be on the minds of many people in Hong Kong: “Aren’t you concerned that this will give the Hong Kong people a bad impression?” Another voice shouts: “Won’t this just cause further disputes?”
He turns, first with a look of incomprehension, then quickly spinning back into irritation. He points toward the garrison gate, to where his soldiers were greeted with the spattering of unconvincing applause: “The applause of the Hong Kong people, that is the best impression!” he growls. “What else is there to ask? Bad impressions? No more questions!”
Now completely surrounded as he walks about, he searches desperately for an escape. “Who are you?” someone then asks.
“I am the Hong Kong Garrison of the People’s Liberation Army!”
“But who are you?” “Are you the commander?” “What is your surname?”
“No more questions!”
The scene reveals all. Though he has already claimed that the actions of the soldiers are “spontaneous,” a matter of individual will — zifa (自发) is the word his uses — he is unwilling, and almost certainly unable, to name himself.
He is the Hong Kong Garrison of the PLA, and the PLA is commanded by the Chinese Communist Party, and individual wills and identities do not enter into the world so structured. By the same token, the only “impression” to be made is that of the goodness and positivity of the PLA and of the Party, a story that all are duty-bound to accept.
The failure of the journalists to simply accept the officer’s de-personalized language of power is something he doesn’t seem to have foreseen. In this context, he cannot deal with even the most basic question of humanity and personal responsibility: “Who are you?”
His de-personalization and subjugation mirrors that of China’s news media, and the role of the journalist as a purveyor of “positive energy.” Consider, in light of the officer’s inability to offer even his surname, how Xi Jinping doubled-down on press controls in 2016 by stressing to all media that they are “surnamed Party.”
This clean-up drive was not just the perfect allegory for the relationship between the individual, power and the media in China — it was its exemplification, right on the streets of Hong Kong.
Finally, the scene grows desperate, and two unidentified women appear to try to extract the officer from his predicament. Meanwhile, the cameraman in fatigues appears once again, raising a hand to block one of the now unwelcome cameras with his hand. The documenter turns to physical obstruction. But this does not mean that the nature of his work has changed — not at all. He must obstruct this complicating narrative on the street as much as he seeks to advance the Party’s narrative.
Just as positivity demands the suppression of gloom, so does propaganda, the expression of power, entail the obstruction of truth. It cannot live with questions.
