One of the top-trending stories this week in China has been the tragic crash of China Eastern Airlines flight MU5735, en route from Kunming to Guangzhou, near the city of Wuzhou, Guangxi province. The worst air crash in China in 20 years, the story has been dominated by state media, which have focused on the government’s response since Xi Jinping called for a rapid recovery effort and swift investigation.

But there have also been a few notable exceptions in coverage, online and through social media accounts — and one in particular has prompted a discussion of when it is appropriate to show the human side of tragedy.

Beginning with newspaper coverage, a CMP review of coverage over the past four days using a database of mainland Party and commercial newspapers – with a total of 314 articles since the crash occurred on March 21 – found that the vast majority of coverage was sourced from either Xinhua News Agency or China News Service, the country’s official news wires. Several reports from the Global Times, a tabloid spin-off of the Party’s official People’s Daily newspaper, and from the People’s Daily were also cited alongside CCTV, the national broadcaster.

Reports appearing in regional and national newspapers most frequently cited Xinhua, including such commercial papers as the Yangcheng Evening News (羊城晚报), Southern Metropolis Daily (南方都市报) and New Express (新快报) in Guangzhou, Jiangxi’s Jiangnan Metropolis Daily (江南都市报), Hubei’s Chutian Metropolis Daily (楚天都市报), the Shenzhen Special Zone Daily (深圳特区报), as well as regional Party-run papers such as Zhejiang Daily (浙江日报) and Shantou Daily (汕头日报).

While sourcing for coverage of the crash was generally uniform across Chinese newspapers, the primary difference was treatment and emphasis in using officially released information. At commercial newspapers, the story was generally given more creative front-page treatment from March 22, while Party newspapers either pushed the news to inside pages or hemmed it in on the front page with other Party and government-related news stories.

On March 22, for example, the official Hubei Daily (湖北日报), the CCP mouthpiece in Hubei province, reported Xi Jinping’s “important instructions” (重要指示) on the crash response under the masthead, but without accompanying images. The news was surrounded by other official announcements, such as an “opinion” from the CCP Central Committee on the study of Party history, and the holding of a provincial government meeting on agricultural policy.

By contrast, the Party paper’s commercial spin-off, Chutian Metropolis Daily, devoted nearly its entire front page to the crash of flight MU5735, including images of the crash area and the ongoing search as well as a map of the flight path.

The top headline at Chutian Metropolis Daily, however, remained Xi Jinping’s “important instructions,” and the related Xinhua report was typical of coverage since, focusing on the efforts of the leadership and crews on the ground:

At 14:38 on March 21, Eastern Airlines flight MU5735 was lost and crashed over the city of Wuzhou, in Guangxi, while en route from Kunming to Guangzhou. There were 123 passengers and 9 crew members on board. After the incident, General Secretary Xi Jinping immediately issued important instructions, requiring the organization of search and rescue, proper handling of the aftermath, and an investigation into strengthening civil aviation to ensure absolute safety of flight operations.

The crash has touched the hearts of the people. At present, the scene rescue, aftercare and investigation of the cause of the accident is underway. As long as there is a ray of hope, we must expend one-hundred times the rescue effort. At the same time, the cause of the accident must be identified as soon as possible.

Reactions and discussion of the flight crash online and on social media have been far more varied, with millions expressing shock and concern over the tragedy. Early on, many expressed their fondest hopes for a miracle for the 132 lives on board, even if the conditions of the crash offered little hope. Many posted digital candles to Weibo and other platforms.

Focusing on Humanity

One of the most notable exceptions to the Xinhua-led official state media coverage of the MU5735 tragedy was also one of the most controversial this week. The story, called “The People of Flight MU5735” (MU5735航班上的人们), was published on March 22, the day after the crash, through the official WeChat public account of Ren Wu (人物), or “People,” a monthly Chinese magazine whose English-language tagline has long been, “Nothing But Storytelling.”

The magazine, which is published by the state-run People’s Press (人民出版社), reached out to families, friends and colleagues of the passengers aboard flight MU5735, as well as sources in Guangxi province who witnessed the crash. Based on these interviews, the magazine pieced together a feature story that sought to personalize and humanize the victims of the crash and those close to them.

One part of the story concerned passenger Liu Zhihong (刘志宏), who happened to keep his own WeChat public account on which he regularly posted articles about his relationship with his wife and their romantic moments. The feature story read:

On board this one hour and 55-minute flight was frequent flyer Liu Zhihong. The day before he boarded the plane, Liu Zhihong had just received his wedding photos. 2022 had been the start of his new life. That day was meant to be just another brief and routine separation from his new wife. . . .

The latest article [on Liu’s WeChat account] was from December 26, 2021. He had shared an image of his marriage certificate at the end of the post. In the image, “Ms. Trees,” his pet name for his wife, wears a white top, and “Mr. Red Bean,” this being his own nickname, wears a grey suit and striped blue necktie. They both smile before the camera. At this point in their relationship they had already given a name to their future child: Liu Zhinian.

The Ren Wu article also painted a picture of one passenger’s friends waiting for her to disembark in Guangzhou, where they were ready with her birthday surprise. There was the story of a teacher who had completed a business trip to Kunming and was looking forward to his return home to see his three sons.

Between the raw emotion over the MU5735 story on social media and the dry, mechanical reporting of the government’s we-will-stop-at-nothing response in state media, the Ren Wu feature was certainly a stand-out piece of storytelling. But some wanted to know: Was this really the time?

Many netizens criticized the story on the grounds that such intimate reporting violated journalistic ethics by capitalizing on the trauma of those close to the victims. Another WeChat public account, “Media Tea Party” (传媒茶话会), responded with its own feature discussing the ethical issues raised by the Ren Wu story. The article gathered views from several media scholars and journalists.

Those in support of the magazine felt that the fact that the names of victims had not yet been officially released was not a valid reason to desist from related reporting. “The fact that officials have not released the list of those killed or lost should not be a reason to stop reporting on the victims, nor should such a release be considered a prerequisite, otherwise many reports will not be able to move forward,” said Gu Xiaojin (辜晓进), a professor at Shenzhen University’s School of Communication. “Sometimes, life and death questions aren’t resolved for some time after a major disaster, but that doesn’t mean the media should do nothing and stop following up.”

Another “senior media figure” who remained unnamed told “Media Tea Party” that reporting on the passengers whose lives were lost is simply part of the process of presenting the truth of the incident. At times, such reporting can actually be helpful in explaining the causes of an event, they said. Moreover, such reporting was a special form of remembrance, not unlike the obituary, allowing the dead to be remembered.

Huang Chuxin (黄楚新), a researcher at the Institute of Journalism and Communication of the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, had three primary objections to the Ren Wu feature story.

Interestingly, Huang’s first objection adhered quite closely to the official state media approach to reporting, and therefore was less a point on ethical conduct and more a point on historical practice and Party media norms. In the early stages of a disaster, he said, the media should first focus on the elements (要素) of the disaster itself — including its cause, the nature of the disaster response and relief and information to help the public “understand the truth about the accident.”

Second, Huang felt that the Ren Wu story had been guilty of “consumption of other people’s suffering.” And finally, he was of the view that it was more responsible at this early stage for media to simply “keep their distance,” and focus on “news value” over personalities and narratives.

Another source quoted in the “Media Tea Party” article, identified as a senior manager for a central-level media outlet, similarly conveyed the view that it was too early to report on the more intimate aspects of the MU5735 tragedy. “The rush to pick apart the story of the people on board for everyone to see, to carve out the strange details and to create pathos, all of this satisfies the desire to tell the story and see the story,” they said. “But this is an accident, and the time has not yet come to tell stories without the slightest hint of public character.”

In using this term “public character” (公共性), the central media source meant something akin to, but notably different from, the idea of the public interest. Generally, in China’s official news culture, under the strictures of the CCP’s view of the news, the government response is the news, period. The leadership is anxious to ensure that the initial news cycle is dominated by stories of government action and heroism – and that questions of negligence or responsibility are sidelined or buried. Frequently, once the initial period of response is finished and an official investigation underway, media are told that the time has passed for reflection. Propaganda instructions will often explicitly direct media not to “reflect back” (回顾).

It is often the case in China that once the initial period of response has passed, with formal commemorations on day 7 following a tragedy, the window of opportunity has already closed. Under a system of official news controls, it is always too early or too late for substantive coverage.

Another Shenzhen University professor, Peng Huaxin (彭华新), took issue with the assertion that all information about the victims and their family members should remain private. While the right to privacy involved the protection of certain private information as well as the dignity of a person, the release of certain information could also be of public concern in the event of such tragedies, he said. “Obviously, the people in this sudden tragedy are figures for whom most of the nation now feels concern and attachment, and the publication of their names is also done out of respect or a sense of grief for them,” said Peng. “There is nothing wrong with the moderate disclosure of their names, which does not include any negative information or personal insult.”

Comments from internet users responding to the Ren Wu story were a mix of critical and supportive.

“[The story is] well written, but the piece comes at a bad time,” said one respondent. “Before there has been any official confirmation [that the passengers have died], this article is basically telling everyone, ‘Yes, these people have passed away, come and remember them.’”

Another user asked: If not now, when? “To put it politely, it’s a non-issue to discuss the timing of coverage, as though Chinese media have any freedom to decide when to report anything,” they wrote. “The reality is that if you don’t report it now, you may not get a chance to do so later, so it’s natural to do whatever you can.”

In fact, the Ren Wu magazine story had not been the only of its kind. The next day, March 23, the China Youth Daily (中国青年报), published by the Communist Youth League, released a story online based on an interview with the sister of a passenger on MU5735. She told the paper about how her sister and brother-in-law had gone to Kunming to seek treatment for their daughter’s illness, and all three were aboard. While the narrative was sympathetic and sentimental, not unlike the Ren Wu story, one difference was the paper’s emphasis from the outset on the sister’s willingness to speak. The headline of the piece read like a disclaimer: “I Am Willing to Say: My Sister and Brother-in-Law Were on the Plane with My 1.5 Year-Old Niece.”

The same day as the China Youth Daily online story, the Party’s official People’s Daily published a commentary on the media’s role in covering the crash. It spoke of holding to the “moral bottom line” (道德底线) and abiding by “journalistic ethics” (新闻伦理). The article singled out for praise a reporter for the state-run China Central Television, who during a live broadcast on March 22 had asked that the cameraman focus away from a flight attendant’s ID card found at the crash site, wishing to protect the privacy of the victims.  

“There is a need to keep as much as possible to the moral bottom line and follow journalistic ethics when presenting valuable information,” the People’s Daily article said. “But the privacy of the people on board should not be excessively explored in the name of reporting, nor should the need to report constitute an intrusion on the family and friends of those on board.”

The CCTV reporter’s action quickly became the story on March 23, drawing the focus away from the victims and back to one of a number of official narratives. A still image of the CCTV broadcast was shared by the network on social media, the reporter’s hand covering an ID in the dirt, with the caption: “This does not need to be featured.”

Additional research by David L. Bandurski.

In a recent interview with Honesty Outlook (廉政瞭望), a magazine focusing on anti-corruption reporting published under the official Sichuan Daily, journalist Chu Chaoxin (褚朝新) spoke about In Fact, I Still Want to Make Progress (我, 其实还想进步), his book relating his experiences as an investigative reporter.

If Chu’s name sounds familiar this is likely due to his connection to one major story a decade ago: the saga of Chongqing police chief Wang Lijun (王立军), whose escape to the US consulate in Chengdu in February 2012 marked the dramatic start to the corruption scandal engulfing Chongqing Communist Party secretary Bo Xilai.

It was Chu who on February 15, 2012, nearly one week after Wang was taken into custody and escorted to Beijing, received a mysterious text message that would offer the world its first glimpse of the sordid details of the Bo Xilai scandal, involving the alleged poisoning of British businessman Neil Heywood by Bo’s wife, Gu Kailai. The text, which Chu quickly posted to his Weibo account, was likely sent to him by a third party under instructions pre-arranged by Wang Lijun before his trip to the US consulate. It read: “British national Heywood was murdered in Chongqing; Wang Lijun had investigated the case and found Gu Kailai to be a suspect.”

At that time, Chu was a journalist for Southern Weekly, the celebrated liberal newspaper that within months would face intensified efforts to bring it to heel, culminating in the January 2013 “Southern Weekly incident.” Chu would later move on to The Beijing News, another newspaper with strong professional credentials. His book is a fascinating record of his experiences as a journalist, providing glimpses of the systemic and other challenges facing those who try to uphold their professional mission.

Likewise, Chu’s interview with Honesty Outlook, though brief, offers some insight into life inside the Chinese media. Of particular interest is Chu’s view on the challenge of getting Chinese officials to open up, and on the unfortunate stiffness of reporting on government-related news in China.

A translation of the interview follows:

Honesty Outlook: Some colleagues have said that you have a knack for getting acquainted quickly with officials, that you can make the officials involved in incidents talk, and even that you maintain good relationships with some officials?

Chu Chaoxin: Sometimes it does happen that I get acquainted with officials quickly. There is definitely talk out there that Chu Chaoxin’s face resembles that of a division-level cadre, carrying his tea thermos and his satchel of documents, and that these are the things that put him quickly on a level of familiarity with officials. Actually, that’s not how it works. None of these external, superficial things are enough to make an official abandon his alertness, wariness and resistance toward a professional journalist.

In more than a decade of work as a journalist, I’ve come to trust that making an official involved [in something] open up and accept an interview relies more on professional technique. One time, for example, convincing a vice-ministerial official to grant me an interview meant running to several different cities, constantly gathering information on the scene. While I was going through this process, I sent him text messages constantly, letting him know that I was steadily reporting. I exerted pressure by saying things like, “Whether or not you grant an interview, the story will be written, and this might not be good for you.”

Perhaps is seems like a bit much to call this a skill. After all, heading to the scene is just what every journalist does in the course of reporting a story, a basic demand of our work.

Honesty Outlook: Do you ever become friends with the officials you interview? 

Chu Chaoxin: Occasionally there are officials with whom I maintain good personal relationships. Like the vice-ministerial official I interviewed, Old Lu (老鲁). He is one of the few provincial officials who dared to invite me to his home. This connection was the result of a long period of contact. I know he is a circumspect official who is still clean, and he understands that I’m a proper journalist who won’t use the resources I have to engage in illegal activities. He also knows I’m quite sincere. So slowly we came to trust each other, and we became friends.

Most of the time, however, it is very difficult for professional journalists and officials to strike up friendships because of their differing positions and differing professional demands. A friend like Lao Lu is a rare thing. It’s much simpler if you treat officials as interview subjects and as work tasks when you interact with them. It’s just work. You get valuable information you need from them, and there isn’t any other transfer of interests between you. If things are frank and open, if there is respect, then this makes for a healthy interaction.

Honesty Outlook: Have you ever endured difficulty when working on a current affairs investigation?

Chu Chaoxin: Definitely. Because the current affairs investigations I’ve written in recent years have involved a lot of public opinion supervision (舆论监督), which can offend a lot of people. So I’ve been subjected over the past three years to three separate investigations myself to determine whether I have done paid-for news (有偿新闻), whether I’ve committed [news] extortion (敲诈勒索), or whether I’ve had any kickbacks of any sort from local governments or companies. [NOTE: “public opinion supervision,” or “supervision by public opinion,” is a phrase unique to China that refers loosely to what could in some cases by translated “watchdog journalism.” The work is often critical or investigative, but can also in some cases involve reporting in particular of lower-level Party or government affairs by well-placed journalists at central-level media outlets. “News extortion” refers to a relatively common practice by which journalists or media threaten negative coverage and then agree to make the coverage go away by accepting cash, gifts or advertising deals.]

Local officials in my hometown, and at the newspapers where I used to work, have had visits in the past from investigation teams (调查组). The findings were that I’ve never committed any acts like that. For this I can only thank them – that they’ve helped confirm that I’m clean.  

It’s really important to maintain clean relationships when you’re doing current affairs reporting and dealing with officials on a regular basis. This is a professional conduct, and also the best possible form of self-protection.

Honesty Outlook: In your book, you talk about individual officials who want to use your connections to help them “see official [posts]” (跑官). Have you come across situations like that very often? [NOTE: “Seeking official [posts],” or paoguan, refers to obtaining official positions improperly through bribes or special connections. Local officials are likely in this case to feel the journalists has access through his work to higher-level officials who can assist them in their career ambitions.]

Chu Chaoxin: There definitely have been times when officials have sought me out trying to angle for promotions. But this happens only rarely. The example I wrote about in my book was someone who wasn’t familiar with me, and after it happened, I informed the relevant officials in the local provincial CCP committee. I talk about the specifics in the book. Those who understand my character generally won’t attempt asking a favor of me like that.

In general, the official culture with the Party has changed considerably over the last decade, especially in the last few years. Officials have become more and more cautious and attentive, and the bad culture of corruption has taken a turn for the better. Meanwhile, the positive culture of people actively working to improve people’s livelihoods still awaits further progress.

Honesty Outlook: In your book, you present another side of officials to your readers. For example, their sense of helplessness, or the warmth of their emotion. It seems we’ve been lacking richer and more substantive reporting in our media of the culture of officials and the officials themselves, leading to some level of prejudice in society and the public. Why do you think this is? [NOTE: In fact, it remains sensitive for Chinese journalists to pursue more personal stories about Party and government officials, and reports on official business tend to be dry and formulaic.]

Chu Chaoxin: You’re absolutely right. Not only does this problem exist, but in fact it’s quite serious. The richer dimensions of officials have long been absent in professional media coverage, resulting in a blurred and stiff image of government officials. Officials as presented in the official media are always in meetings, doing inspections, or burying their heads in the reading of words printed on documents. As a result, the public is completely unable to see more personalized, vivid images of officials. This creates a sense of separation and unfamiliarity that is not conducive to the communication and exchange between the two groups.

On the other hand, this has a lot to do with the coldness and indifference with which some officials treat the media. Some officials lack the ability to interact with the media, or they have “media phobia” (媒体恐惧症). Of course, our culture also inclines toward reservedness, and many officials just prefer to be low-profile.

Honesty Outlook: As media, what do you think should be done in this regard?

Chu Chaoxin: News media still need to do as much as they can to diversify coverage of officials as a group. When it comes to government affairs reports, it can’t always be limited to just officials attending meetings and giving reports, or making inspection tours. I’m afraid this needs to be reformed starting with the whole way of thinking about and structuring news coverage.

The problem is that the official [Party-state] media have greater access to officials, but they can’t present them in a multi-dimensional way. Market-oriented media, on the other hand, do a better job of portraying officials as vivid and individuals, but they lack access to them. This [problem] tests the courage and ability of these two differently positioned media to break through our rigid ways of working. Whoever can break through will be able to excel in current affairs reporting.

When the government of Japan’s Kumamoto Prefecture introduced its popular Kumamon mascot in 2010 in a bid to draw tourists to the region, it was banking on the power of cuteness. The bet paid off. The signature black bear, with rosy red cheeks, generated more than a billion dollars for Kumamoto in just two years.  

At the 2022 Beijing Winter Olympics, China has hoped to mirror this success with its own mascot, the now ubiquitous Bing Dwen Dwen (冰墩墩). In contrast to the forceful wolf-warrior image that China has projected internationally in recent years, the giant icy-shelled panda, with a rainbow-like silk ring encircling his face, is a softer and cuddlier alternative – perhaps Beijing’s answer to Xi Jinping’s call back in May last year to “build a credible, lovable and respectable image of China.”

But Bing Dwen Dwen also seems to be serving as an effective distraction at home and abroad, achieving another key objective during the Winter Olympics – ensuring that criticism does not win the day. For China’s government, the chubby panda, enormously popular by all accounts, has been the fluffy friend who launched a thousand fluff pieces.

Shortly after Bing Dwen Dwen appeared at the opening ceremony of the Winter Olympics, the Chinese media were full of reports about how shoppers queued up in Beijing’s Wangfujing shopping area, some waiting as long as 11 hours in the bitter cold, hoping to take away their own soft souvenirs.

And as athletes at the Games complained about poor planning for cold weather, abysmal food and other problems at the event, the official Xinhua News Agency went after the hard news about the country’s favorite softie. “From stands to signs and posters, the cute panda is ubiquitous at the Olympic facilities, and has been well received among international participants, even being awarded to medalists who hold one up on the podium, eliciting huge ovations from spectators,” the news agency reported.

The mascot, Xinhua added, “is expected to become a shared memory of the whole world.” This remark was reminiscent of remarks made back in December by Wang Wenbin of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, when he linked the fluffy mascot to Xi’s foreign policy notion of a “community of shared destiny,” saying in response to a question from The Paper that “we will all join hands to bring warmth to the world and work together for a shared future just like the lovely mascots ‘Bing Dwen Dwen’ and ‘Shuey Rhon Rhon.’”

The China Daily, published under the government’s Information Office, mentioned that Xi Jinping had gifted a pair of the mascots to Albert II, Prince of Monaco, with the hope he would take them back to his children. The newspaper also quoted a souvenir shop employee as reporting that “the mascot is very popular with foreign reporters covering the Games.”

Foreign reporters covering the Games were sometimes asking more pointed questions of this year’s host, in stark contrast to the softball questions lobbed by their Chinese counterparts. Meanwhile, reports from nearly all state media, including China Daily, noted that Bing Dwen Dwen had dominated discussion on the Chinese social media platform Weibo, earning more than 2.5 billion views – roughly two views for every member of China’s vast population.

There were other explanations, however, as to why Bing Dwen Dwen seemed to dominate discussion. For several days after the opening ceremony, the mascot remained at the top of sports topics on Weibo, even besting clearly relevant breaking sports topics, like the attention paid to Japanese figure skater Yuzuru Hanyu, who received an outpouring of adoration from Chinese online who mourned his failure to defend his Olympic title.

Were internet authorities baking Bing Dwen Dwen’s success into top platforms, fluffing up cyberspace with manufactured trends?

According to DT Caijing (DT财经), on February 6 alone there were 19 related trending topics on Weibo about Bing Dwen Dwen. The Sydney Morning Herald reported 3 days later that in fact around 20 percent of the accounts behind 30,000 posts about the mascot had been created within the previous month, suggesting that Bing Dwen Dwen was being artificially pushed out to center stage by a concerted publicity campaign.

Also dominating the headlines in state media were stories about the woeful scarcity in Ding Dwen Dwen supply, as though “adequate supply in the market” was a question of national urgency. “Production of Bing Dwen Dwen merchandise increased to ensure adequate supply,” said a headline at Xinhua.

On its official Weibo account, the state-run broadcaster China Central Television (CCTV) wrote, in a post accompanied by a collage of Bing Dwen Dwen merchandise: “If we can’t get our Bing Dwen Dwens, then we can only collectively take part in the Winter Olympics!”

Posts like this one occasionally drew sarcastic remarks. Referencing Xi Jinping’s call to close the yawning wealth gap in China by promoting “common prosperity,” one user commented under the CCTV post: “Please make sure every household in China is able to get a Bing Dwen Dwen. We need to reach the ultimate goal of common ownership of Bing Dwen Dwen.”

But such mockery was rare. Most users simply expressed their fervent wish to get their hands on their own Bing Dwen Dwen.

Up to the time of posting, Bing Dwen Dwen’s official store on Tmall, a major e-commerce platform, still showed most products out of stock, with some subject to daily sales quotas. And if the focus on Bing Dwen Dwen fluff was meant to bend foreign headlines in the direction of Chinese ones, the ploy seems to have worked. Reports on the mascot’s scarcity followed at Quartz, the South China Morning Post, Reuters, the Washington Post, NPR and the New York Times. So perhaps the mascot was indeed popular with foreign reporters inside the Olympic bubble?

The official push to drown out criticism and promote positivity through the irresistible fluff of Bing Dwen Dwen has also prompted a revealing suspension of China’s usual regulation of mad buying sprees on consumer protection grounds. One recent example was a boycott by Chinese market authorities of meal promotions by KFC outlets in China in cooperation with Pop Mart, the Chinese seller of toy collectibles. Under the campaign, KFC meals had been sold with random “blind box” inserts of Pop Mart toys, and in one case as customer was reported to have purchased more than 100 meals in hopes of finding collectibles inside. The craze was deemed to be harmful to consumers.

Such concerns have apparently been dropped in the case of the Bing Dwen Dwen craze – even though Bing Dwen Dwen is similarly being sold with “blind box” inserts, and at much higher prices than for the KFC campaign. On February 8, San Francisco-based non-fungible token (NFT) marketplace nWayPlay announced that its Beijing 2022 Winter Olympics blind boxes containing Bing Dwen Dwen pins would go on sale at a price of 99 dollars each, though sales are limited to five per person.

For years, China has anxiously pushed to increase its soft power, and combat what leaders view as unwarranted criticism and the domination of “global public opinion” by the West. In Bing Dwen Dwen, perhaps, China has found a softer way through a vexing problem. In related coverage on February 9, Xinhua News Agency said that the heart-warming Bing Dwen Dwen was “not just a manifestation of China’s increasing cultural soft power, but also an expression of China’s comprehensive national power.”

Those may seem hard words for such a soft mascot. But perhaps Bing Dwen Dwen’s designer said it best in an interview for the same report: “We are no longer desperate to prove anything to the world,” he said. “It is enough for us to express ourselves calmly.”

Xu Zhuqing (徐祝庆), the former director and editor-in-chief of the China Youth Daily and a key force at the newspaper in the period of journalistic ferment that came in the early 1980s in China, passed away in Beijing on January 5.  

Announcing the news on Weibo the following day, photojournalist He Yanguang (贺延光) recalled that under Xu’s leadership a relaxed atmosphere had prevailed at the newspaper: “In that environment, journalists and editors could discuss, dispute and contend with one another, and our concepts about journalism became clearer. The newspaper held its bottom line [professionally] through this process, earning the respect of its readers and peers.”

“It can be said that the period when you were in charge was the most glorious period at China Youth Daily,” He said of Xu.

Founded in 1951 as the flagship publication of the Chinese Communist Youth League (中国共产主义青年团), the Chinese Communist Party organization dedicated to indoctrinating and training youth, the newspaper was shuttered for a period of 12 years during the Cultural Revolution. It was finally relaunched on October 7, 1978, just weeks ahead of the 3rd Plenary Session of the 11th Central Committee of the CCP, the meeting at which Deng Xiaoping would formally unveil his plans for economic reform and opening.

The newspaper, which benefitted from the enduring influence of its former general secretary, Hu Yaobang (胡耀邦), the reform-minded leader of the CCP, became a fountainhead of experimentation among the country’s seven major national (全国性) dailies at the time. Defined by the phrase “eliminating chaos and returning to normal” (拨乱反正), it was a period of much deeper reflection on the lessons of the Cultural Revolution.

Xu Zhuqing, who had joined the China Youth Daily in the late 1970s after having worked in the International Department of the People’s Daily, led the paper through what would later be seen as a golden age. He set the tone for much more critical coverage early on, in November 1978, with a piece from his own pen called “Correctly Understanding The Problem of Sent-Down Youth” (正确认识知识青年上山下乡问题). The story, appearing on the front page of the China Youth Daily, exposed the ills of the so-called “Down to the Countryside Movement” (上山下乡运动), which from the late 1960s to the early 1970s had sent close to 20 million urban youth to toil in the countryside in order to be “re-educated” by poor peasants.

In the midst of plans by China’s State Council in 1978 to gradually narrow the scope of the movement, Xu story exposed uncomfortable truths about the policy. For millions of sent-down youth still struggling to find their way back to the city and to normal lives interrupted years earlier, the article was inspirational. It ignited nationwide discussion about the movement, and applied direct media pressure to the State Council conference on the policy as it considered bringing it to an end.

Li Datong (李大同), the founder and former chief editor of China’s Youth Daily’s Freezing Point supplement, known in the early 2000s for continuing the paper’s tradition of tougher reporting, said in a tribute to Xu Zhuqing on January 6, that he remembered Xu granting him maximum freedom in pitching stories, as well as complete autonomy as Freezing Point was launched as a special features section of the paper in 1995.  

“I had a level of freedom I had never experienced before,” Li recalled. “A boss not even asking about the topic [of my report] before it was in progress, and then just looking at the proofs. We really could publish whatever we wanted. Almost everything went straight to press.”

The Cyberspace Administration of China (CAC), the central agency for internet control and regulation, announced on its official WeChat account on January 5 that New Media (网络传播), the agency’s flagship monthly magazine on internet policy that literally translates “internet communication,” will be renamed in Chinese. The magazine’s new name will be “China Cyberspace” (中国网信), which more directly references the name of the agency itself. The publication’s English name will apparently remain unchanged.

In its notice of the change, the CAC said the magazine would focus hitherto on the “deeper study and application of Xi Jinping Thought on Socialism with Chinese Characteristics for the New Era,” as well as readings of the work and policy decisions of the Central Cyberspace Affairs Commission, led by Xi, and general knowledge about cyberspace – all supporting “the building of a cyber power” (网络强国).  

The newly-branded publication, overseen by the CAC, will be published by the China Academy of Cyberspace (网络空间研究院), a so-called “new think tank” created in 2015 that regularly supports research on various aspects of internet policy and regulation.

The new CAC magazine will include four sections, including “Directions” (风向), focusing on “cutting-edge reports” on the work of the CAC and readings of policies; “Monthly Reports” (月报), providing context and “political strategy” analysis for the biggest reports (报告) of the month; “Public Opinion Sphere” (舆论场), a “platform for research on the public opinion ecology [in China]” (网络舆论生态的研究平台); and “Exploration” (探索), which will showcase academic research and industry discussions.  

Will the new New Media make for gripping reading? Perhaps not. But it should be essential reading for those who follow CCP policy on cyberspace.

Content from the CAC’s magazine is also published through the publication’s WeChat official account (网络传播杂志), where the focus is more concentrated on regulatory announcements and briefings on related laws. But the account also from time to time provides summaries and commentary on recent incidents, such as the firing of a teacher at a vocational school in Shanghai who allegedly made “erroneous remarks” on the number of victims of the 1937 Nanjing Massacre (see coverage from CMP here).