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).
Cupcakes bearing the logo for WeChat, China’s most popular social media service.
The report’s abstract begins by crediting the “Internet Plus” strategy announced by Premier Li Keqiang in 2015 — the idea that China can use “the unprecedented new technological revolution” of the internet to push economic transformation — with driving forward the process of informatization. It notes that China’s influence on global internet governance is expanding, and that it is “growing from a big internet nation into a strong internet power.”
Among the key problems, the report notes that “the entire world faces threats to the security of online space,” and that “financial risks on the internet have grown more frequent.” Finally, in what could be read as a warning to those companies offering online services, the report says “ethical problems in new media communication must be urgently regulated, and the social responsibilities of internet companies must be urgently increased.” (Interestingly, the official English translation of this section of the abstract is less direct, noting that ethical problems “have to be discussed.”)
One of the report’s statistical highlights is the dramatic growth in users of live-stream broadcasting services in China, which reached 344 million by December 2016 (47.1 percent of total internet users). The report estimates that by 2020, live-stream broadcasting in China will be a 100 billion RMB industry.
Over the past year, however, China has launched a sustained crackdown on internet services, including live-streaming. In September last year, the State Administration of Press Publications Radio Film and Television (SAPPRFT), one of the country’s key content regulators, pledged to strengthen oversight of live-streaming. Last week the agency went beyond that promise, ordering the shutdown of live-stream broadcasts on a number of platforms, including the Nasdaq-listed Weibo.
Under the leadership of the Chinese Communist Party, media control and development must always go hand in hand, and some of the development’s outlined in this latest report on media development in the country may be moderated by developments on the control side. It is worth a read nonetheless.
WHEN THE 19TH NATIONAL CONGRESS of the CCP is held this fall, the event will mark, among other things, the ten-year anniversary of the elevation of “soft power” as a notion of formal importance at the highest levels of China’s leadership. It was President Hu Jintao’s political report to the 17th National Congress in 2007 that spoke of enhancing culture “as part of the soft power of our country,” and of the need to advance a “system of socialist core values and make socialist ideology more attractive and cohesive.”
But culture can be a slippery business for authoritarian states, and China often manages its confines with cold, hard coercion — an awkward companion to the soft power essence of attraction. We had an explicit reminder of this just weeks ago as the Cyberspace Administration of China (CAC), the country’s super-agency for internet control, purged scores of WeChat public accounts, mobile apps and websites offering entertainment content. Its rationale? The defense of “socialist core values.”
Coercion and attraction maintain an uneasy tension at the core of China’s vision of soft power. But ten years on from the 17th National Congress you can detect a new swagger in the official discourse. China’s soft power is on the rise, the inverse of a decline in the appeal of the West.
He Yiting (何毅亭), executive vice-president of the Central Party School, the institution charged with the ideological training of Communist Party officials, wrote recently in the Study Times (学习时报) journal that China’s return to the global summit of “discourse power” is imminent, and that the “rejuvenation of Chinese discourse” will come hand-in-hand with what Xi Jinping has called “the great rejuvenation of the Chinese nation.”
He Yiting, executive vice-president of the Central Party School, speaks at a meeting about the importance of educating leaders in the “Party nature.” Source: Party School of Jiangsu Province.
He Yiting’s essay reads like a Rocky Balboa story of Chinese discourse — the tale of a culture knocked to its knees after the glories of the Han and Tang dynasties and “the golden age of the Qing dynasty,” and rising to its feet again with the founding of the People’s Republic of China in 1949. “Sixty eight years,” writes He, “have passed in a flash.” And indeed they do in his retelling, the years passing in such a flash that we can blur right past the depredations of Maoist discourse from the 1950s straight through to the end of the Cultural Revolution in 1976.
“China is a giant on the move,” He writes, “and it will ultimately become a powerhouse of discourse too.”
* * *
The 21st Century is the Century of the Rejuvenation of Chinese Discourse
By He Yiting
Discourse power is a pillar of the nation. Discourse is indispensable to the revival of a great nation.
Powerful discourses often prop up powerful nations. Since ancient times, the discourses of nations of central [importance] have in each age been the discourses that holding dominant status in the world, and those nations with strong comprehensive national power (综合国力) have in every age stood at the center of the world stage. Historically, China stood for a long period of time, for more than one thousand years, at the summit of the world. From the Han and Tang dynasties through to the golden age of the Qing dynasty, China’s agricultural civilization evolved to a peak of glory.
China’s classical discourse, with its brilliant inner qualities, it profound wisdom and grace, radiated out in all directions. Its nearest neighbors, the Korean Silla and Goryeo dynasties, Japan, the Ryukyu Kingdom, Vietnam and other regions in Southeast Asia — all were heavily influenced by Chinese culture. This influence was transmitted out into the wider world, inspiring cultures in such far-flung places as central and western Asia, Europe and Africa.
Ancient Chinese discourse has never suffered rupture, and the “Chinese cultural sphere” has become one of the world’s four major cultural spheres, revered along with the Western Christian cultural sphere (西方基督教文化圈), the Arabic-Islamic cultural sphere (阿拉伯伊斯兰教文化圈), and the Indian Hindu cultural sphere (印度婆罗门教文化圈).
The decline of a discourse often arises from the decline of a nation. In recent times, owing to social changes brought about by technological progress and advancements in production, the feudal systems built on the foundation of agricultural civilization have inevitably been eroded, supplanted and surpassed by capitalist systems built on the foundations of industrial civilization.
In terms of competing national power and national status, China declined steadily from the Opium Wars onward, under the onslaught of powerful Western gunboats, into a darkness half colonial and half feudal. The Chinese people were not just beat down in this state of backwardness, but they suffered from aphasia and were subjected to verbal abuse.
At the same time, Western discourse rose to become the dominant world discourse, and in its strength held the high ground culturally. It claimed the right to determine the content of discourse, to set the discourse agenda and to serve as the arbiter of discourse disputes. The West would either step out with sermons, elevating geographically specific discourse into a universal discourse, and with it seeking to colonise the world; or it would step out as judge, applying Western standards of true and false, nitpicking and making careless remarks about the discourse, conduct and worldviews of other nations. Along with rise of Western discourse, ancient Chinese discourse was thrust into the dark corners of history, deprived of the light it had once enjoyed.
The revival of discourse brings the hope of national rejuvenation, and the revival of discourse begins with national rejuvenation. The foundation of the People’s Republic of China was a moment of tremendous historical significance, marking the historic beginning of the journey toward national rejuvenation — and its was also the start at the middle of the 20th century of the march of Chinese discourse toward the world. The “Three Worlds Theory” of Mao Zedong, and the “Five Principles of Peaceful Coexistence,” etc., were all contributions made to the world by Chinese discourse.
Sixty eight years have passed in a flash. China today is closer than it ever has been to the center of the world stage, closer than it ever has been to its goal of the great rejuvenation of the Chinese nation, and vested with more capacity and more confidence than ever before to realize this goal. After an interval of several centuries, China is finally at the doorstep of national rejuvenation; China’s return to the summit of the world is already determined as the historical trend of the 21st century. In China today, “material strength” is already becoming a reality, but this is not the full dream of the Chinese nation — and China cannot become a “lame giant” (跛脚大国) that is materially advanced yet spiritually impoverished. General Secretary Xi Jinping has said: “Reaching our development objective is not just about becoming materially strong, but also about becoming spiritually strong.” A China that is politically and economically powerful must also be a China that is just as powerful, if not more powerful, in terms of spirit and culture.
In recent years, as the Chinese nation has progressed toward rejuvenation, China’s economic discourse power and institutional discourse power internationally have increased substantially, and they have begun to match and advance our [comprehensive] national power. At the APEC and G20 summits, at the Davos Forum, at high-level international forums for the “One Belt, One Road” Initiative (OBOR), China has drawn the gaze of the world, and the slumping world economy and failing global governance look expectantly to Chinese proposals. China has not left the world disappointed, but has made illuminating responses.
China today is not only the defender, promoter and leader of economic globalization in the 21st century, but in fact has remade the new pattern of economic globalization in the 21st century on the level of worldviews and values — so that the world has a new understanding and acceptance of globalization. The United Nations, WTO, the World Monetary Fund, the World Bank, the Shanghai Cooperation Organisation (SCO), the BRICS economic block and other international organizations like them all strive to hear China’s voice, and China magnanimously shares its expertise. From “a community of shared future for humankind” (人类命运共同体) to “diversity of civilizations” (文明多样性), from “win-win cooperation” (合作共赢) to “mutual tolerance” (包容互鉴), China has offered the world a new vision of hope.
Of course, we also have our weak points. In an environment in which the situation of “Western strength and Chinese weakness” (西强我弱) has not fundamentally changed, on the international stage we face “a situation in which our voice is still rather small, we are often unable to convey our reasons, and when we do we cannot be heard.”
But our shortcomings do not arise from [deficits in terms of] culture and values, but from [lack of] consciousness and confidence about [our own] culture and values. They arise from the fact that we fall behind in terms of innovating and transforming traditional discourse, and that we lack sufficient preparation for breaking through the Western monopolization of discourse.
For example, modern Western capitalism has typically been contemptuous of such traditional Chinese values as benevolence (仁爱), people-orientation, (重民本), integrity (守诚信), justice (崇正义), harmony (尚和合) and seeking common ground (求大同), and we have even ourselves doubted these cultural values. But as the world today faces more and more serious environmental problems, [the traditional Chinese notion of] “the unity of man and heaven” (天人合一) is much-needed medicine for humankind in healing its own home.
. . . . .
The 21st century is the century of the rejuvenation of the Chinese nation, and it is also the century of the rejuvenation of Chinese discourse. We can have this confidence and assuredness because the successful experiences of China already provide a rich ground, and the China path not only explains well the question of development in China, but also provides many ideas and methods to resolve problems in the world. The academic community in China has already developed a consciousness of the building of a Chinese discourse system, and Chinese characteristics, Chinese manners and Chinese style have already become points of focus in the building of discourse. We will no longer blindly follow the West, and no longer see Western discourse as the standard. Furthermore, international society has more desire than ever before to hear voices from China, and is willing to work to grasp Chinese concepts in order to understand Chinese logic — no longer simply using Western concepts to make comparisons. The fact that since last year a number of international organizations, including the United Nations, have written “community of common destiny of mankind” into their documents, is a sign of this change.
We have confidence and assuredness in the rejuvenation of Chinese discourse in the 21st century also because the series of important speeches by General Secretary Xi Jinping and his new concepts, thoughts and strategies on the management of state affairs include a full set of new discourse and new expressions that are clearly Chinese but have universal meaning. The expressions raised by General Secretary Xi Jinping, including the “Chinese dream,” “one belt one road,” “common values” (共同价值), “community of common destiny of mankind” (人类命运共同体), “a new international relations with win-win cooperation at the core,” have already become core agendas and a foundational consensus in international discourse.
The most important thing here is that the great rejuvenation of the Chinese nation owes to the leadership of the Central Party with comrade Xi Jinping as the core, and the rejuvenation of Chinese discourse is led by the series of important speeches made by General Secretary Xi Jinping. Since the 18th National Congress of the CCP, the Central Party with comrade Xi Jinping as the core has led the whole Party and the whole people of the nation in following the past and heralding the future, in mapping a vision of governance, in bearing the banner to point the direction, in making strategic arrangements, in pressing through challenges, in firming up the foundations, in opening new horizons in the management of state affairs, innovating the work of the Party and the nation and greatly encouraging the spirit of the Party, the spirit of the military and the spirit of the people (党心军心民心). The blueprint for national rejuvenation has already been drawn, and the Chinese nation is already walking on the broad and open road of rejuvenation. So naturally there is a firm foundation for the rejuvenation of Chinese discourse.
We can expect that in the 21st century, the most successful example will be China, and the most stunning vision will be China. And the Chinese discourse that explains this example will without a doubt be the global discourse that most draws the focus [of the world]. We have reason to believe that not too far off in the future, China’s dominance in terms of development, institutions and governance will be transformed into discourse dominance on the international stage. The Chinese era of international discourse is at our doorstep.
China is a giant on the move, and it will ultimately become a powerhouse of discourse too.
It was a busy day over at the Cyberspace Administration of China (CAC). On May 2, the agency, created in February 2014 to exercise overarching control over the country’s internet and every related enterprise, launched not one but three separate regulations, dealing with everything from “procurement of important network products and services” to “online news and information services.”
The bottom line?
These regulations, which will formally take effect on June 1 along with the Cybersecurity Law, mark the maturation of President Xi Jinping’s grand plan for information under the Chinese Communist Party in the 21st century. That vision centers on 1) cybersecurity as integral to national security, and grasps cybersecurity through the lens of regime stability and the core need for information controls at home and abroad, and 2) informatization, or xinxihua (信息化), the idea of internet and digital development as the new, perhaps even now primary, source of production, replacing industrialization at the heart of the national economy.
A banner across the top of the official website of the Cyberspace Administration of China shows President Xi Jinping and the words: “Without cybersecurity, there is no national security; without digitalization, there is no modernization.”
Xi Jinping fleshed out this vision when he addressed the very first meeting of his Office of the Central Leading Group for Cyberspace Affairs (中央网络安全和信息化领导小组) in February 2014, speaking about the need to fashion China as an “internet power” (网络强国). In that address, Xi said: “Without cybersecurity, there is no national security; without informatization, there is no modernization” (没有网络安全就没有国家安全，没有信息化就没有现代化).
The internet was once a foreign problem and peripheral concern to China. There is no better proof of this than the fact that internet controls were, from the very beginning, placed not within the Party’s core —in the Central Propaganda Department, for example— but in the Information Office of the State Council, the government body tasked with all things foreign, the same body that publishes China Daily, the newspaper meant to explain China to the outside world.
Xi Jinping has progressively pulled the internet front and center, and the creation of the Central Leading Group for Cyberspace Affairs, the body that subsumes the CAC, and of which Xi is head, is an institutional reflection of this dramatic change. Since the formation of the Leading Group and the CAC, Xi Jinping has stressed the need for these newly centralized controls on the internet to be further legitimized through laws and regulations. China must, he says, “govern the online space in accord with the law” (依法治理网络空间).
Addressing an important cybersecurity forum on April 19 last year, Xi Jinping urged the need for “legislation of cyber laws, improving legal supervision and resolving risks caused by the internet.” The Cybersecurity Law, which passed on November 7, 2016, is the centerpiece of this push for a newly legislated regime of information controls in China, and the regulations released yesterday are further pieces of the puzzle.
One hint as to the institutional significance of the regulations comes today in a report by Xinhua News Agency, which notes: “The CAC will become the new regulator of online news service, replacing the State Council Information Office.”
This is not exactly the nail in the coffin — not yet. But we can expect both the Information Office and the Central Propaganda Department to be increasingly sidelined as the CAC comes to dominate, with a flotilla of laws and regulations behind it.
It is not at all a surprise, then, to see that the Provisions for the Administration of Internet News, one of the three regulations released yesterday, clearly define the CAC’s role in defending the political and ideological line:
Article 3: The provision of internet news and information services must respect the Constitution, laws and regulations, adhering to a political orientation of serving the people (为人民服务), serving socialism (为社会主义服务), adhering to correct guidance of public opinion (坚持正确舆论导向), serving a public opinion supervision role (发挥舆论监督作用), promoting the creation of a positive, healthy and advanced online culture, and preserving the national interest and the public interest.
Is this a passing of the baton?
Xi Jinping’s cyber regime is still in formation. But we can be sure that as the news in China increasingly goes digital, and as television goes mobile, the CAC’s power will grow. Its web of controls, almost assured to be one of Xi Jinping’s most enduring legacies, will overlay China’s 21st century web of communications.
IN A RECENT WORK REPORT on the state of radio and television production in China, the deputy director of the country’s print and broadcast regulator, Tian Jin (田进), offered acerbic criticism of certain “harmful trends” in the industry — including over-attention to ratings and box office results, and the “wanton spoofing and deconstructing of historical figures.”
“We must recognize,” said Tian, “that our broadcast sector suffers from both chronic diseases and new problems, all of which urgently await solution.”
In particular, Tian cited an obsessive focus on “box office, [television] ratings and [online] hits,” to the detriment of program quality — which he did not elaborate — and traditional culture. On the latter point, Tian briefly noted the phenomenon of “naked Peking opera” (裸体京剧), the flippant and sometimes indecorous treatment of one of China’s most celebrated forms of traditional culture.
Echoing recent actions against live video streaming in China, Tian Jin said that many “audiovisual products” online were of “vulgar quality,” and that online anchors, or hosts of live video streaming programs, often provided content that was of a violent or indecent nature. His agency would “deal severely with those responsible,” he said, but there was still a need to “raise the intensity of governance.”
Also in his report, Tian apparently praised the recent hit series In the Name of the People, a dramatization of the Communist Party’s anti-corruption campaign, and said regulators still felt that the overall trend was for Chinese programming with “main themes that resounded and were full of positive energy” — meaning, in essence, favorable to the state and to its understanding of public an private morals.
A still from the unexpurgated version of the 2015 drama Empress of China, aired on Hunan TV before being pulled by regulators for fresh edits.
Tian Jin, a long-time veteran of China’s original broadcast regulator, the State Administration of Radio Film and Television (SARFT) — which in 2013 merged with the country’s press and publications regulator, GAPP, to form a new super-agency (SAPPRFT) — has in recent years been the public face of regulation in the entertainment industry.
It was Tian who fielded questions from reporters in 2015, when his agency pulled the popular television drama Empress of China for overhaul because it “contained scenes that harmed the healthy development of youth.” Translation: too much cleavage.
Propaganda officials and broadcast regulators in China go through cyclical periods of intense prudishness over entertainment content, and officials responsible for overseeing television — and now live video streaming — are especially notorious for their micro-managing of the country’s living rooms.
In March last year, Tian Jin’s agency, SAPPRFT, issued new television rules banning depictions of homosexuality, excess smoking and drinking, adultery and even reincarnation.
“If arts and culture lose their way in the roaring tide of the market,” Tian Jin said in his recent report, “if they they become slaves to the market, being covered with the stench of filth — then a series of problems will surely follow in a chain reaction.”
TWO YEARS AGO in Hong Kong, I sat around a conference table with some of the finest journalists to have worked in the Chinese media in the past two decades. Left and right of me were reporters who had broken major stories of corruption, malfeasance and cruelty, and who had, in the process, shaped the contemporary history of Chinese journalism — a history in which, from time to time, a broader notion of the public interest won out against the narrow interests of the Party-state.
Now, however, all of them were busy with start-ups (“innovation” being the buzzword of the day) having little or nothing to do with journalism. The low point for me came when one seasoned former reporter said with some bitterness: “I no longer think of myself as a journalist at all.”
Over the past few years, it has become increasingly clear that much of the experience the journalism profession in China has gained since the 1990s is being hollowed out by deeper economic, political and technological shifts in the media industry.
Many factors have driven an exodus of older talent from China’s media, from poor pay and the digital transformation of the industry — now hitting traditional Chinese media that for many years had seemed protected from the storms buffeting media elsewhere in the world — to the vagaries of censorship, which can sap the professional spirit. But the net effect of this shift is the progressive loss of professional journalism capacity in China’s media.
That capacity could take many long years to rebuild, particularly if the stringent controls we’ve seen under President Xi Jinping continue into the next decade, leaving few stories on which journalists can cut their teeth.
A 2016 survey on Chinese journalists by PR Newswire.
Falling pay (relative to cost of living) and rising pressure mean the entire journalism profession is skewing younger in China. A 2016 survey by PR Newswire showed that more than 80 percent of the “front-line journalists” reporting the news in China were born after 1985, meaning they were 30 years old or younger. By contrast, a survey of journalists in the U.S., conducted in 2013 by the School of Journalism at Indiana University, showed the median age had risen from 41 to 47 since 2002.
Just over 80 percent of the Chinese journalists surveyed for the PR Newswire study — 1,477 in all — reported monthly income below 10,000 yuan, or 1,450 dollars. To put these numbers in perspective, this means incomes for Chinese journalists haven’t budged from a decade ago, when Chinese media were heading toward the tail end of what had been a “golden decade” of journalism development, and when housing prices and other costs in major cities were a fraction of what they are today.
Last month, the youthfulness of China’s journalists became a topic of renewed debate on social media in China after former FT China editor-in-chief Zhang Lifen (张力奋) said at the Bo’ao Forum for Asia Annual Conference that while the journalism profession anywhere in the world must rely on cumulative experience, journalists in China treat the job as a “young rice bowl” profession — in other words, as something to be endured only for a few years early in a career before one moves on to a job with real pay and a real future.
Zhang noted how, during coverage of the annual National People’s Congress that same month, many young Chinese journalists had become distracted from the story at hand, pulling delegates (some of whom are celebrities) aside to pose for selfies. “Watching them, old journalists like us thought on the one hand that they were just having fun,” said Zhang, “but on the other hand that this was really not how journalists should behave.”
A reporter takes a selfie in 2016 with a famous singer Song Zuying, a delegate to the annual Chinese People’s Political Consultative Congress. This photo appeared that year in a photo series featuring female journalists taking selfies at the NPC.
Is Chinese journalism, on top of all of its other problems, plagued with youth and inexperience?
These questions about journalism in China as a “young rice bowl” profession have been kicked around for a number of years now. Following the disappearance in March 2014 of Malaysia Airlines Flight 370, a story that drew intense interest in China, many internet users were appalled by the inability of Chinese journalists to get valuable scoops like those reported by the likes of CNN, the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal. Columnist Sun Letao (孙乐涛), writing for the Guangzhou-based Time Weekly, noted that youth and inexperience in the media had become evident on a number of stories that spring:
The MH370 incident just happened to coincide with the two meetings [of the National People’s Congress and the CPPCC], generally a yearly highlight for serious traditional media. And what audiences witnessed were great numbers of young reporters, looking like they had just stepped out of college . . . diligently and firmly waving down delegates and stopping representatives to ask the same stereotyped questions, and writing the same stereotyped reports.
For Sun and many others, the failure of Chinese media to compete in reporting the MH370 incident, a story of core interest to the domestic audience, exposed the callowness and incompetence of the country’s journalists. These were not just days of disaster for the aviation world — they were “days of disaster for Chinese media.”
These “days of disaster” have persisted since 2014, as Chinese media have remained virtually silent on major breaking stories of the kind that in years past might have drawn more aggressive coverage. During this period, only the Tianjin explosions in August 2015 have offered a truly notable exception to the lull in quality reporting by China’s domestic media. The explosions were a story of such immense scale, unfolding in a highly populated urban area, that coverage was impossible to quell entirely.
A job ad from the Chengdu Evening News, looking for commentary writers under the age of 40, and reporters under the age of 35.
While broader political and industry trends are no doubt having an effect on the staying power of older professionals in the media, some point out that there is also a pre-existing bias toward younger professionals in hiring for media jobs. Many media in China, old and new, routinely advertise journalism jobs by prioritizing applicants “under the age of 35.”
In the wake of the comments by former FT China editor-in-chief Zhang Lifen, an article on a WeChat public account shared screenshots of a recent job placement from the Chengdu Evening News, a major commercial newspaper in Sichuan province, which was looking to hire 23 reporters, all “under the age of 35,” as well as six commentary writers “under the age of 40.”
Using age as a hiring standard, said the WeChat article, might seem understandable given the fiercely competitive nature of the news profession, which sometimes requires late or unpredictable shifts to cover breaking stories, or to get print editions out the door. The pressures of the media workplace can demand a great deal of journalists, and younger staff are better equipped — or so the argument goes—to handle that pressure. Journalists taking selfies together outside the Great Hall of the People in 2016. Photo part of a series on female journalists taking selfies during the National People’s Congress.
Even if all of the above were true — and there are plenty of arguments against — energy is no substitute for experience. If better, more professional reporting is the desired outcome, young journalists need the benefit of working with older and more seasoned colleagues.
The discussion inside China of the reasons for journalism’s flagging appeal among older — even just slightly older — professionals tends not to dwell on censorship, the elephant in the room. But the fact is that media controls, now more stringent and more effective than at any time in the past two decades, have a constraining effect on all aspects of the profession.
The Chinese Communist Party has no interest, ultimately, in more professional reporting. As President Xi Jinping emphasized in his speech on media policy in February 2016, the media must “sing the main theme and transmit positive energy” (唱响主旋律, 传播正能量). They must, in other words, be obedient servants of the Party and its objectives.
All three of the reasons cited in the recent WeChat article for journalism becoming a “young rice bowl” profession in China — poor pay, health and well-being, and murky future prospects — might be resolved if the industry was permitted to develop with a sense of professional purpose. The article, however, could only hint at this underlying malaise. “Before, we called journalists the ‘uncrowned kings,’” it said. “Now, they are just the temp workers of journalism.”
CHINESE MEDIA REPORTED on April 17 that White Deer Plain (白鹿原), the television drama adapted from the novel of the same name by Chen Zhongshi, had been shelved after the airing of a single episode. It is not yet clear what the reasons are for the pulling of the drama — whether, for example, it is a suspension ordered by the authorities, or a decision taken by the show’s distributors — and there is so far no indication of whether or when the series might air again.
While broadcast authorities in China often nitpick films and dramas, subjecting them to censorship throughout the production process, abrupt withdrawals from the broadcast lineup are rare, says Cai Yiming (蔡一鸣) at Media Internal Reference (传媒内参). One of the most recent cases was the suspension in January 2015 of the period drama The Empress of China, which was pulled to make additional cuts after officials said it contained “unhealthy scenes.” The concern in that earlier instance was plunging necklines and a surfeit of exposed skin, and the move from regulators drew widespread ridicule from Chinese online — sometimes in very creative ways — before and after the series re-aired.
In a pair of identical posts to their respective official Weibo accounts just before noon on April 18, the broadcasters of White Deer Plain, Jiangsu Television and Anhui Television, said cryptically: “In order to obtain better broadcasting results, the drama White Deer Plain will be broadcast selectively. Thank you for your attention!”
Media Internal Reference, a WeChat public account observing China’s media industry, offered two speculations making the rounds in China as to the reasons for the sudden pulling of the drama.
One possible reason observers have noted is that China Central Television, the state-run broadcaster, intends to “offer an olive branch” to Jiangsu Television and Anhui Television, two of its major competitors, working with them to broadcast the series. It is unclear, however, why such an arrangement would be to the advantage of either of the networks. Another possible reason, said Media Internal Reference, is that the distributors of White Deer Plain fear the immense popularity of In the Name of the People, the anti-corruption drama airing on Hunan Television, will be a drag on ratings for the show.
Political sensitives are of course a third possibility. The Global Times, a spin-off of the official People’s Daily newspaper, ran an English-language report late Tuesday on the show’s sudden disappearance. But that report is now missing, calling up a server error. A cached version of the article is available, but a cached version of the article is available and does discuss possible political pressure.
As of Tuesday afternoon, no other reasons have been provided for the takedown. Chinese netizens have speculated that it may have been due to the appearance of politically related content.
In his post on Tuesday, Du [Ren, a film director] speculated that one of the reasons behind the removal may be related to the main character’s political background and tragic ending. This post was removed later that day.
The original newspaper headline for the story in the Global Times was “Mysterious Disappearance.” In any case, the situation as it stands now is without clear precedent.
Just days before the first episode aired on April 16, Tsinghua University hosts cast members from the White Dear Plain series for a discussion.
In the past, the authorities have leaned on some television programs after receiving a high volume of complaints from concerned viewers. Such a scenario seems unlikely in this case, given the fact that White Deer Plain aired for only a single episode.
Chen Zhongshi’s novel, which sweeps across the end of the Qing dynasty, the Republican Period, the Japanese invasion and the early days of the People’s Republic of China, does contain sensitive political content and is said to have gone through several rounds of censorship ahead of publication in 1993 by the People’s Literature Publishing House. The book won the Mao Dun Literature Prize four years later, but only after Chen was asked to make further alterations.
FOLLOWING A DAMNING REPORT over the weekend by China’s state-run broadcaster, China Central Television, alleging the proliferation of vulgar content through popular live streaming apps, authorities in Beijing met yesterday with the operators of three popular apps, ordering them to fully submit to “rectification,” or zhenggai — a term that refers in Chinese to an overhaul of operations, possibly involving the removal or reshuffling of management staff.
The three app operators were reportedly “invited to discussions” with the Beijing municipal office of the Cyberspace Administration of China and ordered to immediately desist from unspecified violations of Chinese regulations. They include Toutiao (今日头条), an app that offers automated selection of news stories, and “Volcano Live” (火山直播) and “Pepper Live” (花椒直播), both social platforms for live video streaming. Toutiao was apparently included in the action against live streaming services because it began providing regular links to live streamed shows last year.
The “discussions” reportedly involved the municipal public security bureau as well as the Administrative Law Enforcement Corps of the Culture Market (文化市场行政执法总队), which often spearheads local campaigns in China against obscene or pornographic content.
The Administrative Law Enforcement Corps has already opened investigations against the above-mentioned live streaming services, state media reported, and will refer criminal cases against individual live broadcasters — presumably meaning users of the services — to the police. The next step, according to media reports, is for the three official agencies to take up the issue of content violations with Apple Inc., “demanding that it strengthen review procedures for live streaming services offered through its AppStore.”
The Volcano Live app as it appeared in the AppStore on April 18, 2017.
Live streaming apps emerged in China during the second half of 2015, developing rapidly. By the end of 2015, the country had close to 200 live streaming platforms in operation. The emerging industry experienced tremendous growth in China in 2016, reaching an estimated 344 million users by year’s end.
But live streaming apps have also come under intense scrutiny. Earlier this month, the Cyberspace Administration of China (CAC), the internet control body created by President Xi Jinping in 2014, announced that it had shut down 18 live streaming apps operating illegally, saying “anchors,” or individual program hosts, had “spread illegal content, dressed in military or police uniforms or were scantily dressed and acted flirtatiously.”
“The online behavior of the anchors violated relevant internet information service or live streaming laws and regulations, offended socialist core values, and brought negative impact to the healthy growth of the young and teenagers,” the CAC said.
The agency has so far blacklisted close to 2,000 anchors it said had “severely violated relevant regulations,” preventing them from registering new accounts on live streaming platforms.
While the report from CCTV and campaigns against live streaming have emphasized the need to restrict indecent content for the benefit of Chinese youth, it is also clear that tightening restrictions are part of a broader effort to assert control over all forms of content finding space through these new services.
Back in January, an article in the People’s Tribune, published by the official People’s Daily, noted that streaming platforms made it difficult to control “guidance of speech” (言论导向), a reference to the overarching goal of social and political control through the media. The article also said some content on live streaming platforms disadvantaged the “correct channeling of public opinion,” a term denoting the Party’s control and manipulation of information.
“Owing to the fact that online anchors do not require examination of credentials to start working,” it said, “some anchors lack political literacy and media integrity. They take a shallow view of problems and wantonly criticize political events, inciting the sentiments of the people and demonizing public figures. Their inflammatory and severe language disadvantages correct channeling of public opinion, harms the development of general political literacy, and even unleashes irrational and extreme ‘patriotic’ behavior, doing damage to society.”
Soon after news of the “discussion” with the three apps went public yesterday, one of the companies concerned, Pepper Live, posted a notice online in which it thanked CCTV for its “attention to and monitoring of the live streaming industry,” and pledged to improve its oversight, helping to “clean up the live streaming environment.”
Noting that it already had 600 internal staff dedicated to content review on a 24-hour basis, the platform said it would “further expand the intensity of oversight” in light of “line-balls” — a reference to media content that falls just out of bounds or pushes the envelope.
“As an industry that is still very young, live streaming is in a period of rapid development, and a number of problems have emerged in this process,” read the notice from Pepper Live. “As we strengthen our internal controls, we also call on our colleagues in the live streaming industry to respect national laws and regulations, strengthening the oversight and management of live streaming content, and building a green and healthy live streaming environment.”
Half an hour ago, US President Trump sent out a tweet saying: 1, “I explained to the President of China that a trade deal with the U.S. will be far better for them if they solve the North Korean problem!” 2, “North Korea is looking for trouble. If China decides to help, that would be great. If not, we will solve the problem without them! U.S.A.”
The recent pageantry surrounding the fifth and final session of China’s 12th National People’s Congress — and all of the hubbub over growth targets, budgets and measures to curb (still) rising housing prices — was all in a sense window dressing for a far more important political message: the unassailable position of President Xi Jinping as “the core” of the Chinese Communist Party leadership.
As we draw closer to the crucial 19th National Congress of the CCP, to be held later this year, we can expect that message to intensify.
Since he came into power in 2012, Xi Jinping has managed to consolidate his position in a way we have not seen since era of Deng Xiaoping. By 2014 Xi was already being trumpeted in the official state media with a vigor we had not seen in a quarter century. According to CMP Director Qian Gang’s study that year of the names of past and present leaders in the People’s Daily, the CCP’s flagship newspaper, Xi’s name appeared both on the front page and inside pages of the paper with a frequency more than double that of Jiang Zemin and Hu Jintao.
Xi’s status was elevated further in October last year at the 6th Plenum of the 18th National Congress. He was designated “the core” (习核心), something neither of his predecessors in the post-Deng era managed — although the term “leadership core” (领导核心) was sometimes used in official discourse during the Jiang era.
During the “two meetings” this month, as policies and prescriptions took center stage, Xi’s core status was the backdrop. In his report to the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference, the country’s ostensible advisory body, Yu Zhengsheng mentioned the core status of Xi Jinping no less than six times. Well, you may wonder — whose counting?
But that is precisely the point. In the opaque world of Chinese politics under the CCP, words do matter. They matter so much, in fact, that one of the most crucial questions we must ask now, months ahead of the 19th National Congress, is exactly what word or phrase will come to symbolize the power of Xi Jinping and his governing vision?
Xi Jinping may be “the core,” but that core cannot remain empty. The question, then, is what “banner term,” or qizhiyu (旗帜语), will announce his political legacy to the world? How Xi is able to frame his legacy could tell us a great deal about how he plans to act — including, for example, whether he plans to seek a third term in 2022.
We are knee deep already in the esoterica of Chinese political discourse, in the “diction and doublethink” that are a living part — even if we choose to ridicule and dismiss it — of the way politics work in China. So allow me to recap.
Every leader of any consequence in the history of the Chinese Communist Party has had his own “banner term,” a concise (more or less) turn of phrase that is meant to sum up his contributions and, more importantly, his importance to that history itself. In the world of CCP discourse, the “banner term” becomes the coin of the realm — until another important leader comes along to mint a new one.
We have had “Mao Zedong Thought” (毛泽东思想), the original banner term under the CCP. We have had “Deng Xiaoping Theory” (邓小平理论), the phrase encompassing the ideas of the market reformer — and managing their continuity with the Party’s socialist orthodoxy. We have had the “Three Represents” (三个代表), the guiding theory of Jiang Zemin. And we have had the “Scientific View of Development” (科学发展观), Hu Jintao’s blueprint, in the broadest terms, for the creation of a “socialist harmonious society.” Jiang Zemin’s “Three Represents” was written into the Party Charter (党章) at the 16th National Congress in 2002, just as he was stepping down. Hu Jintao’s “Scientific View of Development” was written into the Party Charter at his halfway mark, during the 17th National Congress in 2007. So what of Xi Jinping’s banner term?
Over the past few years, the amateur astronomers of Chinese political discourse — and in this field, we are all amateurs — have spotted a number of possible candidates. One of the favorites has been the “Four Comprehensives” (四个全面), encompassing the “comprehensive building of a moderately wealthy society, comprehensive deepening of reforms, comprehensive governing the nation according to law, and comprehensive strict governance of the Party.”
The phrase has a certain banner term bravado, but it lacks originality. It is similar in meaning to Jiang Zemin’s “Three Represents” — and in intonation it is too much like both the “Three Represents” and the “Scientific View of Development.” Hardly the stern stuff of a leader who has, for the first time in generations, promoted himself as “the core.”
How about the phrase “the spirit of General Secretary Xi Jinping’s series of important speeches”? We’ve certainly seen a lot of this one since 2013. But, no. The term does not have that freshly-minted feel, and it is too long.
Banner terms must be pithy, in the Leninist sense of the word. They must be phrases of consequence, with the soaring gravitas of “isms” (主义), “ideas” (思想), “theories” (理论), “strategies” (战略) or “concepts” (观念).
In recent months, we’ve seen a new phrase glinting faintly among the stars of Chinese discourse — “. . . the new concepts, new ideas and new strategies of governance since the 18th National Congress.” This has the basic tone of the banner term, but it lacks intensity and is too verbose. But things may have shifted last Thursday night.
During the March 16 broadcast of Xinwen Lianbo, the nightly official newscast on China Central Television, a new phrase was introduced as the anchor remarked how the foreign press had reported on the National People’s Congress:
Every year, coming with the spring, the two meetings [of the NPC and CPPCC] bring a new atmosphere for China and the world. During the two meetings this year, many international media reports said that Xi Jinping governing concepts were threaded through the two meetings, and they believed that the two meetings created ‘global expectations’ . . .
And there we have a very sound candidate for Xi Jinping’s banner term: “Xi Jinping’s Governing Concepts” (习近平治国理念).
Lending further credence to this phrase is the fact that it appeared one day earlier in a large headline in Reference News (参考消息), the newspaper published by the official Xinhua News Agency that compiles the views on China revealed in the foreign press.
The phrase “Xi Jinping’s Governing Concepts” appears in a headline in the March 15, 2017, edition of Reference News, published by Xinhua News Agency.
According to CMP Director Qian Gang (钱钢), this new phrase, “Xi Jinping’s Governing Concepts,” is the closest we have come so far to a probable new banner term for the most powerful leader since Deng Xiaoping.
Analysts have speculated, given Xi Jinping’s powerful profile, on whether his banner term might include his name — something that has not happened since Mao Zedong and Deng Xiaoping. The question was whether Xi might be “name-crowned,” or guanming (冠名), through his designated banner term.
If this new phrase is indeed Xi Jinping’s banner term, then this is what we are witnessing: Xi’s crowning as a paramount leader to guide China through a new period of historical transition.
The hypothesis many observers in China have put forward — most of them quietly — is that Xi Jinping’s banner term would probably consist of his name plus a major concept idea. But this is a tricky game. “Xi Jinping-ism” (习近平主义) would be too lofty. Not even Mao dared add “ism” to his name, which would have put him on equal footing with Marx.
“Xi Jinping Thought” (习近平思想)? This is a possibility. When the Sixth Plenum of the 18th National Congress ended last fall, one scholar stated on Phoenix Online: “The articulation of the Four Comprehensives tell us that Xi Jinping thought is already mature.” It was a testament to Xi Jinping’s position and power as “the core” that such words could be spoken at all.
How about “Xi Jinping Theory” (习近平理论)? This is possible too. But there would be an overlap with “Deng Xiaoping Theory” (邓小平理论). And no leader worth his salt likes to share.
This leaves us with two distinct possibilities. We have “Xi Jinping Strategy” (习近平战略) and “Xi Jinping Concept” (习近平理念). Between the two, “concept” is slightly more elevated in status, more befitting a leader who feels little need to compromise.
The emergence Thursday of “Xi Jinping’s Governing Concepts” marks the first time we have, through important official Party media, a possible banner term perfectly suited to the above reading of China’s current political situation, and to the implicit laws of CCP discourse.
“Xi Jinping’s Governing Concepts” is not as soaring as either “thought” or “theory.” But an additional advantage may be that it has a more practical feel to it. It would be just audacious enough, while still in keeping with Xi Jinping’s down-to-earth public perception.
This could very well be our candidate. But there is another distinct possibility — that this could be just the first step in a two-step process leading to the ultimate crowning of Xi Jinping. The first step would be the deployment of “Xi Jinping’s Governing Concepts” for the 19th National Congress this year. This could then be shortened to “Xi Jinping Concept” in 2022, in time for the 20th National Congress.
And who knows? By that time, looking at his third term in office, no-nonsense Xi might qualify for the greatest nonsense of all — that coveted “Xi Jinping Thought” (习近平思想).
Writing last week in Guangming Daily, the official mouthpiece of the Central Propaganda Department, propaganda chief Liu Qibao (刘奇葆) urged journalists to work toward the constant innovation of “style” (文风), finding ways to make the Chinese Communist Party’s policies and positions palatable to the country.
Chinese leaders have long been exercised with the question of how to bring Party agendas down to earth from the heights of fustian jargon.
In a 1942 essay called “Rectifying the Party’s Style (整顿党的作风), Mao Zedong said that while the Party’s policies and achievements were “correct and without problems,” there were serious issues with the “style” employed by leaders and intellectuals. There were still some areas, Mao wrote, where “our stylistic expressions are incorrect.” And this could be seen particularly, he said, in the “defect of the Party’s stereotyped writing style.” To put it simply, the issue was rigid bombast, the parroting of Party language as a formalistic exercise, without any thought to the real content of one’s utterances.
Grappling with “the Party’s stereotyped writing style,” or dangbagu (党八股), was the subject of another of Mao’s 1942 speeches in Yan’an that was published as a special volume, Opposing the Party’s Stereotyped Writing Style.
Even in those early days before the founding of the People’s Republic of China, Mao Zedong wanted to eliminate the scourge of formalistic Party style, ushering in a more lively form of expression. The dream lives on.
Deng Xiaoping too advocated for “shorter utterances, truer utterances and fresher utterances” (讲短话、讲实话、讲新话). Hu Jintao, who in 2002 advanced the media policy of the Three Closenesses (三贴近), the idea that media styles should be more direct and relevant to audiences, talked in 2007 about the need to “improve study styles and writing styles, simplifying documents at work conferences.”
In a 2010 address at the Central Party School, Xi Jinping spoke about the important challenge of speaking in language the people can understand.
In May 2010, two and a half years before he became General Secretary of the Chinese Communist Party, Xi Jinping gave a speech at the Central Party School in which he said: “Writing style is no small matter. Comrade Mao Zedong once said that, ‘styles of study and styles of writing are expressions of Party style.’ Party style determines writing style, and writing style is an expression of Party style. From the state of writing style the people can determine the Party’s work style and evaluate the image of the Party — and from this observe the situation with respect to the Party’s realization of its goals.”
That’s quite a mouthful. Perhaps what Xi Jinping was trying to say is: How we express ourselves as a Party affects how the people understand us.
Liu Qibao’s most recent contribution to this growing corpus of writing about the Party’s style is suitably titled, “The Reform of Style, Ever on the Road.” It begins by parroting (plagiarizing?) Xi Jinping’s 2010 remark: “Writing style is no small matter.”
The following is just a taste of the abstruse jargon Party leaders employ to talk about the need to rid themselves of jargon.
The Reform of Style, Ever on the Road
改文风永远在路上
March 3, 2017 / Guangming Daily
Liu Qibao (刘奇葆)
Writing style is not small matter. Behind writing style are ideas, and writing style is an expression of Party style. From the state of writing style the people can determine the Party’s work style. It can be said that writing style concerns the image of the Party, the Party’s relationship to the people, and concerns the development of [the Party’s] work. General Secretary Xi Jinping places great priority on the question of writing styles, pointing out the we are always on the road of advancement of writing styles, and emphasizing that words must have substance and we must oppose the ‘long, empty and fake’ while promoting the ‘short, real and fresh.’” At the Party’s news and public opinion forum, General Secretary Xi Jinping emphasized particularly the need to rectify work and writing styles, and he pointed out that good news report must rely on good work style and writing styles. We must abide by the spirit of Xi Jinping’s important speech to further advance the urgent mission and responsibility of transforming work styles and rectifying writing styles. The News Frontline Must Adhere to the Rectification of Writing Style
The news frontline (新闻战线) are the advance soldiers in the rectification of writing style, and they have an important responsibility on the question of rectifying writing styles. [NOTE: “News frontline” here refers to Chinese journalists]. News reports with favorable writing styles can raise the attractiveness, appeal and accessibility of the Party’s theories, political line and policies, and they can promote good writing styles and practices among Party members. Since the 18th Party Congress, the news media has worked hard to advance writing styles, and has achieved clear results . . . But we must recognize that the news media has a long road ahead in the rectification of work styles, and to varying extents old expressions still persist, pretty but empty words are prevalent, and rigidly conventional expressions are common . . .
