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).
Just for mentioning Deng Yaping, Kai-fu Lee gets gagged! I’d like to know: 1) Why is taxpayer money used for commercial operations [in running the Jike.com search service]? They can use two billion yuan in taxpayer money to play ducks and drakes? 2) If you provide a search engine service with no ideas about the [free] flow of information, is that going to work? How is it she doesn’t even have her own Weibo account? 3) How is it that the post of president of a search engine company is appointed by the Chinese Communist Party? 4) If back in the day the Democratic Party in the U.S. had appointed Michael Phelps as the CEO of Google, would the search engine ever have ousted Yahoo! as top dog?
NOTE: All posts to The Anti-Social List are listed as “permission denied” in the Sina Weibo API, which means they were deleted by Weibo managers, not by users themselves.
The following is a partial translation of an article by Xiao Shu appearing on the Chinese website of the New York Times on January 29, 2013.
Social harmony and peaceful social transition can be achieved in China today only through the remaking of state-society relations. The recent Southern Weekly incident, in which people from diverse social backgrounds rallied behind one of China’s leading newspapers and called for an end to censorship, provides a constructive example of how social movements might promote such a transition.
There are five basic conditions oppositional politics (抗争政治) or social movements in China must satisfy in order to have farther-reaching consequences. They must be: 1. mass in scale (大规模) 2. organized (有组织) 3. non-violent (非暴力) 4. low-cost (低成本) 5. sustainable (可持续)
The Southern Weekly incident marked an important breakthrough on the first of these conditions. The incident was mass-scale, drawing support from across the country.
A popular message shared recently across China’s social networks encapsulates quite well the significance of mass scale in social action:
When there are 10 of you, we will destroy you; when there are one-hundred of you, we will detain you; when there are a thousand of you, we will drive you away; when there are ten-thousand of you, we will do nothing; when there are one-hundred thousand of you we will join you.
In China, scale has long been a bottleneck issue facing oppositional politics or social movements. What does it mean for a movement to be mass-scale? It means that the movement must have involvement from ordinary citizens. If ordinary citizens do not become involved, if a movement is sustained only be a handful of leaders, scale cannot be achieved and demands cannot gather momentum.
For rulers having substantial resources with which to constrain social activism, such actions do not pose a clear and present danger. Rulers can simply mobilize their resources and give the order to strike. In such cases, a small minority of dissenters bear the brunt of the repressive force, and the price they pay in turn serves as a general deterrent to other members of the society. Terror will cause the vast majority of people to lose the will to resist, and there will be fewer leaders to sustain action. The bottleneck of scale remains impossible to break through.
China has never been short of individual heroes having the courage to resist. But no matter how many individual heroes emerge, the problem of scale remains. If we assume that the peaceful transition of Chinese society relies on oppositional politics or on social movements, the question then arises: How can isolated instances of resistance by the few be elevated to mass-scale movements drawing the support of large numbers of ordinary citizens?
The question of how oppositional politics can enter Chinese society has become integral to the success or failure of China’s peaceful transition.
Herein lies the significance of the Southern Weekly incident. If we look for similar examples of resistance after 1989 in China, we have only the Wukan incident in Guangdong province in 2011. We could say that the Southern Weekly incident was a media Wukan.
One of the most important reasons violent suppression was avoided in the case of Wukan was that the movement was mass-scale. Nearly all the villagers in Wukan were united in resistance against corrupt local officials. The suppression by force of such a mass-scale movement would have meant paying a high price politically. Fearful of the consequences, provincial authorities relented and opted for negotiations.
This happened too with the Southern Weekly incident. Even generally reticent personalities like Ren Zhiqiang (任志强) and Kaifu Lee (李开复) stepped out to speak for Southern Weekly, along with artists like Yao Chen (姚晨), Li Bingbing (李冰冰), Yi Nengjing (伊能静). Speaking out too were ordinary college students, urban white collar professionals, and even civil servants. Nationwide, those voicing support for Southern Weekly numbered at least in the tens of millions.
How was this significant? The Southern Weekly incident drew participation from the middling masses (中间人群), from those typically alienated from politics. Masses of ordinary people stood up and resisted. They did not do so out of concrete, personal interests, but rather for more general rights such as freedom of speech and the right to know.
This incident marked the first time a social consensus was formed, and collective social action taken, around the pursuit of rights in a more general sense. This was the real breakthrough we saw in the case of the Southern Weekly incident.
If we understand the event’s significance in this way, it’s not difficult to see why it occasioned so much fear on the part of the authorities. Why would the authorities take a heavy-handed approach to famous people like Ren Zhiqiang, Kaifu Lee, Yi Nengjing and others? Why would they seek them out for questioning (“drinking tea”) or shut down their social media accounts?
The fear of the authorities has three root causes:
First, resistance by the middling masses, by ordinary citizens, entirely surpassed anything they had expected. The arrogance and confidence of power was such that they cared little for the feelings of journalists and saw their resistance as insignificant in the scale of things. In their eyes, the worst case scenario might have been the shutdown of the newspaper.
The authorities never supposed that the question of a single media’s fate would stir up such mass support, that the media would form a community of resistance with people from all walks of life that would send ripples through society. This caught them entirely off guard.
Secondly, this incident was one the authorities could not purchase their way out of. The masses driving this social movement could not be bought because the demands they made did not center on concrete claims of interest. One of the most typical stability preservation (维稳) responses, paying off the aggrieved party with Renminbi, was of no avail in this case.
Thirdly, this incident crossed over geographic boundaries. When officials in Beijing ordered media to re-run the editorial from the Global Times making false claims against Southern Weekly staff, this prompted fierce objections from journalists at other media and from a broader segment of society. When staff at another newspaper, The Beijing News, stood their ground and refused to run the Global Times editorial, the fire was burning rights at the steps of Zhongnanhai.
The apprehension of the authorities over the Southern Weekly incident was not without cause. One of the chief reasons the situation did not escalate further was that Southern Weekly staff limited their demands to immediate concessions. Another concrete reason was the fact that Guangdong’s Party secretary, Hu Chunhua (胡春华), was newly in his post and wanted a quick resolution to the stand-off and a return to normalcy. The limited victory by Southern Weekly staff put everyone back to work and calmed the situation. [The full version of Xiao Shu’s article in Chinese is available at the New York Times.]
In a recent meeting of China’s top discipline inspection leaders, the Party officials charged with monitoring corruption within the Party, Xi Jinping pledged to “strike the tigers as well as the flies” (high officials as well as low) and “shut power in the cage of regulation” (or “cage of the system”). This was some of Xi’s most evocative anti-corruption language yet. On his blog, CMP fellow Yang Hengjun shared his thoughts on Xi’s remarks, anti-corruption and political reform in a dialogue with web users.
Web User: In his speech to the Central Discipline Inspection Commission on the 22nd, Xi Jinping emphasized that [the Party] needs to strengthen controls and monitoring of public power, that power must be shut into the cage of regulation (制度的笼子里) – so a system is created that deters corruption . . . What are your views on this? Yang Hengjun: It’s all very well said. My impression is that the last time we heard something like this was from U.S. President George W. Bush [in his farewell speech] (“putting leaders into cages” “把统治者关进笼子里”). At the time this phrase really took off online [in China], and I used the phrase a number of times too on my blog. I remember some internet users at the time added comments to my post saying, Aye, when can our leaders talk that way? So, our Party Secretary Xi has now said it. Web User: Yes, Xi Jinping said it, but how big do you think the gap is between words and deeds here? Things are easier said than done. I’d like to know – what needs to be done in order to shut power into the cage of the system? Yang Hengjun: It’s very simple. You must use the system to shut power into a cage. Given China’s circumstances, perhaps this means progressing step by step like other authoritarian regimes that have undergone transition (Taiwan, for example). The first step would be the immediate institution of rule of law, using the legal system to control power, to limit power. The second step would be to implement a system of constitutional democracy, giving power back to the people, which would mean allowing the people to use this “democratic system” to put power into the cage of the system. Web User: I’m sorry, you’ve taken me for a loop. Can you explain what you mean by what you just said? I didn’t understand the difference between the two. Yang Hengjun: Hah hah. I’m not taking you for a loop. What I’m doing is trying to use just a few sentence to explain clearly a very complicated political question.
Let’s put it this way. When General Secretary Xi talks about stuffing power into the cage of the system, this raises an important question — and that is, who is going to stuff power into this cage? Is there someone higher than the system itself, such that they have the power to stuff the power in the hands of others into this cage? If you note that Xi Jinping made these remarks before a full session of officials from the Discipline Inspection Commission, you might feel a bit disappointed by that, because according to the standards of those civilized nations that have already successfully stuffed power into the cage, an organization like the Discipline Inspection Commission isn’t a particularly good example of rule of law in action. The Commission itself is obligated to first be stuffed inside the cage of the system.
However, in an authoritarian era, this is something that probably cannot be done instantly. So I can only hope that all of you discipline inspection officials present understand General Secretary Xi’s words, that you first put the power in your own hands inside the cage. Anti-corruption has to happen according to the law. It must not go around the law, using the courts and prosecutors as tools. That kind of anti-corruption is in fact the most dreadful form of corruption — corruption of power. Of course, really answering this question requires me talking about step two, and that is the step from rule of law to constitutional democracy. Once that step is made, we can remove the quotation marks from “rule of law.” Once that step is made, it’s no longer about the nation’s ruler shutting power into the cage, it’s about giving power back to the people, about a democratic system that puts rulers in the cage. Web User: I think I sort of understand. What you mean is that there’s a long way to go before absolute power can be truly shut in the cage. It’s no wonder that while many web users were supportive after reading the news and commentary about Xi’s words, quite a number were also taking a wait-and-see attitude, and some even refused to believe it. How do you see this situation? Yang Hengjun: I think the vast majority of web users rejoiced after hearing about Xi’s speech, though you can understand why some would remain skeptical. Some Chinese leaders are all talk and no action, and this causes disappointment. But even through disappointment after disappointment, I don’t stand with those persistent deniers. Remember, Rome wasn’t built in a day, and tyranny was not made by one single individual or political party. If it wasn’t for minions and numbly callous bystanders, we wouldn’t have so many evil systems on earth. What I mean to say is that your parents, brothers, sisters and friends, even you yourself, everyone must take responsibility for a bad system and the situation we face today. If you want to change it, you have to act. Even if acting means doing something seemingly insignificant . . . this has far more benefit than all of those who just stand by. Fighting for our rights and freedom is our own business.
The following post by Zuo Yeben (作业本) responding to Xi Jinping’s statement that he would “shut power up in the cage and strike the tigers [of corruption] as well as the flies”, was deleted from Sina Weibo sometime before 11:02am today, January 23, 2013. Zuo Yeben currently has just over 4.9 million followers, according to numbers from Sina Weibo. [More on deleted posts at the WeiboScope Search, by the Journalism and Media Studies Centre]
I’m begging you [Xi Jinping] not to throw power into the cage first!!!! We are all still here inside the cage!!! If you let them in without letting us out first they’ll bite us to death!!!
NOTE: All posts to The Anti-Social List are listed as “permission denied” in the Sina Weibo API, which means they were deleted by Weibo managers, not by users themselves.
Xi Jinping had just said he would shut power into the cage, striking tigers [for corruption] as well as flies. Here’s something we can try: Park a white van behind the government offices and then send a mass text message to all the leaders inside that reads, “He didn’t keep his mouth shut. She provided video . . . Don’t get on the plane. There’s a white van waiting behind the building.” Before long a bunch of flustered fat guys with black hair will come pouring out, fighting to get into your van.
Last week, a book tour by celebrity blogger and social critic Li Chengpeng (李承鹏) was hijacked by local authorities, and by vocal leftists who oppose his critical writings on China [Summaries by TIME and SCMP].
Ahead of his first signing in his hometown of Chengdu to promote his new book, Everybody in the World Knows, Li was ordered not to say a word. In a now widely known act of silent protest, Li appeared at the signing wearing a black mask and then opened his coat to reveal the words, “I love you all,” written on his undershirt.
[ABOVE: Li Chengpeng appears before thousands of readers in Chengdu wearing a black mask after he was ordered not to say a word.]
In Guangzhou, the final leg of Li’s tour, the signing was cancelled at the last minute because the building where it was being hosted was closed for fire safety inspections.
[ABOVE: An image posted to Sina Weibo shows the notice of fire safety inspections to be carried out at the offices of Tianya in Guangzhou, where Li Chengpeng’s book signing was to take place on January 17.]
Li Chengpeng apologized to his readers for the Guangzhou cancellation with a tongue-in-cheek post to his Sina Weibo account playing on the title of his book: “Once again I apologize to everyone: Because fire safety inspections are happening at the Tianya Building, outsiders cannot go in, and therefore my book signing for readers is cancelled. I’m accepting this fact, because this place is really in need of a fire safety inspection. Everybody in the world knows, fire safety is really important.”
For all of its hitches and hijinks, Li Chengpeng’s book tour illustrates the limitations of control in the era of social media. Li’s “silent” signing in Chengdu was anything but silent — it was broadcast loudly across the internet. Every leg of his tour became the subject of fevered discussion online, pitting the values of speech and openness against controls that appeared foolish and anachronistic.
Yesterday, Li Chengpeng reflected back on his book tour with an interview published on Sina Weibo addressing some of the questions he has faced since it all began in Chengdu. The following is a partial translation:
There are some strange questions that deserve answers. These are not responses. They are not counterattacks. I just want to explain exactly what happened. I hope I can answer lingering doubts people have. Here are my answers: QUESTION: I really don’t understand why the government would allow you to publish [your book], but not permit you to say anything at book signings. That seems like a huge contradiction. ANSWER: This is what they call special characteristics (特色) [NOTE: Li is playing here on the Party term “socialism with Chinese characteristics”]. Here [in China] only publishing houses under the leadership of the Party can issue publishing numbers (书号). Because for many years they’ve been trained a certain way, many harmful works are refused publishing numbers and cannot circulate. But there are also some bolder publishing houses, the ones that haven’t been trained so well, that go against the grain and publish works [others will not].
But the publishing of a book is just the beginning. Because of the post-publication censorship, some books are banned from sale after they’ve been quietly published despite this high-pressure environment. For example, the book Urban Dirge (城市挽歌). There are also books that [authorities] got wind of only after they were published, and which to this day sit in the warehouse — for example, Mr. Yu Jianrong’s (于建嵘) True Account of Anyuan (安源实录). . . . There are plenty of examples like this. . . For a book to be published is just the beginning. After that there is still a tortuous road ahead. And who can say that one day someone might just deal the final blow [to your book]. Under this sort of situation, you have to understand the fact that although Everybody in the World Knows has been published I cannot speak at signings as a part of the normal process of publishing [in China].
Authorities in Chengdu were worried because I have a lot of readers, and [they thought] if they weren’t careful they might have a mass incident on their hands. So it was out of a concern for stability that they made their decision. It makes no difference that in my view there is no connection whatsoever between these two.
When the several heavy-fisted orders came down that I sign in silence, the poet Li Yawei (李亚伟) and the scholar Ran Yunfei (冉云飞) were both there to witness it. In case you suppose these two, who are my friends, might speak untrue then let me tell you I also have an audio recording. I don’t think recording the unreasonable demands of public power is a base act at all. In any case, it is a good way to avoid these strange questions I’m now getting.
In all likelihood, you will find it base of me to have done so. I can only say by way of comparison that after suffering a rape it is a shame if you decide to destroy the physical evidence. QUESTION: If things were that unreasonable, couldn’t you just have avoided book signings altogether? ANSWER: My first response was to not go through with it. Everyone who was there at the time can vouch for what I said — basically, that this was an insult, and one’s dignity is more important than the selling of books. Why, otherwise, would I have said no to a substantial advance of the kind Lu Jinbo (路金波) gets? Why would I have opted for the Xinxing Publishing House (新星出版社), which couldn’t offer a cent but could promise to preserve the draft in relatively complete form? However, one of my friends made the compelling point that avoiding the signing was improper, that I had to consider my readers. A sudden cancellation of the book signing, they said, was irresponsible to my readers. How many readers had come from other places to take part? (Indeed, there were readers from Xi’an, Chongqing and even Shanghai there).
I remember very clearly that that night when I posed this question on Sina Weibo and asked, “What should I do?”, the majority of readers supported signing in silence as a form of silent protest . . . Some people even suggested that I hold the signing instead on the side of the street next to the bookstore. When I considered that suggestion my feeling was that this would seem to the authorities like a provocation. There was the risk that readers could come to harm. And I couldn’t turn an ordinary book signing into a street movement. This just wasn’t my character. Late that night a reader from Shanghai even went to a hotel near the bookstore to see if the signing could be held in the lobby. I wouldn’t agree to that. It would impact the normal business of the hotel, and people with sensitive nerves would claim I had orchestrated it this way, wanting purposely to cause trouble . . . I worried this problem over until very late and finally sought the advice of Tu Jia Ye Fu (土家野夫), who was far off overseas. He said, first ensure that your book gets out there and your ideas reach an audience, then see how it goes from there. This is the most important work of the writer, he said. What do other indignities matter?
In the balance, my decision was to sign in silence (默签). I don’t have powerful backing from anyone. I don’t have the support of insiders. I don’t have high-level leaders giving me the green light. All I could do was sign in silence. . . QUESTION: Even though they didn’t allow you to speak, I don’t believe that if you had said something they really would have done anything. I still think you were just trying to put on a show. ANSWER: This question is logically unsound. The forces that be were very strong in their insistence that I sign in silence. How is there any problem in my complying? But another important reason was that the two people responsible at the bookstore repeatedly pressed us on this point: if we violated the orders, even speaking a single sentence, they would both be let go from their jobs. This was a hard order sent down from the leaders. I didn’t entirely believe it, so I said, look, it can’t be that serious. They said very seriously to me: you can’t say a single word. The leader is waiting . . . for your answer right now. . . Li Yawei and Ran Yunfei also asked me to consider their situation [as well–known local dissidents who could face punishment or intimidation]. At around midnight that night, I asked one final time whether I could just say, “Happy New Year!”, or just introduce [the poet] Liu Shahe (流沙河), [who planned to attend the signing]. We pledged not to say a single thing having to do with ideology. But this boss from the bookstore said: No, if you say a single thing I’ll lose my job. Brother, please consider my position . . .
Months after he formally became General Secretary of the Chinese Communist Party, we still know virtually nothing about Xi Jinping. As Elizabeth Economy noted recently, “the sound of speculation around Xi [Jinping] has become deafening.”
Most everything we do know about Xi Jinping is “style” over substance. He has tried to project a more casual image, suggesting he is a new kind of leader — the kind that repudiates overabundance, whether on his dinner table or in his official speeches.
But how new and extraordinary is this really?
[ABOVE: China’s new propaganda chief, Liu Qibao, on a visit to the official People’s Daily on January 17.]
When I read the news in the official People’s Daily today that China’s new propaganda chief, Liu Qibao (刘奇葆), had visited the newspaper to promote the “innovation of reports” and urge state journalists to “improve their writing style,” it all felt very familiar. And of course it is. These are all things we heard 10 years ago after China’s last leadership succession. Click here for the soundtrack to accompany the rest of this post:
Meet the new boss.
Same as the old boss.
Remember the “Three Closenesses“? Anyone?
Here is Li Changchun, the Politburo Standing Committee member in charge of ideology from 2002 to 2012, talking about Hu Jintao’s “Three Closeness” — closeness to 1. reality/fact (实际), 2. life (生活) and 3. the masses (群众) — in the Party’s official journal Qiushi in 2003. Let’s listen:
Closeness to reality demands that we follow the epistemology of Marxism, uphold [the principle] that all must begin with reality and [we] cannot, fundamentally, begin with concepts and not resolve real issues. Closeness to reality demands that we accommodate the receptive abilities of the masses, generating ideas and concepts that sit the basic economic system of the primary stage of socialism. [We] cannot jump beyond [our present] stage, forcing moralistic lessons on others that depart from [prevailing] reality. Closeness to reality means . . . [we] cannot depart from the main battlefield of reform and opening and modernization . . . Closeness to reality means speaking the truth (说实话), acting according to real principles and seeking real results. [We] cannot simply seek a surface vigor and vitality, engaging in formalism (搞形式主义).
Li Changchun is giving us a ten-course meal of Party-speak. But what he means to say is pretty much exactly what Xi Jinping has said. The Party needs to start talking the people’s talk, and it needs to put practical deeds ahead of pretense. Why? Because it needs to stay relevant and make a compelling case for its relevance.
So here is Liu Qibao at the People’s Daily in the People’s Daily, delivering the “spirit of the 18th National Congress” and saying in essence that things will now be as different as they have always been. And we must note that the report of his visit is itself unapologetically old-style, beginning with a breathless description of Liu Qibao’s rank and position:
Xinhua News Agency, Beijing, January 17, [2013] — On January 17, Political Bureau of CCP Central Committee Member, Secretariat of the Central Committee Member and Minister of Propaganda Liu Qibao made an inspection visit of the People’s Daily, emphasizing that [all] must center on the principal line of studying the spirit of the 18th National Congress, adhering to correct guidance (坚持正确导向), innovating [news] reports, improving the style of writing, raising the reach (传播力), credibility (公信力) and influence (影响力) of the news media, and strengthening the focus and effectiveness of public opinion channeling (舆论引导).
Essentially, Liu Qibao’s speech is an elaboration of the propaganda policy outlined by Hu Jintao back in June 2008. The foundation is Jiang Zemin’s “correct guidance of public opinion,” or zhengque yulun daoxiang (正确舆论导向), which is Party code for media control.
But in addition to “guidance,” the Party must recognize that the game has changed. Restricting information is no longer enough. The Party must drive the agenda actively, what Hu Jintao in 2008 called “channeling public opinion,” or yulun yindao (舆论引导). State media have to be on top of news stories and issues that people are concerned about, “channeling” information and discussion in line with the Party’s strategic objectives.
To “channel” public opinion effectively, of course, state media have to be more accessible and relevant, just what Li Changchun was talking about in 2003.
Here is Liu Qibao again at the People’s Daily:
Liu Qibao said the [we] must establish a news concept with people at the center (人民为中心的新闻理念), writing for readers, reporting for readers, making reports cleave closely to the demands of the reader (贴近读者需求) . . .
Once again, “closeness” and putting the people at the core. Things Party media have struggled to do for years as commercial media have made advances and the internet has upended the media environment.
There are some interesting specifics in Liu Qibao’s remarks. He says, for example, that the People’s Daily must develop its editorial page in order to strengthen its influence. But the Party’s elusive desire to get “close” to the people while putting news controls first is what we have seen now for more than a decade in China.
Is anything really changing on the propaganda front? We’ll have to wait and see.
Are China’s Party media kidding themselves. Will they get fooled again?
The following post by Jing Hai Xin Yu (静海心语), a repost on a much earlier post from another user about ousted Chongqing secretary and prominent princeling Bo Xilai, was deleted from Sina Weibo sometime before 7:19am today, January 18, 2013. Jing Hai Xin Yu currently has just over 3,800 followers, according to numbers from Sina Weibo. [More on deleted posts at the WeiboScope Search, by the Journalism and Media Studies Centre]
The original post from January 12, as yet undeleted, includes a picture of marchers apparently holding up a red sign that reads, “We will forever support the people’s secretary, Bo Xilai.” The photo is below. The text on the original post reads: “Even though Bo Xilai has been removed from his post, the ordinary people still believe he is a good [Party] secretary.”
The original post also links to a blog on the Sina platform that kicks up a message saying the post has already been deleted.
It is interesting to note that this topically sensitive original post about Bo Xilai on Sina Weibo is still available, but that the blog post and the re-post from Jing Hai Xin Yu have been deleted. Why would that be? One possible explanation is the fact that Jing Hai Xin Yu has more than 3,000 followers, while the original poster of the Bo Xilai text has just four followers.
The original Chinese-language post follows:
NOTE: All posts to The Anti-Social List are listed as “permission denied” in the Sina Weibo API, which means they were deleted by Weibo managers, not by users themselves.
Early this month, on the eve of the Southern Weekly incident, news came that a number of prominent Weibo users had had their accounts suspended. They included Cheng Yizhong, the former editor-in-chief of Southern Metropolis Daily, activist Ran Yunfei, investigative reporter Shi Feike and cartoonist Kuang Biao. This week Kuang Biao has returned to Weibo with a new account. His first post, “Tea”, is a drawing of an empty interrogation chair, with a blazing naked bulb overhead casting the dark ominous hole of a shadow underneath. On the chair sits a cup of tea, a reference to “invited to tea,” a phrase that become synonymous with dissidents being taken in by state security for questioning and intimidation..
【Resisting the Central Propaganda Department/Publisher of The Beijing News win media prize】Only those with strength of character can have true influence! Recently, the publisher of The Beijing News, Dai Zigeng (戴自更), who led his paper in supporting Southern Weekly and said NO to the propaganda officials, won the 2012 Influential Media Figures honor at the Golden Great Wall Media Awards (金长城传媒奖).
NOTE: All posts to The Anti-Social List are listed as “permission denied” in the Sina Weibo API, which means they were deleted by Weibo managers, not by users themselves.
