Evan Osnos, Xinjiang, and Chinese civil society

A quick plug for Evan Osnos's blog, for its well-researched takes on the Xinjiang riots. Though Osnos's history can sometimes be a bit fudgy (I took issue with his brief sum-up of race relations in China contained in this article), when it comes to current affairs, his knowledge and contacts are impressive. In his analysis of the unrest in Xinjiang, it is refreshing that he does not set up an automatic juxtaposition between the undercurrents of discrimination in Xinjiang, and the Chinese insistence that any problems are caused by outside agitators. That's the angle that most western reporting has taken. It's true enough, but it's not the whole story.

If one focuses solely on the government's stance towards minorities in China, or on the nationalist hysteria best represented by the "angry youth," the situation really looks bleak, with little hope of the kind of cross-cultural understanding and empathy that can improve race relations in a country. And if we compare the current situation in China to pre-1960s America (the kind of comparison that, though hopelessly problematic, is made so often that it becomes something one must address), the country does not appear to be on the brink of the kind of radical cultural shift that the United States experienced in the 1960s and 1970s, mainly because China, because of tight control and widespread nationalist thinking, does not have the kind of "marketplace of ideas" that enabled to the US to change so fundamentally.

And yet, when one ignores supercilious government pronouncements and actually reads some of the non-fenqing commentary on Chinese websites, as Osnos does, there does seem to be some hope. First, he notes (as no one else seems to have done) that the problems in Xinjiang aren't only about race; they are also a reflection of the economic and political inequality that has accompanied the rapid development of the Chinese economy. In addressing the problems in Xinjiang, China must also address deep-rooted problems with modern society that exist across the country. And in another post, Osnos summarizes an essay about the riots written by a well-known Chinese journalist and consultant, which takes the government for task for some of its acts of mismanagement of the riots.

Osnos's observations get at a phenomenon that has become increasingly apparent in the past couple years: though more and more moderate voices are having their say in China, both online and in mainstream publications, they are very rarely mentioned in mainstream western reportage about Chinese politics and society. Even venerable publications such as the New York Times tend to focus on the more shrill voices. This kind of reporting isn't inaccurate, but it is incomplete. Chinese civil society is becoming more diverse than many people realize—editorials, blog posts, and reporting, often in mainstream magazines and newspapers, are often surprisingly nuanced. But evidence of this is sorely lacking in English-language news about China.

Zhou Enlai and the Cultural Revolution

At the edge of a lake in the middle of Huai'an sits the Zhou Enlai Memorial Hall, a sprawling cement complex that, considering Zhou's broad popularity both inside and outside China, was surprisingly empty when I visited a couple of weeks ago. Huai'an, a small city in northern Jiangsu province, is Zhou's birthplace and is a delightful place in its own right, with lots to see and do, but the newest Lonely Planet neglects to mention it. So much the better for me! It's the kind of place where people do double takes when a white person walks down the street. They whisper to each other, they say "Don't look now but there's a foreigner behind us," they say "Hellllooo!," they point, they grin, they break into laughter at the sheer bizarreness of it all. In fact, one six-year-old boy who had never seen a foreigner before went a little bit crazy when he saw me. For about ten minutes he kept shouting over and over again, "I hate foreigners!" and "I don't like the foreigner!" At one point he said, "The foreigner will beat us!" His mother was embarrassed and apologetic, and kept trying to explain to her son that foreigners are people too.

There were hardly any other visitors at the Zhou Enlai Memorial Hall, just me and a couple Chinese tourists. Considering the size of the place, one had the sense that Zhou was somewhat of a forgotten figure—which, of course, couldn't be farther from the truth. He is credited for being responsible, sometimes wholly responsible, for the preservation of cultural artifacts during the Cultural Revolution, for saving the lives of various people, and for stopping acts of senseless violence as best he could. Red Guards threatening the ruins and Dunhuang? One call from Zhou will stop them from wreaking destruction. Over-zealous general on the brink of invading Hong Kong? Zhou injects some common sense into the deliberations. Zhou's hand seemed to be everywhere in the Cultural Revolution; the legend of his intervention seems to grow with every retelling.

So powerful is the legend that it even made it into an official museum dedicated to his memory. It's difficult to find any information at all about the Cultural Revolution in Chinese museums—nowadays, most discourse about it in the public space seems relegated to fiction or the odd editorial about how China needs to avoid "excesses," or is neatly brushed aside by being included in the "30 percent" of what Mao did wrong. But in Zhou Enlai's memorial museum I was surprised to see not only a reference to the Cultural Revolution, but several references to it. Not only that, but, in celebrating Zhou's efforts to rein it in, the museum seemed to imply that the Cultural Revolution was something negative. This isn't anything new, but it is rare to see the view expressed in a place devoted to nationalism.

Granted, it wasn't much. One big picture of Zhou had the caption "Devoting his entire energy and thought to the perilous situation during the 'Cultural Revolution'" (殚精竭虑 苦撑'文革'危局), and nothing else. A piece of paper elsewhere was, according to a caption, "A list of cadres who should be protected, drawn up by Zhou Enlai." Three other pieces of paper were "Zhou Enlai's three telegrams drafted in his own hand on protecting the leading cadres inside and outside the Party, as well as top democrats." A fourth plaque, in the tradition of Zhou's enigmatic nature, had only a quote elegantly concealing any opinions he might have had about what was going on: "In the midst of the 'Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution' I only had eight words: 'Spare no effort in one's duty until one's dying day' (鞠躬尽瘁，死而后已)."

Roh Moo-hyun's suicide: Chinese views

News of the suicide of former South Korean president Roh Moo-hyun, who was, it seems, overcome by despair from the relentless investigation into corruption among his family, shook Korea and the rest of Asia, but drew relatively little attention in the US. The New York Times, after printing a very good overview of the political situation surrounding Roh's death, quickly moved on to other things. In China, however, the news of how he threw himself off a cliff after leaving a note for his family and supporters prompted cries of shock, empathy, and even some soul-searching in Internet forums and the press. The always dependable Chinasmack has translated several comments left by Chinese netizens about Roh's death. Many of the comments expressed admiration of Roh's honor in the face of corruption charges, standing as it did in sharp contrast with China's own miserable record on corruption. (My personal favorite: "If we here had this kind of conscience, I bet all of our cliffs would be filled up.")

And what of China's venerable editorialists? Before I started looking, I suspected that some mainstream publications would use the occasion as an indictment of Korea's democracy, and I was right. Lu Ning, writing in the Guangzhou Daily, argues that Korea's history of corruption problems and embattled presidents shows that it has too quickly embraced western-style democracy. Lu makes a point of placing Korea firmly within East Asian culture—it has ties of blood, village, literature, people—thus implicitly using its political situation as a guide for China. He does not mince words. Corruption is a part of the very soil in East Asia, he says, but more than that, a hasty embrace of western democracy is inappropriate for all countries outside North America and Europe: "We must face squarely the fact that it's not just South Korea. In East Asia, Southeast Asia, South Asia, the Middle East, and even all regions outside of North America and Western Europe, among all countries that indiscriminately copy and imitate western democracy and political systems … there is almost no example of [a country] that has made a smooth transition. Instead, their vitality has been sapped." (尤其不能不予正视的是，不仅仅韩国，整个东亚、东南亚、南亚、中亚甚至于北美和西欧之外的世界各国，那些照搬照抄西方民主政制模式的国家，不管其"脱胎"时间或长或短，其"换骨"的历史进程几乎没有顺顺当当的实例，而被弄得元气大伤的国家却比比皆是。)

Lu's opinion, however, is not ubiquitous. (A full description of the opinions expressed in China's countless Internet chat rooms, newspapers, and magazines is impossible, which is itself an encouraging thought.) In an editorial written by Zhou Yun and published in the Yangtze Daily, Zhou confronts Lu directly, accusing him of exaggerating the negative simply because it is so blatantly obvious. In fact, Korea's economy and society continued to develop rapidly after it became a democracy, argues Zhou, despite two financial crises and other problems. Roh's suicide will certainly damage the spirit of the Korean people, but it will not cause irreparable harm. Instead of focusing on corruption itself, Zhou emphasizes the fact that in Korea such dark practices are often brought to light: "[Korean politicians] are gradually realizing that in this kind of political system … it will ultimately be difficult to stop corrupt behavior from entering the court of public opinion." (他们会逐渐明白，在这种体制中受到的无处不在甚至"敌意"的监督下，任何贪腐行为最终都难以逃过公众的法眼。) Lu ends his editorial by pointing out that no political system is perfect, but people choose democracy because it has proven to be the best at advancing a country's economy and society, as well as curbing corruption.

Not too long ago, such bold views would not be permissible in a Chinese newspaper, and it's encouraging to see them published unhindered. What we are witnessing in this little editorial spat, of course, is not really about Korea. It is about China, and what path China's modernity should take. That is the dominant concern of modern Chinese intellectuals, and I wish them the best in figuring it out.

Remebering the earthquake

Tuesday was the one-year anniversary of the Sichuan earthquake, and memorial ceremonies were held throughout the country. For my part, I stumbled on a small one in front of the Shanghai Museum, attended almost exclusively by young people. It was organized, as far as I could tell from pamphlets that were handed out, by a group of students that used the Internet to spread the word.

A moment of silence:


Lighting the candles:


At another spot, after some discussion about which way was southwest, everybody stood in the proper direction and observed three minutes of silence:


Last year, Chinese nationalism stirred up by the earthquake merged with nationalism stirred up by the Olympics and the worldwide protests during the torch relay. The Tuesday ceremony was reminiscent of that phenomenon, as many people wore clothing intended to celebrate the Olympics and to proclaim one's love of China:


The girl with the megaphone led the crowd in several vows, such as vowing to love the motherland (zuguo) and to never forget the earthquake:

Fake doorways

It had to happen sometime. One of Shanghai’s most charming and interesting architectural features, the Shikumen, or Stone Entryway, has now entered the realm of the unreal.

A Shanghai Shikumen:


It really shouldn’t be surprising. Beyond its fake DVDs, fake Rolex watches, and fake Prada bags, China also has fake architecture, in the form of theme parks that recreate various wonders of the world, such as the Eiffel Tower and the Pyramids. China’s theme parks even recreate the country’s own tourist attractions. Too busy earning money in south China to make the trip to see the Great Wall? No problem: a theme park in Shenzhen has a miniature version, which not only is much easier to get to than the real wall but is easier to traverse as well, as it only comes up to your waist.

Still, my discovery of an underground reproduction of an old Shanghai street, complete with Shikumen, undated pictures of Shanghai in black and white, and, of course, shops selling fashionable clothes, led me to wonder exactly what the point was. Are people really too lazy to leave People’s Square, in the heart of Shanghai, to see some Shikumen? Are there any tourists who actually prefer cheap replicas to the real thing?

Most depressing of all is that, in the future, cheap replicas may be all we have. The current frenzy of construction and destruction in the lead-up to next year’s Expo is not an aberration in Shanghai’s recent history; it is simply an acceleration. This picture, which I took the same day I found the underground old street, has already been the fate of many of Shanghai’s wonderful Shikumen.